More teeth joined them, forming a little trail of choppers biting through the skin of his leg. He could feel them on his back.
Something was burrowing its way into what remained of his arms. The pain was worse than giving rectal birth to a school of hungry piranha.
Did this mean that when he died he'd gone to hell?
The burrowing creature squirmed up into his brain. He could see it in the back of his eyes. It was red and slimy and had lots of pincers.
Stanley screamed some more.
And then woke up in the recliner.
He continued screaming as he flailed around to get away from the teeth and burrowing creatures that were no longer hurting him.
'Stanley…?'
Stanley realized that his skin was all intact, but he couldn't stop screaming.
'Stanley, it's okay now.'
Stanley saw Brant standing over him. He tightly gripped the armrests of the recliner and forced himself to take a slow, deep, non-oxygen-delivering breath. It seemed to work. After a few more moments, he was more or less calmed down.
'Did you enjoy that?' asked Brant.
Stanley elected not to tell Brant to go fuck himself. 'What was that?'
'A lesson.'
'But what was it? Is that how it was like when I was dead?'
'You tell me.'
'If I remembered, I wouldn't be asking,' said Stanley. He wanted to add the word 'asshole' to prove that his spirit wasn't broken, but if Brant had the power to make him go through that again, then perhaps Stanley's spirit was broken.
'Fair enough. But I'm not here to reveal the secrets of life and death to you, Stanley. How would you like an eternity-long replay of what you just experienced?'
'I wouldn't.'
'Good. Then my discipline was successful.' Brant smiled. 'It may have been excessive, but I want to make sure you realize just how important it is for you to behave. I'm not asking you to behave like a robot. I'm asking you to behave in a manner that doesn't inspire me to want to place a shotgun in my mouth. Do you understand?'
'Yeah, I understand.'
'Good.' Brant's smile disappeared. 'Because believe me, Stanley, if I have to destroy you, I will. I'll shoot that fucking dart right between your fucking eyes. You will respect me. You will obey me. And you'll watch your fucking language when I'm in the room. Do you completely understand?'
'Yeah.'
'Say it.'
'I completely understand.'
The smile returned. 'Then it should be smooth sailing from now on. You're not to discuss anything that has transpired. You'll tell Veronica that I threatened to keep you in the bunker until your behavior was in line with that of a Project Second Chance employee.'
'Y'know, that actually would've worked just as well,' Stanley remarked.
'We'll never know. Do you need a few minutes to compose yourself?'
'Nah, I'm fine.'
'Take a few minutes anyway. And Stanley?'
'Yeah?'
'Sign the contract.'
'Okay.'
'By the way, the security guard who shot you? A religious zealot. We had to turn him over to the police because we couldn't exactly make him disappear, if you know what I mean. More people like that are out there, Stanley. Don't antagonize the ones who are keeping you safe.'
'So what did he say?' asked Veronica as Stanley stepped out of Brant's office. She was a respectable distance down the corridor, but Stanley wondered if she'd been holding a glass to the soundproof door.
'He was a smidgen pissed.'
'You look kind of shaken up.'
'He threw me into a pit. Did you know he has a pit under his office? Giant spiders and everything.'
'Be serious. What did he say?'
'I dunno, something about my attitude needing adjustment. I may turn over a new leaf. I'd hate for him to have to scold me again.'
'That's it? He just talked about your attitude?'
Stanley shrugged. 'He raised his voice. And he sort of implied that he wasn't going to let me out into society if I kept being my usual witty self. I guess I'll give him what he wants; I don't really care.'
'Well…good, I guess.'
'I'm still going to be obnoxious around you, though.'
'I wouldn't have it any other way.'
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Donald Mandigan kissed the photograph of Mr. Corpse. Dear, sweet, precious, glorious Stanley Dabernath. His savior. His meal ticket.
'I wish you'd stop kissing that thing,' said Missy the makeup girl, buttoning her blouse. 'It's getting kind of creepy.'
'You're lucky they don't have the Mr. Corpse blow-up doll,' Donald informed her.
And to think I was worried about looking like an ass, he thought. The live resurrection special had been a ratings smash. It didn't top the M*A*S*H finale or Oprah's interview with Michael Jackson, but it had been stellar. And Donald himself had received good reviews, which was not something he was used to.
His career had been going reasonably well before, but now it was in another stratosphere. And in a couple of days he'd get to conduct a live, one-hour, prime-time interview with Mr. Corpse. Originally he'd protested the idea of the press conference coming first, but now he was elated that his lawyers had been unable to negotiate that in his favor. Mr. Corpse taking a bullet at that press conference made this whole story even more fantastic, and Donald's interview would set ratings records, he was sure of it.
He kissed the photograph again.
'Why don't you just tongue the stupid picture while you're at it?' asked Missy.
Donald did.
Stanley relaxed, therapy patient style, on the sofa in Veronica's small but surprisingly luxurious office. She sat in a chair next to him, a notebook on her lap.
'The most important thing is that you present yourself as grateful for his miracle,' she said. 'I want you to think of five reasons you're glad to be alive.'
'I'd smell worse if I were dead.'
'Say that in a positive way.'
'I'm positive I'd smell worse if I were dead.'
