TO WAKE THE DEAD

by Richard Laymon

  “Susan Connors is assistant curator here at the museum, and in charge of the Egyptian collection. Miss Connors, can you speculate as to the motive for the robbery? The missing mummy? Was it worth killing for?”

  “I suppose it must be in some eyes. Three men are dead.”

  “How much intrinsic value does a mummy have?”

  “Normally, not more than a few thousand dollars. Their chief value—the reason they’ve been targets of robbers through the centuries—is the objects buried along with them, either in the coffin or wrapped inside the linen bandages. This one had already been plundered… unwrapped. If she was buried with jewelry and precious artifacts, it was stolen long ago. She’s really nothing more than a pile of skin and bones.”

  The reporter nodded. “So you see little reason for stealing her?”

  “She’s a significant piece of historical heritage. That alone gives her a certain value. Some collectors would have gone to great lengths to have her.”

  “Her? You know her name then?”

  “Yes, hieroglyphs on the mummy case tell us her name was Amara.”

  “And so people have gone to murderous lengths to steal Amara.” The reporter’s face filled the television screen. “Two men dead of causes the police refuse to disclose. Another killed in a mysterious fall Thursday night. Amara, the missing mummy. The police appear to be battled. This is Lenny Farrel, reporting to you from the Charles Ward Museum. Back to you, Bonnie.”

  Nervously, Byron looked out the den window at the street. An hour had gone by since the newscast. Any second, the cops were sure to show up, blue lights flashing, sirens whooping. Cops with guns drawn. A bullhorn crackling. “Come on out, kid, we know you’re in there…”

  But maybe none of the other kids saw the news. Maybe he was safe from arrest.

  “You okay?” Karen asked, looking up from Jane as she peeled off soiled diapers.

  He smiled for her. “Sure.”

  “You look kind of sick.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  He wished he could tell Karen about the mummy. It would make him feel better, talking to someone. She was nice. She was his favorite baby-sitter. Sometimes she let him stay up late to watch some creature feature. If he showed her the mummy, though, she’d probably tell on him.

  The cops would take him away.

  There I am in cuffs. The cop’s hand pressing down on my head as I climb into the back of the cruiser with its flashing blue lights. And there would be Barbara, ringside, grinning. Hell.

  The cops might bust him for killing those guards. They’d be sure to think he did it. His prints would be all over the mummy. Maybe he’d get the gas chamber. In his mind’s eye he saw Barbara in the ringside seat, right at the front where she could look through the glass panel of the chamber. Grinning all over her face. Grinning as he choked. Blue lips… bulging eyes. And the last thing he sees is Barbara’s grin. Hell.

  A black-and-white patrol car appeared on the street. Byron’s stomach knotted.

  They’re here.

  Come for me.

  No messing.

  Maybe one of the dead guards was a buddy of the cop?

  “Don’t bother with the arrest on this one, Bill… this one’s personal… this kid killed my best friend… just blow the little freak away the second he shows his face…”

  Oh, Holy Christ on a motorcycle. Byron’s chest turned slick with sweat under his shirt. He craved the john… fear did that to people… he’d crave the john in the gas chamber. Barbara would scream with laughter when he peed himself.

  Holy Jesus.

  The car kept moving. The cops seemed more interested in talking with each other. Didn’t even look in his direction. As he breathed a sigh of relief as the black-and-white car cruised out of sight, a bicycle turned up the driveway. A girl climbed off.

  Barbara!

  She tipped the bike onto its side, leaving the back wheel turning, then came up the driveway with long, self-important strides.

  “Karen, can I go out for a second?”

  “Your mother said to stay inside.”

  “Just on the porch, okay? Somebody’s here. I’ve gotta talk to her.”

  “Her, huh?” She gave a knowing smile. “Okay, but don’t leave the porch, do you hear, Byron?”

  “I won’t.”

