The Reviver (11 page)

Where was he?

Another thought struck her: his car. Leaving the phone on the table, she ran out the front door. She had no key for the locked double garage, but around the side was a window, hemmed in by hawthorn and holly bushes. She shimmied along the narrow gap, ignoring the scratches she was suffering, until she reached the window. Inside under a sheet was her mom’s one extravagance, a red Porsche Boxster, which her dad had kept even though he didn’t drive it. He always opted for Sensible Cars, but there was a space beside the Porsche where her father’s Volvo should have been.

Images hit her of the car, tangled and burning.
Come on,
she told herself. She had her mother’s strengths, she didn’t fall apart.
Wherever you went,
she thought,
whatever made you want to get away. Just be safe. Be safe so I can shout at you, and call you a selfish old bastard, and you can hug me and tell me you’re sorry. Be safe so I can forgive you.

Back inside the house, it took four minutes for her to settle herself. When the threat of tears had gone for the time being, she realized how thirsty she was. She went to the kitchen and took a glass from the pile of clean dishes in the drainer. As she was filling the glass she saw something and froze.

On the window ledge in front of the sink, between a dying pot of basil and a Christmas cactus, was her father’s wedding ring. He had taken it off to wash those dishes and hadn’t put it back on.

He wouldn’t have left without that. He had lost it once, the year after her mother died. Its loss, although brief, had devastated him. It had finally turned up in the money tray of his car. Since then he removed it only when he washed up or showered.

He wouldn’t have left it here. Annabel picked it up, her fingers shaking. He wouldn’t have left it, no matter where he’d gone.

‘Oh Christ. Daddy?
Where are you?
’ she said, and then tears overwhelmed her.

8

‘Hey,’ said a voice. ‘Good to see you awake.’

Jonah looked to his right, confused, wondering where he was. The voice was that of a female nurse, who was smiling at him. He looked around – a private hospital room, movement visible between the half-closed slats of the blinds on the room’s one large window, past the foot of his bed. He had a strong feeling of déjà vu but couldn’t place it. He’d last been in hospital when he’d had his breakdown, but it wasn’t that.

The nurse took the chart hanging from his bed and wrote something in it. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, without looking up.

Jonah started to speak, then had to clear his throat. ‘I’m not sure.’ He groped for some context: any recent memory, anything at all, and the only image that came to mind was of a beach and blue sky. ‘What happened? I don’t remember why I’m here.’

The nurse gave him a kind look and avoided the question. ‘I’ll get Dr Connelly to come and speak to you as soon as he can. You hungry?’

Jonah had a flash of himself being sick in a stranger’s toilet. ‘No,’ he said, trying to hold the memory, unpleasant as it was. Hold it, extend it. Work out what had gone on.

The nurse nodded and replaced the chart. ‘Well, buzz if you need anything.’

She left, and Jonah tried to sit up. As he did, a tug on his arm made him notice the drip they’d hooked him up to. With a sudden shock, he realized they’d catheterized him as well.

He thought, hard; piecemeal, the Nikki Wood case came back to him. Incomplete, but enough for him to understand he was in trouble. He felt himself shrivel inside when he recalled attacking the man he’d seen. What the hell had made him do that?

Remnants. It had been remnants, leaving him confused. There was something else, something important, but the specifics evaded him.

‘Shit,’ he said. First, the delusion and hallucinations at Alice Decker’s revival. Now, a simple case of remnants and a flash of paranoia had led him to assault a member of the public. Sam would certainly ground him until he could be given an all-clear.

He sighed.

The feeling of déjà vu he’d had on waking hit him again, and he struggled to understand why. Then it came: he’d woken alone in a private hospital room after his mother’s death, fourteen years old, traumatized from the accident and utterly disoriented. The first person he’d seen that time had been his stepfather, walking in and bringing it all back, drenching Jonah in horror and panic.

The memory made him shiver. Not good times; not good times at all. For an instant he expected his stepfather to walk through the door again, that cold face torn between duty and revulsion, with the reserved anger that Jonah had spent four subsequent years living with.

The day after he’d woken that time, he had been visited by another man. Jonah had found himself liking him instantly; the first kind face he had seen since he’d woken, the first eyes that had met his without disapproval or fear.

