by Howard, Paul
He began to laugh as he put his foot in the small of the Judge’s back and yanked the rope tighter, cutting off his air supply. Hansen grabbed at the rope and flailed helplessly until his strength was all but spent. He collapsed face-down as Morrison finished the job.
“Can you still hear me?” he whispered to the gasping man. “This is justice! My voice is the last thing you’ll ever hear in your miserable, worthless life. You piece of shit!”
The Judge gasped his final breath. Morrison dropped the rope to the floor.
“Court is adjourned!” he uttered, and noticed that the end of the rope was covered with blue slime. He looked at his hands. The ectoplasmic goo had begun to collect between his fingers.
“Remission!” he gasped. “So soon?”
He looked at the back of his hands and reached up to his cheeks. Blue slime was coming out of his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, like tears.
*****
The Phoenix shuttle operation was a marvel of efficiency and design. On the outward journey from Earth the shuttle was basically a space traveling morgue; cold and austere, designed to bring the dead to their destination as economically and efficiently as possible.
On the inbound journey it was completely different, comfortable and luxurious, with walls finished in restful, reassuring tones, soft lights, and creature comforts such as music, videos, and even games. The Phoenix shuttle even served a special brew known as Ecafe, a special coffee beverage designed especially to please and satisfy the senses of ectos, with an aroma of imported beans and very little flavor.
Ectos had little sense of taste but their sense of smell was still acute. They could also consume liquids if they desired, and pass them without discomfort, a fact that Morrison would have learned if he had taken the time to go through his entire orientation. He could easily have drunk an entire bottle of his favorite scotch without the slightest sign of intoxication. Ectos can’t metabolize anything; therefore they don’t get drunk.
Phoenix crews could change the shuttle from an outbound to inbound configuration in less than two hours, the only cargo carried on an outbound shuttle besides the dead was the earthbound seating and décor, packed neatly away for the return trip.
The shuttle was an hour out of Phoenix; White sat in a wheelchair, covered with a blanket. He was still experiencing chills, and cold shivers ran up his spine. His weak appearance puzzled the other passengers. Valby noticed him from the far end of the cabin and moved to a seat across from him. Even though he was now a customer, he could still recognize the signs of a newly infused ecto in need of orientation.
“Hi,” he said cheerfully, “How are you?”
“Dead, thank you,” White replied flatly, “How are you?” Valby found White’s answer amusing and began to laugh.
“That’s pretty good!” he said. “My name’s Dave Valby. I used to work here.” He offered White his hand and they shook. White recognized his name at once. Valby was the employee That Morrison had killed. His casual manner intrigued him.
“Lenny White,” he replied, “I’m a cop. I know who you are.” Valby smiled softly and nodded his head.
“Yes,” he said sadly, “They tell me I’m going to be in the history books from now on as the first person ever murdered by an ecto.”
“You’re not the last!” White answered. Their eyes never left each other, as Valby thought about what he said. The meaning of White’s statement dawned on him.
“He killed you too?” Valby gasped. White nodded. “Why are you here like this, Lenny?”
“Because I’m in a hurry,” White said, “I have to get back to Los Angeles.” Valby thought about this answer. Everybody knew that ectos couldn’t hold jobs, nor do police work. He leaned in close and whispered.
“You want to seek revenge for what he did to you?” he asked. White stared at him very seriously.
“No,” he replied softly, “I have to finish what I started out to do. I’m a cop.”
Moments after his first conversation with Inspector White, Gordon Bell experienced phase 3 for the first time.
Although he would never discuss it with anyone, it had changed him and he knew it. He was always a kind man who saw his work as beneficial to humankind, but he was also affected by the praise, wealth, and power that it granted him.
Before phase 3 the isolated and insular approach to others contented him. Now he was beginning to re-evaluate his relationship with the world and the people in it. Grappling with what Morrison was doing with the new powers he had given him troubled Bell’s spirit, and he responded to it with a new humility.
After the shuttle took off, he emerged from the cockpit and mingled with the passengers; his presence delighted and astonished them. He spoke to each in turn, answering their questions, and taking a genuine interest in who they were and what they planned to do with their new post-lives. He found himself enjoying it more than he had enjoyed anything in a long time. Realizing that he had been missing out by not meeting his customers before then, he resolved to make these meetings a regular practice in the future.
At length he joined Arnold Holt, who had gone on to Phoenix and been infused as scheduled, they talked for nearly an hour about his work. Finally his visits brought him to White, who was just beginning to shake off the chills and feeling like himself again. Asking the server to bring them two cups of Ecafe, he invited him to the lounge to discuss their plans.
Seated across from each other at a table, White drank the hot brew with relish.
“I didn’t know we could drink coffee.” White said and took another gulp.
“We can,” Bell replied, “It’s a special brew for ectos. Regular coffee is pretty tasteless for us.” White finished his drink and waited for Bell to speak again. He took a drink and leaned in close to him.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?’ Bell asked. White shook his head.
“No,” he answered, “I’m still a little foggy. I know I’m going to have a tough time convincing the department that they need me. That’s about all. You said you’d been thinking. Do you have any ideas, Doctor?” Bell sighed and took another sip as he collected his thoughts.
