Get Zombie: 8-Book Set (42 page)

Later that night, I drove to where
Lolligal said – I sat in my car and wondered if it was all
true. I was getting impatient. I got in and out of my car many times,
pacing on the dirt road, trying to decide if I should crash into
Lolligal's church and punish him for ripping me off. But...I
wanted
to believe him.

Relax. Just give him a chance. Calm down.

Would Lolligal's little service work?

Would Phil be in love with me?

Was it that easy?

PHIL MONTOBON

“Would you smoke in a burning house?”

The stranger said it to me with a smile. I put my cigarette out, and
he nodded and walked away. Just as well. I was gonna quit anyway.
Carmen never had a problem with me smoking, but I felt too guilty
seeing her cough all the time. The great bell rang. I looked up at
the church, squinted at the sun behind the cross. Kids – all
dressed up like little business people – ran out laughing,
adults behind them happy to finally be out of that hot place.

I walked in and thought about Carmen.

Soon, our families would be all over the church, all gossiping and
comparing clothes and whatever else people did in church that they
know they shouldn't be doing. When were we getting married? We didn't
know. Soon. Sometime within that year. She loved the ring...showed me
how much she loved it through a night of mad passion on the roof of
the house. There was no one else for me. She was it. The one. After
years of dating other fools and all that heartache and all that bull
crap, she was the one. My checklist was made. She passed the test.
Carmen was the
one
, and I was gonna have her all to myself.
Marriage. Right? Isn't that the point? To
claim
someone?

I walked toward the booth. A man walked out, crying.

“I should have never confessed!” he said, shaking his
head as he ran out of the church.

A mat on the floor read, “Home is Where the Heart Is”. I
wiped my feet on it and walked in. The tiny space smelled like feet.
The seat was hard on my butt. I figured they didn't want people
hanging around too long.

The priest on the other side jumped.

“What? Who's there?”

I cleared my throat.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“Phil? Is that you?”

“Yes. Do I know you?”

A little window slid open. I couldn't believe it.

“Father Lolligal!” I said. “I didn't know you were
back in Honolulu.”

He was just as happy to see me.

“Just got in this morning! I was in Africa for a long time –
demonic possessions and all that jazz. You would've enjoyed it, my
boy. One time, I had to exorcise a demon from a little boy while
riding on a runaway elephant. Quite exciting!”

“A real one???”

“Of course not,” he laughed. “That stuff isn't
real. It's all due to mental illness. Some people don't know the
difference between a demon possessing them and the common cold. It's
true! They just
think
they're possessed – all spitting
and cursing and fighting. All very exhausting. I was going to send
you pictures, but I didn't want to frighten you. How have you been?
How's Carmen?”

“We're getting married.”

“Jesus,” he smiled. “Sweet Jesus. You're so sweet.”

I could see tears in his eyes. He mumbled something to himself about
young people, then asked, “When?”

“Soon.”

“I'm so happy for you,” he said. “Now what is this
sin
you mentioned? And feel free to be as detailed as
possible. I've missed you.”

I lowered my voice.

“It's this whole thing with her sister.”

“Fran?”

“Yes.”

“And how is she doing nowadays?”

“Well...she tried to kill me, Father.”

“Come again?”

“She's
obsessed
with me,” I said. “She won't
stop calling me. She tells me that she loves me, that she wants me. I
keep trying to explain to her that I'm in love with Carmen –
that I'm gonna marry her – but each time I say it, she cries
and roars and hangs up. Not five minutes later, and she's blowing up
my cell phone all over again. I've tried calling the cops, but that
did piss. They told her to basically knock it off, or else. Useless!
She stopped by my office that day, you hear me, Father? My damn
office! I was with a patient, when she kicked down the door and
threatened to kill Carmen if I went through with the marriage.”

I paused, wondering if I should really tell him what was on my mind.
I figured why not. He was a priest. Priests don't squeal.

“Sometimes...I want to
kill
her, Father Lolligal. I
think about it all the time, even in the shower. Is that wrong? Am I
going to Hell?”

