by Jeff Strand
He fondled the hatchet as his voice sounded over the stereo. "Ferocity...ferocity...must control my own ferocity..." he sang in a slow, soothing manner. Yeah, this was doing the trick. It always did. Once the song kicked into high gear with the next verse, the bloodbath could begin.
"The feelings inside me...think I'll have to hide me...before I unleash my (unleash my) ferocity..."
The electric guitar suddenly grew louder and faster.
Henry raised the hatchet.
"Ferocity! Ferocity! Gotta be somethin' wrong with me!"
As Mrs. Kabot and her daughter screamed through their duct tape, Henry rushed at the man of the house and let the poor doomed bastard have it. He chopped in time with the pounding drumbeat, singing along with himself.
"Insanity! Brutality! Gotta love ferocity!"
Chop! Chop! Chop!
"Cruelty! Mean ol' me! Gotta love...damn it!" Henry stopped singing and spat out some blood that got in his mouth. God, he hated the taste of that crap. He wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand and then went back to work.
"Ferocity! Ferocity!"
Chop! Chop! Chopchopchopchop...
Not much left of poor Mr. Kabot. "Ferocity" was almost over, but the CD actually had the same song on all twenty tracks. Someday, when he finally retired from this business, he was going to record a demo CD with all new cuts, but for now "Ferocity" was the only song in his oeuvre.
Which was okay. It was a kick-ass song.
"Thanks for not trying to run away," Henry told Mrs. Kabot and Trisha, who looked completely (but understandably) freaked. "A lot of the time, people will be rolling around on the carpet like idiots, as if they're actually going to get somewhere with their feet all taped up. It bugs the hell out of me. Show some dignity, y'know what I mean?"
When the song picked up again, he slammed the hatchet into Mrs. Kabot's face. By the time it was done, she was just as unrecognizable as her husband.
Henry dropped the hatchet on the floor and stretched. There was a time when he would have felt a burst of euphoria after finishing off a good murder, but now he was just glad it was over.
He shut off the stereo and crouched down next to Trisha. "Just so you know, I'm not going to chop you up like I did your parents," he told her, putting his hand on her knee. She flinched. "I've got to do this ritual. It's pretty disgusting and it involves a lot of your parents' blood, so I'll need you to bear with me for a few more minutes. Then we'll get you out to my van. Sound okay?"
She didn't respond.
"Sorry I had to waste your mom and dad, but really, it's all your fault. If you'd gone all the way with your boyfriend like he wanted, you wouldn't be a virgin, and I wouldn't have any use for you and your family. See, your parents and teachers and priests are always saying that you should wait, but when a guy like me needs a virgin, abstinence turns out to be a real bitch."
The terror in her eyes wasn't particularly exciting to him, and all he could really think about was what a pain it was going to be to cover his tracks and get her out to the van unseen. And then he had a long, long drive.
Oh well. Better than working in a cubicle.
CHAPTER NINE
"Ahh! Damn it!"
"Stanley, he hasn't even started yet."
"I know, but this table is freezing!"
Veronica rolled her eyes and smiled apologetically at Dr. Arnzin. "I'll make you a deal," she said to Stanley. "I'll bet you twenty dollars that you can't make it through this entire procedure without using a single swear word."
"I don't have twenty dollars."
"You will."
Stanley shrugged. "Sure thing. I'm not a slave to profanity. So how much cash do you think we'll rake in by exploiting my zombieness?"
"It depends."
"On what?"
"On you."
"Then we're fucked."
"Stanley..."
"The bet hasn't started yet."
Dr. Arnzin strapped Stanley's feet to the table. "This will only be for a moment, to make sure you don't thrash around and hurt yourself or me."
"No problem. I'm used to the whole bondage thing by now. I'm the best sub ever."
After Dr. Arnzin completely strapped him to the table, Stanley winked at Veronica. "Is this making you frisky?"
"No."
