Dark Chocolate Demise

by Jenn McKinlay

  She coughed and his eyes popped open at the sound. He stifled a yawn. He stretched as he climbed out of the wooden box, and Mel noted that he gave it a loving pat. He closed the lid and when Mel frowned, he gave her his most innocent look.

  “What?” he asked. “We can’t have people climbing in there unsupervised. They could get trapped and suffocate.”

  “Uh-huh,” Mel said. He didn’t fool her, not one little bit.

  Marty made a shooing motion with his hands, and Mel turned and left the van, dragging Angie and Tate with her. She marched on, dragging the bride and groom with the relentlessness of a mama determined to see her baby girl married off. Mel was certain that some good music was just what Angie and Tate needed to take their mind off their wedding dilemma.

  Mel squinted at the stage across the park. She had only met Chad Bowman once, when Fairy Tale Cupcakes had signed on to be a vendor at the zombie festival. Her impression of Chad was that of a twenty-something hipster as evidenced by his skinny jeans, white Converse high-tops, paisley shirts, and well-worn tweed trilby. Marty had observed that Chad looked as if a thrift store had vomited on him. Hard to argue.

  As he stood on the stage getting ready to announce the band, Mel noted that even Chad’s zombie persona was a hipster, with a trendy blue scarf wrapped around his neck and smart-looking black-framed glasses accentuating the gash in the side of his head.

  Mel parked the three of them under a tree as close to the stage as they could get without being on it. She was hoping the entertainment was something upbeat and fun, maybe an eighties cover band that would get Angie and Tate feeling nostalgic about all of their eighties movie nights.

  As they watched, Chad strode out to center stage and took the mic out of its holder. His grunt of welcome was magnified across the park and the horde of zombies grunted back.

  “Welcome to the first annual Old Town Zombie Walk,” he said. “We have a last-minute surprise for you. One of Scottsdale’s own is in town to do a promotional photo shoot for their latest album, and they agreed to play here today because they’re just that cool.”

  A rumble of excitement whipped through the crowd. Mel wondered who it was. She really hoped it was someone good and not some lame one-hit wonder has-been.

  “Oh, no,” Angie murmured on Mel’s right. She clutched Mel’s arm in a grip that pinched. “We have to get out of here—now!”

  “Why?” Mel asked. “What’s the matter?”

  Angie was scooping up her wedding dress skirts and looking to find a way out, but the crowd of zombies behind them was pressing forward, trapping them at the front of the stage.

  “So without further ado, put your undead hands together for . . . the Sewers!” Chad yelled into the mic, and the crowd went nuts.

  Mel felt Tate stiffen beside her as the first one to run out onto the stage was Angie’s old boyfriend Roach. At six foot three, his tall, lanky frame commanded the stage. Per usual, he was shirtless, showing off his many tattoos as he jumped behind his enormous drum kit and began to snap out a rhythm as the rest of the band followed him out onto the stage.

  “Did you know he was going to be here?” Tate asked Mel.

  “No!” Mel shook her head. “I’m just as surprised as you.”

  Angie was trying to fight her way out of the crowd, but they weren’t budging. If anything they were pushing the three of them closer. She dropped her skirts and wailed, “It’s no use. We’re trapped!”

  Just then the band kicked in, playing one of the singles that had hit the top of the charts a few years ago. Despite herself, Mel felt herself getting swept up into the music. She had been a fan of the Sewers before Angie started dating Roach, and secretly she still was.

  “What are you doing?” Tate hissed in her ear.

  “Huh?” Mel asked.

  “Stop singing,” he hissed.

  “I can’t help it,” Mel said. “It’s catchy.”

  “So is the flu,” he grumbled.

  Mel glanced at him and Angie. They looked to be the picture of misery. Seeing Roach while they were in the middle of their skirmish was obviously not helping the already tense situation.

  She grabbed Tate by the arm and pulled him into her spot while she maneuvered around him. It was best if the two of them faced Angie’s past as a united front. At least, she hoped they’d manage that.

