Zombie Tales: Primrose Court Apt. 305 (3 page)

~ Because it’s big, moron,
too big to haul down three flights of stairs. Tonight you have to
clean the saw until it’s spotless, then, tomorrow take it back and
get a different one, one that doesn’t have DNA on it. ~

Charles nodded to himself as he closed
the trunk and started up the front steps with supplies in one hand
and the case with the new saw in the other. Before he reached the
second floor landing, sweat was dripping into his eyes and off the
end of his nose. His legs ached, threatening to give out, but he
didn’t dare set any of his purchases down or even slow his
pace.

It took forever to reach his floor. He
moved to his door and scanned the hall as he shuffled through his
keys. He was wheezing again. The armpits of his shirt were dark
with his sweat and he felt like he might keel over right there in
the hall.

~ Deep breaths, Charlie
Boy, the worst is yet to come. ~

Charles couldn’t believe the power of
the Saws-All. He had asked the guy at the hardware place for
something strong enough to get through rebar, but this tool might
have been overkill.

He practiced on the table first. He
split it in two, then flipped the halves over, and took off each
leg. The table had belonged to his mother, an ancient, oak
monstrosity. He had eaten most of his meals at that very table. He
was almost sorry to see it go. After the table was in pieces, he
took the time to cut up the matching chairs.

When the saw was finally
quiet again, there was a
thump- thump-
thump
on the floor. The neighbor
downstairs wasn’t appreciative of all the noise.

~ Stop dillydallying and
take care of your business. ~

Yes, Mother.

He dragged the dead body to the tub. On
TV, bodies were stiff, but Mariana was still limp. He was able to
roll her into the bathtub with very little difficulty. She seemed
lighter to Charles. As if, she had lost something in her
death.

~ She lost something
alright. You’re going to have to scrub the floor in the hall
thoroughly to get the urine and feces smell to go away.
~

Uhh, that’s
awful.

As the body flopped into a sitting
position in the tub, there was a flatulent discharge. Charles had
heard that the dead sometimes get bloated with gas and often shit
and piss themselves, but he never expected to have firsthand
knowledge. Even in his mother’s case, he hadn’t gotten too close to
the body before the medical examiner hauled her away.

~ Keep your mind on your
work, Charles Grimly. ~

Yes, Mother.

~ Strip down. Don’t get any
of her on your clothes. And don’t you go playing with your dirty,
little tally-whacker either. ~

Charles stripped and put the apron and
goggles on. The gloves he had bought were extra large, but he still
had trouble squeezing his hands into them. After a few deep
breaths, he got his saw ready and knelt down next to the tub. He
pulled the shower curtain closed as much as possible.

Should I take her clothes
off her?

~ Just get to work, you
nasty pervert… and save some of her blood to plant in that fancy
car tonight. ~

But then they’ll know
something happened to her.

~ You’ll park her car over
by Martin Luther King Way. ~

Why there?

~ There’s always coloreds
near Martin Luther King Way or they wouldn’t have named it that. If
you’re lucky, one of those negros will steal it and catch a murder
wrap in the bargain. ~

Charles bent his wife’s leg so he could
get a good angle on it. The Saws-All roared in his hand, the blade
gyrating back and forth like a giant carving knife, but this wasn’t
a turkey. The teeth bit into the soft flesh and Charles let the
weight of the saw do the work. Within seconds, the young, silky leg
was a tattered mess of dark, ragged meat. The blade kicked slightly
when he hit the thick, femur bone. Mariana’s leg flopped around
like a freshly landed fish and then the blade caught again and the
motor bogged down. Charles gagged and leaned over the
tub.

~ Not in there! The cops
could find your vomit on her, idiot. Puke in the toilet.
~

Charles held his mouth tightly closed
and forced the saw the rest of the way through the bone. The
mostly-severed leg flopped to the side and he had to turn the blade
over to cut the rest of the flesh in an upward stroke. Finally, his
wife’s leg slipped free of her body. Charles spun around to the
toilet and dry heaved a few times. He hadn’t eaten anything, so
nothing was coming up, but the spasms made his chest tight and he
thought he might pass out.

The front of his apron was speckled
with tiny drops of congealing blood. The spatter on his goggles was
distracting, causing his eyes to lose focus.

~ Don’t try to wipe them,
it’ll only smear, Charlie Boy. Just finish up. ~

When Charles fired up the saw, a faint
thumping vibrated the floor again. He had to work quicker or the
neighbor might complain.

~ It’s not against the law
to cut up your own furniture. ~

The second leg went almost as smoothly
as the first. The arms were easier yet. When it finally came to
removing his wife’s head, Charles had to turn her over so he
wouldn’t see her face. A disposable Tupperware container served to
hold the blood that he collected from the pool. He sealed the lid
and turned on the faucet to rinse the outside of the storage
container. Once that was done, he flipped on the shower and let the
spray wash the thick, dark blood down the drain.

~ Climb in, Charlie Boy.
~

What?

~ Climb in, you have to
rinse off so you don’t track blood all over the house. You need to
wrap her in garbage bags and get the two big suitcases out of her
closet. ~

Charles reluctantly rose to his feet
and stepped into the tub, careful not to slip in the blood. As he
took his apron and goggles off Mariana’s torso shifted and her hand
fell on his ankle. Charles almost screamed, his foot slipped as he
jerked it away and he fell, landing hard on the pieces of his wife.
Luckily, he didn’t fall on any of the jagged bones protruding from
the torn flesh.

~ Stop acting like a baby,
she’s dead, you lout. ~

Sorry, Mother.