  Byron opened the door as Barbara was reaching toward the bell. He stepped out quickly, let the screen bang behind him.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  Folding her arms, she grinned in her stuck-up way. “I know.”

  “Know what?”

  “What cha think?”

  “Search me.”

  “I know your secret.”

  “Yeah?” His mouth went dry.

  “I know all about you and that mummy.”

  “You don’t know nothing.”

  “Oh, yeah? I watch Eyewitness News every night. A young lady has to keep herself informed.”

  “So?”

  “I know all about it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like it was stolen from the museum.” Her eyes gleamed. This was pure candy for her. “Like the guards were slaughtered like sheep.”

  “So what?”

  “I’m going to tell.”

  “Tell who?”

  “Who else? The cops.”

  “You better not,” he warned. He took a threatening step toward her, but she held her place.

  “You don’t scare me,” she told him.

  “You’d better not tell.”

  “I won’t. But only if you let me see it again.”

  “I haven’t got it.”

  “I bet.”

  “I haven’t. We took it back where we found it and left it there. Honest.”

  “Then you won’t mind the cops searching the house?”

  “No. Why should I? I haven’t got it.”

  “Sure.” She scratched her thigh, then turned away. “See you tomorrow, Byron. On Eyewitness News.”

  He watched her walk toward her bike. With her short hair and T-shirt and shorts, she didn’t look much like a girl. She didn’t act like one either. But she was a girl. Byron had a policy not to beat them up. You might threaten to pound them, but that was only talk.

  It’s chickenshit to beat up girls.

  Guys didn’t do that.

  Not real guys anyway.

  He wished Barbara was a boy. He’d knock the daylights out of her.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ve got it.”

  She turned around, grinning. Came back to him. “Let’s see.”

  “You can’t come in.”

  “Then bring it out.”

  “Yeah, I can just walk through the house with it.”

  “So?”

  “The baby-sitter will see it, brain-box. How about tomorrow?”

  “No dice. Show me, or I’ll blow the whistle.”

  “Whistle?” Startled, he looked at her hands.

  “That’s just an expression… a figure of speech. Don’t you know anything, Byron? Now let’s go in and have a look.”

  “Okay. Come on. But keep your mouth shut. I’ll do all the talking. Got that?”

  “Just get on with it, Byron.”

  Feeling humiliated, manipulated, he led her into the living room. “Karen, this is my friend Barbara. I have to show her something in my room.”

  Karen smiled strangely. Knowingly. “In your bedroom?”

  Byron nodded.

  “This is a new one. What do you want to show her?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “Oh, you’re just being modest,” Karen said, the smile broadening.

  “Huh?”

  “Okay, go ahead. But leave your door open.”

  “Sure.”

  They went down the long hallway to Byron’s bedroom. The room was dim in the light of the evening sun, but Byron didn’t bother with a lamp. Kneeling, he reached under his bed. Grunted. Started to pull.
“Help me, will you?”

  “I should say not. Imagine the germs.”

  He managed to slide the mummy out by himself. “There,” he panted.

  Barbara peered at it. Her nose wrinkled. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Sort of.”

  “She’s naked.”

  “What cha want me to do? Put her in panties and a bra?”

  “You’ve probably been playing with her, haven’t you?”

  “Have not.”

  “I’ll bet. You can see her front bottom.”

  “I haven’t touched her. Not those places. Who’d want to?”

  “Only a creepy pervert like you.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah, you can see your finger marks on her butt.”

  “Cannot.”

  “Pervert.”

  “Am not.”

  “If you’re not a creepy pervert, what’re you keeping her for?”

  “Finders keepers.”

  “Are you going to give her back?”

  “Why should I?”

  “She belongs to the museum, that’s why. She was stolen. Finders keepers doesn’t work when it’s stolen. You still go to jail.”

  Byron shrugged. “Well, I might give her back. I’m keeping her tonight, though. Toby’s gonna bring his Polaroid over tomorrow. We’re gonna take pictures of her.”

