Refitting the Pieces.

The mescaline was still affecting Simon and he felt so much, too much. Sadness, joy, confusion, bliss, fear and regret… mostly Simon felt regret. Simon fell to his knees, unable to cope with everything, tears trying to wash all his feelings away. “You were frakkin dead,” Simon sobbed, knowing — deep down — that was the cause to all this effect.

Angela hugged Simon close again, rocking him slightly. She delivered a venomous look to Blake. “Please,” she said, “explain this to me.”

“I died,” Blake re-iterated, his own mental state still a blur. “And I came back. I had a tattoo that let me do that.”

“Had?” Angela asked, still trying to calm Simon.

“One shot only, girl,” he replied. “I’m… I’m sorry, Simon. I didn’t think this was going to happen. But…” There was something else, something on the tip of Blake’s tongue. “I… I came back with something.”

Simon drew in a deep breath. “What?” he spewed.

“Information,” Blake said, the pieces all fitting into place in his head. “Information about the infection.”

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