The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel Page 18

  “God bless you!” she heard Randy shout from just outside.

  “Grassy ass!” she hollered back.

  She began to adorn the fossils, these ancient monoliths from a bygone era, with ratty-looking spider webs, strategically placing the small, plastic spiders throughout. When she was finished with the webs, she began to take out the rubber bugs and plastic monster heads and scatter them over the glass surfaces of the pinball machines.

  Before long, her box was empty, so she left the Classics Room and returned to the front of the carousel to grab another box. She found the boxes, but no Mike. She didn’t see Randy or Vinnie either, for that matter.

  “Vinnie? Mike? Randy?” she called out.

  The place was silent.

  “Guys? Where are you?”

  No response. Maybe they were in the back retrieving something else from the office.

  Dharma suddenly had the feeling that she was being watched. She turned around and saw two dark silhouettes standing perfectly still, statuesque even, in the shadows at the back by the air hockey tables.

  “Guys?”

  They were ragged, uneven shapes, and the faces were concealed in the shadows. It looked like Randy dragged out a couple of life-sized Halloween statues. She walked around the railing of the carousel to take a closer look.

  They were two zombie statues, with torn, raggedy clothes and decayed faces. They were almost movie quality. Dharma figured they must’ve cost a pretty penny.

  Suddenly, both figures moved, and Dharma let out a shrill scream that echoed around the empty arcade.

  There was muffled laughter as both Vinnie and Randy pulled off their rubber zombie masks. “Gotcha!” yelled Vinnie.

  Dharma was pissed. “You two assholes almost gave me a fucking heart attack.”

  “Whoa, nice mouth on you,” replied Randy.

  “C’mon, Dharma,” pleaded Vinnie, “we were only playing.”

  “Yeah, well, you guys scared the shit out of me,” she said, her hand on her chest.

  “That was kinda the point,” said Randy.

  “We do it to a volunteer every year,” added Vinnie to soften the blow. “It’s tradition.”

  “Yeah, we even did it to Mike one year,” said Randy.

  “You did what to me?” asked Mike carrying out a cardboard box of more decorations. He saw the look on Dharma’s face. The poor girl was white with fright. “They get you, hon?”

  “No wonder why you have a hard time finding volunteers every year,” said Dharma, regaining her composure.

  “Well, we haven’t killed anyone yet,” said Randy. “Yet,” he added for emphasis.

  “Don’t you think those getups are a little too intense for the youngins’?” asked Dharma.

  “Nah,” said Randy, “we put the getups on wire frames. They’re going to be dummies.”

  “I don’t know,” quipped Dharma, “you two were doing a fine job of it.”

  “Ha-ha,” said Vinnie sarcastically. “We dress them up to look more silly than scary.”

  “Jesus, I’d sure hope so.”

  Mike looked at his watch. “We’ve been at it for, oh, an hour or so. Why don’t you say we raid the concession stand?”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Dharma.

  “What about Nancy?” asked Randy, looking a bit concerned.

  “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” said Mike.

  “But she takes inventory.”

  “Yeah, but these are for the kids. She’ll never miss ’em.”

  “Great, so we’re taking candy from children,” said Dharma sardonically.

  “Nancy’d be proud,” quipped Mike.

  “You guys make this Nancy seem like a real monster,” said Dharma, joining Vinnie and Randy at the glass counter as Mike stepped behind and started rummaging around. “She can’t be that bad.”

  “Oh, she’s worse,” said Randy.

  “Yeah? How?”

  Mike popped up holding out several candy bars in his hands. Dharma and Randy each took one.

  “Let me put it this way,” said Mike. “I’d rather deal with zombies than our Nancy, any day of the week.”

  “Watch what you ask for,” said Dharma eerily, the corners of her mouth curling up in a wicked grin.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Randy unwrapping his own candy bar.

  “It means I’m going to get you two back. You won’t know when it’s coming or how it’s coming, but it’s coming. Believe it.”

