She cringed and whimpered.
'If I have to kill you, I'll be really annoyed, but I'll do it. Believe me, I'll do it.' She'd bitten the hand he used to play guitar and drawn blood. Damn. This job just got worse and worse all the time. 'Now do you want me to chop your head in half, or do you want to behave and live a while longer? Nod for the head chop and shake your head for living a while longer.'
She shook her head.
'Good.' He walked over to the stereo and ejected his CD. 'I don't know what you're all upset about, anyway. I thought you didn't get along with your family.' He gestured to her father's body. It took six separate gestures to do so. 'Hey, it's not like he can complain about your bad grades now, can he?'
The girl closed her eyes and sobbed. The sound made Henry's teeth ache. He didn't enjoy his job, but he was looking forward to getting to watch this one suffer.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Four months after his return to life, Stanley relaxed in a hammock in the living room of his luxury apartment. His interior decorator had just about had a stroke when he insisted on it ('No! No! No! I won't do it! I won't!'), but Stanley liked the hammock and used it often.
He'd moved to New York City into a building where the security actually prevented gun-toting maniacs from shooting him. He had a whirlpool bath, a wide-screen television with eight trillion channels, three video game systems, enough movies to open his own rental store (but not enough to avoid being immediately put out of business by NetFlix), some paintings that Veronica assured him were fine art, and basically everything he'd ever wanted.
Stanley had not pressed charges against Charlie. Veronica had suggested that approach, saying that showing sympathy for a dying cancer patient would be good for his reputation, but Stanley hadn't wanted to press charges in the first place. Charlie was a complete whack-job, obviously, but somehow he'd gotten to Stanley. Not enough to ask him to move in and share the Jacuzzi, but enough that Stanley found himself thinking about him quite often.
Charlie's lawyer had argued that because Mr. Corpse was known to be impervious to death by shooting, his client's actions could only be considered assault, not attempted murder. Since Stanley argued for leniency on Charlie's behalf, he was indeed only found guilty of assault. He received probation and underwent outpatient psychiatric treatment.
His son was pretty darn adorable. Stanley gave him a free action figure.
The intercom buzzed. Stanley reluctantly got out of his hammock, walked over to his door, and pressed the button. 'Yeah?'
'It's me,' said Martin.
'I'll buzz you in.'
A minute later Martin opened the door and came inside, wheeling in several boxes. 'I brought your mail.'
'Thanks.' Stanley had a pair of secretaries who spent all day sorting hate mail from fan mail and stuffing form letters into envelopes (Stanley's first draft of the form letter response to hate mail had been, to nobody's surprise, rejected), but they didn't work on weekends. He picked up the magazines and flipped through them. 'Wow, I'm not on any of the covers. How'd that happen?'
'Yeah, you are. It's the top headline on Entertainment Weekly.'
''Are People Getting Sick of Mr. Corpse?' What the hell is this?'
Martin shrugged.
Stanley chuckled in disbelief. 'Okay, so, their top story is about how people are sick of me being the top story. How stupid is that?'
'Well, you are kind of overexposed.'
'Excuse me for being interesting.'
'You have to admit, you don't really do anything.'
'What do you mean, I don't do anything? I do stuff every day!'
'No, what you do is go out and promote the fact that you're The Amazing Mr. Corpse. You're famous for being famous.'
'I'm famous for being a scientific phenomenon!'
'Yeah, but you don't actually do anything with it. It's not like you're out there teaching science or performing resurrections on your own.'
'I was in a rap video!'
'It was stunt casting.'
'I'm writing a book!'
'Your ghost writer is writing a book.'
'I have more Twitter followers than 'Weird Al' Yankovic! I'm always a trending topic!'
'So?'
'I did a beer commercial yesterday!'
'That's not an accomplishment. You're just cashing in on your fame. You don't even like that brand of beer.'
Stanley set the magazines down on the counter. 'Did you just come over here to harass me?'
'Pretty much, yeah. I've been thinking about this. I think you're wasting the gift.'
'I'm a goddamn millionaire! I'm one of the most famous people in the world! How am I wasting the gift?'
'I just think that perhaps we should do something of lasting value, instead of simply exploiting your resurrection.'
'Are you kidding me? Do you remember where we were before I died?'
'Of course.'
'We were living in a run-down trailer, running a sleazy movie distribution business that didn't make a dime. We sucked. I cried every single day. Did I ever tell you that?'
'No, but I heard you through the door,' Martin said. 'You were kind of loud.'
'We had nothing going for us! We even talked about distributing porn! Is that what you want me to do? Do you want me to become a porn actor?'
'God, no.'
'So what the hell do you want?'
'I don't know, exactly. But I think you're squandering the gift, and I think if you continue this track you'll be washed up before you know it.'
'Martin, there's no such thing as a has-been zombie!'
'There will be, if you keep this up.'
Stanley couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'All I'm doing is what Project Second Chance tells me to do. I'm their freakin' puppet. You know that.'
'You don't have to be.'
'Actually, I do. They sort of keep me alive.'
'I'm not saying to run away from them. But there are things you could do on your own. I've been thinking about this idea. You're going to live forever, right?'
'In theory, maybe.'
'That means that a hundred years from now, you'll still be around and everybody currently walking around will be dead.'
'Except for a few babies.'
'Right. You should be wandering the land, meeting people, gathering stories. You would be the only person who knows what it was really like to live in the 21st century. You could be a source of unparalleled wisdom and experience.'
'What the fuck?'
