REVIVER

Breathe in. Bring on the light. Breathe out. Walk into it. Breathe in.

I had done it so many times that it was more of a reflex action than intentional. A noise broke my concentration, a loud slamming of some kind. The overhead lamp swung wildly above me, threatening to let go of the ceiling and fall upon the lifeless mass that lie before me.

The large steel doors were flung open - the ones that said "Open Carefully." I caught the lamp as it swung once more toward my head, and stood up to face the interrupter, temporarily forgetting the task at hand. No one, and I mean no one, disturbs me from working.

A heard a distinctive click come from the man/woman/thing standing in the doorway. With a literal "snap of one's finger," the light bulb in the overhead that I held in my hand exploded into tiny pieces, falling with a soft plink onto the steel floor, my steel table, and covered the cold body on that table.

With every little thing that happened, I felt the little vein in my neck pulse quicker and quicker, and I came closer and closer to losing my temper. In fact, I was sure I would. I couldn't tell in this light what I was facing, but that was probably the intent.

I could feel the creature turn around, and began giving orders to those behind it. "Bring in the body." Male. "Put it on the table." About thirty years old.

Something else entered the room, carrying the body of someone - or something - in its arms. "Porter!" the thing, presumably male also, yelled to the one in the doorway. "What is it?" He sounded extremely agitated, and had I cared, I would have felt it warrented. But I was in the middle of doing something terribly important. Pushy, intimidating thugs were not really my concern at the moment.

"There's already a body here!"

An exasperated sigh came from what I was guessing was the leader, the one that shattered the bulb and was standing in the doorway. "Then move it!"

The dead thing on the table was pushed on its side, and was forced off the steel bed, directly onto the floor - right on top of my foot. Another body was slapped on the table, bones crunching from the sudden and unexpected movement.

I couldn't really do much in the way of movement, seeing how I had a client out of my hands and on my foot. But there was nothing preventing me from letting go of my increasing anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!?"

The thing in the doorway continued giving orders, and was systematically ignoring me. "You shouldn't be here! You don't have an appointment, and I'm booked up for the rest of the night. You have to leave now, before I call the police." I had been bluffing on that last part, of course. I don't have a license, in effect causing me to be an unknown outlaw. Chances were, I'd be facing jail bars long before their court case was even arranged. And that was assuming they were brought up on charges. Charges of what, I'm not so sure. And I'm guessing "breaking a light bulb with one's mind" isn't something one would ordinarily get prosecuted for - at least not in New York City.

The leader, the one guessed to be Porter, finally turned back to me. I couldn't make out anything about him, other than what I could tell from his voice. He spoke in a cold and distant manner. "Bring him back."

I threw an unnecessary glance toward the thing - there was no way in this light I could make out anything but a vague outline, no matter how hard I tried. I moved my feet out from under the dead weight that had fallen on them, and began to try to get a feel for the new dead thing on my table.

My nostrils cringed at the extremely unpleasant odor eminating from the form in front of me. "How long's it been dead?"

Porter took a while to answer, leaving me to grope at the massive lump of dead tissue in the dark. "About three days." He paused for a minute, and I heard him scratch his the back of his neck. "Will that affect the results?"

I looked up, and didn't answer right away, but continued to feel my way around the body. "Even if it died three seconds ago, I wouldn't be able to do anything without any light."

Porter sighed, obviously not happy with that statement, even though it wasn't a straight-out request. "Very well." I think I detected an accent. With another snap, the whole room light up.

My eyes closed immediately, not used to the light. I opened them up on the body, because I wasn't sure I wanted to look at Porter first.

"Holy Mother of God!!"

I clamped my sweat-drenched hand over my mouth, since I couldn't stop the words before they came out. The thing before me was covered in blood - probably its own - and was horribly disfigured.

"He's got no arm!" I screamed, despite myself.

Porter shrugged. "And?" I had detected an accent, an English one, and this man seemed to have all the English reserve you always hear about. And he was uncommonly pale. And had the stereotypical English bad teeth. The new light caught on one of those teeth, one that happened to be horribly elongated.

A swallowed the lump in my throat. This business was bad. Really bad.

"Y-you see," I stammered, trying very hard not to hyperventilate, "I ca-can't bring dismembered bodies back. Un-unless," I said, noticing that Porter looked less menacing for a second after being given a glimmer of hope.

He smiled wickedly, drawing his lips back over his pointed teeth. "Unless what?"

I shook my head, not letting my glance be taken off of Porter. I was quite sure that if I looked away, I was dead - without any hope of being revived.