  Mel bobbed on her feet in the tiny square foot of space that the press of bodies allotted her to dance in, and watched her friends out of the corner of her eye. Tate was leaning down and whispering in Angie’s ear. She looked irritated, and then she looked up at him with her big brown, sunken eyes, and a smile parted her black lips.

  Angie grabbed Tate’s hand in hers and began to dance to the band. Mel wondered what he’d said to her. She wondered if he’d given in and told Angie that she could have Mel for her maid of honor. Mel was okay with that. She was okay with whatever they chose, although she did dig the idea of wearing a tux and being Tate’s best wo-man, but that was just the lure of men’s fashion. The truth was, Mel was just as divided as Angie and Tate about which of them she should stand up for. Who’d a thunk?

  The band blasted through three more raucous songs before they turned it down to play a ballad. Mel got a nervous flutter in her stomach when she realized this one was to be sung by Roach. Oh, no, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

  “This is a song I wrote about a girl who stole my heart and then smashed it,” Roach said into the mic. “It’s called ‘Angie.’”

  He did!

  Mel felt the acid in her stomach bubble and gurgle. Where was her Uncle Stan and his ever-handy roll of antacid tablets when she needed him?

  Roach paused and scanned the crowd as if he knew Angie was out there. His light blue eyes turned their way, and Mel’s breath stalled out in her lungs when Roach spotted Angie in her zombie wedding dress! Oh, this was not going to end well.

  The guitarist must have been thinking the same thing, because he stepped forward when Roach jumped up from his seat behind the drums, and put his hand out, gesturing for Roach to stop. Roach looked like he wanted to argue but the bass player joined them.

  Roach shot Angie a desperate look, which she missed since she was staring at her shoes, but Tate didn’t. He threw an arm around Angie’s shoulders and hugged her close. Roach narrowed his eyes and Mel was afraid he was going to launch himself off the stage and crowd surf over to them if he had to.

  Thankfully, the band manager Jimbo had the presence of mind to grab Roach by the back of his sparkly belt and haul him back into his seat. He seemed visibly shaken, but, ever the performer, Roach shook his head of long black hair and kicked into his ballad about Angie.

  Mel had heard the song a million times; sort of hard to avoid a chart topper. As Angie said, she felt like the song was bird-dogging her in the grocery store, the gas station, the mall, truly, it had been a megahit. But in all those times, Mel had never heard Roach’s voice sound so plaintive. He sang the song right to Angie, and Mel almost felt like an intruder on their moment.

  Tate must have felt the same way, because with a heavy sigh he took his possessive arm off of Angie and stepped behind her, letting Roach sing just to her.

  “That’s awfully nice of you.” Mel stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear.

  “How can I not feel bad for the poor bastard?” Tate whispered back. “He lost her.”

  Mel gave Tate a half hug. This was one of the many reasons why she loved him so much. He was good all the way down to his core. He was going to make a wonderful husband for Angie.

  After glancing at Tate and getting a small nod of approval in return, Angie lifted her face and watched Roach play with a small, bittersweet smile on her lips. Mel assumed that now that Angie was engaged to Tate, perhaps she could forgive Roach for writing a song about their relationship, which had turned into the monster breakup song of the past year. Perhaps.
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  When the song ended, the crowd went nuts and the band broke into a thrasher of a tune that had all of the zombies dancing on their feet. Mel glanced behind them to see if she could work her way out of the crowd. She didn’t like the idea of leaving Marty and Oz on their own in the van for this long.

  She began to wind her way out, glancing back to let Tate and Angie know she was going. To her surprise, or maybe not, they were following her. When they cleared the crowd, she studied Angie’s face, trying to determine her state of mind. The heavy gray makeup made it impossible.

  “You all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” Angie said. She sounded unsure and must have known it as she added, “I think that was surprisingly good closure.”

  Tate looked at her. His gaze was direct as if it killed him to ask, but he had to anyway, so he said, “No regrets?”

  Angie stopped walking and looked at him. Her brown eyes glowed with warmth when she smiled up at him.

