Reviver: A Novel

by Seth Patrick

  He had resented the idea that was so clearly behind the gift – to give him a focus and some responsibility, and stop him from trying to do anything similar again. Even so, he had warmed to Marmite the cat. It had crapped in Never’s lap that first day, so warming to it hadn’t proved hard.

  ‘Your milk was off too,’ continued Never. ‘And the heat’s made the dishes in your sink go rancid. I would’ve washed them but I had to find a bag and grab you some clothes. Now,’ he said, hurling the console at his friend. ‘Pick your game.’

  * * *

  Jonah had to admit it, he felt good as he walked into the sunshine, a welcome fresh breeze taking the ferocity out of the heat. The rest had been long overdue, and he was full of energy.

  He wanted time on his own, though, and Never understood, seeing him into a taxi and making him promise to call later that day and let him know how he was doing.

  The taxi to his apartment building passed the FRS office on the way. His apartment was only a ten-minute walk from it, the proximity being one of the reasons he lived where he did – that, and the level of privacy he had there, top floor of a six-floor building, nobody above him and quiet neighbours.

  He bounded up the stairs to his front door. Inside, his apartment was suspiciously tidy.

  In the kitchen, the dishes were done, a fresh quart of milk in the fridge. ‘Sometimes, Never Geary, you surprise me,’ he mumbled with a smile.

  He dumped his bag on the sofa beside his sleeping cat, then turned on the television, flicking between the coverage of the July Fourth celebrations.

  He switched off his brain and let them get on with it.

  * * *

  Jonah and Never arrived twenty minutes after the time they’d been told, at the small bar in Stafford that Bob Crenner had chosen for the sole reason – according to Never – that he knew one of the owners, an ex-detective from Philadelphia who had a habit of getting drunk and doling out free drinks to fellow law enforcers. Jonah looked around and approved of the place. It was quiet.

  He spotted Bob Crenner and seven others, seeing Nala George at the far corner of the two tables they had pushed together. Crenner nodded in greeting, and Jonah waved and pointed to the bar.

  ‘I’ll get them in,’ Never told him. ‘You go sit.’ The look in his eye made it clear he was kidding. He knew better than anyone where Jonah’s comfort zone was.

  ‘I’ll wait.’

  When they ordered, the barman told them their drinks were on Bob Crenner. They took the spare seats beside Crenner and Ray Johnson at the end of the table nearest the bar.

  ‘Jonah!’ said Crenner. ‘Glad you could make it.’

  ‘Well, Never said you’d not do it without me.’

  A sly smile crept onto Crenner’s face. ‘It got you here!’ He raised his glass and his voice. ‘Everyone, to Jonah. A good day’s work. Cheers!’

  All the others raised their glasses. Jonah could feel his cheeks redden and his smile stalling. He was relieved that conversations started up quickly.

  Bob Crenner clinked his glass against Jonah’s. ‘We were all worried about you,’ he said. ‘I figured I at least owed you a drink for what you did.’

  ‘No problem, Bob. Strangling bystanders is all part of the service. Lucky he was the right guy.’

  Bob smiled. ‘No luck in it.’ He lowered his voice. ‘That kind of thing happen often?’

  Jonah met his eyes and grimaced. ‘First time for me. But they’ve taken me off revivals for a while. Overworked.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ray Johnson chipped in. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Not quite the same, Ray,’ said Bob.

  Jonah took a drink. ‘I owe you. If you hadn’t questioned him…’

  ‘We’d have missed him, and you’d be up on aggravated assault and suspended?’ Jonah nodded, with a nervous laugh, and Bob laughed back. ‘All part of my service. But I wasn’t psychic. You should’ve seen his face when we pulled you away from him. He was ready to give it up. The guy was sweating guilt. He’d been planning on stealing the jewellery, making it look like a burglar got lucky, messing the place up as quietly as he could.’

  Ray Johnson stepped in, eager to tell. ‘Nikki was an accident. He hadn’t realized she was badly injured until he was leaving. He broke the glass to raise the alarm. Fucking obscene, really, prick like that fucks up and a girl dies.’ Ray paused, shaking his head. ‘Bob implied the glass particles on his shoes would be enough on its own, but the guy was assuming he’d been named in the revival. We told him we couldn’t comment on that. Made the man think it was his last chance to get it off his chest, make it clear it was an accident. He bit.’

