Haunted Honeymoon

by Marta Acosta

  He was about to say something, but he stopped and squinted his big brown bug eyes behind the glasses and said, “We shall meet again on your island, Isla Milagro, with your friends back from death.”

  “It sounds like a plan,” I said. “I’ll be in touch when I’ve finished your fauxoir.”

  He stood up and I thought he was going to try to hug me, but the little man took off his huge black-rimmed glasses, set them on the table, and slipped off his soft brown moccasins.

  He smiled at me and took a few steps to the edge of the deck. I didn’t want to look at him standing so close to the water, but I couldn’t help myself.

  Then he stepped over the edge and splashed into the water.

  I waited for him to bob up again, and I squeezed my fists so tight that my nails dug into my palms. When he didn’t come up, I turned to his bodyguard/follower and shouted, “Don Pedro fell in! Get him.”

  The stolid man looked at me impassively.

  “He’ll drown,” I shouted. “Save him.”

  The guard said, “He will transform into a fish. Or maybe a frog.”

  “Goddamn!” I pulled off my shoes and went to the edge of the deck. I couldn’t see Don Pedro, and I was cold, cold from the wind blowing across my nervous sweat. Superheroes couldn’t be afraid of water. I closed my eyes and jumped.

  For a moment all I felt was fear. Then came the shock of cold and consuming panic. I thrashed in the water, turned about, and saw the lighter surface above me. Don’t panic, I told myself.

  I looked around until I saw Don Pedro’s white shirt billowing in the water. I swam to him, and he reached out his small hand to me. When I took it and pulled him upward, he was as light as a rubber duck.

  He clutched the edge of the deck and I pushed his butt up to help him scramble out of the water. Then I pulled myself out.

  Don Pedro was shaking the water off like a dog and he beamed.

  “You crazy little—” Then I realized that I’d faced the water and survived.

  “I thought I was a platypus again.” Don Pedro winked at me. “Until we next meet, my miracle girl.”

  I started laughing and said, “Yes, until next time, Don Pedro.”

  I trudged in my wet clothes to the grocery store. The clerk stared at me as I bought a big juicy steak, red cabbage slaw, cranberry juice, and crusty whole grain bread.

  I went to my loft, ate dinner, and studied maps on the Internet, looking for street views. None of the satellite photos available showed the compound, which allowed me to pinpoint the location by its very absence.

  This was just the occasion to wear my new black leggings, a black tank, a jacket with lots of pockets, and black tennis shoes. I put my hair in a bun and shoved a lot of bobby pins in it in case I needed to escape from handcuffs. I pulled on a black beanie, which made me look as if I had a giant tumor on my head.

  My plan wasn’t very good, but it was the only one I could think of that wouldn’t endanger anyone else.

  When darkness came, I drove the truckasaurus toward the south end of the City, and after some searching I found the sewer pipe where I’d left Average Joe’s keys. I had to reach into muck, but they were still there.

  I drove to a block of shut-up warehouses near the Professor’s facility. I parked between two buildings, with the truck facing toward the street, and left my keys in the ignition so I could make a fast getaway.

  After putting on my backpack, I jogged on dark and empty streets until I saw my destination. A few lights were on at the perimeter gate and on the second floor, where I thought the Professor had his living quarters.

  There was an olive green post office drop box across from the property. I watched as the guard patrolling the grounds walked back into the building, and then I dashed to the drop box and hid behind it.

  Several minutes later, I heard the engine of the nightly delivery van, and then I saw its headlights.

  When the van turned into the facility’s driveway, I ran so that I was hidden behind it on the passenger side. The gates slid open, and I kept pace with the van as it crossed the lot and entered the garage. Once inside, I dropped to the cement floor and rolled under a vehicle.

  I heard the van’s engine stop, and then clanking as the driver opened its doors. While he unloaded his cargo, I crawled to the car parked closest to the lab.

