“That’s your different dietary requirements? You eat brains?”
“It’s a delicacy,” she said. “The amount of protein...” She stopped. Her shoulders slumped. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
He took her hand. Her pale fingers lay limp in his palm.
“I want to understand,” he said. “Please, trust me, Sharon. Whatever it is we can deal with it together?”
Her tear-streaked face lifted to his. She blinked and bit her lower lip. A shuddering breath shook her shoulders and jiggled her perfect breasts under her silk pink shirt.
“I’m a... a zombie,” she said.
He cocked his head. “What?”
She took another breath and pushed it out. “I’m a zombie.”
He knew she was talking, he heard the words coming out of her mouth and even knew what they were but it didn’t make sense. A zombie?
“How can you be a zombie?” he said.
She pulled her hand away and sagged against the fridge. “I got infected seven years ago. None of the doctors knew what was wrong. I tried everything but I kept getting sicker. I couldn’t eat any food. My skin got so loose I thought it was going to fall off. I finally found an old witch doctor who told me what had happened. He gave me a charm to stay off the worst symptoms but I need to eat brains to survive.”
“Um,” Mitch said. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
She nodded and gestured at the old style ‘50s kitchen table. He moved to one of the vinyl chairs and sat down. The padded cushion compressed under him. Sharon pulled two bottles of beer from the fridge and set them on the green table top before sitting herself. She opened both bottles and pushed one in front of him. Mitch stared at it. It had been sitting in the same fridge as shelves of calf brains. He couldn’t touch it.
Sharon fiddled with her bottle but didn’t lift it to drink. “You’re upset.”
“I... I don’t know what I am,” he said. “I’ve never heard such a thing before.” He finally looked over at her pale face. “How can you be sure you’re a zombie?”
“I’ve had... tests,” she said. “They confirm what I’m saying.”
“What kind of tests?”
She took a large gulp of beer. “I don’t have a metabolism like you think of it. My heart doesn’t beat the way yours does. One specialist said I wasn’t technically alive.” She took another gulp.
“But I’ve heard you breathing,” he said.
“Just habit,” she said. “I don’t think I actually inhale any air, or if I do, it isn’t absorbed.”
“Then how can you talk, how can you move?” He waved his hands at her then let them drop to the tabletop.
“I don’t know,” she said. “All I know is that I can stay at this level as long as I have the charm and eat at regular intervals.”
“But you’ve spent the weekend at my place,” he said.
“I brought shakes with me. Remember the thermos? I told you it was a protein shake. Well, it is. Sort of.”
Queasiness rose up from Mitch’s stomach. He tasted bile at the back of his throat. He grabbed the beer bottle in front of him and took a large swallow. The cool, familiar taste slid down his esophagus and soothed his stomach. His thudding heart slowed a little but he still felt it banging against the inside of his chest. He’d held this woman, lay with her, made love to her and all the while she was a zombie. Dizziness made him close his eyes. He took a deep breath and waited for it to pass. When he opened his eyes, she sat watching him, biting her lower lips. Tears shimmered in her eyes.
A zombie.
Sharon.
Sharon was a zombie.
That’s why she’s always cold, he thought. That was why she had that earthy smell. Why a gorgeous girl like her didn’t have men swarming all over her, somehow they knew, they sensed it. What was wrong with him that he didn’t?
“I think I’d better go.” He got fast from the table. The chair tipped behind him then rocked back onto its legs. It scrapped the floor as he pushed away from it. His feet skidded on the tile, stumbled and righted themselves as he headed for the door.
Sharon hurried after him. She caught up in the front hall. Her hand reached for his arm but she stopped just as inch before she touched him.
“Mitch, I...”
“I’m... I’ll...” He yanked the door open and ran out. The last he saw of her was her hand coming up to her face before she closed the door.
All the way home his thoughts whirled in his head. How could he not have known? How could he have gotten involved with her? How could any of this be real? Was it some kind of sick joke, a way for her to get rid of him without saying it? But she hadn’t wanted to tell him. He’d forced her. And as much as he tried to tell himself it was ground beef in the fridge, it wasn’t.
It was brains.
He knew it.
He barely slept that night. The sheets still had her scent on them, reminding him of the way her cool arms wrapped around him and pulled him against her cold body. The memory of her sighs drove him out of the bed and into the living room. He huddled on the couch, flipping through late night television. How many times had she curled up next to him here as well? Damn, she was everywhere in his apartment. He couldn’t escape her.
And he couldn’t deny that he missed her.
He grumbled his way through work all the next week, avoiding Brian, avoiding everyone. Lunches he sat in his cubicle and worked. Several times he stayed late into the evening, not wanting to face his empty apartment, face the memories of Sharon that floated into his mind whenever he stopped to let himself think.
Late Friday afternoon, Mr. Granger knocked on the edge of his cubicle door. “Mitch, can I see you in my office?”
“Uh, sure sir.”
Mitch followed the shorter man into his office and waited while Granger shut the door. He skirted around Mitch and settled into his black leather chair behind his desk. He folded his thick fingers on the burgundy desk blotter and leaned forward.
“Have a seat, Mitch.”
