Herbert dialed and pressed send.
But as the phone rang, Herbert tensed up.
Something isn’t right.
“Hello?” came the voice at the other end.
James spoke first: “Is this Mr. Rovas?”
“That it is,” the man said at the other end of the line. There were a few seconds of silence before the man on the line continued. “James Krompholz, what an unexpected surprise.”
President Rosewater
“Alright, you can go now,” Rosewater said once he saw that Mr. Rovas didn’t have a gun. “Go help outside with crowd control.”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that, sir,” Hernandez said.
The President ran his fingers through his perfectly coiffed hair. “Why not?”
Hernandez’s face sported a frown that made his chin jut out. “We just can’t, sir.”
“You’ll do as I say. This man is a personal friend of mine and we have to discuss personal matters. So leave. That’s an order.”
“But, sir, if you don’t mind me asking, who is this man?” Adams took a step forward and gave Rovas a long once-over, his hand resting on his service weapon.
“A friend,” Mr. Rovas said, and for some reason, the way he said “friend” bothered Rosewater. “You don’t have to leave the house, but you can’t stay in this room. The President and I have to discuss something in private. If you want to stay, you’re welcome to, but go upstairs.”
The secret servicemen looked at each other and nodded.
“I’m going to have to check you for weapons,” Hernandez finally said. “Adams, check the other rooms.”
Adams nodded.
“Check all you like,” Mr. Rovas said as he raised his arms. “But check fast because we’re pressed for time.”
Hernandez patted Mr. Rovas’ body up and down while the other secret serviceman looked about the rooms. When Adams finished, he poked his face in and shook his head.
“Nothing dangerous,” he said.
Hernandez’s entire face crunched up like a flower just about to blossom. “Okay,” he said. “Stay in this room where we can watch you. We’ll wait outside. But if this man makes a single move, we’re coming in and pulling you out.” He looked at Mr. Rovas. “We’re prepared to use lethal force.”
“Of course,” Mr. Rovas said. “I just need to talk to him for a little while. It will be quick.”
The two secret servicemen looked over their shoulders as they left. They took up their normal shoulder-to-shoulder wall stance on the front stoop, leaving the front door ajar.
When they were gone, Rosewater grabbed Mr. Rovas by the lapel and brought him closer. “What are we going to do? Alan killed—”
“Wait, what?” Mr. Rovas wiped the President’s hands off him. “What did you do?”
“I know you didn’t think I was going to go see Andrew—”
“Alan. His name is Alan, dammit,” he sighed. “Take it from the top. What happened? You saw Alan?”
The President told him the story. When it was all over, Mr. Rovas dragged his hand down his face.
“You stupid, stupid man,” he said.
“You have to do something about—”
Just then, the phone in Mr. Rovas’ pocket rang. He took it out, looked at the number, and put his finger to his lips. He clicked on it.
“Hello,” Mr. Rovas said into the phone. He put it on speaker. There was a layer of silence on the other end.
“Is this Mr. Rovas?” The voice sounded familiar to the President.
“That it is,” Mr. Rovas said, leaving a pregnant pause before he said, “James Krompholz, what an unexpected surprise.”
Who? The President wondered.
“Good,” came another voice from the phone. “Because I have some demands and you’re going to do exactly as I say.”
“Oh? And where’d you get that idea from?” Mr. Rovas asked.
“From the fact that we have two of your agents hostage.”
Rosewater’s nose wrinkled. “Hostage” was a funny way of saying “dead”.
“Tell me something I could give a crap about,” Mr. Rovas said.
“Well, how about this?” James said. “Your boy, Alan, can control multiple corpses at a time now.”
Rosewater shivered. Visions of the hand going through agent Heinzelman’s back rocked him again.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Mr. Rovas asked.
“Because,” another voice said, and this one Rosewater knew. It was Herbert’s. “I saw it for myself, and we can prove it.”
