(no subject)
It’s 12:25 in the morning. The dentist isn’t home.
At 11:48 Seymour parked in his driveway and rung the doorbell and he didn’t come. The lights were off.
A guy like that could go on vacation to the Caribbean. He could be at the opera. He could be staying the night at Audrey’s. He could be on the moon for all Seymour knows.
Seymour eventually drove out of the driveway, as you’d do if the person you were looking for weren’t there. He drove and parked on the street behind the dentist’s place. He looked at the windows - a lot of lights were off, but not all. Lights mean people. People mean eyes.
Seymour stayed in the car, planning. A dog barked from a yard a few houses down. In the movies dogs always bark at the vampire or the werewolf - they know when something bad is going to happen. (Seymour remembered Young Frankenstein, with the horses that whinnied whenever anyone said “Blucher!” Mushnik loves Mel Brooks.) Then he grabbed his gun (chloroform is a controlled substance that you can't order from the local Pharmasave, Seymour thanks his lucky stars he checked that out on the internet first), and crept into the towering hedges. No thorns.
It’s 12:25. Seymour thinks he’d like this neighbourhood if he weren’t so terrified. The houses are TV-perfect - fresh-painted, well cared for, yards with lush green grass, backyards with hot-tubs, pools, or koi ponds. Seymour could spend hours just wandering through people’s gardens. There’s one that’s blended with lilac and jasmine. It smells like heaven.
The bright red car pulls into the driveway. Only the dentist is in it. He swings the door open, whistling a familiar song that Seymour can’t quite place.
Now’s the chance. Feed the plant. Feed himself. He made a deal.
As the dentist gets out of the car, Seymour steps out. Somehow he’s running. Somehow he slams the pistol butt into the dentist’s temple. He cries out and begins to swing around, but Seymour swings first.
The dentist slumps. Seymour’s arms are already trembling trying to hold him up.
This is the moment the world turns its spotlight on him. That the nearby dog wakes its master and stares out the window with raised hackles, prompting him to call the police. That an insomniac out for a walk turns down the street and sees him. That an office worker who burns the candle at both ends drives by on his way home.
Seymour waits, panting, but nothing happens.
He drags the dentist back to the car. He opens the trunk and tries a few times to shove the dentist in. Once he succeeds he needs a breather. He spends precious minutes ineffectually tearing duct tape, wishing he’d remembered to bring scissors. Finally the dentist is duct taped up. The closing of the trunk sounds loud as the big bang that started the world.
Seymour puts the key in the ignition and drives. He takes a wrong turn in the residential area: tears of frustration well up when he can’t recognize anything. He backtracks, counting the number of lighted windows he passes. One, two, three, four, five, six - estimate three people in every house, how many eyes is that?
Seymour gets onto the main road - he almost turns into a gas station to get his bearings, but swerves away at the last second. A deserted mall parking lot is soon found. He reads the map.
It comes to him as he’s tracing the fastest route: Orin had been whistling Luck Be a Lady. Seymour finds himself humming that on the drive back. He flicks on the radio. The Eagles’ “Hotel California” plays (You can check out any time you like / but you can never leave / welcome to the Hotel California / such a lovely place / such a lovely face)
Seymour pulls into the parking space. Over the sound of the motor he hears something that makes his heart stop. Thump. Thump. Thump. The dentist is shouting as loud as he can as he slams the trunk. Seymour bolts to it, fumbles for his keys, gets it open. The dentist’s shouts increase. Seymour hauls him up. Out of habit he’d locked the shop door - what a stupid decision, he wastes so much time getting it open and there are so many bums on Skid Row….
Twoie looks at him when he drags the dentist in and sets him down.
“Where’s the bag?” it asks.
“Bag-oh!” Seymour dashes out to the trunk of the car to get the bag with the tarp and the axe. He remembers to close the trunk.
He’s planning what he’ll say to the dentist as he walks back. He should explain himself. He should apologize. He should say, “Fuck you,” or “Enjoy hell, you bastard.”
When he comes back, Twoie in unwrapping its vines from the dentist’s throat. His face is a purple-red colour. He’s not moving.
No more time for words now.
Seymour spreads the tarp and lays the dentist out. Every time he raises the axe his gaze flicks to the blinds. They don’t cover the window all the way - there’s an inch gap between the blind and the bottom of the window. Someone could look in through that gap and see everything. Are those eyes?
“If you don’t mind…” Twoie grumbles.
THUD. Two swings to make it through the neck. THUD. Arms. THUD. Legs. THUD. Bones muscles blood so much blood everywhere hot and wet and warm. THUD. The torso almost doesn’t fit but he stuffs it in Twoie’s mouth. The plant chews before it swallows; there’s probably a chamber inside his stem that digests the meat and blood.
When it’s done, it burps heavily. Seymour twitches and waits by the basement door, but Mushnik doesn’t come up.
(his hands are shaking)
Seymour takes stock of the room. He rolls up the tarp. He gets cleaning supplies from the janitorial closet. He goes through his carefully thought out routine: vacuuming the trunk, deodorizing, and dumping the tarp and the dentist’s shoes in a dumpster a few blocks away.
(he stops at a garbage can and vomits)
One of his up-swings of the axe splattered some blood on the wall. He scrubs at it but it doesn’t come out.
(tears trickle down his cheeks as he scrubs because it has to come out)
The next morning he tells Mushnik he spilled some Hawaiian punch and it stained. Seymour had a whole story memorized about how he went on a lately night shopping trip, and even bought a few items as proof, but it doesn’t matter. Mushnik accepts the story with a roll of his eyes.