Her smile faltered, and tears came again. “I want Arthur to forgive me.” She hid her face in her hands and sobbed. “I had an affair for several months. He found out, had a heart attack, and died.” She seemed to gain strength from the words, and the tears slowed. “You see that I have to talk to him one last time. I have to tell him I love him, only him. I want Arthur to forgive me. Can he do that as a…zombie?”
“I’ve found that the dead are very forgiving of the living, when they die of natural causes. Your husband will have ample brainpower to speak. He will be himself at first. As the days progress, he will lose memory. He will begin to decay, first mentally, then physically.”
“Decay?”
“Yes, slowly, but after all, he is dead.”
The relatives didn’t really believe that a fresh zombie wasn’t alive. Knowing intellectually that someone smiling and talking is the walking dead is one thing. Emotionally, it is very different. But they believed as time passed and as he or she began to look like a walking corpse.
“It’s temporary then?”
“Not exactly.” I came from behind the desk and sat next to her. “He could stay a zombie possibly forever. But his physical and mental state would deteriorate until he was not much better than an automaton in tattered flesh.”
“Tattered…flesh,” she whispered.
I touched her hand. “I know it’s a hard choice, but that is the reality.” Tattered flesh didn’t really touch the white sheen of bone through rotting flesh, but it was a term our boss allowed.
She gripped my hand and smiled. “Thank you for telling me the truth. I still want to bring Arthur back. Even if it’s just long enough to say a few words.”
So she was going to do it, as I had known she would. “So you don’t want him for weeks, or days, only long enough to talk.”
“I think so.”
“I don’t mean to rush you, Mrs. Fiske, but I need to know before we set up an appointment. You see, it takes more time and energy to raise and then lay to rest, one right after another.” If she laid and raised quickly enough, Mrs. Fiske might be able to remember Arthur at his best.
“Oh, of course. If possible I would like to talk for several hours.”
“Then it’s best if you take him home for at least the evening. We can schedule putting him back for tomorrow night.” I would push for a quick laying to rest. I didn’t think Mrs. Fiske could take watching her husband rot before her eyes.
“That sounds good.” She took a deep breath. I knew what she was going to say. She looked so brave and resolute. “I want to be there when you bring him back.”
“Your presence is required, Mrs. Fiske. You see, a zombie has no real will of its own. Your husband should be able to think on his own at first, but as time wears on, the zombie finds it very difficult to decide things. The person, or persons, who raised it will have control over it.”
“You and I?”
“Yes.”
She paled even more, her grip tightening.
“Mrs. Fiske?” I got her a glass of water. “Sip it slowly.” When she seemed better, I asked, “Are you sure you’re up to this tonight?”
“Is there anything I need to bring?”
“A suit of your husband’s clothes would be nice. Maybe a favorite object, hat, trophy, to help him orient himself. The rest I’ll supply.” I hesitated, because some of the color had crept into her face, but she needed to be prepared. “There will be blood at the ceremony.”
“Blood.” Her voice was a breathy whisper.
“Chicken, I’ll bring it. There will also be some ointment to spread over our faces and hands. It glows faintly and smells fairly strange, but not unpleasant.” Her next question would be the usual.
“What do we do with the blood?”
I gave the usual answer. “We sprinkle some on the grave and some on us.”
She swallowed very carefully, looking slightly gray.
“You can back out now but not later. Once you’ve paid your deposit, it can’t be refunded. And once the ceremony begins, to break the circle is very dangerous.”
She looked down, thinking. I liked that. Most who agreed right away were afraid later. The brave ones took time to answer. “Yes.” She sounded very convinced. “To make peace with Arthur, I can do it.”