The Sinister Mr. Corpse (11 page)

Witty and charming...grateful to be
alive...chuckle at Donald's crappy jokes...

Donald sat down in his own brown chair across
from Stanley. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's great."

"Outstanding."

Stanley closed his eyes and
visualized himself giving an amazing interview, one that professors
would be teaching to students for centuries to come ("Now
that
, class, is how a
zombie should give an interview!"). Then he visualized Veronica
naked again, just because it was an enjoyable visual.

* * *

Brant hadn't felt this
queasy since...well, since the resurrection. It was crucial that
Stanley be likable; the project was controversial enough without
the end product being disagreeable to the general public. There
were plenty of "bad boy" celebrities, but they had some leeway from
audiences in that they were usually physically attractive and had
never been dead. If people were repulsed by Stanley's
appearance
and
his
personality, the money just wouldn't materialize.

Still, he wondered if it had been a bad idea
to take such severe measures with Stanley so soon. He never wanted
to be a cruel person, but it wasn't like he could simply run out
and resurrect another, less annoying cadaver. He wasn't happy that
it was Dabernath who met the conditions for resurrection, but he
had to play the hand he was dealt. Unfortunately, he'd received a
joker, and so he had to be heartless.

And if Dabernath botched the
interview tonight, Brant could be
much
more heartless.

* * *

Some uncatchy theme music
began to play, and Stanley watched on the large monitor as
"
THE AMAZING MR. CORPSE - THE LIVE
INTERVIEW
" appeared. Snazzy logo, using a
skull in place of the letter "O." This was followed by
"
WITH DONALD MANDIGAN
." Donald's "O" wasn't a skull.

Donald turned to the camera closest to him.
"Hello, I'm Donald Mandigan. This week, a record number of
households witnessed the live resurrection of Mr. Stanley
Dabernath, the Amazing Mr. Corpse. When he first returned to the
world of the living, he looked like this."

The image on the monitor switched to Stanley
in his underwear, sitting up and shrieking. The bad words were
bleeped out.

"Following that, The Amazing Mr. Corpse gave
a press conference. I'm sure you know the results."

The image shifted to Stanley
getting shot in the chest.
Damn
, thought Stanley.
I look like a complete sissy.

The image switched back to Donald. "But now,
Mr. Corpse is sitting right in front of me, and I have to say, he
looks just fine. Welcome, Stanley."

"Thanks, Donald," said Stanley, a bit
surprised by the squeak in his voice. "Glad to be here."

"Tell me about the underground bunker where
you've been living since you started living again. How are your
accommodations?"

"They're okay."

Be quotable, damn it! Quotable!

"This is our first time to actually get to
sit down and talk. Tell me, when you look at the video of your
resurrection, how does it make you feel?"

"It's kind of embarrassing, actually,"
Stanley admitted. "Now I know how celebrities feel when talk show
hosts show really bad clips from early in their careers. I just
want to say that I was not responsible for the choice of
boxers."

Donald chuckled. Stanley relaxed.

"So how do you feel?"

"Alive."
Crap, I can't start recycling material this early!
"I have to admit, I don't feel all that much
different than I did before. I
look
different, obviously, but I feel about the
same."

"Really? So you're not in any pain?"

"None. And you'd think that my rot spots
would itch, but they don't."

"Let's talk about your rot spots," said
Donald, leaning forward in his chair. "Clearly, your body has
undergone quite a bit of decomposition. Is that going to
continue?"

"I'm told that it isn't. They could just be
saying that to keep my morale up. Nobody wants to be around a
disgruntled zombie."

"Let's talk about that word zombie. When I
think zombie, I'm thinking about creatures that eat human flesh.
What's the story with that?"

"Give me your hand and I'll show you."

Donald chuckled again, but it seemed a bit
forced.

"No, actually, I have no interest in eating
human flesh. I think the idea is every bit as gross now as I did
before. Your arm would be perfectly safe if you waved it in front
of my mouth."

