The Mandrake Effect

A cadaverous moon, like a woman rising from a tomb, moved slowly across the sky seemingly looking for dead things. This night it will be lucky; its silvery fingers penetrating the barred window of the Carnegie Space Agency’s isolation ward, illuminating the hardened features of Rosette and a ghastly second figure appendage. It is Cameron, the crewman from the rescue shuttle, squatting on the floor with a look of terror on his face. Between his legs is the body of a male nurse, oozing slime and fluid from every opening in his clothing. Rosette’s hands are tenderly caressing Cameron’s neck, her fingers penetrating deep into his flesh. The three bodies shudder in a state somewhere between agony and ecstasy.

Rose, in her own ecstasy, nuzzles Harry’s shoulder as he drives. She is reliving, in her mind’s eye, the past week of carnal bliss, each and every detail. She is oblivious to New York City splaying out in the weak morning sunlight that now condenses with the cold night air turning it into a light mist, making the city Mortuary, just coming into view, shimmer with an eerie beauty.

They leave the car and walk arm in arm through the ornate iron gates. Inside the archaic building, they present their documents to the attendant, and body number-two is duly wheeled out on a metal gurney. Harry gets a glimpse of the decomposed face as the cot is whisked on into a post-mortem theatre. He and Rose follow. The mortuary attendant stands back and reads off the paper nametag unceremoniously afixed to a lock of the dead man’s hair – the body lacking appropriate feet and toes. ‘Aldo Fremick,’ informs the attendant, ‘Got his name from his stuff, it’s all sealed in the plastic envelope. I’ll get it. You’ll find he’s just a no-account bum.’

Harry gingerly inspects the grisly remnant cadaver. The bottom half, legs and trunk, are missing. Only the upper torso remains. Harry gags. The attendant returns and hands Harry the envelope. ‘If you’re gonna throw, please use the bucket.’ He directs a bucket in Harry’s direction with his foot. Harry takes the envelope and swallows.

The attendant gives a gruesome smile, ‘Have you finished, or shall I leave yous for a while longer?’

Harry regains his composure and speaks out as officiously as he can, in spite the dire circumstances, ‘Yes yes, finished. You must cremate it immediately. I’ll burn his effects after I’m done. You must scrub everything including yourself, immediately.’

‘Bet your sweet ass, bub,’ the attendant mutters as he wheels the cot to the small adjoining cremation chapel. He parks it alongside a waiting minister with open prayer book and hurriedly leaves.

Rose covers her mouth and whispers, ‘We have to see this one burn too, Hal… Major’s orders. We must be certain they’ve both gone.’

‘What in hell happened to them, Rose?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve read both reports. There’s nothing in them to worry us. It must have been the cheap drug, zap. All the bums use it. Dogs or rats ate the rest of him – I need to get outside.’

The body passes to the furnace. Rose and Harry walk through the door leading to a small observation window. The body burns.

‘They’ve missed something,’ says Harry, ‘did you notice the lips?’

‘Lips… ugh!’

‘Yes, the left side of the lips weren’t decayed. Everything else, except the lips and gums.’

‘You mean you actually got that close? My God, Harry, how could you? I’m getting out of here, I feel sick. Don’t mention lips again or I’ll throw up.’

Outside the Mortuary, now ugly in the sharp light, Rose gasps for air.

‘You okay, Rose?’ says Harry.

‘I guess. I’m sorry, Hal. What must you think of me? I’m supposed to help you.’

‘Take a moment to get your breath.’

‘I’m okay now. What next? You going to make the reports, or leave it to me?’

‘Not so fast, Rosey: I’ll get you a cab, then I’m going to check out a few things.’

’No way! I’m coming with you. And don’t call me ‘Rosey’, I’m no Hepburn and you’re certainly no Bogart.’

Harry pulls her to him and speaks with curled lip, mimicking, African Queen dialogue, ‘Give us a kiss, Rosey, old girl.’

Rose responds, but at the last minute pulls away. She covers his lips and kisses the back of her hand. ‘Sorry Hal, I’m off lips at the moment.’ They both laugh as they get into the Rolls.

‘So, where are we going?’

As Harry drives off he pulls a card from the victim’s personal effects envelope. ‘The dentist… he had an appointment card in his pocket!’

Rose gives him a puzzled look.

Third world Bronx, mid-day: Harry’s car pulls up at a dilapidated building. A group of vagrants laze beside the portico entrance.

A ‘Day Clinic’ sign hangs lopsided over one of the double doors. Rose and Harry enter under it. Various hand-written signs offer further directions, bringing them at last to the ‘Dental Treatment’ sign. They enter under it to a passage. At the far end, a man in a white medics tunic looks up from a paper-strewn desk. He speaks one word as Harry and Rose approach.

‘Cops?’

Harry nods, ‘Yep.’

‘What the hell is it this time?’

