by Seth Patrick
He tensed as the surge took him. It was intense, but manageable – he knew at once that he could ride it out. Jonah suddenly knew what his parents looked like. He knew what toys Grady preferred, what TV shows, what games. The boy felt like family, and with that his death hit harder.
He opened his eyes and watched Grady’s chest. The essence of the boy was gathering itself. Jonah caught Cathy’s eye, and nodded.
Grady took a breath. It was loud and uneven, and it sounded almost like he was choking, such was the struggle to take in that first lungful of air. Subsequent breaths – only needed when speech had emptied the lungs – would be quieter, less conspicuous.
Cathy was staring at her grandson, and Jonah could tell that this was the first time she’d seen a revival. He’d not even asked her that basic question, and he scolded himself for it.
‘Grady?’ he said. ‘My name is Jonah.’
‘Hi, Jonah,’ said the boy’s corpse. The voice came out as a harsh whisper. Jonah glanced at Cathy and could see unease there. It would fade, both as she accepted what was happening, and as Grady’s voice softened.
‘Do you know what happened to you?’
A few seconds passed before Grady answered. ‘I guess I died,’ he said. More often than not, children were almost matter-of-fact about their own death. Some thought this was because they didn’t really understand the implications, but Jonah didn’t agree. They just seemed more accepting of it. It made things difficult when a revival subject was in denial, but kids rarely were.
‘That’s right. I’m a reviver, Grady. Do you know what that means?’
With his lungs depleted, the boy didn’t reply immediately. He took another breath, and it was already much less distressing than the first one. ‘You’ll let me say things, even though I’m dead.’
‘Right again, Grady. You know your stuff. Can you tell me, do you remember what happened to you?’ It would be unpleasant for Cathy, he knew, but he needed to get it out of the way. If he didn’t get Grady to talk about it now, it could interrupt the boy’s flow of thought later, and possibly make the revival stutter.
Grady’s chest rose again; another breath. ‘I think I ran into the road. Dad always told me to be careful, but I dropped my rubber ball and it bounced and I went to get it. Is the ball OK?’
‘It’s fine,’ said Jonah. An outsider might think Grady’s question was the kind of ridiculous thing only a child would ask, but adults did it all the time. They’d be worried if their car was damaged, say, or if their sneakers got dirty. ‘Your grandmother’s here, Grady. She’s going to bring your mom and dad in, if that’s OK?’
‘Sure,’ said the boy. Jonah nodded to Cathy, and made sure he was facing away from where the parents would be standing.
‘Are they here yet?’ said Grady, eager.
The door closed again, and Jonah could hear the shuffle of feet, and the sniffing. He felt a near-unbearable stab of empathy for Grady’s parents.
‘They’re here, Grady. Do you want to say something to them? They can hear you, OK? You won’t be able to hear them, but I’ll tell you what they say.’
‘OK. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry I got killed.’
It prompted a gasp from his mother, and she immediately covered her face. ‘I love you, Grady,’ she said, in a rush of emotion.
‘I love you,’ said his father, hardly able to speak.
Jonah relayed it, his voice almost silent. Grady would still hear him loud and clear.
‘I love you too!’ said Grady. ‘Is Remy here?’
His mother paused. ‘Your sister couldn’t come,’ she said. ‘She’s just too upset. She loves you so much.’
‘I love her too,’ said Grady. ‘Tell her it’s OK. And don’t forget to feed Chipotle!’
Jonah had a sudden memory: the odour of pine shavings, and the feel of a small fluffy animal. Grady’s hamster, he thought.
‘We’ll look after him, baby,’ said his mother. She was struggling to speak through her tears. ‘And we’ll tell Remy. We’re going to miss you, honey. We’re going to miss you so much.’
‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ said Grady, after a breath. ‘I’ll be fine. Grandma, do you know if I get to meet Grandpa in heaven?’
‘I don’t think it would be much of a heaven if you didn’t, now would it?’ said Cathy.
