by Molly Snow
It was a bit warmer outside, but cold enough that she surrendered to wearing the sweater boasting cats playing with literal yarn balls crocheted and dangling across her chest. If she were her old self, she’d love the weather right now, because the sun was already brilliant in the sky, not even a cloud threatening to cast a shadow. It would feel pleasantly refreshing. As she crunched along the gravelly little parking lot in her flip flops, she was also surprised she didn’t feel out of breath, that her heart wasn’t thudding against her ribs, or anything like that. Undead. No heartbeat. That didn’t mean fear didn’t exist inside her.
She hurried along the bicycle lane of the two way road winding above the beach. Who would be bicycling all the way out here? Maybe she could hitch-hike out of there. Her steps quickened, and when she heard some crunching of footsteps in the distance behind her, she took off running. Her legs pumped fast in perfect rhythm of her arms slicing back and forth in desperation. A semi-truck blasted by, kicking stray sand off the cracked pavement and against her face, stinging her eyes. The steps quickened behind her. She could hear them. “Stella!” Billy called. She kept going, not looking back. There was a restaurant somewhere down the road—a half mile or mile away? She could make it. She wasn’t tiring like she expected. “Stella!” The voice got closer. “Wait! Come back!”
There was no use in screaming back. Just keep going. That’s all she could think. Just keep going. But Billy was too fast. Before she knew it, he was already grabbing for her, and she fell to the ground on her bare knees.
“You can’t run off like that.” His arm was around her back, holding her from taking off again.
She dared to look at her hurt knees, and mourned over the fact that some of her skin scraped off her kneecap, dull purple blood bubbling to the surface. It would never heal—she knew that much—and tugged at her long hair before slumping completely down against the concrete in despair. Billy was hushing her, saying how everything would be okay. It didn’t take long to realize all the involuntary wailing wasn’t accompanied by a single tear. She had often wondered why she didn’t cry at all since being turned, and had figured, though depressed, that she was too dazed to be that emotional. She wiped at her dry, cold cheeks, wailing some more. “I can’t even cry! I can’t even cry….”
“Who needs crying, my love? It shows sadness—a sign of weakness.”
Stella punched at his chest, and he recoiled. “I hate you so much! It’s not a weakness! Crying feels good. It’s a release. And now I can’t release anything.” She rubbed her nose out of her old habits alone.
“I’m sorry,” he said for the first time, and rubbed a hand affectionately across her back. “You’ll find in time that it is better to let those things go.”
Stella narrowed her eyes at him with as much contempt as was possible. “I don’t want to let those things go. I want to be me again. I want to go home, feel warmth, have the ability to cry and heal, feel human again. You stole that from me. You stole my identity, and I will never forgive you.”
Billy sat there, looking at her with a blank expression. Stella shoved his shoulders so that he nearly collapsed back to the concrete. She then yanked the diamond ring off her finger and tossed it across the road; it made ping sounds as it skipped away. A car could be heard coming from around the bend. The two made eye contact, before Billy’s eyes darted back to the piece of jewelry glittering from the far lane. Stella could see he had the split-second thought of rescuing it before the car zoomed right by, tires smashing the gold into the ground.
FORTY-TWO
Stella should have followed through with the plan—to go along with the wedding arrangement as if happy. What she did—tell Billy she’d never forgive him, and throw away his engagement ring she thought of more as a handcuff—stopped any possibility of her being taken out in public, to any store, to run away. Watchful eyes stayed on her since then.
Now she was standing, dressed in all white, in front of her wretchedly cheerful soon-to-be zombie-in-law. They were on the beach across from the old home, in a private event tent.
“That was quite a fit you threw, dear.” Marsha puffed Stella’s veil out more around her somber face. “But I forgive you. I blame your adolescence. I was a flighty girl once, so I can empathize. I didn’t know that marriage would be such a blessing. And you don’t either. Thank goodness I’m here to guide and direct you to do what is right.”
Since the cat was already out of the bag, Stella did not feel like acting in any way to please anybody anymore. So, instead, she rolled her eyes to those words.
