The Reincarnation

That was a quick one, John thought. He was passed out on the sidewalk in front of the theater next to his apartment. And he was almost home. Damned if he knew why, but he almost preferred the sidewalk to the kitchen floor.

Flying up the stairs to his apartment, he skipped every other step. Bursting through the door, he remembered what he had forgotten earlier. Hannibal’s tracker. He had bought him a name tag with a tracking chip in it six months ago, in case he got lost.

John had been combing his mind for a plan. He liked plans. Lived for them, in fact. Knowing he didn’t quite have a complete one yet, he figured he would go with his hunches. If that Corpsicle guy had Hannibal, he might also have some answers for John. And the Corpsicle’s eyes – there was a gleam in them as if he could see straight out of the television and right through John.

The tracker only worked within a five mile radius, but John learned from the announcer on the news where his cat was.

Where the Lab was.

Where he thought his only hope in the world was.

It was 3:00 a.m., and Frank Versella was counting the ways he hated the midnight shift. What he hated most, he decided, was that nobody ever came in at that hour. He couldn’t figure out why a car rental agency would have to be open twenty-four hours anyway. It was all Frank could do just to stay awake.

A shadowy figure approached the glass doors of the rental agency. Frank couldn’t see the man’s face, but he was wearing what appeared to be a very expensive coat. Frank buzzed him in.

“Welcome to Rental World, how can I help you?” Frank said in the most customer-friendly voice he could summon at this hour.

The man pulled his coat collar away from his face and looked into Frank’s eyes. Frank instantly wished he hadn’t had that third cup of coffee. His bladder felt weak, but he held it in line. What he saw in the man’s eyes didn’t frighten him at first – instead, his whole body relaxed, sympathizing with something primal in them. It was when his mind recognized that not only was the vestigial visage standing upright before him, but in himself – part of Frank – that he reacted with terror. It was as if the man was completely devoid of consciousness.

The man slid a diamond card onto the counter and said one word, “Car.”

Frank slipped the card through the credit machine and pulled out some paperwork, tried filling it in, but finally gave up. His fingers had turned into claws, unable to hold the pen. Having no better luck with the computer’s keyboard, he slid a set of car keys across the counter, careful to let them go before the man reached out to grab them. Frank didn’t want to touch the man’s hand. Frank pointed to a car on the lot outside the glass doors. The man took the keys, turned around, and left with his diamond card.

As Frank regained confidence in his hands, he used them to grab his coat and hat. He heard the car starting outside, then drive away. After he was sure the man was gone, Frank went outside.

“They can fire me for all I care,” he said as he started his own car and headed home.

John found that by clearing his mind and letting his body have complete control, driving was easy, mechanical. He drove for a few hours and stopped at a cheap motel. The white stucco surfaces of the motel’s outer walls were a grimy tan. The painted doors to the rooms were chipped and cracked, their cheerful light blue color squandered by neglect. John didn’t like the look of the place, but liked his alternative even less.

It was still early in the morning, but John wasn’t going to take any chances. The last thing he needed now was to pass out at the wheel. Paying for the room in cash, he never let the nightman see his face. He noted from the placard on the wall that the man’s name was Jerry Gonzales.

As he lay on the covers of the bed in his room, John studied himself. He lay on the covers because as near as he could tell, his body emitted no heat.

He saw a muted light emerging from outside the tawdry curtains of his room. Concentrating on his body, he could feel warmth. It started in his lower chest, right where his lower ribs came together, and radiated out, taking only moments to reach his limbs. This is the fugue state, John told himself. This was what he was suffering from. John studied the feeling, cataloguing its nuances.

Most of all, he studied the feeling he got right before he was gone for good.