Page 37 of Any More Questions for the Corpse?

To Mal it seemed so obvious, but no one gave the shadowy creature a second look. It bobbled along, then jumped up and dove headfirst into the body. Mal felt a terrible rush and took a sharp, harsh breath in, as if for the first time; he watched as the body bag began to breath in time with his new, harsher breaths. This wasn’t going to be his usual resurrection.

Mal urged the body to sit up, and sit up it did. Men and women in uniform recoiled in shock as the body bag sprang to life with a stiff motion. Walters slunk into the shadows near the armored van housing Des. Several officers came closer to the bag, hesitant and curious; most eyed the bag and stayed several meters back. The body began to writhe around, fighting with the bag, flailing and rocking the stretcher.

“What are you doing?” Yu said, shoved up next to Mal.

“I’m distracting them,” Mal said, as if it were obvious.

“I can see that,” Yu replied. “What I mean is, why are you making it just flail around?”

“Because I have no idea what I’m doing!”

The body lurched off the stretcher and onto the floor. The SWAT team were now pointing their guns at the body and were slowly creeping their way up to the bag. Most everyone else had dispersed farther back and were trying to stop onlookers from filming the scene. One of the SWAT team nodded to another, prompting them to edge even closer. With every step they took, Mal caused the corpse to flail. The officer jumped out of his skin with every rigid twitch it made. Mal was surprised they hadn’t shot it yet. Slowly, the officer reached down and started to unzip the bag. Mal recognized the officer as part of the SWAT team that had arrested Des. Mal was going to enjoy this more than he should.

Tense and terrified, the officer unzipped the bag and revealed the lifeless body of one of the criminals with burned-out eyes. Mal held his breath, making sure the body remained as still as possible. The officer brought his face down to inspect the corpse; as everyone had expected, it was dead. The officer righted himself and shrugged to the others as if to say, It’s just a dead body. The SWAT team lowered their guns and a wave of relief spread across the watching crowd. Mal smiled, and so did the eyeless corpse at the officers feet.

The corpse leaped into the air and flung its arms around the calm officer’s shoulders, clinging on as if he were a mechanical bull. The officer screamed like a little girl as Mal made the corpse grunt and scream with its half-inflated lungs. Panic and terror filled the eyes and mouths of the SWAT team. Mal found himself chuckling at the panic, and heard a terrifying echo of his chuckle coming from the swinging corpse. The officer was now inadvertently wearing the corpse like a fabulous, nightmare-inducing scarf. Another officer bravely stepped up to assist his friend and received a flying boot to the face as the corpse’s legs flung about in the fray.

Walters came back over to the car and knocked on the window. The force of the taps said “cut it out.” Mal let go of the part of him that didn’t belong. The yelling and panic took a few seconds to subside, as the now-inanimate body slumped off the shoulders of the officer. Upon hitting the ground it was promptly shot from every angle. The hail of gunfire felt like victory to Mal, as he stared into the back of the empty armored van. Des had escaped. It was a short-lived victory, however, as soon an officer jumped into the front seat of their squad car. As the engine started, Mal wondered what fresh hell the Dunwich judicial system had in store for him. Mal smiled. At least Des wouldn’t be joining him there.

16Do Not Pass Go

Eight hours of statements, interviews, and holding cells later, Mal found himself back at the safe house sitting around the kitchen table. His wrists still ached from the handcuffs; he found himself rubbing where they had once been to try to relieve the pressure. A mug of tea warmed the palms of his hands and wafted steam into his face. Hala and Yu were with him but no one was particularly talkative. Something about almost going to jail had killed the mood somewhat. When they’d arrived back at the safe house they found fresh piles of clothes and some towels that had been in a cupboard too long waiting for them.

Des had beaten them all to the safe house and, by the look of the place, hadn’t been able to sit still since. She’d cleaned from top to bottom, vacuumed, mopped, dusted, made all the beds, found and washed the group some clothes, and even washed the windows. When they’d arrived, Des was cleaning out the fridge. It was an odd sight, like seeing a fearsome warrior knitting a blanket with the ends of two battleaxes. Walters talked to her at length while the group showered and changed out of the sewage clothes. When Hala, Yu, and Mal were finished, the pair were still talking in hushed tones in the living room, which is why they were now in the kitchen.

Mal found himself surprisingly hungry and, in lieu of cooking something proper, had instinctively made himself toast. The first few slices were immediately stolen by an equally hungry Hala and Yu; the second set Mal offered to Des and Walters, who it turned out were also hungry; the third set Mal happily crunched on himself. He made sure as he was making them not to get crumbs everywhere and ruin Des’s nice clean kitchen. Once he’d finished with his culinary masterpiece he sat in silence enjoying the cup of tea Yu had made him, wondering what on earth the group would do now. The midday sun shone gleefully through the large kitchen windows, and sparkled against the freshly cleaned floor and counter tops. Mal let out a long exhausted sigh, which prompted a nod of agreement from Hala. They were all dead on their feet—or bums, seeing as how they were sat down.

Mal’s mind drifted to their “incarceration,” if eight hours could be classed as incarceration. In reality, as Walters had explained, they’d been held in the drunk tanks and given a stern talking-to about interfering with a police investigation. The police’s primary concern being to verify that none of them had any actual involvement in the murders they’d uncovered, other than witnessing them, trying to solve them, then chasing the culprit into the sewers. All things they’d been told not to do in the future. All things Mal was sure he’d end up doing again sometime soon; he would just have to make sure that next time they called the police at a more opportune moment.

The hushed tones in the living room went quiet and Des and Walters entered soon after. Des hid from the sunlight in the doorway and gestured for Mal to come and talk to her; as Mal got up, Walters took his seat and the spare slice of toast that was sitting on Mal’s plate. Walters took a large bite of it, smiling all the while. Mal followed Des out through the kitchen to one of the back bedrooms. He knew Des just wanted to talk, but couldn’t help but feel nervous all of a sudden. His inability to hide this nervousness made Des smile slightly, but it was only a half smile.

They went in and Des pushed the door closed. Mal found himself sat on the floor with his back up against the side of the bed. He wasn’t sure why he did this; maybe he just wanted to avoid the awkwardness of sitting on the bed with Des, but it felt right. Des joined him, seeming happy with his choice. They sat there for a moment, stretching their legs out in front of them. Mal was close enough now to see that Des had been crying; a slight redness to her eyes gave it away. He knew this had been hard on her, but she always seemed so strong, so unshakeable. Someone his age who’d been a cop for a few years, who’d lived and worked and been a proper adult. He waited, wiggling his toes, until Des was ready to break the silence.

“I think …” Des said. “I think I’m leaving …”

“You think you’re leaving? You sound like Yu.”

“I don’t know,” Des said, a frustrated tone in her voice. “I’ve got family in Greece. I could start over, maybe get a police job in a regular city. Give it another go.”

“Is that what you want?” Mal said.

“What I want is to do my job. I want to not have to be this way anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Mal said, quietly.

“Don’t be sorry. This is better than dead every day of the week,” Des said. “I just … don’t know what to do.”

“Can Walters help?”

“Half the force saw me arrested last night. There’s no covering that up. We’re just lucky no one suspects Walters of helping me escape. He’s done enough. I just have to figure out what to do next.”

“And that’s leave?”

“What else can I do? It’s my only chance of finding another job.”

“But wouldn’t you just have the same problems as before?” Mal said. “Worrying about being caught, hiding who you are, and you’ll be a fugitive. You’re even more likely to be found out.”

“I’m a fugitive either way. Might as well try and do what I’m good at.”