by Seth Patrick
He shook the thoughts from his head, wanting them gone.
Alice Decker’s revival had left him with this exhaustion. Five days later, and he was still struggling to deal with it.
He’d been told it was all in his mind, but however much he tried, he couldn’t dismiss it as such. It had struck deep, leaving behind an irrational fear and a feeling of being watched.
This paranoia was feeding into his dreams. The nightmares had been overwhelming. Alice Decker had stood in his living room, her face without skin, talking to him. The words had been gibberish, and God, he’d been scared. He’d woken to the dawn, certain he’d been in that dream for days.
Since then, every night but one had been disturbed by Decker’s cackling face. The one night she didn’t make an appearance he had dreamed of his mother’s death. He had woken to darkness and tears, unable to go back to sleep.
* * *
The Decker revival had been made worse by the fact that nobody had been around – nobody he wanted to confide in, at least.
He had fled the scene without a word to the supervising officers, or even to J. J. Metah, the attending FRS technician. Only the cop on guard by the entrance to the floor of Alice Decker’s office saw him leave, pale and hurried.
The next day had been Thursday. Jonah had spoken to J. J., expecting that some physical sign of the event must have been recorded.
‘Did you see anything after the recording stopped, J. J.?’ he asked, keeping it as casual as he could while his heart pounded loudly in his ear.
‘No,’ J. J. told him. ‘The live feed was off. I was busy getting the footage ready for handover. What happened? You’d already gone when I came out.’
‘I … just got a little dizzy,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘Needed some air.’
He had really wanted to talk to Never Geary first, but Never had been at a conference in Vancouver, and was due back at work on Tuesday.
Jonah had called him by afternoon, even though he’d tried hard to resist, not wanting his friend to worry. But Never’s familiar Northern Irish accent had been good to hear.
Jonah filled him in.
‘They’ll tell you it’s overwork,’ Never replied. There was a buzz in the background that Jonah assumed was conference-hall murmurs, until he heard the clink of glass nearby.
‘Are you in a bar, Never?’ Silence for a moment, but Jonah could swear he heard Never’s grin.
‘Might be. All finished for the day, I’m catching up with a few people. And don’t change the subject. It was overwork. You know it was.’
Jonah hesitated, wanting to agree, to try to forget it, but he had too many doubts not to share them. ‘That’s the thing. I don’t know.’
‘What the hell else could it have been?’
Jonah knew the question had been meant rhetorically, but it still made him pause. ‘I talk to the dead for a living, Never. There’s plenty we don’t know.’
‘Talk it over with Jennifer.’ Jennifer Early was the FRS counsellor. She was a busy woman.
‘I don’t want to make a big deal about it.’
‘Talk it over with her, Jonah. Promise me.’
Jonah had promised.
* * *
By nine o’clock the office was busy, readying for the day ahead. As it was Monday, those who had worked over the weekend were passing on the details of the revivals that had taken place. Jonah listened with half an ear, but Sam Deering’s morning meeting at nine-thirty would bring him up to speed if there was anything worth hearing. In the meantime, he was managing to concentrate enough on paperwork to make actual progress. Gossip could wait.
‘Morning, Jonah.’ Jonah looked up to see Sam smiling at him. When they had first met, almost twelve years before, Jonah had been a frightened boy of fourteen. Eleanor Preston had still been a novelty at the time, known to the world for less than six months. Sam had been fifty-two, looking much younger and with the energy to match. The energy was still there, but the years had finally caught up with his hairline.
Jonah smiled back. ‘Hey, Sam.’
‘How are you?’ Sam’s eyes were serious and concerned. It was a pointed question, not a nicety. After speaking to Never by phone, Jonah had finally gone to Sam and told him what had happened. Sam had sent him to the counsellor at once, but Jonah could see the disappointment, and he knew why it was there. They’d known each other a long time, ever since Jonah’s mother had died and he’d stumbled into his revival ability in appalling circumstances. Sam and Jonah were close, yet it had taken twenty-four hours and a push from Never before Jonah had gone to him.