It was nearly time, Jonah knew. There was only so much needed to be said; with adults and older kids, a private revival quickly became a time to reminisce, but with the youngest children that didn’t happen for long. A parent saying ‘Do you remember when . . .’ would likely be met with a ‘Not really’ followed by a random question about ice cream.
That was just how kids were at that age.
He let them say how much they loved each other a few more times, in a few different ways, and then sent the parents and Cathy off. It seemed like such a small thing, to tell someone you loved them one last time. But it was everything.
The door shut.
‘Do you know what it’s like where I’m going?’ said the boy.
‘I don’t know that, Grady.’
‘I’m not scared. Is that strange?’
‘No,’ said Jonah. ‘It’s normal. I think that means there’s nothing to be scared of.’ He paused before saying it: ‘It’s time for you to go, Grady. Are you ready?’
Grady paused, taking a breath. Then he said: ‘There’s someone coming.’
‘Who’s coming?’ said Jonah, suddenly wary.
‘Someone for you.’
Jonah felt a flush of terror. ‘For me?’
‘You don’t have to be scared, remember?’
Even though Jonah felt terrified, Grady wasn’t frightened at all. ‘I don’t?’ said Jonah.
It was a few more seconds before Grady took another breath; Jonah didn’t breathe in those seconds either.
‘Of course not!’ said the boy. ‘I think they got lost. Here, look!’
And suddenly, Jonah wasn’t in the room any more.
*
He was standing, and Grady was standing beside him. The boy was wearing a little pair of jeans and a Pokémon T-shirt, and was holding his hand, smiling up at him.
‘Where are we?’ said Jonah, bewildered. Wherever it was, it was featureless. He couldn’t even put a colour to their surroundings – it seemed to be every colour, and none.
‘You don’t know?’ said Grady.
Jonah shook his head. ‘This is new to me.’
Grady nodded a direction, and Jonah looked.
There she was. Tess. Sitting cross-legged, looking up to the sky above. She seemed dazed, unaware of their presence.
‘Tess?’ said Jonah. ‘It’s me. It’s Jonah.’
He and Grady walked closer. Tess was whispering, and Jonah moved nearer and nearer until he could make it out.
Pandora, she was saying. Rapidly repeated, just that one word. She really wasn’t aware of anyone else around her. Jonah passed his free hand in front of her staring eyes, and they didn’t flicker.
‘Is she OK?’ said Grady. ‘Does she not know where to go?’
Jonah had no answer. He looked around again, but the calmness of the boy eased the fear he was feeling.
‘It’s OK, miss,’ said Grady. With his free hand, the boy took hold of Tess’s. He looked at Jonah. ‘Thanks for letting me talk to my mom and dad,’ he said. ‘I’ll take it from here.’ He let go of Jonah’s hand and gave him a playful salute, smiling.
Jonah smiled back. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and the next time he blinked, he opened his eyes in Cathy’s house again. He was still holding Grady’s hand, but the boy had gone.
He stood and placed Grady’s arm back by his side, looking at the boy’s face for a few seconds, wondering what the hell had just happened. He’d been doing this for the best part of a decade, and nothing like this had ever happened to him before.
Once, he thought. Maybe once.
There was a knock at the door. ‘Yes,’ he said, and Cathy entered.
She looked overwhelmed. She nodded. ‘I think that went OK,’ she said. ‘It was . . . strange. But I think Sara and Armel . . .’ She shook her head.
‘It’ll help,’ said Jonah. ‘Trust me.’
‘Thanks, Jonah,’ she said. ‘And again, I’m sorry. Asking you for this was unforgivable, no matter what you say.’
He smiled at her. ‘Cathy, for the last year I’ve been no use to anyone. Tonight, I could help. So I did.’
As she showed him out, they both looked up. Barely visible in the dark sky was a slowly shifting green glow.
Aurora. Northern Lights.
‘Jesus,’ said Cathy. ‘There must be some pretty significant solar activity for it to be at this low latitude. Got to be some kind of record. Green Bank will be grumbling, I guarantee you that. Too much interference.’ She had a tissue in her hand, and wiped away tears.
