Jeff Strand - The Sinister Mr. Corpse

Stanley got him with a stretchy kick to the groin. Hugh howled and doubled over in pain.

Stanley wanted to say something intimidating, but his jaw wasn't working right. It kind of felt like it was hanging free.

Tom shot him again.

Stanley threw a punch his way. Again, this one didn't hit with much force, but what it lacked in power it made up for with the fact that Stanley's extended index finger got Tom right in the eye and sunk deep.

Tom let out a wail that more than matched Hugh's howl.

Stanley tried to pull his finger free, but it was stuck. His legs gave way beneath him and he dropped to the ground, one of them sticking up at a strange angle.

Hugh turned and ran.

Tom fell to his knees, bellowing.

Stanley felt something slimy trickling down his cheek and realized that Tom wasn't the only one with eyeball issues. Stanley was staring at Tom with his good eye and at the ground with the eye that was slipping out of its socket. He passed out pretty quickly after that.

Stanley awoke to find himself staring into the eyes of heaven.

Well, Veronica, anyway. Close enough.

He was back in his old bed in the bunker, underneath the fluffy pink blanket. Veronica and Martin were each seated on opposite sides of the bed. Brant stood against the far wall, speaking to Dr. Arnzin.

"Stanley, can you hear me?" asked Veronica.

"Yeah." Stanley wiggled his feet. They seemed to be more or less normal. He touched his forehead and found only a small dent there, like a dimple on a golf ball.

His left arm was still gone.

"Donald, is he…?" Stanley trailed off, already knowing the answer.

Veronica nodded sadly. "The funeral was yesterday."

"Shit."

"It's the way he would have wanted to go, I think: Top news story."

Stanley closed his eyes. "It's all my fault."

"It's not your fault. He was stupid. At least that's what the kidnappers said."

"Did they catch them?"

"Yeah."

"Can we cut off their arms?"

"No, probably not."

Stanley opened his eyes. "I'm so sorry about all this. I just went nutzo, I guess."

"Why?" Veronica asked. "I don't understand what made you do that."

Stanley looked over at Brant, who was eyeing him intently. He returned his attention to Veronica. "I don't know, either. Probably stress."

"You need to get some more rest," said Veronica. "They've fixed you up pretty well, but you're still not one hundred percent."

"We did get the bullets out of you, though," said Dr. Arnzin, approaching the bed. "You're a much better patient when you're unconscious."

"The one in my brain, too?"

"Yes."

"Good." Stanley sighed. "I don't suppose there's anything you can do about my arm, huh?"

Dr. Arnzin frowned. "No. I'm sorry. I could sew it back on, of course, but it would just flop around."

"You can't do a ritual or something?"

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. I guess I deserve this."

"We'll fit you for an artificial arm. They're actually better than the real thing." Dr. Arnzin patted Stanley's remaining arm. "I envy you this opportunity."

"Whatever." Stanley looked over at Martin. "I'm sorry. You were right. You forgive me, don't you?"

"For being a complete reckless idiot and getting an innocent man killed?"

"Uh, yeah. That."

Martin shook his head. "Not yet. Ask me later."

"All right, everyone, Stanley needs his rest," said Brant. "Please excuse us so I can have a few words with him."

"No," said Stanley.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No. I'm not going to be alone with you."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah."

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Brant shrugged. "As you wish. Anyway, we're glad to see that you're more or less back to normal. It took a lot of special injections. I hope you appreciate it. Maybe next time you'll behave yourself, hmm?"

Stanley had every intention of behaving himself, but didn't want to give Brant the satisfaction of knowing this, so he didn't respond.

Brant left the room with Dr. Arnzin.

"What kind of special injections?" asked Stanley.

"I'm not sure," Veronica admitted. "Not my department. Oh, by the way, somehow the bunker's location got leaked, and you have a lot of fans who are worried about you. There's quite a crowd out there."

"I still have fans? This wasn't a PR disaster?"

"Stanley, this was a PR disaster beyond anything you can imagine. People think you've gone mentally ill. But don't worry about it for now. For now, get some rest."

"You know, while I was locked up in that room I thought of the rest of the states and their capitals."

"Really?"

"No. But I did think of you flashing me."

"I'm glad you're back, Stanley," said Veronica. "Sleep tight."

She left the room.

Martin sighed.

"You're really pissed, aren't you?" asked Stanley.

"Yes. But I'm here."

"Y'know, I'm madly in love with Veronica, but you can woo her yourself if you want. How about that?"

"That implies that I was worried about competition from a one-armed zombie."

"A rich one-armed zombie."

"Go to sleep, Stanley. I'll be here to make sure that Brant doesn't kill you. I'm sure he wants to."

"You're a good friend, Martin."

"I know. Shut up."

Stanley sat in Dr. Arnzin's office. Physically he felt fine. Mentally, he was still not up to par, and he'd woken up screaming in the middle of the night.

"Everything looks good," said Dr. Arnzin, shining his penlight into Stanley's right eye. "You know, not many people can take a bullet to the forehead and be back to normal the next week."

"Yeah, yeah, it's a gift. So what's up with my injections?"

"They keep you alive."

"Duh. What's in them?"

"A series of chemicals. Long names that I can't even pronounce. I don't synthesize them, I just put them in you."

"Virgin blood?"

He saw Dr. Arnzin flinch, just a bit.

"That might be part of it."

"So you know?"

"Yes. And I know that you know. But I wasn't supposed to know that you…ah, if we continue this conversation we'll get into that old joke about me knowing what you know but you're not supposed to know that I know that you know, so let's say that we both know and drop it."

"Where do you get the blood?"

"I don't."

"Where does Brant get the blood?"

"I don't know." Dr. Arnzin fidgeted nervously. "Listen, Stanley, you don't think less of me, right? I'm still a real doctor. I did yank bullets out of you."

"You have my utmost respect," Stanley assured him. "But I have to know what's going on."

"He's not murdering virgins, if that's what you mean."

"Then what's he doing?"

"I don't know."

"Then how do you know he's not murdering virgins?"

"Because that would be wrong."

"Doc, you've got to help me. This is important."

"No, what's important is for you to relax and not concern yourself with things like that right now. You've had a traumatic experience. Mr. Corpse needs to get all better."

Stanley decided to drop it for now, but he wasn't convinced. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks for digging the bullet out of my brain."

"My pleasure."

"Veronica, I need you to do me a huge favor," said Stanley. She sat at her desk, eating lunch while typing on her laptop. Brant had gone out, fighting his way through the crowd that Stanley had yet to face.

"I'm pretty sure you owe me a lot more favors than I owe you," said Veronica.

"I know, and I'll make them all up to you. But I have to know where my injections are coming from."

"Why?"

"Because I think it's something bad."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you that."

"I think you should."

"Okay, look, I just need to get inside the lab."