"Not even gonna lie about it?"
"No."
"I'll need you to relax," said Dr. Arnzin. "Just take a long, deep breath, like a butterfly in the meadow."
"Don't I get any anesthetic?"
Dr. Arnzin shook his head. "It won't work on you."
"How about a couple of lines of cocaine?"
"Sorry."
Stanley took a long, deep breath.
"Are you ready?"
Stanley nodded, and Dr. Arnzin slowly pried open the gunshot wound with a pair of forceps.
"Ow! Frickin' son of a berch!"
"Just relax."
"Farking fark! Cork-sucking freakin' fark!"
"Keep breathing. You're a butterfly in the meadow."
"This really hurts!"
Dr. Arnzin began to dig with a pair of tweezers. "Just keep relaxing. You're doing fine."
"Ow! Fark! Ow! Fark!"
"It'll be over before you know it."
"You're a farking freakin' forkin' liar! Oh, shint! Shint, shint, shint!"
"Almost got it."
"Shint!"
"Oops."
"Fark!"
"Got it." Dr. Arnzin dropped the bullet onto the table. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
"Bullshint!"
"Now there's just one more piece."
"Aw, fuck. I mean fark. Ah, fuck it. Keep your twenty bucks."
* * *
"So why did that whack-job shoot me?" asked Stanley as he sat having lunch with Brant and Veronica.
"He's not talking," said Brant.
"Are you torturing him or anything like that? I know you've got implements of torture around this place. Don't pretend that you don't."
"No, we are not torturing anybody. We'll continue to question him until it's necessary to turn him over to the proper authorities."
"Define 'proper authorities.' That sounds kinda sinister and cool."
"None of your business."
"Ooooh, somebody's kind of pissy today. What's your problem?"
Brant sighed. "I apologize. It's been a stressful day."
"Yeah, you'd almost think you got shot."
Brant ignored him.
"So how did he get through security? I mean, he had a real gun, right? It seems like it would've been pretty tough to sneak a real gun past the kind of security you would expect to have at such an important press conference."
"Enough, Stanley."
"I'm just saying, it should have been really, really, really difficult to get a gun in there. You had metal detectors, right?"
"Yes."
"And you made them run their stuff through an X-ray machine, right?"
"Stanley, I'm only going to ask you one more time to let this drop. I'm not in the mood."
"Okay, but I'm right, aren't I? You didn't blow all this money on bringing me back to life just to protect me with a minimum wage security guard, did you? Oh, did you know you've got this vein in the center of your forehead that throbs when you get pissy?"
"Enough!"
"Yes, sir."
Veronica cleared her throat. "Well, I thought that before the gunfire, the press conference was going pretty smoothly."
Stanley gestured to Brant. "What you should do now is say something like 'Really? I thought the gunfire was the best part of the press conference.' Then we'll all have a great big chuckle at my expense. Try it. It'll be cool."
Brant sighed. "Next time, I'm going to re-animate everything except the corpse's mouth."
"Whoa, good one!" Stanley exclaimed. "That was like a genuine slam! I mean, I felt an actual sting. You go, Brant." Stanley held up his hand for a high-five but didn't receive one. "So let's get back to me wondering aloud h
ow I got shot."
Brant glared at him. "Stanley, do you really think we'd be sloppy enough to just let somebody stroll into your press conference with a gun?"
"Before the bullet penetrated my chest, I would've thought no."
"If you would spend more time thinking about the situation and less time randomly running off at the mouth, you'd realize that this was an inside job. The man who shot you was a security guard who was, in fact, dutifully employed with us. This makes me very uncomfortable and very unhappy, because it makes me question whether other employees of Project Second Chance are similarly hostile to our cause. So perhaps I'm justified in being 'pissy.' And perhaps I'm more interested in trying to figure out where my trust was misplaced than in accommodating your childish and obnoxious behavior. Stanley Dabernath, please shut the hell up."
