She’s Not Dead Yet

CW: Corpses, the devil

Nurse Sharon Hacker looks up from her station, smiling at Pauley Gates.

“Well, if it isn’t the Robin Williams of the undertaker sect.”

The good-natured, slightly balding, paunchy mortician gives Sharon a flirty grin.

“Are you implying I’m funny?”

“And just as crazy.”

A gurney passes, transporting an old man nervously looking around the busy hallway. His frightening expression and the downcast look on the doctor reading the old man’s chart dampen Pauley’s playful mood.

“On to business. Where’s Vanity Vontobel?”

“Downstairs in the hospital morgue.”

“Your text was a real bummer. She was only seven?”

“Yep, and adopted. The family came here from Minni-sooota,” Sharon replies in a folky accent. “The story goes she was standing on the sidewalk when her father ran her over with his Escalade. But if you’re here to pick her up…”

“Then it was no accident. But a seven-year-old girl?” Pauley questions.

“Wow, so you do have some morals after all. I’m surprised, given Earthkleen’s as bad as the Mafia. Before you head downstairs, there’s a man sitting over there who’s been waiting for you.”

A heavy, hard-breathing hulk sits in a waiting room chair, checking his phone. The man appears to have been constructed from spare parts. He is well-dressed but has a jowly face, deep-set, piggish eyes, crisscross scars on his cheek, and a plentiful amount of five o’clock shadow.

“Charming, isn’t he?” Sharon comments.

“Yeah, Agent Alpha’s a real matinee idol.”

***

Agent Alpha remains silent, squinting at the road ahead.

“I know we’ve stuck half a dozen hard cases in the ground near the cabin, Alpha, but a seven-year-old girl? There’s something wrong with that. This is out of my league.”

“She was classified as a level five, the highest security threat. Weren’t you briefed?”

“I’m on a need-to-know basis. All your agency, Earthkleen, has told me, Alpha, is to keep my backhoe and a supply of lime handy. I’ve kept myself from asking questions for three years; I guess it’s one of the reasons I was hired. And I know whenever you show up, I’m going to get a check with a lot of zeros on it because the corpse we’re picking up is considered a threat to national security. But this time…”

“How about some lunch? That’ll make you feel better.” Agent Alpha suggests.

***

Agent Alpha glances around the sparsely populated coach restaurant.

Pauley is about to sit down when Agent Alpha whispers, “Switch places.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I don’t like sitting with my back to the door.”

Looking over Agent Alpha’s scarred features, the waitress gingerly hands them menus.

“I know what I want,” Agent Alpha grumbles. “Give me a stack of pancakes, two scrambled eggs, bacon, crispy, not limp, an order of wagon wheel pasta al dente, a bowl of Cheerios, coffee light and sweet, and a Coke, and I want a Cheeseburger Special to go.”

Stunned, the waitress forces a smile, turning to Pauley.

“I’m going to be the first person not to say, ‘I’ll have what he’s having.’ A gyro and a Coke will be enough for me.”

As the waitress scampers off, Pauley comments, “You’ve got a healthy appetite, Alpha.”

“We’re going to need our strength to complete our assignment.”

“About that…”

“We don’t make mistakes. Vanity Vontobel was killed on purpose.”

Pauley sips at his glass of water, choosing his words carefully.

“We’ve completed some weird assignments in the past three years…”

Agent Alpha lets out an amused grunt. “Like the man who said he could make himself invisible, the time-traveling serial killer, or the woman who claimed to be an alien.”

“I know it was all baloney,” Pauley says. “Those people believed those things about themselves, but they were also targeted because they had a cache of weapons, threatened to bomb the Capitol, or commit mass murder. I get it. But this time, it’s different. You iced a child. Somebody should pay for that.”

“Her stepfather has had a hard time reconciling what he did.”

“I’m talking murder charges. Hard time.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Alpha. What could a little girl have possibly done to warrant being murdered?”

Agent Alpha leans his girth across the table.

“She’s the devil.”

Pauley laughs aloud. His boisterous guffaws fade as he looks at Alpha’s grim expression.