  Waiting is hard. One of the cat clones found me under the car and curled beside me. I pet its soft fur while the minutes passed. I heard the delivery van driver say “See ya,” then doors closing. The engine started and the van drove off.

  I peeked out from under the car. The garage was empty. I crept out and found the Professor’s car. When I clicked the transponder key to unlock it, the beep echoed in the garage, but no one came. I unlatched the trunk but didn’t raise it, and left the driver’s-side door slightly ajar.

  Then I made my way to the autopsy room door and pressed myself flat against the wall in the shadows. To stay calm, I thought about Don Pedro’s story and the chapters I had yet to write.

  My tension made my wait seem interminable, but then the door opened and the lab tech stepped out. He held a pack of cigarettes in his hand and began walking to the garage exit.

  I slipped through the autopsy room door, before the automatic doors slid shut.

  The scene was more gruesome than I recalled. I was momentarily transfixed by the glass cases of limbs and organs bobbing in the viscous yellow fluid.

  I opened the heavy metal door of the chill room and the frigid air hit me. Cricket and Ford Poindexter were still lying on gurneys, their medical machines beeping and buzzing around them.

  I didn’t know if Don Pedro’s weavings would work after so long a time, but I took them from my backpack. I detached the tubes from Cricket, lifted her small, cold body, and rolled her in the fabric.

  The jealousy I’d once felt seemed stupid and petty.

  Then I removed the tubes from Ford and wrapped him in the fragrant shroud. I’d intended to take Señor Pickles, too, but something stopped me.

  I put the Poindexters together on one gurney and pushed it out of the chill room.

  I went to the computer at the lab tech’s desk. I might not know how to fix a computer, but I had a talent for screwing them up. Too often in my temp jobs I’d accidentally sent an embarrassing personal message to the entire company.

  I took the flash drive out of my pocket and inserted it in a port. A few seconds later, I’d sent the toxic file to everyone in the company with the tantalizing subject title “Hawt zombie azz in sexxxy axtion!”

  To help get things started, I opened the worm file. A button popped up that said “Run?” and I clicked “yes.” A second later, the screen started flashing with files being automatically opened and, I hoped, irrevocably corrupted.

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. I’d been in the lab for three minutes. I rolled the gurney to the door that led to the garage, hit the button to open it, and looked out. The garage was empty, so I pushed the gurney to the Professor’s car.

  I placed the bodies in the trunk and gently pressed down until I heard it click locked when I heard a familiar sound, the shsh-shsh-shsh of corduroy pants.

  The Professor came across the garage and said, “I had an alarm set on the bodies because I expected you to return.” He looked at me with a satisfied smile. “Your recovery is excellent.”

  I leaned back against his car. “How did you know I wouldn’t go to the police?”

  “Because they don’t take vampire abuse very seriously. My men are now stationed outside the building.” The Professor took his hand from his pocket and held up a dark plastic device. “If you even move to hurt me, they’re instructed to slaughter you.”

  “Sounds unpleasant for the both of us. Can you suggest any alternatives?”

  “Give me a few organs to work with and I’ll let you live. A kidney, a lung, and an eye to start.”

  “Can I think about that and get back to you?”

  “My time is valuable and I need
to get Ford and Cricket stabilized before degradation sets in.”

  “In that case, no, I will not let a mad scientist use my organs for evil.”

  “Your sense of self-righteousness compromises your already limited intelligence. You’re a stupid girl with a delusional sense of your value to the world.”

  That’s when the building rocked and huge boom sounded. I thought it was an earthquake when it started, but the building shaddered from above, not from the ground. The Professor looked around, bewildered.

  “I’m not stupid,” I said. “I’m a Miracle of the Saints.” I jumped in the driver’s seat of his car as a second explosion jolted the building. A frightened cat was crouched nearby, and I grabbed it and tossed it to the backseat, slammed the door shut, and turned on the ignition.

  The garage gate opened and a few uniformed men stormed inside, and I could see others scrambling around the lot.

