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Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 177 из 205I took a deep breath and tried to think how to explain things to Edward. “Thomas Jensen lost his daughter twenty years ago. Seven years ago he had her raised as a zombie.”
“So?”
“She committed suicide. No one knew why at the time. It was later learned that Mr. Jensen had sexually abused his daughter and that was why she had killed herself.”
“And he raised her from the dead.” Edward grimaced. “You don't mean …”
I waved my hands as if I could erase the sudden vivid image. “No, no, not that. He felt remorseful and raised her to say he was sorry.”
“And?”
“She wouldn't forgive him.”
He shook his head. “I don't understand.”
“He raised her to make amends, but she had died hating him, fearing him. The zombie wouldn't forgive him, so he wouldn't put her back. As her mind deteriorated and her body, too, he kept her with him as a sort of punishment.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah,” I said. I walked to the closet and got out my gym bag. Edward carried guns in his; I carried my animator paraphernalia in it. Sometimes, I carried my vampire-slaying kit in it. The matchbook Zachary gave me was in the bottom of the bag. I stuffed it in my pants pocket. I don't think Edward saw me. He does catch on if a clue sits up and barks. “Jensen finally agreed to put her in the ground if I'll do it. I can't say no. He's sort of a legend among animators. The closest we come to a ghost story.”
“Why tonight? If it's waited seven years, why not a few more nights?”
I kept putting things in the gym bag. “He insisted. He's afraid he'll lose his nerve if he has to wait. Besides, I may not be alive a few nights from now. He might not let anybody else do it.”
“That is not your problem. You didn't raise his zombie.”
“No, but I am an animator first. Vampire slaying is … a sideline. I am an animator. It isn't just a job.”
He was still staring at me. “I don't understand why, but I understand you have to do it.”
“Thanks.”
He smiled. “Your show. Mind if I come along to make sure no one offs you while you're gone?”
I glanced at him. “Ever see a zombie raising?”
“No.”
“You're not squeamish, are you?” I smiled when I said it.
He stared at me, blue eyes gone suddenly cold. His whole face became different. There was nothing there, no expression, except that awful coldness. Emptiness.
“So?”
“She committed suicide. No one knew why at the time. It was later learned that Mr. Jensen had sexually abused his daughter and that was why she had killed herself.”
“And he raised her from the dead.” Edward grimaced. “You don't mean …”
I waved my hands as if I could erase the sudden vivid image. “No, no, not that. He felt remorseful and raised her to say he was sorry.”
“And?”
“She wouldn't forgive him.”
He shook his head. “I don't understand.”
“He raised her to make amends, but she had died hating him, fearing him. The zombie wouldn't forgive him, so he wouldn't put her back. As her mind deteriorated and her body, too, he kept her with him as a sort of punishment.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah,” I said. I walked to the closet and got out my gym bag. Edward carried guns in his; I carried my animator paraphernalia in it. Sometimes, I carried my vampire-slaying kit in it. The matchbook Zachary gave me was in the bottom of the bag. I stuffed it in my pants pocket. I don't think Edward saw me. He does catch on if a clue sits up and barks. “Jensen finally agreed to put her in the ground if I'll do it. I can't say no. He's sort of a legend among animators. The closest we come to a ghost story.”
“Why tonight? If it's waited seven years, why not a few more nights?”
I kept putting things in the gym bag. “He insisted. He's afraid he'll lose his nerve if he has to wait. Besides, I may not be alive a few nights from now. He might not let anybody else do it.”
“That is not your problem. You didn't raise his zombie.”
“No, but I am an animator first. Vampire slaying is … a sideline. I am an animator. It isn't just a job.”
He was still staring at me. “I don't understand why, but I understand you have to do it.”
“Thanks.”
He smiled. “Your show. Mind if I come along to make sure no one offs you while you're gone?”
I glanced at him. “Ever see a zombie raising?”
“No.”
“You're not squeamish, are you?” I smiled when I said it.
He stared at me, blue eyes gone suddenly cold. His whole face became different. There was nothing there, no expression, except that awful coldness. Emptiness.