Get Zombie: 8-Book Set (45 page)

Another time, again in school, I walked into the bathroom and saw
Fran on the sink, real close to the mirror with a switchblade to her
face. She was cutting herself...said it made her look better. I
slapped the thing away and tackled her to the floor and called for
help. Mom and Dad said that our great grandmother did the exact same
thing. She was the same way.

“Gross insecurity,” they said.

In time, with Fran, that turned into
gross
insanity
. Fran
felt the world was against her. I know this, because I used to hear
her screaming in her room, “THE WORLD IS AGAINST ME!”
There would always be these banging sounds, eating sounds, tearing
sounds, whining sounds. I started fearing for my safety. One time, I
walked into her room and saw pictures of dead animals and people –
pages ripped from magazines – all over her bedroom walls.

I told my mom, and Fran got a good beating for it.

Maybe that's when she started
really
hating me.

I woke up. The sun burned my eyes out.

I stood up and looked at the city.
Everything was in a hurry: Highways bleeding traffic. And then there
was Diamond Head, way off in the distance. That extinct volcano gave
me the creeps. For some odd reason, I thought it would erupt then and
there. I'd feel a big rumble, and that would be the end of
everything. Total eruption, just to spite me. Just because I was
looking at it. Because it hated me. Everything hated me. Bad luck.
Dangerous, bad luck. Everything hated me. Life hated me. God hated
me. He took Phil away from me. Just...
gave
him to Fran. For a second, I felt what she must've felt all her life.

The world, against you.

I wiped the morning drool off my mouth and walked through those
woods, massaging my shoulder.

Back home, I opened the refrigerator and drank more beer and smoked
more cigarettes. I felt better.

Alcohol & cigarettes. My heroes.

….Ate my Spam and eggs breakfast...drank some more. I kept
drinking until I knocked out and woke up in the closet for some
reason. I was covered in roaches. Oh, no...was I sleeping with my
mouth open? It was ten at night. Something like eleven hours went by.
I had slept through it all, and my body ached, muscles complained.
Drinking more beer helped to numb me. I walked through the house and
saw Phil in every room, waiting behind every door. He was even in the
shower, just standing there, lips moving, no sound coming out. He was
dead each time – rotting – huge cuts all over him –
blood came out of his holes – his eyes – his nose –
his pores....

His chest.

It had a huge hole.

Darkness in there. Just nothing.
Nothing.

In that bathroom, I just stood there
staring at him for a long time.
Can't be real. Are you a
ghost? Phil? Say something....

It was like he was looking right into my soul – eyes dead-set
on mine. I ran to hug him, and he was gone. I lost it then...ran
downstairs and drank all the alcohol, even all the hards. The house
turned into a circus. Other realities invaded my mind. My soul went
from one world to another every five seconds. I even went to Heaven;
but the angels there kicked me out; called me a phony....

My face was on the floor, and I was moving around like a weird
person. I couldn't stop throwing up. I did it so much, my belly hurt.
Trouble breathing. Much blood. It was an adventure just to get to my
cell phone and dial 911.

“I think I drank too much,” I said. “Please
advise.”

Then I slept for a bit.

A deep, dead sleep.

I was dying.

I woke up in the hospital. A doctor was standing at the foot of my
bed, just standing there, staring at me with a big smile.

“Good morning,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

My words came out like sandpaper.

“Funny how the things that make you feel good can kill you at
the same time.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“I'm thirsty.”

“Of course you are. We had to pump everything out of your gosh
darn stomach! You're lucky to be alive.”

“Then why do I still feel dead?”

The doctor looked at her notes.

“That's normal. You're still drunk.”

I shook my head a little, and it was like little bombs were going off
inside.

“
Wait....Did you say you
pumped out
all
the
alcohol?”

“Sure did,” she said. “And here it is.” She
held up a jar filled with green and red stuff. It had an artistic
pattern to it – reminded me of a fancy lollypop.