  “I think we ignited a war,” Vinnie said as he chewed chocolate and nugget.

  “She’ll never get me,” declared Randy.

  “Oh, I’ll get you first,” said Dharma.

  “I might want in on that,” said Mike.

  “Game on,” said Randy, smiling so Dharma could see chocolate stuck between his teeth.

  “Game on,” promised Dharma.

  * * *

  Marie Russo hung up the phone. She debated whether or not to tell Mario what had happened. The poor man just suffered a heart attack. He didn’t need this kind of stress. Not now.

  As she peeked in on him sleeping on the couch with a light afghan draped over his lap, a chill went down her spine. Mario wouldn’t be able to make any visits to the nursing home any time soon, but he’d be back on his feet at some point.

  She’d volunteered to visit Mama Sophia until he felt up to it, and she would keep doing so for at least a while longer. In time, the incident would fade away, as if it never happened. The social worker told her the woman who assaulted Mama Sophia was moved out of the room. Problem solved as far as Marie was concerned.

  Then there was Mama Sophia. She never forgave, and she never forgot. That old bitch stored things away in her memory for months, years even. She stored them away so they could be brought up as she saw fit, for her needs at the moment.

  She’d use the incident to make Mario feel guilty for putting her in a nursing home. Then Mario would become conflicted and actually entertain the notion of bringing Mama Sophia home to live with them. They’d been down this road before many times.

  There was no way Marie was going to allow that hateful bitch to live in their house, poisoning their marriage. They had a happy home, and Marie wanted to keep it that way.

  Yet, there was the danger that, if she told Mario about it now, he’d overreact and demand that Mama Sophia be discharged to their home immediately. The social worker would surely talk him out of it. In fact, if she was signed out against medical advice, Mama Sophia would lose her health benefits. They’d been told as much the last time Mario had an attack of guilt and tried to pull his mother out of there.

  That settled it. Marie decided she’d break it to him once he woke up. She was going to do it as gently as possible. First she’d pour him some hot herbal tea. Then she’d offer to make him some grilled fish with avocado.

  He hated his new diet, but the heart attack put a scare into him, and he changed his eating habits for Marie and their children, Salvatore and Alessandra. Besides, a full man was a happy man. This, her mother taught her when she was younger.

  “Marie, who was that?”

  Shit. “Who was who, honey?”

  “On the phone. Who was it?”

  So much for waiting for after dinner. If she held off, he’d be pissed at her. Plus, it would just be weird that she wouldn’t tell him about it.

  “It was the nursing home. There was a minor incident, but Mama Sophia’s okay.”

  He stood and entered the kitchen. “Incident? What incident?”

  Mama’s Little Meatball. Here we go. “Now, Mario, it’s nothing to get worked up over. Remember your heart condition.”

  “What incident, Marie?”

  “There was a conflict with her roommate.”

  “Conflict? What kind of conflict?”

  “It was no big deal.”

  “Marie,” he insisted.

  “It was a disagreement.”

  “Was she hurt?”

  “She banged h
er hand on the furniture, but it’s fine. The social worker said it was only a small cut.”

  Mario’s eyes went wide. “Only a small cut? How the hell did she bang her hand on the furniture? Was there a fight? Did someone strike my mother?”

  “Mario, you promised. Calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down, Marie. Tell me what happened.”

  “Your mother went to help her roommate with something, and the woman…mouthed your mother’s hand.”

  He looked perplexed. “Mouthed?”

  “Yeah, and your mother pulled her hand away. The other woman went after her, but the staff intervened.”

  “Mouthed? Why the hell would anyone mouth Mama?”

  “I don’t know, Mario. Maybe she’s bat shit crazy or she has the dementia.”

  “My poor Mama.”

  “The important thing is that everyone’s okay.”

  “I hope to God that woman still isn’t in the room with my mother.”

  “No. The social worker said she was moved.”

  “Who, Mama?”

  “No, the roommate.”

  “I want to see Mama.”

  “Not until you’ve eaten.”