  “Not a one,” she said and jumped into his arms.

  Tate laughed. He didn’t hesitate but snatched her close and planted a kiss on her that made Mel blush.

  “Well, then, I’ll just . . . yeah.” Mel turned and strode back through the crowd, unable to stop the smile that creased her lips. There was something magical about Tate and Angie’s relationship, and she couldn’t help but be happy for them.

  Back at the cupcake van, she saw the undead were circled around the vehicle. She climbed up into the back, taking Oz’s place at the window.

  “Go out and open up the casket; it’ll give them all something to do while they wait,” she said. Oz nodded.

  “I’ll go,” Marty volunteered.

  “No,” Mel said. “Oz needs out of the van for a bit.” Marty made a sour face and Mel added, “Relax. Tate and Angie should be back shortly to spell you both.”

  Two boys in green coveralls with a nuclear emblem on the front were next up at the window.

  “What can I get you?” Mel asked.

  “Have you witnessed any paranormal activity, ma’am?” the taller of the two asked.

  “Excuse me?” Mel said.

  “We’re the Bonehead Investigators,” the boy said. He looked at Mel as if this should mean something to her.

  “We’re ghost hunters,” the smaller one said as if Mel were too stupid to live. “I’m Atom and this is Leo. Our specter meter clearly indicates that you have a paranormal presence here. Please confirm.”

  He gave her a severe look and Mel blinked. He was holding a small gadget that looked like an iPhone, and it was flashing with blue lights and making a whistling noise.

  “What’s the holdup?” Marty groused from behind Mel. “Order some cupcakes, kids, or move along.”

  The meter in the boy’s hand went berserk, the flashing intensified, and its whistle became a screech that had both Mel and Marty covering their ears.

  “Shut it off!” Mel cried as she saw the costumed people behind the boys cover their ears and back away.

  The two boys looked from the meter to Marty and then at each other. In unison, they cried, “It’s him!”

  Six

  Leo dropped to the ground and began fishing through his backpack. For what, Mel could not imagine and she really didn’t want to find out.

  “Time for you to take a break, Marty,” she said and she shoved him towards the back door.

  Atom, the smaller boy, had grabbed the window ledge and was trying to hoist himself into the van.

  “Oh, no you don’t, short stack!” Mel said.

  She hustled Marty out the back and then grabbed two of her brain cupcakes. She gently nudged the boy off of her window and held out the cupcakes.

  “Here you go,” she said. “These are on me. Probably, you shouldn’t be chasing people with your . . . uh . . .”

  “Specter meter,” Leo said.

  He and the smaller one exchanged a look, and Mel realized, judging by their matching nose and chin, that they were brothers. They ignored her proffered cupcakes and Leo jerked his head in the direction of the back of the van. Atom nodded. They took off running in opposite directions.

  The next person in line stepped up and Mel went to take their order, when she heard a yelp. She glanced up and saw Marty hotfooting it through the crowd with the two boys on his tail. If she was a betting woman, she’d lay odds that Marty was beating feet over to Olivia’s booth.

  Mel had no doubt that Olivia would scare the two hooligans away from her man. She just hoped Olivia didn’t do any permanent psychological damage to the boys.

  “What’s the haps?” Tate asked as he climbed back into the van.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Mel said. Luckily, the crowd surged forward and Mel was spared from trying to explain about Marty and the sawed-off Bonehead Investigators and their specter meter.

  She figured they’d see Marty again as soon as he lost his newly acquired shadows, er, shadow hunters? She was unclear on the proper nomenclature for ghost hunters or whatever it was those two boys thought they were.

  “So, are you and Angie okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, we’re good,” he said. “Seeing Roach like that, well, it made me realize how lucky I am. Anything Angie wants for our wedding she gets, so it looks like you’re going to be hers.”

  Mel smiled. “Works for me, but you know I would have been happy to stand up for you, too.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said.

  They grinned at each other.

  “Where is Angie?” she asked.

  “Bathroom,” he said.

