The Second Life of Nathan Jones

by David Atkinson

  He was on my wavelength with so many things, and as we had absolutely no interest in each other physically it was easy to talk to him. I suspect he might be gay – in fact I’d stake money on it – but whenever I broached the subject (usually on a night out after a few drinks) he changed the subject of conversation immediately. He was firmly in the closet as far as I was concerned, so far in that he’d locked the damn thing and thrown away the key.

  On this Monday, I managed to arrive before anyone else and opened the door to the large basement room where all the recently deceased were stored. Then, something made me stop in my tracks. I’d heard something. I didn’t move for a moment, hardly breathing, then decided I must have been mistaken. I’d been alone down here hundreds of times before, both during the day and at night, and it didn’t bother me any more. It had been a little creepy at first, but I’d soon come to realise that the dead couldn’t hurt me (barring any kind of zombie uprising, of course), and life had taught me well that it was the living I needed to be wary of.

  I quickly scanned the log, noting only one new entry, and as I turned to go and get changed I heard something coming from one of the drawers. How strange.

  I cautiously approached the section where the banging emanated from and thought for a second that one of the medical staff might be playing a trick, but that sort of stuff was usually only reserved for ‘newbies’. I slowly pulled out the offending drawer and peered down at the pale and bruised but incredibly cute face staring up at me. It blinked its bright blue eyes and I was immediately smitten. It had finally happened – I’d fallen for a corpse.

  Chapter 3

  Once I’d made sure my rather attractive ‘corpse’ was alive and not a figment of my too often fertile imagination, I called upstairs and got them to send down some of the intensive care staff. My ‘patient’ (I thought that sounded better than ‘corpse’ on the phone) hadn’t been dead for long, if indeed he’d been dead at all. The doctors were understandably confused and fired loads of questions at me, most of which I couldn’t answer.

  Fifteen minutes after I’d discovered the patient – Mr Jones, according to his label – had been moved to an intensive care bed, wired up to the moon and subjected to all manner of poking and prodding. After they finished their tests, they loaded him up with painkillers and left him to sleep. The IT consultant told me that, ‘Nathan Jones is a medical curiosity, a walking miracle – well, he will be. Currently, he’s a lying-down moaning miracle.’

  At the end of my shift I pottered upstairs to see how my first ‘living corpse’ had fared. He intrigued me but, more than that, he’d unsettled me. I’d never developed feelings instantly for anyone before, alive or dead or maybe somewhere in between, as Mr Jones appeared to be.

  I knew I’d stepped onto dodgy ground but couldn’t help the way I felt.

  I stopped by the nurses’ station on the way and got an update from Jan, the staff nurse on duty. We’d known each other for years. She’d ‘taken me under her wing’ (her description not mine) when I’d first started in the hospital, and even confessed to me one night when we were both a bit drunk that she suspected she had bisexual tendencies but didn’t want her husband or teenage son to find out. Given that new information, I hadn’t been sure at the time whether her ‘taking me under her wing’ might be a sign that she liked me or a sign that she liked me, but – to my relief – nothing more than her drunken confession had happened.

  She filled me in on what she knew and that he remained asleep. I slipped into his room and sat staring at him for a while, wondering how on earth he’d managed to get pronounced dead and yet still be alive.

  I’d just decided to get up and head for home when his eyes flickered open. ‘Hello there,’ I said brightly.

  ‘Can you say anything else?’ he mumbled with an English accent, running his tongue around dry lips. I poured him some water and handed it to him. His left arm had been encased in plaster but his right one seemed fine and he took the beaker from me.

  ‘Are you right-handed? That’s lucky.’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, I don’t feel that lucky just now. I think I need to thank you … you know, for finding me.’

  ‘You were being very noisy. The morgue is usually quiet, like, well … a morgue, I suppose.’

  ‘Not too noisy, I hope – not enough to wake the dead.’

  ‘I didn’t check but I think you were the only live one there.’

