The Sinister Mr. Corpse (5 page)

"This is a pretty decent place," Stanley
noted.

"It's a rental. Surprisingly affordable."

"So what's with the biohazard sign on that
door?" asked Stanley, pointing to a door at the end of the
hall.

"That's the lab where your injections are
synthesized. It's a very dangerous process."

"Can I go in?"

"No."

They walked for about a minute, making three
or four turns, and then stopped at a metal door. Brant slid his
security badge through the card reader and pulled the door open
after the beep. They walked into a small room with a long table and
several chairs.

"Ah, breakfast is ready," said Brant,
gesturing to a plate of eggs, bacon, and sausage, along with two
pieces of toast and a glass of orange juice. "Please, have the seat
of honor."

Stanley sat down at the head of the table.
The only other occupant of the room was a woman who sat at the
other end, furiously typing on a laptop. She finished what she was
doing and got to her feet.

"Mr. Dabernath, it's so good to finally meet
you," she said, walking towards him. "Alive, anyway."

This woman was absolutely gorgeous. She had
long black hair, slender features, and a body to die a second time
for. She wore a tight red skirt and blouse that made Stanley want
to just...

Remembering his hideous appearance, Stanley
kept those thoughts in check.

"I'm Veronica Luxen," she said, extending her
hand.

Stanley shook it. "Stanley Dabernath."

She smiled at him and didn't seem creeped out
in the least by the way he looked. He watched to see if she
frantically wiped her hand off on her skirt, but instead she
casually placed it on her hip. "So how are you feeling this
morning?"

"Alive."

"Ooooh, good one. Make sure you remember
that. It'll be a perfect sound bite." She took a small notebook out
of her breast pocket and quickly scribbled in it.

"This is your personal assistant," said
Brant. "She'll be handling all of your public appearances and
taking care of anything you need outside of this bunker."

"I have a personal assistant?"

"Yes. That would be Veronica. I explained
that about two seconds ago."

"Don't be a prick. I was just surprised,
that's all. I can't imagine that many walking corpses have personal
assistants."

"You'll have your work cut out for you with
this one," Brant told Veronica. "Especially his mouth. He has quite
an affection for profanity."

"Oh, I think I'll tame him just fine."

Stanley sat there for a moment, thinking
about how desperately he wanted to be tamed. Veronica gestured to
his food. "Go on, eat up. You've got a busy day ahead of you."

Stanley took a bite of sausage, which was
absolutely delicious. Veronica sat down next to him. "I guess
you've had a lot to think about recently, haven't you?" she
asked.

"You could say that."

"I admire your bravery. A lot of people
wouldn't be able to cope with this."

"What makes you think I'm coping?"

"Well, for one thing, you're not lying on the
floor in the fetal position. That's a good start. And you're
mentally well-off enough to be rude to Richard here."

"Well, that's not so difficult." Stanley
turned to Brant. "Fuck off, I'm eating."

"Actually, I am going to leave you two
alone," said Brant. "I trust that Mr. Dabernath will behave
himself."

"I'll do my best, but if she jumps me, it's
not my fault."

"Understood." Brant nodded politely at
Veronica and left the room.

"He's such a sweetie," said Stanley, shoving
a bite of eggs into his mouth. "So what Personal Assistant
organization did you get blacklisted by to get stuck with me?"

"Are you kidding?" asked Veronica. "This is
the opportunity of a lifetime. Ooooh, that's a good one, too. If
they ask you how you feel about being resurrected, you can say 'It
was the opportunity of a lifetime.'"

"Seriously. You're the personal assistant to
a corpse. That's gotta suck."

"I'm the personal assistant to a famous
corpse. The Amazing Mr. Corpse. Let me tell you, Stanley, your fame
is going to last for a lot more than fifteen minutes."

"What if I don't want the fame?"

"Then do it for the fortune."

"Maybe I don't want the fortune, either."

"I saw the movies that you distribute, if you
can call them movies. Don't tell me that you're not in the
exploitation business."

