J. Gonzalez - Back From The Dead

He’d placed a quick call to Dave and Steve before he took his shower. “Get over here by ten,” he’d told them. “When my parents are gone, we’re getting those fucking zombies out of the guesthouse and getting rid of them.” Dave and Steve were already hip to it, having been tipped off last night by Gordon. They were only too eager to lend a hand.

Scott descended the last few steps quietly.

Dad was talking to somebody at the front door. He didn’t sound too pleased.

Scott hung back near the stairs trying to listen. From where he was standing, whoever was on the porch wouldn’t be able to see him, but Scott could hear them perfectly. They sounded like cops.

“…just like to have a word or two with your son about it.”

“I’m afraid not,” Dad said. “If you wish to speak to my son, it will be through our lawyer.”

“He isn’t a suspect, Mr. Bradfield. We just want to talk to him about a missing classmate of his. Can we please speak to him?”

“Tell you what? How about we schedule a meeting? You can question Scott in the presence of our lawyer. You can come here, or we can do it in my lawyer’s office. Whichever you prefer.”

“Can we come in and talk with you, then?”

“You’re talking with me now.” Even though Dad’s back was to Scott, he could tell Dad was putting on that smiley face that seemed to say, don’t fuck with me . “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have an appointment. I trust you can see your way down the driveway and to your vehicle?”

There was a short pause. Then: “Give us a call then, Mr. Bradfield. We’ll schedule something.”

Scott watched as Dad took a business card one of the detectives handed over. Then the detectives retreated off the porch and down the driveway.

Dad stayed at the front door the whole time. Watching them leave.

When Dad closed the door and turned around, Scott was still standing at the bottom of the staircase. Dad gave no indication that he was surprised to see Scott standing there. “That was easy. We’re going to have to get them off your back, though.”

“Are we going to set up a meeting with Leon?” Leon Hagar was the Bradfield family attorney.

“Yes. Probably for sometime in the next few days.” Dad fished into his pockets and extracted his keys, which he tossed to Scott. “Do me a favor. Wait until those clowns are gone and then take the Corvette down to Landis Wash and have them do a hand wash.”

“Sure thing, Dad!” Scott grinned. Driving the Corvette was always a treat, one he hardly ever got to partake in. “I’ll leave in a few minutes.” He dashed back up the stairs to his room.

Once again, he didn’t see his father’s features change as he left his presence. That look of concern had grown stronger.

The moment the Corvette was out of sight Tom Bradfield got up from his favorite chair in the living room, crossed over to where he left his sandals, put them on, and headed to the kitchen. Carol had left fifteen minutes ago for the Country Club. She belonged to some social group, probably some kind of club for rich Country Club women, and the group held their monthly meetings in one of the conference rooms at the Bent Creek Country club. Tom had almost bought a house in the area, which was an exclusive, gated community, but he’d decided against it. He liked it where he was just fine.

Being in his development, which was close to the edge of Zuck’s Woods, was exactly where he wanted to be.

It had been easy to get Scott to take the ‘Vette out for a wash. Scott loved that car, and Tom had almost bought him one a few months ago, but Carol talked him out of it. She said they were giving their son too much. She was right, of course. Despite Scott’s involvement in extra-curricular activities at school, and his seamless academic and sports record, he and Carol did not require Scott to work a part-time job. They gave him a weekly allowance of three hundred dollars, which Scott was allowed to spend however he wished. Tom had given Scott his old SUV, and while that was a fine car for a boy to have, when Scott expressed such unbridled enthusiasm for the ‘Vette, Tom had almost given in and bought him one. “We buy him too many things,” Carol had argued. “If he wants one, let him work for it.”

Tom exited the kitchen through the side door. He paused at the side deck, making sure he was alone, then headed toward the rear deck.

The guesthouse sat lonely and forlorn a hundred yards away from the house. It was a shame they’d never done anything to the place. When Tom bought the house five years ago he’d had every intention of using it as a bona fide guesthouse. It was built by the original owner, but was left unfinished when Tom and Carol bought the property. They just hadn’t had the time to complete it.

Tom frowned as he drew closer to the guesthouse. The detectives hadn’t accused Scott of anything, but the first thing they’d asked was to speak to him. The second thing they’d asked was to conduct a brief search of the property. Tom had said no to both. The detectives told him they only wanted to question Scott about a missing classmate of his, a guy named John Elfman. They had reason to believe John was hurt and might have wandered onto the property, that he might even now be lying somewhere hurt and unconscious in the woods that bordered the yard, or maybe behind the guesthouse. As the detectives related this, Tom watched them casually and noticed something that troubled him.

One of the detectives had been glancing around the property, making sweeps with those robo-cop eyes police officers and detectives always seemed to possess. He supposed it was standard procedure for a pair of detectives to give locations the quick once-over, only this guy seemed to be really interested in the area where the guesthouse was located, which he could see thanks to a direct view through the large windows in the living room of the house, which opened up to the rear of the property. He kept darting his gaze toward it, then averting it during the conversation. Tom feigned ignorance as he denied their requests to talk to Scott.

So naturally, Tom wanted to see what it was that had interested the detective.

He noticed the smell about ten yards from the guesthouse. It was masked with an underlying scent, one of freshly-scented pine. Tom wrinkled his nose. His limbs grew light, his heart raced as he approached the guesthouse and stopped.

The sun beat high overhead, already bearing down on what was going to be an unbearably hot day. Tom listened for any sounds within the guesthouse. He heard nothing.

Tom fished the key to the guesthouse out of his shorts and unlocked the door.

He pushed the door open.

The smell wafted out of the guesthouse, nearly bowling him over with its intensity. Tom took an involuntary step back and gagged.

Then he got a look at what was inside the guesthouse and choked back a scream.

His heart raced faster. His stomach lurched in his belly.

All the breath seemed to run out of him.

And then, tapping into a sudden burst of energy, he took a quick step inside, grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door closed.

Then he turned and ran like hell back to the house.

Tom Bradfield was waiting for Scott on the side deck when he came home an hour later, the Corvette newly washed and shining in the morning sun.

Scott grinned as he exited the vehicle. “Here we go! Clean as the day it rolled off the lot!”

Tom Bradfield was nursing a scotch — no ice, no water. He hardly drank alcohol before noon and here it was, barely a quarter till ten in the morning. “Scott, we need to have a talk.”

Scott was on his way to the side door of the house when Tom said this. He froze. “What’s up?”