Again, he was not deterred. Paul gazed into her unseeing, corpse’s eyes, and imagined she was gazing back, their connection restored. He tried to avoid looking at her head above her eyes. The damage wrought there by the tragedy was hard to stomach, even in his heartfelt adoration. The hole in her misshapen skull was a blight on her otherworldly beauty, and he had no desire to admit it purchase in this joyful moment. Her brain had been removed, of course, during the autopsy, but the wound remained open. That side of her head was caved in to such a degree that her left eye drooped a little, but Paul could overlook it.
He gazed into the endless depths of her sunken eyes and felt only love.
Well, not only love…
He was a man, after all.
Her arms, having both been severed, lay by her sides in the best approximation of rest that he could manage. The gelatinous flesh around the exposed bone was beginning to liquefy, much like the rest of her.
That was fine with Paul.
It made the sensation all the more delectable.
He lifted her right arm from its position by her waist, and slid it under the bedsheets. His cock was already throbbing by then, just as it was every morning when he awoke to his Jane. He made sure not to touch the flesh of his engorged member with his own hand, and instead he gently lowered Jane’s severed arm to where he could get comfortable.
A shiver of delight ran through his swollen cock as he felt the fingertips brush against his shaft. Rigor mortis made the action all the more easy, and the stink of corruption was a minor matter when such delicate fingers were so lovingly teasing his cock. The broken finger nails, still growing, only added to the sensation as they scratched his pulsing length.
Paul felt close to coming. Waves of pleasure threatened to pull him apart as he moved the rotting hand up and down.
Up and down.
He groaned, his orgasm desperately close, and with all his will, he removed the severed arm from his erection and placed it carefully back by her side.
He didn’t want to come too quickly, nor in such a manner.
Today…today would be special.
He wanted today to mean something when they finally made love.
As much as her hand had urged him to blinding orgasm in the previous days they’d spent locked away in their new happy home, he wanted to take it to the next level.
To bring their love to full fruition.
So far, all they’d done together was a little harmless fooling around. Her hand stroking him, his fingers probing her. They’d been like horny teenagers, desperate to explore one another though too nervous to go all the way. Jane had always been a shy girl, and what they hadn’t done when she was alive, they would surely do now. Both of them were ready. Only last night, he’d slid his trembling fingers inside her, and had been overjoyed to find that she was finally wet again.
After four days free from the grave, she was ready for him.
This morning would be incredible.
“Are you ready for me, Jane?” he asked, his voice sounding embarrassingly thin as his nerves got the better of him.
Jane didn’t answer.
Instead, her slowly liquefying eyes stared into oblivion.
He knew her answer, though. Paul knew Jane’s mind better than she knew herself.
He could see into it, quite literally if the light was right.
He smiled as he ran his hand over her one remaining breast. The blackening nipple was rigid, hard with excitement. Paul slowly leaned forward and took it into his mouth, savouring its taste. He flicked it with his tongue, expertly arousing her, then sucked on it like a hungry child. He moaned as his hand found the surrounding mound of flesh and squeezed. He could taste the rot on her areola, but Jane’s rot was sexier than any other woman’s ripeness. He sucked and sucked, and was surprised to find himself less shy than he’d imagined.
And more adventurous.
Paul let his exploring hand cease kneading of her breast and move to where her other tit had been. He drooled onto her slimed nipple as his fingers blindly probed the exposed fleshy wound where her breast had been ripped off. He felt his fingers seep into the softening meat of the wound, and imagined what it would be like to finally fuck her.
And then Paul could take no more.
He removed his lips from her breast and climbed on top of her.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I’ve waited so long for this, Jane…”
A HAPPY HOME
The film wasn’t great, but it didn’t really matter.
Not to Paul or, he figured, to Jane.
They were happy to enjoy one another’s company, resting up in bed with the movie a mere backdrop for the ambience of their love.
Jane lay in her usual position.
Though Paul had strived to sit her upright for the film, it hadn’t been manageable. The parts of Jane that had been separated from her body – her arms, one of her feet – now lay in a small pile at the bottom of the bed. He had no more real use for them, having cemented their relationship with the act of lovemaking two days ago.
He’d deemed to discard the parts, but couldn’t bring himself to do it, and after all, they were hardly a discomfort. The reek that came off the severed limbs was no worse than the stench that wafted from the open wound in her belly. Most of her internal organs were missing, having been discarded during the accident, but those that remained had dissolved into a sort of puss-like sludge that swam amidst the ragged wound like fetid soup.
That was where the real stench came from.
And frankly, Paul had grown used to it, just as one could grow used to a lover’s bad breath if their heart was in the other’s hands.
We all accept these little flaws, he mused.
In fact, it was the hole in her stomach that had made it so hard to sit her upright. The coroner hadn’t done a stellar job with the stitching, and it had come loose during only their second bout of frenetic lovemaking.
