Like Rachel.

I looked at Mr. Damned Soul and asked him "Who are you?"

"Where am I?" he asked again.

Doc hovered close, three of his eight tentacles pointing at the corpse-thing.

"You're on a dirigible," I said.

"Over Kentucky," added Brigitte.

"Kentucky?" Mr. Damned Soul said.

I heard a crackle and looked up. So did everyone else except Mr. Damned Soul. The edge of the dirigible's inflated section was starting to peel. I peeked up over the edge and saw that the cops below had gotten a better shot.

Doc scooted up and pulled on the chain. The burner lit, and we rose higher. I felt the heat of the ray gun as we rose past it. I wondered how high we could go.

"Paducah, Kentucky," said Brigitte, and she knelt down next to Mr. Damned Soul.

"Brigitte, I don't know that you should get that close to him. I brought him back from Hell."

"Thank you for that," said Mr. Damned Soul.

"Accidentally," I said to him.

Brigitte knelt by him. I saw her nose wrinkle. "Do you hurt?" she asked. He was certainly more calm now than when we'd first woken up or arrived or whatever we did. She reached out and touched him with just the tip of one finger. "You're cold," she said. "Really cold."

"I don't feel it," he said. "But, then, I expect that the dead don't feel very much."

"Lemme try something," said Brigitte. She held out her hand, palm towards Mr. Damned Soul, and placed it on his arm, gently clasping him. She closed her eyes. He looked at her without any curiousity at all, the way people will look at an ad on the wall of a bus stop because they've got nothing else to look at.

She opened her eyes. "Nothing. He doesn't share." She looked at me. "Like you."

"Like me." I said. I looked over Mr. Damned Soul's raggedy body, still slouching limply like he had no bones or muscles. His skin was all clammy white and peeling in places. His eyes were runny and pussy. His teeth were falling out. He didn't have much in the way of clothing. He stunk. "Like me." I said again.

"Like you," said Mr. Damned Soul.

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