Visiting Hours

by Rob Stennett

Overview

A young Amish man looks for some excitement—and finds a terror he never expected . . .
 
All Eli Troyer wanted was to escape the tedium and boredom of life among his Amish family and friends. What he could not have imagined was what the city holds for some newcomers. He wanted to reinvent himself—but didn’t realize that you can also be reinvented by someone—or something—else . . .
 
In the second episode of The Living and the Undead, Eli must now do the unthinkable to survive. He wants to hold on to who he was, but every hour it seems less likely. The monster is growing inside him. And Eli doesn’t know how much longer he can fight it. The Living and the Undead is a paranormal coming-of-age thriller unlike anything you’ve ever read.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781629213446
Publisher:	RosettaBooks
Publication date:	09/05/2019
Series:	The Living and the Undead , #2
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	73
File size:	4 MB

About the Author

Rob Stennett is an award-winning screenwriter, produced playwright, and film and theater director. He lives in Colorado with his wife, Sarah, and their daughter, Julianna.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Carpet

Eli stepped out of the bathroom and remembered there was still a blood-soaked body on his bed. It almost looked beautiful the way Charlotte's hair fanned out across her pillow with her head lying peacefully on her arm — the side of her face painted in red — and the rest of her body lying atop a swirl of red and white.

"I think I loved her," Eli said. It felt like he should just be able to walk over and wake her up. Hours ago, she wasn't just a body, she was a human being. Someone loving and beautiful and sensual: a girl with beautiful curves and a smile that Eli basked in like sunshine.

"She would have broke your heart," Gordon said.

Eli had almost forgotten he wasn't alone. Gordon's shirts were bright and colorful, yet somehow he had a knack for hiding in plain sight. Eli hadn't even heard him come in last night.

Not that Eli knew what exactly had happened. He pictured Charlotte in searing pain with her neck violated as Gordon drained her of life. Maybe she whimpered or even reached out to hold Eli's hand, but he had been too busy enjoying the most peaceful night of sleep he'd experienced in years.

"Did it hurt?" Eli asked.

"I don't know," Gordon said. He stood next to Eli and stared at the dead girl's body. "I didn't die when somebody gave me the gift, so I don't really know what it feels like when you don't make it."

"What did it feel like for you?" Eli asked.

"Can't remember," Gordon said. "I remember running right to the bathroom to look at my fangs as soon as I woke up. But I was also alone that day. Wasn't lucky enough to have some cute girl in my bed."

"She's not some cute girl. She's an amazing girl. She wanted to become a fashion designer —"

"It doesn't matter what she wanted to become," Gordon said. "Okay? None of that matters anymore. I wish it did, but it just doesn't."

"What's going to happen to her?" Eli said.

"That's our current problem. I actually expected the gift to take. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have given it to her here."

"We have to let her family know. She shouldn't be here. Not like this."

Eli wanted Charlotte out of his apartment. If he looked at her body much longer he might have nightmares of a dead girl lying next to him for the rest of his life. Besides, she shouldn't be here like this. Exposed. Helpless. It was unnatural.

He walked over to the bed and wrapped his arms around her chilled form. Every part of him just wanted to get her out of the apartment and into a casket where she could sleep peacefully.

"What's your plan there?" Gordon asked.

"We have to get her somewhere. Before someone finds out what happened."

"Who's going to find out?"

"The police. I've seen what they can do on TV. They can track down any criminal," Eli said.

"That's propaganda," Gordon said. "Something the government puts on TV to make weak-minded people afraid. You really think cops stand around in laboratories wearing expensive- looking suits combing through every microfiber until they catch the bad guys? That's fantasy."

"There's fingerprints and DNA ..."

Eli was just echoing words that had jumped into his head from these shows. He didn't know what was fact and what was fiction; it all felt true.

"Eli, you don't really know Charlotte. You were just one of the hundreds of guys to drool over her. She could have been killed by anyone. No one knows what happened here. And how will they ever know where to look? I made sure no one was watching when she came up here last night."

"You were here last night?"

"I dropped Charlotte off," Gordon said.

I thought if I brought you to him, he'd give me the gift, Charlotte had told Eli last night.

Eli felt like he had gotten the wind knocked out of him. Of course, Gordon dropped her off. She didn't just happen to stop by. She didn't miss him. She didn't want to spend time with him. Charlotte was a puppet, and she never planned to leave last night. She was going to sleep with Eli — or bed court — or do whatever it took to lie next to him until Gordon arrived.

"We have to get her out of here," Eli said. He tried to pick her up and suddenly realized how heavy a dead body was.

He looked up at Gordon. "I can't do this by myself."

Gordon smiled. "I knew I was right about you."

"What are you talking about?"

"A girl dies and you don't freak out. You get the gift and you aren't all self-absorbed about your fangs. No, your first thought is to do the hard work of disposing the body. I'm telling you, I'm right. You're a cold-blooded professional."

Gordon was crazy. Eli was dealing with an insane man. "I just can't look at her anymore. I don't like this," he said.

"Put her down. You can't just take her out into the hallway. If we run into someone we really will have a problem," Gordon said.

"So, what then?"

