The Reviver (31 page)

They walked around to the front entrance. Directly across the road was a billboard ad for the Afterlifers. Jonah stopped and frowned at it, finding the irony unpleasant. This was what the Afterlifers meant to most people now: benign, well-funded campaigners.

Inside, the reception area was busy. Annabel introduced herself, and after a ten-minute wait an athletic, greying man emerged to greet them, his face so chiselled that Jonah could only think of the ‘before’ picture in a male hair-dye commercial.

‘Dr Edward Buckle,’ the man said to Annabel. ‘My condolences, Miss Harker.’

‘Thank you. This is Jonah Miller, co-writer for the piece.’

Buckle smiled. ‘Annabel, Jonah, you’re both very welcome. Anything I can do to help you, I’ll try my best. Your generosity is going to make a difference. Hospice funding is often overlooked, let alone hospice care for psychiatric patients.’ His gaze went to the main window, the view of the billboard opposite. ‘You saw the repair work we’re doing at the front. This whole building is riddled with similar problems. Yet I see that damn billboard every morning when I get to work, and I think of the money people give to them. So damn righteous, all that concern about the dead. But the living are the ones who need the help the most.’ As he spoke, he led them along a short corridor and into his office. ‘I read that the kind of people who donate to the Afterlifers are more likely to give to dying animals than dying people. You know what charities they give to least? Hospices and the mentally ill. You can guess where that puts us.’

Annabel nodded. ‘I know exactly what you mean. The Afterlifers have managed to create this intense media focus on death, but it’s all from the wrong direction.’

‘Precisely!’ said Buckle. He sat behind his desk and gestured for Annabel and Jonah to sit too. ‘All from the wrong direction. Death is an expensive business. Insurance companies have improved since I started here, I admit, but once they find a way to disown a patient, it’s not pretty. We offer as many free and partly funded places as we can, but it’s a struggle. So many people fail to get the care they need at the end of their lives, but worries about revival are what make headlines. Perhaps it’s something that would make a story in its own right, Miss Harker.’

‘It’s something I’ll give serious thought to, Doctor. Now, though, the matter at hand…’

‘Victor Eldridge,’ said Buckle, folding his hands together. ‘Victor has many problems. Confidentiality prevents me from saying any more, but he’s perfectly competent, perfectly able to make his own decisions.’

‘Did he agree to talk to me?’

‘You said that your donation was not contingent on his agreement. That’s still the case, yes?’

‘Yes,’ said Annabel. Jonah felt like swearing, but if Annabel felt the same she gave no hint of it.

‘As long as that’s clear. Yes, Victor’s very happy to talk to you. He’s permitted to receive visitors whenever he wishes, but … well, he doesn’t get many. I have things to attend to, but I’ll send someone to take you to him.’

*   *   *

They waited in Buckle’s office, uneasy and impatient. Annabel switched her phone off to avoid interruption; Jonah’s was in his pocket, already switched off. He’d not had it back on since he’d last spoken to Never.

After ten minutes, a young male orderly arrived to take them to Eldridge. As the orderly led the way, Jonah turned to Annabel and whispered, ‘He’s working in a place like this, but he looks about twelve.’

‘And?’

‘And I’m kinda worried for him.’

Annabel shrugged. ‘You know, I’m sure my dad thought the same about you working in Baseline.’ She caught up with the orderly and checked his name badge. ‘So, Greg, you worked here long?’

‘Six months.’

‘College, right?’

‘Uh huh. Majoring in psychology.’

‘Pay well here?’

Greg grimaced. ‘It’s OK. Gets me by, just about.’

‘What can you tell us about Mr Eldridge?’

‘I’m supposed to take you to him and wait for you outside.’

‘He’s OK on his own with us?’

‘Victor’s fine. He gets a little uptight, but he’s pretty quiet these days. He’ll pull the cord or call if he needs me.’

‘So, uh, what exactly is wrong with him?’

Greg stopped, looking so thrown Jonah wanted to pat him on the back and tell him he’d be fine, but by the determined look on Annabel’s face, he thought that’d be a lie. Greg lowered his voice to explain. ‘I … I really can’t discuss a patient’s details, Miss. It’ll be up to Victor, what gets disclosed.’

‘It’s just … well, you said he’s pretty quiet
these days.
Implies he used to
not
be quiet, that’s all. And if you knew why, it’d be really useful.’ Annabel put her hand into Greg’s pen pocket and left behind a hundred-dollar bill. Greg took it out and stared at it in silence. ‘That’s a freebie,’ said Annabel. ‘But I’ll top it up to five hundred if you tell me.’

