by Seth Patrick
‘We’re going there this evening, although I don’t know if Eldridge is aware of it yet. And this time we may as well go as ourselves. With Vernet, I didn’t want to scare him off, in case he had more of a connection to Yarrow that we thought. Here, though, we’ll play it like we’ll do with Andreas. Grieving daughter doing a piece on revival and her father’s legacy. Getting the views of various revivers, and surely those of a dying reviver are even more poignant? In the end, though, there’s one big advantage Annabel Harker has over Sarah Townes, and that’s what’s really getting our foot in the door.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘The hospice he’s in makes a specialty of handling psychiatric patients free of charge if they can. Catching the people who fall through the cracks, and the cracks are pretty big. But they struggle to keep that going.’
Jonah looked blank.
‘I’m going to donate. We leave in an hour and a half. First, I need to eat. I’m fixing some pasta. You want some?’
‘I guess I could do with eating something.’
‘Good.’ She showed him to the living room and pointed out a door in the far wall. ‘I won’t be long. There’s a rec room through there, try and relax.’
‘Thanks,’ said Jonah as she left, managing not to add: I know.
He walked through to the rec room and stood by the pool table, taking in the room and feeling a strong sense of home. He glanced around, finding with ease the remote for the huge-screen TV on the wall, and flipped on the power for the main audio unit. He ran through a dozen channels before settling on music. He wanted to be active, but mindlessly so, and playing pool seemed a good choice, a little music in the background to take the edge off the oddness he was feeling.
He racked the balls and showed off his ineptitude for ten minutes as his mind began to wander. In the corner of the room was a small bar. On top, there were several framed family photographs.
He picked one of them up. It showed Daniel with his wife.
‘Robin,’ he said. Robin Harker. Jonah winced at the agony of it, the ongoing, relentless agony. He set the picture down quickly, his hand drawing back as if the photo were dangerous. He turned, intending to play more pool, but another memory surfaced.
Annabel standing in the doorway, eyes red with tears.
‘Didn’t you think I’d be upset, Dad?’ she said. She was younger; her accent far less English than the one Jonah knew. ‘I needed you there. Mom needed you there.’
‘I couldn’t do it,’ said Daniel, his back to her. ‘I couldn’t.’
‘She didn’t understand, Dad.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Daniel turned around. Jonah groped for the context; then it hit him, and it hit hard. Robin was dead. Daniel couldn’t deal with it. He’d refused to attend the revival.
‘It was your last chance to say good-bye, Dad. It was her last chance. Don’t you realize how much that hurts? She missed you, Dad. Jesus. She missed you.’
Annabel looked at Daniel with such disappointment, it was unbearable; he looked away from her.
‘Christ, Dad. Don’t you even give a damn how hard it was for me?’
Daniel said nothing, until his daughter turned and walked off. He started to cry. ‘Annie, I’m sorry. Please.’ She strode to the door and didn’t look back. Daniel went after her. ‘Please, Annie! I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’
His daughter went out into the night, not shutting the front door, leaving a black gaping hole. His wife was dead. His daughter hated him. Daniel Harker fell to his knees, crippled by it all.
Jonah was suddenly aware of the present. He felt the heat of panic, disorientation. He felt thirsty.
‘Jesus,’ he said. He felt his pocket. He was still carrying the bottle of pills Stephanie Graves had given him. Just in case.
Maybe it was to be expected. Familiar surroundings. Old, bad memories. Someone else’s old, bad memories. Remnants of the kind he was more used to.
Annabel came through with two bowls of penne. ‘You OK?’ she said. ‘I thought I heard something.’ Jonah shook his head and reached for his bowl. As she passed it over, her hand brushed his.
Reflex kicked in. He pulled his hand away; the bowl thudded to the ground, intact but contents spilled. She looked at him, puzzled.
Angry with himself, Jonah looked at the mess, then back at Annabel. ‘Sorry. It’s habit. People get chill really badly from me.’
‘You know I don’t get chill.’
‘I know, but contact makes me … jumpy. Hard habit to break. You must have met revivers before. I can’t be the most fucked up person you know.’ He smiled but bent down the moment he’d finished speaking, just in case he saw the answer in her eyes and didn’t like it. He started gathering the spillage back into the bowl.