“I’ve been thinking about the problem with Morrison,” he began, “I believe I have some ideas on how you can stop him.”
White leaned in closer and his eyes widened with interest. He nodded his head for Bell to elaborate.
“We already know that weapons have no effect on ectos. But they do have a liquid component to their physiology. Ectoplasm does contain trace elements of H2o, which means that ectos are susceptible to extreme thermal conditions.”
“What does that mean in English, Doctor?” White asked. Bell took another sip and stared into the dark liquid in his cup. He turned to White.
“You can freeze him.” Bell replied. White gasped.
“Freeze him?” White asked. “Is that possible? How could we do that?”
“With cryogenic agents,” Bell replied, “Los Angeles has one of the best supplies of them in the world, many laboratories and private cryogenic facilities have what we would need locally.” White couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
“Turn him into a spooksicle?” White asked. “What would that do?” Bell smiled with amusement at White’s characterization.
“Turning him into a ‘spooksicle’, as you put it, would immobilize him, just like it would to any living thing.”
“And that’s it?” White asked. “That would solve the problem?”
“No,” Bell explained, “He would be fully conscious until he went into remission, and would convert into a vapor eventually. He could escape during that time.”
“Then what good would it do to freeze him?” White asked.
“It would immobilize him long enough to bring him back to Phoenix.” Bell replied. He finished his coffee and looked down at the tabletop with a troubled expression. “I told you there was no way to destroy an ecto. That’s not quite true. The way to destroy a spook is to drain off its
ectoplasmic energy.”
“How could you do that?” White asked. Bell looked up at him.
“By placing him in the main reactor at Phoenix,” he explained, “The fusion reactor has a core temperature of twenty thousand degrees. Physical matter just vaporizes at that thermal level. He would have to renew his physical structure from microsecond to microsecond just to maintain it. A seventy-five year ecto infusion would only last a minute or two before he used up his energy. Then his body would go inert and vaporize.”
“Would he be conscious while this was happening to him?” White asked incredulously.
“Yes.” Bell replied softly. White sighed and shook his head, deep in thought.
“And the fires of hell consumed him…” White recited. Bell’s face grew very grave.
“Yes.”
Chapter Nineteen: Police Work
Captain Brawly had no success at all in his efforts to get Sam into protective custody. When the call came in from the County Courthouse, Sam was out of the door before the captain could stop him and arrived first on the scene.
The guard assigned to Hansen was found hanging in the Judge’s closet with a cord around his neck and his pants at his ankles; a little touch of Morrison’s own special style of disrespect for all authority.
The body of the Judge lay where Morrison left it. Sam stood over the body and called for more photographs. The Captain arrived five minutes later and gasped at the crime scene.
“Oh, Christ! This is a fucking mess.” Brawly exclaimed. He looked up at Sam. “Morrison?”
Sam nodded his head. “Morrison. This was the Judge who sent to him Death Row.”
Brawly examined the body of the guard. His face was an awful sight. His tongue was sticking out and his eyes were open and rolled back. “Watch your feet, Captain.” Sam called out; pointing to the rope he had nearly stepped on.
“What makes you so sure that it was Morrison?” Brawly asked.
Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He put it over his fingers and picked up the rope, pointing to the slime on the end of it.
“Ectoplasmic residue, Captain,” he said, “He’s going into remission. I think they call it Phase 1. By now he should be a big ball of moving slime. According to the Phoenix liaison the big jump out of the window probably brought it on.”
*****
It was a neighborhood in Monterey Park. A group of kids played ball in the street. In the golden light before sunset, a boy looked at an approaching figure and screamed in horror. The others saw it and they, too, reacted with terror.
It was the figure of Morrison. He came slowly down the walk, moving unnaturally, completely slimy and gruesome to behold. The slime oozed from every opening on his face and covered his exposed flesh, dripping and oozing. His clothes were a mess, soaked with the slime and stuck to him by the icky, blue goo.
He produced a horrible sloshing sound with every move that he made. Several of the boys threw rocks and sticks at him as they ran off. Morrison felt miserable, and the children’s reaction to him made him feel even worse. A man walking down the street stopped, giving him a wide berth as he was about to pass him. He frowned as he realized what Morrison was.
“Why don’t get somewhere out of sight?” he snarled. “It’s disgusting to go out looking like that!” This comment angered Morrison, who moved to the man, grabbing his arm.
“You don’t like the way I look, huh?” he seethed. “How do you think it feels, asshole? Here, have some!” He rubbed the slime on the man’s face. He then forced his mouth open, sticking his disgusting fingers down the man’s throat. The victim reacted with a gag response and began to choke. As Morrison let him go he doubled over, finally running away on the verge of throwing up.
Morrison took small satisfaction from the man’s reaction and kept on walking.
*****
White moved into the Central Station from the front entrance and walked past the officers in the front. They recognized his face and knew that he was a detective killed in the line of duty, but he was an Inspector and nobody wanted to tangle with him. He pushed the door open into the booking room. The first line past what the public could see.
