Page 88 of Hot Ghost Summer

I cast my gaze over the crowded table. Did Theo forget to take his keys as well as his phone?

I hadn’t been happy when he’d left, but with no technology on him, there’d been nothing I could do to follow. Instead, I’d reassured myself that he wouldn’t go to work because he’d left the bag of equipment—including the plasma ray he’s so fond of—on the table.

A sharp, splintering sound bursts from the door.

Just as Theo staggers in, I vanish back inside my laptop. My physical presence in his home might not be a welcome sight—especially after our kiss…

Watching through the webcam, I can tell immediately that something isn’t right. He’s wearing his cap the correct way.

Lurching unexpectedly, he glances off the bathroom wall, then drags himself stiffly through to the kitchen. Is he… limping?

Keeping his back to me, Theo stands in front of his microwave, and I scrutinise his pale reflection in the fractured glass. The shadow from the visor of his cap casts half his face in shadow, but his gaunt and sunken features are clearly visible. His eyes, usually alight with the promise of mischief, stare vacantly dead ahead. Unblinking.

Standing perfectly still, he makes no effort to retrieve any food from the fridge. Did he already eat?

He hasn’t used the microwave since I overloaded its circuitry. After everything, was he perhaps hoping to come home and have a cup of tea? Guilt zaps through me.

Maybe I could look at the damage and see if it’s repairable. Or use my now redundant bank account to replace it. Better yet, I could buy him a kettle and a teapot for one, then teach him how to brew the perfect cup. Rushing to make amends, I open an internet page and search for a suitable model to add to the cart.

I hadn’t considered until now that I could instruct Theo on daily tasks—like making a cup of tea—but also coach him to do them to my preferences and standards. Living vicariously this way might ease my transition to this new afterlife.

A sudden, sharp cracking sound diverts my attention. With a frantic yank, Theo is shearing a cabinet door off at the hinges, screws snapping through particleboard and clattering to the floor.

The lights flicker and the sockets hum with the increase in voltage when I merge into the mains supply, but all his usual responses to my presence are absent. There’s no glaring at the lightbulb, no snarky one-liner, no provocative joke, no… anything. He’s the flattest I’ve ever known him. Even before I laid eyes on him the day he joined ExorSquad, Theo had something to say.

Obscured by his cap before, but visible now that I’m viewing him through electromagnetic radiation, is a significant bruised wound that mars the left side of his face. This isn’t the fading damage from a few days ago, but something new and much more critical.

I fight the urge to materialise, take hold of his chin, and command his face up to the light.

I don’t, because despite his violent outburst that tore the cabinet door from its hinge, Theo hasn’t moved. Gaze unfocused and glassy, he stares straight through the damage. The muscles in his jaw and neck tic and twitch, and his hands clench and unclench into fists at his sides.

His mouth opens wide, as if yawning, and his lips stretch thin. A thin trickle of blood drips from the cut on his lip, and a wordless vocalisation crawls up the back of his throat.

“Hol—” Theo manages, but the rest of the word is aborted. His head snaps back, almost unnaturally, before it crashes forward with alarming speed.

“Sto-kerrr,” he gurgles. When his head lifts, his pupils burn a bright red.

Scheiße. He’s possessed. And not just by any spirit, but a revenant.

Twitching and swaying in place, he fights with himself. He’s still conscious in there.

Linking with my database, I search for every byte of knowledge I have on revenants. Most often, they’re not the victims. In life, these people were the aggressors—they caused harm to others—and what makes a revenant dangerous is that they don’t know they’re dead. Violent and capable of interacting with the realm of the living, they’re relentless in their pursuit of revenge against whatever or whoever caused their death.

Theo’s body turns around, and with awkward and uneven steps he aims for the flat door. I can’t let him leave.

My focus finds the box of salt he bought to help me move on pushed toward the back of the countertop. It would never have worked on a technomancer because salt is conductive, and I’d laughed at his efforts, but I’m not laughing now. Salt works perfectly on revenants.

Only partially formed, I make a grab for it, but my fingers pass straight through. I haven’t told him, but my ability to interact with anything that isn’t technology, or Theo, is a struggle. He’d thought I could solidify at the farm too, and suggested it was linked to my emotions—but it’s not that simple. Or easy.

Concentrating, I try again, but I miss the box and clench at air.

“Hol-lis…” Theo’s body slowly staggers further.

My name: he says it like a prayer. He battled a revenant to get here—to me—and he’s calling out for my help. With a surge, I fully manifest and pour a large circle of salt around Theo’s feet, buying us both precious time.

Standing a good distance away, I stare hard at the revenant inside him. Instead of reflecting light, as Theo’s skin does, he absorbs it. I switch on the overhead lightbulb to enhance the contrast, and their discordant movements become apparent. The revenant’s processing speed is much slower than Theo’s, and this dissonance between them is disturbing.

Theo’s cap erratically interchanges with a wide-brimmed hat as one or other of them pushes forward. I miss the annoying way he wears it.