“Now, now.” Marsha wagged a long fingernail. “You’ll thank me someday, and we will be the best of friends.”
“No I won’t,” Stella muttered.
Marsha’s thinly drawn eyebrows furrowed, as if in pity. “You love him, don’t you?”
“I don’t love your son.”
“I mean the other young man—from Oregon, who you went to that concert with.”
If Stella’s heart could beat, it would be rapping wildly at the thought.
“Yes, I can see it in your expression now. You love him.” Marsha flitted around, touching at her gigantic lime green sun hat, like a hen whose feathers had been ruffled, but quickly composed herself. “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t you know he doesn’t love you? He will never love you.”
“What do you know?” Stella said coldly.
“I know that it has been two months and there’s been no sign of him. I know that you are pretty, but a zombie girl nevertheless, so he wouldn’t want a thing to do with you. And I know that he was too afraid to fight us at the beach.”
“There was nothing he could do. You monsters would have killed him or his father.”
Marsha fluffed out some of Stella’s curled strands, as if not bothered by the comment one bit. “It’s time to move on. He’s nothing but a coward who doesn’t love you.”
SLAP! Stella didn’t even give it a thought. Her hand unexpectedly and automatically smacked the woman, hard and fast, but man it felt good.
Once Marsha was finished gaping in surprise, she grabbed hold of Stella’s small wrists and squeezed them in authority. “Listen, you insufferable little brat. That’s the last time you disrespect me.” Her breath was more rotten than Billy’s, and even while being a zombie herself, Stella had to pull her neck back to try and avoid the stink. “Right outside this tent is a party of more than a hundred guests—all zombies. We may be a well-behaved, classy bunch, but I won’t say it’s beyond our kind to turn against one of our own. Do you understand?”
*
Damien checked the cuffs to his dress-shirt, feeling his nerves bouncing all around. He looked back up to a reflection he hardly recognized. Last time he dressed up this much was when he was ten years old as a ring bearer for his Uncle Rocco’s wedding. And, actually, even then it wasn’t to this level. The cuff links were real gold, through and through.
And the barber shop experience was different. Oh, he had been to them before; the local barbershop in Jersey, around the corner from his favorite donut shop, had been around for thirty years, and was more than a place to get hair done: guys went to hang out with the owner and with each other, watching sports from the two flat screens posted up against the chipped, red-brick walls. But it had been a while, now, since he had a professional cut, and his thick hair had been in desperate need. The barber had stared down at the mound of cut hair that accumulated on his linoleum with a confused sigh. Damien now rubbed a hand through the perfect black strands that fell to the side of his forehead effortlessly, and nodded a private approval.
A knock on the bus’s bathroom door vibrated the long mirror which hung over it. Though he thought he looked nice enough, he was worried. He wanted to look perfect; be perfect for her.
*
For once Stella was left alone. Not that it mattered much, since she was still a prisoner doomed to say “I do” to Billy in a matter of minutes. Anyway, it’s not like she could sneak through the back of the event tent somehow
, run off in the wedding gown and hitchhike away… could she?
Stella stood up from the vanity’s stool that sat lopsided in the sand, automatically pushed down some of the puffiness of her dress’s skirt, and examined the white linen walls containing her. She could actually hike up the fabric, and probably slither on out of there. She leaned over and pulled the wall up, accidentally tearing its seam. The audible rip made her cringe. Could everyone see her shadow? Would they know what she was doing?
Moments later she was on her belly engulfed in taffeta spraying out all around her, as she tried shimmying the dress, and half her body, through to outside. Luckily no one could see her escapade from back there, since the undead were already seated in the fold-up chairs, facing the portable podium and archway of periwinkle roses. She had thought too soon…
Zombie-in-law appeared a little ways away, but thankfully her attention was taken to another direction. Then Ted appeared beside her with a big, dopey smile beneath his ridiculously curled mustache. Like a soldier in enemy camps, Stella tried to camouflage herself with the sand; albeit, the veil wasn’t the best at doing the trick, she was thankful for something.