It hadn’t changed over the years, with a wall of barred windows at the far side. An officer had a drunk on the floor that had just peed in his pants. He sat wallowing in the pool of urine, sick and gasping. The urine touched the officer’s shoes. He reacted angrily.
“Godammit, you filthy piece of shit!” he screamed at the drunk. “If you were dying of thirst in the fucking desert I wouldn’t piss down your throat!” He looked up at White and reacted with stunned silence. White ignored the officer and moved to the door on the far side of the room. He produced his card key and pushed it into the slot.
The door swung open, and he moved inside. The Booking Sergeant looked up at him from the report he was writing, and then made a double-take. He knew what White was. Quickly rushing up to him, he put up his arms and tried to block his way.
“This area is restricted for Police Personnel only!” he snapped. “You can’t come in here anymore!” White stopped and glared at him.
“Are you going to stop me, Sergeant?” White mused. “Do you think you could?’ the Sergeant swallowed hard as he looked into White’s eyes.
He was dead but he was still an Inspector in his every mannerism. The Sergeant said nothing and stepped back. White moved through the door into the hallway that led to the squad rooms. The officer called after him.
“You can’t come in here!” he shouted. “The shit will hit the fan when they see you!”
The other cops in the hall looked to see who was causing the commotion and froze in shock when they realized who it was. White moved to the door of the Squad Room. The captain’s voice could be heard inside. He opened it and walked in, Brawly was mapping out his plan to the detectives. He was too occupied to notice White at first.
“This map shows the locations of all the juror’s homes,” he was explaining, “The plan is to send unmarked units to these sites and try to smoke him out...”
“How do you know that he isn’t right here listening to you now?” White asked. The entire group turned toward him with surprised expressions on their faces. Brawly was angry. Sam just smirked; it was all he could do to hold back laughing out loud.
“How the hell did you get in here?” Brawly snarled. White walked toward him, acknowledging the others with his glance.
“You didn’t answer my question, Captain.” White insisted. The captain bristled at White’s manner and answered firmly.
“This is Police business and you don’t work here anymore. Now, get the hell out!” White was only a few feet away from Brawly. His expression had lost all signs of amusement.
“What about my question?” he asked and turned to Sam. “Morrison is going into remission. Isn’t he, Sam?” Jacobson nodded his head.
“You answer to me, Jacobson,” Brawly roared, “Not to him!”
“If he is,” White asked, “How do you know that he hasn’t gone into Phase 3 and is standing next to you right now?” The other detective’s eyes widened and they began to look around the room for a sign of him. White smiled, it reminded him of a scene from the old “Invisible Man” movies.
“There hasn’t been enough time for that...” Brawly suggested.
“You hope there hasn’t!” White observed. “But nobody can know for sure what his remission cycle is, and he could be here.”
“How the hell can we know if he has no form?” Brawly asked. “We can’t stop a killer if he is invisible!”
“He’s only invisible to the living!” White replied, looking around the room and nodding. “But you’re lucky! He isn’t here.” Flustered by White’s display, Brawly was very put off.
“Great!” he snapped. “Now that you’ve had your fun, you better get out of here before I lose my temper and have you tossed out on your spook ass!” White smiled and got up in the captain’s face.
“Do you think
you can?” he mused. It shocked other cops were to hear him talk to Brawly that way. Sam interceded and stepped between the two of them.
“Lenny, this is stupid. The man is a captain and you can’t talk to him like that...”
“Maybe somebody had better before he gets the whole bunch of you killed!” White snarled. “You can’t control this guy, I can!” This was too much for the captain. He threw up his hands.
“ALL RIGHT!” he shouted. “EVERYBODY OUT OF HERE, NOW!” They all moved out into the hall. Nobody wanted to get caught in the line of fire. Sam began to leave but White grabbed his arm.
“Stay, Sam.” Jacobson could only stutter.
“Lenny, I...”
“Jacobson, get the fuck out of here...” Brawly said.
“STAY!” White insisted. Sam froze and looked at the captain, who turned the full weight of his wrath on White as he reached for a telephone.
“Oh! So, now you’re in charge here!” he boomed. “Well, I got news for you, my friend. The LAPD doesn’t hire Spooks.”
“This is a unique situation...” White offered.
“No!” Brawly insisted. “There ain’t no situation here. You became a former cop when you got yourself killed! Now, get the hell out before the Commission finds out and strips me back to a grunt for letting you in here.”
“You need me!” White insisted. Brawly hung up the phone and shook his head. He liked White too much to have him tossed out, but he couldn’t let him work on the case. A half-dozen court rulings and commissions set the policy.
“I don’t need an ectoplasmic ex-cop!” Brawly replied. White stepped back discouraged. The captain softened.
“Look, Lenny. You know I can’t use you. And I wouldn’t if I could. I’m glad you signed up for an ecto-job, now you got time to go to New Guinea or someplace and have a nice vacation. You deserve it. Go!” White shook his head.
“I can’t,” he answered, “Morrison has to be stopped!” Brawly took White’s arm and they sat next to each other on the edge of a table.
“White,” he began, “I don’t know if I can make any sense to you but...you know that the form, the procedure is everything in our line of work. This case is…well, I think we can get this guy. All we need is a break.”