Christopher Moore - Secondhand Souls

“Just pull his head up, we’ll slide him up out of the water,” said Audrey.

They did, sliding the board up, then turning it so it would fit in the open part of the boat behind the console. Audrey and Minty Fresh immediately fell to their knees over Mike.

“Jane,” called the Mint One, tossing his head to point. The boat, in neutral, had drifted and was dangerously close to the south tower pier, which loomed above them.

“Holy fuck!” Jane said. She dove for the console, threw the throttle forward and powered away from the massive concrete monolith.

“Easy,” said Minty.

Audrey flipped the strap off the backboard, unzipped the front of Mike’s coveralls, then his leathers. Mercifully, he wasn’t wearing anything under the leathers. The defibrillator started making a high-pitched whine as the capacitor charged.

“Place pads on patient’s chest,” said the defibrillator. “Charging.”

Minty Fresh handed Audrey the pads, which she separated and stuck on Mike’s chest.

“Please stand clear. Do not touch patient.”

Audrey pulled back her hands, the defibrillator fired, Mike’s body convulsed, relaxed, then he started coughing.

“What? What?” said Jane.

“He’s back,” Minty said. Audrey fell forward across the body and let loose a soul-shaking sob.

Audrey felt a hand on her head, pushed back, looked at the guy on the backboard.

“Charlie?”

“Hey, baby,” he said. She lost herself again, sobbing into his chest.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” said Charlie. “I can’t move my other arm.”

“Your shoulder is dislocated,” said Minty Fresh. “Just try to lie still.” He nodded toward Audrey. “She says the ritual will heal a lot of the damage. Don’t ask me how. We’ll hand you over to the Coast Guard rescue boat like we planned. They’ll take you to the hospital.”

“Coast Guard closing,” Jane said. She turned at the console and looked down on Charlie. “Hey, little brother, welcome back. You’re all growed up.”

“Hey, Jane.” He grinned at her, then looked up, trying to see past his feet. “What about him?”

In the stern of the boat was Charlie’s former crocodile-guy body, his wizard robe saturated with seawater, his little duck feet twitching as if he was being electrocuted.

Charlie was actually grateful that they made him stay in the hospital over the weekend while doctors evaluated his injuries, mostly, it seemed, because they wouldn’t believe he wasn’t hurt worse than he was. It gave him a chance to get used to being someone else.

“Mr. Sullivan,” said a Dr. Banerjee, scrolling through the chart on a tablet computer, “We analyzed the full-body CAT scan, which we often do in the case of fall this severe, and it appears that you have no broken bones.”

“That’s great, isn’t it?” said Charlie, spraying a little spit. He was still getting used to how Mike’s mouth worked compared to the crocodile guy. It was like driving a different car for the first time after not driving for a long time, but human-sized stuff was coming back to him quickly.

“It is. It’s amazing, really, considering. You’re very, very lucky.”

“I think if I was very lucky, I’d have remembered to check the buckle on my safety harness.”

“So this was an accident?”

“Absolutely,” Charlie said. He’d already talked to a psychiatrist, a social worker, and two people from the Bridge Authority, as well as a couple of guys from the painting crew whom he’d pretended to know.

“We don’t see any organ damage from impact, and beyond the bruising, which is fading, and your dislocated shoulder, which should be fine after a week or so in a sling, it’s only your mental condition that concerns me. There’s no physical evidence of damage to your brain, although you did sustain a concussion, but the memory loss concerns us.”

“It’s just certain things,” said Charlie. “Like I can name every street in the north end of the city, in both directions, but I couldn’t tell you the address of my apartment if you gave me two numbers and a letter to start.”

The doctor nodded, ticked something on the tablet, scrolled back. “I’ve also looked at your medical history, and it seems pretty clear going back, ten years. Hernia operation, that’s it.”

“That’s it,” said Charlie.

“So you haven’t had a major accident in the last year or two? Motorcycle?”

“No, not that I remember. I think I’d remember a motorcycle accident. Or, knowing how to ride a motorcycle. Do I know how to ride a motorcycle?”

“I don’t know, I just wondered. We had to cut motocross pants off of you. The CAT scan showed evidence of a pretty major accident within the last two years. Both hips broken, five cracked vertebrae, cracked ribs, all healed nicely, but recently.”

Charlie shook his head. They’d had him in a neck brace at first, but after the CAT scan they’d taken it off. “I think I’d remember something like that.”

He caught movement, looked up to see Audrey peeking in the door. “Is it okay?” she said to the doctor.

“Well, hello, sir or madame,” said Charlie. “Please come in.”

“I’ll leave you two,” said the doctor, bowing out.

“That’s not funny,” said Audrey.

“What? You changed your hair.”

“I’ve given up the swoop.”

“Who does he think you are?”

“Your girlfriend.”

“My girlfriend or Mike’s girlfriend?”

“Obviously Mike’s girlfriend.”

“And yet you were living with me . Floozy!”

She leaned over, grabbed his hand, laughing, and started to kiss him, then stopped herself and stepped back. “Weird,” she said.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s me. I feel like me. Kind of.”

“Might take a little while,” she said.

What it took was two more days, when she picked him up at the hospital. When he got in the passenger seat of her Honda, as he was reaching for his seat belt, she threw her arms around him and kissed him, hard and long, lots of tongue, not coming up until both of them were breathing hard, then she pushed him away and reached for her own seat belt.

“There,” she said.

“Wow,” he said.

“We’re going to be fine,” she said.

“Weird, though, huh?”

“Absolutely.” She put the car in gear and drove them across town the to Buddhist Center.

There was an empty apartment in his building—well, Jane’s building, now—and Jane was having it cleaned and painted for him to move into, but they still had to figure out how they were going to tell Sophie before they went there.

“It’s a lot for a little kid to take,” said Charlie, when they got home. He sat at the oak table in the kitchen drinking coffee. “I don’t want to traumatize her.”

Audrey fussed with the coffeemaker at the counter. “Charlie, she’s seen the Squirrel People, she’s Death —the Big Death. She holds dominion over the Underworld. You’re not going to shock her.”

“I know. That’s got to be really hard. And we don’t even know if she still is Death.”

“I think you should just go over there and have Auntie Jane explain. Sophie will know it’s you. You sound like you already. You move like you. You just, you know, just don’t look like you.”

“Speaking of which, how’s he doing?”

Charlie’s former body, the wizard-crocodile guy, sat on the floor in front of the dishwasher, rocking from side to side with the rhythm of the motor. Audrey had brought him home from the boat in a sack and had been caring for him while Charlie was in the hospital.

“He’s good. He’s doing really good. I mean, he’s, well, you’ll see. Charlie, come meet a new friend!”