Here’s the next chapter in the Cinderella tale where everything gets all horror and, really, nothing is resolved. Just the way I like it. Here’s the first part and here’s the second; you may want to check those out first. Where were we? Oh yeah: in New Orleans…
Cinderella Part Four…
Just got off the phone. Been looking through the envelope I was given and I had a few questions. Oh, did I mention I’m doing this thing? I am.
I get my groceries for free now.
Some of the stuff in the envelope went into the embalming fluid. A pint of her blood sits over on my counter. My part’s pretty much done as far as all that goes.
I’ve got Cindy on my table. I’m able to see all the artwork she’s got on her body. Lots of winding ivy and some ribbed hearts. She’s marked up everywhere.
I’m sewing her head on. Being so close to her face I catch myself telling her things. I tell her I’m going to try to make sure the vines creeping from her shoulder to her neck matches up. I can see where the jagged flesh had been sawed through. Not a sharp blade. I have to attach a post in her spinal column to hold her head on and I excuse myself when I leave her head on the other table to do this.
The bones in the neck are shattered. Maybe he had to chop through with a blade that dull. Looks like he hacked from the front. Did she see him doing that? I ask her.
I pick up her head to study the damage done to the spine there. Pretty bad. I put another post there to connect and some Sculpty clay to hold it in place. I consider using Sculpty to kind of cement her together because the family might try to move her. Families do that. Best not to have the head tear off when Mom’s giving her daughter a good-bye hug.
While I’m waiting for the post to set in there, I turn Cindy’s head over and look at her. She needs eye caps. I slide them in and get my needle gun ready to sew her mouth. It’s sad but it’s easier to do when the head’s on your lap. Sorry, Cindy. I’m dealing with this best I can. I think you understand.
I know you do.
x x x x x x x x
I’ve got a dress with a high neck to cover up that seam. It’s too bad I thought like that because I actually did a wonderful job with those tattoos. I’m looking at her now: Job Well Done. And I even put her magic powder in and saved some blood. I’ve done my part.
I wonder, though, what that’s all going to do. The note she left didn’t say. I just followed the directions. Obviously, it’ll be Bad Ju-Ju Luck for her killer but will it kill him? Maybe it’s working a spell on me and I’ll kill him. Or maybe it’s zombie powder and she’ll rise up and take care of this herself.
I look at her again and the tears start up a bit, “I didn’t even know you. Why am I so upset? Can you tell me, Cindy? What’s wrong with me?” I get up to leave.
Turning out the lights, I tell her good night and she tells me good night and not to worry.
I know she does.
x x x x x x x x
Cindy comes to me that night and lays down with me. Nothing to be worried about. We’re not like that. She’s just cold. I understand that. I give her some blankets. She hugs me from behind and only succeeds in transferring her coldness to me. I have dreams that I can’t remember and wake up every now and then to tell her about them. She shushes me and says to go back to sleep.
The last time I wake up, she’s not there. Of course she’s not. Cindy’s still laying on my embalming table. I think I might be in need of a vacation after this, though..
x x x x x x x x
I’m driving Cindy to her home where she’ll be laid out for viewing. I’m worried about my dreams because I’ve never dreamt about the dead like that before. I’m not worried that it was sexual and you shouldn’t be either. I do worry that I’m getting paternal about Cindy. Is this where the voodoo takes over? She comes to me like a child in my dreams and I kill her murderer?
Her brothers meet me and we get Cindy into the house, which is newly uncovered and decorated for her welcoming home, as well as her final exit. I wonder where they’ll bury her? Best I don’t know, I’m already involved enough. Still, I wonder if they’ll just bury her in the backyard..
The family invites me to return later that evening. I say I will. I’m made to feel very welcome.
x x x x x x x x
I’m drinking in the mortuary. I should go back to my apartment but I have more stuff here to keep me occupied. Should just move in. Here all the time anyway…
There’s all my books and my DVDs. Hell, even my bed’s better here..
My bed. I’m breathing kind of shallow. There’s a smear of make-up on the pillow. I bend down to touch it. Yeah. That’s what it is. I’m breathing faster now. Probably going to pass out. Before I do, I gotta know: Did she come in here on her own or did I drag her in? Fucked up either way but one way involves me being bat-shit crazy and the other involves the living-fucking-dead.