  ‘Has that ever happened to you before?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nope, you’re my first zombie. You were definitely dead when they shut you in the drawer again yesterday.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Yeah, I wasn’t in over the weekend, but it seems after your wife identified you on Saturday night, they moved you around a fair bit because they were servicing the fridge mechanisms, so you haven’t been in the drawers much. Thing is, you’d think all that moving about would have woken you up.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Neither do I, nor the doctors. You’ve got a lot of people confused and all worked up. They don’t know why you’re alive and that bothers them.’

  ‘They’d rather I’d stayed dead?’

  ‘Probably; and if you’d stayed in there much longer you’d likely have frozen to death anyway. They’re saying you’ve been subject to the Lazarus Syndrome.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Well, it’s also known as autoresuscitation after failed cardiopulmonary resuscitation, which is the spontaneous return of circulation after failed attempts at revival.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You’re very lucky.’

  ‘You said that already. What’s your name?’

  ‘Kat.’

  ‘What, as in pussy? Sorry, that sounds rude.’

  ‘It’s fine. No, K-A-T.’

  ‘Oh, okay. As in short for Katie or something.’

  ‘Yeah, something like that. Look, I really came to see if there’s anything you need?’

  ‘A new body, maybe.’

  I laughed. ‘I can’t help you there. I think your wife stopped by earlier.’

  ‘Did you speak to her?’

  ‘No, I was downstairs at that point helping saw the top off someone’s skull.’

  ‘I probably didn’t need to know that.’

  ‘Sorry, the staff nurse said she couldn’t hang around because of your kids but they’ve called to let her know that you’re awake. She said she’ll come tomorrow.’ I scratched my nose where a black piercing emerged from my left nostril. I noticed Nathan watching me intently. I must admit being overcome with a feeling of disappointment when I’d discovered he had a wife. My taste in men wasn’t getting any better the older I got. ‘It must have been a shock for her.’

  ‘What? That I’d died?’

  ‘Well, yes, that you’d died. And then that you were suddenly alive again.’ I noticed his face darken and a frown appeared, making him look older. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Apart from being broken?’

  I smiled. ‘Yeah, you look upset about something.’

  ‘No, just in a bit of pain, I think.’

  I didn’t believe him but whatever was bothering him wasn’t really any of my business.

  ‘Well, as your wife isn’t able to come and see you, who else can I call?’

  ‘Ghostbusters,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘Seriously – there’s no one? Your mother?’

  ‘She’s been dead for seventeen years.’

  ‘Father?’

  ‘Dead for twenty.’

  ‘Brothers, sisters?’

  ‘I’m an only child.’

  ‘Lonely child, more like. What about friends?’

  Nathan sighed. ‘You could have called my mate Graham, I suppose, but he’s on holiday in Thailand.’

  ‘Have you told your work you’re likely to be off for a while?’

  ‘I mainly work for myself, freelance, so no need.’

  ‘Freelance what?’

  ‘
Just freelance. You’re very nosy.’

  ‘Are you lonely?’

  ‘With a wife and three kids? You must be joking.’

  ‘Outside your family circle there doesn’t seem to be very much for you though.’

  ‘I’m a very busy person.’

  ‘That’s what lonely people say.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  We were both silent for a moment and I noticed his eyes closing.

  ‘I should go. You’re obviously very tired and you need to sleep.’

  He nodded. ‘You’ve got to get back to work, I expect?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, I’ve just finished my shift so I’m heading home now.’

  ‘Is your boyfriend waiting?’

  I wondered why he’d asked that and it slightly annoyed me. Maybe he’d been a serial cheater, and, if so, no wonder his wife hadn’t rushed back to the hospital.

  I said rather sharply, ‘I don’t have a boyfriend. Do you think I’d be sitting here if I had anywhere better to be?’ I could tell my question and tone of voice had taken him aback.

  ‘Probably not,’ he said, chastened.

  Perhaps that had been a bit harsh. ‘Sorry, that didn’t come out as I meant it to.’