Harry continues, attempting an American accent that Dick Van Dyke would have been ashamed of, ‘You gouda patient called Aldo Fremick, I yunderstand?’

‘Yeah. Hey, you’re a Brit, right?’

‘English, old man… on a special mission,’ says Harry, somewhat deflated, ‘Now, how long ago did you treat him?’

The dentist eyes Harry suspiciously. Rose butts in, ‘He’s okay.’ She gives Harry a pitiful look then continues to the medic. ‘He’s with us… government.’ She shows a badge. ‘Just answer the question.’

‘Two days ago.’

‘You sure?’

’No, I’m not ‘sure’… I’m goddam certain! I keep records f’ Christ sake. Anything else?’

Rose shakes her head, ‘No.’

‘Was he homosexual?’ adds Harry.

‘How in hell do I know? I don’t think so, just a bum down on his luck, in pain.’

Rose moves in front of Harry. ‘I apologise for my partner.’ She gives Harry another censuring look, ‘Christ’s sake, Harry!’

Harry continues unabashed to the medic, pushing his point, ‘Could you hazard a guess, old man?’

‘I don’t ask! Look, buddy, I don’t get paid for this… charity, right. I don’t need this. You wanna help, make a donation.’

Rose again tries to apologise. ‘As I say, I’m sorry.’

Harry won’t be put off. ‘Listen, this is very important, people’s lives depend on this.’

‘Really? Now, if you’ve got what you want, I’d be obliged if you’d let me get on, people’s teeth depend on this,’ he taps his watch, ‘and as I say, unlike yous two, I don’t get paid for this.’

Rose takes hold of Harry’s arm, and offers a last apology. ‘Thanks for your time.’ She pulls the arm and leads him on, protesting. Harry pulls away again.

‘Hold on, Rose. I want to ask him something else. Two minutes.’

‘On a special mission, old boy – Was he homosexual old boy. Christ. Harry, this is a bloody game to you.’

‘No, it’s–’

‘–I feel sick again… the smell. Two minutes… I’ll wait outside.’ She walks off. Harry returns to the dentist. As he approaches he takes out his money clip.

Rose settles herself in the Rolls Royce and closes her eyes. After a few minutes, Harry joins her. He is carrying a package that he puts, without explanation, into the glove compartment.

‘You feel okay?’

‘Yes.’ says Rose, seemingly still annoyed.

Harry starts the engine and pulls away. He senses her annoyance but continues anyway. ‘Just two days ago – whatever it was that did that to him missed his lips… it obviously didn’t like novocaine. It must have happened just after his visit to the dentist. I’ve–’

‘–Stop it. STOP IT!’ she shrieks, grabbing at her mouth.

‘Bloody hell!’ exclaims Harry as he slams on the brakes.

‘Stop the car. Quickly! I have to get some air.’ As the car stops, Rose opens the passenger door, leans out and gags violently. After a few moments, she pulls back into her seat and slams the door shut.

‘You okay?’

‘Yes… but for God sake leave it, Hal. If you mention, you-know-what again, I’ll throw-up in your precious Roller.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Look, Harry, anything could have happened. He could have stolen someone else’s jacket, picked someone’s pocket, it could have been someone else’s appointment card… who knows?’

‘I said I’m sorry. I–’

‘You’ve done your part. Now just leave it. God, I’m getting sick of this. I should have burned the freak in space when I had the chance. I can’t take much more of this, Harry,’ she puts her head in her hands, ‘I think I’m losing my mind.’

‘Okay okay, Rose, okay. I just want to check one last thing, then I’m finished with it. I’ll drop you off.’

’No. Not yet. What’s the ‘one last thing’?’

‘He had a club card as well as the dental card, Nathan Detroit’s… that’s John Bunyan, isn’t it?’

‘Damon Runyon… Jeees, you really are a moron, Harry.’ She looks at him and realises he was joking. She playfully punches his arm and laughs. He zigzags across the empty road as though he has been pushed off course. She laughs louder.

‘That’s better, Rosey, old girl.’

‘Make it quick, Hal. There’s something that I need to do, too.’

‘Oh! What’s that?’

‘I’ve only been doing it for a week or so, Harry,’ she gives a seductive smile as she snuggles up, ‘I want to make sure it’s not all been a fluke.’

‘To hell with it, Rosey, your place or mine?’

‘To hell with it, Harry, how about spreading a blanket on the back seat. I missed all that as a kid.’

Harry pulls the car over and they climb into the sumptuous back.

Outside Rose’s apartment building a mangy tabby cat sits staring mindlessly into space. It scats as Harry’s car pulls up. Rose gets out and walks towards the steps leading to the main door. She stops and looks back to Harry, still peering from the window.

‘Give it up, Harry. Will you come here tonight?’

‘You want to re-phrase that? Ha ha ha.’

‘No!’ She imitates his lewd laugh, ‘Ha ha ha.’

‘Wild horses… what?’ He blows a kiss and drives off. Rose watches until the car is out of sight.