Zombie Tales: Primrose Court Apt. 305 (2 page)

Charles turned his face away and the
heavy set of keys slammed into the side of his head. Before he even
had a chance to turn back and confront her she had grabbed the
travel case from his hand. He fumbled after it as she lifted it
over her head and flung it across the room.

The mirror over the dresser shattered
from the impact and the little, hard leather box thumped to the
floor.

~ Charlie Boy! ~

Vaulting over the exposed box spring,
Charles dropped to his knees in front of the twisted box. The latch
had popped open and one of the hinges had broken. On the floor, a
few inches away, were the dried remnants of his Mother’s left hand.
Her wedding ring glimmered brightly against the tight, gnarled
skin.

“Oh, Mother…” Charles whispered. Slowly
he picked up the severed hand as if it were a tiny kitten. He
gently placed it back on the velvet padding inside the
box.

“What the fuck is… Oh, you seeck
bastard… you …” Mariana began backing towards the bedroom door, all
thoughts of her missing keys forgotten. Charles turned to face her
and the rage that he had carefully locked away for almost four
years came bursting out of him. The fear in her eyes was
gratifying. Mariana had been feeding his evil since the day of
their wedding, feeding it with every snide comment and cruel joke,
with every miniskirt and tube top. Every time he had bit into a
bland sprig of broccoli or tasteless celery stick, she had fed his
monster. All this time that she had refused to sleep with him, it
all went into the evil that had finally given him the power to
stand up to his mother. Now he would share that evil with his
wife.

~ Kill her, Charlie Boy.
~

Quiet, Mother. Let me
handle this.

Charles lunged across the room. Mariana
stumbled back and tried to flee, but her ankle turned and her right
heel broke off as she braced herself with both hands on the
doorjamb.

“No, please, no…” she cried closing her
eyes tight and flinch, pulling her face to the side.

She expected a slap or a punch, but
Charles’s rage wouldn’t be appeased that easily. His thick, meaty
hands encircled her throat and he twisted his grip tight. Mariana’s
legs folded under her and he followed her down, his body pressed
hard against her. He unleashed the rage, letting the evil wash over
him, run through him. Clenching his teeth, he squeezed with
everything he had. Underneath the rolls of flesh, the layer of
obesity, were thick powerful muscles.

He squeezed until her tongue protruded
from her half open mouth. He watch her eyes bulge and saw the point
when the tiny vessels started to burst. Mascara tears ran down each
cheek. She scratched desperately at his neck and face, but not for
long. Within a few short seconds, her flailing arms flopped one
last time and then were still.

~ Yes, Charlie Boy, yes.
~

Shut up
, Charles screamed in his mind
, this
is not for you, Mother. This is not for you
.

He kept his grasp long
after her body lax. He watched the light go out of her eyes and
still he wrenched at her slim, soft throat. Finally, when he was
sure it was done, sure
she
was done, he relaxed his grip and his hands began
to tingle as the blood started to flow to his fingers
again.

His erect manhood pushed against her
warm body, becoming even harder as he thought about finally taking
what she had never been willing to give him, finally consummating
their sham of a marriage.

~ Filthy, dirty, little
boy. Nasty, vile boy. ~

Mother don’t.

But it was already too late. He could
feel his erection softening with each degrading word. He raised
himself up off the still body of his Mari and stared down at her.
Even with the bulging, red eyes, she seemed more peaceful to him
than she ever had in life. The rage abandoned him as quickly as it
had come, leaving him washed in fear and regret.

Charles stumbled into the kitchen,
grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser, and wiped the sweat from
his upper lip. With a shaky hand, he filled a glass of water from
the tap and tipped it back. Some of the liquid ran from the corners
of his mouth and over his thick double chin, stinging as it
followed the deep scratches and leaked down under his
collar.

I’m free.

Now that it was over, Charles wondered
how he had survived so long. How had he kept the rage in check? How
had he suffered the indignities his wife had inflicted upon him.
The touch of his mother’s cool fingers against his cheek had been
his only comfort at night, his only solace. Only she had known him
and loved him.

~ I always loved you, my
Charlie Boy, only I loved you, even when you were a dirty little
boy, even in the end when you betrayed me. ~

We’re free now,
Mother.

~ Ha, for now maybe, but
you won’t be for long, Charlie Boy. You can’t hide this. You can’t
make this look like an accident. ~

Charles thought back to the way it had
gone with his mother. Her murder had been so easy. He took his time
planning and preparing, not like today. The evil grew in him like a
seed. He hid it from her for years. When the rage was finally great
enough, strong enough, he let it seep into him like a trickle of
water. It took days to fill him. Finally, when it was time he took
action. It had been so easy to sneak into the elevator maintenance
room and loosen a few bolts, cut a few wires. Once the elevator had
been out of commission, there was no problem explaining his
mother’s accident. All it took was one firm push from behind and
she tumbled down the hardwood stairs. She had become so frail in
her old age that she hadn’t had a chance. At least she hadn’t
suffered.

~ You need to think,
Charlie Boy. You need to focus and plan, get rid of the body and
start telling others she ran off. Mexico, tell people you think she
went back to Mexico. ~

I don’t know what to do,
Mother. You have to help me with this, for us.

~ This is you’re mess, you
have to be smart. Clean up after yourself. You’re going to need
supplies; you’re going to need tools. The easy part is over, boy.
Now get some paper and start a list. ~

Yes Mother.