Extending her arm, the waitress drops a plate of pancakes in front of Agent Alpha. Pouring syrup on them and slathering them with butter, Alpha digs in.

“You can refuse the assignment,” Alpha manages to say between bites.

“I already put the check in the bank. I’ll tell you this, Alpha, the crappy explanation you expect me to swallow, even if I am a seriously lapsed altar boy, doesn’t wash. It’s my land, my cabin we’re using. I don’t want to end up on the front page of the New York Post being labeled a serial killer.”

“Don’t worry. Earthkleen has protected you so far, haven’t we?”

“Sure. But if what you say is true, you can’t kill the devil by just running it over with a car.”

“That’s why we’re putting her in a vault, installing a series of unbreakable locks, and pouring lime and concrete over the grave.”

Pauley sits back in his chair, staring at his food.

“It’s unfathomable decisions like this that make me wonder why I ever became a mortician.”

“How did you get into this business? Did you start by torturing animals?” Agent Alpha asks.

“Did you?”

Agent Alpha stops shoveling food into his mouth, gripping his knife harder as he glares at Pauley.

“Sorry. Sometimes, it’s hard to stop being a wise guy.” Pauley says. “When I was a kid, I was either going to be in the Navy or work in the medical field. I wanted to fire the big guns on a battleship. I was also fascinated with the way the human body worked. I did an internship with Maurice Graves in high school, and I was hooked.”

The waitress returns, spreading more plates of food across the table.

“Bon appétit. I’ll get the Alka Seltzer.”

“I bet you got some real horror stories,” Agent Alpha says, guzzling down his steaming cup of coffee.

“Some of my experiences almost made me quit.”

“So, give…”

“I was asked to dress a corpse up like Batman. He was a superhero fan. When people came to his funeral, they were dressed up as the Riddler, the Joker, the Penguin, Cat Woman, and other comic book characters. I had to dress up like Mister Freeze, which was ironic. I also had to break up a fight between two women dressed as Batgirl.”

“What was your weirdest experience?”

Pauley sips his Coke. "You'd be surprised at some of the things I’ve found inside of people. One guy had seventy-five cents in change. I’ve extracted car keys, LEGOS, and phones. The weird part was when one phone started ringing. I wasn’t answering that call.”

Agent Alpha finishes his hamburger in three bites. “Sounds like playtime to me.”

“Compared to chasing the devil, I guess so,” Pauley says sarcastically. “The one that almost made me quit was picking up a three-year-old girl in a Cinderella outfit. She fell in the pool during her birthday party. Worse, she was my cousin’s only child.”

“That must’ve helped toughen you up for working with Earthkleen,” Agent Alpha remarks.

“Since we’re trading background stories, how did you become Death’s delivery boy?”

“I made a wrong turn. One of the most infamous of all time. My real name is Oskar Potiorek. I was the Governor of Bosnia and Herzegovina for three years. I was in Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s car the day he was assassinated in Sarajevo...”

“Am I being punked?” Pauley asks.

“Listen to the rest of my story, then judge me. The rebels threw a bomb that bounced off our car and exploded underneath the car behind us. We went to the hospital to visit the injured members of the motorcade. I changed the route in case there was another assassination attempt, but no one told the other drivers. We followed the motorcade down the wrong street. Gavrilo Princip, who had missed an attempt to kill the Archduke, was crying in his coffee at a delicatessen when we drove by. I told the driver to turn around. He put the car into reverse. It stalled next to where Princip was standing. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“You look pretty good for a hundred and fifty years old. Care to explain?”

“Penance. My soul and my body can’t have peace until I make amends. Thousands of people needlessly lost their lives in the Great War because of my mistake. For years after that, they called me ‘Wrong Way Potiorek’ behind my back. I tried to make up for my mistake. I thought I was spared at Sarajevo so that I may die avenging the Archduke’s assassination. I commanded the Balkan Armed Forces during the Great War. We suffered two horrendous defeats, and I was replaced. I was expelled from the country and eventually settled in America. One day, a man from Earthkleen approached me with a unique offer... That I could live forever in their service or until I was able to make amends.”

