The Sinister Mr. Corpse (19 page)

"
Life is precious!
" shouted the
congregation.

"Again!"

"
Life is precious!
"

"Who's our Savior?"

"
The Corpse!
"

"Sing with me, people!"

* * *

Three days later, Stanley still had not
returned, and Veronica was getting frantic. This definitely wasn't
the kind of PR she wanted, but more importantly, she cared about
him. Yeah, he was obnoxious and crude and needed a good slap every
six seconds, yet underneath his obnoxious/crude/slap-needing
exterior was a...well, definitely not a sweetheart, but sort of a
nice guy.

She prayed that nothing had happened to him,
but feared the worst. She couldn't imagine that Stanley would just
take off without making some sort of effort to let her know that he
was okay. And even if he did, Martin was the responsible one of the
pair, and he hadn't turned up either. It wasn't like Stanley could
just pop on a wig and a pair of sunglasses and fade into anonymity,
and yet there had been no credible sightings.

A lot of people thought that Stanley was an
abomination, and if he'd been foolish enough to wander the city
unprotected...

Of course, it was all over the newspapers,
radio, television, and Internet. Lots of opinions were shared; few
of them were optimistic about Stanley's safe return. Brant insisted
that Stanley had probably just taken some time off to think.
Veronica desperately hoped that was the case, even though she'd
have to kick his butt six feet into the ground when he returned if
it was. But since Brant had the uncharacteristic appearance of
wanting nothing more than to vomit, it was hard for Veronica to put
credence in his theory.

"Where are you, Stanley?" she asked his
photograph.

The photograph did not respond.

She sighed. She'd slept less than four hours
in the past three days and she knew she must look like total crap.
She needed to go home, pass out, and go back to being stressed out
in the morning.

The phone rang, scaring the hell out of
her.

"Hello? Oh, hi, honey. No, no update. Yes,
I'm coming home soon. Now. That'd be great. Love you. Bye."

She hung up, gathered up her things, and left
the office.

* * *

Our Savior is missing.

Oh where could have He gone?

Our Savior is missing.

Let Him be back by dawn.

The lyrics for this new hymn sucked, but
Charlie had never claimed to be a songwriter. Forming a new
religion wasn't as easy as it looked. Anyway, it was a catchy tune,
thanks to William.

Our Savior is missing.

Please let Him come back.

Our Savior is missing.

Our lives are now off track.

One of his flock had suggested "Now let's go
get a snack" as the final line of the second verse. The heretic had
been banished from the church for all eternity.

"Thank you for coming to this special
service," Charlie told his congregation, pleased to note that the
church was so packed with people that it was a major safety hazard.
He'd been featured as part of a news story in relation to Mr.
Corpse's disappearance, and though he knew that most of the new
folks were probably curiosity seekers rather than believers, he'd
show them the path before too long.

"As you know, our Savior has gone missing. He
could be hurt, He could be kidnapped, or He could be on a journey
of spiritual exploration. Either way, we will find Him. We will
search the streets. We will call out His name. We will not rest
until our Savior, The Corpse, has returned home safely to teach us
again!"

"Amen!" shouted a man near the back. There
was a tittering of laughter from the people around him, but Charlie
chose to ignore this.

"We will bring Him home! Let's hear it!"

"
We
will bring Him home!
"

"So wander the streets, my friends! We will
do what the police can't do! We will find The Corpse!"

"
We
will bring Him home!
"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Darkness.

Margaret feared the darkness, and she feared
big cities, and she feared getting lost, and now she was lost in a
big city after dark.

It was her mother's fault. Margaret was going
to cancel the New York City vacation after she broke up with Scott,
but her mother had insisted that she go anyway. "You'll have fun
without him!" she said. "It'll be an adventure!"

It
had
been a lot of fun. She'd gone to
museums, eaten fantastic meals, and watched a taping of her
favorite talk show. Then she went and took that wrong turn.
Followed by another one. And another. Now she had no idea where she
was, except that it was dark and scary and there was a guy walking
towards her who looked like he wanted to steal her
purse.