  “Get me out!” the Professor yelled at me, and then one of the garage walls exploded and chunks of concrete rocketed out. A hunk of cement struck the Professor’s head and knocked him off his feet.

  He was a man with too much brilliance and no moral compass. He was a danger to the world and I couldn’t take the chance that the military contractors might save him. I hit the gas and ran over his body, crushing his skull, and I screeched out of the garage.

  More explosions sent shattered glass hailing down on the car. I glanced back and saw orange flames blazing out from every level of my prison.

  The entrance gate opened for a black SUV turning into the asphalt lot, and I streaked around it, missing it by inches, and careened onto the street and away.

  Shots were fired as I escaped, but the car windows were bulletproof, and they spiderwebbed without breaking. A black SUV tore after me, but I could drive in the dark faster than anyone else. Almost anyone else.

  As soon as I evaded my pursuers, I returned to the truckasaurus, put the cat in the cab, and transferred Ford and Cricket to the back. I drove the Professor’s car to the bay and sent it over the barrier, watching only for a moment as it sunk in the dark water.

  I ran back to the truckasaurus and was safely driving away when I heard the helicopters in the distance, their propellers beating the air, and their searchlights piercing the night.

  nineteen

  Fly Me to the Loon

  Wil had woken up nine days after being shrouded, and I hoped I had that much time before the Poindexters returned to this plane of existence.

  I packed away most of my belongings and put them in a long-term storage locker. I rented a security deposit box for the gifts from Ian … except for the disco ball earrings, which I tucked into my makeup bag.

  I found an old three-bedroom bungalow for lease near the desolate desert town of La Basura. The house was on a side road, miles away from other houses, and I figured that strange greenish inhabitants could go unnoticed there for some time.

  I rented my loft to Juanita, the leader of My Dive’s house band. Then I said hasta la vista to my Stitching & Bitching group, one of whom was happy to adopt a striped cat; she also took my unfinished knitting project, the blue-gray scarf and yarn.

  I told Nancy I was going on a long-term writing sabbatical, which she thought was loony and said so. “It sounds too serious for you. I give you a month max before you realize that a life without nonsense is not worth living.”

  “It’s good to have ideals like that,” I said. “You’d have to be doubly silly on my behalf until I return.”

  At dusk, on my last day at my loft, I gazed out the windows. Ever since I met the vampires, this seemed like a special time, the time to gather and talk, to share our days and our affection, espirítu de los cocteles.

  My life with Oswald at Casa Dracula had been like a favorite novel I’d read when I was young, and now that I read it again, I had a more mature perspective on the characters and themes. My friends had been right all along, but my journey back to Oswald was one that I needed to take.

  Mercedes came by with Cuban ham sandwiches and strawberry Nehis. We stood at the wobbly kitchen table, the only piece of furniture left, and ate silently. When she had crumpled up the wax paper wrappers and put them in the paper bag, she said, “I heard an interesting rumor from Los Hackeros.”

  “Does it involve alien abduction?”

  “No, but it’s right there with other conspiracy theories. Word is that a notorious military contracting firm has just folded because their computers suffered a massive attack that spread to their main data center and all their international locations.”

  “Really?” I said, cheered.

  “Los Hackeros say that only a genius could have had the espionage skills needed to infiltrate that organization and design such a comprehensively malicious worm.”

  I grinned. “Sounds like another one of those urban myths, like vampires and werewolves and Elvis sightings.”

  My friend smiled back at me and then said, “There’s got to be another way. You can’t just leave forever.”

  “It’s not forever. It’s just until Ford and Cricket wake up and figure out what they want to do … and what they can do. Ford’s pretty easygoing, at least he was when he was alive, but I expect some truculence from Cricket. She liked the high life, and society’s not too keen on zombie socialites.”

  “She should be grateful to be alive. Where are they anyway?”

  “In the truckasaurus. I got a locked cover for the bed and put them there with a note, some magazines, and bottled water and fruit in case they wake up early.”

  “There’s got to be another way,” Mercedes repeated.