All that sloshing liquid would spill out onto the bedsheets and would be near impossible to clean up. He’d went in there with a dishcloth, trying to soak up the worst of the mouldering meat, but it had been impossible. Every day brought with it a new rot, a new unsavoury situation. It was altogether a chore to go in there and clean out the cavity below her ribs in any meaningful fashion.
He had removed her heart, however.
It had been tough, but it had been worth it. He’d managed to sever the arteries and the clinging strands of sinew that held the muscle in place with a straight razor.
Once removed, he’d sought to preserve this most coveted piece of Jane. It remained in his freezer, where he could prolong the corruption that ate away at the rest of her.
Occasionally, he would take it out, holding it like a priceless artefact, and admire its size.
She had a big, beautiful heart, just as she had a big beautiful soul.
So, with his attempts to move the main bulk of Jane’s corpse into a sitting position, he had given up, taking solace in the knowledge that she would be able to hear the movie, at least.
It was a good film for listening. It had that old-school music that seemed to falter and die as the 1950s stuttered into the coming decade and all innocence went down the plughole.
Paul slung another handful of popcorn into his mouth, grinning as the stop-motion flying saucer blasted huge chunks out of Washington with its shoddily rendered plasma ray. It wasn’t Ray Harryhausen’s best work, but it was still pretty damn impressive.
The sound effects were great, too - lots of strange oscillations and laser effects to compliment the screaming civilians and the stern declarations of war from the military and the lead actor.
He was having a ball.
He hoped Jane was, too.
“I wish you could see this,” he bemoaned. “Stop-motion is just fantastic…it’s miles better than the computer-generated crap that they splash all over the screen these days. There’s real artistry to it.”
He took a moment to correct himself. �
��Sorry for the bad language,” he said, sheepishly, looking her in the eyes.
Jane’s eyes were now sunken and corrupted. Deep hollows housing decaying orbs.
Paul supposed she was beyond watching movies now.
At least she could still hear it.
It was the little things that made life worth living.
Or made death worth living, he wasn’t sure how that saying went these days.
Paul pushed another handful of popcorn in his mouth, patting Jane on the shoulder with his other hand as the movie reached its action-packed climax.
By the time the credits were rolling, his hand was already wandering to her one ‘good’ breast, just as it always did.
The once impressive mound of flesh was deflated now, but no less erotic for it. He felt himself grow rigid almost immediately, and smiled.
“We’re like two horny teenagers,” he laughed.
His hand made for her hair, caressing the dark strands of her locks while avoiding the huge hole there. It only reminded him of a time when Jane hurt.
He was eternally grateful that she hurt no more.
As the credits came to an end, Paul reached for the remote, pointed it at the screen, and turned off the television. With the sounds the television gone, there was only the whistling of the wind outside his window.
Smiling and at peace, he climbed on top of Jane. He fumbled with his swollen erection, aiming it for the slick, dark slit between her grey, liquefying thighs.
He was just about to push himself into her death-lubricated vagina when the doorbell rang.
OUTSIDE INFLUENCES
Paul had been surprised to hear the doorbell ring out this late in the day.
He was even more surprised when he opened the door to find his boss, Clive, stood there soaking in the rain, wearing a raincoat and a smile.
It was eight in the evening, and even on a good day, no one would be paying Paul a visit. He was something of a loner, keeping himself to himself in the workplace and rarely venturing out to social gatherings with his colleagues unless he absolutely had to.
He had few friends and fewer family.
Finding Clive on his doorstep was more than disarming, it was downright unnerving.
“You gonna stand there staring all night, or let me the fuck in, Paul? I’m freezing my pebbles off out here.”
Paul regained his composure.
“Sure, sure…of course. Come in,” he stuttered.
“Thanks.”
Paul stepped aside to allow Clive entrance. The big man pushed past him, making an over-exaggerated burring sound with his lips to express his discomfort. He quickly removed his raincoat and, spotting the coat rack, hung it up. Underneath, he wore a shirt and tie. He must have come straight from the office.
Paul wondered what in the hell he was doing there.
He pointed forward down the hall. “The living room’s that way.”
He noticed then that Clive held a plastic bag in his hand. Inside it, he heard the soft tinkering of bottles clanging together as the big man leaned forward and handed it to him.
Paul looked in the bag.
Wine. Two bottles.
Seeing his frown, his boss smiled. “I figured you could use a drink.”
Caught completely off guard, Paul could only nod.
Together, they moved through into the living room.
“Nice place you got here, Paul.”
“Thanks. It’s not much, but it serves my needs.” He didn’t like the sound of his own voice. He sounded guarded. Nervous. It wouldn’t do.
Clive seemed to pick up on it also. “Listen, Paul. I know it’s a little fucking unusual for me to be showing up here like this. Hell…it’s a lot unusual. Thing is, I’ve been calling you all week, mate, and you haven’t answered or returned my calls, but you know that already.”
