Dead Cell

by Chris Johnson

  Thomas also showed strange signs, reacting with growing fear with each name Angel rattled with machine gun speed.

  "Jenny Queen. John Fraser. Oliver Frank."

  As each name came from Angel's mouth, a new voice seemed to speak up in the room until Ramsey realised the room seemed crowded. Children, or rather their spirits, filled the room until it seemed like there was no room to move. Each child cried their name aloud until such a hullabaloo rose in the room that Ramsey wanted to cover his ears. But, the voices spoke in the mind more than in the ears.

  The man named Thomas stood, pushing people out of the way, as he backed away towards a wall. Each child's spirit moved towards him, cornering him. Sweat gushed from his face, shining with pure panic, as he heard each of their names, and even saw the spirits rushing towards him. The other audience members turned to watch what was happening, some panicking as they saw the spirits too.

  "Where did all these children come from?" one of them asked.

  The woman who had held Ramsey's hand earlier in the circle cried out, "They're after Thomas. Why would they be after him?"

  Possessed Angel's voice boomed. "Thomas, your victims have named you and is time to take your punishment."

  A fierce gusting wind came from nowhere, blowing with the speed of a hurricane, and pushed at Thomas. His long blonde hair, exposing itself as a fake hairpiece, blew away like a dead creature's skin, landed on a woman's head, and she screamed. Picture frames, furniture, and any other loose object flew towards Thomas. He did his best to fend the flying articles away with his hands and arms, with little effect, as the children continued crowding about him and chanting their names.

  At last, it became too much and Thomas ran, pushing past the living and running through the intangible spirits. Everyone else stayed where they were, watching Thomas flee like a madman, except Angel whose features reverted to his normal tanned flawless self as he fell into a heap. Ramsey noted the spirit form that left Angel's body at that moment. It resembled a man he had seen somewhere before but he was not sure of when or where.

  The spirit wore a leather jacket over a t-shirt and casual jeans with a brown Calvin Klein belt, its CK insignia visible in the leatherwork, and Nike shoes. Whoever the spirit was, he could not have died over ten years earlier, but Ramsey felt it was more recent. The spirit moved past Ramsey, appearing to ignore him, save for an eye movement that acknowledged his presence but showed no recognition. Ramsey felt the being's energy and interpreted it to be angry by its reddish tinge, but it was also a good spirit. It was not evil, just driven and vengeful, and it enjoyed scaring the living daylights from its targets.

  Emily appeared beside Ramsey, speaking in her Scottish brogue to him. "Does he look pissed to you?"

  Ramsey replied, "Just a tad. I'm going after him."

  "I don't think you will stop him," Emily called after him.

  Ramsey followed the avenging spirit, which was flying after Thomas who was trying to get to his Mitsubishi Pajero. The children's spirits milled about the adult spirit as though he was the pied piper, cheering on their avenger who followed Thomas without distraction. Ramsey had heard something about this thing before but could not place what it was.

  Thomas reached his vehicle and fumbled in his pocket for the remote. At last, he found it, just as the avenging ghost reached him and grabbed his neck from behind. He screamed in terror as the spirit pushed him hard, so hard, that his face hit the car's window with a sickening thud. Astral fists crashed into Thomas' body and he felt the wind knocked out of him. Somehow, he ducked another fist and dashed off down the street, throwing the remote to the side as he ran.

  "Wait!" Ramsey called to the male spirit. "Who are you?"

  It paused a moment to regard Ramsey, sizing him up to see if he was a foe or not, and bellowed back at him. "My name is not important to anyone but him right now." In a blink, it seemed to fade into a wispy cloud before it gained mass and rushed off after Thomas who was halfway down the street.

  Ramsey made ready to chase when he noticed that the children spirits were vandalising Thomas' Pajero. Random scrawling and graffiti appeared as though done by invisible spray paint cans on the vehicle's once pristine exterior. One of them, appearing to be a teenaged boy, manifested a large knife in its astral form and stabbed the tyres until it deflated.

