Peter Clines - Ex-Communication

The stereo chuckled. “You realize you’re saying that to a ghost, right?”

“A ghost according to you. I never did buy all your magic talk.”

“Okay,” said the stereo, “let’s look at it this way. If you hold out your hand, turn your wrist, and stomp your foot down, does it transport you across the country?”

Only if you’re wearing ruby slippers , said Zzzap.

“Don’t interrupt,” said the stereo. “It’s important they all believe this.”

“No, of course not,” said Danielle.

“But if you’re sitting in a car it works, right?”

“Well … yeah. But that’s different.”

“Not at all. It’s the same thing. We’re agreeing that if you make the right gestures in the right place it’s possible to get a result you can’t get by doing the same thing in other places or under different conditions. And once you’ve got the car moving you can change the location those gestures work at so you can do it again.”

“And you claim this is how magic works.” It wasn’t so much a question from Stealth as a challenge.

“In a really simple way, yeah,” said the stereo. “I mean, there’s a lot more to why a car works than just pushing down on the gas. There’s more to magic, too, but it comes down to knowing the right gestures and places and conditions.”

“So what happens now?” asked St. George. “Do we need to do some ritual or exorcism or something to let you move on?”

“Not exactly,” said the stereo. “I’ve been looking for a new body. I can move into one that’s more or less whole and take control of it, that’s not a problem. After a few hours my own animus gets absorbed into the cells and I’d be alive again. The catch has been where I do it.”

“Explain,” said Stealth.

“Well, it wouldn’t do me much good to resurrect outside, would it? The minute the body came back to life I’d get attacked by a dozen or so exes.”

“And there aren’t any bodies inside the Mount because we blow their brains out the minute they die,” said St. George with a nod.

“Right,” said the stereo. “I tried it outside a couple times anyway. I figured I’d signal whoever was at the gate to let me in, but all the bodies outside are pretty far gone. They’re stiff and most of their vocal cords are raw and useless. Every time I got up to the gates I’d get shot or piked before I could do anything. I even tried jumping into a dead actor once, a guy I found wandering around out by Raleigh. The one from that space worm-zombie movie, irony of ironies. I figured celebrity status might buy me a few more minutes. Plus it was when the Krypton guys were first showing up, so I was hoping people might be hesitant to start firing guns. We all know how that turned out.”

St. George nodded. He glanced at Zzzap.

“This is why you wish us to let Hiram Jarvis reanimate if he dies,” said Stealth. “You wish to use his body and resurrect yourself.”

The speakers were quiet for a moment. “Yeah, that’s basically it,” said the stereo.

“I think maybe we should get Father Andy in on this,” said St. George. “This whole discussion is getting into a weird area.”

“Feel free,” said the speakers. “Nothing against Barry, but I’m feeling very talkative.”

“And then?” Stealth asked.

“Then what?”

“Why return yourself to life only to be mortal and face death again? What do you gain from it?”

“Well, I’m not dead, for starters.”

“Not yet. All of us will face an end, though. Will you then attempt to cheat death again?”

“Believe me, Stealth,” the stereo said, “in the end all of us try to cheat death. I was just better prepared to do it than most folks.”

SINCE THEY’D MOVEDall the Mount’s medical facilities to Hollywood Community, there was plenty of room for Dr. Connolly to have an actual office. There still wasn’t enough of a medical staff for her to be far away from the patients, though, even with Eddie Franklin and some of the others. And being by herself in the mostly empty hospital gave her the creeps at night. Instead, she set up camp at the nurse’s station of whatever floor had the most patients. It was where St. George found her.

“Morning, doctor.”

“Good morning,” she said. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I’m visiting some of your patients.”

She nodded. “Eddie’s finishing up some tests with the girl, Madelyn. I should have complete results for you soon.”

“What do you think so far?”

“About her?” Connolly shook her head and swept back a lock of crimson hair threaded with silver. “I can tell you I might have been wrong earlier. I don’t think she’s an ex.”

“What?”

“I don’t think she’s an ex. She’s just … dead.”

“But she has to be,” said St. George. “She’s walking around and she—”

The doctor shook her head. “I’ve run her blood work twice. I can’t find the ex-virus in her. Not a trace of it anywhere. Not a trace of anything, in fact. No secondary infections, no old scars, nothing. My first impression is she’s in incredible health.”

“Aside from being dead.”

“Aside from that, yes. She just seems like a normal seventeen-year-old girl in so many ways. Did you know she sleeps?”

“What?”

The doctor nodded. “Twice now. She got tired and fell asleep the night you brought her in. When she woke up later I had to explain where she was and who I was. Last night she stretched out on the bed, wrapped her arms around her pillow to cry for a few minutes, and she was out cold. No pun intended. And when she woke up a few hours ago she didn’t know who I was again. Or where she was.” Connolly paused. “Or that her parents were dead.”

St. George sighed. “Yeah, she said she had some memory problems.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” said the doctor. “Captain Freedom sat with her and went over the whole thing again. I think it might’ve been harder on him than her, watching her go through it all again.”

“Crap.”

“It’s not too surprising, to be honest.” Connolly gestured at a chart on the counter. “I hooked her up to an EEG the first night before she fell asleep. Even exes give off basic readings. There’s still electrical activity in their brains, it’s just very, very low. Below comatose levels.”

“And Madelyn?”

“Her readings aren’t that different from your standard ex-human. I’m sure a specialist could spot some little nuances, but nothing stood out for me. Stealth might want to take a look.”

“Okay.”

The doctor held up a finger. “Then she fell asleep. Her EEG went to a complete flatline.”

“Flatline meaning …?”

“Meaning corpse. I got nothing from her. Absolutely nothing. A potato would give me more responses. It was more like she died—really died—than fell asleep.”

“Is that what messes up her memories?”

“Maybe.” Another shrug. “I don’t know how she even has thoughts, let alone memories. Her brain completely shuts off when she sleeps. Her blood isn’t circulating. Preliminary results from her tissue samples indicate her muscles aren’t manufacturing lactic acid. Every test I know how to do says she’s just … dead. I have no idea how she’s thinking or talking or moving around.” She shrugged. “Then again, I have no idea how you can fly. I’ve gotten used to things I can’t explain.”

“Great.”

“One more thing,” said Connolly. “She’s been in a mild degree of pain because of lividity. Most of her blood’s all pooled up in her feet and legs. I’d like to sever the arteries in her ankles and drain it off. It should take care of her pain issues and give me more material for further tests.”