The wrapping was much easier than the
dismemberment had been. Charles double wrapped each body part and
then stuffed it into the luggage. He had to bend the legs at the
knee to get them to fit in with the arms and head and the rest of
her was a snug fit in the second suitcase, but in the end, he had
her packaged up tight.

He took another shower after, since it
was empty. He removed the gloves and left them with the Apron and
the goggles. Before toweling off, he filled the bathtub quarter of
the way and dumped a full bottle of bleach in.

~ You have to hurry,
Charlie Boy, it’s getting late and you want to be right in the
thick of traffic. The more cars the better, you want to be just
another one of the thousands of commuters on the street.
~

He looked at his watch again as he
headed for his bedroom to get a fresh change of clothes, 4:31. His
work had taken him nearly three hours counting the butchery of the
dinette set.

Are you sure getting into
traffic is the best idea?

He crossed through the kitchen and
around the scrap wood of the table.

~ It’s all about numbers,
Charlie. ~

Oh, shit! Oh, shit! The
cops are here.

Charles stepped to the side of the
living room window and peered down into the street. A patrol car
pulled to a stop in front of the building and a tall, well built
officer got out and looked up at him. Charles edge a little further
behind the curtain and held his breath. The cop cocked his head to
the side and squeezed the button on his little shoulder
radio.

“Disbatch, this is Charlie
14.”

“Go ahead, Charlie 14,” a woman’s voice
responded.

“Do we have an apartment number on that
noise disturbance?” the cop asked.

“Caller said apartment 305,” The woman
replied.

“That’s what I thought. Listen, I need
you to get someone from psych down here. I got a guy out on the
ledge of the fifth floor, looks like he’s planning to
jump.”

“Copy that, Charlie 14.”

Oh, my God, they’re coming
for me, they’re coming for me.

~ Pull yourself together,
you fool. They’re here about the noise. They can’t break the door
down over a noise complaint. Just don’t answer the door and they’ll
go away. ~

Charles stepped away from
the window as the officer disappeared into the building. He moved
to the front door and stared out the peephole, waiting, dreading
the arrival of the cop. When he finally did come onto the third
floor landing, Charles’s heart was
thumping
so hard his chest hurt. He
clutched at it with one hand and wiped the sweat from his lip with
the other, never taking his eye away from the peephole in his front
door.

The officer turned his way, but instead
of coming to the door, he continued up the staircase. Charles
sighed out, not realizing he had been holding his
breath.

~ Go now, Charlie Boy,
there’s something else keeping them occupied. If you get out of the
apartment now it’ll be empty before they come back. ~

He ran to the bathroom and grabbed one
of the suitcases. Halfway out of the room he stopped.

~Take them both; you won’t
have time to come back. ~

Yes, Mother.

It was awkward getting both the large
pieces of luggage out of the apartment, but both had wheels, so
once passed the door frame it was easy to get them to the stairs.
That’s when he had trouble.

I wish the elevator
worked.

~ It’s your own fault,
Charlie Boy. ~

It took a few minutes to get down to
the second floor. He stood on the top step looking down at the next
flight. He could see the front door. Through the glass, he could
see his old Lincoln right next to the curb. Charles was so intent
on the last leg of his journey that he didn’t even notice the man
come up and stand right next to him.

“So what’s with all the noise, Mr.
Grimly?” the man asked.

Charles spun to face the newcomer,
clutching the handles of his bags tighter.

“…
What?” he
asked.

The man was tall and pale. His skin was
tight over his bones, making his face look skeletal. Charles
thought he recognized the man, but he couldn’t be sure.

~ The shut-in from
apartment 205, idiot. He’s the one who was pounding on the ceiling,
probably called the cops too. Just be nice, and brush him off.
~

“Oh, yeah, the noise, sorry about
that,” Charles tried to smile. “I was cutting up an old table I
need to get rid of. It’s way too heavy to carry down the
stairs.”

The pale man glared
suspiciously, but didn’t respond further. After a moment, he folded
his arms close to his ribs and began to descend the stairs. Charles
started down after him, but the man quickly disappeared out the
front door. Charles was exhausted. He finally resorted to dragging
the bags down the stairs behind him, letting them
thump
with each step. As
he reached the bottom step, he heard a gunshot out front. He tried
to see through the glass of the double doors, passed his old
car.

Oh, no. Oh,
shit.

~ Don’t just stand here,
hurry, Charlie Boy. ~

Charles dragged the two bags across the
floor, their wheels whirring on the hardwood. He pushed the front
door open with his back and dragged the luggage out. There was
another shot. When he turned around and saw the street he froze.
Several people lay bleeding on the opposite sidewalk and in the
street. A taxi was speeding away and a cop was tumbling down the
road, having just been struck.

Charles was hit from behind. He
stumbled forward; one of the suitcases tumbled down the steps, as
the other cop pushed passed him and vaulted to the sidewalk,
sprinting towards his partner.

~ The case, Charlie, get
the suitcase. ~

He fumbled down the five steps and
managed to grab the plastic, extendo handle. He cringed when his
ankle turned, but his stomach twisted into a knot when he saw that
his luggage was leaking some of his wife out onto the
sidewalk.

~ Get it in the trunk,
fool, there’s blood all over the street, no one is going to notice
a few more drops. ~

He fumbled with his keys. His hand was
shaking and the screaming cop down the street wasn’t helping. Just
as the trunk popped open, there was another gunshot. Charles didn’t
even bother to look. He heaved one, then the other bag into the
spacious trunk and slammed it hard. He turned just as a Korean lady
in a red shirt grabbed his arm.

The dark haired woman frowned at him,
staring with fixed pale eyes.

She’s blind.

~ There’s something wrong
with her, Charlie Boy, look at her neck. ~