by C. L. Bevill
“You’ve been here a long time,” she said.
“Time doesn’t work in a normal way here.”
Tavie thought of Coco. Coco hadn’t thought she’d been here much longer than Tavie, but she’d died in 1982 or 1983, depending on exactly when her step-father had strangled her.
“It sounds like the people in Deadsville are here for a reason,” Tavie surmised.
Nica laughed again. “Clever. Cleverer than most.” He paused and Tavie’s eyes strained to see him in the darkness. “I have something for you.”
“A trade?”
“No. Not that. I don’t trade with deadies.” He knelt again and she could see just the dim outline of his form moving. Something swept over the front of him; it seemed like he moved his arm from one side to the other. A muffled noise resulted and something scrambled at his feet.
Tavie leaned back and dabbed at the tears she’d missed. She didn’t know what Nica was doing and it was hard to summon the energy to care. But there was an abrupt bark of delight and a shape bulleted toward her. The black, brown, and white animal leapt into her arms with a frantic yip that was simultaneously joy and a rebuke.
The dog lapped anxiously at Tavie’s face while she held his squirming body. He was part terrier, part Chihuahua, and all rescued dog. “Puddles A. Lott,” she said, when she could pull back. There was an inner pulse of happiness to see her dog, until she realized what his presence actually meant. The smile on her face faded away and she held the dog a little tighter.
“Don’t worry,” Nica said softly. “It was quick. Your animal didn’t suffer. He got away from your parents by digging under the fence and ran across a busy street.”
Tavie clutched her dog to her and closed her eyes. “I thought all dogs go to heaven.”
“This one missed you,” Nica said. “The other one moved on. Sparkplug’s happy. Your parents found him a home with children. They play with him. He sleeps at their feet. This one, not so much. When you died, a piece of him died with him.”
“Oh, Pudd,” Tavie said. “I’m sorry, fella. I’m so sorry.”
“He’s not hurt anymore,” Nica reassured her. “Not even the arthritis in his hips. He’s pleased to see you.”
Tavie held the dog for a long time, until Puddles got anxious and whined to get away. Pudd took a few minutes to examine the area immediately around Tavie while she watched with bitter bemusement. Then the dog peed on the tree.
“Pudd just put ectoplasm on the tree,” Tavie observed. “He peed ectoplasm. That isn’t right.”
Nica shrugged. “It’s good for the tree.”
“Is he going away now?” Tavie asked calmly. She didn’t feel calm. Pets weren’t supposed to suffer for a person’s actions.
Nica backed away, moving out of the shadows of the tree. She could see his face. Pudd darted happily toward him and then bounced away back to Tavie. The dog was clearly overjoyed to be here. “No,” he said with surprise apparent in his voice. “He’s your dog. He’s staying with you. I’ve never seen that before either.”
“I get to keep him?” Tavie asked, startled.
“For a while anyway,” Nica said. “I don’t think you should count on anything.”
“I’ll take it.” This time the smile on Tavie’s face was genuine. Then she heard a distant yell.
“Sheriff!” It was Enoch. Somehow he’d managed to track her down. Tavie looked and saw his red head in the gloom, down the little hill, glancing around for her.
“Up here!” she yelled back. She turned to look at Nica and he was gone, but Pudd was still there, sniffing the ground, pawing at a rock, glancing at his mistress adoringly.
“There’s bin another one!” Enoch bellowed. “Best come quick! Another dead guy!”
Chapter 10
Death rights everything. – Maltese Proverb
~
“No one knew what to think.” – Hungry Hippo Herman on events in Deadsville
~
“That’s a dog,” Enoch said, clearly unable to move for the moment. He couldn’t take his eyes off Puddles A. Lott. Pudd didn’t really care one way or the other. Tavie couldn’t help shrugging.
“No doy,” Coco said. She had found the two of them before not much more time had passed. Clearly pleased with herself, she pranced behind them and made comments about how the serial killer girls had loved the latest ration of gossip. “Looks like some kind of terrier/Chihuahua mix,” she observed. “I had a Papillion. She had a miniature Wuzzle hanging from her collar. I hope she’s okay. Wait, do I get to see my dog when she dies? That would gross me out to the max if she had been run over. You’re such a good dog, aren’t you, cutie pie?”