"Don't ever create a corpse without a plan. That's the first lesson of our profession. And you especially don't want to create one in a place that's tough to get in and out of like an apartment. I knew the gift would take with you. Call it a hunch. I really wasn't sure about her, but I'm a romantic. I liked the idea of the gift being born in both of you at the same time. You could learn and grow together. I thought maybe she could help you with the rough transition. I was thinking with my heart instead of my head and now we have a body to deal with," Gordon said. "That brings me to lesson two."

"What's lesson two?" Eli asked.

"Always leave a back door open — at least a metaphorical one," Gordon said. He walked into the closet, unlocked the door, and pulled out a rolled-up carpet. "Our back door in this case is a carpet."

Gordon dropped it on the bed and unrolled it next to Charlotte.

"I know, it's incredibly cliché," he admitted. "But nobody actually expects a dead body rolled up in a carpet. Besides, this is worst-case scenario. The goal is we don't run into anyone outside."

"Okay," Eli said. He was stunned. Was this actually happening?

"Don't just stand there. You know how heavy she is. We have to position her so we can roll the carpet around her," Gordon said.

Eli followed Gordon's lead and placed Charlotte's body parallel to the bottom of the bed. Then they rolled her over and over until she was completely covered. It was quiet, physical work, and Eli tried to make his mind think they were disposing of a pig or burying a dog. He couldn't actually believe he was getting ready to throw away the girl he had almost kissed last night.

Once the body was rolled, Gordon took two pieces of rope out of the closet and tied the ends of the carpet up. It now looked like the world's largest piece of candy.

"My car's out back. All we have to do is take her downstairs, walk out the back door, and drop her in the trunk," Gordon said. "We can do it in under a minute. It's still early. No one should be up."

Gordon opened the door and stepped into the hallway. After a few moments, he stepped back in. "It's empty. Let's go. Now."

They grabbed the carpet and stepped into the hallway. Eli looked at the doors to all of the other apartments. It felt like any of them could open at that moment and someone could walk out and see him carrying an oddly heavy carpet in the middle of the night. They would instantly know what was inside and call him a murderer. He would plead with them — I didn't do it. I didn't know this was going to happen. They wouldn't listen; why would they? Eli came from a strange people the English didn't understand. They would assume the worst about him.

"Shut the door behind you," Gordon whispered.

Eli nodded, hooked his foot around the door, and yanked it shut. It slammed and echoed around the empty hallway. Gordon shook his head in disgust and whispered, "Let's go. Quick."

It only took them seconds to turn the corner and start down the stairs, but as they reached the middle of the stairwell, they heard a voice.

"Eli ..."

Eli recognized the voice. It was Ms. Blasgen, the landlady.

Gordon looked right at him and mouthed, Talk to her.

They set the carpet on the steps. Eli rushed up the stairs and said, "Yes, ma'am?"

"It's 3:38 in the morning, Eli," Ms. Blasgen said.

"I know."

"Then why are you slamming doors?"

"I don't know."

"I'm a light sleeper."

"I'm so sorry."

Ms. Blasgen noticed Eli was in sweatpants and sandals. "Where are you going anyway?"

"I don't know," Eli said. This already felt like the longest conversation of his life. He had no idea what to say to this woman. What could he possibly say that would make sense for him to be out of his apartment at this hour? He had to keep Ms. Blasgen away from the stairwell and figure out how to say something that would make her go back inside — but he wasn't good at this.

"You don't know? You sure slammed that door like you were in a hurry," Ms. Blasgen said.

"I am," Eli said.

"Where are you in a hurry to? Is there some sort of emergency?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

He was giving her the wrong sort of answers. Why wouldn't she just stop asking him questions? He had to stop talking to her. If he kept going he might tell her everything.

"I have to go," Eli said as he started back to the hallway.

And Ms. Blasgen followed him. Eli wanted to tackle her, scream at her to stop, slap her in the face over and over — anything to keep her from seeing what was in the stairwell, but he was afraid. So he kept his back to her and walked.

"Don't you walk away from me without a better explanation, Eli —"

Eli froze at the stairwell. It was empty. No Gordon. No body rolled up in the carpet. Nothing except dim fluorescent lights and dingy, green carpets. He wondered if he'd dreamed Gordon and Charlotte and everything that had happened. Maybe he had; it all felt like some sort of nightmare.

"Tell me what you're in such a big fuss about?" Ms. Blasgen said.

"It's personal," Eli said.

The landlady stopped at this. One of the amazing things about the English is you can say something is personal and they stop bothering you. It's one of the few sacred boundaries they have.

"I wish I could tell you more," Eli said, "but it's just personal. I do promise I won't be so insensitive and slam the door like that in the future. I apologize."

"Apology accepted."

"Thank you."

"You better not be on drugs," Ms. Blasgen said before turning back toward her apartment.

Once he heard her door shut, Eli ran outside. The cold air sobered him. This wasn't a dream. Gordon was standing next to the trunk of his car. Eli shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. He looked around and realized the carpet was nowhere in sight.

"What happened?"

"You gave me enough time to get it out of there. I told you, you're a pro, my man," Gordon said.

"You lifted her all by yourself?"