‘I met a few,’ said Annabel. ‘When I was a kid. While Dad was writing the second book, we’d have them over. Some people have a real fear of revivers. Not me. Maybe because I didn’t get chill. Mom and Dad didn’t get it either.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, handing the bowl back to her. ‘I’ll get a cloth, and—’
‘It can wait. Jonah, you have to promise me something.’ She looked at him until he nodded. ‘Don’t ever apologize for things that aren’t your fault. And don’t ever be ashamed of what you are.’
She watched him, waiting. ‘OK,’ he managed.
‘Good. Now, follow me.’ She tapped his bowl. ‘There’s more in the kitchen.’
They ate in silence at the kitchen table, hunger taking over.
Finished, Jonah looked at the clock on the wall. It wouldn’t be long before they left to see Eldridge, and there was something Jonah had to ask her.
‘What did your dad tell you, Annabel? About why I wanted to track Eldridge down?’
‘You shared the remnant problem. Eldridge had the same thing, a revived subject taking control.’
‘That was all he said?’
She nodded.
‘There was something else, before my remnant problems started. Something happened in a revival. It was dismissed as hallucination, written off as overwork. Eldridge had a similar revival experience, just before his remnant troubles boiled over. They wrote his off as overwork too. There’s a connection here, and I want to understand it.’
‘What happened?’
‘The revival subject in both cases panicked. They thought something was coming, something dark and terrifying, something predatory. Eldridge’s subject just stopped being there. Mine, I let go before that could happen. And then … Then it spoke to me. Nobody else witnessed it. But it spoke.’ His voice fell to a whisper. ‘Something long dead. Something not human.’
She looked at him, pale. ‘So what Vernet said … It didn’t strike you as just talk.’
‘No. Whatever it was, there was one overriding sense I had of it. Evil. I want it to be explained away. I want it to have been all in my mind. But I don’t think it was.’
* * *
They arrived at the Walter Hodges Hospice just after 5 p.m. Much of the front of the main building was enclosed in scaffolding; at the base of the scaffold was a placard, a cartoon of a smiling circle with a single giant hand, thumb up, ‘Thanks for your donations!’ printed below. The hospice was adjacent to a larger and more modern medical centre that looked in much better health than its ailing sibling. They parked in the shared lot at the rear of the building complex; Annabel had taken her mother’s red Porsche Boxster, insisting Jonah ride with her rather than take his own car. He’d spent the journey going over the information Annabel’s hacker had unearthed.
They walked around to the front entrance. Directly across the road was a billboard ad for the Afterlifers. Jonah stopped and frowned at it, finding the irony unpleasant. This was what the Afterlifers meant to most people now: benign, well-funded campaigners.
Inside, the reception area was busy. Annabel introduced herself, and after a ten-minute wait an athletic, greying man emerged to greet them, his face so chiselled that Jonah could only think of the ‘before’ pict
ure in a male hair-dye commercial.
‘Dr Edward Buckle,’ the man said to Annabel. ‘My condolences, Miss Harker.’
‘Thank you. This is Jonah Miller, co-writer for the piece.’
Buckle smiled. ‘Annabel, Jonah, you’re both very welcome. Anything I can do to help you, I’ll try my best. Your generosity is going to make a difference. Hospice funding is often overlooked, let alone hospice care for psychiatric patients.’ His gaze went to the main window, the view of the billboard opposite. ‘You saw the repair work we’re doing at the front. This whole building is riddled with similar problems. Yet I see that damn billboard every morning when I get to work, and I think of the money people give to them. So damn righteous, all that concern about the dead. But the living are the ones who need the help the most.’ As he spoke, he led them along a short corridor and into his office. ‘I read that the kind of people who donate to the Afterlifers are more likely to give to dying animals than dying people. You know what charities they give to least? Hospices and the mentally ill. You can guess where that puts us.’
Annabel nodded. ‘I know exactly what you mean. The Afterlifers have managed to create this intense media focus on death, but it’s all from the wrong direction.’