‘I’m much better,’ Jonah lied, but whether Sam bought it he couldn’t tell.
‘Good. I’ve spoken to Jennifer this morning. Can you come to my office later?’
‘Sure,’ Jonah said, managing a smile as Sam left but feeling sick inside. They were going to take him out of active duty for a while, he knew. Another break, to let him recoup.
Two years ago, Jonah had suffered from burnout. Overwork had led to erratic, self-destructive behaviour that had peaked in a breakdown after a bad revival experience. It had meant two months off work, something that had proved difficult. Painful, almost.
For Jonah, revival was all he had to offer, so he offered it completely. Revival wasn’t a job. It was what he was.
* * *
Just after nine-thirty he joined everyone as they gathered near Sam’s office. Sam stood outside his office door and raised his hand, waiting for the chatter to settle.
‘Welcome, everyone. The start of a beautiful day, and so far a quiet one. First up, the Vancouver conference went well. Congratulations to all who gave talks. I see most of you are back, hopefully not too hung over.’ He got scattered laughter at that; Jonah could see Pru Dryden as she shook her head with a rueful look, which turned into a sheepish smile.
‘Most of the presentations were recorded,’ Sam continued. ‘We’ll have them available on the intranet in the next few days. I think Never’s back tomorrow…?’ He looked over to Jonah, and got a nod. ‘He’ll organize it and mail everyone the link. The weekend was busy as always, and North East are short and might ask for cover. Anyone with court appearances lined up this week, try and find out if they really need you. We can’t afford to have our people hanging around court all day if they’re not going to be called. We need all the people we can get. Any questions?’ There were no takers. ‘Then that’s it from me. Good luck as always.’ He caught Jonah’s eye and inclined his head towards his office door with a questioning look.
Jonah nodded. Now was as good a time as any. He walked against the tide of people returning to their desks; as he was about to reach Sam, Hugo Adler, Sam’s deputy, beat him to it and started to talk budget allocations.
‘Go on in, Jonah,’ Sam said, sounding like a condemned man. ‘I’ll be a few minutes.’
Jonah took a seat, and as he waited he glanced around the walls of Sam’s office. Pictures featuring Sam, spanning his FRS career. That kind of picture would soon be no more, Jonah realized; Sam was retiring in two weeks.
It would be strange, the FRS without Sam Deering. Sam had practically invented forensic revival. He had been working for the FBI at the Quantico forensic lab when revival had emerged, and had been their man at Baseline. Initially there to observe and validate the methods being used, it hadn’t taken him long to realize the potential and form a group of researchers whose focus differed from all the others. Rather than investigating the deeper meaning of the revival phenomenon, they would look instead at something far more practical.
And while the other research teams struggled, Sam’s surged ahead, exploring the possibility of the forensic use of revival.
With time and care, two key facts were established: a revived subject knew no more and no less than they had while alive; and revivers had a clear feel for the emotional state of the subject, able to tell whether what was said was truth, lies or evasion. This second fact was the single most important development for forensic use.
>
To have the killer’s name spoken aloud by a victim of murder, and the truth of it known beyond doubt, was breathtaking.
It took time for revival evidence to be accepted, but Sam and his team were patient and determined. The work paid off. And, as the number of revivers around the world increased, so did the viability of Sam’s core idea – that forensic revival could become routine.
The first criminal application was in a simple murder case. The victim, stabbed in the heart, quickly identified his killer. Confronted with the video evidence of the corpse accusing him from the grave, the murderer confessed. Press response was dramatic, calling for widespread use of the technique; public opinion concurred.
Sam was asked to head up a small unit of revivers for a trial period at Quantico. A tiny office building housed Sam, five administrative assistants, four technicians, and the six best revivers he could steal from the various research groups at Baseline.
There were many who expected the trial to fail. Criminals would learn, they said. Sufficient damage to the body made revival impossible. Decapitation would become standard practice.