‘It’s not something I’ve ever seen before,’ said Jonah. On any other day, he imagined he would’ve been thrilled by the sight. Instead, it left him cold.
‘I’ve seen an aurora plenty of times before,’ said Cathy. ‘They always looked miraculous. Not today.’ She shook her head. ‘Not with Grady gone. That just looks like the sky is sick.’
And Jonah realized that was part of why he felt wary of what he was seeing. There was something about the shade of green that felt wrong, somehow.
He also realized the other reason for his wariness.
Tess had also been looking up to the sky, hadn’t she? Looking up, and saying the same thing over and over again.
Pandora.
7
‘How did it go?’ asked Annabel when he came through the door.
‘I think it was good,’ said Jonah. ‘It’s not exactly a cure-all, but in the days and weeks ahead the kid’s mom and dad will have one layer of regret taken away from them. They’ll still endlessly go over how he died, what they could have done. All the last-minute changes to their day that would’ve meant they were somewhere else and none of it could have happened . . .’ He sighed. ‘That kind of shit. All the what-ifs will still haunt them, but they got to say goodbye.’
‘How was the boy? Grady, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah, Grady,’ said Jonah. He thought of Tess, and what she’d said in his . . . What the hell was it? A dream? A vision? Annabel was watching him anxiously as he paused. ‘He was strong,’ he said. He put his hand to his head, feigning discomfort.
‘You should lie down,’ said Annabel.
‘I will. Hey, did you look outside?’
She shook her head. ‘Should I have?’
‘There’s an aurora in the sky.’
‘What, Northern Lights?’
‘Yeah. Faint, but there. Cathy reckoned it was some kind of record.’
Annabel went outside, and after a minute came back in with a smile. ‘I’d always planned on taking a trip to see that. Just didn’t get around to it.’ She headed to the kitchen and turned on the TV. The news had nothing about it, although the picture was noticeably unstable, dropping out to black now and again, and Jonah remembered that Cathy had mentioned interference. Eventually, the story was picked up. Shots of the aurora came on, but they were unimpressively dim. ‘They’ve not had time to do it justice,’ said Annabel. She caught the look on Jonah’s face. ‘What’s up?’
Jonah shook his head. He was still thinking about Tess, but the aurora had thrown him too. ‘It feels like an omen,’ he said. The TV picture dropped out again for a moment, and that didn’t help. When it came back up, a female scientist was answering the anchor’s questions about the aurora.
‘. . . large solar flare that had been predicted, with an accompanying coronal mass ejection,’ she said. ‘In the past this could cause blackouts and communications problems, and even pose a risk to satellites, but we’ve had the ability to get advance warning of X-class flares for two decades now, and that early warning means we can cope with most of the issues that can occur. Satellites can be put into safety modes that protect their circuitry, for example. These things happen far more regularly than you might think.’
‘You say these things happen regularly, so why has the aurora been so widespread?’ said the anchor.
The scientist nodded. ‘Chance plays its part, too. There’s natural variation in Earth’s magnetosphere and ionosphere, and an aurora can be brighter or dimmer depending on more than just the solar output.’
The anchor looked vaguely bemused by the answer. ‘So in summary?’
‘It’s been a perfect storm of circumstances,’ said the scientist.
The anchor nodded. ‘A perfect solar storm, you could say!’
The scientist gave a pained smile. ‘Indeed.’
*
Jonah made excuses about wanting some time to himself after the revival.
‘You want me to make you a coffee or something?’ asked Annabel, concerned.
‘I’ll grab a beer,’ said Jonah. He grabbed four, and headed to a little office room he’d nabbed as part of his personal space when they’d moved in. He booted up his PC. He thought about the place where he’d been with Grady – that curious region of nothingness, no colour, no floor, really, thinking back to it. It hadn’t seemed like a dream, he knew that much. Afterwards, it was easy to dismiss it as imagined, but he didn’t think that was true. Grady had been there with him, and it seemed reasonable to assume that Tess – or some part of her – had been present as well.