‘Precisely!’ said Buckle. He sat behind his desk and gestured for Annabel and Jonah to sit too. ‘All from the wrong direction. Death is an expensive business. Insurance companies have improved since I started here, I admit, but once they find a way to disown a patient, it’s not pretty. We offer as many free and partly funded places as we can, but it’s a struggle. So many people fail to get the care they need at the end of their lives, but worries about revival are what make headlines. Perhaps it’s something that would make a story in its own right, Miss Harker.’
‘It’s something I’ll give serious thought to, Doctor. Now, though, the matter at hand…’
‘Victor Eldridge,’ said Buckle, folding his hands together. ‘Victor has many problems. Confidentiality prevents me from saying any more, but he’s perfectly competent, perfectly able to make his own decisions.’
‘Did he agree to talk to me?’
‘You said that your donation was not contingent on his agreement. That’s still the case, yes?’
‘Yes,’ said Annabel. Jonah felt like swearing, but if Annabel felt the same she gave no hint of it.
‘As long as that’s clear. Yes, Victor’s very happy to talk to you. He’s permitted to receive visitors whenever he wishes, but … well, he doesn’t get many. I have things to attend to, but I’ll send someone to take you to him.’
* * *
They waited in Buckle’s office, uneasy and impatient. Annabel switched her phone off to avoid interruption; Jonah’s was in his pocket, already switched off. He’d not had it back on since he’d last spoken to Never.
After ten minutes, a young male orderly arrived to take them to Eldridge. As the orderly led the way, Jonah turned to Annabel and whispered, ‘He’s working in a place like this, but he looks about twelve.’
‘And?’
‘And I’m kinda worried for him.’
Annabel shrugged. ‘You know, I’m sure my dad thought the same about you working in Baseline.’ She caught up with the orderly and checked his name badge. ‘So, Greg, you worked here long?’
‘Six months.’
‘College, right?’
‘Uh huh. Majoring in psychology.’
‘Pay well here?’
Greg grimaced. ‘It’s OK. Gets me by, just about.’
‘What can you tell us about Mr Eldridge?’
‘I’m supposed to take you to him and wait for you outside.’
‘He’s OK on his own with us?’
‘Victor’s fine. He gets a little uptight, but he’s pretty quiet these days. He’ll pull the cord or call if he needs me.’
‘So, uh, what exactly is wrong with him?’
Greg stopped, looking so thrown Jonah wanted to pat him on the back and tell him he’d be fine, but by the determined look on Annabel’s face, he thought that’d be a lie. Greg lowered his voice to explain. ‘I … I really can’t discuss a patient’s details, Miss. It’ll be up to Victor, what gets disclosed.’
‘It’s just … well, you said he’s pretty quiet these days. Implies he used to not be quiet, that’s all. And if you knew why, it’d be really useful.’ Annabel put her hand into Greg’s pen pocket and left behind a hundred-dollar bill. Greg took it out and stared at it in silence. ‘That’s a freebie,’ said Annabel. ‘But I’ll top it up to five hundred if you tell me.’
Greg said nothing and walked on. Annabel seemed unworried. Journalist with money, thought Jonah. Like she said: dangerous combination.
* * *
They walked in silence, the innards of the building showing the lack of investment that Buckle had referred to. At last Greg opened a door that led outside. They stepped out into the open air, and the main building door swung shut. There was nobody else around.
They’d come all the way through, and beyond the eight-foot-high wire fencing they could see the parking lot they’d left forty minutes before.
‘Victor Eldridge is in number eleven,’ said Greg. ‘We have twelve of these units. Self-contained, bedroom, bathroom, small living area. We don’t typically use them for our psychiatric patients. With Victor, well … He’s behaving, and the doctors chose to give him a little dignity. A place of his own, first time in years.’
Annabel looked hard at Greg. ‘You want to elaborate?’
Greg nodded but was clearly uncomfortable. ‘Hell. OK. Here’s all I know. Before Victor Eldridge came here he had a suite of symptoms, including auditory hallucinations, extreme panic attacks. He was prone to fits. He was terrified of everything and everyone. He was unpredictable. He attacked staff from time to time and was often confined to secure units. When he was diagnosed terminal, it changed.’
