Page 34 of The Undead

The alarm went off. I cursed and swung toward the panel; as I punched in the shutoff code, I felt something prickling at the back of my neck.

Somebody grabbed me and shoved me up against the wall. The round imprint of a gun buried itself in the back of my neck. I tensed, but I didn’t move. Amazing, how quickly adrenaline could burn off those tequila shots.

“What the hell are you doing?” Maggie yelled from my left. The gun was withdrawn. Nick kept one huge hand on the back of my neck, grinding my face into the wallpaper. “Dammit, Nick, stop it!”

“You know this intruder, Maggie?” he asked mildly, and let me go. I came around fast with fists swinging—really smart, consideringhehad the gun—but Nick had already backed out of reach. I stood there breathing hard and looking stupid. Maggie stopped glaring at her partner long enough to cast me an anguished look of apology, then shoved past him to grab the phone.

Nick looked at me with cool, amused dark eyes that held an ugly smoldering spark of anger. He didn’t like me much, but that was okay; the feeling was definitely mutual. There was an ugly arid tension in the air, and Maggie’s eyes kept darting back and forth between me and her partner as if trying to decide who to restrain first. Personally, I voted for good old Nick; there was a suppressed rage in him that was just looking for soft flesh to spend itself on, and I figured I’d been beaten up enough.

When your life’s gone over the edge of reality, I discovered, there’s very little left to lose. I gave Nick a big, unpleasant smile and felt adrenaline rush through my veins like tonic. After the chilling inhumanity of Adam Radburn, and the nearly-mad menace of Rebecca Foster, Nick’s malice was unimpressive.

“I think the lady wants you out,” I told him gleefully. Maggie was speaking into the phone, reassuring the duty desk at the station that we were all alive and well. She might, I considered, be a little premature. Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Give it a rest, Nick.”

“A rest?” Nick Gianoulos laughed and shoved his. gun back into his shoulder holster. “Yeah, okay. You and me, Doc, we’ve got things to talk about, don’t we? Later. Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Maybe,” I said without breaking the stare. “See me during office hours. Maybe I can do something about that bone in your head.”

“Fuck you,” Nick replied equably, and blew Maggie a kiss. She pretended not to see it, just cradled the phone in between her ear and shoulder and looked past him at me. Her eyes were harsh with warning. I swung the door open and held it for him. “Night, Mag. See you tomorrow, yeah? We’ll sleep on it.”

Her eyes held mine, desperate and angry. Nick kicked the screen door open and let it slam behind him as he walked out to his car. I closed the door quietly and stood there with my hand on the knob, still watching my wife. She hung the phone up with equal care.

“You okay?” I asked her. She nodded. Her hair had come down from its clip, and it veiled her face in fragile wisps. “Something you want to talk about?”

God damn it, Maggie, it’s a gold-plated invitation, it’s aplea…

Her lips parted and searched for words, but nothing came out. I waited, every nerve singing with tense anticipation. She shook her head slowly.

“Nothing to worry about. I can handle Nick,” she finally said, and tried to smile. I felt my heart die again.

“Sure,” I said. She stepped closer to me, and her nose wrinkled.

“Jesus, Mikey, did you take a bath in booze? How much did you have?”

“Enough not to care,” I said wearily, and untruthfully. I felt sick and hot. “Roses in the kitchen. I love you, Maggie. I really do.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked me, and reached out to put her arms around me. I tensed. As close as our bodies were, I couldn’t help but fed the gray shadow between us, the mocking laugh. I put my hands lightly on her back, but nothing stirred in my heart except distant anger.

“Nothing. I’m sick.” I pushed her away and went to the bathroom. The tequila jumped up in a vile rush. After the spasms passed, I flushed the toilet and washed my face and mouth in the sink. Maggie swung the door open, and I looked at her in the mirror.

She started to say something, but then just turned away. I shut the water off and stood there. It took a minute, but the spasms came again, except that this time they just made me shake as tears rolled down my face.

No place to go, Mikey. Run or fight. Which is it going to be?

Like I said before, I’ve never been much of a runner.

Interlude

Foster

“Momma?” Rebecca Foster called as she unlocked the door. “Momma, I brought your medicine.”

“In here, honey,” her mother called out. The sound of her voice made Rebecca wince; it was weaker and weaker every day. Rebecca put her purse aside and took the paper bag to the kitchen. Her mother was stirring something on the stove, eyeglasses frosted over from the steam; Rebecca frowned and reached over to take the spoon away. Momma was dangerous around the stove. “Now, Rebecca, I can do that. Stop fussing.”

“I’m not fussing. Here’s your medicine. I want you to take it right now.”

“In a minute,” Momma said vaguely. Her eyes were huge, magnified by the glasses. Rebecca wondered when they’d gotten so pale. They’d been robin’s-egg blue when she was little, and they’d smiled so easily. They didn’t smile at all anymore. Momma always looked at her—at everyone—with nervous eyes, as if she couldn’t quite remember who her own daughter was or why she was talking to her.

At least, on good days she was nervous. On bad days, her face closed up into a tight suspicious mask, and she said things to Rebecca that she couldn’t possibly mean. Momma’s mouth tightened a little and Rebecca felt her stomach drop.Please God, be merciful, no more, not now.

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