by Bex Dane
Eloisa takes a look at her phone and scrolls through the images. "Do we have time to do this?"
"I can do one zombie in thirty minutes," Cass says proudly, like she's timed herself and worked on getting it under a half hour.
"Excellent. Let's do it. Can I share this with the other makeup artists?"
"Sure. I'll send it to you. It has my name and number on it. Be sure to tell them about me." Cass taps on her phone and smiles as she hits send. "Here's some of my cards. Give them to anyone who might need a makeup artist. I do glam too."
She glances at the cards and smiles. "I'd be happy to help spread your name. I'll send your first actor over."
"Cool. Thanks." Cass smiles and the room lights up. She's in her element and more confident than I've ever seen her.
Her first client is an Asian girl who looks like she's a little younger than Cass. She introduces herself as Vicky.
"Are you okay with being recorded for my YouTube channel?" Cass asks her as she points to me behind the tripod that is holding up her camera.
"Sure." Vicky lights up with an excited smile. Cass has that effect on people. Within a few seconds, they're smiling.
Cass points at me. I press her button. A red light flashes on the screen, and Vicky's face is in the center.
"Hi, guys. I have something totally cool for you tonight. Super decayed zombies in an asylum. I know, fun, right?"
Her energy draws attention from the other makeup artists who glance her way then return to their work. They have to be feeling intimidated by her. She's a cobra in her native habitat, about to strike. "I only have thirty minutes so let's do it."
She explains as she glues Vicky's eyebrows down with soap. "Let's make a big crater in your cheek right here with this prosthetic. I'll just glue it on here and… Good enough. This is liquid latex." She paints on the girl's face around the prosthetic then uses a hairdryer to dry it. She uses a paint brush to splatter green paint over everything she just did then switches to brown splatter. I'd seen her do it in her videos, but it's more interesting watching it happen in person.
"Are you a teacher?" she asks the model.
"Yes."
"Cool. So awesome of you to donate your time."
"Are you kidding? I love this and I love those kids."
"You're so sweet. I wish I had a teacher like you when I was growing up."
"Where are you from?" Vicky asks her.
"Ros… I mean New Mexico." She presses her lips closed as she realizes she almost talked about Roswell. It's too bad her mom messed with her head. She should feel free to discuss her hometown on her videos. She pauses for a second. "Roswell. I'm from Roswell, New Mexico."
"Cool. So you know the alien gig."
"I know all about the alien gig. Anyway, this is coming out nice."
It doesn't look nice to me. It looks like the girl is covered in rotten oatmeal and maggots. Cass paints red splotches into the holes of the prosthetic.
"I'm just adding blood to this wound here, and then we'll powder you up and you're off to wardrobe. I could have gone a little lighter with the blood, but it's good enough." She darkens around her eyes and cheeks and sprays what looks like chalky mud on the girl's shoulders and collar bones.
It's those last touches that bring it all together and make it work. Suddenly it's not a mess of splattered paint anymore. It's undoubtedly a zombie with realistically decaying skin.
She shows Vicky her face in the mirror. "You look truly undead."
Vicky grins through her moldy makeup. "Thank you, Cass. Excellent job."
"Here's my card. Refer me to anyone you know. I do glam too. Not just gore."
"I can see that. Your makeup is the bomb."
"Oh, you like?" She primps up her hair. She does look fantastic today with only a little eye makeup, pretty pink lips that I really want to kiss, and long eyelashes. Her hair is red again but not as bright as before, more of an auburn.
Her next client is a guy named Mick. He's shorter than me and he's in good shape. Obviously works out. I could still kick his ass.
"Do you mind if I record you for my channel?" Cass asks him.
"Only if you let me record you for mine," he says with a big toothy grin.
Shit. He's flirting with her. I try to keep it under control and stare at the camera preview screen, but I suddenly want to give him a real gash on his forehead.
"You have a channel?" she asks him as she's gluing his eyebrows down.
"I'm Dr. Mick. I do reaction vids to medical dramas and random other things."
