by Peter Giglio
Steven picked up a remote control and lowered the stereo’s volume as he stared at the door. The scratching intensified.
“Who’s there?” he asked, walking toward the sound. Now standing at the threshold, he thought about repeating the question, but he knew it would be pointless. Whoever was on the other side was more than likely incapable of responding. Only second-lifers lived here. And though they were all special for one reason or another, all of them were still unable to speak.
He peered through the eyehole and spied a female he’d never seen. He made it a point to know all the residents of 913 (the building’s number, and the only name those in the know had for this otherwise nameless dwelling), but he couldn’t place her. She had to be new.
He opened the door and the female almost fell into the apartment. “Easy there,” he said, catching and righting her before she hit the floor.
Her dead eyes darted back to the hallway. She looked fearful, ready to flee.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, patting her shoulder. “I’m your friend. Not going to hurt you. You have my word.” He reached in the pocket of his sport coat and pulled out a small plastic device, a card reader. This female, he considered, was still wearing paper clothes, and he had to make sure she belonged here. “I hate to start off on the wrong foot,” he said gently, “but may I see your identification card?”
The female produced a Blue Card from the breast pocket of her paper smock and handed it to him.
“Thank you,” he said, then swiped the card through the reader.
Monika Janus
IdentNumber: 287945745421
Death Age: 27
Second Life Age: 1.7 yrs
Location: Horizon City, Texas
Status: Blue
Credit Balance: 8,002
Housing: 913
Assignment: AdCorp
Guardian: AdCorp / 784-555-1059
He looked up and smiled, wondering what AdCorp was up to with this girl. Had he underestimated them? Were they really interested in the advancement of Glory’s Children? Or was this poor soul in some kind of danger?
“My, you’re quite important, aren’t you?” he said.
She opened her mouth, a confused expression taking shape, then pointed at the stereo.
“You were drawn by the music?” he asked.
She nodded.
“And you understand me?”
She nodded again.
“Well, Ms. Janus, it appears you are someone special. It’s an honor to meet you.” He handed the Blue Card back to her. She took it and started to leave. “Ms. Janus,” he said. She returned her attention to him. “You’re welcome to come back and listen to music anytime. Glory has a wonderful collection, and I’d like nothing more than for the two of you to become friends.”
Monika looked past him now and pointed at Glory.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s her. She’s very important, not only to me.”
Monika pointed to her own head.
“That’s something to help her communicate,” he said.
Monika’s eyes widened, and he laughed.
“Don’t worry,” he said, shaking his head, “it doesn’t hurt.”
She put her finger on her lower lip and pulled her mouth open.
“Yes,” he said. “It helps her talk…sometimes. But she doesn’t have long left. Maybe you could come by some night and help me reach her?”
Monika pointed at her chest.
“Yes, you,” he said. “Would you like that? We can listen to music and you can help me.”
She tilted her head like a curious animal.
“Think about it,” he said.
She gave a quick nod, stuffed the Blue Card back in her pocket, and started away. Steven walked into the hall and watched her open the door to her apartment. As she gave him one last glance, he couldn’t get over how inquisitive and kind she appeared.
“Remarkable,” he said, then looked back into Glory’s apartment. There sat his true love, a lifeless form swaying, though not really moving, in the haze of tears he could no longer restrain.
* * *
The cop snapped on latex gloves, then helped the zombie from the pavement. He wiggled the thing’s nose for a moment, muttered, “Not broken,” then turned to Eric and Melody. “You’re lucky,” he said, “this one’s gonna be fine.” He then spun the corpse in the direction of the projects, patted him on the back, and said, “Move along.”
The zombie started its slow shuffle homeward.
“It’s all just a misunderstanding,” Melody said.
“Oh?” said the cop, taking off his gloves. “Why do you say that?”
She laughed nervously. “My fiancé here thought the second-lifer was attacking me.”
“It was attacking you,” Eric growled.
The cop’s eyes narrowed. “Was it attacking you, ma’am?”
She didn’t say anything while the officer suspiciously took Eric’s measure. Up and down, slowly, then again. Eric rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh as the officer pointed a firm finger upward, drawing attention to a security camera set on a swivel above the restaurant.
“Should I look at the footage, ma’am?” he asked, pressing his cold, no-nonsense eyes into Melody’s fearful gaze. “Or would you like to make this easy and answer my question?”
She shook her head sadly. “No. He wasn’t attacking me.”
The officer shrugged one shoulder as he tossed his gloves into a city trashcan, then he pulled out a citation book, placed Eric’s driver’s license in a clip at the top of the pad, and started writing.
Eric took a step toward the officer. “What are you doing?” he asked.
The officer threw out a solid stop-sign hand. “Stand back, sir.”
“But I—”
“Look, let me do my job, okay? I assume you’re not looking to spend the night in lockup.”
Eric lowered his head and slumped back into position beside Melody. “Why?” he whispered.
“What do you mean, why?” she replied. “They had it on camera for Christ’s sake.”
