Revival House (22 page)

I roam the streets at night in the rain hoping to catch sight of her. She broke my heart but I did something even more unforgiveable in return, something unspeakable and shameful. I wanted so badly to save Exley & Sons that I’d let Avery haul me down the path toward Hell.

Trudging down Broughton, I see them emerge from the entrance to the tunnel, the one hidden by the abandoned elevator shaft. Faces wan and grim, they stow their tiny electronic devices in the pockets of their fisherman’s vests and shamble toward the abandoned sidewalk.

“Dude, I, like, need a Starbucks, like, right now,” the one with the spiky hair and bulging biceps says to the other two. “With all the miles of tunnels running under this city, you know, and with most of the light bulbs smashed down there, I don’t think we’re ever gonna find that ghost thing or whatever. It’s probably just some crackhead or something anyway.”

I walk a few paces behind them down Broughton, stalking them like a shadow.

“Maybe we should just bag the whole thing, then, dude, and go home,” the fat one says.

“I wish I’d brought a fucking umbrella,” Spiky Top says. “Dude, give me your jacket,” he says to the skinny stoner with the little video camera.

“How am I going to keep the camera dry, bra?”

“Oh, fuck the camera, my hair’s getting wet, man.”

The little guy strips off his jacket and hands it over. “I hope you’re at least buying the coffee, man.” He shields the mini camcorder with his shirt.

“You know I never carry a wallet, dude,” Spiky Top says, covering his head with the worn denim jacket. The fat one looks back at the little one and shakes his head.

I follow them to the coffee shop where I sit across the room, pretending to read Paula Deen’s magazine as they sip their drinks and spew nonsense. My head throbs and I suppress a strong urge to fly over to their table, dump it over, and kick their heads in. The surprised looks on their idiot faces would be priceless.

I do not want them to find Scarlet.

If information about our reanimation project leaks now, it could mean grave danger for Avery and myself, not to mention Exley & Sons and darling Aunt Billie.

They finish their drinks and head outside, talking about looking for Scarlet.

“What if, dude, she’s not down in the tunnels anymore?” Boo says.

Fat Guy and Little Guy look at each other. I can’t tell if they’re considering the possibility or if they’re sick to the back teeth of looking for this ghost that may or may not exist.

“And what if it’s a hoax, man?” Fat Guy says, looking at the cement sky. At least the rain has stopped. “Let’s just go out. Come on, we’ll go down to River Street to that girly daiquiri place you like.” Little Guy covers his mouth and laughs. Boo shoots him a ‘fuck you’ glare.

“We haven’t looked anywhere but the tunnels, man. It could be lurking in an alley somewhere.”

“Boo, man, by your logic, the thing could be in any building in the city, or lurking in a graveyard, or, shit, partying on River Street. Let’s go check the bars, man,” Little Guy says.

Leaning against the wall outside Starbucks, I strain to hear their conversation. It’s scaring the shit out of me. They’re getting too nosy.

“Okay, how about this,” Boo says, “we split up for the night, either looking for the ghost or not, and we’ll meet up in the morning, hotel lobby. Sound good?” Fat Guy and Little Guy grin at each other and nod their heads.

I follow them to their hotel and watch them emerge, each with a small video camera in their hands. Fat Guy and Little guy head, where else, in the direction of River Street. Boo, though, heads down the nearest ally, some contraption (an EMF detector? magic ghost finder?) held out in front of him at arm’s length. Every now and then he turns to glance over his shoulder. His sixth sense, working overtime, likely tells him he’s being followed. Fortunately, it’s dark and shadows are plentiful in the alleys.

Hydrogen... ah, fuck it. I’m too stressed even for that bullshit.

Someone grabs my arm as I cross Abercorn, still following Boo.

My heart bumps to a halt in my chest.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says. I turn my head and Four’s looking at me with a weird questioning face, “what’s up? You following that guy?”

“Christ, you scared the shit out of me,” I say, straightening my tie. “You know who that is?”

He squints into the distant shadows. “It’s Boo Larsen, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you following him like some kind of weirdo?” Four bends down to tie his sneaker.

“He’s looking for Scarlet. Above ground.”

“So? Don’t you hope he finds her?”

I take a deep breath.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

He looks at me.

I look around, making sure no one’s around.

“Scarlet isn’t Scarlet anymore.”

Four’s eyes shift back and forth, his thick eyebrows draw together, he licks his lips. “Um, what do you mean?”

“It’s Avery. Remember those times you came to see me and I wouldn’t let you in? He was doing it.” I wipe my nose on my jacket sleeve and watch Boo wave his magic device around about a block and a half down the alleyway.

“Doing what?” he says. “Avery’s, like, the nicest, nerdiest guy.”

Chapter 53 – Avery

Through a cloud of cigarette smoke, I watch them talk. That Four guy waves his arms around, ties his shoe, and points down the alley. Caleb says something and Four absolutely deflates.

I know what Caleb is telling him.

I laugh to myself, smoking, drinking a Bud Light from a plastic cup. I crush out my cigarette and walk in their direction. They take off after that bozo from TV so I follow, sticking to the shadows.

I know they’re looking for Subject A.

I need them to find her. She holds the key that unlocks unimaginable riches for Exley & Sons. I can talk Caleb into keeping it open with this new gimmick. We can take our research farther than anyone ever has before. I’ll be the golden boy of the medicinal reanimation world.

We will find the path to immortality.

The TV guy shouts out, scaring the bejesus out of me.

I see her!

Over past the end of River Street, close to the cargo ships.

“Hey!” TV Man yells. “Stop. I’m not going to hurt you. What are you doing here? Are you lost, caught between worlds?”