  “Dammit, Marie.”

  “No, damn you, Mario. You remember what the doctor said.”

  “But Mama.”

  “Do you hear yourself? But Mama. But Mama. You sound like a freaking baby. Your mama’s fine. You’ll be no good to her if you don’t take care of yourself.”

  “But, it’ll be too late when we finish eating.”

  “Then we’ll see her tomorrow.”

  “I want to see her tonight.”

  “Dammit, Mario.”

  “I’ll eat fast.”

  ***

  “Hurry up,” Mario demanded. “By the time you pull in, she’ll be gone.”

  “I told you this was a bad idea. She probably went home for the day.” Marie pulled into a parking spot. Mario had his seatbelt off and his car door open before she put the car in park. “Jesus, Mario! You’re going to kill yourself! Hold your horses!”

  Mario was a few spots away as Marie dashed to catch up, pressing the button on her keychain to activate the alarm. She ran up alongside him and locked arms with him.

  “You’re gonna give yourself another heart attack.”

  They marched through the sliding front doors and up to the security desk. “Is Renee the social worker in?” blurted Mario. “It’s important I speak with her.”

  Marie stood there looking sheepish.

  “Yes, she’s in her office. I’ll have her paged.”

  “Thank you,” said Mario.

  In ten minutes Renee entered the lobby. Her face fell when she saw Mario’s wild eyes and Marie clutching him by his right arm. However, she recovered quickly. Dammit. She only needed a few more minutes to finish up some discharge plans, and she would’ve been out to lunch.

  She strode over to the Russos, managing a smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Russo, how are you?”

  “How’s my mother? I want to see her.”

  Renee looked nervously around the lobby and then at the security guard. MacAteer would have a shit-fit if she saw family members carrying on in the lobby. It was a violation of HIPAA and just bad for business.

  “Let’s discuss this is my office. Don’t worry, Mr. Russo, you’ll be able to see your mother. She’s just fine.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “I tried to explain it to him,” apologized Marie, “but he wouldn’t hear it.”

  “Follow me,” said Renee, turning to the elevators. She hit the button to summon a car and waited. Christ, these things were slow. The three people stood there awkwardly, waiting.

  “I told you she was okay,” muttered Marie, taking Renee’s cue to keep her voice down.

  “I still want to see her.”

  “You will,” said Marie through gritted teeth.

  At long last the elevator doors opened, and all three stepped into the car. An aide escorting a resident in a wheelchair and two other ambulatory residents moved over to accommodate the new riders.

  “Mama’s Little Meatball,” muttered Marie under her breath.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t say that. It pisses me off every single time you do.”

  “She should be finishing up with her dinner,” said Renee, trying to change the subject. “I believe it was fish tonight with veggies.”

  “She hates the fish here,” said Mario. “Said it was like cardboard.”

  “Mario!” rebuked Marie, losing a bit of her hushed tone.

  “Well, from what Sophia tells me, she was quite the cook,” said Renee, “and nothing compares to home cooking.”

  “She was the best,” proclaimed Mario. “She made everything. Pasta and gravy, lasagna, fish—you name it, she made it.”

  Marie burned with resentment at Mario’s proclamation. It always burned her ass. She liked to think she was no slouch in the kitchen. In fact, she tailored all of her recipes to Mario’s liking. Mama Sophia only cooked her way; she didn’t give a rat’s ass if you liked it or not.

  The doors opened on each floor on the way up. A couple of residents got off, but there were always more to replace them, and in short order the elevator became quite cramped, making the trek upward to the sixth floor feel like an eternity to Mario. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and Marie squeezed his arm tighter.

  At last, when they reached the sixth floor, Renee took them past the day room where the residents were still eating their lunch.

  “See,” said Renee pointing inside, “she’s still eating her lunch. Let’s talk in my office and let her finish.”

  Marie began to pull Mario by the arm when Mama Sophia caught a glimpse of her son. “My son! My son!” She had an anguished look on her face and put her hands out, as if reaching out to place his face in her hands.

