Die for Me

He nodded at me with a little smile, urging me on.

“So how can you be here now?”

“Well, I’m glad we’re starting with the easy questions,” he said, stretching his powerful arms and then leaning toward me. “The answer would be . . . because we’re zombies!” and he let out a horrible groan, stretching his mouth open and baring his teeth as he curled his hands into claws.

Seeing my terrified expression, Ambrose began cracking up and slapping his knee with his hand. “Just kidding,” he cackled, and then, calming down, looked at me sedately. “But no, seriously. We’re zombies.”

“We are not zombies,” said Charlotte, her voice rising with a

“The correct term, I believe, would be, ah, undead,” said Gaspard in a wavering voice.

“Ghosts,” said Charles, gri

“Stop scaring her, you guys,” said Vincent. “Jules?”

“Kate, it’s a lot more complicated than that. We call ourselves revenants.”

I looked around at them, one by one.

“Ruh-vuh-nahnt,” Jules pronounced slowly, obviously thinking I didn’t understand.

“I know the word. It means ‘ghost’ in French.” My voice shook. I am sitting in a room of monsters, I thought. Defenseless. But I couldn’t afford to freak out now. What would they do to me if I did? What would they do to me even if I didn’t? Unless they were the kind of monsters who could erase people’s memories, I was in on their secret now.

“If you go back to the root of the word, it actually means ‘one who returns’ or ‘one who comes back,’” offered Gaspard pedantically.

Though the room was warm, I found myself shivering. They all stared at me expectantly, as if I were their group science project: Would I blow up or just kind of fizzle out? Charles hissed, “She’s going to freak and run away, like I said.”

“She’s not going to freak and run away,” argued Charlotte.

“Okay, everybody out,” came Vincent’s voice, more forceful than it had been so far. “No offense, but I’d rather talk to Kate myself. You guys are making a mess of the whole thing. Thank you for your votes of confidence, but please . . . go.”

“Impossible.” The room fell silent as everyone stared at Gaspard. His voice lost its authority and he began picking at his fingernail. “I mean to say, if I may,” he stuttered self-consciously, “Vincent, you ca

My tenseness eased just a fraction. They’re going to let me leave. That knowledge became my light at the end of the terrifyingly dark tu

“I might, ah, also point out that you’re too weak to even sit up,” Gaspard continued. “In your condition, how can you be expected to handle the explanation of something of such importance to us all?”

The silence lasted a full minute while everyone watched Vincent. Finally he sighed. “Okay. I understand. But for God’s sake, try to behave yourselves.” He looked over to me and said, “Kate, please come sit with me. At least it will give me an illusion of having some control over the situation.”

Getting up, I walked to the bed and watched as Vincent effortfully lifted his arm and grasped my hand in his. The instant our skin touched, I felt the same peace that I had when Charlotte touched me in her room. I was awash in a tide of calm and safety, as if nothing bad could happen so long as Vincent held my hand. This time I knew it had to be some kind of supernatural trick.

I sat down gingerly on the side of the bed, watching Vincent’s face as I did. “I’m not in pain,” he reassured me, keeping hold of my hand as I sat next to him.

“Okay, Kate, first of all, you’re touching me,” Vincent said for the room to hear. “So I’m not a ghost.”

“And we’re not true zombies,” Charles said with a grin, “or he would have already eaten your face off.”

Vincent ignored him. “We’re not vampires or werewolves or anything else that you should be afraid of. We’re revenants. We aren’t human”—he paused, summoning his strength—“but we’re not going to hurt you.”

I tried to compose myself before saying to the room in as steady a voice as I could muster, “So you’re all . . . dead. But you look alive. Except for you,” I said, hesitating as I glanced at Vincent. “Although you look better than you did last night,” I conceded.

Vincent was grave. “Jules, could you tell Kate your story? It’s probably the best way to explain. Gaspard is right: I can’t manage it myself.”

Jules caught my gaze and didn’t let go. “Okay, Kate. I know this is going to sound incredible, but I was born in 1897. In a small village not far from Paris. My dad was a doctor, and my mom a midwife. I showed artistic talent, so at age sixteen they sent me to study painting in Paris. My schooling was cut short when I was drafted into the war in 1914. I fought the Germans for two years, until, in September 1916, I was killed in action. Battle of Verdun.

“And that would be the end of my story . . . if I hadn’t woken up three days later.”

The room was silent while I tried to wrap my mind around what he had said. “You woke up?” I finally managed. The boy I faced looked no older than twenty, but was claiming to be over a hundred years old.

“Technically he ‘animated,’” offered Gaspard, holding up a thin finger to make his point, “not ‘woke up.’”

“I came back to life,” Jules clarified.

“But how?” I asked in disbelief. Vincent’s grasp on my hand bolstered my courage. “How could you just come back to life, unless you weren’t really dead in the first place?”

“Oh, I was dead. No question about that. You can’t be in that many pieces and live through it.” Jules’s grin turned to a look of regret as he saw me blanch.

“Give the lady a break,” said Ambrose. “We’re laying this on her all at once.” He looked at me. “There’s this special . . . what should I call it? Not to sound too Twilight Zone, but ‘law of the universe,’ right? It says that if, under certain circumstances, you die in the place of someone else, you will subsequently come back to life. You’re dead for three days. Then you wake up.”

“Animate,” corrected Gaspard.

“You wake up,” insisted Ambrose, “and, except for being as hungry as hell, you’re just like you were before.”

“Except that after that you don’t sleep,” added Charles.

“Have you ever heard of TMI, Chucky?” Ambrose asked, clenching his hands in exasperation.

“Kate,” Charlotte said softly, “dying and animating are really hard on the human body. It kind of kicks us into a different life cycle. ‘Animated’ is a good way to put it, actually. We are so animated when we wake up that we go for more than three weeks without stopping. Then our body shuts down and we ‘sleep like the dead’ for three days. Like Vincent just did.”

“You mean, we are dead for three—” Charles began, correcting her.

Charlotte interrupted him. “We’re not dead. We call it ‘being dormant.’ Our body is just kind of hibernating, but our mind is still active. And once our body awakes, we go back to a few more weeks of absolute, but sleepless, normalcy.”

Charles mumbled, “Yeah, right.”

“Well, one could say that that gives the bare bones of the story,” Gaspard said helpfully.

“You were . . . dormant yesterday?” I asked Vincent.

He nodded. “The end of the three days,” he said. “Now I’ll be fine for almost a month.”

“You don’t look very fine to me,” I responded, staring at his skin’s waxy pallor.

“It takes several hours to recover from dormancy,” Vincent said with a weak smile. “For a human it would be like having open-heart surgery. You don’t just pop out of the hospital bed as soon as the anesthesia wears off.”