  Ramsey snorted, pulling a helpless smile, before chasing after Thomas and his pursuer. He couldn't see them by this time, but Thomas' screaming was a dead giveaway leading Ramsey straight to a playground. Ramsey huffed down the street, approaching the park where a single streetlight illuminated the scene enough for him to see what was going on. The avenging spirit had caught up to Thomas and was now proceeding to rip the clothes off him as though they were paper. Garments and pieces of cloth flew about in all directions, ripped and torn. The leg of Thomas' jeans landed just in front of Ramsey as he stopped to take in the scene in disbelief.

  "Holy shit," he whispered.

  The spirit now had Thomas pinned face down to a playground roundabout and Ramsey wondered what it was doing to him. A smell of burning flesh reached Ramsey's nostrils, almost making him gag, and Thomas screamed louder. As he approached them, Ramsey felt an invisible force holding him back and all he could do was watch and wince at the smell of burning flesh.

  At that moment, Emily appeared beside Ramsey. Distracted, he looked at her. "Can't you stop it?"

  Emily shook her head. "No, that would not be my place to do. That gentleman has unfinished business with him."

  Ramsey looked shocked. "Unfinished business. I'd say it's more than not splitting the lunch bill."

  Thomas stopped screaming and Ramsey looked back again to see the spirit stand again from its victim. Turning to face them, the spirit approached Ramsey and Emily, looking them both in the eye.

  "I am not done with him yet."

  Ramsey looked past the spirit. "He looks finished. What is your beef with him?"

  Thomas called out with a pathetic voice. "Has it gone? I've had enough. I'll talk. Just keep it away from me."

  The spirit, a hint of a smile on his face, turned back to Ramsey. "It was not just him. It is his kind. He's not the first, and he's definitely not the last."

  Ramsey felt a flash of recognition. "You're Gerard Hohn, aren't you?"

  The spirit reacted to the name, stepping back. "I am not known by that name any more."

  Ramsey realised what had caused the burning flesh smell and knew what he would see tattooed across Thomas' shoulder blades and the small of his back. He also knew what word Hohn's spirit had burned into Thomas' forehead, and the man deserved it. All who had contact with the spirit world knew Hohn's obsession with hunting down paedophiles and child traffickers. He looked back at the vengeful spirit; it was concentrating upon the helpless man, one powerful hand holding Thomas to the roundabout's platform while the other did its work upon him.

  "Hohn," Ramsey said, holding up handcuffs from his jacket's pocket, and walking around to Thomas. He snapped one cuff over Thomas' right wrist and the other over one of the roundabout's metal handholds. "I'm a private investigator. I can take him to the authorities. You're done with him."

  Hohn turned to Ramsey, paused a moment, and was about to say something but Ramsey's mobile phone rang, interrupting them.

  "Wait right there," Ramsey said, holding up a finger, as his other hand answered the phone for him. He was not on the phone a long time, but he didn't need long to listen to what the caller said and to answer. "I'm on my way."

  Looking back at the roundabout, he gasped in surprise to find just his handcuffs swinging from its handhold. Thomas and Hohn were gone.

  "I told you to turn that phone off before," Emily quipped, floating across the ground to him. "Do you see what happens when you let it distract you?"

  Ramsey shrugged, knowing police officers would find Thomas "gift-wrapped" on either the police station's front doorstep on in one of their watch-house cells. There Thomas would blabber about the ghosts of the childre
n he had molested, trafficked and killed in the past twenty years before telling them about his still-living victims. The psychic community, the real one, know Gerard Hohn's spiritual journey for justice well.

  "We've got to go," he said, walking past his spiritual companion who felt increasing sadness from him. "Something's wrong."

  Chapter 3

  Blue and red lights flickered across the scene as Sergeant Hohenhaus examined the carnage before him. A camera flashed as the police photographer took pictures of the damaged vehicle and its unmoving occupant. The other vehicles passing the scene slowed down, slower than necessary, as they passed.

