Death, Be Not Proud

by Jonathan Maberry

  And he was sure that Cindy had spent more than her fair share watching MTV, Oprah, Jerry Springer, Entertainment TV and a plethora of shows he’d never heard of nor cared to hear about. Shows dedicated to the obnoxious, hand to mouth, instant gratification generation that spawned out of the 1980’s, poured itself into the eager mouths of the starving 1990’s and on into the new millennium. And Cindy was one of the first to ride that tidal wave, right behind women like Madonna and Cyndi Lauper.

  But, he chuckled to himself; those are the people that had paid for his mansion in the hills and Malibu, the sports cars, the lawyers, the coke, the cigars and all the other luxury items he owned. Most of all though, he owed his success to the pushy, plain girl from Mission Beach, he agreed to do her first nose job not knowing that it would be the first of many for Cindy.

  Her surgery and recuperation were textbook perfect. Money was exchanged for services and that was the last he thought he’d ever see of snotty little Cindy Adler. He was wrong. About a year after that first surgery she was back in his office, now though, her name was Cindy Sinsation and she had the number one album on the Billboard 100. Her mousey brown hair was platinum blonde, instead of being 10 pounds overweight she was 15 pounds underweight and demanding breast implants. But not just any breast implants, she wanted the “BEST MONEY CAN BUY!” and she’d promised if he did a good of job on her tits, she’d refer other Pop Stars to his practice.

  It took him a few moments to realize who she was and who she had been, simply because he didn’t pay attention to the glitz and glam of the day. He was more concerned with keeping up with current trends in surgery and his stock portfolio. He agreed to do the surgery and set out to get his hands on everything Cindy wanted. Within the week, he had the perfect set of implants and a private recovery suite had been built where his office had once been. Everything Cindy wanted he got for her. Hell, he was charging her a fortune so he may as well spare no expense. Plus, his accountant had informed him everything was tax deductable.

  He called Cindy’s agent, informed her of the good news and set up a second consultation. When Cindy arrived for the second meeting, she was accompanied by her personal lawyer, the record label lawyer, and attorneys for both her father and her mother. Disclosure papers were signed, notarized and filed within minutes of everyone’s arrival. Even Cindy, who acted as if she were walking on a cloud instead of bossing everyone around like they were ants, seemed happy with the arrangements. She then excused herself, went to the bathroom, and overdosed on five lines of cocaine.

  It was Connie’s nurse who found Cindy passed out in a pool of vomit, piss and shit in the private bathroom. On the Italian Marble sink was an open baggie of cocaine the size of a cheeseburger, lying next to the baggie was the unfinished sixth line of coke and a gold plated straw with skull and crossbones etched all around it in a diagonal pattern. An adrenaline shot to the heart woke Cindy up and then they pumped her body of fluids.

  It took a week to get Cindy was clean enough to go through the breast augmentation surgery. While Cindy was in recovery, he divulged to Cindy and her lawyer the findings of the routine physical.

  He told them the cocaine use had eaten away her nasal passages and her nose would most likely need to be replaced. He informed them that Cindy was indeed three and a half months pregnant and the baby was deformed, also, Cindy had four very treatable venereal diseases and an extreme case of exhaustion.

  Both Cindy and her attorney stared at him as if he were and alien asking them to take him to their leader. So Connie spoke up, “Look, while Cindy is here, under my care that is, I will make sure to do the necessary surgeries to keep her beautiful and healthy, also, I’ll treat her for the sexually transmitted diseases and I’ll take care of the abortion. Everything will be kept secret and off the record as you request, but, and mind you, I’m putting my practice on the line for this. I want a lifetime contract to be Cindy’s personal doctor with a salary of five million a year plus perks.”

  The lawyer didn’t even blink he just looked at Cindy who looked at the lawyer and nodded. The lawyer opened his briefcase, riffled through some papers and then handed Connie his lifetime contract to sign.

  “Told you we came to the right place,” Cindy said and drifted off into blackness.