“That’s a great story, but I don’t believe it.”

“I suppose my fate could be worse,” Oskar laments. “The producer who refused to sign the Beatles to a record contract has to listen to Yoko Ono records for eternity.”

***

Oskar grunts, cursing as he tries to jam himself into the passenger seat.

Pauley looks curiously at the takeout bag.

“Just a little snack for later.”

A loud bang at the rear of the hearse grabs their attention.

Pauley looks in his rear-view mirror. “What the?..”

Oskar yells, “Pop the trunk!”

Getting out, he climbs into the back of the hearse. Pulling back the sheet covering the corpse, Oskar punches Vanity.

Oskar wheezes his way back into the passenger’s seat.

“Did you just hit a corpse?” Pauley asks.

“We’ve got a problem,” Oskar replies.

“Yeah, my partner is guilty of abuse of a corpse and who knows what else.”

Pulling out his cell phone, Oskar madly pushes the buttons with his stubby fingers.

“Superintendent Gort? This is Agent Alpha. We have a code forty-one.”

Oskar listens intently to the Superintendent’s reply.

Hanging up, Oskar says, “Get us to the cabin as quickly as possible.”

“So, she’s alive, isn’t she?”

“You may have been right when you said you can’t kill the devil.”

***

The Chrysler hearse creeps up a secluded, hidden gravel driveway, pulling up next to a swanky cedar log cabin.

Oskar surveys the burial site, thinking that despite its depth and width, it may not be enough to contain Vanity.

Pauley and Oskar carry the girl inside. The cabin features a stone and wood-beam fireplace, comfortable leather armchairs, and antique Navajo rugs.

They drop Vanity’s corpse on a bed in the spare room, which is layered with throw pillows and blankets.

Oskar peels away the sheet.

Vanity is petite, even for seven, with cream-colored skin and rosy cheeks. Her silky, auburn hair is tied up in a red ribbon, adding to her innocent appearance. Despite her supposed fatal state, she wears a pair of gold-rimmed granny glasses.

Pauley touches her hand. She grabs it.

“She’s not dead yet! She’s warm!”

Pauley tries to free his hand, astonished by Vanity’s firm grip.

Vanity sits up, smiling precociously.

“Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘Curiosity killed the cat?’” she asks.

Oskar draws his gun, pointing it at Vanity.

“Let him go. Your fight is with me.”

“It’s with every human, just as it’s your job to protect them.”

Vanity raises her free hand as Oskar presses the trigger, firing four shots. The bullets deflect away from Vanity, burying themselves in the wooden walls.

Vanity releases Pauley, glaring at Oskar.

“Do I have to say it, Oskar?” Vanity asks.

“I know. Rumors of your demise have been exaggerated.”

“Is this the grave digger?’

“I’m a mortician, sweetheart.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Vanity snaps.

“Believe me now?” Oskar whispers. “How many seven-year-olds do you know who use the word ‘patronize’?”

“What do you want, mortician?” Vanity asks cryptically.

“Right now? Sanity.”

“Let me leave, and I’ll grant your wish.”

“What are you, a leprechaun?”

“Don’t listen to her, Pauley,” Oskar warns. “Our assignment is to see that Vanity is destroyed.”

“You’re like a skipping record, Oskar. I’m not like your human targets. You can crush my body, burn it, shoot at it. I’ll simply jump into another body and start all over again. You almost had me at Dealy Plaza…”

Pauley shakes his head. “Wait a minute. You killed President Kennedy?”

“I was the Babushka Lady filming the President as he passed by in his limousine. Only I wasn’t holding a camera.”

“This is beyond my job description. Why does something as evil as you even exist?” Pauley asks.

Vanity rises from the bed, moving toward Pauley. He retreats, the floor’s wooden slats groaning sadly.

“Positive and negative. Yin and Yang,” Vanity says, her left eye twitching. “You can’t have Alexander the Great, Franklin Roosevelt, the Beatles, or Tom Brady, without Attila the Hun, John Wilkes Booth, Joseph Stalin, or Donald Trump. Earthkleen wants sunshine, ice cream, and flowers for eternity. Can you imagine how boring your insignificant human lives would be without disease, dictators, or mass murder?”

