A Self Made Monster (31 page)

Suddenly, there was no need to struggle—Alex had settled on the pool’s floor. Alone in the pale cool blue, he watched David float upward to the rippling backlit surface, then realized it was his own trunk floating upward. Down on the pool’s cool floor, a gentle surge of water rolled Alex’s head over and for a second Alex could see drowned insects caught in the pool drain. But only for a second.

Alex’s boiled flesh separated from his bones.

Alex’s trunk bobbed on the water’s surface for a moment before bursting into flame. Foul black smoke, as if from burning rubber, spiraled skyward and the driver retreated to the shallow end. The rest of Alex floated to the surface and flamed.

Hysterical, the driver tried to swim back to the body, but Holly jumped into the pool and held him back.

“How was the funeral?” Holly scraped. The medication had dried her throat, and speaking was painful.

“Too long. Everybody and his brother wanted to say something good about him. But he was a creep. He murdered Edward Shithead and they act like it’s—” Jimmy smirked. “—like it’s the price of genius or something.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m exaggerating a little, but I swear there was one guy who said that Resartus was a special man afflicted with a lousy mental condition, that the mean brother had twisted him into a mental case, and that both deaths were tragedies.”

“That was Resartus’s agent,” Claire Sweet noted.

“When’s Edward’s funeral?” Holly asked.

“There isn’t a funeral,” Claire answered. “I talked with his mother. She was real nice and said the family didn’t believe in funerals. They’re going to cremate the remains without a service.”

The three made small talk for a few minutes. Claire asked if Holly needed anything. Holly shook her head. She was anxious for Claire to leave; she imagined Claire was trying to see through her nightgown.

Claire patted Holly’s hand. Holly closed her eyes, and Claire silently departed.

Holly opened her eyes. Jimmy was staring at her, as if trying to see through her nightgown.

“You too,” she accused.

“What?”

“Nothing. I mean—” She pretended to be confused. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”

“I’ll visit you tomorrow. Want me to bring anything?”

Holly shook her head.

Jimmy was halfway out the door when Holly called him. “On second thought, I guess you can bring me something.”

He nodded, trying to hide his impatience.

“Bring me a cola and candy bar.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “Pay me later for the stuff.”

The dorm’s resident assistant came in and asked if Holly wanted anything. “A little milk might help my throat.”

Holly smiled wistfully—the night of the party, Edward had mentioned he was allergic to milk: it made him violently ill. Claire had consoled him because he would not be able to drink her famous White Russians. Claire had brought all the ingredients, including the milk and whipped cream. She winked at Holly and said, “All the more for us to drink.”

Around 2:00 a.m., Jimmy Stubbs broke into Edward’s apartment. Except for a photocopied form from the
county
Sheriff
—”Do Not Disturb This Property or Its Contents Under Threat of Criminal Prosecution”—the apartment looked the same as when he had left, three nights earlier: empty bottles, filled ashtrays, and CD’s scattered along the floor.

Jimmy picked up the fallen video camera, and a red light on the camera began blinking. Jimmy removed the camera’s videocassette and put it into Edward’s battered VCR.

The scene was confusing. A couch rested on a wall, and a movie poster was on the ceiling. Still, the room looked familiar.

Jimmy turned and saw the movie poster behind him. He looked back at the screen and realized that the camera had been filming on its side.

There was no sound and no action. Jimmy was about to turn off the VCR when the camera showed a person dragging another person to the middle of the room. Jimmy recognized the two people: Alex Resartus and Edward Head. Resartus tied rope around Edward’s ankles, then held Edward upside down.

Jimmy turned off the machine when Alex cut Edward’s throat. He took several deep breaths, walked in circles, then turned on the machine and watched the entire tape.

“You’re crazy. You’re really crazy,” Holly accused.

“No I’m not. Just watch the tape and you’ll see.”

“No!” Holly’s eyes bugged.

“Then you can’t call me crazy.” Jimmy smiled and offered her a beer.

They watched the tape. Holly remained stone-faced throughout.

“You’re a rock,” Jimmy marveled.

“What was the name of Resartus’s agent?”

“Huh?”

“His agent,” Holly snapped. “What was the name of Resartus’s agent?”

“Who cares?”

“Find out.”