"And that's very reassuring. What about the
word zombie itself? Do you find it offensive?"

"Not at all. It's kind of badass."

"As I'm sure you know, a lot of people think
that you're a fraud, that you're just some guy in a Halloween mask.
In fact, that's the question you were asked at your press
conference right before you were shot. I saw and touched your dead
body, so I know that you're the real deal, but how do you convince
people watching television who think it's all a scam?"

"I'm not sure. I guess you could have a bunch
of designated representatives from around the world try to yank off
my face."

"Could I host that TV special?"

"Anything for you, Donald."

They both chuckled.

"What's next for Project Second Chance? Are
they cooking up a Mrs. Corpse?"

"I'm not sure. I'd hate to lose my
bachelorhood this soon."

"Understood. So tell me, what's the best
thing about being alive again?"

"Knowing that I'll get to see another sunset
as soon as they let me out of the underground bunker for more than
an interview. Knowing that the dew glistening on a leaf in the
morning sun is within my reach. Donald, life is precious. Life is
more precious than you can imagine. Life is filled with rainbows
and puppies and babies and flowers and waterfalls and rivers and
golden stalks of wheat and mountain ranges and corn and moonlit
walks on the beach and kittens and ice cream and Valentine's Day
and bubble baths and birds. Treat every moment as if it were your
last."

Stanley looked into the
camera. "Life is so very precious. Be grateful that you're on this
beautiful earth. Dance. Sing. Turn off that television--not now,
but around 9:00 Eastern Standard Time--and go out and
live
." He wiped a tear
from his eye. "Live. If you ignore everything else I say tonight,
just hear that one word:
Live
."

He turned back to Donald. "I'm sorry, I just
get worked up when I think about this sweet gift that I've been
given." He looked out past the set at Brant. "Richard Brant, my
savior, I just want to say how much I deeply appreciate what you've
done for me. I love you, man. Everyone in this room, everyone at
home, let's give him a big round of applause, what do you say?"

Stanley began to enthusiastically applaud, as
did Donald and the rest of the camera crew and onlookers. Brant
looked as if he weren't sure whether to be deeply touched or deeply
pissed. Veronica was obviously trying very, very, very, very hard
to stifle a grin.

"Those are very inspiring words," said
Donald. "I think your message is one that everybody should take to
heart. Because let's face it, most of us who die aren't going to
come back to life. Unless you believe in reincarnation, but that's
a topic for a different show. Now let's talk about some of the
controversies surrounding your resurrection. Obviously, there was
the incident at your press conference. Let's take a look at that
clip again."

On the monitor, they showed the clip of
Stanley getting shot. He still looked like a sissy.

"I guess my first question is, how's your
chest?"

"They dug the bullet out, but there's still a
hole."

"Can we see it?"

"Uh, yeah. I don't see why not." Stanley
unbuttoned his shirt as one of the cameramen rolled his camera
forward to get a close-up. Stanley draped his tie over his shoulder
to get it out of the way and then opened his shirt, revealing the
bullet hole.

"Wow," said Donald. "You could almost stick
your finger in there."

"I'd rather you didn't."

The cameraman moved back and Stanley buttoned
his shirt. "Did it hurt?" Donald asked.

"It definitely stung."

"I can imagine. This whole incident has to be
disturbing for you because he's obviously not the only person who
believes that you're--pardon my choice of words--an aberration that
should be destroyed."

"Well, I got that a lot from my teachers in
high school, so I don't let it bother me too much."

"But seriously, you're a corpse that was
brought back from the dead. To a lot of folks that's pretty scary
stuff. And a lot of people think that we've entered territory that
mankind was never meant to touch. What do you say to the people who
think your existence is blasphemy?"

"I invite them all to kiss my dead ass."

Stanley froze. He and Veronica had practiced
a very similar question to this, and the agreed-upon answer had not
involved the kissing of any deceased ass.