“I’d like to find out,” Pauley replies.

“Then let me walk out of here. I’ll change bodies and leave the country. You’ll never see me again. What do you want, mortician?”

“…I’d love to serve on one of the most powerful warships ever built,” Paul mutters aloud.

Vanity turns her hand over. Opening her palm, she offers Pauley a pair of granny glasses.

“What are these for? I’ve got twenty-twenty vision.”

“Put them on. Touch the left side of the frame, and they will take you where you want to go. Touch the right side of the frame, and they’ll bring you back here.”

Pauley looks at the glasses, glancing skeptically at Vanity, whose left eye twitches.

“I can never get a straight answer from anyone,” he says, putting on the glasses.

***

Pauley shakes his head, hoping to clear his mind.

He takes off the glasses. The right lens is cracked, and the frame is bent.

Pauley can feel a cold, damp wind battering his face. He appears to be standing on the bridge of a warship.

Pauley pulls up the collar of his coat. Adjusting his hat, he takes a quick look at it. It’s a black and white visor cap decorated with oak leaves—the same type worn by British naval officers in World War II.

“Target sighted, sir,” the seaman standing nearby says, pointing at the horizon.

Pauley raises his binoculars, gasping as he recognizes the other ship’s silhouette.

“It’s the German battleship Bismarck! What ship is this?” Pauley shouts.

The seaman gives him a puzzled look. “Why the battlecruiser Hood, of course, sir.”

Pauley’s heart pounds as the whistling sound of shells gets closer.

“…Only three men survived the sinking of the Hood, and none of them were officers.”

Two shells hit the conning tower. Hardened to death by his years as a mortician, Pauley’s gut still tightens when the body parts of dead crewman fly past, splattering onto the deck below him.

The Bismarck unleashes another salvo. The shell hits the Hood aft, where the ammunition is stored. Shrapnel from the explosion cuts dozens of dazed crewmen in half, turning the deck into a slaughterhouse.

Pauley touches the right side of his glasses, wondering if he’ll die before he gets back home.

A massive explosion shrouds the Hood in a cloud of smoke. Making a loud creaking sound, the ship splits in half.

***

Vanity turns to Oskar. Opening her palm, she offers Oskar a pair of granny glasses.

“Take them.”

“I can’t. I have a duty to perform,” Oskar replies.

“To kill me? Forget about that. What about the duty you failed to perform that cost millions of people their lives? You can save them.”

Oskar’s hand shakes as he puts the glasses on.

Closing his eyes, Oskar hopes the girl's words are true, knowing that the devil never grants a wish without exacting a heavy payback.

***

“Oskar!” a voice calls out.

Opening his eyes, Oskar looks up at the Sarajevo Council Building, which was bombed out of existence during the Great War.

Archduke Franz Ferdinand, dressed in an Austrian military uniform adorned with a dozen medals, walks toward him, extending his hand. His wife, Sophie, the Duchess of Hohenberg, hangs on his arm.

“Pleasure to meet you, Governor Potiorek. Shall we begin our review of the troops?”

“Yes, Archduke. I have a safe route we can take.”

Oskar removes his glasses. One of the lenses is cracked. He hears Vanity’s laughter and realizes he’s made a one-way trip.

***

A line of unmarked Dodge Chargers and SUVs speed up the driveway.

Earthkleen Superintendent Maximo Gort hustles out of the first vehicle, followed by dozens of well-armed agents garbed in black.

Agent Alpha calmly walks down the sidewalk, greeting Gort.

“Sorry to press the panic button, sir,” Agent Alpha says. “I was able to send the devil back to hell on my own.”

“Where is she?”

Agent Alpha’s left eye twitches. “I buried her, as ordered.”

Gort looks around at their lush surroundings. “Where’s Pauley Gates?”

“Gone. He had a funeral to organize.”

“Too bad. I would have liked to thank him in person.”

Gort studies Agent Alpha, who smiles politely, trying to keep his left eye from twitching.

“Good work, Oskar… And I like your new glasses.”