Porter advanced, just two or three steps, but close enough to cause my breath to catch in my throat. He seemed on the verge of hissing at me, but it seemed too cliché for it to be a true possibility. "Unless what?" He said, more forcefully this time.

I gasped despite myself, trying my hardest not to look at his eyes. Even though it was rare to find a true vampire-hypnotist except in Hollywood, I was reluctant to tempt fate.

I again swallowed the lump in my throat, and tried to push out words. "Unless it had limbs amputated by surgery before it died." I knew that was the wrong thing to say. My head fell forward, awaiting that inevitable blow.

With my eyes clenched tight, I waited. I didn't look up, even though I knew they were attempting to destroy my office. I bit my lip, hoping they would finish me off instead of leaving me to work my way back to what I had established here: a successful - if not slightly grotesque - business in the heart of New York City, a place of high vampiric activity. My business preyed off the failures of numerous vampire raids. I was the anti-mortician - and I revelled in it every night.

And now everything I had been working for in the last few months was being destroyed before my eyes. If I had been anyone else, I would've started crying.

But I managed to keep still, while things were crashing down around my ears - literally. Shelves were being pulled off the wall, bookshelves were being pushed over. Lamps were being smashed. And I only knew this because I could hear it. That was the only thing that told me what was going on.

I dropped to the ground, and no one seemed to care. I'm guessing no one noticed. I started to check out the status of the patient that had been so hastily tossed onto the cold tile floor. Obviously, no pulse, but that was to be expected - she was dead. Totally dead. Well, not totally dead. I was quite sure her soul still lingered somewhere near, but one could never be completely sure.

Some strange sound caught my attention. I listened, then sprung to my feet again. They were burning the records! All 291 of them! The only real crutch I had, the life-support that had taken me seventeen years to accumulate. It was all going to be gone in a matter of seconds. Years of work; I had never seen to it that back-ups be made. My life was pretty much over as of the second they lit the papers. It was over physically and economically. I had no job, and that was my life. And the building was constructed of reinforced steel. Nothing was going to let the firefighters know that there was a burning building unless the walls melted. And I highly doubted it would come to that.

The voices were hard to make out over the crackling of the bonfire that had been constructed in the middle of the waiting room. And the blaze was obstructing my view, so I was pretty well cut off from what was going on. But I got the general impression that someone was starting to panic.

For about three minutes, everything was a blur. The people in the other room - I estimated about six - all started moving at a quickened pace. Someone had extinguished the fire, and someone else - I assume Porter - had killed the lights. The body was taken off the table, and everyone pushed their way out the door.

I stood where I was for what I guessed to be about twenty-five minutes. I couldn't believe what had just happened. Sunlight was beginning to through the doctor's office/apartment, making the walls unusually shiny and hard to look at. The only things moving were my eyes. My chest was barely moving with each shallow breath I took. By my gauge, it must have been about seven o'clock in the morning.

My first move was to replace the discarded body to its rightful place on the steel table. After having secured it, I made my way through to the waiting room. Stray glass shards crunched under my feet, and I thanked every god I was aware of that I had made it through the night, and that I had, for once, kept my shoes on.

Part Two: Tadd

I had no real clue what was going on when I got the call at noon. All I knew was that it had interrupted my daily meditation - both for spiritual awareness and the alleviation of my hangover from last night's revels - and forced me into a state of acute semi-consciousness. I heard Al stammering into the phone incoherently. If I hadn't known him for so long, I would've thought he had been dipping in the sauce. Of course, the only "sauce" Al ever encountered was embalming fluid, and that, my friend, would get you nowhere in the long run.

I hung up and didn't really do anything for a while - an hour or two, maybe even five... - trying to figure out how I could remedy the situation. It seemed a bit hopeless, really; I mean, what can an overly effeminate cowardly Scot do when it comes to vampires? To be honest, not a whole lot, unless you count screaming and running around and causing an overall sense of panic.

But that didn't seem like the proper thing to do. Instead, I did what any sane person would do: called up some friends to help out. As far as I figured, Quincy owed us one. He picked up, his voice making it seem like he had been awake for quite some time by then. After some idle chitchat, I gave him a quick synapsis of the scenario, which wouldn't have taken much more time than the full story; I had little clue what was going on. Not having much of an idea what to do, we just planned to meet up at Al's office as soon as possible, but Quincy needed to run some errands first.

So I put on some socks, slipped on some shoes and headed out to the office where I found Al Henderson in the middle of a temper tantrum. His little bald head was bobbing around madly, his cheeks all red and puffy, and his hands were clenched so tight I was sure they were going to start bleeding any second. To say the least, my dear friend and cohort was losing it, and losing it fast.