  ‘No, it’s fine, I appreciate it. I wouldn’t have had any visitors at all today if you weren’t here.’

  ‘I probably won’t come to see you again. I really only popped by to see if you needed to contact anyone else – now that you’ve told me you don’t … well, that’s fine.’

  ‘Thank you for bringing me back to life.’

  I smiled and shook my head. ‘I don’t think I did but it’s a nice idea. Goodbye, Mr Jones.’

  ‘Nathan.’

  ‘Goodbye, Nathan.’

  *

  The next morning Nathan awoke early. Mainly due to the clatter and clashing that went on in hospital wards at that time of day. He’d had a troubled sleep and his dreams had been haunted by the mortuary girl, and then pain when his medication had worn off. A nurse had stopped by to take his blood pressure at some ungodly hour, though, and thankfully administered more pain relief.

  During the morning his wife appeared with their youngest daughter, four-year-old Daisy. Daisy jumped onto the bed and gave him a hug, which felt lovely. They also had Millie, ten going on thirty-five and Chloe, six.

  ‘Where’s the other two?’

  Laura smiled. ‘At school, of course – it’s Tuesday.’

  ‘They could have missed a morning to come and see their dad.’

  ‘They’re confused enough. I spent the last two days trying to stop them crying about you being dead. Now they think I’ve been lying to them about it and Millie especially is hardly speaking to me.’

  ‘Sorry for upsetting your life.’

  Laura’s phoney smile vanished. ‘Don’t start, Nathan. I’ve had a traumatic few days. You’ve no idea how hard it’s been coping with everything. We all thought you were dead.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m not going to apologise for still being alive, Laura. It was the Lazarus Syndrome.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Something to do with pulman circumnavigation or … anyway, I didn’t do it on purpose to complicate things.’

  Laura blinked and looked away. ‘Yeah, I know. Sorry. How are you feeling?’

  He sighed. ‘Sore. I’ve got a lot of broken things.’

  ‘Yes, I know, they told me.’

  ‘You could have come yesterday.’

  ‘I did but the girls were playing up and I … might have been in shock. When they told us we had to go it seemed easier to just agree.’

  ‘Shock?’

  ‘That you were still alive; as I said I’d spent two days …’

  ‘Yeah, telling the girls I’d died, you just said.’

  The next few minutes passed in silence until Daisy announced, ‘I need pee pees.’

  Laura went with her to the toilet on the other side of the room and Nathan took a moment to try and see things from his wife’s point of view. He accepted that she’d been shocked by his death, and their three daughters could be a handful, but if the situation were reversed would he have waited patiently to see his wife? No, he would have demanded the hospital staff let them in rather than giving up, for the girls’ sake if nothing else.

  He sighed and tried to remember the love he’d once felt for Laura but found it difficult; they hadn’t been close for so long. Occasionally they had a good day or more likely a good night when she was horny, and their love-making brought them together physically and mentally, but those episodes had become less frequent.

  Laura came back and sat with Daisy on her knee. His wife had jet-black hair, her natural colour. In all the years he’d known her she’d never changed it. Even now with many grey hairs appearing she still resisted colouring it. Her small nose sat like a cute little button on her pale and lovely face. Dark emerald eyes that once captivated him and gazed upon him with love and devotion nowadays more often expressed impatience and scorn.

  ‘Well, I suppose I’d better get home. Daisy needs her lunch and I’ve got to pick the girls up from school at three.’

  Nathan didn’t argue; the silence wasn’t comfortable, and he needed to sleep. The painkillers made him drowsy and irritable. Minutes after she left he slipped into a fitful slumber. His dreams were rarely pleasant any more.

  Chapter 4

  Laura brought the girls to see him every evening whilst he remained in hospital and although seeing his daughters acted like a tonic, staring at his wife’s stressed and unhappy face had the opposite effect. He was glad when, after four days, they let him go home.