  Jonah thought of Nikki. The pointlessness of it; her death was a stupid mistake, by a fool who had given himself away by trying to help her, but had left it too late.

  ‘Did he know the family?’ asked Never.

  ‘He lived on the street,’ said Bob. ‘Knew them in passing.’

  Jonah waited to see if there was any sign of Nikki Wood in his head, but there was nothing. He looked at Bob. ‘What are they charging him with?’

  ‘They could argue felony murder and go for first degree, but I think he’ll plea bargain for second.’

  The four men were silent, reflecting.

  ‘A result, all the same,’ said Bob. ‘Cheers.’ He lifted his glass.

  * * *

  Jonah sipped at his drink, listening to Bob and his colleagues exchange stories of earlier cases they’d been on. They didn’t talk any more about the Nikki Wood case, and for that he was grateful.

  He returned from a rest-room trip to find Never waiting for him by the bar, Coke in one hand, beer in the other.

  ‘You’re driving,’ said Jonah.

  ‘This is for you,’ said Never, handing over the beer. ‘It’s good to see a smile on your face. Thought I’d keep it there awhile longer. You’re normally such a miserable fucker.’

  Jonah smiled, welcoming the drink. ‘What would my doctor say?’

  ‘He’d say you’re a miserable fucker too. Now, uh, Jonah … you notice that the lovely Miss George is here?’

  Jonah guessed his meaning. He shook his head. ‘No. I could feel the chill when she put a hand on my shoulder last week. Shirt and overalls in the way, so she didn’t notice, but I could tell. It’d be pretty strong.’

  ‘Sorry. Uh … you OK if I…?’

  ‘If you want a shot, be my guest.’

  Grinning, Never slapped his hand on Jonah’s back. ‘You are a good, good friend.’

  Jonah said nothing in reply. You too.

  As they sat, Ray Johnson pointed out Never’s Coke. ‘Designated driver?’ Ray asked.

  Never laughed, seeing Ray’s orange juice. ‘Snap. Been driving all day, feels like. Onsite in Elizabeth City. Five-hour round trip and we were there for two hours. Apparent suicide, a well-off old guy found hanged in woodland.’

  ‘Genuine?’ asked Ray. About one in eight suicides was revived, a deterrent both to the suicidal and to those thinking about passing off murder as one.

  ‘Oh aye,’ said Never, giving him a weary look. ‘Deeply fucked off that he’d been brought back, and in no way helpful, but definitely a genuine suicide.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Ray. ‘You guys must have some tales to tell.’

  ‘Nikki Wood was your second revival, right?’ Never said.

  Ray nodded. ‘Second as detective. Third I ever witnessed. Just over a year before I made detective, I was first on scene at a homicide near Motts Run Reservoir, body dumped in haste. The head had been partially hacked off at the scene, an obvious attempt to prevent revival, but they’d been interrupted. There was blood everywhere. I stayed to help with scene control as the better-paid took over.’ He got a groan from the other detectives around the table. ‘I ended up chatting with the liaison officer the forensic revivers had sent out to assess the situation. The officer had said it was a long shot, and she was right – it proved too long in the end. I watched, and it was pretty grim. All that goddamn blo
od, but no luck. Even so, they had an ID soon enough. The killers had been so worried about taking the victim’s head off they hadn’t searched his pockets thoroughly. His driver’s licence was there.’ He waited for the laughter to die down. ‘It was only four days before I heard they’d found their guys, and in the end it was the mess of blood that had guaranteed conviction. Traces in their car, clothes, everywhere. Even the ones who think they know what to do get it wrong, and thank God for that.’

  Across the table, Nala George nodded to Jonah and Never. ‘We’ve been sharing ours, you two must have some. What’s the strangest case you’ve had?’

  Jonah and Never shared a look. ‘Suggestions?’ he asked Never, trying to pass the baton.

  ‘Shit, man. You worked in Baseline. There was some pretty bizarre stuff there.’