Those naysayers had missed the point. The true worth wouldn’t be in targeting professional criminals. Yes, those in the know would take a little extra care, but they always had. Even before revivals, the best-planned murders had one thing in common – no one would find the body at all.
Revival would be best for the cases where murder had been poorly thought out, or where it had been badly executed; where it had been rushed, or where it had been spur of the moment. Inept, sloppy, complacent. And that covered most of them.
Sure enough, amateur killers who thought they knew how to prevent revival did their best, but even when they succeeded, the additional mess and complication often proved their downfall.
The public in general had a limited idea of what revivers could actually achieve. The more lurid novels and television dramas played fast and loose with the truth for narrative convenience, just as they did with every other area of forensic science. As a result, belief ranged from one extreme to the other – from thinking that any significant damage to a corpse stopped revival, to thinking that no amount of injury or putrefaction could prevent it.
The trial was a success. Sam’s team moved to their current site in Richmond and established the Forensic Revival Service. Cases came to them from all over the country, even though transporting a body shaved a good 20 to 30 per cent off the revival chances.
While Baseline ground to a halt and closed down, the FRS grew rapidly. One office became five across the US; five became twelve. Overall management was moved to the largest of the regional offices, in Chicago. And Sam Deering was happy to remain, quietly excelling in what was now called the Central East Coast Forensic Revival Service.
‘Sorry about that, Jonah,’ said Sam from behind him.
Jonah turned his head and gave Sam a nervous smile. ‘Problems?’
‘Budgets. One thing I’ll not miss when I go.’ He sat behind his desk and typed at his keyboard, peering at his monitor as he reached for reading glasses and put them on. ‘Jennifer sent her report through last night and discussed it with me this morning. Before we talk about it, though, I wanted to congratulate you again on the Decker case. It was a difficult job, and I hope you appreciate what you achieved. Did you hear any more about it?’
‘Beyond what was on the news, no,’ said Jonah. ‘They didn’t give many details, but they said a man had been caught. I presumed it was Roach. Since then, nothing.’
‘I got word from a friend. They’ll be making some of it public in a few days, but I thought you should hear it all. Roach was a weight junkie, had been for years. Steroid abuse. Whatever he’d been taking, it led to psychotic episodes. They got it under control, but then his wife left him and took their young son with her. He challenged for custody. Alice Decker had been part of the assessment panel that Roach blamed for losing his case, as if he ever stood a chance. Her opinion had been damning. Then Roach fell back into his old ways. He snapped, and went looking for some payback. Twenty minutes after you got the name, police were at his home.’
‘They found him there?’
‘No.’
‘He went after the others on the assessment panel?’
‘No. Decker was his first and only target from the panel. She was also the only woman, which I suspect is no coincidence. No. They found him at his ex-wife’s.’
Jonah’s face fell. This could be bad. ‘Shit.’
Sam saw the look in Jonah’s eye. ‘Don’t worry, she’s fine. She wasn’t there, wouldn’t have been for another hour. But Roach was waiting inside the house when the police arrived. He’d broken in around back. When they arrested him he had a collection of pills that would kill an elephant. It wasn’t a friendly visit.’
Jonah was quiet.
‘Be proud, Jonah. Decker was rated a ten per cent chance. Even for you, that’s impressive.’
Jonah nodded, but it was half-hearted. It had been a good result, sure, but he expected no less from himself. He was one of the best revivers in the country, at least as far as the difficult cases went. Overall, others performed better: a more natural instinct for asking the right questions; more consistent in getting everything that was needed; more effective in court appearances. But when conditions made success very unlikely, or when another reviver failed to bring a subject back, he was always first choice. All he could think of now was the result of Jennifer’s report. ‘OK, Sam, but can we get this over with?’
Sam sighed. ‘All right. Jennifer has serious concerns about the way you’re dealing with this. And I share them.’
Jonah was fidgeting. ‘She said I was hallucinating.’
