THE LIGHTNING

“Did you report the death?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, “it said on your web page not to.  I kept her in a freezer, put her in there when I ...” his voice faltered, “when I ... found her.”
I felt sorry for him.  He looked so heartbroken.  A well presented sort in a Saville Row suit.  His tie was knotted perfectly, but his hands shook and his wide, sad eyes were red rimmed.
“How did she die?” I enquired more gently.
He stared at the floor; “She couldn’t sleep.  She made a mistake with barbiturates, took too many, mixed them with alcohol – so easily done.  They should never have prescribed ...” he broke off again, then added, “can you bring her back?”
“You saw how much it would cost.”
“Money is no object.  I’d spend anything, do anything.  I love her so much ...”
“We must wait for the lightning,” I said, “keep her preserved.  I will call you.”

The thunder was rumbling in the distant dark when he pulled up outside.  I helped him carry her in and we laid her out.  It wasn’t her beauty that took my breath away, it was the look of pure peace on her face and even in death you could tell she’d been a sweet person.  He gazed intently down at her; then at me, with such an expression of hope that I knew I couldn’t bear it if it didn’t work.  Lightning flickered through the windows as he helped me wire her up.  Every now and then he suppressed a smile of nervous excitement as if he didn’t want to raise his own expectations.

The storm came overhead and the lightning struck the conductor in the tall tower.  We stood well back, watching the current passing through the tubes and running through her body.  The monitors sprang to life, her heart was beating!  The machines I’d made forced oxygen into her lungs and administered the necessary chemicals to resurrect her.

“It’s working!” he cried, “I thought it was a con, but it’s not!”
“Don’t touch her yet.”  I disconnected her body and gave her an injection, “she will wake now.”
He leaned over her with a tender expression.
I saw her complexion warm up, heard her sigh, then she opened her eyes and that beautiful look of peace on her face turned to one of horror.
“It’s OK,” I said hastily, “you’re safe.  We’ve brought you back.”
“No!” she screamed, “oh God no!”
He put both hands round her face; “Sylvie!  This time it’s forever.  You won’t run away from me again.”
I recalled his explanation of her death – a mistake involving barbiturates and alcohol and her look of despair and fear on waking.  As I turned to him, the storm crashed overhead, the lights guttered and dimmed, but I could still see his hard bright eyes and the evil triumph of his smile.