Jimmy wanted to say, “Find out yourself” but Holly’s firmness surprised him.

Holly grabbed Jimmy’s ear. “Find out now! He was at the funeral, so go ask the funeral director. And get his phone number, stupid. Hurry!”

Jimmy paused to retrieve the tape, but Holly bellowed at him to quit wasting time. He called an hour later with the agent’s phone number, then demanded the tape’s return.

Holly hung up and called Claire. Claire arrived in twenty minutes.

Claire and Holly watched the tape twice. Claire cried and had to have a drink. After the third White Russian, she asked Holly if she would turn the tape over to the police.

“Of course not.”

Claire raised her eyebrows.

“This tape—” Holly held it in the air delicately—”is a gold mine.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m a future millionaire.”

“How?”

Holly told her. Claire started crying again. She drank more, and at one point tried to get Holly back into bed.

“Help me, and I’ll sleep with you. I swear.”

“Liar.”

“I need a ghostwriter.”

“Nobody will publish it. It’s beyond belief.”

“Why? Lots of people are nuts enough to think they’re vampires.”

“I don’t think a publisher would buy it.”

“I talked with Resartus’s agent this morning. He’s interested. I told him that Resartus was a pyromaniac who’d burned down a house and a pharmacy and killed Edward and set himself on fire. What a loon…he even thought he was a vampire or something.”

“Ridiculous.”

“All right.” Holly took Claire’s drink from her hand and swallowed half with one gulp. She returned the drink, stood, and pulled her baggy shorts up, crotch-tight. “I’ll find another partner to share my money with.”

Claire closed her eyes. The White Russians had done their magic, and her imagination created a collage: Holly’s thighs, a check with several zeroes, Holly’s belly, another check with several zeroes, Holly on her back.

“No you won’t,” Claire insisted. “I’m your partner.”

Victorious, Holly smiled. She accepted a fresh drink from Claire and allowed Claire to demurely kiss her cheek.

That evening, Holly stopped by Jimmy’s to gloat.

“You got some nerve stealing that tape,” he complained as she breezed into his room.
“I’m a rich young woman, Mr. Stubbs. Congratulate me.” She told him the plan.

“Sounds like I’m going to be rich too.” He pulled a sheet of paper out of his desk. She tried to grab it, but he laughed and held it behind his back.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she shouted.

“I wouldn’t dare!” Jimmy gleefully mocked.

“No!”

He kept laughing. Holly resigned herself to the inevitable. “How much of the cut is that grade sheet worth to you?”

Jimmy brought the grade sheet back into view. He scrutinized it as a museum curator scrutinizes a painting. “It looks pretty valuable.”

“How much?”

Jimmy put the grade sheet back in the desk. “I’ll be reasonable. Seeing as I could get you in all kinds of trouble—a potential best-selling author kicked out of school for changing a grade. That’s not the publicity you want.”

“But you changed your grade too!”

“I’m not the one writing a book.”

“Pungent butt spray!”

“I’ll take twenty five percent.”

“No! I’ll risk getting kicked out of school.”

Jimmy pulled something else from his desk. “This is an essay written by the poor deceased Edward Head, but I’ll bet that an exact copy was turned in with your name on it.”

“When did you get that?”

“When I got the snuff film out of Edward’s apartment.”

“I’ll agree to twenty percent.”

“Twenty five. And if you’re still unreasonable—” He shrugged. “Did I tell you what else I found?”

Holly’s eyes narrowed.

“I found a second video tape in Edward’s bedroom. It stars you and Claire.”

Holly covered her face with both hands, silently cursing herself. She was so drunk and stoned that night, she’d forgotten to bring the tape.

“You surprise me,” Jimmy smiled. “I’d have guessed you for a top, but Claire was the top, and you’re her submissive little bottom.”

“God you suck,” Holly said through her hands.

Jimmy began picking his nose. “Notoriety is good for an author, but…” He examined his finger, frowned, and resumed picking.

“Okay. Twenty five percent.”

“Agreed.”

She slapped him.

“What the hell is that for?”

“You’re the most odoriferous butt spray ever.”

Jimmy stopped picking his nose so he could enjoy a big laugh. “You’re an odorif—uh, you’re a smelly grease spot too.”