I bite my tongue and double over, trying hard not to laugh. Excuse my language, but what a complete ass-hat.

Caleb and Four take off after TV Man.

He’s got his camera on her, filming this woman in a filthy toga with that creepy halo still clamped on her head. She’s moving fast. I didn’t know she’d have that kind of speed.

It’s too soon to get her on film, though. He can’t have that footage. Four and Caleb run after him but there’s no way they’ll catch him before he reaches her.

I run behind them, closer and closer to TV Man who’s getting way too close to Subject A.

Caleb is close enough to brush his back with his fingertips.

Then he’s on him.

Throwing him over the retaining wall.

TV Man crashes down into the river, probably thinking someone ‘caught between worlds’ used their paranormal powers to shove him into the water. His head smashes into an almost vertical slab of concrete on his way down. Blood splatters over the flowers of birdshit like a Jackson Pollock painting. More importantly, though, the camera smashes in his hand before he disappears into the dirty water.

“Caleb!”

I run in the direction of the funeral home. I don’t want any part of this mess.

Chapter 54 – Four

After puking on my red Chucks, I walk over to Caleb on wobbly legs. His face is red, sweat runs down his cheeks. Or maybe they’re tears, I don’t know. My entire body shakes. I lean over the wall next to him and look down at the bloody cement and the ripples in the water where Boo disappeared.

I look down the river, toward the docks, and I don’t see Scarlet.

Then I face my friend.

I don’t know what to say.

I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.

My stomach churns and I puke again, next to the wall.

After wiping my mouth, I say, “Dude, you just killed that guy.” Tears fall down my face making splatters that mimic the birdshit and blood on the cement edge of the retaining wall.

“It wasn’t me,” he whispers, his eyes wide and glassy, feverish. “Didn’t you see him?” Caleb points to empty air next to himself.

I’m crying hard now.

“Caleb, who, man?”

“Avery,” he whispers, staring into space.

“Avery wasn’t with us, man.”

There is something drastically wrong with my friend. The friend I grew up protecting, getting out of trouble. I can’t protect him from himself. He’s one hundred per cent convinced that Avery is some kind of ghoulish killer. I didn’t see Avery anywhere. But Caleb did. I can’t fix that. My friend needs some serious professional help.

Deep breath.

It’ll be okay. It was a trick. I imagined it.

No, it was real. Fuck.

I try to hug him but he runs.

I chase him up to Bay Street, but he hops into a cab and tears down the street.

Chapter 55 – Caleb

The diamond core drill bit rested on the crown of my half-shaved head, Avery says, “Let me out of this bathroom, you sick fuck. Look at what you’re doing to yourself.” He points at his own head with bound hands and looks at me like I’m crazy. I’ve got him bound to the toilet with duct tape. I was going to tape his mouth but I thought I might want someone to talk to.

I can feel the points of the drill bit dimpling my scalp, droplets of blood welling up in a three-quarter inch ring. All of the blood will come from those diamond points spinning into the epidermis that covers my skull. It will be like slicing a very tender cut of meat with a circular serrated knife. Like a washing machine shredding a crocheted afghan. Penetrating the skull itself will take a little more pressure on the drill. It’s okay, I work out occasionally.

You drill too deep and you’ll penetrate the dura mater and could wind up dead from infection.

“You’re not going to die, for Christ’s sake,” Avery says.

Everything, my reflection in the bathroom mirror, looks as though I’m looking through a kaleidoscope. I never liked mescaline.

“Would you please just stop this? We’ll fix your business— it’ll do better than your wildest dreams.”

He doesn’t know my dreams, I tell him. But I know he does.

We can hear Four pounding on the door and crying like a girl. He’s babbling that he called the cops and they’ll be here any minute to save me. Or at least that’s what I think he’s saying. It’s hard to tell with all the sobbing and sniffling and my iPod balanced on the edge of the tub blasting out Nine Inch Nails’ ‘Head Like a Hole.’ Fitting, right?

Save me
, Four says.
I’m
not the one who needs saving. Avery is the one who needs saving. You know that old saying about a little knowledge being a dangerous thing? That’s true. Avery, with his fancy Ph.D., his training at the Safar Center for Resuscitation Research, does not know everything. In fact, I’m beginning to suspect he doesn’t know shit. He’s lucky I’m not doing this to him.

The place we’re sitting in will be teeming with cops in about five minutes. Mostly guys I’ve known my entire life who won’t believe any of this.

Avery and I hear the bathroom window break behind us. I can’t turn my head to look because I’m strapped into an antique dentist’s chair that I found at the dump. My head feels like a floating balloon and I don’t care who broke the window. The tinkling of glass sounds better than Trent Reznor’s screeching over calliope music or whatever it is.

It is Four, busting out the window with his Batman T-shirt wrapped around his hand. I can see him in the mirror. His screams are even more girlish now, staring at me with the drill to my head sitting in front of the mirror, towels and plastic sheeting covering every horizontal surface. Avery joins in and they’re screaming in harmony.

None of us would be here if it hadn’t been for Scarlet.

I knew her first, lusted after her first. Then Avery showed up. Avery with his movie-star good looks, his sparkling sense of humor, his vomit-inducing perfect body and teeth. And let us not forget his life saving and revival skills.

We can hear sirens screaming down Whitaker Street.

We can hear Four screaming and crying through the jagged edges of the broken window.

Sweat pours down my face and soaks my Brooks Brothers shirt. I’m pissing my pants thinking about a hole being punched in my head. I’d never even had my ear pierced because the thought of self-mutilation made me ill.