‘Because of the diagnosis?’
Greg lowered his voice, glancing around. ‘More than that. He’d always had calm periods, and during one of those, they let him join in with some group recreation. One day the group wanted to play bingo. They all had their cards and those little short pencils. The story goes that one of the other inmates saw him do it. Push the pencil into his ear. Calm as anything, the inmate said, until a little stub was sticking out, maybe an inch and a half. One of the staff there at the time told me all this when Victor was transferred here. She reckoned the pencil would’ve already been through the eardrum by then. The pain must’ve been appalling, but like I said, Eldridge was calm. He stood, walked to a wall and hit the side of his head as hard as he could against it, driving the pencil in. He collapsed, blood pouring out, but he survived.’
‘What was the damage?’
‘Surgery got the thing out. Fucked up his hearing in that ear, and the pencil made it an inch into his brain. Victor was a changed man. From that day, he was no trouble.’
Annabel looked at Jonah with a hint of disappointment. Jonah raised an eyebrow; they were both thinking the same thing – was there much left of Victor Eldridge that was worth speaking to?
‘No trouble?’ said Annabel. ‘You mean…?’
Greg shook his head. ‘What, is he a vegetable? Shit no. The guy’s about as ordinary as you get. Polite, a little quiet. He’ll try and talk anyone he can into a game of chess.’
‘So what had changed?’
‘He said it had stopped the voices. Said they’d only been in that ear, said that once he’d found out he was dying, he decided he wanted some peace and quiet.’
‘But if the voices were in his head anyway…?’
Greg shrugged. ‘That’s all I know.’
‘Thanks,’ Annabel said, handing him four more bills. Greg said nothing and led the way.
The apartments had a prefab look, like the shoebox offices Jonah recalled from Baseline. Arranged in four clusters of three, with well-tended grass and flowerbeds between, there was a wide pathway connecting them to each other and to the main building.
/> At the end of the path to each cluster, a panel showed the names of the residents on small handwritten cards tucked into transparent covers.
And there, at the last cluster, was the name: ‘V Eldridge, Apt. 11’. Greg knocked.
The door was opened by a nurse, a woman in her late thirties, her name, ‘Jan’, announced on a badge.
‘Hi, Greg,’ she said.
‘Hey, Jan. Couple of people here to see Victor.’
‘So I heard. I’m all done here.’ She looked at Annabel. ‘Limit it to a half hour at most, please. He’s tired today, but he’s a stubborn one.’
Jonah looked past the woman and saw an open door leading into a bedroom: bulky monitoring equipment, cylinders of oxygen and a drip stand were visible. To the left, Jonah could see a kitchen area. An old man was shuffling around in it.
‘Victor?’ called the nurse.
The old man turned, and Jonah was taken by surprise. He wasn’t so old. Slow, and extremely thin – almost cadaverous – but no more than fifty. The man walked out of the kitchen, each step taken with care, each marked by a slight wince on his face. It took Jonah a moment to accept that this was the same man he’d seen in the video footage.
‘Is it those people, Jan?’ Eldridge was smiling, with effort. He approached, reaching for glasses that hung from a chain around his neck.
‘The people Dr Buckle mentioned, Victor, yes.’
Annabel stepped forward. ‘My name’s Annabel Harker, Mr Eldridge. This is Jonah Miller.’
Eldridge’s smile became warmer. ‘Good to meet you, Annabel.’ His eyes drifted to Jonah; he popped his glasses on and looked at Jonah for a moment, uncertain, his smile fading.
The nurse was concerned. ‘Victor?’
Eldridge forced his smile back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I’m OK, just dizzy for a moment. Jan, you can go, I’ll be fine.’
‘You’re sure?’
Eldridge smiled at her, then turned to Annabel. ‘Bless the woman, but she’s hard to get rid of sometimes.’
The nurse laughed and turned to leave, but then thought of something. ‘Actually, before I go … we’re doing a little fundraising. I wonder if you’d care to donate? Anything you can give would be appreciated.’