  Cindy sat on the edge of her bed watching the birds in the oak tree outside of her third floor bedroom window. A pair of robins had made a nest on the branch by her window and had managed to lay a couple of pale blue eggs. Usually one of the birds was sitting on the nest while the other went out to get some worms to eat. Cindy smiled to herself as a thought came to her. She stood up, pulled the covers off the corpse, reached into the abdomen and tugged on the first soft wet tissue she felt in her fingers. The organ didn’t want to dislodge, she pulled harder and could feel the sticky, sweet morsel sliding through her grasp. She stopped herself, adjusted her stance and her hand hold and then gently but steadily pulled until she heard a “Pop” and her right arm came shooting out of the cavity, smacking her in the face.

  She giggled, that was fun, and she looked to see what sort of tidbit she had wrangled from her most current victim. Was it a spleen, pancreas, part of the intestine? She didn’t know, she hated anatomy and had only passed high school by knowing which teachers like looking at her naked. She licked the blood off her hands, enjoying the taste and sensation it left in her mouth. Not as good as a fresh kill but it would do for now.

  She turned towards the window and saw that while she had occupied herself the birds had switched places. She strolled leisurely toward the window, trying to stay out of the bird’s sight so as not to startle it. She carefully unlatched the window and opened it as carefully as she could. The robin looked up at her, puffed up its feathers and whistled to nothing in particular. She smiled, “It’s ok Mr. Birdie. I have a treat for you. You’re gonna love it. I know I do.” And tossed the piece of drying tissue onto the branch in front of the robin, she then closed and latched the window.

  She went back to her bed, wrapped some of her covers around her feet and watched Mr. Birdie try to decipher what it was that was sitting just a few feet from his nest. She chuckled as the bird stood up, hopped over to the piece of human waste, peck at it, tear a small piece off and swallow it whole. “See, just like a worm!” cried Cindy as she burst out into a high pitched cackle.

  Once her laughter died down she realized it’d been at least 20 minutes since she’d called for Connie and she was getting tired of waiting. Not only was she tired of having to wait for him and his damn medical cart but he was always telling her what to do, what to eat, how long she should be outside, when to take her medicines and when to sleep. The bastard felt he owned her!

  But, she supposed, he was the reason she was still alive and no one knew about her condition. She lay back on the bed, her left arm falling onto the chest of the corpse. She slipped her hand inside the soft tissue and started to play around with all the wonderful treats inside, some of them were still warm and that brought a smile to her blood smeared face.

  She thought about her song “Loves’ Wicked Bite” and how she had not wanted to sing it. Her agent had bought the song for two hundred bucks from some starving songwriter on the strip who was playing it on his guitar. He ran it through the record labels writing stable, had some studio musicians record the music and told her she was obligated under contract to sing the lyrics. The song was the last one on the album she had just finished recording, it was to be a secret bonus track.

  But that bonus track was an instant hit. From the sound engineers to the punks selling drugs on the street, everyone loved it. Her album went double platinum within a month; she made appearances on all the talk shows, Saturday Night Live and even had a special performance on Austin City Limits. It was a whirlwind of concerts and promotional appearances that lasted four months. Cindy was on the brink of exhaustion, and richer than she ever dreamed of. Her agent told her she was scheduled for a one-month break but she needed to film the video for “Loves’ Wicked
Bite”, another demand on her time she did not want to perform.

  The video shoot was set on location at the Stull Cemetery in Kansas City, which, she had been told, was one of the most haunted cemeteries in America. Her limo rushed past the mile long line of honey wagons, flatbeds, f/x trucks, craft service vehicles, buses and various other equipment trucks. There were people everywhere walking, eating, practicing dance moves, talking and in some cases fighting. All these scenes Cindy viewed through the tinted glass of the car, none of them affected her, none of them touched her. Nothing was allowed to.

