Part 004 - Skin for Skin *

Sean couldn’t decide what made him sicker: David Smith’s out-of-the-blue revelation about his relation or the idea of taking over the life of his dead child.

“Hold on a second, David.” Sean’s hand ruffled the ghost’s vapor as Sean attempted to corral the frenetic spirit.

“Doctor Death. My name is Doctor Death.” He wailed like a classic haunt. “Can’t you ever get my name, right? It’s not David, or DD or Ghost Toasty.” He whirled around the room, small thunder clouds knocking over Lladro porcelain figurines and a Baccarat Crystal Midnight Elephant. Sean cringed as tens of thousands of dollars shattered on the Antique Java Bamboo Floor.

“Right,” said Sean. “You have name issues that bring out your inner poltergeist. I’ll keep that in mind, Doctor Death.”

The ghost hovered over the mess he created, a grin on his ethereal face.

“This bears practicing,” he said. “Emotions are, indeed, a powerful thing.”

“That’s not new news,” said Sean. He flopped into an overstuffed leather chair. 

“You might not want to sit there,” said Doctor Death. “That chair is upholstered in human skin.”

“Gah.” Sean jumped up. “If you expect me to live in this house of horrors, you are sorely mistaken.” He moved to a spot in the room that kept him as far away from everything as possible. He pointed around the room. “Skin and blood art on the walls, human leather chairs.” He squinted at one of the corners. “Are those shrunken heads. Seriously, what the fuck, man.”

“Hey, chill,” said Doctor Death. “You’re a vampire for gods’ sakes.”

“No.” Sean headed for the door. “There’s no chilling going to happen here. This place is just sick.”

“Right,” said Doctor Death. “Why do you think I was so hot for you to take John out? He needed killing. Someone needs to clean up his mess.” He flew in front of Sean, his image, if not his body, blocking Sean’s exit. 

“Think about what would happen if the police came in here and started examining all of John’s ‘things.’ The trauma it would cause, the chaos. Innocent people would be hurt and damaged. Who knows what all he’s got hidden in this place, the buried secrets.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Sean. He stepped forward, one leg touching Doctor Death. Pinpricks of ice ran along his calf and thigh. He backed up. “Move out of my way.”

“No.” Doctor Death scooched forward into Sean’s personal space brushing against Sean’s chest. 

Sean backed up.

“Hear me out,” said Doctor Death. 

Sean sighed. “Fine, I’ll listen for a few minutes, but I’m not doing it in here.” 

“Let’s go to the kitchen,” said the ghost. “It’s clean and completely untouched by my brother’s perversions.”

The kitchen was white and shiny, from the white tile floors to the slick marble counters and the snowy cabinets, no stainless steel or wood or glass. The stools at the bar and the table and chairs were all made of slick and slippery milky Formica®.

“Sit.” Doctor Death pointed at a seat. “He never came in here. No one has ever used this room for anything.” 

Sean scowled.

“Trust me,” said Doctor Death. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Says everyone ever who lies as much as they breathe.” (Doctor Death no longer breathes, but we all know he's lying and can't be trusted.)

“How do you expect this partnership to survive and thrive with that kind of attitude?”

“The last person I trusted turned me into a vampire.” Sean sat at the spotless breakfast bar. “I’m all out of the trust business.”

“Whatever.” The specter settled his misty self in front of Sean. “I guess this room won’t get much use with you, either.” He chuckled.

“I’m not living here.”

“Oh, come on. Hear me out.” Doctor Death’s body moved along the smooth surface like fog on a lake.

“I assume,” said the good doctor like a lecturing professor, “that since I found you wandering the deserted town of Bodie, hungry and thirsting for blood, you no longer have a home to go to.”

He waited for an answer even though he didn’t ask a question.

“Your smug tone is annoying,” said Sean. 

“Am I wrong, though?”

“No, you’re not wrong.” Sean wiped non-existent dust off of the counter. “I no longer have a home.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s none of your business. Move on.”

“I can always track you down.” Doctor Death puffed out his chest. “I’m a superb investigator.”

“Can’t investigate someone who doesn’t exist,” said Sean. “You don’t even know my real name. And vampires don’t have any DNA.”

“I’ll find out eventually, but it’s not important right now.” 

Sean leaned back, arms crossed.

“You need a base of operations. You need an income.” Doctor Death waved his arms around the room, parts of himself floating away on air-conditioning breezes. “This place is perfect. A mansion in a gated community, with security teams patrolling the area, electronic alarms, and cameras. Not to mention big fat bank accounts.”

“I’m not living in a place full of body parts.”

“We’ll clean it up. There’s plenty of room out back to burn John’s special creations. No one will know.” Doctor Death began to vibrate. “Imagine the bad guys we could go after from here. We can start with John’s notes since he was targeting the same people in whom we’re interested. We could clean up the world.”

“This is all just a little too convenient,” said Sean. “I get the feeling that you’ve been planning this for a while and looking for the perfect patsy.”

“I won’t deny any of that,” said Doctor Death. “You taking over my dearly departed brother’s estate as my beloved resurrected son satisfies both of our needs and wants.”

Doctor Death brushed up against Sean. Sean tingled like a sleepy foot waking up.

“Us dead folks need to stick together,” said Doctor Death, “and it’s good to keep busy when you have all of eternity to kill.”

* Job 2:4 Satan replied to the LORD, “Skin for skin! A man will give up everything he has to save his life.