Page 89 of Hot Ghost Summer

The revenant’s jaw is torn open on one side, and whenever it merges with Theo’s, it triggers a spasm in the muscles of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs, drawing my attention to the black ink of the word “Baby” on his throat.

I lower my chin for a better look over the rim of my fractured lenses. It’s not just the tattoo that decorates his skin. In precise placement to the lefthand side of the word are four fingertip-shaped bruises. Remnants of a possessive hold. My hold, and my fingertips, on my target.

The air fills with angry static.

I watched Jim Bowen’s face appear over Theo’s shoulder in the video he took one hundred times, but to see him stare back at me through it…

I clench my teeth.

How did this happen? Theo had clear instructions not to go near Plot 47.

I slide my glasses up the bridge of my nose with a single finger, and fold my arms across my chest. “Consequences, Theo.”

Revenants can only be disposed of in a few very specific ways: an iron stake dipped in holy water then driven through the heart, or by cutting off the head.

Killing Bowen while he inhabits Theo would, of course, kill him too.

It’s a sensible plan. Efficient. Jim Bowen needs to be dealt with. He’s far too dangerous to roam among the living in search of his bloody-minded vengeance.

And Theo… well, he’s my target. If I eliminate him, then my tether to the land of the living would break, enabling me to move on before I twist into something rotten. Two birds, one stone.

The lights above us flicker fiercely.

If I leave Theo in Bowen’s hands, he’s as good as dead anyway.

The cutlery in the drawer behind us rattles forcefully against the tape that holds it shut.

Besides, Theo killed me first. Turnabout is fair play. I’m sure he’d agree.

The newly replaced lightbulb explodes in a shower of static electricity.

In the dark, Jim Bowen’s demonic red eyes flare. He aims the barrel of his shotgun right at me.

The plug sockets that surround us crackle and hum.

As if struggling to maintain his aim, the gun dips and bounces. But Bowen’s a lifelong farmer, probably only a trained marksman would have more skill with a rifle than… A trained marksman…

Theo.

He’s fighting for control of the weapon, but why? I’m already dead, and—

The gun fires a round, but the sound is wrong. More of a whipcrack than a boom, it triggers a supernatural energy overload so strong that Theo’s flat is instantly consumed and I’m forcibly dragged apart.

Savagely scattered into a subatomic mist, I have to wait for the ambient charge to stabilise before I can knit back together. I follow the bullet’s trajectory to discover its impact in the wall behind where I was just standing. Jagged plaster now exposes the brickwork beneath.

That shouldn’t be possible. Bowen can do real-world damage, yes, but not his gun.

I strafe around the perimeter of the salt circle and scrutinise the weapon. The barrel’s been sawed through, making its overall length the same as a forearm. Short enough to fit under a chin…

The method of his death.

So, the gun is part of him. With him when he died, it’s now incorporated into his form, and as an extension of his vengeance can disrupt the local electromagnetic field so significantly that it forcibly disperses me. The thought pulls me to a sudden stop.

Theo has consistently sworn up and down that he did not fire the plasma accelerator that day. What if… he’s telling the truth?

Bowen was also there that day. What if he fired his shotgun? The sudden spike in ambient energy would have been enough to activate it. It’s a one-in-a-million chance, but the combination of Bowen’s rifle and the LPA Synchrotron would explain how I not only died, but was electrified and dispersed.

My vicious focus on Theo in that moment is what drove my atoms back together again, and the only place capable of storing me was my phone.