"Okay, fine, but there's a difference between
selling weird movies and parading myself in public as a freak."

"You're not a freak, you're a--"

"--a scientific phenomenon, I know. But,
c'mon, look at me. I've got a face that only a drunken coked-up
lobotomized mother could love."

"I'm thinking we won't use that one as a
sound bite. Don't be so caught up in your appearance. You're Mr.
Corpse. People aren't expecting beauty."

"So I don't gross you out?"

"Not at all."

"What about now?" Stanley opened wide,
showing her a mouthful of chewed-up eggs.

"I think we'd better get down to
business."

"No, seriously. How can I not gross you out?
I gross myself out. You should see my dick."

"Don't you think it's ironic that the world's
first scientifically resurrected human being, a marvel beyond
compare, feels the need to get attention by talking about his
penis?"

"I just can't believe you're not grossed out
by me."

"I don't find you gross. I find you
fascinating."

"Nobody's ever told me I'm fascinating."

"Well, I'm not talking about your
personality," Veronica said. "That I'd call adolescent."

"Okay, yeah, people
have
told me
that."

"Stanley, focus. You'll have a psychological
test as soon as Dr. Lamber gets here, and then a few physical tests
just to make sure that undead body of yours is in good condition,
and then you've got a press conference this evening. Are you
comfortable talking in front of people?"

"I used to be, pre-zombie."

"Well, get back into it, because you'll be
doing it a lot. They should be fairly generic questions. How do you
feel, what was it like to be dead, that sort of thing. You'll
probably be asked about the machine and chemicals that brought you
back to life, but it's okay to admit that you don't know anything
about them. Just be honest."

"Can I say that I was brought back by a DVD
player and grape Kool-Aid?"

"No. Let me explain
something to you. Your resurrection was shown on live television
all over the world, but many people, perhaps even
most
people, think it was
faked. They're sure you're phony. And when you do your press
conference, I guarantee that somebody will accuse you of being some
actor in makeup. So if you stand up there and make smart-ass
comments, they're not going to believe that you're
real."

"But that's what I am. A dead guy who makes
lots of smart-ass comments. I'm thinking of eight or nine of them
right now."

"Yes, but that's not what people expect from
a resurrected corpse. I certainly encourage you to be funny, and
especially to use the 'chance of a lifetime' joke, but you can't
act like an idiot. Be charming and respectful. Can you do that for
me?"

"Nobody is looking for a zombie to be
charming and respectful. They're looking for me to devour human
flesh and have body parts drop off. What if somebody decides to
shoot me in the head?"

"Don't worry, the press conference will be
secure. Would you like to watch your television special after
you're done with breakfast?"

"You have it recorded?"

"Of course."

"Hell yeah!"

* * *

"Jeez, do you think they could pad this thing
out any more?" asked Stanley, shoving a handful of popcorn into his
mouth as they sat in his room; Stanley on the bed, Veronica on the
recliner.

"Well, they had to fill a two-hour special,"
said Veronica.

"They didn't even get my biographical
material right." Stanley picked up the remote control and
fast-forwarded through a set of commercials. "Ah, here we go."

He watched on the television screen as Brant
pulled the lever and the machine started pumping chemicals into his
dead body.

Stanley shut off the video. "Maybe I don't
want to see this."

"You've only been re-alive for a day," said
Veronica. "You still need time to adjust."

"Yeah."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, why? Do I look like I'm not?"

"You just look a bit disturbed."

"Nah." He ran a hand through his hair. "So if
you died, would you want to come back?"

"Absolutely."

"Even if you looked like this?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just would."

"That's a lousy answer."

"I'm not the one who's supposed to be giving
answers," said Veronica.

An unknown voice crackled over the speaker.
"Dr. Lamber is ready for Mr. Dabernath."

Veronica got up off the recliner. "Okay,
let's go prove that you're sane."