Stanley shut the hell up and picked up his sandwich. He suddenly had no appetite.
* * *
Stanley and Martin sat in the interrogation room across from Veronica and a lawyer named Bloodsucking Bastard. It was not really an interrogation room, nor was the lawyer's real name "Bloodsucking Bastard," but both seemed appropriate.
"I want at least two bodyguards at every personal appearance," said Stanley, handwriting that clause on his copy of the contract.
"Project Second Chance will take all reasonable precautions to ensure your safety," the lawyer explained.
"I can see that. The contract says 'all reasonable precautions.' I don't want it to say 'all reasonable precautions.' I want it to say 'two big-ass bodyguards at every personal appearance.'"
"In instances where having two bodyguards goes beyond what Project Second Chance would consider reasonable precautions, the bodyguards would certainly be provided upon your request, but the financial responsibility would be yours," Bloodsucking Bastard explained.
"Well, duh! I could have hooker twins at every personal appearance if I wanted to pay for it myself! You guys should be covering this. I got shot!"
"Mr. Dabernath, I assure you that Project Second Chance is even more concerned with your well-being than you are."
"Then gimme the big-ass bodyguards!"
"I'll see what I can do."
"And see what you can do about getting me some hooker twins at every personal appearance. Blondes with heaving bosoms and 'come-hither' looks. Make sure they're identical twins; none of that fraternal crap."
"I'll see what I can do."
"You're not even going to write that down, are you?"
"No."
"Good for you. Because I was obviously just being immature." Stanley flipped to the next page in the contract. "Now what other cornholing clauses are in this thing? Oh, yes, merchandising. I want final say on all of that."
"You won't get it."
"It's my face."
"Be that as it may, this part of the contract is not negotiable. Your previous Stanley Dabernath face of course belongs to you. Mr. Corpse's face belongs to Project Second Chance."
"Well, if that's true, why don't I just rip it right off and hand it over? Martin, get me a hacksaw."
"Sir, I think we need to get our own legal counsel."
Stanley nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Who was that guy who got Frank Konrath out of jail that one time? Remember when he was drunk driving and he crashed into the side of that old lady's house? Didn't he kill a few of her cats?"
"No. The woman just claimed that they were traumatized."
"Oh. What about him?"
Martin bit his lip. "Actually, Frank is still in jail for that. And perhaps we don't want to hire a criminal defense attorney to negotiate a contract."
"Good point. We'll find somebody else." Stanley nodded at Bloodsucking Bastard. "I guess we'll talk to you later. Sorry to have squandered your generous hourly fee."
"Not a problem. I charge for mileage."
* * *
An hour later, Stanley was beating the living crap out of Martin at video game boxing. "Who's your daddy, punk?" Stanley asked as his on-screen boxer delivered the knock-out blow. "I may be a zombie, but my reflexes rule!"
There was a knock at the door. "Anyone but Brant can come in," Stanley called out.
Veronica opened the door and stepped inside. "Brant wants to see you immediately."
"Brant's ass can wait until this game is over."
"The game is over."
"We're playing two out of three."
"Stanley, shut off the television." She sounded genuinely annoyed, so Stanley picked up the remote control and did as she asked.
"What does he want?"
"I don't know."
"How did he sound? Angry? Sexually frustrated?"
"He said immediately. Let's go."
Stanley and Martin set down their game controllers and stood up. "You're the boss."
"Just you," said Veronica. "Martin can wait here."
"Okay. He needs the practice anyway." Stanley followed Veronica out of the room.
She was silent as they walked down the corridor and unresponsive to small talk. Most likely she'd suddenly realized that she was the personal assistant to a corpse. That had to sting.
Veronica opened Brant's door and ushered Stanley inside. "You're not going come in to protect me?" Stanley asked.
Veronica didn't respond. She shut the door, leaving Stanley alone with Brant, who sat behind his immense desk.
