Ex-Communication Peter Clines (ebook smartphone .TXT) 📖

George felt the fire building in his throat again. “You’re saying we might not be able to go out into the city for two weeks?”

“Two weeks at the absolute most,” said Max. “It’ll probably be less than that.”

“There’s no chance we could sneak out?” Freedom asked. “A small team, maybe with a diversionary action?”

Max shook his head. “Cairax is a demonic spirit. He can be in multiple places at once and he can see every living thing inside the walls. There’s no getting out without him knowing.”

“The other option,” said Stealth, “is we surrender you to this entity now.”

Freedom’s lips twitched at the corners.

“You could,” Max admitted, “but we’re the good guys. Besides, it probably wouldn’t make a difference. Demons are legendary for holding a grudge, and there’s no way you’d convince it I misled you.”

“Lied,” corrected Freedom.

“It’s all in your point of view,” said Max. “All of this will blow over in a couple of days. Trust me.”

“I think we’re all having a little trouble with that right now,” said St. George.

There was a knock on the door and Billie entered with a duffel bag. “Hey,” she said. “I got a bunch of his clothes. Did you want to dress him up for a funeral or something? He didn’t have an actual suit.”

“Too bad,” said Max. “I like a good suit.”

Her eyes flitted to the resurrected man and she gave a polite nod. Then she looked at him again and her eyes went wide with recognition. One hand rose up. The other one dropped to her holster.

Freedom set a hand on her shoulder. “At ease,” he said.

“Jarvis,” she said, “you’re—”

“I’m not Jarvis,” said Max.

“But you were dying,” she said. “I came and saw you.” After three years of dealing with the undead, St. George could see the conflict on her face. She wasn’t sure if she should hug her friend or shoot him.

“It is not Jarvis,” said Stealth. “His body is being used by another … person.”

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