  “That is gross.”

  “It’ll be neat. You can get in a picture with it too if you want.”

  “Who’d want to?” Contorting her face, she touched the chocolate-brown mummy with the toe of her sneaker. The empty eyes seemed to stare into hers, while the red hair formed a shining red halo around the skull-like head. And as for those teeth… “Do I get to keep the picture?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay then. You can keep it till tomorrow. I’ll let you. But then you’ve got to take it back.”

  Byron nodded. He had no intention of returning the mummy, but it seemed a good idea to let Barbara think he would. That’d keep her quiet for tonight anyway. Keep her from telling her parents, who’d then tell the cops. By tomorrow, maybe he’d think of something else. He pushed the mummy under his bed, its hair crackling with static as it dragged the nylon carpet. He’d best open a window wide too. Disperse the stale deli smell. The thing seemed to sweat garlic and onion odors.

  “What time tomorrow?” Barbara asked.

  “Ten. In the back of my garage.”

  “And I get a picture free?” She was calculating the value of such a picture. The center-of-attention kind of value it would have at school. “It won’t cost me anything?”

  “It’s free to you. But only you.”

  “Byron, one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Give me a buck.”

  “Hey!”

  “If you don’t, I’ll tell. Tonight.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “The cops will be all over you like a rash.”

  “That ain’t fair!”

  “It is too. You made me pay to see it. Now you have to pay me to keep quiet.”

  “You only gave me fifty cents.”

  “So what? A buck or these lips start flapping.”

  “Good thing you’re not a guy, Barbara. I’d flatten you.”

  “You and who else?” She held out her hand for the money. Grinned. “Give.”

  “You’ll be sorry,” Byron muttered. He reached into a front pocket of his jeans, pulled out a crumpled bill.

  “Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

  He stayed in his room while she walked away. A few seconds passed. Then he heard footsteps approaching. Karen appeared in the doorway.

  “Did you two fight?” she asked. “Or…”

  “Oh, Barbara’s a creep.”

  “I thought you said she’d your friend.”

  “Well, she isn’t. She’s a creeping crud. I’m going to bed.”

  “All right.”

  Karen paused at the doorway. “You haven’t left anything under your bed?”

  He flinched. “Like what?”

  “Left something there you shouldn’t?”

  “Like what?”

  “An old piece of pizza or garlic sausage?”

  She was going to look under the bed. She’d see the mummy.

  He stood by the bed with his calves hard against the bed frame side. “Nothing’s under there, my Mom made me clear everything out yesterday.” Liar-liar-pants-on-fire.

  “It just smells a bit… well, spicy in here.”

  “I ate a hamburger earlier. I’ll brush my teeth.” He didn’t know why he said that, but it sounded fairly convincing. Well, kind of.

  “Best do that. And open the window wide for some fresh air.”

  Karen left. Byron flopped backward onto his bed and lay there trying to figure a way to get his dollar back.

  He dozed off.

  When he woke, his room was dark. He got up. On his way to the bathroom, he heard quiet voices. Karen must’ve had Eric come over. They were probably on the couch like the other time, kissing; other stuff too that made Karen pant: Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh… like she’d trapped her finger in the door.

  Byron wasn’t interested. In the bathroom, he washed his face, brushed his teeth, peed. He returned to his bedroom. Shut the door, and stripped. The night was hot. Instead of wearing his pajamas, he put on a clean pair of jockey shorts. He climbed into bed. The sheet felt cool. A delicious ice-cream feel. He liked that. Rested the palms of his hands down on it. A second later he began to heat up again, so he tossed the top covers aside and lay on his back, staring at the dark ceiling.

  Tomorrow, maybe he and Toby could round up a whole bunch of kids. With ten kids they’d make five bucks. Ten bucks with twenty kids. That’d give them five each. For eight-fifty he could buy one of those Super Whack Slingshots. How many kids would that take? Let’s see, fifty cents times… times…

  He was asleep.