Half an hour later he sat in his
recliner going over his shopping list for the third
time:

BLEACH

RUBBER GLOVES AND
APRON

PAPER TOWELS

GARBAGE BAGS

GOGGLES

POWER SAW

~ Don’t get it all in one
place, it’ll look suspicious. And pay in cash, the police can track
your debit and credit accounts. Be smart, Charlie Boy, be smart and
don’t mess this up. ~

I’ll be smart,
Mother.

From the hallway, Charles
could hear
Creep
by Radiohead, Tyrell’s ring tone. It was the third time
Mariana’s phone had rung. Charles knew it was Tyrell from
Rendezvous
. He hated the
big, black bouncer and he hated that song. Tyrell was the one who
enforced the rule, no husbands and no boyfriends. Charles hadn’t
been allowed to set foot in the strip club since Mari had accepted
his proposal.

~ You need to answer. You
need to start telling the story, tell it so often that you believe
it. ~

Yes, Mother.

Charles stepped over the prone body of
his late wife and pulled the smart phone from her little handbag.
He took a deep breath, staring at the still photo of Tyrell’s
gap-toothed smile on the touch screen. Finally, he pushed the
answer tab.

“Hello?” Charles answered.

Was his voice as shaky as it sounded to
himself?

~ Keep it together, Charlie
Boy. ~

“Who’s dis, Challes, dat you? Where
Mariana at?”

Tyrell needed an English class almost
as bad as Mari.

“She didn’t call you?” Charles
responded, “I guess she must have been too upset.”

~ Don’t mention you’re
fighting, you idiot. ~

“She got a call from back home… her
mother is sick.”

~ Don’t tell him she went
to the airport, that’s too easy to confirm. ~

“She took the Porsch this morning; I
think she planned on driving straight through.”

~ Now, you have to remember
to get rid of that car. ~

“Damn, her mama sick, huh? Why she
leave ‘er phone?”

“She blew out of here so fast she
wasn’t thinking straight.”

“You let ‘er go all ‘lone, Challes.
What’s yer pro’lem, man? Ain’t you got no sense?”

“Look, Tyrell, I tried to stop
her…”

~ Don’t tell him that,
Moron. ~

“I mean, I tried to talk some sense
into her. I tried to calm her down, but she wouldn’t listen. You
know how she can be.”

Charles tried not to focus on the body
lying at his feet.

“True dat, she a li’l slip of a thang,
but sure can be a hanful. If you hear from er, you tell er to call
me, kay, man. I need ta know how long she gonna be out.”

“Sure thing, Tyrell, I’ll let her know
as soon as I hear from her,” Charles wiped his forehead with the
paper in his hand and then, realizing it was his shopping list,
tried to dry it on his slacks.

“Aight, check ya later,” Tyrell said
and clicked off before Charles could reply.

~ Not as smooth as I would
have liked, Charlie Boy, but it’ll do. ~

He pulled the phone away from his head
and looked at the display, 11:24.

The shopping was uneventful. Charles
divided his list between two hardware stores and his local grocer.
There was one point at the grocery store when he almost slipped up.
He was in the checkout line with the bags and the
gloves.

“Mr. Grimly, looks like you have some
cleaning up to do,” The checkout girl said.

Was that a look she just
flashed me, a knowing smile?

~ She’s remarking on the
rubber gloves and the garbage bags, stupid, hold it together. Smile
and nod, good, that’s good. Now, tell her your story. ~

“Yeah, I’m going to be home alone for a
few days, so I figured I’d get some spring cleaning
done.”

~ Perfect, don’t push. Let
your story come out on its own, in natural conversation.
~

“Oh, did Mrs. Grimly go somewhere?” the
cashier asked.

“She got a call this morning, her
mother’s sick. She could be gone for awhile.”

“I’m so sorry; I hope it’s not
serious.”

“Cancer,” Charles whispered.

~ Too much detail, don’t
pour it on so thick. The cops might check to see if her mother has
cancer, even in Mexico. ~

Sorry,
Mother
.

The girl nodded and put his items in a
plastic bag.

“Would you like to use your
rewards card?” She asked before hitting the
total
button.

“I don’t have it with me today,”
Charles replied.

“Oh, that’s no problem; I can look you
up by your phone number.”

Charles stared at the young lady for a
long moment.

~Say something idiot.
~

Mother, I can’t let her put
my name in the computer; there’ll be a record of my
purchase.

~ Don’t be stupid, Charlie,
she’s going to remember anyway. ~

“Oh, wait,” Charles said opening his
wallet again, “I have my rewards card right here.”

He handed the card over and watched as
the checker scanned it.

~ Don’t worry so much, the
garbage bags are your usual brand, a very common brand. If you burn
the gloves, you’ll be fine. ~

“There you are Mr. Grimly,” the cashier
said handing him the bag, “have a wonderful day. I hope your
mother-in-law gets better soon.”

He nodded and smiled.

Who the hell gets better
from cancer?

~ She doesn’t really have
cancer, you dolt. ~

Charles pulled his big, ugly Lincoln up
to the curb in front of his building, put the shifter in park, and
then glanced at his watch, 1:37. He took a moment to look around
the neighborhood. Things seemed quiet, quieter than usual. Thick,
grey clouds were threatening rain over downtown Seattle to the
south, but the sun was breaking through and patchy blue sky was
visible to the north. A slight breeze flipped his thin hair as he
wiped his brow with his folded paper towel.

~ You’re going to have to
get rid of the kitchen table tomorrow. ~

What are you talking
about?

Charles used his key to open the trunk
and began sorting through his supplies.

~ People are going to see
you with a Saws-All, others will hear it running. No one is
automatically going to think you were cutting up your wife’s body,
but someone will wonder what you were cutting. ~

But why the
table?