Unexpectedly Undead

Unexpectedly Undead Chapter 6

-Acceptance-

The bells of the lounge's antique grandfather clock began to toll. Macon and Olivia stood silently -staring at each other- as the low toned chimes signaled that seven'o'clock in the morning had come.

"Look, I don't know who the he'll you are, or..." She started, but it was Macon's turn to interrupt her.

"I'm Macon, remember? Although, I'd hardly call our last face to face a formal introduction." He cooed, laying on the charm and thickening his english accent slightly.

"Fine... Macon." Olivia stated. "I don't know what all you guys are on, -or off if you haven't been taking your antipsychotics as of late- but the best thing for everyone would be to let me go and get some help for yourselves." Olivia offered with her back firmly against the wall.

Macon noticed then that she was trying to inch her way around the lounge, -he assumed- aiming for the door. He backed away from her a few paces, -as to give her a little breathing room- but had no intentions of letting her leave. He smiled at her comment whilst scratching the back of his neck.

"Now, I could be wrong, but I highly doubt that a few bloody sessions with any therapist in the world could cure being a lifeless corpse." He said. Olivia head tilted slightly as she glanced around the room a moment before answering.

"Perhaps not..." She began, having to will her voice to a softer -less panicked- tone. She cautiously crept past the bookshelf on the left side of the lounge before adding. "...but to my knowledge zombies are rotting, mindless creatures of fiction used in video games and movies to represent the collapse of our society on a massive scale."

Macon raised toward her a curious eyebrow, intrigued by her words regardless of how false they were. He felt deceit radiating from her, yet was humored by her response.

"That was a very well rehearsed statement. You got a thing for zombies?" Macon said with a crooked grin.

"I beg your pardon?" Olivia queried, drenching the question with the offence she felt.

"Your definition of what you believe constitutes the living dead seemed rehearsed. Almost as if you've thought quite a bit about them. So, you fancy the undead?" Macon further explained.

"I do not 'fancy' the undead." She spat at him, yet a small part of her thought that if Macon really was a zombie, he would be an excellent start to the list.

Olivia shook the thought from her head. Why on earth was she thinking of him in that way? He kidnapped her, took part in eating two of the most important people in her life, and burnt their remains. She should despise him, hate him for what he had done.

"Not even a little? Nevermind, continue with how you view zombies compared to me." Macon insisted. Olivia was desperately trying to stall him, trying to converse with him and waiting for him to drop his guard so she could make a break for the door, and -in her mind- it seemed to be working.

In his mind, he knew what she was planning and decided then to continue to play along, for entertainment was scarce among the undead.

"I was meerly trying to state that you appear to me nothing like what a zombie should." She added.

"It's the shirt, isn't it?" He joked as he picked at the tight-fitting fabric. "You know I've always hated it, yet can never convince myself to throw it out."

"It's not the shirt." Olivia answered with an exasperated sigh. "Your skin is flesh in tone and I see no signs of ...decay. You're speaking English, not just moans and groans."

"Do you want to hear me moan and groan?" He asked with a wink. 'Yes, please.' She thought, but quickly cleared her throat in an attempt to drive the thought away once more.