Face of Evil

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Matt spent the next week at Rachel's house, sanding and restaining her cabinets, replacing the dry-rotted wood around her windows, and repairing her fence while she was at work at the sawmill.

He found that working with the wood, which Rachel brought home from the mill, centered him and eased him back into the flow of day-to-day life again.

The fantastic sex, home-cooked meals, and loving, tender company of a good woman didn't hurt, either.

Maybe it was because of all those things, the comfort and the security, that he didn't have any more waking nightmares or delusions.

He also hadn't bumped into Andy again.

The truth was, Matt was thankful that his oldest friend hadn't showed up. He was afraid of what he might see.

What the hell was that on his face?

What did it mean?

But Matt wasn't in hiding. He and Rachel went out for dinner a few times and went shopping in town. So he'd already run into people he knew and even more he didn't know.

He didn't see any more putrid sores or any imaginary doctors from hell.

But did hear again and again about how unbelievable and impossible and miraculous his return was.

Those encounters made him uncomfortable and, as glad as he was to see his friends and as appreciative as he was of their happiness for him, he was also eager to get away from them.

He didn't like the attention. He wanted to go back to being just another face in the crowd.

His intention was to move in with Rachel and make a living as an independent carpenter. But he was quickly coming to the conclusion that the only way he'd be able to have a normal, anonymous life again was if they moved somewhere else, where nobody knew him.

He was planning on talking about it with Rachel when she got home from work at the sawmill. But before he could get around to it, she practically tackled him to the floor and fucked him with such animal ferocity that he thought she might morph into a werewolf when she came.

The enthusiastically carnal encounter left them both ravenous, so she insisted that they go out for something to eat. Considering how nice she'd been to screw him nearly senseless the second she walked through the door, and considering the sacrifice he was about to ask of her, he told her they could eat anyplace she wanted.

He was hoping for the Charles, the hotel restaurant with the best steaks in town, or maybe La Reve, the French restaurant on the river.

She picked Happy Burger.

A regional fast-food franchise just outside of town, off of Highway 99.

He was disappointed, but if that was what she craved, he was happy to oblige.

Besides, it was her money that they were spending. He was penniless. He'd willed Andy what little he had in his bank account, and his buddy had already drunk his way through it.

Happy Burger had been around since the 1950s and was one of the chief employers of teenagers and high school dropouts in Deerpark.

All the workers wore uniforms made up of white pants, patriotically red-white-and-blue-striped shirts, and caps that looked like smiling hamburgers on a plate.

The employees were required, at all times and under all circumstances, to have smiles on their faces as big and happy as the one on the Happy Burger on their heads.

That was one reason why teens who worked at Happy Burger never got laid. The other was that they were usually as greasy as the fries they served.

But the place made fantastic burgers, thick and juicy, with a big slab of melted American cheese on top.

Matt and Rachel could smell the burgers grilling from half a block away, even with the car windows rolled up. By the time they parked and walked in, their stomachs were growling so loudly that they sounded like slavering wolves.

A blond-haired teenage girl with breasts as perky and happy as her smile was waiting to take their order at the register. Her name tag read "Bubbles." Her given name was actually Lorinda Dudikoff, but when she was a toddler, she used to delight in farting in the bathtub, a pastime that both she and her parents found utterly hilarious. The Dudikoffs had more footage of those fart bubbles, and from more angles, than James Cameron had of the sinking of the Titanic. They started calling their daughter Bubbles from that moment on, and it stuck.

The truth was, she still liked to fart in the bathtub.

And to masturbate while she did it.

And to have her boyfriend watch.

And to have him masturbate, too.

But you'd never know any of that looking at her and are probably sorry that you know it now.

"Good evening," Bubbles said. “Welcome to Happy Burger. What can I get for you?"

"A big, fat, double hamburger. Greasy fries. And an extra-large chocolate shake," Rachel said, then turned to Matt, who was still scrutinizing the menu, even though he'd known it by heart since he was a child. “Have the same thing."

"That meal will kill you," he said.