Doc went on blabbing about the
dangers of drinking too much. All I could think of was opening up
that jar and drinking it down and feeling good again. Old Phil, he
was standing next to the doctor, depressing me. I had to drown him
out. It worked the morning before. Or was it the night before? I
couldn't remember. The doctor said that if I drank anymore, I'd
maybe
die. I said that I understood and shook her hand.

Walking down the street, I saw that Phil was following me, hovering
toward me. I ran to him and hugged him, but it turned out to be some
old Chinese woman. She smiled at me. Right then, I went to the
nearest store to buy more beer. And I did. And I went home and drank
a crap load. But then something odd happened. The beer didn't work.
There were no fascinating journeys; no happy times. I couldn't block
out Phil. He still followed me. I started drinking only hards, but
even that only lasted for a little while. In the end, Phil would
always find some way to break back into my head. Then drinking just
made me depressed.

I needed something stronger.

I started taking drugs – weed, meth – nothing worked!

He'd always be there, sometimes even
standing next to me, teasing me. Torturing me. I came close to
banging
my head
against the walls so many times....

I felt like going to church. I don't know. It's strange. One day, I
just woke up, looked around at my messy room – at all my shirts
on the floor, sticking to the walls, dangling from the ceiling; at
the TV stuck on loud-static; smelled the vomit-air; walked on the
sticky floor – and I just felt like going to church. I remember
looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. My eyes were black all
around. My mouth was dry. My arms had tiny holes all over them. The
bathtub was filled – totally – with drug needles. I lost
a lot of weight. Something like...I went from 180 to 115.

I felt eyes on me.

Paranoia.

I looked around.

“Phil??? Where are you? I know you're here. Show yourself!”

I walked all over the house, but I couldn't find him.

A terrible thought occurred to me. I
scratched my chest. He was
inside
.

Deep inside.

I was gonna lose the war if I didn't think of something fast.

The guy I bought drugs from was named Carl. He was my butcher.

“What'll it be today?” he said, chopping some meat. His
apron was all bloody, and he wore black gloves that went all the way
up to his elbows.

The supermarket had few customers
that day. Plenty of time for him to chat with me. He leaned over the
counter. “What kind of
meat
can I give ya, Carmen?”

“I need stronger stuff,” I said. “Nothing's working
for me. I feel like crap all the time.”

He shrugged.

“That's how it goes. You get a high, then you fall down. It's
normal.”

“Have you got anything else?”

He thought for a second, then slammed his butcher's knife hard on a
leg of lamb. Blood splattered against my face. I was expecting it.

“Well...I do have this one thing. Brand new stuff. The talk of
the town. Haven't tried it myself, but everyone has been saying it's
tops.”

“What's it called?”

“Babiroin,” he said. “Like I said, I haven't tried
it out yet, but when I do, I'll see if it's worth selling....”

“I'll buy some now.”

“Now?”

“
Now
,” I said,
already digging into my purse.

He looked impressed.

“All right. That'll be $1,000.”

I looked at the counter.

“And I'll take some hotdogs too, please.”

“Which ones?”

“The black ones.”

“Ah! The Black Snakes. Good choice. That'll be $53.72.”

“For hotdogs?!”

“Sorry,” he said. “Good meat's hard to come by
nowadays.”

He disappeared behind the swinging doors for a long time. When he
came back, he had my drug all wrapped in white paper. It was beating
like a heart. He said not to worry. All I had to do was eat it.

When I got home, I threw the hotdogs
in the fridge and went into the bathroom with the Babiroin. I opened
the wrapping and took the drug out. It was beating...slowly. It
hypnotized me. I took a nibble out of it, and it tasted like so many
things all rolled into one: Tasted like crushed aspirin, old pennies,
a sweaty neck, an orange peel, and skim milk. Terrible; terrible. I
shoved the whole heart in my mouth. The thing started to beat faster.
Felt like the thing was replacing –
taking over
my old brain. I chewed and swallowed it all down. The stuff danced
into my belly, made it warm. My skin sizzled. A great sense of peace
took hold of me. I felt like I could do anything. All my dreams
seemed possible. I was invincible. Life didn't stand a chance. I was
a god. I was in
control
....