Through the white haze of the veil, Stella watched in absolute shock and horror at what happened next. A near-perfect Mini-Me of Marsha—blonde, stout, and now wearing a lime green dress suit and sunhat to boot—approached, and hugged the pair in excitement. Maggie?!
“You’re here.” Marsha’s angry voice drifted loud enough for Stella to hear. “Why are you so late? The wedding is starting any minute now.”
“Mother, I called you on the way here. I came as fast as I could.”
Holy flippin’ cow! Stella fisted mounds of sand with a near-impossible-to-hold-back urge to scream out in anger. Had everything been a set up, back to more than six months ago? Yes! Maggie was a plant! She remembered back to the time of sitting next to the chatty stranger at a bus stop. Naturally, thinking back on it all, Maggie initiated things, commenting on Stella’s zombie t-shirt. “That’s so cool,” she had said. “We should start a paranormal club,” she had said. “It will be fun,” she had said.
A couple months later, with the PAA consisting of just the three girls, Maggie already brought up the idea of a fieldtrip to Kit and Stella. “I know of a most spooky destination,” she had said. “Down in California, by a beach,” she had said. “It will be fun!” SHE HAD SAID! Billy’s freaking sister!
*
“It’s show time!” Rock announced. They met up in the bus’s aisle, similarly dressed up for the occasion.
“I can smell them from here,” the guitarist, Joe, said in repulsion.
Damien still felt uneasy, and his father patted him on the back. “Everything will be okay,” he said.
“Wedding crashers, follow me,” C-lo called, wearing a top hat, matching his navy coat-tails that bounced behind him as he went.
“Remember the plan,” Rock said. “Stick to the plan.”
*
By the time Maggie entered the event tent, Stella had already pulled herself back inside, and stood up with the crazy desire to choke the traitor. “You.” Stella seethed, clenching her hands to the sides of her now rumpled up and sandy dress.
“Stella, I can explain,” Maggie said quietly, staying in a frozen position, seemingly afraid.
“You can’t explain anything to me. Everything about you has been a lie.”
There was no time for Maggie to explain anyway, since her larger twin entered right then. “Surprise,” Marsha cooed, “your dear friend—my daughter—is here! And she’s going to be your bridesmaid, standing right next to me. You have no idea how hard it was to keep it a secret that you two would be sisters!” She squealed and clapped.
Instead of saying anything, Stella narrowed her eyes at them.
“Oh-no,” Marsha said, turning to her daughter. “What did you do to upset her? This is her big day, you know, and you can’t seem to do anything right. It’s pitiful, really!”
“What did you expect, Mother? That she would be happy to find out I lied to her? And under your directions? This whole wedding is a mistake.”
Marsha convulsed like a volcano that was about to erupt. “The only mistake, dearie, was me giving birth to you. You are so lucky I am letting you be a bridesmaid with an attitude like that. You don’t want me to—”
Maggie’s eyes seemed repentant right away, and she interrupted, “No, ma’am. No. I’m sorry.”
“Well…, good.” The woman came right over to Stella, as if forgetting their own fight moments ago. “I apologize for my daughter’s tardiness. Sometimes we say awful things to each other, but,” she glanced back to Maggie who was sulking, “we love each other. Don’t we, Maggie?”
As if robotically, Maggie nodded.
“That settles things, then.” Marsha lifted her padded shoulders nearly to her ears, causing her double chin to add a third roll. With an obviously fake smile, she sing-songed, “Stella, I will signal to the piano man that we are almost ready, and go snag Ted. My Billy is going to think you are the prettiest bride ever.”
The tent’s fabric opened again, this time at Billy’s entrance.
“Billy!” his mother chastised. “You are not supposed to see the bride before she walks down the aisle.”
“I know, Mother. But I just had to see her. Give us a moment of privacy, will you, before we say, ‘I do.’”