Mitch sat in one of the metal framed chairs. The back was so hard and upright it was impossible to be comfortable. Just one of Granger’s little intimidation tactics. He got the leather chair. The peons got the uncomfortable chairs from hell.
“You’ve been pulling some long hours this week, Mitch. Not socializing much with the other workers. It’s been noticed.”
“Well, sir...”
“I’m glad to see that kind of work ethic,” Granger went on. “There’s too much dallying going on in this department. Your example is appreciated.”
“Thanks,” Mitch said.
“You keep this up and there could be a promotion in it. At the end of the month is the annual management boat cruise. I want you to be there. Bring someone.” Granger pushed a white envelope across the blotter.
“Right sir.” Mitch picked up the envelope.
“Now back to work.” Granger nodded at him and turned away.
Dismissed, Mitch thought.
He carried the envelope back to his desk before opening it. Two tickets to the management boat cruise, including free dinner and drinks. It was exactly the sort of thing he’d wanted to take Sharon to. Before.
“Hey, I hear you got the big invite.” Brian’s voice sounded from the entrance to Mitch’s cubicle. Mitch spun in his chair. Brian waved a white envelope at him.
“Me too! I can’t wait to tell Melissa. She’ll probably want to buy a new dress. Any excuse, you know.” He chuckled. “And I’ll finally get the chance to meet Sharon.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“What do you mean?” Brian moved into the cubicle. His voice dropped. “You and Sharon okay?”
“No. I.... no.”
“What happened?”
“I...” Mitch shook his head. He couldn’t say it.
“She cheat or something?”
“No.”
“You cheat?”
“No!” Mitch twisted away in his chair, facing his computer.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It helps to talk about it,” Brian said. “Or drink about it. We could go drink about it.”
“Go away, Brian.”
“Geez, you’re in bad shape. You weren’t this bad after Gloria. Come on, let’s get out of here and you can cry in your beer.”
Mitch felt his friend’s hand on his shoulder and it scalded him. He pushed the hand away.
“Go away!”
“Mitch, man, don’t be like that...”
“She’s a zombie.” Mitch managed to keep his voice down although his heart started pounding.
“Hey, you catch me before my vat of coffee in the mornings, I’m a zombie too,” Brian said.
“No, she’s a real zombie. Cold, smells like earth and has calf brains in her fridge. She’s a zombie!”
Brian frowned. “Look. You don’t want to talk about it. Fine. Sit in your cubicle and fume if you want but don’t give me some bullshit story.”
Brian stormed out. Mitch let him go. Just another way this week was his worst one ever.
He stayed in the office until he could barely focus on the computer screen. Numbers swarm and blurred before his eyes. A headache pounded at his temples and laced across the top of his skull to settle right behind his shoulder blades. He rolled his shoulders, listening to the tendons crack. Sharon always knew exactly where to massage. He could almost feel her cool hands rubbing his shoulders.
The memory jolted him back to his desk. Zombie. She was a zombie. A brain-eating zombie with cold flesh.
Yet he couldn’t get her out of his mind and even with the whole zombie thing he still...
Missed her.
Home. Time to head home. Have a beer, watch some TV and get some sleep. After a week of hardly sleeping, he felt like he could sleep the weekend away.
That was one way to deal with it.
He headed for home. Outside the streets glistened with a late evening rain shower. The scent of damp earth reached him as he passed the small parkette at the end of his block. Just a few storefronts away stood his favorite coffee shop. The one he’d met Sharon in. As he passed by, he glanced in and saw the same waitress bending down to take an order from a young man and woman. She had long dark hair that curled over her shoulders.
Like Sharon’s. Just like Sharon’s.
He walked away. And kept walking.
His brown slip-on shoes moved along. They held his gaze as they carried him along, over the wet sidewalk and cracked pavement. The sidewalk turned to asphalt as he crossed streets. Distantly he noticed that it had started raining again. He felt it beat down on his head, dampen his shoulders and strike his forehead. He kept his gaze on his feet, watching them stomp through new puddles. Over time, he felt a squishiness in his shoes. They had leaked. His socks felt soaked. Water dripped from his hair down his neck. He shivered at the cold touch of it down his spine. Still his feet kept moving even as the sounds of cars and people faded, becoming intermittent.
Around him, the night deepened and still he walked, staring at his feet, refusing to look up, refusing to see anything. His mind stayed pleasantly blank as he watched his shoes moving forward and back, forward and back. Hours passed or was it days? Maybe weeks and months. He couldn’t tell and didn’t care. As long as he could keep walking and not thinking.
Finally his shoes stopped of their own accord. He became aware of how his feet ached. His leg muscles clenched and cramped. He almost heard his neck creak as he lifted his head. Rain dripped in his eyes. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A few moments later, lightning lit up the neighborhood and he saw a row of townhouses in front of him. Red brick, small black awnings over the doors. He stood in front of the end one.
He suddenly realized where his feet had brought him.
Home.
Even as he realized it, his body moved again, carrying him up the three steps to her door. His finger reached for the doorbell before he could stop it. He heard the tinkling chime, muffled through the door. Then nothing.