"So like a real doctor's impression of Hollywood effects?"
"Yeah. Something like that."
"You'll have to come on and critique my work."
"So far, your work looks fantastic to me."
Dude hasn't seen a mirror yet so he's talking out of his ass.
I'm not liking her smile right now. Or his. Or the way he's looking at her tits. She has them covered up in a tight black shirt, but it's hard to miss how perfect they are.
She finishes him off and they ham it up for the camera. I want to hurl this guy out of here. Can he even fight? I will absolutely find trouble for bashing in a pretty-boy doctor's face. I need to chill.
When she gives him her card, I have the urge to rip that shit out of his hand. I don't want him calling her. But this is her business. She's "networking." I can't interrupt.
He leaves and she sits down in the chair to wait for her next client.
"You're good," I say.
"Thank you. This is fun. You see why I do it? I couldn't miss this." The excitement in her eyes is contagious, and I find myself feeling the anticipation too.
She checks her phone and looks up at me. "Uh oh. Eloisa needs one more model. Let me do you."
"Uh, no. Not wearing any kind of makeup."
"C'mon. I'm doing mine too. We can be zombie friends."
"No." She's not dragging me into this one.
"It's for a worthy cause. I'll make you something fun. I know. I'll do Freddy Krueger for you. It's perfect."
"It's not perfect. It's too close to reality."
"You are not Freddy Krueger."
"You don't know that, now do you?"
Her brows furl and it's cute how she hasn't put it all together yet. She looks at her phone again. "Eloisa is begging me to have you do it. She needs you. C'mon. You can protect me from all the bad guys and scare the shit out of some kids."
Her idea of fun is my idea of torture. The chaos will drive me insane. "Why do you like this?"
"They say you get the same experience whether it's real or pretend, so in a way I get to see what it would be like to be the walking dead."
"This is not something I've wondered about."
"I do. I wonder about a lot of things. What's out there beyond this life? What's it like to walk around the Earth after death?"
She places a tiny warm hand on my abs and gives me sweet, sweet big wide eyes and all I can think is I want those eyes looking up at me while she wraps her sweet pink lips around my… "C'mon, Cutter. Let me make you Freddy. The kids need you. Think of how excited they'll be to have the real Freddy Krueger at their house of horror."
Her honesty and conviction strike me in the gut. I could fight it, but like Foster said, losing battle. I nod in defeat.
"Yay!" She bounces on her toes. "Thank you so much. This'll be awesome. Let me ask Eloisa if she has a Freddy costume." She sends out a quick text to the event organizer and looks up at me. "Have a seat."
I sit down in her chair and wait for her touch. It takes her a minute to get the prosthetic ready, but when she slips it over my face, she's gentle. Her tiny fingers try to hold it on my forehead and cheeks but it's drooping off.
After some wrangling, she says, "There. Got that sucker to stick."
She lets go and the prosthetic stays on my face.
She squints and giggles as she tries to attach a pointy peak of cotton to my nose. The heat of her body between my legs distracts me from the d
iscomfort. I want to touch her ass as she moves around me. I bet she drove Dr. Mick nuts with her sexy and cute combo.
"This is coming out so great. He's totally disfigured and burned, so I need more red around your eyes."
When she finishes, she puts down her brush and says, "Take off your shirt."
Oh shit. I didn't think of that. "I'd uh… I'll just wear this." I'm not taking off my long-sleeved shirt.
"Freddy doesn't have a gorgeous neck like yours. We need to work on it. C'mon." She tugs at my shirt.
"Just do what you can see." I point to the part of my neck that's exposed.
"No. Your costume will show more."
My eyes plead with hers to get me. Her head pulls back and something clicks. She has to remember the tracks on my back. She felt them that first night on my motorcycle. I can see the disgust in her face.
"Why do you always keep a shirt on?" She narrows her eyes at me.
Shit. I guess we're having this conversation now. "Turn off the camera right now, Cass."
She's quiet as she goes to the camera and presses the button. The red light clicks off, so I know she did it.