A short pause.

“Yes,” he said. “I'm sorry. But murdering someone
in your mind is the same as doing it in real life. It says so in the
Bible, somewhere. I promise.”

“Isn't there some prayer you can give me?”

“To do what?”

“Go to Heaven.”

“The only way you're going to Heaven is if you come to terms
with your problem. Find inner peace first, then outer peace follows,”
he said.

“You can't work some magic?”

“Magic???”

“You know....Can't you put some frog legs and eels into a pot
and stir it around and make some kind of potion for me to drink, to
help me? I'll drink anything, Lolligal. I'm desperate!”

He frowned.

“This isn't witchcraft, my dear boy. This is church.”

“You mean there's a difference?”

Lolligal kept quiet. Was he thinking of something witty to say? Did I
offend him?

I leaned back.

Dammit. He wasn't going to bless me. I knew going to church was a
waste of time. I said bye to the priest and stood under that statue
of Jesus, of Him on the cross, that hovers above the alter. I asked
if
He'd
forgive me for my murderous thoughts, but the Jesus
statue came loose and nearly took an alter boy's head off. Everyone
screamed and ran to the boy to see if he was alright.

Father Lolligal picked the boy up and pointed at ME.

“Leave this holy place!” he was yelling. “Can't you
see your evil heart has done enough???”

People started screaming at me, chanting, “Bad luck! Bad Luck!”
and throwing bibles and pamphlets and holy water at my head.

I ran outside and hid behind a tree, confused and shaking, watching
as the mob ran down the hill and into the woods. Some of them had
torches. What had I gotten into this time? And all for being honest?

I was wrong. Priests
do
squeal. They squeal to God.

I should've kept my mouth shut.

I was screwed.

Hell waited.

The whole ride home, I just kept thinking about Fran.

And it disgusted me. Felt like I was thinking about a baby killer.
Got that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. What if I got home
and found Carmen dead? What if I got home and saw Fran with a knife
in her hand, standing over Carmen's decapitated body?

“How could you just let her kill me like this!?” Carmen's
head would cry. “Don't you love me anymore???”

What if Fran was wearing Carmen's stomach for a hat?

Terrible images. I felt like gagging.

What was wrong with my head? Fran....She had put a hex on me! I was
losing my mind. She was all I thought about. I wished her dead. I had
to protect myself, my wife. Certain people had to die, and Fran was
one of them. I wanted to be the one to do it. I wanted to kill her.
Needed to kill her. I enjoyed thinking about it, and the more I
thought about it, the more I really believed I could do it. I'd do it
in secret....No cops. No lengthy court. No jail. No prison. I wanted
to kill her right then and there – that feeling of relief was
awesome. No more of her threats. Time for marriage; time for
kids....My life would've been perfect. So perfect.

My way of relaxing? On those drunk nights, I'd go out back and whack
my bat on a tree until apples fell all around me. I just needed
release, but it was always such a short thing. As long as she lived,
I'd never really get a full night's sleep. So I just hit more trees.
It wasn't long before I broke all my bats. Something had to be done.
Trees weren't doing it.

Maybe a more sane solution? The police?

Well....

Carmen had Fran arrested and thrown in jail a year earlier for
smashing a dish over her head. It was Thanksgiving, and the whole
family was there, asking us when we were getting married. Fran, she
got real drunk and started cussing everyone out one by one, pointing
out their faults. She got out of her seat and all up in Carmen's face
and whacked her upside the head with a dish full of rice. The whole
scene was a big mess. Left everyone crying and such. I remember
holding Carmen's bleeding head together. I was filled with rage. I
wanted to open her mouth as wide as I could until bone snapped. A few
of the big boys were holding her back as she went into this big rant,
kicking and screaming about how God hated her, how her life was
falling apart, and how much she loved me, how much she wanted me.
Said she was going to do all these things to me with her tongue.
Nasty things. She was very descriptive. Parents dragged their kids
away.

