The Reincarnation

10:00 p.m. Subject rose. Subject showered. Subject applied pancake makeup to hands and face. Subject splashed self with cologne. Subject dressed. Subject departed premises, heading north.

Victor Grey was getting anxious. He had hooked the tracking device he had found to a larger machine, greatly expanding the device’s capacity. It couldn’t tell him exactly where it was homing, but could tell him the direction. Sure enough, the corpse was headed in the same direction the device pointed to. What Grey wanted to know was how.

How did the guy know where he was going? Why was he traveling at night? Was he in cahoots with the nurse and the valuable one, the one Dr. Persey had called his Golden Child? He seriously considered pulling the guy over and getting some answers, but then thought better of it. If he pulled him over and the guy got violent, not only wouldn’t he get his answers, he might lose half his quarry.

Grey was also questioning his decision to only use one van to follow him. On one hand, they were less likely to be noticed. Grey knew all too well how the Church typically operated. They would have caravans chasing people. Their quarry would usually panic, and the chase would end up bloody. Grey was smarter than this, but on the other hand, he didn’t feel completely comfortable without some backup.

John was driving fast. The faster he drove, the closer he got to whatever was drawing him. The closer he got, the stronger he felt. Running through the possibilities of what it could be, he narrowed it down to the obvious one. The man the press had called the Corpsicle. It was the only explanation that made sense. He was somehow intricately linked to him. He was the cause of John’s diurnal sleep and nocturnal waking. More, John thought, he was the reason he was like he was now. John resolved to find him and get some answers. At gunpoint, if necessary.

Stopping at another bank machine, he made a cash withdrawal. Scanning the night for a gun shop, he realized he was getting close to Canada. He knew he would have to buy another gun soon. They didn’t sell them north of the border, and the one he’d had before wasn’t in the bag with his other possessions.

He finally found a shop but it was closed. Figuring it might be the last one he would see, he got out of the car and tried to discern when it opened and closed. The sign that conveyed this information, however, eluded him. There were only what appeared to be strange circles and lines on it.

John got a motel room. The man behind the desk greeted John with a smile. Even tried to shake his hand once he had paid. John figured he must be getting better in applying the makeup, and the cologne must be masking his stench.

As long as he avoided eye contact, he was passing as a normal person.