She crossed to the other side of the street
and then picked up her pace.

A hand slammed over her mouth. An arm wrapped
around her waist and dragged her into the alley.

"Don't scream," the man behind her said into
her ear. His body was pressed tightly against hers, and she could
smell his reeking breath. "You scream I cut you."

He released her waist, spun her around, and
bashed her against the brick wall. She'd expected to see a
toothless wino, but the man was clean-shaven, had a stylish
haircut, and wore a designer shirt.

He pressed a knife against her throat. "You
just be quiet and let what's gonna happen happen, and we'll get
along fine." He looked down at her breasts and gave her a lecherous
grin. "Can't wait to suck on these babies."

"You won't be sucking on anything," said a
deep voice from the street.

Margaret and her attacker looked toward the
source of the voice. It was a man dressed entirely in black
leather. He wore a facemask that revealed only his mouth and
eyes.

"Let her go," said the man in black.

"You just move along, stranger. This is
private business."

"I'm pretty sure she's not a willing
participant. Now let her go or things are going to get ugly."

The attacker removed the knife from
Margaret's throat and stepped away from her. "Okay, okay, you can
have her if you want. I was just playing around anyway. It's
cool."

"Now let me give you a warning--"

Before she realized what he was doing,
Margaret's attacker had reached under his shirt and taken out a
gun. He pointed it at the man in black.

"Maybe you should think about moving on,
stranger."

The man in black shook his head.

The attacker shrugged, then shot him in the
chest. Margaret screamed. The man in black stumbled backwards a few
steps but didn't fall. There was no blood.

"What the hell...?"

"You can't kill me," the man in black
growled. "I'm already dead!"

He tore off the facemask. Margaret recognized
him, it was Mr. Corpse from TV, but he looked different. He had
black circles around his eyes, but the eyes themselves were
completely red. He grinned, revealing fangs.

The attacker dropped his gun and wet his
pants in terror as Mr. Corpse took a dramatic step forward. "Do you
know who I am?" he demanded.

"Oh, shit, don't kill me!"

Mr. Corpse grabbed the attacker by the
shoulders and slammed him against the opposite wall. "Your soul is
mine, motherfucker! I should eat you alive, right now, starting
with your nose."

"No! No! Don't hurt me!"

Mr. Corpse hissed at him.

"Please, I wasn't really gonna do anything! I
swear!"

"Lies! But you're lucky. I'm not going to
kill you. I need you to spread the word to your scumbag rapist
mugger friends. The next time they look over their shoulder, I
might be there. I'm the Sinister Mr. Corpse. I'm their doom. You
think you can tell them that?"

The attacker nodded frantically.

"Apologize to that woman."

"Sorry!"

"Say it like you mean it, bitch!"

"Sorry I'm sorry I'm so so sorry!"

Mr. Corpse relaxed his grip. He took a stack
of business cards out of his pocket and pressed them into the man's
palm. "Share these. Make sure people know about me. I'm not going
to tolerate your kind in this great city anymore. Do you
understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good. Now get out of here before I flay the
skin from your body with your own knife."

The attacker fled.

Mr. Corpse turned toward Margaret, and she
recoiled.

"Damn, these things burn!" he said, popping
one of the contact lenses out of his eye. "Are you okay? Did he
hurt you?"

Margaret shook her head.

"Good. You shouldn't be out here by yourself
after dark."

"I know. I got lost."

"I'll take you someplace safe. You don't have
to be scared walking with me. These aren't real fangs." He held out
his hand to her, and reluctantly she took it.

They stepped out of the alley and onto the
street. Margaret was still scared, but Mr. Corpse clearly had no
intention of hurting her, so she forced herself to relax. "Where
have you been?" Margaret asked, trying to make conversation.

"Thinking. Planning. Doing something good
with my life. Oh, this is for you," he said, handing her a business
card.