“I’m sorry about that, Clive. I’ve been stuck in a bit of a rut…”
“No need to explain, mate. I get it. Normally, I’d have cut my losses and fired your ass without a shit given, but I know you’re going through some fucked up stuff right now, and I thought maybe I’d break the habit of a lifetime and try being a nice guy. We’re all worried about you down at the office, buddy. You’re a morose prick, but you’re our morose prick. And besides, you’re at least better company than Trevor. He’s a dickhead, dawn till fucking dusk.”
With a prolonged sigh, the big man lowered himself onto the couch. “So, are you gonna pour us some wine and let’s have us a talk, or am I going to have to fucking beg?”
They were sat on opposite sides of the couch. Paul held his drink in both hands like a chalice, doing his best to look calm.
“You look like shit,” Clive declared.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, mate. You’re in your own home here. You can look any way you like. I’m just concerned that you’re okay. I don’t mind you having this time off after…what happened…but I’d be no kind of good manager if I didn’t worry about your wellbeing. Are you doing okay, Paul?”
Paul watched as Clive took a sip of his wine.
“I’ll be back to work in a few days.”
“That’s not what I asked, son.” Clive scowled, sniffing the air like a dog. “And what the fuck is that smell? I’m sorry to be so rude, but holy Christ, Paul…”
“I need to clean up the kitchen a little. Rotten food. I have some meat that’s gone off.”
“It smells like a zombie took a shit in here!”
Paul frowned at the comparison, trying hard to make sense of what his boss was saying.
“How can a zombie take a...”
“Anyway, like I asked…how are you, son? Besides living like a bum. You don’t sound too good, and you seem nervous.”
“I just wasn’t expecting any visitors.”
“Well, you damn well should be. You need people around you at a time like this, mate. People you can trust. Now, I may not be the greatest guy, but I see people, Paul. I know a guy dying of loneliness when he saunters into my office every fucking day looking like the good lord Jesus kicked him in the dick.
“I’m guessing you’re all on your lonesome during this shit storm, and I wanted to drop by and let you know that people care.”
Paul felt a spike of genuine warmth towards his boss in that moment. He’d never liked the man’s brash manner or his harsh demeanour, but he was beginning to think that perhaps he’d misjudged him.
Clive seemed to read his mind.
“Look, I won’t stay long, and you can keep the rest of the wine. I just wanted you to think about reaching out a little. I know I’m not the best man for the job and that I can be something of a bastard, but I don’t like seeing a young guy hurting like you are. If you need a friendly ear, not work related in any way, then I’m here.”
Paul managed a smile. “Thanks, Clive. I mean that.”
He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Words failed him.
Clive chugged back his overflowing glass of wine, gulping it down like a beer, and sighed his pleasure.
“I can see you want to be alone. I’ll get moving, son. Just keep in mind what I said, okay?”
“I will, Clive, thank you. I’ll be back at work in…”
“Drop that shit! Take your time. Get your head straight.” Clive sniffed the air, his features scrunching up. “And throw out that meat. It smells like a dead dog’s asshole in here.”
“I will. I’ll do it today.”
Clive winked. “Enjoy the wine, son.”
“I will.”
“You’d better. It wasn’t cheap.”
Clive was on his feet and making for the door before Paul could even lower his glass. The big man apparently was as no-nonsense outside the workplace as he was in it.
They made for the hallway, Clive leading the way. He threw on his raincoat and huffed as he swung open the door and the chill wind blasted his face.
“Fuck this weather. Fuck it all to hell.”
“
Yeah, it’s never-ending.”
“Life in Scotland, son. Life in Scotland…”
His boss stepped over the threshold, turned and reached out his hand.
For a moment Paul had no idea what he was doing, then he reached forward with his own and shook it. The man’s grip was like iron.
There was real compassion in his burly boss’s words as he spoke.
“May I ask…your girlfriend…what was her name?”
“Jane…her name was Jane,” he answered immediately.
Clive’s smile was tinged with sadness. “A nice name that…Jane. A strong name…”
“She was a strong woman.”
“I bet she was.” He smiled. “Take care of yourself, son. We’ll talk again soon.”
And with that, Clive spun on his heels and braved the winter winds, his raincoat fluttering around his form like panicked bird’s wings.
EVERYTHING FADES
They never talked anymore.
It wasn’t as though they’d run out of things to discuss.
The world spun on its axis as it always did, with each day bringing new and exciting, or dark and terrifying, stories from across the globe. Life went on, but in the last few days, since Clive had visited, things seemed to have just…
Faded.
Paul was no fool, he understood that Jane didn’t really speak back to him when they conversed. Not often anyway. She’d always been a quiet girl. Never one to shout her opinions from the rooftops…now she was stone cold silent.
It was like she’d been muted.
Paul had tried everything. He’d propped himself up on his pillows, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. He’d turned on the morning news, boosting the volume all the way up just to be sure that her inner ear mechanisms, however rotted, would pick up the sound. He’d begged her to discuss their past and their future while he held one of her severed hands in his own, as tender as he would were he proposing marriage. He’d reached out to her in every way an attentive lover could, and still nothing.
Love Lies Dead Page 3