How was another question entirely. He’d been with Tess when she died. No attempt had been made at a revival. Even while alive she’d been unable to reveal much information from the entity she carried inside her, and there was no reason to think a revival would change that. Kendrick hadn’t even suggested reviving her, though, and he wasn’t the kind of man to let a chance at information slip by.
Jonah thought he understood. When the Beast was imprisoned, they stripped its power and locked it away somehow. The whole point of Winnerden Flats was to find a way to access that power, but all they had managed to do was open the door a crack. That process had involved Tess, but it had been interrupted before it could be completed.
Who knew what reviving Tess could have done? Opened the floodgates, perhaps. Without a compelling reason to do it, the risk was unacceptable.
Jonah could hear the voice of Andreas, the Beast speaking through him in Winnerden Flats, taunting: The door is open now, Jonah. It will not shut . . . And I’m patient. Don’t doubt me. Don’t doubt that you’ll watch all your friends perish, one by one.
Those words had been foremost in Jonah’s mind when he’d asked Kendrick to find a way for him to disappear.
He thought of Tess in that strange place, as Grady held his hand. She’d been looking up, and when he’d seen the aurora later, he’d thought it was too much of a coincidence.
He did the obvious thing: he googled ‘Pandora’. A moon of Saturn. The home world of the Avatar movies. A few dozen businesses.
He’d half expected to find a link to one of the many companies of Michael Andreas, but nothing showed up. Eventually, he read about the most famous Pandora of them all.
The myth of Pandora’s box.
He read the Wikipedia entry, knowing it was irrelevant but happy for the distraction. It was intriguing, too, how little he really knew about it.
The Greeks had it that mankind really did start off as man-kind, an entirely male society living in perpetual bliss with no shortage of food and no need to work. When Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it to men, Zeus decided to punish the mortals by creating the first woman: Pandora, with ‘a shameless mind and a deceitful nature’. Jonah couldn’t help but smile at what Annabel would make of that – shameless was certainly an appropriate word for the tale as a whole.
Zeus gave Pandora a jar containing mysterious gifts, which turned out to be all the diseases and evils in the land and the sea.
The story Jonah had known as a child involved the infamous box, which Pandora was told not to open but then found too tempting. The original
myth referred to a large jar, which Pandora opened the moment she arrived in the world of men, releasing all the evils to plague mankind for evermore.
In both versions, after the evils had been released, the only thing left in Pandora’s box was hope.
What surprised him was that the meaning of the story, the moral, wasn’t clear-cut. He’d always assumed that hope being left in the box was supposed to be a good thing – hope had remained to help humanity deal with the trials and tribulations that the evils of disease and toil had brought them.
It turned out to be much less straightforward.
Some scholars thought that the hope remained locked in the jar and was thus withheld from mortals. It was a nasty twist to the tale that all the evils were freed but hope itself was denied. He could understand why that wasn’t the version taught to kids, as it was frankly miserable.
Then he read something that made him pause.
The argument about hope, and whether it was gifted to mortals or denied them, was rephrased by one author as the question of whether the jar itself was a prison. The author had used one phrase that jumped out at Jonah: a prison for the dark things of all creation.
A prison for the dark things.
Was it that simple? Was that why Tess had been saying it?
The Beast had been imprisoned, and Tess was one of those who had opened the prison. Whatever it was that Jonah had encountered during Grady’s revival, a piece of Tess perhaps, or something that he himself had projected, Pandora was surely just a cry of despair. Tess had put herself in that role, as someone who had unleashed evil on the world.
He read everything he could find about Pandora, but came across nothing else that struck him as important.
He did think Annabel would find it amusing to hear about the myths, though, and their ingrained misogyny – the perfect world of men, ruined by vindictive women. Still, it was hardly restricted to the Greeks. The myth of Adam and Eve had plenty of parallels – the first woman causing trouble again. And although Eve was created as a companion rather than as some cruel and unusual punishment, she still took the blame for the end of the easy life: the eviction from Eden.