Greg said nothing and walked on. Annabel seemed unworried.
Journalist with money,
thought Jonah.
Like she said: dangerous combination.

*   *   *

They walked in silence, the innards of the building showing the lack of investment that Buckle had referred to. At last Greg opened a door that led outside. They stepped out into the open air, and the main building door swung shut. There was nobody else around.

They’d come all the way through, and beyond the eight-foot-high wire fencing they could see the parking lot they’d left forty minutes before.

‘Victor Eldridge is in number eleven,’ said Greg. ‘We have twelve of these units. Self-contained, bedroom, bathroom, small living area. We don’t typically use them for our psychiatric patients. With Victor, well … He’s behaving, and the doctors chose to give him a little dignity. A place of his own, first time in years.’

Annabel looked hard at Greg. ‘You want to elaborate?’

Greg nodded but was clearly uncomfortable. ‘Hell. OK. Here’s all I know. Before Victor Eldridge came here he had a suite of symptoms, including auditory hallucinations, extreme panic attacks. He was prone to fits. He was terrified of everything and everyone. He was unpredictable. He attacked staff from time to time and was often confined to secure units. When he was diagnosed terminal, it changed.’

‘Because of the diagnosis?’

Greg lowered his voice, glancing around. ‘More than that. He’d always had calm periods, and during one of those, they let him join in with some group recreation. One day the group wanted to play bingo. They all had their cards and those little short pencils. The story goes that one of the other inmates saw him do it. Push the pencil into his ear. Calm as anything, the inmate said, until a little stub was sticking out, maybe an inch and a half. One of the staff there at the time told me all this when Victor was transferred here. She reckoned the pencil would’ve already been through the eardrum by then. The pain must’ve been appalling, but like I said, Eldridge was calm. He stood, walked to a wall and hit the side of his head as hard as he could against it, driving the pencil in. He collapsed, blood pouring out, but he survived.’

‘What was the damage?’

‘Surgery got the thing out. Fucked up his hearing in that ear, and the pencil made it an inch into his brain. Victor was a changed man. From that day, he was no trouble.’

Annabel looked at Jonah with a hint of disappointment. Jonah raised an eyebrow; they were both thinking the same thing – was there much left of Victor Eldridge that was worth speaking to?

‘No trouble?’ said Annabel. ‘You mean…?’

Greg shook his head. ‘What, is he a vegetable? Shit no. The guy’s about as ordinary as you get. Polite, a little quiet. He’ll try and talk anyone he can into a game of chess.’

‘So what had changed?’

‘He said it had stopped the voices. Said they’d only been in that ear, said that once he’d found out he was dying, he decided he wanted some peace and quiet.’

‘But if the voices were in his head anyway…?’

Greg shrugged. ‘That’s all I know.’

‘Thanks,’ Annabel said, handing him four more bills. Greg said nothing and led the way.

The apartments had a prefab look, like the shoebox offices Jonah recalled from Baseline. Arranged in four clusters of three, with well-tended grass and flowerbeds between, there was a wide pathway connecting them to each other and to the main building.

At the end of the path to each cluster, a panel showed the names of the residents on small handwritten cards tucked into transparent covers.

And there, at the last cluster, was the name: ‘V Eldridge, Apt. 11’. Greg knocked.

The door was opened by a nurse, a woman in her late thirties, her name, ‘Jan’, announced on a badge.

‘Hi, Greg,’ she said.

‘Hey, Jan. Couple of people here to see Victor.’

‘So I heard. I’m all done here.’ She looked at Annabel. ‘Limit it to a half hour at most, please. He’s tired today, but he’s a stubborn one.’

Jonah looked past the woman and saw an open door leading into a bedroom: bulky monitoring equipment, cylinders of oxygen and a drip stand were visible. To the left, Jonah could see a kitchen area. An old man was shuffling around in it.

‘Victor?’ called the nurse.

The old man turned, and Jonah was taken by surprise. He wasn’t so old. Slow, and extremely thin – almost cadaverous – but no more than fifty. The man walked out of the kitchen, each step taken with care, each marked by a slight wince on his face. It took Jonah a moment to accept that this was the same man he’d seen in the video footage.

‘Is it those people, Jan?’ Eldridge was smiling, with effort. He approached, reaching for glasses that hung from a chain around his neck.

‘The people Dr Buckle mentioned, Victor, yes.’

Annabel stepped forward. ‘My name’s Annabel Harker, Mr Eldridge. This is Jonah Miller.’