Pudd yipped. Even dead, he knew when someone was paying attention to him, and positive reinforcement was always to be given.
“A dog,” Enoch repeated. “There’s never been a dog here before. Not a dog, a cat, a rat, a gerbil, or a goldfish. Hell, I haven’t even seen a mosquito.” Tavie thought of the albino snake wrapped around the shoulders of the man with the top hat. It was hard to believe that Enoch didn’t know about him. Was it possible that only she could see them?
“That you know of,” Tavie said. “Stop staring at my dog’s butt.”
“He pees ectoplasm,” Enoch said.
Pudd happily decorated a wall next to them.
“Seems about right to me,” Tavie said. She motioned with her hand. “You’ve stopped again, Enoch. Take me to the dead guy. Ignore my dog.”
Enoch shook his head and looked away from the dog. “It’s right down Allegory Alley. Come on. I better get you to it before it does what Darren did and we really do have nothing.”
After a little bit of time, Tavie found herself in an alley that was more like a main street. There were a few store fronts, usually trading something like clothing or stuff that might typically come across with the newly dead. She was getting used to the idea. Apparently, people made deals right away because they still had hope of getting something they think they wanted. A few people were wheeling and dealing until they saw Tavie and Enoch stride past. They paused because the appearance of the Deadsville sheriff’s department always meant something interesting was going on.
Then they got a look at Coco with Pudd trotting beside her and lost their little dead minds.
By the time they reached the dead deadie, a crowd followed behind them. Tavie could hear the various words. Shock, amazement, and sometimes doubt littered the field. “Haven’t seen a dog for a long time.” “Wow. It’s really a dog.” “Maybe it’s not really a dog.”
There was a short alley off the main alley, which Tavie found ironic. City planning obviously hadn’t been at the forefront of the Deadsville forefathers’ minds. The micro alley blended into the shadows and in the sliver of light from one of the nearest blue lanterns, Tavie could see the foot of a very still man.
A small group of people waited outside the entrance. Sternstein, Lillian, and Maximillian were among them. All three appeared worried, based on their frowny faces. Not only did they have the unsmiling faces, but they weren’t saying much, which Tavie took to mean that they were stricken dumb. From her brief experience of them, stricken dumb was likely the sign of a coming apocalypse.
“Keep them back,” Tavie said to Enoch and he nodded, even while he pulled that peculiar handheld lantern out of a pocket and passed it to her.
As soon as Tavie stepped across the boundary of the alley, she felt the pull of something shadowy and inexplicable. She held the lantern up and glanced over her shoulder as Pudd whined and plunked himself down at the entrance. He whined again, looking at her with big brown eyes. Then he crossed his front paws and rested his head on them, waiting for her to do what she needed to do.
Tavie scowled. She had never been one to humanize her pets, but it seemed as if Pudd knew the score and didn’t like it one damn bit. “Good dog,” she muttered and one of his ears flicked.
Turning her attention to the scene, Tavie stopped and began to mentally catalog
the area and the body. The dead man lay on his side on the ground. He was of Asian descent and in his sixties. His hair was liberally sprinkled with gray and he wore a black suit. It was a suit of good quality. This man had died while wearing a suit. She could see that it had been a quick death, or at least his first death had been. A massive hemorrhage had occurred in his brain. There was a bit of blood at his nose, ears, and at the corners of his mouth. He had probably been dead before his body had hit the ground.
Charlie would have called the man a deadsoquick, all in one word and with the apologetic impatience of someone who wanted to get back to his crossword puzzle and his cup of Joe. Police saw them occasionally. They were at their jobs, working their butts off, bringing home the bucks, living the Type A personality’s life, and unaware that they had a ticking time bomb inside. Then they inevitably keeled over, leaving friends or strangers or relatives to call 9-1-1, and leaving the police to call the next of kin and break the sorry news.
“No pulse?” she asked.
Enoch said, “No. I checked. And he’s cold like ice. Like the other one.”
