by Jeff Strand
"Shit, Brant..."
"Needle or dart?"
"Needle."
"An excellent choice." Brant opened a drawer and took out a hypodermic needle, wrapped in plastic. "I regret that I'm forced to take these measures, but I think we'll have a much better working relationship as a result."
He stood up and removed the needle from the plastic. Stanley's heart was racing. No, wait, it couldn't be racing, since it didn't beat any more, but it sure felt like it was racing. Pounding. Bashing against his ribcage.
What the hell was he supposed to do? Just let Brant inject him? Try to overpower him? Start bawling and hope that the whole scene became too pathetic for Brant to witness?
"Don't move," said Brant. "Trust me when I say that trying anything remotely clever will turn out badly for you."
"What if this completely messes me up?" Stanley asked. "Do you want to risk that? Think how bad it'll look to maliciously destroy your project."
"Oh, I think you're plenty resilient." Brant walked over to the recliner and without any sort of build-up jabbed the needle into Stanley's upper arm.
"Ow!"
"This room is soundproof. You're welcome to scream."
Everything went dark.
Not dark as if somebody had turned out the light or whacked him over the head with a baseball bat. It was a complete blackness. Though Stanley was sort of aware of his body, he couldn't see it, and there was a "going down the first hill of a really tall rollercoaster" sensation in what he thought was his stomach. The whole experience was not unlike rapidly sinking in an ocean of oil. Or rising. He couldn't quite tell.
His head might've come off, but he wasn't sure about that, either.
Still, it wasn't that bad. Not exactly relaxing, but not exactly repeating the third grade.
Then he could see, sort of.
Just himself, floating/falling in the blackness. Not a very good view of himself, but better than the all-encompassing darkness.
A piece of skin on his right arm tore off, curling up as if it were a sardine can lid. It was uncomfortable.
A slightly larger piece of skin on his left arm did the same thing. Way-too-red blood began to jettison from the wound, even though Stanley distinctly remembered being told that he didn't have any blood.
Strips of flesh began to peel off each of his legs. More strips came off his arms. The flesh on his chest joined in, exposing rotting, misshapen organs.
Stanley decided to scream.
Then he felt something bite him. It was a set of teeth, attached to nobody. The teeth bit their way up his leg. More teeth joined them, forming a little trail of choppers biting through the skin of his leg. He could feel them on his back.
Something was burrowing its way into what remained of his arms. The pain was worse than giving rectal birth to a school of hungry piranha.
Did this mean that when he died he'd gone to hell?
The burrowing creature squirmed up into his brain. He could see it in the back of his eyes. It was red and slimy and had lots of pincers.
Stanley screamed some more.
And then woke up in the recliner.
He continued screaming as he flailed around to get away from the teeth and burrowing creatures that were no longer hurting him.
"Stanley...?"
Stanley realized that his skin was all intact, but he couldn't stop screaming.
"Stanley, it's okay now."
Stanley saw Brant standing over him. He tightly gripped the armrests of the recliner and forced himself to take a slow, deep, non-oxygen-delivering breath. It seemed to work. After a few more moments, he was more or less calmed down.
"Did you enjoy that?" asked Brant.
Stanley elected not to tell Brant to go fuck himself. "What was that?"
"A lesson."
"But what was it? Is that how it was like when I was dead?"
"You tell me."
"If I remembered, I wouldn't be asking," said Stanley. He wanted to add the word "asshole" to prove that his spirit wasn't broken, but if Brant had the power to make him go through that again, then perhaps Stanley's spirit was broken.
"Fair enough. But I'm not here to reveal the secrets of life and death to you, Stanley. How would you like an eternity-long replay of what you just experienced?"
"I wouldn't."
"Good. Then my discipline was successful." Brant smiled. "It may have been excessive, but I want to make sure you realize just how important it is for you to behave. I'm not asking you to behave like a robot. I'm asking you to behave in a manner that doesn't inspire me to want to place a shotgun in my mouth. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, I understand."
"Good." Brant's smile disappeared. "Because believe me, Stanley, if I have to destroy you, I will. I'll shoot that fucking dart right between your fucking eyes. You will respect me. You will obey me. And you'll watch your fucking language when I'm in the room. Do you completely understand?"
"Yeah."
"Say it."
"I completely understand."
The smile returned. "Then it should be smooth sailing from now on. You're not to discuss anything that has transpired. You'll tell Veronica that I threatened to keep you in the bunker until your behavior was in line with that of a Project Second Chance employee."
"Y'know, that actually would've worked just as well," Stanley remarked.
"We'll never know. Do you need a few minutes to compose yourself?"
"Nah, I'm fine."
"Take a few minutes anyway. And Stanley?"
"Yeah?"
"Sign the contract."
"Okay."
"By the way, the security guard who shot you? A religious zealot. We had to turn him over to the police because we couldn't exactly make him disappear, if you know what I mean. More people like that are out there, Stanley. Don't antagonize the ones who are keeping you safe."