  On cue, Mario shook free of Marie’s grip and walked across the day room, squatted next to his mother, and placed his face in her hands. Mama Sophia kissed him on forehead and began complaining to him.

  “Look at what they serve me for lunch. A scoop of old egg salad and a slice of lettuce. I might as well be in a Turkish prison!”

  “Ma, don’t say that.”

  “They serve pasta, but they don’t know how to make a good gravy. Instead, I get tomato paste. They need some Italians down in the kitchen, Mario.”

  She looked over her son’s shoulder and saw Marie rolling her eyes.

  Marie realized she was caught, so she crossed the dayroom to greet her mother-in-law. “Mama Sophia, how are you?”

  Mama Sophia wagged a finger in the air. “You know damned well how I’m doing!”

  “She’s concerned about you, Ma. That’s why she came here with me to see you.”

  “If she cared so much, why did she make you put me here in this jail with these crazy people?”

  Marie sucked her teeth.

  “Ma, she didn’t make me put you here. It was the best thing for you.”

  “Why don’t we let your mother finish and we can visit with her in her room when we’re done talking?” said Renee.

  “Okay, Ma. We’re going to talk with your social worker. We’ll be back in a little bit. Finish your lunch.”

  Mama Sophia spit on her plate. “Mierda!”

  “Ma, please. We’ll be right back.”

  Mama Sophia reached out for her son, her face desperate. “Don’t leave.”

  “No, Ma. We’re not leaving. We’ll meet you in your room after. I promise.”

  “You’re such a nice boy, Mario.”

  Marie followed Renee out of the day room, and Mario backed out of the room spouting assurances.

  “That’s my son. He’s gonna take me outta here!”

  Renee held her office door open and Marie and Mario entered the tiny workspace. It was about the size of a large broom closet. They took seats in the metal chairs in front of Renee’s tiny desk.

  Renee squeezed in between the edge of her tin
y desk and the wall and took a seat, her modest office chair banging against the small metal filing cabinet wedged between the other side of her desk and the wall. A dilapidated window unit belched out slightly cooled air.

  “Mr. Russo, I spoke with your wife on the phone about what happened. I assure you, your mother’s all right.”

  “What happened to the woman that attacked her? I surely hope she’s not in this facility any longer.”

  “We’re not even sure your mother was attacked, Mr. Russo. Her roommate mouthed her hand.”

  “What does this mouthed mean, anyway? Was she bitten?”

  “Not that we could see. The woman has exhibited a cognitive decline. She probably didn’t even know what she was doing.”

  “Well, she’s not still here, is she?”

  “She’s in the locked dementia ward, Mr. Russo. She won’t be bothering Sophia again.”

  “So, she can’t get out?”

  “What part of ‘locked’ don’t you understand,” snapped Marie.

  “Don’t start with me, Marie.”

  “Your mother has been examined by the physician, and we even sent the psychologist to speak with her.”

  Mario snickered at that second part. “A head shrink? My mother would never talk to one of those.”

  “She needs to,” muttered Marie.

  “On the contrary, Mr. Russo, your mother has been speaking with her. She even appears to like her very much.”

  Mario looked shocked.

  “Really? That’s great, I guess,” said Marie.

  “How’s that great? My mother’s not crazy. She gets mouthed by her roommate and she has to see a shrink?”

  “Sophia’s roommate is currently too demented to benefit from psychotherapy,” explained Renee. “We sent Dr. Bigelow in to see Sophia to make sure she felt safe and there wasn’t any residual anxiety. We want her to feel comfortable.”

  “Well, she didn’t look very comfortable, Ms. Renee. She looks very unhappy here,” accused Mario.

  “I think she’s playing it up to gain your sympathy, Mr. Russo.”

  “Yeah, I bet she was fine before she saw Mario,” said Marie.

  “Quite so,” said Renee.

  Mario couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What, so you both are saying I shouldn’t visit my mother? I’m all she has.”