  Blasted rubberneckers, he thought to himself as he watched one car slow down to less than a crawling pace. Its occupants, a family of five, gawked at the twisted metal frame of the car as it passed. Another camera flash popped through the air and Sergeant Hohenhaus cursed. Some police officers had placed a shield to obscure the public's view of the body in the car. But a lucky photographer could find the right angle, snapping a photo of the corpse. He hated to think what would happen if that picture made it to Instagram or Twitter.

  "Hey!" he called out to a uniformed officer. "Divert the traffic down that other street, can you? We still have a body in that car, for Christ's sake. Do you want that ending up on the news?"

  The ambulance had taken away the surviving passenger but the deceased driver still sat there, waiting for its trip to the morgue.

  Detective Cogan appeared beside the Sergeant. "What is it with this corner?" Cogan asked, tossing her empty coffee cup in a nearby bin. "I've never seen so many accidents here."

  Hohenhaus looked back towards his colleague. "It's too many," he replied. "Ten accidents in one week on this same corner, fifteen on East and Turbot."

  Cogan stood back as the police photographer finished taking photos of the damage. "There must be a pattern here."

  "But what is it?" Hohenhaus replied, sounding frustrated. "The visibility is so perfect here. You can't miss seeing a thing here that blind Freddy wouldn't know about."

  He pointed to a second crumpled vehicle. Everyone from that car survived. "That car was in front, and the area is well lit. Even if its tail-lights were not working, the other driver couldn't miss seeing that. The intersection is lit up more than Kings bloody Cross."

  Cogan just looked about, thinking, her eyes searching for something. She didn't know what she would find, but she felt certain she would know when she saw it.

  "The passenger from this car," she said, indicating the corpse's vehicle. "What can you tell me?"

  "A young guy, early twenties, I think. Samoan kid. He's taken away already."

  Cogan looked up from checking the passenger's seat and walked around to check an angle from the front. "What did he have to say?"

  Hohenhaus shook his head. "The kid's unconscious, or at least he was when we arrived. He was still out when the ambo's came for him."

  Cogan's blue eyes narrowed, checking the cracked windscreen before turning back to Hohenhaus.

  "What about the driver?" Cogan examined the driver's side, eyes moving and noting details.

  "She must have been dead upon impact," Hohenhaus replied, pointing a thick finger at the driver's side window. Cogan saw the impact mark upon the glass, near the door frame.

  "Looks like her head hit the side of the car," she said, noting the bruise mark on the victim's temple.

  "Poor thing," the sergeant said, shaking his head. "Too bloody young, even if she was in the wrong."

  Cogan ignored the sergeant. "But the other car was in front of her, and she drove straight into it."

  "Yeah, and?"

  Cogan looked him in the eye. "If you hit something straight on, where do you expect your head to go?"

  The sergeant stopped a moment to think. "Straight into -"

  Cogan interrupted. "Yes, straight into the steering wheel. No air bag either. Her head should have hit the steering wheel, not the side window."

  "Who knows how these things can happen in an accident," Sergeant Hohenhaus shrugged.

  "Simple physics," Cogan said, calling the photographer back. She explained that she wanted more photos, pointing out the angles for them before turning back to Hohenhaus. "When a body is moving in a particular direction, it stays on that path until another force pushes it in another. It's called inertia."

  "So how do you explain this?" Hohenhaus asked, nodding at her explanation as he showed the bruise and its position. "Could she have looked in another direction before the collision?"

  "No," Cogan replied, walking away from the scene. "Someone or something forced her towards the car door. We need to speak with the survivor."

  COGAN WALKED INTO THE patient's room, almost expecting the patient to be asleep. The doctor who gave her permission to speak with the accident victim also advised her to keep it short. She knew the patient needed rest, given the circumstances, but it was important Cogan gained the information she needed while it was fresh in his mind.

  "Tyrone Manson?"

  She looked at him, noticing that Hohenhaus had been wrong about the passenger's age. He was a well-built Samoan boy, large enough to be mistaken for a young adult, but Cogan recognised the looks of youth in his face. The teenager's eyes opened to regard Cogan, his eyes bleary and unfocused. She hoped the sedatives he received had minimal effect upon his ability to recall things.

  "Yeah." He found speaking difficult, but it wasn't fatigue.