"But you know you want it," she said. “Go ahead, Matt-live a little."

"Fine, make it a double," Matt said as his attention was drawn to the man standing behind Bubbles, stuffing burgers into to-go containers. The man's back was to them, but Matt recognized him. “Andy?"

His friend turned around.

Andy had the face of a decomposing corpse, yellowed teeth and bulging, bloodshot eyeballs poking through a rotting mass of dripping, maggot-infested flesh topped with a Happy Burger hat.

The smell of decay was overwhelming. It reminded Matt of the carcasses the neighborhood dog would leave under his house when he was growing up. But this wretched odor was worse than any stench that had ever seeped up from the floorboards.

"Don't be sad, don't be blue, Happy Burger has treats for you!" Andy sang, the incessant beeping of the French fryer alarm as his musical backdrop.

Matt grabbed Rachel by the arm and took a big step back from the counter.

Andy cocked his head quizzically. “What's wrong? Haven't you ever seen a captain of industry before?"

Matt couldn't take his eyes off of Andy's rotting face. He knew it wasn't real, that it was just a delusion, but it was so vivid, so horrifying.

But if you don't want to be institutionalized for the rest of your second life, you'll pretend it's not there.

So Matt forced a smile that would have made Happy Burger proud and stepped back up to the counter.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. “Your new look just takes some getting used to-that's all."

But does it have to smell so bad, too?

"It was either take the job or starve to death," Andy said. “You've been dead. Did I make the right choice?"

Fat horseflies buzzed around Andy's face, laying more of their eggs in the putrid, bubbling flesh that dripped off of his exposed skull.

Andy's neck was swollen taut, and Matt could see things squirming under the skin, waiting to break through.

Time seemed to slow down, and the beeping of the French fryer got louder and harsher, making it difficult for Matt to think.

Matt glanced at Bubbles, standing there with that dumb smile on her angelic face. If she saw the horror, she wasn't showing it.

And neither was Rachel.

She wasn't repulsed at all. If anything, she seemed absolutely delighted by what she saw.

It wasn't real.

He had to keep telling himself that, even as he breathed through his mouth to avoid the stench and fought to avert his gaze from Andy's melting face.

"This is only temporary," Matt said. “You won't be here long."

"Sure-today, employee of the week," Andy said. “Tomorrow, chairman of the board."

A kid, his face covered with acne, came out from the back of the kitchen, his big Happy Burger smile showing off the shiny braces on his teeth. His name was Chip, short for Chipper, because of his upbeat and positive attitude. He was born to be a Happy Burger manager, and eventually its CFO, and he knew it. This job was just a stepping-stone. One day there would be a plaque outside this restaurant in his honor.

That was true, there would be, but not for the reasons he thought.

"Hey, Andy, the French fries are ready," Chip said. “Can't you hear the alarm?"

"In a minute, kid," Andy said. “I'm talking to a couple of my friends."

"The fries have already been in the oil ten seconds too long."

Andy whirled around and looked at the kid. The rapid motion splattered bits of Andy's face on Chip's shirt. Matt fought the urge to gag.

"I'll be two more seconds," Andy said and then looked back at his two friends.

Matt could see a little tear opening up in Andy's swollen neck, a maggot working its way out.

"It's okay, Andy, we were just leaving," Matt said, trying not to look as one maggot, and then another, crawled out of Andy's throat, which was opening like a zipper.

"No, it isn't okay," Andy said. “You came to eat. You're going to eat. On me."

Andy crammed hamburgers, fries, apple turnovers, anything within his reach, into a couple of Happy Burger bags.

"We are losing the golden brown texture," Chip whined, tapping his foot in frustration.

"Back off-you're pissing off our customers." Andy glowered at Chip and then handed the bags to Matt.

That's when Andy's throat burst open, maggots spilling out everywhere, down his shirt and onto the stainless steel counter.

"Come back and visit us soon," Andy said, his larynx exposed, clotted with yellowed pus and globs of blood.

Matt muttered his thanks and hurried out the door, barely making it into the parking lot before he started vomiting.