The man introduced himself. ‘My name is Dr Sam Deering, Jonah. I’m here to talk to you about what happened.’ It seemed to Jonah that Dr Deering was nervous. A long time later, Sam would confess: every other senior researcher in Baseline had dodged the unenviable task of talking to this boy, Sam the only one who had accepted, however uncomfortable it would be.

‘I’ve brought some people with me,’ Dr Deering said. ‘Is that all right?’

Jonah nodded. Dr Deering motioned with his hand, and in walked a roughly handsome young man whose smile seemed somehow incomplete. Behind him, a young woman, with short auburn hair and eyes he found hard to look away from.

‘This is Will Barlow,’ said Dr Deering. ‘And this is Tess Neil. They’re revivers. You’ve heard of revival, Jonah?’

Jonah gave him a look and raised an eyebrow. Everyone in the
world
had heard of revival, and he had spent the previous twenty-four hours thinking of nothing else. He smiled nervously at the revivers. Tess Neil returned the smile. Will Barlow returned half of it.

‘Can I shake your hand?’ asked Barlow. Jonah didn’t yet understand what chill was, not really – he’d heard of it in articles he’d read on revival, but his impression of it was of a gentle sensation, some kind of tingle. It wouldn’t take him long before he understood and grew wary of physical contact, but for now, bemused, Jonah held out his own hand without a pause and shook the hand of Will Barlow. Reviver to reviver, there was no chill, of course. There
was
a sensation, though – a curious sense of recognition.

Will Barlow looked at Dr Deering and nodded. ‘Very strong,’ he said.

The fourteen-year-old Jonah had looked at Will Barlow and wondered why he didn’t like the man. Perhaps it was Barlow’s uncertain smile. No, he’d thought: there was arrogance there, in his eyes. More than that: cruelty.

Then Jonah had looked at Tess Neil, still smiling at him, and for the first time since his mother had died, he had felt hope.

*   *   *

The door opened and a lanky male doctor came in alone, shutting the door behind him and grabbing Jonah’s chart off the foot of the bed.

‘Hi, Jonah,’ he said. ‘Dr Connelly. Glad to have you with us. I’ve been asked not to discuss your situation in depth, I’m afraid. Dr Deering wants to speak to you directly, he’s on his way.’ Connelly glanced at the charts, then looked up. ‘I think we can have the drip out now.’

Jonah’s eyes darted to the doctor’s hands – ungloved. The doctor saw the glance. ‘Don’t worry, Jonah. It didn’t take us long to work out who had – uh – chill, isn’t it?’ Jonah nodded, and Connelly smiled. ‘Some things can be done with thicker gloves on, but some,’ he said, as he removed the needle, ‘need a little more delicacy.’

‘And the catheter, please,’ Jonah said. ‘Before I noticed it, it wasn’t a problem. Now it just feels
very
strange.’

The doctor smiled again as he placed a plaster over the needle mark on Jonah’s arm. ‘I can imagine. I’ll send a nurse in when I’m done.’

There was one question Jonah had been desperate to ask since waking. ‘How long have I been here, Doctor?’
How long do you have to be unconscious to need a drip and a catheter?

Dr Connelly’s smile faded. ‘How do you feel? Rested?’

‘To be honest, yes. I ache a little all over, but yes.’

‘Good. You’ve been out for over two days. When you arrived, we thought you might actually be in a coma. Turned out to be exhaustion. Deepest sleeper I’ve ever seen.’ Connelly leaned closer and smiled. ‘You were tired.’

Jonah laughed nervously. ‘I was tired. Right.’ The doctor clearly didn’t know the rest; the assault, for one. ‘So it’s … uh … Monday?’

‘Sunday. Now, I was told you’re not hungry, but I’d like it if you ate something. No reason why you shouldn’t, and every reason why you should. Any chance I can convince you?’ Jonah was about to decline again, when his stomach spoke up; a loud gurgle that broadened the doctor’s smile. ‘Good. I’ll have something brought in. Dr Deering should be here within the hour.’ He left Jonah to his thoughts.

*   *   *

Those thoughts turned to the time he’d finally been allowed to join Baseline. After meeting Sam, Will and Tess, he’d been invited to visit the facility every few months, but only for counselling. It was a two-hour journey to the ramshackle collection of buildings that Baseline consisted of, a bizarre mixture of decrepit and new buildings, which all had an inescapable greyness. The transcending purpose of this place – the search for what revival was, and for what lay beyond death – was at odds with the bland and grubby surroundings. He’d expected polished steel and glass, not all this worn concrete.