He didn’t want to create another scene in front of the lawman, so he kept his head down and thought about how much he hated her. She never had his back, was never on his side, no matter what, even when he was trying to look out for her. It was like this with everything lately. And now he was going to have to pay a thousand-dollar fine for saving her ass from a no-good night crawler. At least if he’d attacked another person, the case would go to trial. He’d have a chance to plead his point of view, create a sense of doubt. But the undead couldn’t mount a defense, and these things had to be cut and dry in the eyes of the system. It wasn’t the money that angered him. It was Melody’s betrayal.
The officer ripped a ticket from his pad and handed it to Eric, who glanced at it before stuffing it in his pocket.
“You okay, ma’am?” the officer asked Melody.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said.
“Are you able to take the young lady home?” the officer asked Eric, who didn’t like the way the man stressed the word “young.” The fifteen years between them always seemed to be a point of contention in the court of public opinion.
Scowling, though doing his best to hold his temper in check, Eric thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”
Melody shot him a cold, surprised look. “What?”
“Can you take her home, Officer? Is that okay?”
The cop nodded. “Yeah, no problem. Probably best while everyone cools down anyway.”
Eric pulled the engagement ring from his pocket, handed it to Melody. She took it with a tremulous hand. “This is yours,” he said. “Sell it or keep it, doesn’t matter to me, but it’s yours.”
“Coop?”
He shook his head. “Nah, don’t call me that. That’s what my friends call me, and you’re not a friend anymore. We’re done.”
“Oh, won’t this make your mother so happy,” she hissed. “Fuckin’ momma’s boy. And who are th
ese friends you speak of? You have no—”
“Yeah, it’ll probably light her up a bit,” Eric said, “and that’s fine by me.”
“Coop, come on. Think about this. This is crazy. I’m all you have.”
“No,” he said. “I’m sorry for how my mother treated you and everything she ever said about you—”
“Eric!”
“But she’s always been on my side no matter what. And you haven’t. I just don’t trust you anymore.”
“You’re being crazy.”
He chuckled without mirth. “Don’t you think I’ve wanted someone to talk to these last few days?”
“You have me. You can talk to me.”
“No. You’d only laugh at me, tell me I’m crazy, and maybe you’d be right. I’m smart enough to know that. But I also know that love isn’t about being right, and confiding in you would only make me crazier.”
Streams of mascara ran down her face, but she didn’t say anything, just nodded at the officer when he put his hand on her shoulder. Eric stood motionless and unfeeling as Melody was guided into the back of the cruiser, then he watched her disappear into the big neon glitter of Horizon City.
And hoped he’d never see her again.
CHAPTER 4
Eric had iced his knuckles before going to bed, then tossed and turned most of the night, fist screaming and mind racing. So he was surprised the next morning when he woke early and felt downright fantastic.
He didn’t consider going back to sleep, even though an hour remained before the first screech of his alarm clock, and he didn’t think of the birds singing in the predawn haze outside his window as an annoyance, as he routinely did; their song was comforting now, restorative, confirmation that the world still turned regardless of his petty bullshit. Even the pain in his hand had shrunk to an ache that hardly registered.
He didn’t have to plunge deep in his psyche to explain this newfound outlook.
Melody.
She’d been the weight dragging him into the abyss, something he’d denied for too long. Fast lust had been mistaken for fast love, and as the power she had over him wore thin—batting her big eyes and getting her way—he’d clung to the notion that their connection was deeper than it was. That hadn’t been a piece of mercy for her, of course, it had been for him, a guy who’d taken his share of beatings in the ring of love, who’d nearly been killed in one bout, a thing he buried deep.
In general, it was damn hard for him to admit he was bad at anything, even though he wasn’t a stranger to the truth, but this morning he didn’t have to face the music.
A weight had been lifted: ninety-five pounds plus baggage.
Eric rarely ate breakfast, but when he entered the kitchen to make coffee, he opened the refrigerator and, feeling a deep hunger, gathered ingredients.
He scrambled eggs and fried bacon as he whistled tunelessly. Then, instead of letting the morning news depress him, he found a television feed that played old cartoons and made that his backdrop. Tom and Jerry, an old favorite, though he didn’t pay much attention to the events onscreen; he didn’t need to. The familiar soundtrack mixed with the sweet, comforting aroma of breakfast food and took him to a happier time…
On the couch in the old house on Saturday morning…Mom cooking…Jerry outsmarting Tom on the tube…
Mom.
She was a tough woman who’d had an even tougher life, and Melody had been born into the comfort of a wealthy family, which had afforded her the opportunity to become an overeducated socialite. Melody and his mother were like oil and water; couldn’t even stand being in the same room together. It wasn’t like either was innocent in the conflict, even if most of their antics were justifiable to a degree, particularly when it came to his mother.
After what Eric had been through with his previous relationship, Francine Cooper wasn’t ready to trust any woman in her son’s life, so she’d been cruel to Melody. Passive-aggressive shit mostly, like making disparaging comments about models in magazines who dressed like Melody, or putting down female characters in movies and TV shows who were involved with older men.
