Extension

By L.V. Pires

After dying, Oliver Conroy wakes seventeen years later to find his soul has already reincarnated into someone new. Waking from a deep coma forces Oliver's soul out of its new inhabitant, Colby Patterson, and back into Oliver. Now, Colby roams the halls of Sierra Vista High School, soulless and acting out everyone's worst nightmares, while Oliver works to piece his life together and fight off Colby's determination to steal back what's rightfully his. It's a fight to the finish with only one keeper of the soul. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.V. Pires
• Release date: Apr 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9780151180806

L.V. Pires

L.V. Pires is the best-selling author of horror fiction, including THE WAITING MORTUARY series and soon-to-be-released DEATH WATCH (2020). For updates and information on L.V.'s latest releases, join the mailing list at www.lisavpires.com

Book preview

And my soul is sorely shaken

Lest an evil step be taken,-

Lest the dead who is forsaken

May not be happy now.

- Edgar Allan Poe

1.

Oliver Conroy found himself in a black tunnel, surrounded by grey fog, pulled backwards through a cluster of bright stars folding in upon themselves. A man’s calm voice soothed his rigid body and kept him from convulsing all over the operating table. He opened his eyes to see this man hovering over him.

There, there, Oliver, not so fast. You are only eighty-five percent dethawed.

He felt a needle in his arm and then a cool serum work its way through his veins. In a matter of moments another sensation overcame him.

Water, he mouthed.

Nurse Sanders, give him more of the liquefied gas and a cup of water.

Yes, doctor, she said, rushing to grab an additional bag of blue liquid.

Oliver watched as she changed out the empty bag for the full one, then sat him up and helped him to drink.

Alright, another successful revitalization, the doctor said, snapping off his plastic gloves and tossing them into a waste bin. He picked up a transparent clipboard at the end of the operating table, flicked through it and then turned to Oliver.

Welcome back, Mr. Conroy. I’m Dr. John Parker and you are officially our tenth patient to be revitalized. He turned to the nurse. Not bad for being frozen at negative one hundred and ninety-six degrees for the last eighteen years, huh?

She nodded, taking the cup from Oliver.

Oliver tried to process what the doctor had said but couldn’t. His brain felt fuzzy and confused. Their figures still flashed in and out of stars and blackness. Can I have another? Oliver whispered, his voice sounding hoarse.

Slow down, Oliver. The doctor intervened. We don’t want to upset the dethaw process. We still need to work on reviving your extremities where circulation has been blocked.

Oliver focused on the cup in front of him, hoping to ground his swirling vision and thoughts. He wished he knew what was going on. Plastic gloves. Needles. A doctor. Surgery? He didn’t remember going in for a procedure. Am I sick? His head fogged up again and he laid back.

The dizziness is normal, the doctor said. Soon, you’ll have your memories come back to you. According to your chart it says you were born here in Scottsdale, Arizona in 1997. We preserved your body in 2014, which stopped the aging process. That makes you ... He flicked several fingers in the air as he calculated backwards. Seventeen years old.

Oliver looked down at his hands. They were smooth and young, maybe a bit dry. Seventeen years old? But, he had heard the doctor say something about being gone for eighteen years.

Doctor Parker? It hurt to speak. He propped himself up as much as he could. Where am I?

Velcron Technologies. You’ve been Revitalized, brought out of the deep freeze. The doctor didn’t mince words. You were cryogenically suspended for the last eighteen years. Velcron finally perfected the method of bringing our patients back to life. It’s a miracle of science. Wouldn’t you agree, Nurse Sanders?

The nurse nodded. You’ve been given a second chance at life, Oliver.

Oliver grabbed the doctor’s sleeve as he passed by. Am I in the future?

No, no. The doctor paused as he continued to scan through Oliver’s file. You are in the present. The year is 2032.

Oliver leaned back. His head spun.

Ah, yes, here it is, the doctor continued. Heart attack—age seventeen—while playing basketball. Well, no worries about that. We’ll get you a new heart, one that is manufactured in our laboratory downstairs. It should keep you going for at least another fifty years and when that one gives out, apply for a new one and we’ll work it up for you.

Nurse Sanders reappeared with a big bag of neon colored liquid that sparkled and glowed. She attached it to a tube that ran directly into where Oliver’s heart was supposed to be. This will feel good, she whispered. She flipped a switch and the fluid worked its way down the plastic tube, changing from one color to another as it was absorbed into his body.