“Oh, alright,” she conceded, with a sudden worshipful expression. “Just signal me when you are ready for the proceedings. I’m here for you.” She switched her tone to anger when speaking to Maggie: “And, you, follow me. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”
Stella rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands, when left alone with her groom she was doomed to be bound to. “What is it, Billy? What do you want?”
He gently took her relenting hands in his, and looked earnestly into her eyes. She hated the fact that his gray eyes could still have an effect on her when they sparkled and deepened, so she centered her attention to the thick stitches that lined his cheekbone like a symbol of his inner ugliness. “In just a few minutes,” he said, “you will be Mrs. Billy Butte—B-U-T-T-E. Little girl, I am so very excited to have you live with me and my mother and father for forever in our home we’ve made, passed down to us by my late grandmother.”
Stella silently exhaled through her mouth, and looked down to her messed up dress, his hands still holding hers. He continued. “Marriage is a grand event. An event that the entire community of those like us, our guests here this eve, hold as a sacred bond that could never be broken. It is like a marriage into our little society, our district of one-hundred and twenty-three. You will be the one-hundred and twenty-fourth. If one of us strays, my love, then there are deadly consequences. Do you see? We can’t risk one of our own traveling alone, in the living’s society. It is a danger to our kind. People will hunt us like they used to hundreds of years ago. Now that we are mostly believed to be fiction, we need to do all we can to keep the skepticism and disbelief thriving. If you do not say ‘I do,’ a mob will form right here tonight to take your life.”
“They’ll kill me…,” she paraphrased.
“Yes, sweet child.”
She looked back up to him. “What’s Maggie’s story?”
“My sister?”
“Yes, Billy. The girl you had stalk me in ways you couldn’t. What is her story?”
He shifted his eyes as if thinking, calculating what to say next. “Maggie is interesting. She’s one of us, but shows little interest in our culture. Mother found she had downloaded a werewolf romance to her e-reader, which is terribly bizarre.”
Under normal conditions, Stella would have spurted a laugh at their similarities. Becoming a zombie didn’t just—poof—remove her desires. “So that part of her wasn’t an act then.”
“I wish it was. Werewolves are our sworn enemies. She’s crazy to have such foolish fantasies. Mother and Father are so disappointed in her. Other than resembling Mother, she doesn�
�t really fit in.”
“I don’t fit in.” Stella hoped to make a lasting point.
“You’ve proven to be very stubborn, but I won’t give up.”
She wasn’t even going to argue about that anymore with him. No use. “Just a moment ago your mom was threatening Maggie. I don’t know what the threat was, but Maggie looked really afraid.”
“Oh, Mother has been threatening to destroy Maggie for a century. For whatever reason, Maggie still thinks she may follow through with it.” He shrugged. “And she might.”
Stella shook her head. “That’s… terrible.”
He shrugged again. “Anyway, the sun is starting to set. Are you ready, my love?”
“Do I really have a choice?”
“No.”
“Alrighty then.”
“That’s my girl.”
FORTY-THREE
The stench was pretty gross. Thankfully, Rock thought to put a kind of potpourri in their suits’ pockets to drown out the putrid scent of the surrounding crowd as much as possible. To make sure the wedding crashers didn’t stand out too much, they sat separately, wherever a lone chair was available. Damien couldn’t help but feel self-conscious, especially when a couple zombie girls beside him kept passing him suspicious glances.
One had brightly glossed red lips, which might have been pretty if she didn’t have missing and rotted teeth. She asked, after whispering something more to her friend, “Are you a friend of the bride?”
He didn’t expect to be asked anything. “Yes,” he said a little too hesitantly.
“That’s what I thought. I haven’t met you before. My name is Mary and this is my friend Carrie. Our names rhyme, but we aren’t sisters.” She giggle-snorted.
“Hello,” he said to them both.
“I must confess,” Mary seemed to suddenly feel carefree, “I hate your friend Stella.”
“Hate?” Though he thought he’d just politely pretend to be interested in what she had to say, he really couldn’t help to hear why she had chosen such a harsh word to describe her feelings for Stella.
