The Returned by Bishop O'Connell Page B

thought about what was happening. As Edward and Henry talked shop, her mind drifted, and the enormity of the situation settled in on her.
    Had someone really figured out how to raise the dead? Or was it some elaborate trick, a ploy for one gang to put some fear in its rivals? The idea resonated with her, having lost both her parents when she was young and the grandparents who raised her, before Fiona had been born. She still felt the loss, still missed even her father, who’d been gone now for more than twenty years. Of course, she knew the lore, the trope that when people came back they weren’t the person they’d been. But from what Henry was saying, these weren’t animated corpses. These were living, breathing people. She wasn’t considering trying to figure out how it was done and bring her family back, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t tempting.
    What really bothered her though was that someone was doing this not to bring peace to a family or ease the pain and loss of someone, but to make someone a weapon. Or, she wondered, did they actually set out with the more altruistic goals in mind, but it turned dark?
    â€œJust like in the stories,” she said to herself.
    F ifteen minutes later they were parked on the street across from a collection of buildings that looked like they’d seen better days. Caitlin saw the sign that read New Orleans Forensic Center above the entrance of a squat gray building. It looked out of place, houses on one side and a market on the other. It also looked like it had been rebuilt after being bombed.
    â€œI’m going to warn you,” Henry said, “it’s a little rough inside. The place is a renovated funeral home that had been burned out. Katrina took care of the previous facility.”
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding me,” Caitlin said. “Still?”
    â€œWish I was,” Henry said. “There’s supposed to be a new facility coming, but it keeps getting delayed.” He looked from Edward to Caitlin. “So just keep that in mind. These are good people, trying to do good work. Don’t judge them too harshly.”
    They all got out of the car and crossed the street. Henry led them inside.
    â€œCan I help you?” asked a woman behind the front desk.
    â€œDr. Henry Thomas. Dr. Boudreaux is expecting us.”
    â€œBoudreaux?” Edward asked quietly. “Let me guess, he’s from Minnesota?”
    The woman behind the counter chuckled as she picked up the phone. A minute later a distinguished, gray-haired man with tired but keen dark eyes came out of a door and walked up to Henry.
    â€œGood to see you, Henry,” he said. “How’s Hannah?”
    â€œShe’s doing fine,” Henry said. “Not enjoying the bureaucracy of being a department head, but who does?
    â€œI understand completely. She has my most sincere sympathies,” Dr. Boudreaux said.
    â€œThis is Dr. Edward Huntington,” Henry said. “And his wife, Caitlin.”
    â€œNot a doctor though,” Caitlin said with a smile. “Just a nurse.”
    â€œAn entirely underappreciated position, Mrs. Huntington,” John said.
    â€œPleasure to meet you,” Edward said and shook John’s hand.
    â€œLet’s sit and talk for a moment before we get started,” John said.
    They were led through the door John had come from and down a hall to a small office. There was the requisite shelf of books, but only one, and an old metal desk that looked like it had been taken from a warehouse office. In front of it were two chairs, old and worn, the cushion coverings split and taped.
    â€œI apologize,” John said as he moved behind the desk. “I’ve only got two chairs, but then I don’t think a third would fit in here.”
    â€œI’ll stand,” Henry said and offered the second chair to Caitlin. She took it. Once she was seated, John and Edward sat. She smiled a