He didn’t even know what time it was. Did zombies really need to sleep?
A few minutes passed before he heard shuffling steps behind the door. A latch pulled back and the door opened. Hallway light spilled out making him blink in the sudden brightness. She was a dark form in front of the light then details of her body coalesced. A blue silk dressing gown held together with one pale white hand, her other hand held the door open. Her thick dark hair tumbled in mess curls over her shoulders. Her dark eyes widened.
“Mitch?”
Her voice purred into his ear. He breathed in her musky, earthy smell.
Her zombie smell.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She opened her cold arms and embraced him.
* * * *
Later in bed, he studied the small charm she wore around her neck. Even holding it up to the bedside lamp, he couldn’t make out the markings on the medallion.
“What does it mean?” he said.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “It’s something about stasis. I think it keeps me like this.” She splayed her arms, indicating her body.
“Did he tell you what would happen if you didn’t wear it?”
“Deterioration,” she said. “I would get worse.”
“Then we’ll have to make sure you always wear it.”
Her smile quivered on her lips. “I’m not sure why you’re back, Mitch.”
“I didn’t think I would be,” he said. “But I love you, Sharon. Zombie and all.”
Tears filled her eyes. Before they spilled onto her cheeks, he put his arms around her and felt her cool body press against him.
She did feel like home.
* * * *
Sure enough when she learned of the management boat cruise, Sharon insisted on buying a new dress for the occasion. He waited in the living room, checking the time every few minutes. Even on a Saturday traffic could be bad and he didn’t want to miss the boarding.
“Sharon, hurry. We have to be there by seven,” he called up the stairs.
“I’ll be right down.” Her voice drifted to him. “Just another minute.”
He pulled out the envelope and checked the time again. Final boarding at seven fifteen. Brian and Melissa would be there as well. Mitch had finally had to go to Brian with a story about stress, a fight with Sharon, anything he could think of to explain what he’d said. After a couple of coffee breaks and an evening at a bar, Brian had thawed. But tonight would be the first time all of them would be out together. Just another thing that made Mitch’s stomach churn. He doubted he’d be able to eat anything tonight.
A footfall on the stairs caught his attention. He turned toward the door. Sharon appeared. A shimmering dress of dark purple draped over her body, emphasizing the swell of her breasts and hips. Delicate short sleeves exposed the pale skin of her collar bone and shoulders. Her dark hair was swept up off her neck into a soft updo. Stray curls hung beside her face and on her neck.
Mitch felt a pressure in his chest and realized he’d forgotten to breathe.
“Is this all right?” she said.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said.
She smiled. “For a zombie.”
He shrugged. “Well, there’s always that.”
She swatted at him with her purse, brushing it across his arm. He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer.
“Don’t mess my makeup,” she said. “I thought you were in a rush.”
“Spoil my fun,” he said.
They made it to the boat before seven. As they locked the car and Mitch took Sharon’s arm, he heard a voice call his name.
“Mitch!”
He glanced over to see Brian waving. He stood next to a tall, slim blond woman wearing a white dress. Her blue eyes looked even brighter in her tanned skin. He became aware of exactly how pale Sharon was in the middle of summer. Even a computer hermit like himself managed to get some sun.
Stop it, he thought. No one is paying any attention to that. He forced a s
mile to his lips as they reached Brian and Melissa.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Brian said as he shook Sharon’s hand.
“Mitch has told me all about you,” she said. “I hope I measure up for his friends.”
Brian laughed. “Mitch should measure up for you!”
The easy laughter eased the tightness in Mitch’s stomach. Chatting, they all wandered up the gangplank and headed for the bar.
“It’s an open bar, ladies,” Brian said. “I suggest we get smashed at company expense and let them drive us home.” He pulled out taxi chits and wagged them.
“How’d you score those?” Mitch said.
“Snuck them off Kathy’s desk when she wasn’t looking.”
“Brian has slippery fingers,” Melissa said with a wink.
They laughed as Brian tucked the taxi chits into his jacket breast pocket. He patted them and turned to the bartender.
“A round of drinks, my good man and keep them coming!”
The ten year old scotch burned and warmed Mitch’s throat as it went down. Sharon’s smile warmed him even farther and released the last tension from his body. It was going to be a good night. He rested his hand on her waist and kissed her cheek.
They managed two rounds of drinks before the cruise started. The buffet was spread out on the lower deck. Sharon nibbled on raw shrimp while moving food around her plate. Mitch balanced a beer and his plate before finding a spot at a nearby table to set his drink down. As he ate, he noticed Brian watching Sharon. Brian raised an eyebrow at Mitch.
Dammit, Mitch thought. He never should have said anything.
“Hey Brian, did you finish with the Decumsey file yet?”
Brian choked on a mouthful of beer and started coughing. Melissa slapped him on the back a few times before he was able to breath again.
“Oh man, don’t remind me,” Brian said. “That job is hellish. We’re supposed to be having fun here.”
“Right,” Mitch said. “Let’s get another round.”
“Amen!” Brian swallowed his last gulp of beer and raised his empty glass for more.
My Girlfriend, the Zombie: A Zombie Romance Story Page 2
