The Reviver by Seth Patrick Read Free Book Online

desk; Revival Kits contained various items useful for the job, but it was the protective clothing and cleaning equipment inside that revivers found indispensable. To varying degrees, revivers were obsessive about cleanliness. It was something Never could understand, but some were damn near OCD. Nails trimmed past the quick, and hands scrubbed red.
    He gave Pru the pack; she let out the strap and slung it onto her shoulder.
    ‘A tough one, Pru,’ he said.
    ‘Tell me about it.’
    ‘You’ll be fine,’ he told her. ‘Take Ross on this one, he’s down in the equipment room. Have fun.’
    She grimaced and left, passing Jonah on the way.
    ‘Good luck,’ Jonah said, and she nodded. She looked anxious, and he didn’t envy her. Even with his past, he took traffic fatalities. They tried to give them to the others – his mother’s death was a raw wound, and the association risked affecting his performance – but sometimes there was just no choice. Two years before, he’d had a non-vocal revival that had involved reaching into the twisted wreckage and gripping the corpse’s shoulder, unseen. It was one of the revivals that would stay with him; the only one he had ever performed where he couldn’t even see the subject.
    It would stay with him for other reasons too – it had started the deterioration that had led to his breakdown. Those around him thought the stress had been the biggest factor, and he had let them think it. The full story was something he kept to himself.
    Half an hour later, a call came for another in-situ case. Handgun to the back of the head, it was one of the most challenging injuries for a reviver.
    In his mind, Jonah was already there, but Sam sent Tunde. Wishing him luck, Never threw him a kit, then smiled as Jonah approached.
    ‘Do I sit and do nothing all week?’ Jonah asked him.
    ‘If by “nothing” you mean the mountain of paperwork you always moan about, then yes. That’s the plan.’
    *   *   *
    The plan came to an end the next morning.
    Revival took a toll. Rules on workload were stretched in every way but one – after a revival, there was a thirty-six-hour minimum before another could be attempted. It didn’t matter if revivers were short-tail and their ability would have returned in full before then, the thirty-six-hour rule was strictly followed.
    The previous day’s work had taken two of the best revivers out of play. Anything tricky would have to be handled by Jason Shepperton, back from vacation, or at a push, by Jonah.
    In a normal week, there would be perhaps two or three cases in total requiring the highest-level revivers, so there was a good chance things would be quiet. But when Jonah reached his desk at eight-thirty to hear there was a possible murder, he knew that Sam Deering would send Shepperton. Jonah didn’t mind this, necessarily – if the case profile gave Shepperton a similar chance of success, it was justified.
    But Jonah disliked the way Shepperton did things. He was casual about death, and short on respect for the victims. He treated them, to Jonah’s eyes, with disdain. That lack of respect may have been subtle, and certainly Shepperton did nothing that attracted official disapproval, but Jonah found his attitude intolerable.
    How big a problem it would be for Jason to take this would come down to the nature of the case.
    He saw Never emerge from the kitchen, bleary-eyed, nursing a mug. Jonah intercepted him on the way to his desk and asked about the case.
    ‘Girl, nine years old,’ Never said. ‘Apparent burglary, kid walked in on it. Discovered dying by the father at four a.m.’
    ‘Straightforward?’
    ‘Not quite,’ Never said, with a wince. ‘Revival should be OK, though. Here…’ He handed Jonah a few sheets of paper: the email requesting attendance, and a preliminary report covering the extent of the victim’s injuries.
    Jonah looked it over. It had happened in Manassas, a suburb of Washington, DC; it was usually the larger, North