  “It won’t be bad. I need to finish this fauxoir, and if Don Pedro gets another book deal, he’ll want to hire me again. I’ve got several Tolstoy books, and I imagine Ford and Cricket will take up a lot of my time.”

  “I’ll visit when I can.”

  “You better.” I looked at my friend and said, “You know that to me you are everything that is good, don’t you? You are honest, and brave, and brilliant, and you bring beauty and music into this world, and I love you. I wish I could have given you half of what you’ve given me.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said. “You introduced me to Pepper and the Grants. If not for you, I wouldn’t have the sandwich shop, or half the bands that I’ve signed, or all the crazy energy you give me, or my business partner.”

  “Ian. You can say his name.” I hugged Mercedes and tried not to be sad, but then she began crying and I couldn’t stop myself.

  “You’ll need a place to stay when you come back. You can stay with me and Rosemary.”

  I laughed and said, “I know. Your casa has always been my casa.”

  We hugged several times before Mercedes actually left. The loft seemed as sad and empty as it had the first time Oswald had shown it to me, a thing stuck in the past.

  I had the small pile of items I hadn’t already packed in the truck: the sports bag, my chic green zebra-print suitcase, the Tolstoy novels, books about desert horticulture, and my backpack.

  I crawled into a sleeping bag on the floor and tried to think positively about the future. It wasn’t what I had planned, but it could be fabulous if I just made up my mind to be happy.

  When I awoke, it was dark and I knew someone was watching me. I turned my head and saw Ian sitting on the zebra-print suitcase.

  He was dressed casually, in a fine-gauge graphite gray sweater, dark jeans, and black boots. Something had happened while I had amnesia, because he still looked like the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen.

  Ian smiled sadly and said, “Hello, darling.”

  I was tangled in my long T-shirt, so I sat up rather ungracefully and brushed my hair out of my face. My heart was pounding from the shock of being awakened, from being near him. “Hello, Ian.”

  “I came to talk to you in my capacity as a member of the Council.”

  “You could have knocked.”

  “I thought you might not open the door. You haven’t called
me since you’ve recovered your memory.” He took a key and set it on the floor. “I won’t do it again.”

  “That’s good, because I won’t be here,” I said. “Did Mercedes tell you I was leaving?”

  “Yes. She broke her rule about keeping out of our relationship,” he said. “The Council has cleared you of all charges in Wilcox Spiggott’s death and we would like to thank you for helping to apprehend his murderer.”

  “Sure, anytime. I apologize for accusing you of killing him.”

  Ian shrugged and I thought of the powerful shoulders moving beneath the soft fabric.

  “It was a reasonable suspicion. I certainly considered it,” he said. “I understand that you have accomplished what Professor Poindexter did not—you are able to raise the dead. Well, I have always found your presence uplifting.”

  “Ha, ha, and ha, Ian,” I said, and when he smiled it made me feel … wonderful. Ian always made me feel wonderful. “You bought that house so you could meet Ford and, through him, his father.”

  “Yes. I’d heard through various acquaintances that Poindexter had been contracted to reanimate corpses for warfare.”

  “You weren’t skeptical about such a story?”

  “When there is profit enough, man achieves things that seem impossible,” he said. “I hadn’t counted on Cricket’s too-avid interest in me. I tried to channel her behavior, but you see how badly that turned out.”

  “Of course, it doesn’t answer why you wanted to befriend a man misusing his genius to create a zombie army.”

  “I didn’t want to befriend him. I wanted to find him and stop him.”

  “You found the facility and set the explosives.”

  “I expected to use a more subtle approach, but I let my emotions get the best of me. I believed you were safe at the ranch with Oswald.”

  “I thought you were still with Ilena. Perhaps we should coordinate efforts in the future.”

  We sat quietly for a minute and then I said, “You were right about me. I killed a guard to escape Poindexter’s compound, and I killed Professor Poindexter when I saw him because … because the absence of any good can be evil. He was evil.”