  The others were suitably impressed by mention of his Baseline past, and Jonah had just enough alcohol in his bloodstream. What to tell? There were plenty of revivals that stuck in Jonah’s mind, not least that twisted wreck of a car, when he’d had to bring the unseen subject back by reaching into the wreckage. But that was too raw. Something else. ‘OK, OK. Since you mentioned your case, Ray, with the head partially hacked off. Early on, they didn’t know much, and things were limited to whatever bodies happened to find their way to us, but once the forensic research kicked off they were trying everything. I did a head once. Seriously. I mean, now we know that total decapitation rules revival out, whatever you do after. Nobody has any idea why, but nobody really knows what the hell revival is anyway. Back then, they were trying to see where the line was, and they had varying test subjects with different amounts and types of connective tissue still attached between head and body. They thought something interesting might come out of it if they could narrow it down. So one of mine was a head. On its own.’ He took a drink and looked around at the grossed-out faces. ‘And I sat there and I reached out a hand. I mean, what the hell do you do? Grab an ear? I cupped this corpse’s cheek and began. I concentrated.’ He lowered his voice, putting on as serious an expression as he could muster. The others stopped smiling, listening in silence. ‘There wasn’t a sound, everyone just watching, waiting to see if this corpse-head’s eyes would flicker open. And five minutes later…’

  He let them stew for a few seconds.

  ‘What happened?’ said Nala.

  ‘I burst out laughing. And it was contagious. Everyone in the room was on the floor. End of revival attempt.’

  In the middle of a laugh, Ray caught himself and frowned. ‘That’s pretty sick.’ Then he started laughing again.

  ‘Like Never said, Baseline did some bizarre things.’

  ‘Another!’ said Ray.

  Jonah finished his beer and held it up. ‘A story for a drink,’ he said.

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Ray.

  ‘I warn you,’ said Never. ‘He normally says fuck all, but if you get him drinking you can’t shut him up.’

  While Ray went to the bar, Jonah considered what story he would go with. He settled on the revival of Lyssa Underwood, another case at Baseline where they were trying to push limits. Fresh beer in hand, he began: ‘I’d been requested for a project at short notice, no information about its nature, but that wasn’t unusual. In Baseline most of the revivers weren’t permanently affiliated with a specific project, and things came up at short notice sometimes. But when I went in I didn’t recognize any of the project staff, and the unfamiliar faces made me uneasy. Then I saw the subject. A young woman, in her late twenties. Rare in Baseline, the norm was older, terminal patients willing to take part in exchange for improved care in their last weeks, and money for their families. But it was what surrounded her that gave me the creeps.

  ‘Her body was on the usual gurney. On one side was equipment that resembled a dialysis machine, clear liquid with a hint of green and blue running through spinning components and emerging through tubes which fed into the body at multiple entry sites – neck, arms, chest. A soft mechanical whirr came from the machine, but there was another sound too, the thing I found the most unnerving. A regular, driving beat.

  ‘The machine had a pulse.

  ‘They explained that it was all about preservation. Reduction of rigor, improving revival chances. Pump the blood out, switch in a synthetic version. They hadn’t had any success, but then they hadn’t come to me before.’ Jonah grinned and got an uneasy laugh. ‘We started, and to begin with it was tough. At last I figured it, and in the end it was easy, like realizing that a door says push when you’re trying to pull.’

  He thought back to the moment he’d sensed Lyssa Underwood. She had still seemed distant, which had struck him as odd. ‘They were working with scripted questions, so the researcher would call out a number and I would read out the question. Right from the start she seemed confused, and there was a terrible loneliness. Question 1, they said, and I asked for her name. All she said in reply was: The cities are burning. Question 2, and I asked her when her birthday was. She replied: The shadow is falling.

  ‘Every question, she said the same kind of thing. “The cities are burning.” “The shadow is falling.” There was no hint of evasion or lying, but her confusion was considerable. I started to ask her if she understood what was happening, but the researchers ordered me to stick to their questions.

  ‘The final question was the one that I remember most. I thought, Why the hell would they include something like that? The question was: Why are you frightened? She said nothing for a while, then she gave her answer. The cities are burning. The shadow has come. Everything dies. After that they stopped the revival. They looked as baffled as I was.’