Oliver relaxed, feeling his muscles become supple again. His brain felt like it was swimming in an oozy gel that cooled at the temples and soothed its way down his face, into his neck and body. She was right. Whatever was in that bag felt good.

She smiled and left.

Alright, Oliver, the doctor said, returning the chart to the end of his bed. I want you to rest. We’ll be back to check on you soon. It’s good to have you with us again.

Maybe it was the coolness of the liquid or that he suddenly felt more orientated, but a thought that had not been with him only minutes before rushed into his mind. He sat up. Doctor?

Doctor Parker stopped and turned around. Yes?

My family? Where are they? Why aren’t they here? Do they know I’m awake?

The doctor patted Oliver’s feet. Rest, Oliver. I’ll call down to patient records. I’m sure they’ll have some information for you.

Oliver leaned back. He needed to find his family.

A woman’s face flashed in his mind—Mother.

He relaxed even further into his thoughts, letting the blue liquid work its way to every cell in his body, bringing back prized life and energy.

2.

Colby Patterson clutched his kneecaps. His legs trembled. The plastic chair he sat in wobbled at the base making him feel like he might fall to pieces the minute he stood up. He had prepared his speech a hundred times the night before, but still worried about forgetting his words and what the other kids might think. If they approved, maybe he wouldn’t be ignored anymore. But if they hated what he had to say, then he worried about not being able to show his face around school. Even if he did only have a few weeks left before graduating with the rest of the class of 2032, being shunned was by far the worst thing ever.

He listened while Principal Whistler calmed several students who always found a way to make a joke of school meetings. Sierra Vista students, take your seats. We’re going to begin. Please, take your seats, Principal Whistler said, practically begging.

Colby could hear the desperation in her voice through his mandatory ear chip. He felt bad for Principal Whistler. It wasn’t easy corralling over five hundred students who were more like five hundred rabid wolverines into an already overcrowded auditorium, then forcing them like marching ants into neatly lined rows, and finally like quarantined monkeys into individual seats. Especially when they had no desire to sit and listen to yet another school speech.

Eventually though, they agreed and arranged themselves near to—or at least as close to—someone of similar social ranking, and sat down. After a few harsh glares from the faculty and the occasional promise of an after-school detention to repeat offenders, the students calmed down and focused on Principal Whistler.

Alright, that’s much better, she said. Now, for the past three years, Colby Patterson has gone out of his way to make improvements to Sierra Vista High School. He has spent almost every weekend working to raise money for this school and improve your lives. You can thank Colby for your personal ear and voice chips, as well as the healthier food selections in the cafeteria. It’s no wonder why the faculty, as well as myself, chose Colby to lead your senior class. Now, Colby has brought a new improvement to Sierra Vista. I’ll let him tell you all about it. Well, without further ado, your student body president, Colby Patterson.

A few students clapped as Colby took a deep breath, stood and stepped towards the podium. He adjusted his Solar Flare tie and looked out over the large group.

Good morning, students, fellow seniors, class of 2032.

Colby heard someone shout out, Loser followed by a trickle of laughter. He shielded his eyes from the glare and scanned the crowd to see if he could identify the culprit, even though he knew very well who had said it. It was Devin Hollister, the biggest shiz at Sierra Vista. Devin had been calling Colby a loser for years and he had taken it without any complaint. It was better, in his opinion, to ignore the bullies than stand up to them.

Principal Whistler nodded to Devin’s teacher who pushed a few buttons on her clipboard. Just as Devin cupped his mouth to shout something again, his voice was cut off and the auditorium fell silent.

Colby cleared his throat and started again in a slow and even tone. I’m grateful to Principal Whistler and the other teachers for choosing me as your class leader this year. I have coordinated with local greenhouse farmers to bring into the school two hundred fresh oxygen plants that will hang in every classroom and the hallways constantly circulating fresh air into the rooms and your brains. It is my hope that we, as graduating seniors, can leave behind a legacy of caring and commitment to this school that has given us so much.

Colby took a deep breath as he prepared to go on explaining the areas in which he felt the school had the most need, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, something strange came over him that put a shadow on his otherwise suitable speech. He felt a breeze pass through his body—a shiver, a shutter, and then he let out a deep exhale which sounded more like a whale groaning in agony.