  A night breeze disturbed the shade. A scratching sound filled the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Grace stared out the windshield. The three men looked in at her. Dirty, unshaven. The T-shirts they wore ragged-looking. Oil-stained. Maybe even a little bloodstained too. The setting sun turned their skin red. The one who’d swatted the windshield made a rotating motion with his finger.

  Wind the window down.

  No way.

  Lock the doors.

  She flicked the catches on the inside of the old truck.

  The guy slapped the windshield again.

  “Don’t you know the meaning of ‘anti-social’?” He grinned. “We only want to talk.”

  She shook her head. Behind her, in the rear seat, Pix whimpered, scared.

  “Hell-owe… hell-owe in there. Speak English?”

  The guy grinned. His teeth looked as if he’d spent the day sipping road tar.

  “Can you spare us all a cigarette, miss?” He grinned back at the others.

  Grace caught her breath, forced herself to speak. “Sorry. I haven’t got any. I don’t smoke.”

  “Miss?” With exaggerated politeness, he pointed through the windshield at a pack of cigarettes on the dashboard. They’d have belonged to Joe. He called them “steppin’-stones to heaven.”

  “Miss? Aren’t those cigarettes?”

  The guy flicked the cigar butt at the window. It bounced. Sparking.

  Nodding, frightened, she fumbled the cigarette pack from the dashboard, opened the window a crack, just wide enough to slip them through.

  “Why thank you, miss.”

  “Keep them. Please.”

  Now go away. Go away. The plea hammered inside her head, but they didn’t go away.

  They sidled up to the passenger window. All three pressed forward to look through the glass at her. She was wearing shorts. Her brown legs ran out long and enticingly into the well beneath the dash.

  They grinned at each other.

  Coming to a secret agreement.

  “Grace?” Pix sounded strained
. “Let’s get away from these men.”

  “How?”

  “Drive away.”

  “Can’t.”

  “You gotta.”

  “Can’t. Cody took the key.”

  “Sis, these guys are gonna hurt us. I know it.”

  “They can’t get in. The doors are locked. They’ll—”

  “Hey!” Thump. The big guy, the one who seemed in charge, swung his fist against the door. “What you talking about in there?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Seemed like somethin’.”

  “No—”

  “You talkin’ about us?”

  “No.”

  “Not nice talking about people behind their backs.” And to the others, “Is it, fellers?”

  “No, it ain’t. Damn rude.”

  The three laughed. One slapped the roof of the pickup, sending a thunderous clamoring around its interior. They laughed even more when they saw the frightened reaction from inside.

  Where was Cody? Dear God.

  Grace glanced back through the windows. The only things she saw were desert. Dry bushes. The pile of tires that was nearly the size of a house. And, dear Lord, it was getting dark. The sun sunk fast in a desert, she knew that. Plunged toward the horizon like a stone. Soon it would be dark. Soon the men would get impatient. They were horny now. They wouldn’t wait.

  Not when they could see the curve of her breasts through her shirt.

  Didn’t have time to put on a brassiere when she left home.

  Didn’t have time to grab much.

  Only the clothes she stood up in. Truth of the matter, she wouldn’t be wearing those soon if these three roughnecks had their way. And as for Pix in the back. They leered at her, angled their heads to see up her tiny skirt. For a sixteen-year-old she had a full woman’s body. They could see her nipples through her T-shirt.

  “C’mon, open the door.”

  Thump.

  “We’re not going to eat you, are we?”

  Grace gave a scared shake of her head.

  “Aw!” They were enjoying the situation. One, in a greasy bandanna, hooted. “Come out, come out, or we’ll blow your house in.”

  This led to a chorus of little piggies, little piggies and then hog-snorting.

  These guys weren’t just boisterous. They were buzzing on something. Maybe some of that cactus juice. The sort that got you high… and dangerous.