Jonah met none of the other revivers on those trips. It had still been too raw, too difficult. He’d found himself isolated at his school, even though no one there knew anything about what had really happened. But the other kids sensed something different about him. It was the chill, growing in strength; he avoided contact all he could. He became good at it.

Then, the month before he turned seventeen, he was invited to join Baseline as a reviver. That first, accidental revival of his mother was burned so deeply into his mind that he found himself dreading the thought of doing it again. Yet he knew he also wanted to discover more about this curious magic, this necromancy. He wanted to know what he was, and if this was the only way, so be it.

Jonah was introduced to the revivers that morning. He found it overwhelming, so many people shaking his hand, genuinely pleased to meet him. In the middle of this, he started crying openly, covering his face and unable to stop. Someone took charge and guided him out of the room for a little privacy.

He pulled his hands from his face and wiped at the tears, finding himself in a small kitchen area: kettle, sink and microwave, and a few chairs. A handkerchief was put in his hand, and he blew his streaming nose.

‘Come on,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘It’s good to let it out.’

Jonah looked up. ‘I guess I’m not used to so many people,’ he said, stumbling through his words as he recognized her. Tess Neil. He’d not seen her since that day in hospital.

Tess nodded and smiled and Jonah smiled back, realizing how beautiful she looked, and so much older than him, maybe mid-twenties; the thoughts of a sixteen-year-old boy filled his head and threatened to swamp everything else. He tried to ignore them.

‘My name’s Tess. We met before.’ She held out her hand.

Jonah shook it. ‘I remember.’ There was warmth to the touch, and the same feeling of recognition he had had with Will Barlow, but most of all he felt an electricity. And it was nothing to do with revival.

He found himself staring at her lips.

She chuckled a little – kindly, he hoped – then let go of his hand and sat him in a chair. ‘Coffee?’

Jonah nodded, sniffling and wiping the tears away. ‘Two sugars,’ he said.

‘We all know who you are, by the way. Your … story.’ Jonah’s eyes widened, nervous. ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t mean it to sound like a bad thing. You’re among friends now. You’ll like it here.’

‘I hope so.’ He blew his nose again.

Tess came over with two mugs and handed one to Jonah. She sat beside him. He could smell her perfume, subtle and glorious.

‘Keep the hankie,’ Tess said, smiling. Jonah laughed, and felt better for it. ‘So, are you sure you’re ready for all this?’

‘I’ve been in counselling for long enough,’ Jonah said. ‘I must be.
Apart
from the crying, I guess…’ With a nervous grin, he took a sip of his coffee. ‘Strange thing is, I pushed for it. Every week, I called or wrote. Now that it’s happened I don’t know how to feel. I think I wanted to be here so I could
belong.
That’s pretty stupid, huh?’

‘Not at all.’

He smiled at her again, sheepish. ‘How were you, when you started? How did they find you?’

‘Most of us were found in sweeps,’ she said. ‘I knew, myself. Things that Eleanor Preston had said in her book struck me in ways they didn’t strike others. I turned up because I knew what I am, and there were all these other people who just wanted the money that the work could bring. One by one they’d be tested, and they’d leave disappointed. Then it was just me.’

Jonah was lost in her. He was staring at her mouth again. He wanted to kiss her. He felt like an idiot. He tried to douse himself, tried to shake it off.

Tess continued. ‘They showed me into a room. It was Will doing the first-round tests, the chill tests. He’s a nice guy, best reviver here. And he knows it!’ She laughed. Jonah tried to ignore the fact she’d called Will Barlow a nice guy. He could still remember that gut feeling he’d had about the man. ‘Everyone that morning had had chill. And when I went in, Will just said, “Yeah, you’re one of us.” Before he even took my hand. Like that, like there was no question. I haven’t met anyone since who could tell that easily. Then we shook hands and … well. Then I really knew for sure.’

Jonah smiled and nodded. He blew his nose again, acutely aware of the thick, wet sound it made, and of how sodden the hankie was now. ‘Were you scared?’ he asked.

‘It’s OK to be scared.’

Jonah said nothing, nodding. He felt tears prick his eyes again.

Tess Neil put her arm around his shoulder and smiled at him. ‘You’ll be fine, Jonah. We’ll look after you.’