What had Enoch said earlier? Cold like the grave. Tavie didn’t particularly want to touch the man.
“Did you start making a list of the people here?”
“I came to get you first,” Enoch said. He produced a notepad and a well-chewed pencil. “I’ll start right now.”
“The same as before, okay?”
Enoch nodded again and got to the audience. Half of them were engrossed with the dog, and the other half had perceived that something very strange was happening.
“Does anyone know this man?” Tavie called. She held the lantern so that the man’s face was illuminated.
There had been intent murmurs going around. Several people shook their heads. Maximillian said, “I think that’s Minh Thanh.”
Sternstein tilted his head. “Minh is about thirty.”
“That was his cover,” Maximillian said. “He was in his sixties, dressed like some kind of corporate guy. I saw it a few times before he learned how to make adjustments. I never forget a good suit.” He adjusted his suit lapel accordingly. “You see, that’s a Dolce & Gabbana suit he’s wearing. It’s not exactly something off the rack at Walmart.” The implication was that Maximillian would know. Tavie wouldn’t have known a Dolce & Gabbana suit if it had bitten her on the gluteus Maximus.
“What did Minh do?” Tavie asked.
“In the real world?” Maximillian said. “Don’t know. In Deadsville, he was just one of the survivors. He was waiting for the next thing to happen. I think he used to hang out with the Oscar Wildeians.”
Tavie hadn’t thought about the subject of merely surviving, although she had danced around it. It was what the dead were doing in Deadsville. They were surviving here. They were all waiting for the next thing to happen.
Another thought occurred to her. Deadsville had a group dedicated to the pursuit of all things Oscar Wilde. Perhaps they had their very own edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray. Was there anything not represented in Deadsville?
“Let’s assume this guy is going to do what Darren did,” Tavie said to Enoch. “Let’s take a look at his back before he does a Wicked Witch number.”
“‘I’m melting!’” Enoch said. “‘Melting! Oh, what a world!’” He stepped forward. “He’s already on his side, so let’s just pull his jacket up and take a looksee. Mebe the fella who did this left a signature.”
Enoch knelt at Minh’s side while Tavie positioned herself and the lantern. The crowd behind them immediately went silent. She knew she should have shooed them away further than they were, but it wasn’t a typical police situation and they didn’t have a lot of time.
Enoch carefully pulled the jacket up and said, “His shirt is already untucked.” He pulled the shirt out of the way and there were letters, engraved into the flesh, glowing with bluish fire. They didn’t really need the lantern to see them. “Vindicta,” he read in a low murmur. “Don’t take a professor to get that, now do it?”
“No,” Tavie said. “It doesn’t. It’s the root of vindictive so it’s another message to us, to someone, maybe to the dead man. Vindictive? Unforgiving? Vengeful?”
Enoch pulled the shirt back into place and then the jacket followed. “Just like the other one,” he muttered. “Dang mysterious. I’m betting folks are goin’ to say they ain’t saw nothing or nobody. What do we do next, Tavie?”
“Keep asking questions,” she said. “Did you speak with any of the people Darren was around?”
“I spoke to the neighbors and some of them folks at the scene. Ain’t no one saw nothing or nobody? Just like I said.” Enoch stood up and stared down at Minh. He looked over his shoulder at the crowd. “Folks ain’t changed from the living side. Most don’t want to get entangled.”
“Not unless it happens to one of their own,” Tavie said. “Then they’re screaming about police involvement.” She had heard it before.
“Back in the day, the sheriff would just take care of it with the business end of a rubber hose,” Enoch said. He almost sounded wistful. “Locking folks up usually dos the trick, if you can figure out who to lock up.”
Tavie slowly glanced around the area. It was a dark area, much like the other area that Darren had been found in. “How far are we away from where Darren was located?”
“Mebe a half mile?” Enoch almost asked. “Distance is a little tricky here, just time. Like I would have said it was a half-mile today. But tomorrow it might be right down the block.”
Tavie sighed. “Write down a list of people here. Star the ones who stay here or live here. If there’s a special group that hangs out around here, make a note of that. We’ll cross reference that with the first list, and talk to the people who were in common.”