Margaret glanced at the
card. It had a demonic looking picture of Mr. Corpse and the
slogan
Evildoers beware! Your time of
reckoning is at hand! The Sinister Mr. Corpse is on the
prowl!
"Did you design this
yourself?"

"Nah, my friend Martin did it. Looks pretty
good, huh?"

"I guess so. It's kind of creepy."

"Oh, wait, I gave you the
wrong one. That's for bad guys." Mr. Corpse took back the card and
handed her a different one. This one had a picture of him without
the makeup and fangs, and said
You have
been rescued by Mr. Corpse. Tell your friends!

They walked in silence for a couple of
minutes. "Good, there's a cop," said Mr. Corpse, pointing to a
police car parked three blocks ahead. They picked up their pace and
hurried over to the car. Mr. Corpse tapped on the glass, and the
police officer rolled down the window. "This woman has just gone
through an extremely traumatic experience," Mr. Corpse explained.
"She needs medical attention and perhaps some counseling. She'll
tell you the whole story."

"You're the Amazing Mr. Corpse!" said the
cop.

Mr. Corpse shook his head. "No longer. I'm
the Sinister Mr. Corpse, and I will bring fear to all who deserve
it. You have a new ally in your fight against crime." He returned
his attention to Margaret. "You'll be safe now, ma'am."

She gave him a big hug. Mr. Corpse put his
facemask back on, and then ran off into the darkness.

* * *

"How'd it go?" asked Martin as Stanley
climbed into the newly christened Corpsemobile (Martin's Chevy
Prizm).

"Saved a lady."

"Just one?"

"It's not that easy to find crimes in
progress! I thought that you couldn't go two blocks in this city
without stumbling upon a mugging, but, jeez, I was walking all over
the place without finding anything. But I did save a lady. And I
helped a dog that had its leg caught in a grate. That was a pretty
good night's work."

"And you're sure this is the approach you
want to take? Soaking up wisdom would be a lot less dangerous."

"I'm sure. If I'm invulnerable, I should use
that gift to benefit society. Oh, good call on the bulletproof
vest, by the way. It's much more pleasant when bullets don't break
the skin."

"No problem."

* * *

Brant and Veronica sat in the Project Second
Chance office, watching the woman on television explain that Mr.
Corpse had saved her from being raped and perhaps killed. The
camera zoomed in on the business card.

They sat there for a very long time without
speaking.

"So...he's a superhero now?" asked Brant.

"Looks like it."

"Is this good or bad?"

"I don't know."

They continued to stare at the television
screen.

"I guess it's good," said Veronica. "He's
alive, at least."

"You have a point there."

"And I guess it's better than having him go
on a crime spree."

"Indeed."

They stared at the television some more.

"So now what?" Veronica asked.

"I don't know."

"Should we have a drink?"

"Yes. Let's do that."

* * *

"I'm still not sure I like the name The
Sinister Mr. Corpse," Martin admitted, as he and Stanley sat in
their cheap motel room, sharing a bag of pretzels.

"It's catchy. It has a nice rhythm to
it."

"I just think it's too dark. I liked
Amazing."

"We've been over this. The two things I've
got going for me in my fight against crime are that I can't be
killed and that I'm scary looking. So I need a scary name."

"We could've focused on the not-being-killed
part. You could be the Invulnerable Mr. Corpse."

"I'm not invulnerable. What do you want me to
be, the Quick-Healing Mr. Corpse? Ooooh, that'll strike fear into
the hearts of evil men!"

"I know, I know, but what about The
Terrifying Mr. Corpse? You're not really all that sinister."

"Yes I am."

"What have you done today that was
sinister?"

"It's a cool name, okay?"

"I agree, but 'sinister' implies that there's
plotting going on or something like that. Scaring bad guys isn't
sinister. Sinister is all about the attitude."

"Well, we've already made the business
cards," said Stanley. "You should've said something sooner."