Kiss of Life (18 page)

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Tommy's last entry, the one where he gave a mission statement of sorts. He talked about hitting the road in an effort to "advance the cause of zombie rights." By traveling, he said he had hopes of connecting with zombies who might not have access to technology, and sharing their experiences with the "wired" readers of mysocalledundeath.

He didn't mention Phoebe by name, but he did say that a "traditionally biotic friend" was going to be assisting with the management of the Web site in his absence, and he expressed a hope that "subscribers of mysocalledundeath would join her, Karen, and himself in expanding both their online community and their presence in the world at large." Phoebe thought about the word "presence" and what Tommy meant by it. He chose his words so carefully; she often suspected that the pauses in his speech weren't due to typical zombie lack of control but because he wanted to make his meanings clear to his listeners. She was thinking this when a hand fell on her shoulder, startling her so much she almost knocked one of her lavender-scented candles over.

"Easy," her dad said. She could smell the wine that he and her mother had been sharing in the living room earlier that night. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Okay,"

"It's pretty late," he said. "I know." "You okay?"

"I'm okay. Just can't sleep. Nothing to worry about." "Okay, then."

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"Really."

"I believe you."

"Dad?"

"Yes, Phee?"

"Is it okay if I go to a club in New York with Margi and some girls?"

Her father's sigh sounded like one of those forced sighs that Karen made when she was trying to show how trad biotic she could be.

"New York, as in New York City?"

"Yes, Dad."

"I don't know. Let me think about it. It's an underage club, isn't it?"

"Absolutely," she said. "You trust me, right?"

"Absolutely." He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "Hey, it's that undead club, isn't it? Afterbirth or something like that?"

"Aftermath,
Dad!"

"Oh yeah. So you're bringing Adam and Colette there, is that it?"

"Just Colette," she said. "And Karen. Girls' night out." "No Tommy either?"

"No Tommy. How did you hear about Aftermath, anyhow?"

"I read too, you know. Like I read about what happened to all these pets that disappeared." "Oh."

"Pretty scary," he said. Across the room Gar buried his

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muzzle into his forepaws as though he understood the jist of their conversation.

"The world can be a scary place," she said, "but that doesn't have anything to do with how much you trust me, right?"

"It has everything to do with how much I trust you," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I'll need to talk it over with your mom. I can think of a thousand reasons why it is a horrible idea to have a group of sixteen-year-old girls going to New York City by themselves."

"All of which are overcome by your trust for me, right?" She debated telling him that Karen would actually have been eighteen or nineteen if she were still alive, but decided it wouldn't help.

He patted her shoulder. "I'll let you know in the morning. Why don't you get some sleep?"

"I will. I just want to finish something first." "Okay. Good night."

When he was gone she focused again on her computer screen. Someone with a screen name she didn't recognize had tried to instant message her, and she told the service to block them. She read a few of the comments on the bulletin board regarding Tommy's last entry, and most of them were very encouraging and supportive of his "quest."

She minimized the online service and opened up her word processing program. She stared at the blank screen for a moment and then typed in a title.

Words From a Beating Heart

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She thought a few more moments and then started to type with increasing rapidity. The sound of her fingernails tapping on the keys was always a special music to her, especially when it seemed to match the rhythm of the music she was listening to.

Hello, she typed, my name is Phoebe. My friends call me Phoebe or Fee or Pheebes or, my favorite, Pheeble. That's what my friend Adam called me. You know, I typed "called" just then instead of "calls." Sometimes I get confused in my mind over Adam, because Adam is dead. Since Adam is dead, I sometimes think of him in the past tense and it makes me crazy that I do this, because he's dead but he's come back. He's a zombie now. We still spend a lot of time together, but the time that we spend is different from how it was. A lot of things that we used to do, like talk, and drive to Honeybee Dairy to get hot fudge sundaes after tossing a Frisbee around (my favorite thing to do with Adam) are all things we can't do anymore--not yet, anyway. All those things occurred in the past tense, so, as wrong as it seems, I sometimes think of Adam in the past tense as well. I feel really guilty about that. I feel guilty about it because Adam died saving my life.

I have one other nickname, one that was given to me by the boy that killed Adam. He called me Morticia Scarypants. I wear black clothes and have long black hair and am very pale, and so Ym Morticia Scarypass. I listen to goth and darkwave and trance and horror punk and even a little heavy metal. I write poetry and at the time I was dating a dead boy--I was dating Tommy, actually. I think this really made the boy that

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gave me my nickname angry with me. I think that's why he tried to kill me--although I'm not sure if he was trying to kill me or Tommy, or if he really meant to kill Adam.

They call me the Bride of Frankenstein now, since I still spend so much of my time with dead guys.

Tommy asked me to help with mysocalledundeath when he was gone, and he thought it would he good if I wrote a blog, that it might help connect trads like me with the zombies who read the Web site daily, and vice versa. I know that it's a risky thing he's asking of me, just like it was risky for me to type the word "zombies" just then. I'm sure there are those of you who will read my words and think, "how dare she, a trad girl, call us zombies." I could say in my defense that my friends use the word zombie all the time, but that won't do anything to justify it if you feel that it's a word that no trad person should use.

The thing is, most of my friends are dead, Just like the shirt says.