‘You were, Jonah. Of course you were. You’ve been through it before. I don’t understand your reluctance to—’
Jonah interrupted. ‘It wasn’t the same. This was lucid. I didn’t lose consciousness, I didn’t black out. This happened.’
‘Jennifer mentioned your difficulty sleeping since the revival. And you mentioned a feeling of being watched.’
‘I didn’t hallucinate,’ Jonah insisted. ‘The camera powered down, I didn’t imagine it. I didn’t imagine any of it.’
‘Nobody else saw anything.’
‘Recording had stopped. They weren’t looking at the feed from the camera.’
Sam skimmed his eyes over Jennifer’s report again. ‘After your problems two years ago, your workload was reduced. But over time, it’s crept up. Your case load over the last four months averages out above your guideline maximum, and the peaks are unacceptably high. Too much for too long. You’re overtired, overworked and experiencing clear symptoms of burnout again. You of all people should understand what that means.’
Jonah looked down to avoid Sam’s eyes. Of course he knew, even before his previous episode. The toll the revival process could have was something all revivers understood well.
To be swamped with the emotions and memories of a revived subject left a mark, one that required careful monitoring. Eleanor Preston had experienced few symptoms, but all her subjects had been expecting both their death and their brief awakening. With those subjects who were not so prepared, robbed of life through accident or murder, it was much harder on the reviver and could lead to severe exhaustion and temporary loss of ability. The reviver could even be left with some of those extreme emotions and those memories; they were known as remnants, and they could hang around for days.
Rest periods were crucial to avoid these problems. Most revivers were what they called long-tail, a ‘tail’ referring to the length of time they had to wait after performing a revival before another could even be attempted. Too soon, and the chance of success was minimal. A typical reviver had to wait thirty-six hours before their chances recovered even by 50 per cent, and seventy-two hours for them to return to normal. Their rest periods were built in.
Short-tailers were those who recovered their ability faster than average. Jonah’s was the shortest in the department
, returning in full after twenty hours; partly why he was so vulnerable to overwork.
Jonah looked down. ‘It felt real.’
‘That’s the thing, Jonah. It often does. Some of your colleagues have experienced exactly that. Stop talking about this as anything other than hallucination. It’s not helpful. You’ve had them before.’
Jonah’s voice rose a little in frustration. ‘Not like this.’
Sam paused. ‘Granted. But talk to Pradesh. Talk to Stacy. They’ve both had genuinely frightening—’
Jonah cut in. ‘They both blacked out, Sam. People were there to see it.’
‘I know. But they thought what happened was real. That’s the point. Talk to them. And don’t worry. It happens, and all it means is that you need a break.’
Jonah shuffled in his seat. ‘What kind of break?’
‘Well, we’re short staffed, so you’ll have to work most of the week. Jason’s back from vacation on Thursday, which should let us arrange things better. But you’re here to make up the numbers, understand? Spend a few days catching up on your backlog of paperwork. If absolutely necessary, you can handle a simple case, but only from Wednesday – any sooner and Jennifer would kill me. OK? Then you get a full week off work, no arguments. And no coming in just to see what we’re up to. I know what you’re like.’
Jonah said nothing in reply, and looked away.
Sam continued. ‘After that … well, you know we have a group coming from San Diego.’ Jonah nodded. Five new revivers and a dozen technicians were coming over for training. ‘You were already going to be helping out, but I think you should focus on that and do as few revivals as possible. At least two months with week-long tails, then back to full workload gradually.’
Jonah’s face crumpled.
‘Sorry,’ Sam added. ‘But believe me, Jonah – there’s nothing wrong with you that rest won’t fix.’
Jonah looked up and sighed, resigned to it. ‘OK, Sam. OK.’
* * *
Just after five, as the end of his working day approached, he headed to the office kitchen to make a coffee and kill some time. He heard Never Geary’s familiar voice coming from within, and found Never speaking to Sam Deering.