Several students laughed.

Principal Whistler approached. Colby, are you okay?

Colby tried to speak, but couldn’t. He felt a presence, like a dark hand reach into his body, up into his throat and tug on his voice, then wrap its warped fingers somewhere near the center of him, not quite his heart, but somewhere around there, and sink its sharp claws into his tender insides. The pain radiated throughout his body. He screamed out, unsure how much longer it would linger ripping, rattling, and raking through him.

It tore up his body, causing him to contort in several peculiar ways. His left hip jutted right. His right arm shot left. His left hand wrapped around his neck, covering his face and spinning his whole body around. After several more bizarre contortions, groans and a final face plant into the podium it was over.

Colby? He heard Principal Whistler’s voice again. She stood beside him. What’s wrong? Do I need to send for help?

It took a moment for Colby to catch his breath. Whatever had happened knocked the wind out of him. He suddenly felt hollow, empty, but also in a way freer and less burdened than he did five minutes ago.

He scanned the student body. Some kids laughed while others, too self-possessed to care, went on ignoring him.

I’m fine, Colby said, straightening himself.

Principal Whistler nodded and stepped back.

He flipped through his thought pad, staring at his notes and wondering why he had written about helping others. It all felt a bit ridiculous.

Colby glared at his audience then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the podium. To tell you the truth, I don’t really care what you do with your lives. Only half of you are really going to go anywhere. The rest of you are coronal mass rejections who drain the intelligence and life-energy out of those people who are capable.

His words echoed in total silence, which encouraged Colby to speak more about his true thoughts. This school is a joke. The teachers are a joke. You are a joke. Have a nice day. I’ve got better things to do.

Colby squared his shoulders, then turned, walked a few steps and kicked the plastic chair he had been sitting in. It flew sideways, teetered for a moment, and then fell off the stage. He laughed and strutted past a stunned Mrs. Whistler and to the eruption of cheers from his fellow classmates whose voice chips had not yet been muted.

3.

Oliver had been moved to the recovery room.

The small but pleasant space was decorated with white and yellow tulips in clear vases placed beside his bed.

Soothing orchestral music played through a speaker to his left and beyond that a curtained window with blinds slightly open let in the mid-morning sun. Beneath him was a cotton sheet and beneath that, a plastic one, that crunched whenever he moved. He noticed a droplet of water run down his arm and cling to his elbow. He shook it off.

Rays of light warmed the blanket on his legs, but every so often it would get dark for a few moments and the music would stop, and some of the devices around the room, like the clock above the door, slowed down. But then the sun would brighten again, illuminating the room and everything in it would resume its normal pace. This made Oliver feel more at peace as he settled deeper into the plush pillow.

On the right side of his bed was a sink and a few more flowers. Oliver wondered who had given him all the tulips and on closer inspection he noticed a card wedged between the tongs of a plastic trident. He reached over, pulled it out and read it.

Welcome Back Oliver!

Best Wishes,

Velcron Technologies

Oliver groaned. He wished it was from one of his family members. He tossed the card onto the table next to him, in the process catching a glimpse of himself in the round mirror that hung above a sink on the far-right wall. He sat up to get a better look. His face was still that of a seventeen-year-old. His freckles matched his almond colored eyes and his short, chestnut brown hair was still cropped close to his ears like it had been eighteen years ago. He threw back the covers. His body hadn’t changed either. Still tall, lean and fit, he had not one sign of muscle atrophy. He wondered how much longer it would take to completely thaw out or if parts of him would stay frozen forever. Taking a quick look down his pants, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Now, if only he could get his brain to work better.

There were only two things he could remember since his revitalization procedure. One, he had a family. He remembered them clearly. His mother was the first person he thought of. Then later, his father came into his thoughts, and a short time after that, his younger brother, Keifer. After he reconstructed their images in his mind he tried to think of someone else who may have been important to him. It was not long when the second memory flooded his brain. His girlfriend. Elizabeth.

A knock on the hospital door pulled him from his thoughts.

Oliver?

Yes? He sat up, feeling stronger than before.

A man entered. He wore a white jacket and had a few metallic instruments sticking out of his front pocket. Hello, Oliver. I’m Dr. Eugene. I will be in charge of treating the underlying symptom that caused your death. I was told it was a heart attack.