"Wasn't easy, but the gift gives you quite a bit of strength — especially in survival situations. You'll see. "

"Oh," Eli said. He reached up and felt the puncture wounds on his neck, scabbed reminders of what Gordon had given to him.

"I'm actually glad this whole situation happened," Gordon said.

"Why?"

"Because I don't think you'll ever forget Lesson One: Don't ever, ever, create a corpse without a plan."

CHAPTER 2

Sample

Eli sat in the hospital cafeteria and pushed his Chicken à la King from one side of his plate to the other. He didn't want to be here, but he didn't have anywhere else to go. After the body was safely in the car, they had gone back into the apartment to finish the job. Eli felt paralyzed by all the sights and smells — the blood-soaked sheets, last night's dishes sitting in the sink with the crusted remains of the last meal Charlotte would ever eat caked on the plates.

He stood looking at it all until Gordon told him, "Why don't you shower and get ready for work a little early? You can grab a bite to eat there, clear your head a little."

Eli found a towel and walked toward the bathroom.

"It's gonna be okay, Eli. By the time you get back from work, no one will ever be able to tell anything happened here."

* * *

It felt like it took forever for his shift to start. Eli ate a late lunch at the hospital cafeteria and watched the doctors sitting with doctors and nurses sitting with nurses. Eli had always assumed it was just the Amish who would only talk to their own kind, but sitting in the hospital cafeteria, he wondered if somehow in life you get classified or labeled and then that's the group of people you're stuck with at every meal for the rest of your life.

He picked up the plastic name tag Marcus had given him after his first shift. It had a square picture of him smiling awkwardly in front of a gray background. Under the photo was Eli's name and underneath that was his job title. Custodian. He'd already been labeled.

But even the other custodians felt uncomfortable around Eli. He was dressed like them, but he couldn't talk like them or laugh at the things they laughed at. They knew he wasn't one of them. They would tolerate him but not embrace him.

Eli sat at his table for a long time before turning his gaze away from the other tables and out the window. There was not a living green thing in sight, only concrete and asphalt. Most of the city's color came from orange construction barrels. More than ever, Eli missed home and all the sights and sounds of the fall season. In the city, it always felt like January.

* * *

Shortly before his shift, Eli made his way to the employee locker room and zipped himself into his jumpsuit. The others getting ready to clock in or out said a quick hello but not much more. Eli checked out a cart and filled it with the appropriate amounts of cleaning supplies, topping off bottles of chemicals and grabbing a clean mop and rags. When the cart was finally ready, he pushed it inside the elevator and punched the button for the fourth floor.

He stared at the lit-up number four on the elevator button panel, a glowing reminder that this silver cage was about to take him to the cancer ward. No one wanted to clean there. Chemotherapy made vomiting a favorite pastime of the patients, and even when there wasn't vomit, blood, and bile to mop up, no one liked to be near the heartache and depression that radiated from these walls.

The elevator doors parted, and Eli pushed his cart past them. The fourth floor pulsed with energy tonight. Machines beeped inside rooms, nurses raced back and forth, some patients were complaining, others were wailing in pain. Eli was taking it all in when he heard a bit of radio static followed by a voice.

"Eli, you on the clock yet?" Marcus radioed.

Eli grabbed his radio off its clip and carefully pressed the button. "Yes, sir," he said and let go of the button. That was something Marcus had to explain repeatedly: once you're done talking, let go of the button.

"We've got a mess in room 408," Marcus said.

"Right away," Eli said into the radio. He'd only seen a radio a handful of times in his life. Using one felt like performing witchcraft.

Eli pushed his cart down the hall toward room 408. He tried not to listen to the painful moans and the respiration machines forcing patients to breathe as he passed by. The hospital was such a deeply unsettling place.

For the Amish, suffering is something done quietly at home, but the English bring all their sick to one giant building in the middle of the city. His father had always said the English didn't understand the realities of sickness and death. That's why they're so shocked when they have to face their own suffering — it's something they've never really dealt with before.

Eli, on the other hand, was getting very familiar with all breeds of suffering.

He turned the corner and entered room 408. Two nurses helped a patient back into his bed, coaching him through every step. "Lift your right leg onto the bed, Mr. Green," one of the nurses was saying.

The other nurse looked awkwardly at Eli standing with his cart. "The bathroom, please," the nurse said.

"Right," Eli answered. He pushed his cart away from the scene and into the bathroom.

It was an absolute nightmare. Human waste was spread all over the toilet, the sink, and the tile floor.

Eli tried not to think of Charlotte and the mess her body left behind as he cleaned the bathroom. He grabbed the yellow spray — which Marcus had said was designated for the sink and the toilets — and gave each surface exactly five squirts. "Use enough to get the job done," Marcus had told Eli during his orientation, "but don't waste it. Cleaning chemicals don't grow on trees, you know."

Eli had nodded like he'd known, but he hadn't been able to keep himself from wondering where exactly chemicals did grow. It hadn't been the right time to ask. Marcus had still been upset with him for not grasping the radio quickly enough.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "The Living and the Undead"
by .
Copyright © 2013 Rob Stennett.
Excerpted by permission of Bondfire Books, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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