  ‘What the hell had happened?’ Nala asked. Jonah looked at her, realizing how unnerved she was.

  ‘Sometimes they come back confused. I’m more used to that now, but like I said, in Baseline the subjects were typically terminal patients, well prepared before they died. This one can’t have been prepared at all. Something about the preservation techniques must have exacerbated it, because it was more than simple confusion. The answers she gave made no sense. Whether they kept trying with the project, I don’t know, but put it this way: you’ll have noticed that we don’t use those techniques. I can remember how lonely she felt. Isolated and bewildered.’

  He looked at the faces around him, seeing the same deep unease he felt himself. He suddenly regretted the story. He’d run with it because it had always been the moment that had creeped him out most of all, but he’d misjudged. It was too solemn, too dour, not the simple campfire creepiness they’d wanted. That wasn’t the only reason he regretted bringing it up. It had been a stressful time in Baseline, with upheaval and controversy that he didn’t want to think about. Bad choice.

  He looked at Never. ‘Your turn,’ he said. ‘Something more fun, I think.’

  Ray spoke up. ‘First things first, Never. Why the name? Is it Irish?’

  Jonah and Never both grinned at that.

  ‘It’s how often he’s quiet,’ said Jonah.

  ‘Shut up,’ Never said. ‘Ignore him. It’s how often my equipment fails.’ Ray and Nala shared a look, then both started laughing. ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Never said, defensive, looking to Jonah for backup.

  Jonah shrugged, smiling. Although Never had a dozen different explanations of how he’d got the name, Jonah knew this one was the truth. Back when the FRS was just starting up, he’d been plain old Rob Geary. The revival recording equipment design team he was part of had been given an acceptable failure rate of one in a thousand revivals. Rob Geary had campaigned so hard for a rate of never that he’d ended up being named after it.

  ‘Tell them a story, Never,’ Jonah said, and Never reeled off his favourites.

  The stories continued, and Never moved seats to be beside Nala, who was obviously fascinated by the topic and wanted to hear more. Jonah listened to the others but kept an eye on his friend, wishing him luck as he kept her laughing and shocked in equal measure.

  At ten-thirty, Ray stood. �
�Sorry, guys, I have to get going. Early start.’

  Groans came from around the table, and those depending on Ray for their ride began gathering their stuff. That included Nala George. Never caught Jonah’s eye and shrugged. Jonah raised his eyebrows as a question, but Never gave a small shake of his head. Didn’t get anywhere.

  Nala stood and made her way around the table. She stopped at Jonah and crouched to his level. Jonah tensed.

  ‘I wanted to say thank you,’ she said. ‘The way you treated the parents … It let them get through it.’ She nodded towards Never. ‘He told me how some of your colleagues would’ve handled it. Doesn’t bear thinking about. Anyway, thank you.’

  Jonah assumed Never had been talking about Jason Shepperton, hopefully not by name. He opened his mouth to reply; the distraction of thinking what to say made him fail to see it coming.

  Too late, Never saw what was about to happen. ‘Don’t…!’ he called, raising a hand.

  By then Nala had already moved her head over just a little, to give Jonah a peck on the cheek.

  A friendly kiss, a kiss of gratitude. The chill Jonah felt was immediate and intense: an agonizing cold, a strong taint of death. He jerked his head back, then turned. Nala was staring at him, horrified, her eyes wide and wet. She’d not experienced it before, and would have felt it even more acutely than Jonah had.

  ‘Oh Jesus…’ she said. ‘I didn’t … I didn’t know…’ Then she started rubbing at her lips, fear in her eyes; Jonah’s face crumbled, and she stood and backed away, trembling.

  She hadn’t known. Some people just didn’t. Didn’t understand it wasn’t only contact with a reviver’s hand that gave chill. Didn’t realize how severe it could be.

  Jonah didn’t know where to look, and stared down at his drink, aware that the table had fallen silent. He was first to move, heading for the exit, ignoring Never’s call.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Never sighed. He grabbed Ray’s arm and nodded to Nala, who had slumped back down into a chair and was staring at the floor, rubbing hard at her lips every few seconds. ‘Hang around for another drink, Ray. She needs it.’ He turned to Bob Crenner. ‘Well, Bob, I gotta go.’