The Reincarnation

David, Laura, and Donna drove toward the Lab. Despite the hurry they were in to get there, Donna kept pace with the few cars around them, not wanting to attract unwanted attention. Laura flipped on the radio to settle their nerves.

“Turn that up,” David called from the back. Donna, driving, complied.

“Is this David Michaels? This symphony was playing in my head when I woke up Friday night.” David listened intently.

Laura answered him, glad the subject had changed from their shock over John’s sacrifice, and eager to talk about something else. “It’s not David Michaels, it’s Michaels & David. They play every kind of music – classical, rock, pop – it’s two guys named Michael and a guy named David. They’re kind of a spooky group, if you ask me.”

“Why’s that?” David asked curiously.

“Well, they seem to have a common thread throughout their music, no matter what kind they play. I don’t know, it’s kind of like they’re saying over and over again that there’s a certain amount of pain and misery in the world and every day we have the choice of increasing it or decreasing it. And this guy David – when they were touring as a rock group, at the end of each concert he would get up on this huge cross and put his arms out like he was being crucified. The crowd loved it, but it kind of freaked me out.”

“I think we better stop soon, guys – my eyes are getting fuzzy.” Donna interrupted. “I haven’t driven this far in years.”

“Can we afford to stop?” worried Laura.

“No use getting there exhausted,” David said. “Let’s pull over at the next motel. I could use some sleep myself.”

The sun was going down, painting the sky crimson, when Donna nosed the Bug into one of the motel’s parking spaces. “I’ll check us in. You two sneak Hannibal in once I get the keys,” Donna said, getting out of the car.

She returned a moment later, saying, “You’re now David Bowie,” to David, “and you’re Laura Branigan,” to Laura. “Me,” she said, unlocking the room and letting them go by her, “I’m Donna Summer.”

Hannibal was hungry and crying, and Donna left to get him some food. She returned later with cat food, and some dinner and beer for the rest of them.

The room had a phone, but David found himself staring at it blankly, not being able to think of a single soul he wanted to get in touch with – except the one that had sacrificed himself for David’s sake.

Working on his second beer, thinking about John, he peeled the label off easily. The label was a perfect circle with a tiny notch at the top and bottom. It was black, with a picture drawn on it in lines and spirals that were blue. It was a number of images all combined, and looking closer, David picked out the profile of a quarter moon on the right side of it. The moon looked dead, its tongue hanging out, and had a spiral for an eye. Around the eye were tiny stars. The bottom of the moon was drawn in such a way that it was also an eye – a human eye – looking menacingly to the right. At the top of the moon was a bird that looked like it was on fire. It was flying toward another, smaller moon, but one that was alive. On the left side of the label, as if to balance out the dead moon, was another spiral with a fish drawn near its center. The name of the beer was written in increasingly smaller letters, from the edge of the label to its center, also in a spiral. The name read “Blind Faith.”

David tried to sense if John was dead and could feel nothing. He thought about Hannibal’s attack on John, how he hadn’t bled from the deep cuts. He wondered if John could die – he was more like something out of a horror novel than a human being.

Deciding they all needed some sleep, they retired.

Donna returned to the room with coffee in the morning, nearly dropping it in her angry excitement to show them the Sunday paper she had picked up.

Cold with horror, Laura and David read, in huge black type, the headline:

CHURCH “DEFROSTING” A SUCCESS!

HUNDREDS IN LINE TO REVIVE THEIR RELATIVES