  The doctor had warned Cogan to not tell Tyrone of his sister's death yet, due to his shock from the accident. Cogan disliked being dishonest to the poor kid, but seeing his extensive injuries, she didn't want to make things worse just yet either. Bruises, black and purple, darkened his brown skin in patches and his nose looked as though broken. He had been through too much to learn of her demise yet.

  Cogan offered her hand, but he felt too whipped to take it. "Tyrone, I'm Detective Brianna Cogan," she told him. "I'm here to learn about the accident. Are you up to it?"

  Whatever friendly light had been in Tyrone's eyes disappeared like a candle's flame in a breeze. "What about it?"

  Cogan found a chair, pulled it closer to the bed, and sat on it, facing Tyrone. She tried her best to be as friendly and supportive as she could. "You're looking pretty banged up there. Are you in much pain?"

  She knew it was a stupid question, but she didn't know how else to lead into things. It didn't seem to faze Tyrone though, and he responded. "I think I hit the dashboard, but I had my seatbelt on." He mentioned the last part as though trying to convince her he was good.

  Cogan smiled and rested her hand on his. "It's okay. I'm not worried about the seatbelt and I am sure you were wearing it. Can you tell me how it all happened?"

  Tyrone hesitated a moment before shrugging. "I guess Debbie couldn't stop the car in time. Are the people from the car we hit okay?"

  Cogan smiled in a way designed to relax him. "Yeah, they're fine, maybe a little shaken but they're okay."

  "What about Debbie? She's dead, isn't she?"

  Cogan tried her best to stay calm without faltering. Something told her Tyrone was perceptive, most teenagers are, and she didn't want to lie either. "She's sleeping at the moment."

  Tyrone looked at her a moment and Cogan let her best poker face show while letting her eyes work to keep his trust.

  "I like you," he told her, "but you're not a good liar. My uncle Craig would see through you even better than I can."

  "What do you mean, Tyrone?"

  Tyrone looked her straight in the eyes. "You said Debbie's asleep. But you didn't say if you had seen her, if you were going to be seeing her, or if she was fine or not. When my mother and father died, they told me they were just sleeping because I was a kid. I know what it means."

  Cogan opened her mouth to respond, and Tyrone held up a hand to interrupt. "I know they drugged me, but I can still see through you and I know that you're trying to make things easier."

  Cogan hesitated, measuring her words before re
sponding. "Of course I am interested in your welfare, Tyrone, and Debbie's. I - "

  Tyrone would hear nothing off it, and he raised his voice a notch. "Listen, I know you think I'm a dumb kid still, but I'm sixteen, and I know what I'm talking about. What do you really want to know?"

  Cogan wasn't sure if she was regaining control or if Tyrone had played her; she suspected the latter. "I want to know what happened, Tyrone. Will you tell me?"

  Tyrone's features turned stony as he went silent. His hand, relaxed earlier, now tensed into a fist and his eyes closed. Cogan looked at him and noticed the closed eyelids, but not for sleeping. He felt anger and emotional pain, but was he angry with Cogan or was he angry after the accident? Then she saw a tear forming in the corner of his eye. It trickled down the side of his face towards his ear as he lay back on the pillow.

  "I wish I could take it all back," he said, his bottom lip quivering.

  "Take your time," Cogan reassured him, her hand over his balled fist. She felt it relax. "Tell me about it please."

  Tyrone opened his eyes, and he tried to sit up but gave up in frustration. The sedative must have affected his motor skills. Cogan stayed silent, watching him with an open expression. Her other hand held the iPhone closer, its App recording the whole conversation to save Cogan from writing notes, which she hated doing.

  DEBBIE AND TYRONE HAD been out that night, watching the latest young adult movie with Jennifer Lawrence as the heroine. Although the two of them were close, the three-year gap between them made it difficult. Tyrone was in his senior year of high school. It was a tougher year than usual for him with studies although he had picked his favourite subjects in mathematics and the sciences. On a similar note, Debbie was studying at the University of Queensland in Brisbane to be a dentist. That meant she was away from home and could only catch up when their holidays coincided.