“A cop once tole me that’s how they caught Ted Bundy,” Enoch said, “and I said I dint know who Ted Bundy was.” He correctly interpreted Tavie’s increasing impatience and turned away.
Tavie took a moment to breathe deeply. At least she could still do that. It felt like she needed the oxygen in her lungs, although it was likely psychological like almost everything else. Then she began to work the scene. She was not even halfway done before Minh’s body began to shrink up like Darren’s. This time his head pulled itself toward the body and the arms and legs curled into themselves.
Someone gasped loudly from the watching crowd and said, “Look at the body!”
For a moment, Minh’s body writhed as if it was alive, tugging inexorably at itself. Then it simply dissolved.
Tavie stepped back and let the darkness keep its secrets. She shook her head and then nearly jumped as Pudd nudged her leg with his wet nose. She reached down to scratch his head and several people in the audience sighed pensively. If being a sheriff didn’t pan out, Tavie knew she could always make a living in Deadsville, no pun intended, from Pudd. Deadies would pay her to pet the dog. For that matter, deadies probably would pay her if Pudd bit them on the ankle.
“Who found the body?” Tavie asked Enoch.
Enoch pointed to a man dressed in a leather corset that was only half stitched up. He had matching fingerless gloves and short-shorts. He also had fishnet stockings complete with garter belts and high heels. His makeup would have made Tammy Faye Bakker jealous. A necklace with marble-sized pearls completed the ensemble.
“Dr. Furter, I presume,” Tavie said.
“I saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show 155 times,” the man said pertly, raising his chin minutely. “I choked on a hot dog during number 156. It was ironically fitting. Meat Loaf sent my family a flower arrangement.”
Tavie could see the swelling in the man’s throat and the discoloration of his cheeks. She motioned him forward and was oddly jealous that he could walk so well in heels. If she put heels on, she would invariably twist an ankle not a minute later. “What’s your name?”
“Gilbert,” he said.
“Gilbert,” she said, trying to keep the smile from her lips. A man dressed
as Dr. Frank N. Furter had died while choking on a frankfurter at a showing of the original infamous midnight movie. And his name was Gilbert. “It could have been worse, of course.”
“You mean dying while wearing a Frank N. Furter outfit?” Gilbert asked. “I suppose so, but I’ve never minded. I can sing the every song from the movie, you know. Even ‘Super Heroes’ from the original UK version.”
Tavie had seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show exactly once. Tim Curry had pretty much stolen the entire movie, and that was the best thing that she could say about it. “Okay, Gilbert, if I need an expert in that area, you’re my…uh…guy, uh…transvestite?”
Gilbert nodded approvingly.
“What did you see?”
“I was headed over to the west side for a revival of Annie. I thought I turned at the right alley but it was really the wrong alley and I tripped over that man.” Gilbert pointed at where Minh had lain. “It was so creepy. I wouldn’t have stopped but he wasn’t moving or anything. He seemed…well…dead.”
Tavie rubbed her head. “And dead is different here?”
“Not dead like us dead,” Gilbert said and waved his hands around. “Dead like dead. I mean, so dead a deadie would go ‘Whoa, that guy’s gone done dead.’”
“You see people around Deadsville lying down, sometimes sleeping. They look dead to me,” Tavie said. “What was different about this one?”
Gilbert scrunched up his face. His lipstick was immaculate; it didn’t even smear when he touched the side of his mouth with one finger. “It gave me goose bumps. I mean, it gave me goose bumps in a way that the elusive ingredient speech in Rocky Horror did, except I wasn’t smiling.”
Tavie looked at the lantern she was still holding. The bluish light from within was sputtering unevenly. This was another dark place. Enoch had said, “A dark place is a place in Deadsville that doesn’t hold light very well. It kind of gives you the chill willies. Folks tend to avoid it.”
As a matter of fact, Tavie had the chill willies. Under her jacket, she could feel her flesh crawling. She wanted to leave the place and never come back, but that wasn’t surprising. There was a lot about Deadsville that wasn’t appealing. “Did you know the deadie?”