Mr. Rovas shook his head and gave Rosewater a searching glare. The President looked away, ashamed. “Well, let’s just say Alan can control multiple corpses now. Where does that leave us?”
“Back to demands,” James said.
“What kind of demands?”
“I want my family back for one. No questions asked. And when this whole Armand Raad situation is over, I’m done being a secret agent. D.O.N.E. Done. I don’t want anything more to do with it any longer.”
Mr. Rovas closed his eyes as if in deep meditation. When he opened them again, they were decisive and clear.
“Fine. Done. If Alan can truly control more than one corpse at a time, and he can do it competently, not all herky-jerky like he does with Mort, then you can have your family back. I’ll even deliver them to you personally.”
There was whispering on the other end and then Herbert’s voice returned.
“It’s me, Herbert.”
“Yes, yes. And what do you want?”
“No more robots,” Herbert said.
“They’re not—” Mr. Rovas began before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, no more robots. Anything else?”
“I want my son to have good health benefits,” a woman’s voice said on the other line.
“Nice to hear you voice again, Lorraine. Fine. That’s easy enough.” Mr. Rovas said. “Done.”
“One more thing,” Herbert said. “After this mission is over, my boy wants to start an undead wrestling federation.”
“Come again?” Rosewater asked.
Mr. Rovas gave a single, sharp laugh.
“No,” Mr. Rovas said. “That one I can’t grant you, but nice try. I’ve seen you banging Mort up. That I can’t allow. You of all people know that.”
A new voice came on, and it was one Rosewater didn’t want to hear again for the rest of his life.
“If you don’t let me start an undead wrestling league after this is all said and done then I’m not helping you,” Alan said.
“Look, I’d rather settle this matter face to face,” Mr. Rovas said. “I have to see these newfound abilities in person after all.”
“Where and when?” James asked.
“At home base, of course,” Mr. Rovas said. “In an hour.”
“Fine. At the base in an hour.” The line clicked and went dead.
Rovas put the phone back in his pocket and looked to Rosewater.
“What now?” Rosewater asked.
“You go back to Washington and wait,” Mr. Rovas said. “I’ll handle everything from here on out. Don’t worry.”
“And what about Israel? What do I tell—”
“Don’t worry about Mr. Lampel. I’ll deal with him.”
“You’ll…” the President squinted.
“There’s a lot that you don’t know and for good reason. Just be prepared for anything in the next few hours, and go with the flow. Trust me.”
He offered out his hand and they shook. For some reason, President Rosewater got the feeling he was shaking hands with the devil.
Alan
I never thought I’d actually miss this, Alan thought as his father headed into the forest behind Mandolin Arsenal. He sat in the passenger seat, his father at the wheel with Mort between them. The clock on the dash read 7:15PM. Back when the Chandlers still lived underground, they came up to the surface every weekend. Mr. Rovas said it was so Alan could get exposure to real life outsid
e of what he watched on TV, which was mostly just wrestling and cartoons. Alan glanced over his shoulder and out the back window. His mom’s car followed close behind. She turned off her headlights and the outline of her car faded into darkness.
When he was younger, the drive into the woods surrounding the Arsenal had really spooked him. Whenever they left the main road and headed into the trees, Alan would close his eyes, only opening them again when the car stopped moving. He fully expected his old fears to return, but after seeing a man get his heart ripped out (and actually being the force behind it), the dirt road that led to woods no longer held the same fearful hold over him. All the same, Mort wrapped his arm about him. It was comforting.
The truck rocked back and forth on the uneven ground, but it stopped after only a few minutes. His father hopped out.
“Do you want to wait here?” he asked. His breath was visible in the January air.
“No,” Alan said, and Mort followed him out the passenger side door.
His mother parked close behind. James was the first one out and he slammed the door.
Herbert whisper-talked: “We’re only a half mile away from the base, dummy. What are you trying to do? Get us caught?”
James didn’t lower his volume. “He should be here by now. Where the hell is he?”