"My files! My files!" he shrieked as he ran around, waving his arms in the air like a loony. It was upsetting - to say the least - to see him like that. And I couldn't even do anything. I tried to calm him down, because unbeknownst to him, I had a copy of everything he ever placed in that file cabinet, the one that was tipped over and contained a big pile of dust. And it was all in my laptop. My handy-dandy Tadd Otwhig laptop...it was one of those Mac ones, with the big apple on the top and the fluorescent colors. Well, just the one color, really. Hot pink.

The moment I pulled it out, Al went mad like a bull looking at a big red tarp. He pulled the machine from my hands - which isn't really hard; we've already mentioned that I'm a complete and utter wuss - and threw it on the floor. Not my problem! He had no files now, and Al seemed to have less of a brain, too. Wonderful. He was a basket case, and I couldn't imagine what else to do.

Part Three: Al

Files...files...my life, flashing before my eyes...I have nothing left, now that the files are gone...everyone is out to get me...I think Tadd was here last night, why did I call him?...he's no friend of mine...dirty immigrant...he does nothing but antagonize me...he wants me dead!...Tadd wants to do me in...he hired those vampires...it was all him...he's pulling something out of his briefcase...a gun?...fancy gun...gun...he's going to kill me....kill...kill Tadd...I need to get rid of him before...Gun...gun...I'll take it and smash it, what'll he do then!...smug little man, isn't he? ISN'T HE???....Hahaha...I'll beat them all...all of them...all of them...hahaha...all...all...the ones who killed Juniper...Juniper...my little flower...my little flower...where have you gone, my little dove?...precious one...she was...no...she wanted me dead too...I got to her first...trying to take Lyddia away...Quincy needed her...just like I needed Juniper...it all started with her...no!...Tadd!...he started this...it was all him...he was the one who brought me into this world...this dark world of hatred and violence...I must kill me for the damage he has done...it is on his head, the death of so many...he shall pay for his errors...and...Lyddia...such a sweet little girl...Quincy is lucky...like I was lucky...but she is gone...dead...and I am not...because I prevail...I prevail...I will kill them all...

Part Four: Tadd

It was getting clear to me that Al was completely bonkers. I didn't know what clued me in: the slight foam at the corners of his mouth, the incessant idiotic chatter drooling off his lips like the spittle, or the cleaver he was brandishing at me. Not to mention his eyes were this insane shade of red and bugged out quite a bit.

"Goddamnit, where's Quin when ya need him?" I asked nervously, jumping back from a low swing of the knife. Trying to reason with Al had run its course, which ended up being a big hole of nothingness. I swear, if I make it out of this alive...I'll kill whoever kept Quincy from getting here ASAP like he promised.

"Haha, funny man! What'll you do now that I got rid of your gun, huh?" Al cackled and continued to follow me throughout the steel building. I had no clue what he was talking about, but tried not to figure it out as he lunged at me again, with a speed unlike that of any overweight middle-aged man I knew. "I'm ending it all NOW!" he shrieked as he flew at me.

Luckily, I had cat-like reflects. Well, nearly-cat-like, anyway. Enough to keep me from sustaining any major damage...well, unless you consider a gash from one side of my torso to the other major damage. Al fell to the floor in a clatter, pushing the cleaver into the floor, bending it, since the floor was made of steel, just like the walls, and couldn't be cut with conventional kitchen utensils. He pushed himself up and resumed the chase, as if he had not been deterred.

Sadly for me, I could do little more than limp around and hold my stomach in an attempt to stop the bleeding. I was close to being cornered.

Part Five: Al

Blood...blood...everywhere...I see it...I taste it...I am it...I am blood...I am life...I can take it away...he made me...his fault...I wouldn't be here...I wouldn't be where I am...I'd be happy...It's him...him...he made me do it...Porter...Porter...hahaha...I can't take it...It's all going to end...I want it to end...It all ends with him...with him...he started this all...he shall pay...he shall die...he shall...he began this...he and Porter...took my Juniper...my Juniper...my only love...my Juniper...she'd still be alive...he killed her...He...he...hahaha...he's insane...that's it...he's insane...there's nothing that can save him...he killed her...it was his fault....it'll be over soon...shh..shh...it'll end soon...just...shh...