I need to call. I need to call them. And say what? They don’t want to hear either option. I do need to go over there, though. Got another two hours. Tick-tock..
x x x x x x x x
I’ve spent my time pacing, smoking, drinking and shaking. I’m not even getting a buzz because of how hard I’m shaking. It’s like I’m working it off.
I haven’t seen any other signs that she was walking around. God, I must have dragged her in. Or, my new theory, I curled up with her on the embalming table and got make-up on myself and transferred it to my bed. Sheets in the wash as we speak.
What if Claude had come in? He wouldn’t have because he’s a motherfucker but, man, if he had? I would have woken up and freaked out.
At least I don’t feel the need to kill. I don’t think she put the spell on me. Or I might do it tonight. Or she might. I need to just go and get this over with but I still got another hour.
x x x x x x x x
Getting ready to go. It seems like it’s been a quarter to eight for twenty minutes now. I jog out to the van, then decide on the hearse. That’s sense talking. They might need me to drive her somewhere.
I can’t get there fast enough. Not even buzzed. I could use a buzz.
Pulling up. The house is dark. Did they go somewhere else? There’s no one around. I swear they asked me to come back. Am I late? Time’s right. I get out.
I hate this. I hate this. I’m walking up to a dark house of people I don’t know. Is she in there? Do I have to walk in on some scene like the one when I went on the removal? Candles and alone with Cindy’s severed head? I’m on auto-pilot again, walking to the steps.
Someone’s coming from around back. I hope they’re all back there. I hope it’s well lit because I can’t do this in the dark anymore. I squint into the night.
And of course it’s her. She’s walking towards me, a little slow but there she is. She’s far but I recognize her dress. She’s coming right towards me and I’m not moving.
She’s got a head in her right hand, held by the hair. A little closer and she’s got another one. Is she on a mindless killing spree? Am I next? She smiles but only with her lips. I sewed her mouth shut.
First, the right head falls to the ground, then the left. She’s close enough that I can see she’s pulled her plastic eye caps out. I watch as she points to the hearse. She’s still walking to me.
“What?” I whisper.
She puts a hand to her throat, holding it together. She whispers to me:
“Beignets?”
I’m suddenly relaxed. I smile.
“Of course. Cafe DuMonde?”
x x x x x x x x
We stop back at the mortuary to get her a change of clothes and a shower: she’s just covered in blood. She’s trying not to do her creepy whispering thing, so we motion the simple things. She hands me her dress from the bathroom and I stuff it into the hazardous waste bin. I’m looking for clothes and she steps out, wrapped in a towel. She looks pretty bad. I powder her up and do quite the make-up job for her. Totally passable. Hey, the girl wants to go out for beignets. Do I say no, you look too dead? Adapt and overcome. Besides, this is the best I’ve felt all day.
Dressing her in slacks and a button down shirt, she could be anyone in the quarter.
x x x x x x x x
We’re sitting under the canopy. She’s looking at her plate. I realize she can’t eat with all that wire holding her mouth together. I also realize that she doesn’t look as passable under these lights. Whatever.
“I need to clip out your mouth if you’re gonna eat,” I explain, “Sorry I didn’t think of that before we got here.”
She looks at me, hurt. She does manage to sip some coffee but it threatens to spill. Putting her cup down, she begins to pout.
“Here. Come here,” I say standing up. I’m pulling her to the bathroom and we get a few stares. Yeah, cause I’m gonna nail her in that filthy bathroom you got back there.
I shove her into the bathroom and take out my keys, “Open up,” I say, “Go like this..” I show her my teeth.
Let’s just say I got it done. And without popping any teeth off.
We go sit back down. No shit from anyone. Cindy happily eats her donuts. I watch her. Believe it or not, this is a much nicer memory. I lean in.
“Hey,” I say gently, “How long have you got? Do you know?”
She shrugs but she doesn’t seem bothered. Okay. That’s what I need: just be happy for a while. I let her be and just sit quietly. That’s what I do.
Suddenly she stops eating and holds her throat. She’s going to speak and it’s not pretty.
“We got them,” she whispers, “Thank you.”
I want to ask questions but decide against it. I don’t want to ruin the moment.
“You’re welcome, Cindy.”
“Will you just sit here with me until I‘m done?”
“Yeah, of course I will.”
She’s alive and happy as she picks up her second beignet. She’s dead and gone before she finishes it.