  The consultant appeared on the Friday afternoon with a clipboard and a printed list of things he wasn’t allowed to do once they handed over the strong painkillers and released him from their care.

  Motocross

  Hang gliding

  Parachuting

  Rally driving

  Water-skiing

  Boxing

  Bull riding

  Nathan had never attempted any of those things and it left him wondering if he’d been missing out on life somehow. He signed the bottom of the form, promising not to do anything dangerous, though he had to remember he’d ended up in the morgue by simply trying to cross the road.

  The young-looking consultant – too young to be a senior doctor in Nathan’s mind – took the signed disclaimer from him and ticked another box on her clipboard and said without looking up, ‘Now, you shouldn’t drive or operate machinery whilst taking these pills either.’

  He waited for her to look up and wafted his sling and plastered arm at her.

  ‘Oh, yeah, sorry, I’m on automatic, but you’d be surprised at what some people try and do.’

  ‘Like bull riding.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It’s on your list of prohibited activities.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yeah, right at the bottom.’

  She peered at the form then looked up and smiled. ‘Yeah maybe give that a miss for a few weeks at least.’

  ‘I’ll try, but there are so many opportunities to bull ride in Edinburgh that it might be unavoidable,’ Nathan informed her.

  She ignored his sarcasm and left his discharge forms on the bottom of the bed.

  Apart from the obvious sling and a few cuts on his forehead, Nathan looked none the worse for his experience. Underneath his shirt, his broken ribs were bound tightly, and his damaged skull bore no marks, but he’d been told to be careful because, although the linear fractures required no treatment as such, he had to return immediately if he experienced any unexpected or severe headaches. Heading home to a grumpy wife and three young kids meant the chances of developing a severe headache were somewhere near one hundred per cent.

  Despite this, mentally, he felt elated. It might be down to some sort of post-death high, but he reckoned that, as there wouldn’t be many discussion groups available who’d shared his experience, he’d pro
bably never know.

  Laura arrived to take him home in an unusually animated and chatty mood and did most of the talking. As his head hurt and he felt drowsy this suited him fine. He spent most of the weekend watching TV and falling asleep unexpectedly. One minute he would be watching a re-run of an episode of the Antiques Roadshow, the next he’d be snoring, although he suspected this might be more to do with the programme than the pills. Chloe woke him up. ‘Dad, how can you sleep when you’re snoring so loudly?’

  ‘I don’t know, Chloe.’ He yawned, and Laura came over and made a fuss of him, which he really enjoyed.

  Then Daisy jumped onto the couch and gave him a huge cuddle. Dying had certainly made his two youngest daughters very appreciative of him. It probably wouldn’t last so he needed to make the most of it – once they sensed he’d recovered fully they’d be back to normal. Daisy jumped down and tripped over his foot.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Daisy, don’t say that; it’s not a nice word,’ scolded Laura.

  ‘Daddy said it.’

  ‘He shouldn’t have. Nathan, don’t say shit.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Shit,’ squealed Daisy with delight.

  ‘Daisy, stop it.’

  ‘You said shit again, Laura, that’s why she’s doing it.’

  ‘Shit!’ yelled Daisy again, gleefully.

  ‘I didn’t, did I? Shit, I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Daisy, bouncing up and down on the rug.

  Laura put her head in her hands. ‘We need to stop saying shit. I hardly ever say it – it’s you she’s learned it from.’

  ‘Why’s everything my fault?’

  ‘Because it usually is.’

  ‘Shit,’ cried Daisy as she walked over and picked up her doll. She took the doll into her bedroom whispering, ‘Shit,’ into its ear.

  On Monday, Laura dropped Daisy at her day nursery and went to work, leaving him alone at home for the first time since he’d come back from hospital. His wife had been making an effort to be civil to him and he felt guilty about the recent disingenuous thoughts and feelings he’d had when she’d so easily given up on coming to see him in hospital that first day. He hoped it might be a sign that they could begin to patch things up.