  Some folks were dressed as zombies, some as werewolves, or vampires and even some in just everyday street clothes. She could easily tell the lawyers from the production team members from the talent, just by what people were wearing, acting and doing. And, even with all the excitement, commotion and attention, she was bored with the whole situation, and just wanted to lie on a beach somewhere, and soak up some sun and drink herself into oblivion.

  When she got to her trailer she was quickly undressed and put into her dance costume, the make-up artists and hairdressers had been waiting for her and quickly went to work for her first scene. Throughout the entire twenty minutes since she had stepped out of the limo her song, ”Loves’ Wicked Bite”, was constantly blaring from loudspeakers mounted on top of collapsible poles that were secured to the back of trucks positioned in key spots around the cemetery, and she was becoming extremely irritated with the whole day.

  Her agent and the video director were also in her trailer waiting, and as soon as she walked in, they both started talking at once. Each one louder than the next, her agent was screaming about signing contracts for some soft drink or mouthwash endorsement, the director was explaining his vision of video, something about “Homage” to Vincent Price, whoever the hell he was. Meanwhile, the hairdressers, costume girls and makeup artists were all asking her questions and commenting on her newest look and fashion sense. That is, if you can call “New York drugged out hooker” a look or fashion-statement.

  “ENOUGH!” Cindy shouted over the din of voices “EVERYONE-SHUT-THE-FUCK-UP!” she heard herself yell in a staccato cadence. Silence filled the trailer as everyone stopped moving, took a step back from her in the cramped confines of the room and waited. She slowly turned and looked at the six people who were now staring at her, their slack-jawed expressions brought a smile to her eyes but it never reached her mouth. She pointed to her agent, “Ten million from the soda company for a one year contract with two commercials.” She ordered and he pulled out his cell phone as he left the trailer to make the deal. She turned to the director “I don’t care about your fucking vision, I don’t fucking know or care who Vincent Price is. This is a fucking love song about death. You want me to fucking dance and you want me to fucking lip sync my song, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Just like a goddamned trained monkey. So get the fuck out of my trailer and send me the damn choreographer. Oh, and turn that FUCKING MUSIC OFF!” The director looked as if she had just castrated him and eaten his balls. He slowly turned with his head hung low and skulked out of the trailer.

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and held it until the only thing she heard was the beating of her own heart. She stood still, hands at her sides, feet apart and tried to focus on making it through the next minute, the next hour, and the rest of the day without losing her mind or killing someone.

  Her song was in the middle of the chorus when it was finally turned off.

  ‘Loves wicked bite,

  It’ll help you through your night.

  You can sleep in tomorrow,

  Today is made for burying your sorrow.

  As your body slowly dies and you hear my silent cries,

  You know our love will live forever when you feel,

  Loves wicked bite.’

  Thank God that’s over she thought to herself as she turned to sit back down at the make shift hair and makeup counter. Once she was comfortable she looked at her reflection in the mirror and saw the four stylists standing behind her, each one of them had the same horrified expression on their faces’. A look that easily revealed the fear that they were all about to get fired and there was nothing they could do about it. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get me ready.” Cindy ordered and all four of the women closed in wielding hair and makeup brushes like the experts they were.

  Ten minutes later, through a cloud of Elnette hairspray, Cindy could be seen standing behind her trailer with the choreographer learning her dance moves. Her part of the dance was easily memorized and she was swept off to the set by her agent. On the way she signed the soda contract and was told the schedule for the commercial shoot would be in a week and a lot more bullshit that she tuned out in favor of the memories of her youth when she didn’t have the demands on her time by all the hangers-on in her life.

  The ride was quick; she was escorted to her mark and informed by the director what scene they were shooting and what was expected of her. Cindy listened, nodded and dismissed him. She knew everyone wanted her to move her lips to the music and pout, shake her ass and tits, smile at the camera and exude sex. It was a cookie cutter recipe that had launched hundreds of women’s careers over the years. Sex sells and she was the number one sales-woman in America, for today at least.

