The Reviver by Seth Patrick Page B

‘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