  Mel nodded. She turned back to the next customer, and she and Tate double-teamed the window, getting the cupcakes out as fast as the zombies could order them.

  When there was finally a lull, Tate nudged her towards the back door. “Take a break,” he said. “I can handle the horde.”

  “Thanks,” Mel said. She didn’t admit it to Tate, but she was eager to find Angie and hear her side of the Roach encounter. It had to be a little weird to have your ex sing a song about you to a crowd of, well, monsters.

  Mel circled the van and found Oz taking pictures of people as they climbed into the casket. Some went for the grisly fresh-from-the-grave look while others pretended to be dead, and the last two girls had fits of the giggles and could barely stay in the coffin long enough to have their picture snapped.

  “Where’s Angie?” she asked.

  Oz handed the cell phone back to the girls, who were still giggling. One of them cast Oz a look of longing, which Mel noted he was oblivious to, no doubt because he was utterly smitten with his girlfriend Lupe.

  Oz glanced around the area, looking for Angie as if he’d misplaced her. Then he frowned.

  “I haven’t seen her,” he said.

  Mel assumed Angie must still be in the restroom. She didn’t envy her the problem of trying to maneuver into a public stall in her big poufy dress. Then again the bakery was only a five-minute walk at best; maybe she’d gone there.

  “Why don’t you take a break?” Mel asked. “I can manage the coffin for a spell.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “Some of these people are sort of scary.”

  “Nothing can be scarier than a real dead body,” Mel said. “Sadly, I’ve had enough experience with those to tell the difference. This is nothing.”

  Oz nodded and said, “Point made. I’ll be back in five.”

  “Take your time,” Mel called after him as he stepped into the crowd.

  Oz hadn’t been gone more than a few seconds when Mel heard a shout coming from the direction he’d taken. She stood up on her tiptoes and tried to see over the crowd. A man, a very large man, with a scraggly beard that ended in a braid in the middle of his chest had grabbed Oz by the shirtfront and was shaking him. This was no small feat given that Oz was a big boy, having sever
al inches and many pounds over Mel.

  “Tate!” Mel stuck her head in the open window of the truck. “Tate, come quick! Oz is in trouble.”

  Tate shoved a cupcake at the ghoul in front of him and hunkered down to look out the window. Immediately, he slammed the window shut and jumped out of the back of the van.

  “Lock it up!” he yelled at Mel as he threw himself into the melee.

  Mel grabbed her keys and hurriedly closed the windows on the van before locking it up. Then she stuffed her keys in her pocket and raced after Tate.

  “I saw you touch her, man,” the thug growled into Oz’s face while still holding him by the shirtfront.

  “Hey, now,” Tate said as he moved in between them. “I’m sure it was just an accident. Right, Oz?”

  Oz was glaring at the man who held him. “Like I already said, I got shoved into your girl. I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”

  “Your blood,” the man sneered. Then he pulled out a very large switchblade and snapped it open.

  “Whoa!” Tate shouted. “Are you nuts? Put that away before someone gets hurt.”

  Mel cringed. That was the voice of the old buttoned-down power-suit-wearing Tate. While that voice might make administrative assistants scurry and junior execs cower, it wasn’t going to do jack on a guy who looked like he snacked on bats and spiders for milk and cookie time.

  “Not helping, Tate,” Oz choked out as the man’s fist wound tighter into the fabric of his chef’s coat.

  Mel stomped forward. Enough was enough.

  “Put him down. Now,” she said. The man looked down at her as if she were no more than a mosquito buzzing in his ear.

  She could sense a crowd was forming around them, and she had a flash of annoyance that no one else was stepping up to help them out.

  “Is this your girl?” the man asked Oz. “Maybe I should grab her tits and we can call it even.”

  “Oh, hell no!” Tate and Oz cried together. Then Tate looked at Oz and said, “Do it!”

  Oz raised a knee and nailed the man in the junk with it. Mel heard every man in the crowd wince in sympathy. The ogre dropped Oz and with a primal roar, Tate lowered his head and charged the man. The two of them went down with a thump against the pavement.