  Six hours later, Cindy was past the point of exhaustion with only the final scene left to shoot. The sun had long dropped over the horizon, and the foul stench of diesel fumes filled the night. The lighting designers made sure the high intensity halogen lights were on and casting their penetrating beams of luminance into ever crack and crevice in their path.

  Cindy was escorted to her mark; it was plainly outlined between two monolith gravestones that stood almost twenty-five feet tall each. Their grey granite seemed dull in comparison to the white quartz specks that cast off spears of light in every direction. Cindy had to raise a hand to block out some of the light that seemed to find its way into her brain and bringing with it stabbing pain. “Find Connie; tell him I need some aspirin. FAST!” she ordered an assistant, who quickly disappeared to find the now famous doctor.

  Within minutes Connie had arrived, handed her some white tablets and watch her wash them down with a bottle of sparkling spring water. “Will there be anything else?” he asked.

  “No, but make sure you stay close, as soon as I finish here I’m heading back to the hotel and I’m gonna try to get some sleep so I’m going to need my night time cocktail ready when I get to the limo.”

  “No problem Cindy. Everything will be ready.” He assured her as he walked towards the source of the lights.

  Cindy stood on her mark, closed her eyes and listened to her song blaring through the speakers. In her mind’s eye she saw the lyrics dancing in front of a red screen that was expanding and contracting in time with the octave changes in the electronic keyboards. The tune was catchy but the lyrics were shit she thought as she slowly tapped her right hand against her hip. Her body found the groove of the percussion and rolling baseline, she started to gyrate to the beat feeling the vibrations in the air that were being projected from the speakers to anyone within a three mile radius.

  She found herself singing and dancing along as if controlled by the music, losing herself in a way she had not done in years. Nothing mattered but the music and the feel of the sound pelting her body from every direction was like no other feeling in the world to her. A feeling she had searched for with booze, drugs and sex for years only to be left with a hollow feeling that craved to be filled. She let herself go completely, she knew this wouldn’t last, it never did and it was so rare that she couldn’t afford to not give in to it.

  Cindy didn’t realize the cameramen had started filming her, she didn’t hear the speakers get turned off, she didn’t smell the musty scent of the fog machines when they were turned on and she didn’t see the back-up dancers start their routines. Most assuredly she did not feel the ground give away under her right leg causing her to fall to her face. The one thing she did remem
ber was the white-hot pain as something under the earth tore flesh from her leg.

  She was on the final note of the song when she fell. The point where she sings “Our Love will last through the night.” The sustain note on the word “night” was supposed to be E above middle C, which was at the high end of Cindy’s mediocre range. Cindy’s main talent had come from being able to convince everyone that ever saw her was that she was truly interested in them.

  But, at that moment, the moment her flesh was wrenched from her body by an unseen, unknown flesh-eating creature, her vocal range went from a three-octave alto to a five octave diva and when she sang the word “Night” she hit the E above High C which put her immediately in the Diva category. A soprano who could write her own ticket in any opera hall across the world and it was all caught on tape.

  As Cindy lay on the ground, the note from her throat slowly drifting out into the cemetery, the cast of extras, standing around at a loss for words the director yells, “CUT! PRINT! WRAP! PERFECT!” his voice snapping the hypnotic trance which had taken a hold of everyone.

  Cindy couldn’t move, the searing pain in her leg seemed to be spreading up her leg on an unstoppable course to take over her body. She couldn’t call out for help; her voice was caught up in a lump in her throat. All she could do is cry bitter, salty tears into the moist earth. Her breath hitched in her throat as the musty soil invaded her mouth and nose. She felt hands on her arms, slowly pulling her up, she felt her body turned over and placed on a cold hard body board. She saw Connie start to examine her; he was screaming for his medical kit, and an ambulance. She felt a stinging pinch on her arm, looked down, and saw Connie emptying a syringe into her. Her head felt light, dark shadows appeared around the edges of her eyes and they slowly collapsed until only blackness remained.