"Are you hiding something under there?" she asks me.
"Not hiding. Just not ready to share it yet."
She leans down to my level. "There is nothing." Her voice is soft and gentle. She's focused on me alone, even with all these people around. "Nothing on the outside of you that can change what I know is in here." She touches my chest. "I already know who you are. You're the big brother to all those kids who are desperate for someone they can trust. You're the good guy who doesn't take advantage of a girl after she gets slipped a roofie, and the guy who's ready and willing to slash up a ghost for me."
I shake my head. "I'm the guy who pulled a knife on you."
"It doesn't matter." She waves her hand like that's forgotten. "I get it. Now take off your shirt so I can make you ugly."
She wants it? Fine. I want her to see it. Get this over with so she can move on. I reach behind my back and my shoulders hunch forward as I pull the shirt over my head, trying to preserve her makeup job as I do.
She gasps as she takes it in. My body is a mass of scars, tattoos, and permanent wounds. There's criss-cross marks all down my back that I've turned into a trellis of blades. My shoulders and arms are scarred with lines of shame. I did those myself. I've tried to cover them in tattoos, but with my fabulous luck, lumpy keloids grew in their place, and the raised parts don't take ink. Not very well. So my scars are a blurred mess of thick pink skin pulled taut with spilled ink inside. The tats on the non-keloid skin don't hide them. Nothing hides the scars.
I hear another gasp and look up at her. Puddles well in her eyes as her hand covers her mouth.
"I don't need makeup to look grotesque," I say.
She blows out a sharp breath and drops to her knees in front of me, wrapping her arms around my thighs. "Oh my God, Cutter."
Her tears wet the denim of my jeans. I can only imagine how I look with a Freddy face and a slashed up body.
My hands fall lightly on her back as I curl forward over her head.
She puts her arms around my back and places her palms flat. Her fingertips trace over the hard ridges and she heaves out a sob. She's putting it all together now. I am the real Freddy.
It's a punch to the gut to see her break down like this.
"Shh. It's okay." We're starting to draw some stares from the other people here, so I pull her up by gripping under her arms.
She stares at me as she blinks and sniffs. "I'm so sorry about whatever happened to you."
"It's not your fault, babe. It's mine." The sting at the back of my throat pinches my words.
"It's not your fault either." She sniffles and shakes her head slowly.
"The marks on my arms I did myself," I say quietly but clearly so she gets it.
Her brow folds and she bites her lip. Her makeup is smeared in triangles under her eyes. "And the back?"
I have to break eye contact with her to answer. "The back. Someone else."
"Who? Tell me who because I want to have a talk with him."
I chuckle because she has already spoken with him. He's the one who had her drugged a few nights ago. I'm not ready to talk about that, so I just keep silent.
She kisses the scars on my forearm. It's wet and warm and I feel it in my soul. She exudes love and compassion. It's who she is.
No one has ever reacted like this. I've seen shock, indifference, grimaces, and pity. Always the pity. Some people make sure to blame me for the cuts. But empathy? No. Not one person has ever cried and dropped to her knees before me. No one sees these scars and feels my pain. The raw emotion coming from her bombards me. I can't run. I have to feel it.
"Thank you for showing me." She stares into my eyes and nods like she's accepted it. "It doesn't change one thing about the way I see you. It doesn't mean anything."
"It means I'm fucked up and I can't hide it." My shoulders rise and fall. That's the way I see it.
"No, it doesn't. You're fine."
"Look at me. I'm not fine." I hold my arms up. I'm a fucking mess.
"You are fine!" She smacks my thigh.
"Whatever."
She wipes her face with a tissue. "Well, let me finish making you Freddy, and then I'll do my own face and we'll scare the fuck out of some kids."
I have to laugh at her optimism and resilience. I'm not sure I have it in me after this. "Okay." Again, for her, I'll do it.
***
Cass finds someone to film us as we walk out of wardrobe like bosses. She's a female zombie with half her face an open wound and I'm Freddy Kreuger on steroids.