Age was a big part of it. Eric had always dated younger women, and Melody hardly won the age-gap prize, but none had incurred the same constant level of abuse from his mother. It wasn’t that Eric didn’t find women in their forties, women his age, attractive; he was more attracted to them, in fact, and didn’t understand why he routinely drew the affections of girls he was old enough to have fathered. Maybe it had something to do with maturity, he mused. That had always been his mother’s argument, and he was starting to think she was right.
Melody hadn’t made matters better. She hadn’t even tried to understand Francine Cooper’s motivations. She’d simply stood her ground and marked her territory, and Eric had let her.
Considering these things, Eric felt better, like he was finally piecing together the truth behind why he’d been unhinged lately. So once he’d plated his breakfast, rather than sitting down with his favorite cat-and-mouse cartoon duo, he looked through the French doors of his condo, at the spacious patio he never used, and decided to dine with the morning.
The air was sharp and warm but pleasant compared to the sweltering, damn-near-suffocating day that would undoubtedly follow. He placed his plate and a cup of coffee on a metal table and sat down, then pulled out his phone and looked at the time: 5:14 a.m.
He wondered if his mother would be awake. Probably, but he wasn’t in a rush to call her. He put the phone down, finished his meal, then leaned back in his chair and wished he had a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked for almost a decade, a habit he was proud of breaking, but this morning a victory smoke seemed in order. He never understood why ex-smokers always complained about needing a fix when stressed. He always wanted to light up when he was happy.
He started to pick up the phone and check the time again when it chirped. The incoming call display let him know it was his mother, and he smiled. Though she called frequently, she never disturbed him this early. He had a pretty good idea why she made an exception now.
“Morning, Mom.”
“So,” she said in a high-pitched, excited voice, “you finally shed that girl.”
He chuckled. “News travels fast.”
“Better believe it. She’s been leaving messages all morning; asking me to talk sense into you.”
“Really?”
“If that isn’t desperation, I don’t know what is.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Well, she had me a little worried. Says you’ve been acting crazy. Told some pretty wild stories to my machine, but I don’t believe that girl any further than I can throw her.”
“Ah, I bet you could throw her a mile.”
She laughed. “She is a waif, that one.”
“I’ll be honest, Mom, I have been a little nuts lately, but that’s all over now. It just took me a while to get around to the truth.”
“Which is?”
“She’s the problem.”
His mother laughed again, a hearty told-you-so kind of laugh. “Boy, you need to start listing to good ol’ Mom. Might be getting up there in years, but I can smell a gold digger ten miles away.”
That hadn’t been the problem. Melody had money of her own, plenty of it. But he didn’t feel like arguing, not this early and not when he was already feeling this good, so he just laughed along with her.
“Hope you got that fancy diamond back,” she said.
He cringed. “Of course.”
He hated lying to his mother, but he’d never get her off the phone if he confessed. Fact was, he’d never worried about money, which had always come easy to him. His mother, on the other hand, had always worried about it. He remembered the days when she’d worked two menial jobs to keep a roof over his head and food on the table. For a homemaker who’d been thrust into the high-wire role of young widow and single mother, she’d done a damn fine job. And she knew how to pinch a penny better than anyone.
“You sure?” sh
e pressed.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Well, you don’t seem too shaken up. That’s good, I guess.”
“I’m not. Feel better than I have in a long time. Made myself a nice big breakfast this morning and even took it out on the patio.”
“Well shoot, you should’ve come over here and let me fix something for you. Don’t see near enough of you anyhow, and I haven’t made you a good country breakfast in I don’t know how long.”
“I know, I know. Some other morning…maybe Saturday?”
“Perfect. Was gonna ask you over this weekend anyway. You really need to come with me to see Grammie and Pop. They miss you something fierce.”
Groaning, he rolled his eyes. “No, they don’t.”
“You calling your mother a liar, Eric Cooper?”
“Mom, they’re zombies.” He bit his tongue and damned himself for not choosing the last word more wisely. And besides, second-lifers weren’t the problem; he was sure of that now. The slur must have been residue, a hangover, from his emotional fog.
“Watch your mouth,” she said. “I didn’t raise a bigot!”
“Sorry, Mom. You’re right. They’re second-lifers, and I still love them, but they don’t miss me. They don’t even remember me. And it hurts to see them like they are now. Doesn’t it hurt you?”
There was a moment of silence while his mother seemed to consider the question. Eric knew it hurt her, a truth impossible to miss in her eyes the few times he’d accompanied her to Lazarus Estates.
“Eric,” she said in a church-hush voice, “the good Lord saw fit to give me more time with my folks. That’s all I know. It isn’t my place to frown on a heavenly blessing.”
“I understand, but—”
“Don’t go for them. Go for me. Please.”
How could he say no to that? He couldn’t and didn’t. An impending visit to Lazarus Estates normally filled him with dread, but nothing, he was certain, could kill his newfound groove today.
He chatted with her for a while longer. Washed dishes. Caught a few minutes of cartoons, Rocky and Bullwinkle, and laughed a lot. Then he got ready for work.
Yes, he thought, straightening his tie as he walked to his car, Eric Cooper is going to be fine.