"I'm just kidding, of course," he said with a
smile. "I can understand their point of view. But blaming me is
like blaming Frankenstein's monster for the actions of his creator.
Which is what they did in the movie when the angry mob destroyed
him, so that's a poor example. I'm just saying, I'm a regular guy
who was given a second chance, and I'd have to be an ungrateful
hooligan not to run with this chance. Because life is so very
precious, and I know this now, and I don't think I knew it before,
and if being a blasphemy is what it took for me to appreciate the
beauty of life, well, then maybe the good Lord above doesn't mind a
little blasphemy every now and then."

"And with that, we're going to take a short
break, but we'll be right back with more from The Amazing Mr.
Corpse. Don't go away."

As they went to commercial, Veronica and
Brant walked up on stage. "I'm sorry about the whole Frankenstein
thing," Stanley said. "I got a little nervous."

"No, no, that's fine," Brant assured him. "No
harm done. You did slip near the end, but aside from that I think
you're doing a marvelous job. Keep it up and I think we're in
business."

"Cool. Thanks."

"Great job, Stanley," said Veronica. "I knew
you could do it."

"You thought I was going to make dick jokes
the whole time, didn't you?"

"I thought you might try to squeeze in
fifteen or sixteen of them, yes."

"You should have more faith in your client. I
clean up very nicely."

"Indeed you do."

"Great stuff," said Donald. "So what do you
think if I try to yank off your face in the next segment?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The idea came to me when you gave that
answer about people thinking you were a fake. We could get a
close-up and I could tug on your cheek or something. It wouldn't
convince everybody, but it might switch over a few
non-believers."

Stanley turned to Brant. "My skin won't
actually rip off, will it?"

"Not any more than if he were to tug on my
cheek."

"So, Donald, how about you tug on Brant's
cheek to see what happens?"

"Don't worry, if it feels like anything is
actually coming off, I'll stop," said Donald. "And I'm going to
wear surgical gloves, if that's okay. No offense, right?"

"No offense."

"Good. If you could get me a pair of surgical
gloves, that would be great."

"I'll get right on it," said Brant, walking
away from the stage.

"Places, everyone!" said the director.

Stanley found his stride again as they
launched into the second segment of the interview, though he wasn't
sure it was necessary to repeat the clip of him screaming in his
underwear. He was (mostly) witty without being sarcastic (often),
and managed to convey a (partially simulated) grateful tone.

"So you wouldn't mind if I tugged on your
face, would you?" asked Donald, slipping on the surgical
gloves.

"Of course not. I'd welcome it."

Donald stepped over to Stanley's chair and
knelt down next to him. "I have to say, if this is a makeup job,
it's the best makeup job in the world. There is not a seam to be
found. And you can see how close up our high-def camera is getting.
I also would like to assure the viewing audience at home that there
is no post-production tampering going on here. We are indeed
broadcasting live, and to prove it I can share that the Cowboys
just went into their third quarter with a 14-6 lead." Donald
hesitated. "Hopefully none of you were recording the game to watch
later. If so, you have my apologies."

Donald poked Stanley's cheek, somewhat harder
than Stanley would have liked. "I know that you at home can't feel
what I'm feeling, but you can at least see that this is not rubber
or foam latex. And watch when I tug on his skin." Donald pinched
his cheek and yanked on it. "That, ladies and gentlemen, is genuine
flesh."

"You can stop now," said Stanley.

"Can I squeeze your nose?"

"Uh, no."

"Stanley, I'm trying to prove that you are
truly what you say you are."

"Can I squeeze
your
nose?"

Donald blinked. "Certainly," he said,
uncertainly.

Stanley reached over and squeezed Donald's
nose between his thumb and index finger. Donald did the same to
what little existed of Stanley's nose. They squeezed each other's
noses for a long moment and then released their grip.

"And that's going to be on the front page of
every newspaper in the country tomorrow," said Donald.