Just like the Queen Mary, I'm able to let go and enjoy the moment because of her energy.
It's rare and unfamiliar, but it's fun. I like that she's able to put the heavy stuff out of her mind. Her mom, my scars. She's in the zone walking around being a zombie.
She leans over the railing to check out the entrance. "There's a huge crowd. This is awesome."
Placing my gloved claw on the railing, I peer over the balcony to see the line run out the door and curl around the building. After they pay, they're lingering in the lobby waiting for the doors to open. "We'd better get to our spots."
"Wait." She grabs my forearm, which is now covered in a bloody red and green sweater. "Dayton is here."
"Who the fuck is Dayton?" I have to hold my brown fedora on my head so I don't lose it as I lean over.
"He's with a girl." Her nails dig into the skin of my arm.
Ahh. Her ex from the bar. I see him with a brunette. The guy was so light, I was able to pick him up and physically place him on his ass on the sidewalk. "She's nowhere near as pretty as you."
She smiles at me with slimy green fake teeth and relaxes her death grip on my arm. "Thank you."
I guess I said the right thing. "Let's go. We got a special customer tonight. There any rules about actually clawing someone to death?" I hold up my Freddy glove with the rounded blades.
"The official rules are you can't touch him. There's no limit on fucking with his head." She scowls down at him without blinking like she's shooting arrows from her eyes. I would not want to be on the other end of her glare.
We're on the same page with this one. "Let's get going. Dayton is gonna regret the day he came to the House of Horror."
Chapter 16 Bubbles
Cass
The second we sit down in the cab of Cutter's truck, we both break out laughing.
"That was too easy," I say, shaking my head.
"Don't date any more wusses like him. Okay?"
I'd like to be dating Cutter. Definitely not a wuss. Tonight was a cruel teaser of what dating him would be like. After the emotional ringer of seeing his scars, we had fun bursting out of our hiding spot in the insane asylum. We'd pretend we were puppets until they walked past us and thought they were safe. We collected so many screams we put Ghostface and his bowie knife to shame. Every time they screamed
"Freddy," I knew it was worth it to prod Cutter into playing him tonight.
When Dayton and his date came through, Cutter poured it on. He jumped out early and blocked his path. Then he held his bladed glove in the air like he was going to strike.
I think Dayton shit his pants.
Cutter followed Dayton into two more rooms before he came back to our station. I thought he might get in trouble with Eloisa, but he got away with it.
"He won't be calling you for any more booty calls," Cutter says, proud of himself for his act tonight.
"Dayton didn't know it was us."
He smirks and glances over at me. "I might have talked some shit to him."
I smile a wicked grin. "We are so lucky we didn't get kicked out of there. I could lose my job."
"It's a volunteer gig." He shrugs and starts up his truck.
"Still. I want to keep it for next year."
He chuckles. "It was worth it to hear Dayton's high-pitched screech over and over. Good stuff."
We're still smiling fifteen minutes later as we approach my apartment complex. "You can drop me off in front."
He blows past the curb where he could drop me off and pulls into the parking lot. "I'll help you carry in your stuff."
"Uh, that's really not necessary. I can carry it."
He leaves the truck running, throws one arm over the back of my seat, and rotates his torso toward me. He's wearing his long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, but he still has the Freddy makeup on. It's hard not seeing his real features, but also really fun to see his beautiful body in Freddy makeup. "I'm helping you carry in your stuff."
"I think it's best if you don't."
If he comes inside, it'll remind me of the last kiss we had and the tension between us at the Queen Mary. After today and all Cutter and I shared, I'm feeling attached. Like uh-tached. I shouldn't allow myself to hope, but I can't help it. He's complex and captivating and I want to be the one he allows into his heart. I want to hug him and heal his wounds, not for just today but many days. I could envision us together for years, maybe even forever. But he doesn't see it like I do, so he can't help me carry in my stuff. I'm staying true to my darn vow, even now when it seems painful and pointless.
"Why's that?" His brows draw together.