CHAPTER SIX

Stanley shifted
uncomfortably as he sat across the table from Dr. Lamber. They were
in a small room with mold-green walls (though not from actual mold)
and absolutely nothing in the way of decor. Dr. Lamber, who was
middle-aged, clean-shaven, and completely bald, had a piercing
stare that really creeped Stanley out. He wished there were posters
on the walls, maybe something in an "
It's
Good To Be Sane!
" motif, to distract
him.

"Are you ready to begin?" asked Dr. Lamber in
his quiet, emotion-free, oddly eerie voice.

"Yes."

"What is your name?"

"Stanley Dabernath."

"Are you certain?"

"Yeah."

Dr. Lamber nodded in a thoughtful yet eerie
manner and wrote something in his notebook. "Do you know this
because you remember your name, or because people in this bunker
have recently explained to you that your name is Stanley
Dabernath?"

Stanley stared at him for a long moment. "Are
you fucking kidding me?"

Dr. Lamber nodded thoughtfully again and
wrote something else in his notebook.

"Did you write something bad?" Stanley
asked.

"There are no right or wrong answers
here."

"But did you write something bad?"

"Do you think you gave me justification to
write something bad?"

"I don't know. I just don't want to get
locked up in a padded cell as an insane cadaver."

Dr. Lamber nodded thoughtfully and wrote more
in his notebook.

"You wrote something even worse, didn't you?
Look, I'm sorry I dropped the f-bomb. I wasn't thinking. Let's just
move on."

"When I asked you the question about your
name, why did you think I might be kidding?"

"Because it was a very silly question."

"Why?"

"Because I know my name."

"I had no way of knowing that you knew."

"But you asked me again after I said I did
know."

"I see. Did you think I looked like the sort
of individual who would ask questions in jest?"

"I don't know. I just met you."

"I see."

They sat there in silence.

Dr. Lamber leaned forward. "What's your
middle name?"

"Allen."

"Spell it."

"A-L-L-E-N."

Dr. Lamber shuffled through some papers,
glanced at the top of one of them, and nodded, apparently
satisfied.

Stanley sighed. "This is going to be a long
interview, isn't it?"

"What made you call it an interview?"

* * *

Stanley felt at least
thirty-five percent less sane as he walked out of his psychological
examination, but he was pretty sure they'd stamp his file
"
Not a Whacko
."

"I can't believe you made me go through
that," he told Veronica as they walked down the hallway.

"You've been dead. We have to make sure that
a professional finds you mentally competent to sign the contracts
that are going to bring lots of money to you and Project Second
Chance."

"Fair enough."

"Anyway, your physical exam is going to suck
much worse."

* * *

"Well, helloooooo Stanley!" said Dr. Arnzin
as Stanley walked into the examination room. This guy looked barely
old enough to be playing doctor with a co-ed, let alone performing
duties as a medical professional. His memory was fuzzy, but Stanley
thought he might have been the scientist he punched out after his
resurrection. "How are your dead bones doing today?"

"They've been deader."

"Good, good, good. That's good. Have a seat
on that ice-cold stool and we'll look you over, okay?"

Stanley sat down on the metal stool and gave
a friendly wave to the not-particularly-well-hidden camera on the
wall. He didn't mind them recording him, but he did mind them
insulting his intelligence by trying to hide it.

"Let's start by checking your pulse," said
Dr. Arnzin, wrapping the cuff of the blood pressure monitor around
Stanley's arm and inflating it. He glanced at the readout and
nodded. "No pulse. Good."

"Can I see?"

Dr. Arnzin showed him the display screen. All
three numbers read zero. "Pretty hard to have a pulse when you
don't have any blood. Just wanted to make sure nothing was
squirming around in there."

"I don't have
any
blood?"

"Not a drop. It's being stored in jars in a
freezer somewhere in the facility. Do you want to see it?"

"Nah."

"I guess there isn't any reason to check your
heartbeat," said Dr. Arnzin with a wink. "Not gonna hear a lot of
activity in that area, now are we?"