Never Close Your Eyes

TC 🔒 : C. 40

|| Chapter Forty ||

It was another tally mark for the shit list she was creating with his name as the big bold title. This man was not it and he held the vibe he was never going to be more than the head lines of her ongoing shit book.

"Really, I consider myself more of a collector." He continued on his biography to no one who had the mind to care.

He paid no attention as he mindlessly started back his saw, while (Y/N)'s eyes stayed on the stripped thigh high socks that replaced her pants.

Murphy' eyes switched from (Y/N) to the crazed man with the saw, who seemed overly excited to saw his dome open like a big coconut.

The bright blue dress seemed to be the next thing she depicted out of the fit, but Murphy was too busy trying to flip like a salmon out of water to notice that her shit got ironed before he got treated like a being.

"What should we have here, dear?" He asked (Y/N), not thinking anything of the man's erratic movements, "Male, zombie. Well preserved. You're a fresh zombie, but they're more wild and agitated than you."

'He's just frantic.' He noted next without speaking.

The strange scientist finally snapped his head up, wanting to eye his doll but his machinery was dangling little too close to Murphy'd face, "How many of these things have you encountered, my doll? I tried to warn the CDC, but no one ever listens to me."

Knowing she was in her own little world, he continued to speak into the small hand held recorder clipped to his scientist lab coat.

"They only want to feed, but you are so mellow when it's just me with nothing but my saw. No wonder Rosie kept you company; you're an odd one."

"Not.." (Y/N) breathed in the word, fighting her throat that was locked with dryness—much like her road companion.

She needed to speak on Murphy's behalf, finally noticing the danger he was in. Due to electric shock against both of their necks or side of throat, they found themselves hoarse without any kind of hydration.

".. Zombie." She breathed out after a moment, her throat scratching at the simple phrase that's usually screamed with a fast beating heart.

"Of course you're not, my dear," He tried to comfort her, "but that doesn't explain why either of these zombies didn't maul you to pieces."

"You poor ditsy thing. Just like episode three of your show, where you show kids it's okay to be an absolute clutz!" He giggled to himself, "but your mistake could've cost you your life. Luckily, I came just in the right time."

He reminded himself to fix her something to drink and give her some aspirin for the headache he was sure she had after making a fall like that.

He finally went back to viewing his current subject when Murphy got the cue to say a simple word in hopes that would deter his abuser. The zombie specialist stared for a moment before placing his saw on the table and grabbed a more up close nice so he could really get in there.

"Oh, now that's interesting." He grinned from ear-to-ear, keeping the machinery off this time so he could hear his specimen better, "I've yet to meet a Z that could speak and I've met a lot of Zs."

Had he been a selfless prick, Murphy's heart would've went to the many zombies this psycho killed making his way through the apocalypse. Too bad he was pretty selfish and was more worried about the situation he was in right now.

"Does your brain resemble his brain?"

More research needed to be done, and who was he to deny the opportunity that had nestled itself right in his home. He was at war with himself, nevertheless.