Whatever Remains (Bad Timing)
Posted By J.C. Montgomery on March 18, 2009
Filed Under Excerpts, Horror | 2 Comments
“It was pretty bad then.”
More of a statement than question, Tom wasn’t surprised when Horace only shrugged.
Staring into the mirror, Tom was astounded at the damage.
“You’d think the airbag would’ve protected my face better.”
“Yeah, if the guy that hit you did it head on. But he t-boned you, so no deployment.”
“Then how did I, uh, you know.” Tom still couldn’t get a grasp on the fact that he’d died, and according to Horace, that status hadn’t changed.
“In layman’s terms, your head went through the driver’s side window and was struck by the hood of the truck.”
“I suppose the other guy is okay?” The look on Horace’s face was answer enough. Drunk or not, there was no way Tom’s sedan was any match for a ¾ ton pickup.
Tired of looking at his reflection, Tom began to let his eyes wander around the frame of the mirror, it was then he saw the card.
“Oh my god! Jennifer. Molly.”
“Tom, you can’t…”
“Tomorrow is Christmas, how can I let them suffer?”
Horace stood and took a deep breath. Walking around the desk he came up behind his friend and looked into the mirror over Tom’s shoulder.
“Suffer? Take a good look at yourself buddy. Tell me if the sight of you walking through that front door is gonna ease any of their pain.”
Between the surgeon’s efforts to save him and Horace’s skill as a mortician, Tom didn’t look all that bad – but it wasn’t good either. It was obvious where his skull had been crushed by the impact. That aspect didn’t surprise him all that much. His color however, was still a little difficult to accept.
“Side effect of the mix I think. In fact, I’m fairly sure all of this is related. It should fade though, in fact it already has.”
Horace was right. When Tom first caught a glimpse of himself, he’d positively glowed. Now, after about an hour, it was a shade of ochre he’d only seen on his daughter’s crayon box.
“When I first received those bottles in error, it was almost blinding. But as it nears its expiration date, it continues to dull. I’m guessing its potency is tied to its color.”
“Good thing. Can’t have me prowling around town looking like something from an Ed Wood movie, now can we?” Chuckling to himself he turned to face Horace. Being friends for as long as they had, Tom immediately knew there was something unsaid, and Horace was struggling to find a way to say it.
“Come out with it Hoffy, what is it?”
Using his old high school nickname didn’t make it any easier on Horace. Tom is – was – one of his closest friends. Actually, since taking over the family business, probably one of his only friends.
“The expiration date.”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“If your ‘awakening’ is a side effect of that mix, then just as its potency gives you life, its lack of it will have the corresponding result.”
“You mean once it hits its expiration date – so will I.”
“That’s the theory.”
“How long?”
Horace averted his eyes long enough to make a couple of calculations. Looking up, he met Tom’s gaze as he answered. “Two weeks. Tom, I’m sorry.”
Tom shook off his friends hand on his shoulder and started pacing, thoughts racing through his head as he frantically searched for some thread of logic, no matter how thin, to grasp.
“Is there any left?”
“No. I just had enough for the three of you.”
“Wow. Busy week huh?”
“Yeah, tell me about it. First you, then a…suicide. Hank Daniels was next, you remember him. Damn fool tried to blow up his boss, but got himself killed instead.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re still holding out on me. Spill it.”
Tom watched as Horace’s shoulders rose, then fell slowly. He whispered a word so low Tom wasn’t sure he heard him correctly.
“Annie? What about her?”
“I know Tom. So does Jen. Hell, most of the town does by now.”
Stunned, Tom did his best to control his emotions.
“She told us, well, sort of. It was in the letter.”
“Letter?”
“The one she left. Tom, that suicide I mentioned, it was…”
The room suddenly went dark and Tom had the feeling of being back in the coffin, wanting to be free, but finding nothing but a solid barrier between him and fresh air.
“Whoa there buddy, I got you.” Horace silently cursed himself for not breaking the news any more gently. Setting Tom into a chair, he backed away and watched his friend absorb the news.
Anne. His lover for the last six months, the one he was going to see that night he was killed. He was on his way to end it, to tell her it was all a mistake, but he never made it.
A sudden crash shocked Tom out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Horace holding himself up with his palms flat against his desk, staring at a calendar.
“Son of a…Tom, I’m gonna need your help.”
“With what?”
“The others. It took about 48 hours for that mix to re-animate you.”
“No, oh no, I can’t. I couldn’t face her. Not after…”
“I don’t think you have much of a choice, but if you’d like, I’ll handle Annie. You go help Hank.”
Knowing his options were few, and still stunned by the news of Anne’s death, Tom could only nod in agreement.
“Good. Well then, looks like we have a few hours before they wake. You hungry? I’m starved.”
As Horace headed out to the kitchen, he switched on the radio. As the dulcet tones of Bing Crosby crooned across the room, Horace suddenly turned and looked at Tom concerned.
“You aren’t, uhm, having any cravings are you?”
Tom could only stare in wonderment at his friend. What the hell is he getting at now?
“I mean, you being a zombie and all…”
Rolling his eyes, Tom rose from his chair and slowly lumbered over to where Horace had stopped. Raising his hand, he scrubbed away the hair just above Horace’s ear.
“Well ya know, now that I think about it Hoffy…”
Horace swatted Tom’s hand away. “Not funny man. Not funny at all.”
© J.C. Montgomery 2009. All Rights Reserved.
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Grrr, more! I remember this but don’t remember the ending…
Hehe.
Uhm. Neither do I. I guess we’ll see what its like when I write it.
[sounds of furious typing]