* * *
"So what did he say?" asked Veronica as Stanley stepped out of Brant's office. She was a respectable distance down the corridor, but Stanley wondered if she'd been holding a glass to the soundproof door.
"He was a smidgen pissed."
"You look kind of shaken up."
"He threw me into a pit. Did you know he has a pit under his office? Giant spiders and everything."
"Be serious. What did he say?"
"I dunno, something about my attitude needing adjustment. I may turn over a new leaf. I'd hate for him to have to scold me again."
"That's it? He just talked about your attitude?"
Stanley shrugged. "He raised his voice. And he sort of implied that he wasn't going to let me out into society if I kept being my usual witty self. I guess I'll give him what he wants; I don't really care."
"Well...good, I guess."
"I'm still going to be obnoxious around you, though."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Donald Mandigan kissed the photograph of Mr. Corpse. Dear, sweet, precious, glorious Stanley Dabernath. His savior. His meal ticket.
"I wish you'd stop kissing that thing," said Missy the makeup girl, buttoning her blouse. "It's getting kind of creepy."
"You're lucky they don't have the Mr. Corpse blow-up doll," Donald informed her.
And to think I was worried about looking like an ass, he thought. The live resurrection special had been a ratings smash. It didn't top the M*A*S*H finale or Oprah's interview with Michael Jackson, but it had been stellar. And Donald himself had received good reviews, which was not something he was used to.
His career had been going reasonably well before, but now it was in another stratosphere. And in a couple of days he'd get to conduct a live, one-hour, prime-time interview with Mr. Corpse. Originally he'd protested the idea of the press conference coming first, but now he was elated that his lawyers had been unable to negotiate that in his favor. Mr. Corpse taking a bullet at that press conference made this whole story even more fantastic, and Donald's interview would set ratings records, h
e was sure of it.
He kissed the photograph again.
"Why don't you just tongue the stupid picture while you're at it?" asked Missy.
Donald did.
* * *
Stanley relaxed, therapy patient style, on the sofa in Veronica's small but surprisingly luxurious office. She sat in a chair next to him, a notebook on her lap.
"The most important thing is that you present yourself as grateful for his miracle," she said. "I want you to think of five reasons you're glad to be alive."
"I'd smell worse if I were dead."
"Say that in a positive way."
"I'm positive I'd smell worse if I were dead."
"What about your current scent would you consider an improvement over the way you smelled before you died?"
"Nothing."
"Think of something."
"Uhhhh...the flies are kind of cool when they disintegrate in the air next to me."
"So your scent is entertaining?"
"Maybe we should move on."
"Maybe we should."
"But you know, I could probably get one hell of a good endorsement deal for deodorant. 'Boffo Deodorant - Strong enough for a zombie, but made for a human.' You should look into that."
"We already have. You'll be wearing Degree in all of your public appearances."
"Wow. Think you can get me an endorsement gig for Trojans? 'When decay strikes where it hurts the most, strap on a Trojan and...', actually, I'm going to leave that one unfinished."
"Thank you."
"But it would be a cool endorsement."
"Well, nothing's impossible, unfortunately. But let's get back to why you're grateful to be alive. You were happy to see your parents again, right?"
"I didn't see them."
"I thought they were here."
Stanley shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "I sent them away. I didn't want them to see me like this."
"But you're going on television to let everybody in the world see you."
"It's different, okay? Can we not talk about it?"
"Of course. What about Martin? He's your best friend, right?"
"Yeah."
"So you're grateful to still get to spend time with him."
Stanley nodded. "He's a good guy. Always a lot more supportive of me than I deserve. Great fashion sense if you're really into green. He desperately needs a girlfriend."
"He doesn't have one?"
Had Veronica perked up just a bit? Nah, it had to be Stanley's imagination. "He hasn't for a while. His last girlfriend, Katie, messed him up pretty good. She cheated on him. A lot. With ugly, nasty, fat guys. If a girl cheats on you with Brad Pitt, you pretty much have to admit that you're not Brad Pitt and get over it. But when she cheats on you with these dog-men, it's a pretty big blow to the self-esteem. I tried to convince him that she just had an ugly, nasty, fat-guy fetish, but it didn't help. He's a really loyal person, so it hurt a lot."
"I can imagine."
Veronica seemed way too interested in this topic. "And he has an extremely tiny penis," Stanley added.
"Okay, once again we've moved away from the subject of you being grateful. If we don't count your smell, and I'm all in favor of that idea, you've only given me one reason. I need four more."
"I've discovered that life truly is precious."
"Have you really?"
"No, but the world doesn't need to know that."
Veronica wrote it down in her notebook. "Three more."
"Now that I'm a zombie, I've got a really hot personal assistant."
"Still three more."
"Since I don't have to breathe, I guess I could spend hours underwater."
"And why are you grateful for that?"
"I dunno, maybe I could see some neat fish or something."
"Okay, two more."
"I've discovered that life truly is precious."
"You already said that."