"Have a seat," said Brant.
"Yes, sir." Stanley sat down. He considered putting his feet up on Brant's desk, but Brant looked like he was in a worse mood than usual.
"I understand you didn't sign the contract."
"Nah. The contract was rabbit poop. We're going to get a lawyer."
"You could have saved us some time if you'd gotten a lawyer originally, instead of behaving like a jackass and pretending that you could negotiate it yourself."
"I thought your lawyer would be more reasonable."
"You thought wrong." Brant rested his arms on the desk and glared at him. "Stanley, you are what I like to call a 'problem child.' You don't have children, but I have three of them, and I know how to handle a problem child."
"Oh my God, I'm getting a spanking, aren't I?"
"No. But you're going to be disciplined."
"Can Veronica do it?"
Brant grinned without humor. "Do you remember what it was like to be dead, Stanley?"
"Nah. Blocked it."
"Well, we're going to refresh your memory."
CHAPTER TEN
"I beg your pardon?" Stanley asked. Brant didn't sound like he was joking. Brant never sounded like he was joking, but this would've been a damn good time for him to start.
Brant gestured to a red vinyl recliner in the corner of his office. "Have a more comfortable seat."
"I'm fine," Stanley said.
"That was not a request."
"Okay, look, I can see that you're on a power trip. How about I come back later?"
"How about you sit in the recliner before I kill you?"
Stanley gaped at him. "You didn't just...yes, you did. You can't be serious."
"Let me explain something to you. Your mental health was not guaranteed upon your return. We were not one hundred percent sure what we'd be dealing with. Yes, we were concerned with protecting our investment, but we were more concerned with the safety of our staff. Therefore, we set up a contingency plan in case you went berserk."
"What kind of contingency plan?"
"An injection, deliverable by hypodermic needle or, if necessary, a dart gun. It's the reverse of the injections that keep you alive. If I were to inject it into your system, you would feel a slight pinch. And then you would feel as if your skin were boiling from the inside. It would feel that way because that's exactly what would be happening. You would probably start to scream. And then your burning, boiling, melting flesh would start to rip itself from your bones, which would hurt about as much as one might expect. Within five minutes of the initial injection, The Amazing Mr. Corpse would be reduced to a pile of
bones and scraps of sizzling flesh. I have both the hypodermic needle and the dart gun here in my desk. Would you like me to show them to you?"
He's totally serious, thought Stanley. He was tempted to jump up and make a run for it, but he'd never make it to the door. "You've got too much invested in me," he said.
"Indeed I do. It would be a terrible waste and I would lose many weeks of sleep. So let's avoid that particular lose-lose situation if at all possible."
"Works for me."
"Go sit on the recliner."
Stanley sighed. "Okay, I get the message. The clowning around got out of hand. I'll be a docile little zombie from now on."
"I will ask you one more time to sit in the recliner. Please do not make me ask again."
Stanley pushed back his chair and stood up. "You've already proven everything you need to prove. I get that you're the boss."
"If I have to resort to the cliché of counting down from ten, I will be very unhappy."
"Okay! Jesus!" Stanley walked over and plopped himself down on the recliner. "Are you happy now?"
"Put up the footrest."
Stanley pulled the handle on the side and raised the footrest. "It's very comfy."
"I'm glad. I just don't want you to fall on the floor and hurt yourself. Now, do I need to deliver this injection by needle or dart gun?"
"You're gonna sizzle me? I sat on the freakin' recliner!"
"No, I am not going to sizzle you. I'm going to remind you what it was like to be dead."
"I already said you won. Lesson learned."
"The problem, Stanley, is that I don't believe you. It's clear that you're terrified, but I don't know how much of that will remain after you walk out of this room. You'll start to convince yourself it was all a bluff, and then we'll be right back where we started."
"I don't think you're bluffing."
"Unfortunately, I can't prove that, now can I? So what is it going to be? Needle or dart?"