Just then, as if responding to his question, a set of car headlights blinked on and off from the other side of the dirt road. The faint shape of a late-model sedan inched toward them. The dark shadow rocked back and forth as it moved over the bumpy road and the engine purred like a cat. When it finally stopped, Mr. Rovas stepped out and closed his door gently. Herbert lit his hand and turned the pitch black area before them a soft green.
“I’ve been waiting out here for over 40 minutes,” Mr. Rovas whispered. “What took you so long?”
Disposing bodies takes awhile, Alan thought, especially with magic, apparently.
The smell of Agents Covington and Heinzelman in his father’s silent fire was clean like Irish Spring Soap, but it took a while for their entire bodies to evaporate. The other two agents turned their heads as their comrades burned in the basement, but it really wasn’t all that horrific. The magic didn’t spread and engulf them like regular, unpredictable fire. Instead, it stayed contained around their bodies and melted them in stages. All in all, it took about a half an hour to dispose of both of them.
“Well, we’re here now,” Herbert said to Mr. Rovas. “Let’s go down.”
Herbert knelt by a small rock that jutted out the ground like a right triangle. He flicked it seven times with his middle finger, paused, and then flicked it five more times.
Herbert crawled back and the ground slid open, revealing a long, rectangle of dull, white light. Stairs led below ground, and Herbert went down first, followed by James.
Alan sent Mort ahead of him. Before he descended all the stairs, he looked up at his mother.
“Aren’t you coming down?” he asked.
“In a second,” she said with her arms akimbo. “I’m just making sure Mr. Rovas doesn’t pull any funny business.”
Alan rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said. Like Mr. Rovas could actually do anything to them.
Once he reached the bottom, his mom and Mr. Rovas followed. They walked down a long corridor to a door with a glass panel beside it. Herbert put his hand to the panel. A bright white light steam scanned his palm. The door slid open, and the overpowering scent of lemon cut through the corridor. Alan heard his mom gag.
“Uch. I didn’t miss that,” she said.
The opening to the surface at the top of the stairs closed. A loud clank sounded as it locked into place.
Herbert stepped through the door and it shut behind him.
James was next in line and put his hand to the panel. The same light scanned his palm and the door opened. Before he stepped through the doorway he glanced back over his shoulder and half-smiled at Alan.
Alan watched his former friend until the door shut behind him, then shook his head. Was James ever really his friend, or had he just been using him the whole time? He didn’t want to know.
Alan touched the scanner next. It was cool under his fingers. He watched the sensor as it trailed up and down his palm. He and Mort stepped through. Within a few minutes his mother and Mr. Rovas were inside with the rest of them.
The tables were the first thing Alan saw. He loathed the bad memories they brought back. His mother squeezed her nose.
“Oh, God, it’s even worse than I remember,” she said.
There were five visible corpses on the tables, and all of them had their brains exposed.
Alan looked from the corpses to Mr. Rovas.
“Okay, so how do you want me to do this?” He asked. “Do you want me to lift two at a time? Which ones?”
Mr. Rovas smiled and walked toward Alan, who backed up. There was something off about Mr. Rovas. He seemed…hot.
“Hey! What’s going on?”Alan asked.
“Mr. Rovas,” his father said.
His mother ran in front of Mr. Rovas, but in one sudden motion, his hand flew out. A loud slap echoed in the open space as he backhanded her.
She spun to the floor.
“What the hell!” Herbert shouted, running to the rescue, but Mr. Rovas was too fast. He lunged in and grabbed Alan by the shoulders. His mouth shot open, and a fine red mist sprayed out from between his lips into Alan’s face.
Alan screamed. He felt the mist rush into his mouth, causing him to heave and cough spasmodically. The moment he closed his mouth, an electrical current surged from his head to his toes, and then back to his head again. His limbs stiffened and his brain froze, and the last thing he saw was Mr. Rovas’ collapsing. Smoke wafted out of the man’s clothes as he fell sideways. Alan heard a slow scream in the distance. Everything felt like it moved a tenth of its speed.