I wanted more.

So I went back to the market, to Carl, and demanded MORE.

“Be careful,” he said. “Don't take so much. You
could die. I think.”

I reached into my pocket and threw money at his face.

“Just gimme the Babiroin!”

He counted the money and smiled and saluted me.

“As you wish!”

He gave me five Babiroins, all wrapped in white paper in a picnic
basket. As I ran away, shoppers were staring at me with weird looks,
holding their kids away from me. Many of the younglings laughed and
pointed in my general direction. I could hear Carl yelling behind me.

“Ya'all come back now! Ya hear! Hahahahahaha!”

I couldn't place my finger on it, but there was something uncaring in
his voice.

Back home, I filled the bathtub with ice cold water and took off my
clothes and splashed in. I dropped the Babiroins into the tub. They
stained the water with blood, and for some reason reminded me of
giant, red eyeballs – all floating between my knees. I ate a
Babiroin. I was at peace! Wonderful images filled my mind: Of
flowers, of sunsets, of kids laughing, of old people laughing, of
reindeer licking my feet, of cats covering my body. Phil was nowhere
to be seen. Gone. No one to give me grief. I was happy. Blissful. So
blissful.

Absolutely. Absolutely.

Thank you, Babiroin. Thank you.

I ate another, then another, then another....By the time I had the
fifth one all up in my trembling mouth and down my throat, my face
began to feel all funny...like there were feathers under my skin. The
cold water turned hot. (Was I seeing steam?? Glowing butterflies??)
Eyes on me! Jesus, no....The bathroom began to whisper things, and
the tub felt like a black hole. Phil....He was near. But where?
WHERE???

Fear set in.

“What's happening right now?”

This might've
not
been the smartest of moves,
I thought.

And then the coughing started.
Something in my throat tickled. It felt like a hair was in there,
alive and wild. I reached in and held on to whatever it was and
pulled it out – hand over hand, like a rope. Pain shot through
my heart. It was like something was yanking on it. This thing was
wrapped
around my
heart. As much as it hurt, I pulled the serpent out from my mouth.
The black snake splashed in the tub, hissing, trying to bite my head
off. It had Phil's head. The snake jumped up to my face, and I got
the feeling it wanted to get back in my mouth, back down to my heart.
I picked up the snake and hit it against the wall a few times. I
remember...I strangled it and walked out the bathroom and threw it
down the stairs.

I ran back into the bathroom and took off that heavy toilet lid. I
was gonna smash that devil snake to mush. I hurried down the stairs,
not believing what I saw....

It wasn't a snake at all. It was Phil.

“Jesus!”

Had I killed him?

He was unconscious. I didn't see any blood...no bones sticking out
through his skin. I started kissing him. I didn't care. I've missed
him. I've wanted him for an eternity. I missed kissing him. I missed
touching him. I grabbed his hands and moved them around – moved
them all over my body.

“One last time,” I said. “Just one last time.”

After I put some clothes on, I took him out back and tied him against
a tree, and for a long time I just looked at him. He opened his eyes,
and he tried to jump out and get me.

“
Let me go! I'll kill you! You
bitch! I'll
kill
you!”

I poured gasoline all over him.

“Not before I kill you first,” I said.

He spat at my face.

“
You mean nothing to me! I
love Fran! I make LOVE to her. She's
better
than you!”

I lit a match.

“
You're not going to hurt me
anymore,” I said. “You're not getting
in
anymore. Goodbye, Phil.”

An arrow zipped through the air and took out the match. I looked
around. Phil began howling like a dog.

“
My hero!” he went. “She
loves me so much!” He looked at me. “Not like
you
,
you stupid turd!”