Yes. That’s right, Oliver said. He didn’t remember all the details, but Dr. Parker had said that was what killed him and that it happened during a basketball game.

We have designed your new heart, Oliver, and are ready to implant it and get these tubes out of you. The doctor examined the bag with the blue liquid in it. They’ll start the procedure this afternoon. Then, the center’s psychologist will help you make the adjustment to your new life. The world has changed quite a lot in the last eighteen years.

Oliver thought about it. The world must be very different if they are able to create new hearts and bring lives back from the deep freeze.

The doctor pulled a stick out of his pocket and shined it into Oliver’s eyes. We’ll need to monitor you throughout your adjustment period—as part of our clinical trials. Dr. Wang will discuss that with you later today.

Dr. Wang? Oliver asked.

Yes, he’s the creator of the revitalization procedure, a very gifted man, also the center’s psychologist. He monitors the patients after they leave the facility.

All the talk about being monitored made Oliver nervous, but if it kept him from going back into the deep freeze he would do whatever he was told. It was hard enough for him to believe he was sitting up and talking with only tubes doing the work of his missing heart. He wondered if the procedure would work and if not what would happen to him. Dr. Eugene, is there any chance I could, you know, die again?

You didn’t die, Oliver, Dr. Eugene said. He turned a dial on the machine. The blue liquid pumped faster in and out of the tubes. Your life was suspended and to answer your question, no, I don’t think so. You won’t die again. At least, I don’t think you will. The doctor made a few notes on a notepad.

Oliver hoped the doctor was right. The last thing he wanted to do was be cryogenically suspended again. Doctor, I’m starting to remember a few things from before. I remember I have a brother, Keifer, and my mom and dad. Do you know where they are or how I could contact them?

No, I’m sorry. I don’t know about patient’s family records, he said, examining Oliver’s feet. But, the social worker should. She’ll be in later with that information. Until then, let’s focus on making sure you are one hundred percent ready for your new life.

Oliver smiled. Any reassurance would get him through the next procedure.

Good, well everything seems to be working well, Dr. Eugene said, walking to the door. You’re thawing out nicely. I will see you in the operating room this afternoon. The doctor opened the door and left.

Feeling hopeful, Oliver snuggled into the blanket. He was almost too excited to do anything but work on remembering them. The memories felt foggy but he saw their faces more clearly now. The way Elizabeth felt when he held her, her sweet blue eyes and long curly brown hair. His mother, her soft smell and loving smile and his father; the way he’d pat him on the shoulder after telling one of his awful jokes. Then there was Keifer, his little brother. He remembered how he followed Oliver, looked up to him.

There was only one way to describe his life before the heart attack.

Perfect.

He wanted to think about them all day as he recalled more and more, but then the nurse came in and put something into one of the tubes and he was soon fast asleep.

4.

Colby stomped out of the auditorium and down the hall to his locker. He didn’t have any intention of going to his next class, Advanced Calculus. What was the point of that class again? Oh right. Nothing.

He put his hand on his locker and waited a moment for the DNA lock to click, then opened it and ripped out his solar textbook that stored everything from audio lectures to practice tests and let it fall to the floor. He heard Principal Whistler in his ear chip calling him to the office. He tore it out and threw it on the ground, stomping on the miniature device to make sure it would never work again. He had already torn out his voice chip, cracking it between his back teeth, and spitting it into the water fountain.

Colby examined his face in his locker mirror. His normally green eyes had changed. The pupils had expanded and now looked hollow and vacant, as if the dark center had consumed all the surrounding color. His skin was paler than normal, too, but his thick blond hair still held its perfect wave. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he reached for his pair of Illuminators and put them on. His view of the hallway glowed.

Colby? What’s going on?

Colby turned around to see an illuminated girl with red hair that looked like it was on fire. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close. What do you mean, Sabrina?

She pushed him back. I mean that stunt you just performed in front of the whole school? You insulted everyone including the teachers and Principal Whistler. Are you sick, or something? What’s going on?

He slid his glasses to the top of his head. Nope. I feel great. He turned away from her and walked down the hall, kicking the solar textbook along with him.

Then why are you kicking your textbook? Colby, you love school. You love helping others. Colby, stop. Sabrina grabbed him by the arm and turned him towards her. I know you better than anyone. Did something happen?

Colby yanked his arm away. "Let’s just say, I’m