Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [17]
I screamed and grabbed a butter knife off the counter. I’m not sure what I planned to do with it, but in the meantime I held it in front of me just in case Brooke suddenly grew her body back and attacked. I mean, if she could talk, what was stopping her from leaping up and gnawing piranha-style on my ankles? Once a severed head talks, life’s possibilities seem endless.
Frank ran and hid in, I think, the bathroom. I heard some crashing noises that sounded like stuff being knocked around in my shower, anyway. Ramon slid behind the easy chair and hugged it, keeping his eyes on the head at all times. I think he’d stopped breathing. I crouched there, unmoving except for the shaking of my brandished butter knife, and stared at the head of a cute girl resting in the middle of the dirty linoleum of my kitchen floor. For some reason, I had the irrational thought of asking Mrs. Winalski whether or not this counted as having a girl in my apartment.
“Hey guys, show some chivalry here,” Brooke said. “This floor is cold and ugly, and it could seriously use an introduction to a broom. Or a mop.”
I closed my eyes. Had to be my imagination. There was no severed head on my floor. I opened my eyes. Brooke was still there, only now she looked disgusted with all of us. Frank ran in from the bathroom and started throwing assorted toiletries at her. Ramon continued to hug the easy chair.
“Frank.” A small bottle of mouthwash bounced off her forehead. Brooke didn’t yell, but she used that sharp tone some moms get when they mean business. “Cut it out.”
Frank responded to the tone immediately, clutching the remaining shampoo bottle to his chest but not throwing it. He breathed heavily instead, nostrils flaring and eyes a little wild.
“Stop it before you pass out,” she said.
Frank stopped but didn’t let go of the shampoo bottle. Brooke turned her gaze back on me. “What are you going to do with that, perform snippets of West Side Story?”
I put the butter knife down. I was still freaked out of my mind, yes, but over that lay a thin patina of shame.
“Sam, if you don’t get off the counter and free me from this humiliation, I will gnaw your damn ankles right off!”
Body or no body, it was still Brooke. Only Brooke could be so bossy at a time like this. I climbed off the counter and reached down for her head, stopping to ask, “You’re not going to bite me, are you?”
“In your dreams, slacker.” Her lip curled. “I don’t know where you’ve been. You’re probably as dirty as this floor.” Then she squinted her eyes shut and yelled, “Now, pick me up!”
I gently placed my hands on the sides of her head, arching my palms so they didn’t touch her hair. I almost dropped her again. Brooke’s expression could have frosted the surface of the sun. I manned up and got a better grip, lifting her head and placing it on the counter next to the coffeemaker.
“Ew, Sam, come on,” she said, her tone full of exasperation. “I am not an appliance. Look, I know this visit isn’t ideal, but I’ve had kind of a crappy night, so how ’bout taking me into the living room, ’kay?”
I picked her up again, trying not to poke her in the eye, and placed her head on the plaid easy chair. Frank skittered over to a spot on the living room floor, cuddling the shampoo to his chest all the while. Ramon sat on the couch, and I took a seat on the coffee table.
“What, um, happened?” I couldn’t think of a gentle way to phrase it, so I just asked.
Ramon threw a pillow at me. “Dude, leave her alone. Let her catch her breath….” He fidgeted. “You know, if she can. I’m sorry, Brooke, I don’t really know how to handle…this.”
“That’s okay, Ramon. Frank, breathe.”
Frank straightened up, eyes popping, but his breathing did slow down.
“I don’t know, Sam.” She shook her head and almost rocked off the chair. I rushed forward and propped her back up.
“Thanks.” She looked around the room, searching,