"I know, but I should keep on repeating it every chance I get. 'Stanley, do you want fries with your burger?' 'Yes, because life truly is precious.'"
"Then you'll just sound sarcastic. Still two more."
"When I was drowning in that milk, my last thought was that I'd never again get to see dew glistening on a leaf in the morning sun."
"What was your real last thought?"
"'I can't fucking believe I'm going to die in milk.'"
"Two more."
"Oh, c'mon. I can sell the dew thing."
Veronica considered that for a long moment. "We'll practice."
"Good."
"One more."
"I'm grateful that I can help make the world a better place."
"How?"
"By making it easier for the general public to choose a brand of deodorant."
"Don't make me poke you with this pen."
"What would be your favorite place to poke me?"
"Stanley..."
"Okay, okay. Let's see...making the world a better place...making the world a better place...making the world a better place...uh, if a loser like me could come back from the dead, there's hope for anybody to come back from the dead."
"No."
"I can talk to kids about proper pedestrian safety."
"Maybe. But keep trying."
"I can inspire people to cherish the wonder of life because I'm so grateful to be alive again."
"But you're not all that grateful."
"Yes, I am."
"I've got to be honest with you, Stanley. At this point I don't see you inspiring anything in people except for a deep concern over the post-mortem state of their genitalia."
"When you went to personal assistant school, did you ever think you'd be uttering that exact sentence?"
"I need one more reason."
"I'm grateful because even though I'm a zombie and I don't breathe or have any blood, pizza still tastes good."
"That we can use."
* * *
"Let's see your walk," said Veronica.
Stanley walked to the other end of her office and back.
"Nice."
"Did I have my groove on?"
"You had your groove on."
"Should I maybe limp? Do a zombie shuffle to make it more believable?"
"Nope. You don't want people to catch you walking normally and assume that you're a fraud. Just be yourself, except for the behavior modification that we're doing right now. Let's see your smile."
Stanley gave her a wide grin.
"That's more than a little creepy. Try to tone it down so you don't scare the kids."
"I think they'll be scared anyway, what with the death mask that I've got for a face."
"Possibly, but your grin is really macabre."
"Want to hear my macabre laugh?"
"No. But chuckle for me."
"What kind of chuckle?"
"Just a chuckle."
"Give me something to chuckle about."
"Part of being a gracious celebrity involves chuckling politely at things that aren't funny. So do it."
Stanley cleared his throat. "Heh heh heh."
"That's a macabre chuckle."
"I can't chuckle under pressure."
"A zombie walks into a bar and orders a screwdriver. The bartender says 'Do you want that in your ear?'"
Stanley gave her a blank stare.
"Have you seen the original Dawn of the Dead? A zombie gets a screwdriver jammed in its ear."
"Ah."
"That's the kind of humor you may have to chuckle at."
"Can I cry instead?"
* * *
"Okay, we want to make sure that you won't be nervous during the interview," said Veronica. "If you get nervous, I foresee you resorting to sarcasm and the F-word, and we want to avoid that."
"I don't get nervous."
"How many one-hour prime-time live television interviews have you done?"
"Seven or eight."
"Uh-huh. What we're going to do are some visualization exercises."
<
br /> "You mean like picturing the audience in their underwear?"
"Would that work for you?"
"I doubt it. I'd be thinking, orgy!"
"Close your eyes."
"Do you promise not to touch me inappropriately?"
"Believe me, I promise."
Stanley closed his eyes. "Good thing my eyelids didn't decompose. I'd be peeking."
"What do you see?"
"The back of my non-decomposed eyelids."
"Anything else?"
"A bunny."
"Erase the bunny."
"Bunny's toast."
"Now imagine a chair. A very comfortable brown chair with leather cushions."
"Maytag just delivered it."
"Do you see the chair?"
"Yes."
"Now imagine yourself sitting on the chair."
"Whoops...was that me or a whoopee cushion?"
"Stanley, take this more seriously or I'll have to report you to Brant."
Stanley flinched and opened his eyes. Did she know what Brant had done to him? "Don't do that," he said, louder than he intended.
Veronica frowned. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"I didn't mean it. I just need you to work with me here."
Stanley nodded and closed his eyes again. Now he saw his skin pulsing as something burrowed underneath it. He managed to switch the image to that of a comfy brown chair pulsing as something burrowed within the cushion.
"Are you back on the chair?"
"Not yet." Stanley mentally placed himself back on the chair, desperately hoping that the burrowing thing would remain a polite distance from his ass. "Okay, I'm there."
"Visualize yourself being very, very comfortable. Not sleepy, just comfortable."
The burrowing thing vanished. "I'm there."
"Visualize yourself being confident. Imagine actual rays of confidence shooting out of your body."
"Actual rays?"
"Yes."
"Are they scaring people?"
"Only you can see them."
"I can't do the ray thing. That's just too freaky. Sorry."
"How about waves of confidence. What's your favorite color?"
"Ochre."
"Imagine ochre waves of confidence emanating from your body."
