Lazarus Syndrome - SCP Foundation

My friend was still in there; even now I could feel it.

Zenobiyl

"Lazarus Syndrome", written April 6th, 2024 by Zenobiyl.

It was snowing outside. The cold air enveloped me, even with two separate jackets and a scarf. The sky was a pale white, and I could feel every squelching step along the quiet cobblestoned road.

Pause. Check your pulse.

Good. Perfect, even. Better than I’d ever had in almost two decades. That’s what a Foundation desk job will do to you, suck the life out and never give it back. And for what? No wife, no kids, we never had the guts to try. What then? Site Director. I wanted those words written on my door.

Still breathing? Remember to breathe.

In and out. Up and down. Open close. It all came so naturally back then, so what happened? Was it just part of getting older? Office stress? Old friends dropping like flies? Or did my life’s purpose have an expiration date, too?

Push it down now. Lunch was two hours ago.

The door was in front of me now. No doorbell, no knocker. Not like she would hear at this point anyways. The best MTF agent I ever knew, retired in her late twenties and wheelchair bound. What a fucking joke. When her vision test scores dropped, Sadie laughed. When she started needing hearing aids to work in the field, Sadie smiled. Pretty soon they were talking about “taking a break” and “temporary leave of absence”, and that was just to her face…

Blink. You have to.

Claire opened the door promptly, like always. Whatever their faults, you could count on the Foundation to have someone on staff ready to lend a hand. And ear. And sub-basement wiretap. They stopped trying after I ripped the first three out. Site Director has its perks still, thank God for that.

Don’t forget your heart. In and Out. Out and in.

She led me to the living room. Sickly green walls lit by the faint wintery sunlight. ‘Living’ indeed. Sadie was in the cushioned grey rocking chair by the far corner of the room. The TV was off. “Hey Sadie”, I said. No response. What did you expect, idiot?

Keep beating. Keep breathing. Keep blinking.

An empty chair was set beside hers. I sat down, putting one hand on her shoulder. My friend was still in there; even now I could feel it. Sadie faced me with that same warm, kind, reassuring smile. Her hands touched mine, and spoke.

"What doctor say?”

My hand-to-hand ASL was dogshit, but getting better.

“Lazy Legs Sandpaper.”

Okay. Not much better.

Sadie shook with laughter, tapping my palm like a piano with each of her fingers. “Sorry Max,” she grinned, “not speak idiot.”

I tried again, letter-by-letter this time. “L.a.z.a.r.u.s S.y.n-”

“Got it.” Sadie flicked me with her index finger. “Slowpoke.”

Still as cocksure as ever, but her grin was ever-so-slightly fainter than before. Sadie had never been killed in the line of duty, but she came close dozens of times. Watching the ‘Mortality and You’ Foundation PSA was the worst part about nearly dying, if you were to ask the hotshot MTF rookie. “It’s like a cheesy sex-ed documentary, except the topic’s much less interesting.” Sadie had complained once, “and if we can just resurrect people then what’s the big deal? Most of these ‘post-death illnesses’ aren’t half as bad as fucking dying.” I had agreed back then.

Most weren’t.

“Ok?” Sadie tapped. I didn’t feel it. “Hands cold.”

I collapsed, vision turning black. Dying.

Blink! Beat! Breathe!

And I was back.

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

Sadie held my hands, worry etched onto her face. “That bad?”

I replied, “Stage Four.”

The doctors hardly believed it. Lazarus Syndrome wasn’t directly fatal, but it was the only post-death illness with a 100% mortality rate within one year. It started with blinking, digestion, little things like that. Then your lungs, heart, veins, the whole nine yards. Your whole body went on strike, like it knew you were supposed to be dead and refused to give a shit anymore. Every waking moment required conscious effort.

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

They didn’t have a stage four before my last physical. Hell, they barely even had a stage three.

“How long?” Sadie tapped out gently.

“Not know.” I paused. “Tired.”

Times had changed. Sadie lived in a glorified nursing home. I was practically retired and needed life support machines just to sleep. Wife dead. Friends gone. What was it all for?

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

Anyone could stamp documents or boss people around. Too weak to fight, too fragile to do more than push pencils, too old to go back to the regular world. What was left?

“No.” Sadie looked determined. “Max never quits.”

It was true, once. True when I joined an all-white cop squad in Georgia after high school. They hated that. Wanted me gone. I wanted it more. Money’s money, you know? Became a good shot, then a great one. Got scooped up by the Foundation.

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

They thought I’d be fine sitting on my ass with them when I learned how much shit they let run loose back home. My side of the neighborhood. Not a “threat to information security”, as if kids in the ghetto don’t bleed unless the Times says so. Fuck that, I was going down there. They said no, I said I’d quit. Said it again. Three times, four.

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

That’s how I won; being a stubborn motherfucker. Every time. Even with Annie. She said no, then me, then her, then both of us. Love’s scary, when you’re fighting for keeps every day. But we made it work. Mostly.

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

Now she’s gone. Job gone. Hometown squeaky clean and top-to-bottom alabaster.

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

Sadie raised the tissue in her hand to my eyes. They were wet. Some tough guy you are.

I held her other hand in mine. “Sorry, not fair.” I looked away. “You lost more.”

Tears. Seriously? At least I had working eyes. Working ears. I got to make a difference. Played hero for years. Fell in love. Had a good run. Hers? Never even started. So what the hell did I have to mourn? Selfish.

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

“Lost more?” Sadie’s fingers cradled mine. “Yes.”

She looked dead serious. A moment passed.

“Lost everything?” she smiled, gaze softening. “No.”

Sadie’s hands slid downwards, covering the underside of my wrist.

“What-” I tapped before being shushed. Her forehead creased. Thinking.

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

Sadie smiled. “One.” She tapped with each heartbeat. “Two. Three.”

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

She looked at me. “Perfect. Every time.”

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

“Not too fast.” I stared confusedly. She continued, “Not too slow.”

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

“Now faster.” She punched my arm playfully. “C’mon!”

Blink-beat-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-beat-breathe.

A wave of energy rushed over me, like I was ready to run a marathon. What the hell? Blood coursing, head clear.

Sadie held my wrist. “All along.” She chuckled. “Had it in you.”

“How?” I asked. She replied, head tilted matter-of-factly. “Had it in me.”

“Not see. Not hear.” She shrugged. “But not useless. Not helpless.” Sadie leaned forward. “Not give up. Never.”

Blink-beat-breathe-eyes.

The sickly green room was silent, but sharp and clear as crystal. Every little stain. Every nick in the walls. I could see it.

Blink-beat-breathe-ears.

The room went dark, and I suddenly heard voices from across the block. A spider inside the walls. The chitter-chatter of squirrels climbing a tree in the backyard.

Blink-beat-breathe-hands

The sounds faded, leaving just the thump-thump coming from Sadie’s palms. Every crease, every wrinkle, I felt them like it was for the first time. She tapped her fingers. “Now do you see what I mean?”

No, I realized, but I felt it. Every microscopic motion. Every half-inch slide of a finger, or bend of the palm. Too small to see or hear. They were there the whole time, I just never knew. She had this all along? I couldn’t believe it.

“Usher Syndrome. Lazarus Syndrome.” Sadie grimaced. “Life’s a bitch, Max, but she didn’t knock us out for the count.” She put a firm hand on my shoulder. “Let’s make her regret that.”

Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.

I saw her face-to-face, smiling with clear determination. A grin came over me, then a chuckle. We were laughing. You’re one tough motherfucker, Sadie Vance. I tapped her hand.

“Thank you.”