Eldridge’s smile became warmer. ‘Good to meet you, Annabel.’ His eyes drifted to Jonah; he popped his glasses on and looked at Jonah for a moment, uncertain, his smile fading.

The nurse was concerned. ‘Victor?’

Eldridge forced his smile back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I’m OK, just dizzy for a moment. Jan, you can go, I’ll be fine.’

‘You’re sure?’

Eldridge smiled at her, then turned to Annabel. ‘Bless the woman, but she’s hard to get rid of sometimes.’

The nurse laughed and turned to leave, but then thought of something. ‘Actually, before I go … we’re doing a little fundraising. I wonder if you’d care to donate? Anything you can give would be appreciated.’

Jonah caught Annabel’s eye. ‘Allow me,’ he said, then took out his wallet and gave the nurse a single twenty. He wondered how much Annabel’s donation had been.

The nurse looked pleased and put the money into a fanny pack she was wearing, taking something from the same pack. She handed it to Jonah – a small button badge, the same cartoon smile with a thumbs-up he’d seen on the scaffolding by the main entrance. He looked at it in silence for a moment, and the nurse must have taken his reaction as dislike. ‘We have some key rings and fridge magnets for the larger donations, if you’d like,’ she said.

‘No, no, this is fine.’

‘Now, promise me you won’t make him overdo it.’

Jonah nodded.

‘I’ll wait by the main building,’ said Greg. ‘When you two are done, I’ll take you back in.’ He and Jan walked off, chatting as they went.

As the door shut, Victor Eldridge’s smile vanished. ‘Thank God she’s gone,’ he said. ‘I meant it about her being hard to get rid of. She
talks
…’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Come over here, I need to sit down.’

They sat, Eldridge in a reclining chair with a tray attached to the armrest. He took a glass of orange juice from the tray and sipped. He looked around the room, appreciating it. ‘Nice little place to spend some time.’ There was no bitterness in his voice, not even resignation. Simply matter-of-fact. ‘So, you’re Daniel Harker’s daughter. The good doctor told me what you’re writing, but I have to say I’m not clear why you want to talk to
me.
’

‘You were a talented reviver, Victor,’ Annabel said.

Eldridge smiled, but there was an edge to it. ‘Oh, please. You’re here because I’m dying and you thought there was irony in that. That’s all I see in the press these days. Irony and cynicism.’

Annabel opened her mouth but nothing came out. Eldridge had left her speechless.

‘That’s not why we’re here,’ said Jonah.

Eldridge set down his drink and sat upright. His face hardened. ‘Then why?’

‘My name is Jonah Miller.’

‘I heard.’

‘I’m a reviver.’

Eldridge paused for a moment, then he nodded. ‘I thought there was something familiar about the name. What do you want?’

‘Do you remember Ruby Fleming, Mr Eldridge?’

Eldridge was clearly uncomfortable. His hand went to his right ear, and he rubbed hard with the heel of his palm. ‘I don’t know anyone called that.’

‘You remember her,’ said Jonah.

Eldridge stared, his eyes wide, almost pleading. He shook his head. ‘Please…’

‘You remember Ruby. And you know what? Almost the same thing happened to me. They told me it was overwork, that it was just in my head. And then my revival subjects started to … well. You know, don’t you?’

Eldridge looked dazed. ‘They stayed with me. I was lost inside them.’

Jonah nodded. ‘I was treated by the same doctor who treated you. Stephanie Graves.’

‘She was too late. I couldn’t work anymore. But they didn’t believe what I told them. I told them there was something out there, and they didn’t pay any attention. But I could still hear it. Yes, I remember Ruby Fleming. I remember her screaming out to me for help. Something was coming for her. Something was coming and I did
nothing.
’

Eldridge’s hand went to his ear again. ‘The voices have gone now, Victor,’ Annabel said. ‘But what did they say to you?’ She took his other hand. ‘Victor?’

Eldridge’s eyes grew distant and frightened. ‘I heard the whispers after Ruby. It was trying to talk to me, but I wasn’t … I wasn’t strong enough to hear. Thank God. But it was always there. I could hear it trying to get through to me. Just before I found out I was dying, it started to get louder. It was getting clearer.
Stronger.
I knew that if I heard what it was saying it would be the end of me…’ Panic in his eyes, he turned to Jonah and reached out, seizing his hand. As he made contact with Jonah’s skin, chill flooded them both. Eldridge released at once and snapped his hand back, rubbing it, shock in his eyes.