Again, this doesn't give me free license to say or do anything I want just because I'm friends with dead people. I mention it only because it's the truth, and because my friends and I are still trying to work through the issues that friendship present us.

When I started dating Tommy, I had no idea that people would hate me just for dating him. I had no idea that friends and family might react differently than I would have expected from them.

I had no idea that some of Tommy's dead friends would object to it either. All I knew was that I was interested in

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Tommy, and he seemed to be interested in me, so I thought it would be fun to spend time with him.

When I first saw Tommy, he was so confident. He knew that he was taking risks. And I knew soon after meeting him that the risks he was taking were not for his own benefit but really for the benefit of undead people everywhere. I'd never met another boy who was as selfless as Tommy. I admired him greatly for it.

There I go, writing about my friends in the past tense again.

I already miss Tommy even though he hasn't been gone very long. I hope the road is smooth and safe for him. If you see him on his travels, thank him on my behalf for giving me the chance to "speak" to all of you. Tell him that I hope he was right, and that I hope that the words that I write will help all of us, living or dead, understand each other a little better.

When she was done she leaned back and stretched. She tried to imagine how some of the zombies she knew--Colette, Mal, Takayuki--Tommy even, would react to what she'd written. What would Adam think, and would he even tell her?

She hovered for a moment--like she did with everything she'd ever written that was of a personal nature--over the thought of deleting the whole thing. Tommy this, Tommy that. She sounded like a mopey schoolgirl. Oh, wait, she thought, I
am
a mopey schoolgirl.

If you missed Tommy so much, she thought, why did you blow him off, practically chase him out of town? If you were so

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guilty over Adam getting killed, why didn't you go see him tonight after he was done with karate? Just because you tried to kiss him and he pushed you away?

The zombies who read this would probably think she was the worst sort of hanger-on, the sort of kid that's so screwed up and lonely and cut off from her own kind that she was trying to glom onto the little community that Tommy built. But isn't that what all lonely kids do in some way?

She highlighted the entire text and right-clicked "Cut." The thoughts were out of her head, she told herself, that was the important thing.

Her computer told her that she had mail. She maximized the screen and there was an e-mail from
WILLIAMSTOMMY @MYSOCALLEDUNDEATH.COM
.
"The Long and Unwinding Road" was in the subject header.

Tommy.

She clicked the e-mail open; there was an attachment called
ROADBLOGI,
and she started downloading as she began reading.

Hi Phoebe--

I'm almost in New York and so far the trip has been going well. I walked alongside of 95 for a little stretch and saw about four thousand white vans, but am happy to say none of them stopped with nets and flamethrowers. I've attached my first blog for you or Karen to post on the site. I'm sending this from a church, if you can believe it. With so many religious types of all denominations out there wanting to burn us like a stack

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of Harry Potter books, it continually amazes me how many of the clergy reach out. Actually, so far the kindness of people-- well, you can read the blog. Have you started writing yours yet?

I miss you already. Say hi to Adam and the gang.

T.

She clicked reply and keyed in a quick response.

Hi Tommy--

Glad to hear you're safe, everyone here misses you too. We--the Weird Sisters--are going to NYC later this week, on the day after Thanksgiving to go to Aftermath. Want to meet us there?

Love,

Phoebe

Despite her sign-off, she thought the e-mail was a little impersonal. She was about to hit send when at the last second, she tapped

PS: What do you think of this?

And then pasted the "Words From a Beating Heart" text she had cut into the body of the e-mail. She immediately felt embarrassed and closed out her Internet service, as though by turning it off she could recall the e-mail she'd just sent.

She looked at the clock and was thankful that tomorrow was Sunday. She opened Tommy's blog and began to read.

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The hour was now so late it was almost absurd, but Phoebe went back online. She saw that
WILLIAMSTOMMY
had beaten her to the punch.

Phoebe--

This is beautiful. I think the zombie community is really going to respond positively to what you've written.

Love,

T.

Love, she thought, he'd typed "love" just as she had. A multifaceted word,
love,
there probably wasn't another word in this or any other language that had so many shades and degrees. She knew that he loved her and she loved him, just as she loved Adam and Adam loved her. But with love, theirs or his, it was always a question of degree, and what one was willing to do to express that degree.

She wondered what Adam was doing right then, and her breath caught in her throat. But then again, it did the same thing when she thought of Tommy. Shades and degree.

She signed off without replying, turned the volume of the speakers down another notch or two, then blew out the sputtering candles. Only then did she crawl into bed and pull the blankets close to her.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

TRIED TO WORK
the remote but the remote was slippery like a fish slipped out of hands once twice three times on the third Jimmy yells from the kitchen will you stop it you stupid ass and Mom yells and Joe yells and Johnny yells and they're all yelling but this is a pretty typical Thanksgiving.

Mom wanted me at the table but Jimmy freaked said it was bad enough he had to look at me and it ruined his appetite are you trying to make me puke. Felt kind of sad looking at all the food can't eat looked at the table for a minute before they sat mashed potatoes stuffing turnip. Never thought would miss turnip.

Johnny's brought a girl with him for dinner Susan and Susan seems nice but she's scared. Scared of FrankenAdam. Should be. Reached for the remote got it changed the channel the Patriots are winning the Jets are losing and wish wish wish could play.