Alan blinked three times, and on the third blink, his eyes stayed open. When he tried to move his arms, they wouldn’t budge. Alan understood the sick new truth of the matter.
His body had been invaded. He was now a prisoner inside his own skin.
Lorraine
Lorraine rubbed her jaw and watched from the hard cement floor as Herbert leapt over Mr. Rovas’ body to get to their son, but Alan shot a green blast at him. Herbert blocked it and slid back, but almost tripped over Mr. Rovas downed body.
“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Alan said, holding out his arms and looking at them as if he were trying on new clothes.
Lorraine searched her son’s face but saw no trace of her sweet, awkward boy. She screamed.
“Shut up,” her Alan said. He waved a circle over his mouth with his finger, and then pointed at her. Lorraine’s face began to burn. She opened her mouth to scream but the skin of her lips knitted together. She clawed at her mouth, but touching her own skin made her cry in pain. The sharpest of the pain lasted only a few seconds, but when it finally dissipated, a smooth layer of unbroken skin covered the lower half of her face.
“Mmmmmm MMmmm Mmmmmnnn,” she said, tearing at her cheeks.
Herbert rushed to her aid, but just as quickly, Alan stuck out his hand and Herbert’s arms and legs clamped together as if he was wrapped up in invisible rope. Alan raised his hand and Herbert levitated until he was about a foot off the ground.
“Now now, don’t try anything stupid,” Alan said. “I don’t want to have to kill you if I don’t have to. I may still need you.”
“Whatever you are, get out of my son!” Herbert spat.
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. It all depends on your cooperation. We have a lot to get done,” Alan said. Lorraine’s stomach lurched in her throat. What did Mr. Rovas do to her son?
James darted across the room and dove under one of the steel tables.
Alan smiled. “There’s no need to be worried, James,” Alan said, spreading out his arms. The tables parted like the Red Sea, leaving James exposed. “I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I have a proposition for you.�
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“Who…who are you?” James asked.
In that instant, Lorraine knew the truth. She covered her ears in hopes that failing to hear it would mean it wasn’t true. Her ex-husband had always been elliptic about where he obtained his powers.
“I’m just different,” he used to say. “I was born like this.”
But it never jived with her, and if she had known when they had first started dating that he could necromance, she never would have gotten involved with him in the first place. She squeezed her eyes shut as if that would help block out the sound, but she still heard the shell of her son say, “James, it’s me, Alan.”
“Don’t listen to him, James! That’s not him!” Herbert said, and Lorraine wanted to smack him clear across the face. Of course it wasn’t their son. This…thing was practically strutting. But Herbert didn’t have to say it wasn’t him. He didn’t have to make the thing inside their son angry.
“Mmmmm, MMMmmn mmnnnn,” she said to him with wide, frantic eyes.
“Listen to your wife, Herbert,” Alan said, and Lorraine’s heart froze. “You might just learn something for once.”
Your wife?
Alan turned back to James. “Okay, so this is how it’s going to work. We’re going to go overseas and kill Armand Raad.”
“What?” Herbert asked.
“But…how?” James asked, trying to back up even further, but wound up backing up into another table.
“How what?” Alan asked. “How are we going to get to Armand Raad?”
James remained quiet.
“There’s actually a plane hidden down here,” Alan said. “I saw it in Mr. Rovas head.”
Lorraine saw both James and Herbert stare at her son with trepidation.
“Who in the hell are you,” James asked, shaking his head. “You are not Alan.”
Alan threw his head back and laughed.
Lorraine shivered as goosebumps rose on her breasts and arms at the sound of the sharp, punctuated barks of laughter that come from her son’s mouth. The awful sound faded and she watched him as he wiped the tears from his eyes with his wrist.
A Boy and His Corpse Page 9
