Peter Clines - Ex-Communication

Max took the bag of clothes from her. “Thanks,” he said. He held out his hand. “Billie Carter, right?”

Billie looked over her shoulder at Freedom, then at St. George. The hero gave her a small nod. She held out her hand.

“Maxwell Hale,” he said. “Max. Pleased to meet you.”

“You, too,” she said. She stared at him. Her gaze flitted from his eyes to his chin and up to his hairline.

Max pulled a few different shirts from the bag. He reached back and pulled the scrubs over his head. His shoulders and chest were covered with elaborate designs. Four smaller ones on his back framed a perfect circle of bare skin.

“I didn’t know Jarvis had so many tattoos,” said St. George.

“He doesn’t,” Max said as he shook out a pinstriped shirt. “I do.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Freedom.

“No, it does,” the sorcerer assured them. He pulled the shirt on while he searched for another analogy. “It’s like … Okay, you know how you have hair in the Matrix even if you don’t in the real world? Because in your mind you picture yourself with hair?”

“Are you trying to explain this using The Matrix ?”

“I’ve been hanging out with Barry a lot, okay? It’s the same thing, though. The soul is all about identity, and the body is part of someone’s identity. Granted, we all tend to picture ourselves a little taller, a little thinner, but past that there are always physical things we just accept as an inherent part of who we are, and these are the things that are hard-wired into our soul. They carry over in cases like this.”

Max gestured down at his chest. “All these tattoos are part of me. It’s how I see myself. You could say they were inked into my soul as well as my skin. But if, say, Billie here came back, she’d probably only bring her Marine Corps tattoo with her, not the rose or the dolphin.”

Stealth shook her head. “Psychosomatic tattoos?”

“If you like.”

“You’ve got a big bare patch on your back,” said Freedom.

“Because that one wasn’t supposed to carry over,” said Max. “Big, soul-scarring magic. One use only. If I can’t see it, it can’t become part of my identity.”

St. George looked at the ink patterns as Max buttoned the shirt up. Now that he knew what they were, he was surprised he didn’t recognize them sooner. He remembered the night Cairax had beaten him bloody, and the tattoo-covered man the zombie demon had turned into.

Billie’s hands knotted into fists as they all mulled over the explanation. “How,” she growled, “do you know I have a dolphin tattoo?”

He rolled his eyes. “I was a ghost here for a year and a half. Believe me, I’ve seen every tattoo everyone has.”

She fumed but said nothing.

The resurrected man pulled a pair of jeans and some underwear from the bag and let his hospital pants drop to the floor. A minute later he tugged on some socks and was searching the bag again. “This was all he had for ties?”

The thought of slapping Max passed through St. George’s mind again. “I don’t think Jarvis was ever worried about formal occasions,” he said.

Max sighed, selected a tie, and tossed the rest back in the bag. “So how are we playing this?” he asked. “I knew my return wasn’t going to get cheers, but I didn’t expect it to be this cold. Am I a prisoner? A partner? A free citizen?”

St. George glanced at Stealth. “I don’t think we need to make you a prisoner,” he said.

“Good.”

“However,” said Stealth, “it would be best if you did not go anywhere unescorted.”

Max knotted the tie around his neck. “Still worried about what Father Andy said? That I’m going to cause an uproar?”

“There is that possibility,” she said, “but I still believe it is slight. There is no need to cause confusion with your borrowed body.”

“It’s not exactly borrowed,” said Max. “I can’t give it back.”

“Stolen, then.”

“I was going to suggest donated. My hair will change color in a day or two, that’ll help,” he added. “I think I might lose a few pounds, too.”

Freedom gave him a look. “Just like that?”

“Coming back from the dead burns a lot of calories,” said Max. “Speaking of which, I haven’t eaten a meal in almost three years. Not one I’d want to remember, anyway. Any chance of getting some food?”

“Billie,” said St. George, “can you show him around? Maybe keep an eye on him until Freedom gets someone assigned to him?”

She gave a sharp nod and looked at Max. “Ready when you are.”

Max held out a hand to St. George. “Thanks again. I owe you big time.”

St. George looked at the hand for a moment and then shook it. “Let’s just get rid of the demon as quick as we can.”

The sorcerer held out his hand to Stealth, but she stared past him. He pursed his lips, nodded, and left with Billie.

“We require a moment of privacy, captain,” said Stealth.

“Of course, ma’am,” said Freedom. He bowed his chin to the two of them and left.

“Well,” said St. George. “What are you thinking?”

“I am thinking,” said Stealth, “I do not believe his story.”

“Which part of it?”

“The parts involving magic and an afterlife.”

“So … all of it.”

“Several superhumans across the world manifested similar abilities. The Iranian hero Marduk had powers almost identical to yours. The British hero Scarecrow had agility and speed on par with Banzai’s. We know Legion has the ability to project his consciousness. It is possible Cairax survived in the same manner.”

“Max,” corrected St. George. “If he’s telling us the truth, Cairax is outside the Big Wall.”

“If he is telling us the truth,” said Stealth, “but I do not believe he is.”

“Why?”

“His body language is inconsistent. At the least he is withholding information from us.”

St. George nodded. “So what do you want to do?”

“For the moment, we shall allow him the time he wants. There were no scavenging missions scheduled for another four days, so it changes nothing.”

“Okay. And then?”

“Then we shall question him again.”

There was a rap at the door. Dr. Connolly stood outside. “St. George,” she said. “Stealth. Could I speak with you two for a minute?”

A moment passed before the cloaked woman turned her head to Connolly. “What is it, doctor?”

Connolly held up a clipboard, then paused. She looked over her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “The man in the hall. Did … did Jarvis have a brother or cousin I didn’t know about?”

“Sort of,” said St. George.

She looked at the empty bed and the hospital clothes piled near it. “And his body is …?”

“These are questions for another time, doctor,” said Stealth.

She looked at the bed again and blinked. “Was that him? You let him reanimate and he’s … he’s alive again?”

“It isn’t him,” said St. George. “It looks like him, but—”

“Another time, doctor,” repeated Stealth. There was an edge to her voice that cut through the conversation.

They stood in the hospital room for a moment. Then Connolly cleared her throat. “All of Madelyn’s tests are done and they confirm what I suspected the other day. She’s not an ex.”

She held a clipboard out to St. George. Stealth intercepted it and flipped through the handwritten notes. “Explain,” said the cloaked woman.

The doctor shrugged. “She doesn’t have the virus. Her core temperature is actually a little higher than an ex’s, even if it’s still well below normal. All I can think is it might be a new strain we haven’t identified, one our tests aren’t catching.”