Before that awful meal, she'd come over to our house and tie love
letters to rocks and fly'em through our windows. And they were weird
letters. A lot of them seemed to be written in what appeared to be
Jamaican. And sometimes she'd try to run Carmen over. (I mean...I was
sure
it was her.) That Thanksgiving was the last straw, and
off to jail she went. Off to that, “big, cold, lonely building
run by curious fingers,” as Carmen had put it.

It was repetitive.

It was always off to jail with Fran.

But it was the restraining order that seemed to do the trick....

After that, we didn't see her for a long time. We just forgot about
her. Suddenly, life was good for us. Peaceful. It was a taste of
Heaven. Apparently, Fran became a veterinarian and lived somewhere in
the North Shore area. That's all anyone really knew. All that
mattered to me was that there was a big gap between her and me –
between Honolulu and North Shore. Let her stay there. Let her do what
she liked. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

And then...I started to get the phone calls, the love calls, the lust
calls, the death threats. I called the police, but they said Fran
moved off the island. Said the call came from somewhere in India. It
made no sense. I kept arguing with them to do something – to
protect us – and they said they'd look in on it. They went to
her house in North Shore, but the place had burned down long ago.
Fran was a ghost. Carmen was a wreck. She was sick all the time and
had pains all over her body.

Fran just didn't
want
to learn. Someone had to beat some sense
into her.

ME.

I'd do it. Take a bat right to her head.

Payback.

This is for Carmen.

The radio went crazy, going to random stations. A light flooded the
car. I was blinded. I screamed out for some reason. My ears were
ringing. Something weird was happening. This wasn't normal. My first
instinct was to run out of the car, but I couldn't move. That light
was doing something to me. And then it
seemed
like the ceiling
was being ripped out.

I was floating....

Was I dying?

Incredible pain all over; felt like my flesh was being yanked off.

And then it was cold. I was shaking.

I could hear people chatting – but it was like they were
talking backwards.

When I opened my eyes, I was on a metal table...in the nude.
I'm
dreaming,
I kept thinking.
This is all just a big joke.
People were looking down at me. They looked like aliens: Grey heads;
big , black eyes. They held odd, glittering instruments over me. They
nodded to themselves in agreement, except for one alien that kept
shaking its head and played around with a sword. I started to panic,
squirming around, trying to break free. I was tied down by chains.
The aliens took out a huge needle. Something was in there, swimming
around. I begged them to get that thing away from me, but they didn't
care. I was screaming, all-out shrieking.

The alien with the sword just stared at me, and I got the sense that
if I did something astounding, he'd take
care
of me.

The whole place started to shake. One of the aliens yelled to the
pilot to do something – pointing to the pilot, jabbing its
finger at the pilot. The whole room began to jump around, like it was
going over a bumpy road.

The aliens held me down and ran the needle into my chest. It went in
like a pen through a Styrofoam cup. I couldn't breathe. I could feel
something running all around in my heart, messing things up.

Sounds of expensive things breaking. The lights above me swayed. The
UFO was in trouble. Aliens were falling over, crying, confused,
begging the pilot to do something right.

And then it felt like something took a big bite out of my heart.

I screamed again...passing out....

CARMEN MURUDA

Where was Phil? He said he'd only be away for an hour or two. Said he
had to go to church to get something sour out of his stomach. I
missed him. I was getting nervous. What if something happened to him?
Was he okay? I made all the calls – Father Lolligal, my sister,
all our friends – but nothing useful came out of it. No one had
seen him.

I found myself pacing in the living room. My mind went crazy –
betraying me. I kept seeing Phil walk in through the front door, all
bloody and crying. He'd be dying. He'd die, and I'd be alone forever,
because there was no one else for me. I thought back to when Phil
saved me from Denny, in that supermarket. He was my lover at the time
– Denny – and we got into a fight over me having kids or
not. He didn't want, and I quote, “Little money-suckers”
running around, stealing his dreams of becoming a professional
juggler. He was an artist, didn't I understand???