Part Six: Tadd

Al was still muttering to himself while staring at me blankly, staring, looming over me as I slid down in the corner. I was waiting for him to kill me, to get it over with, as he stood there ranting, a rain of spit falling on me, each drop reminding me that I was stuck there, in that hell. I considered wrenching the knife from his hand and killing myself, just so I wouldn't have to sit there on the floor waiting, holding my skin to keep the blood flow down, in an attempt to elongate my life. It just wasn't working; the setting sun reflected light across the walls and accentuated the extreme pointiness of the knife blade, as if it needed reiterating.

But he just kept on muttering, the spit flinging from his lips like a drippy faucet. God, I was going to miss my kitchen. I was trying to prepare myself for my inevitable death, and now was as good a time than any. It wasn't everyday you found your life being threatened by your best friend. And all I could hear was his failing attempts to placate me. "Shh," he whispered, his eyes closing. Al fastened a hand onto my shoulder, as he hovered over me. I was a step away from crying, three away from praying. All he could do was work on his aim.

I closed my eyes, still waiting for the blade to pierce my flesh, but it never happened. I felt Al's grip loosen on my shoulder, causing my eyes to flash open. Al seemed transfixed, and as mad as ever, but almost restful. He stood there, not moving, staring into the distance for quite sometime, but I was still doubtful. I wasn't about to risk my life anymore than it already was by getting up and trying to run away. I may have been a coward, but I definitely wasn't stupid.

"Tadd?" I looked around, up again at Al, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. It sounded too young to be Al's, but...who knew with dagger-weilding psychos these days. "Tadd...?" came again, a bit more worried than before, but...it was still quiet and gentle, as if coming from the mouth of someone trying to concentrate on something else.

Part Seven: Quincy

Traffic was horrible as I sat in the back of the taxi, inching along with the rest of the city to get somewhere. I couldn't take it after a while. This wasn't the way things were supposed to go; I was so used to a bit more care-free life, less turmoil. But...that's Beverwick.

Handing the taxi driver a ten, I hopped out of the big yellow car and began a quick jog down the street. I was only about three blocks away, and I could get there quicker if I walked, instead of waiting for an eternity in the back of that smoky vehicle. The smoke was making me choke anyway, but I had this sinking feeling that...well, if I didn't get to the office soon, I'd regret dallying.

Thankfully, it didn't take me long to get to the building. The large, steel contraption in the middle of all the mirror-infused buildings lining the streets was an interesting sight. I was very thankful for an elevator that took me up to the 13th floor, the one housing Al's office, the heart of his business. The number seemed appropriate, Al being a necromancer and all. That's the only way most people remember it: association between a "bad number" and an "evil profession." But it's amazing what happens when the masses don't know about things. No one's barring the way to Al's table. Anyway, it probably wouldn't be the pro-lifers complaining...

The door, when I finally got to it, would barely open, so I had to use all my strength to get inside. The room was getting dark and the walls were a shiny orangy-yellow from the setting sun. Had I had the time to investigate closely, I would've been amazed at the beauty, but...I managed to catch the light off something that wasn't wallspace. It was Al. Al and a large machete-sized knife, bent to the left.

Luckily, I was in the right mind-set to properly utilize my psychic skills. So with what energy I possessed after a three block trot, I pushed my way into his mind and twisted things, trying to almost ensnare him and..well, just enough so I could get a handle on things.

"Tadd?" I called twice, trying to look around while still keeping a lock on Al. As quietly as possible, I crept forward, far enough to take the knife out of his hand. And over his shoulder I saw the huddled, bleeding mass of the red-haired Tadd Otwhig.

Part Eight: Tadd

I saw the knife leave Al's hand and all I could do was blink. The nervous ticks wore off when I saw Quincy's face over Al's left shoulder. He blinked back at me. "Tadd? You okay?" I could barely stand, my hand still covering the massive cut on my stomach, but I grunted feebly, trying to push myself up onto my feet.

Quin looked at me disbelievingly and pushed Al to the side so Quincy could stand in front of my, checking my wounds with the intent gaze of a seasoned doctor, and pulled me out of the office before Al could wake up from his little psychic-induced comatose slumber.

Epilogue: Tadd

The fact that I am ever surprised anymore is beyond me. I've seen people raised from the dead, seen people gutted and otherwise brutally murdered. Some of them have been brought back, too. It's amazing, really. I've been in the midst of vampires and other creatures most people don't believe exist.

And still, staring my best friend - sometimes my only friend - in the face and praying for a swift end is not something you can get used to. Al's alright now, nice and cozy in the Beverwick asylum. (Small town...didn't know it had a crazy house, did you?) The gang and I go to visit him every once and a while, just to check in on him. Other times, we bust him out to do what he does best, revive people.

It's amazing...insanity seems to make his job that much easier. Our job, however...