Dead Cell

by Chris Johnson

  "Ha!" Emily scoffed. "He's incorrigible and foul-mouthed. My ears are too delicate for that kind of talk!"

  Ramsey smiled, knowing he had heard much worse from Emily, and resolved to stay silent through the rest of the service out of respect for anyone else there.

  When the service finally finished, Ramsey leaned towards Tyrone, letting him know to head to the wake with his uncle Michael. Tyrone nodded, understanding that his Uncle Craig was on a mission still and what that entailed.

  Ramsey shook a few people's hands, knowing those who were Debra's high school friends and a few relatives although he couldn't recall their names. Those he didn't know he soon knew by the mere shaking their hand or touching their sleeves. Psychometry can be handy at such times. Just as he thought he could move towards the cemetery, he caught sight of another familiar figure.

  "Good morning, Detective Cogan," he smiled. "I didn't expect to see you here today."

  Cogan shook Ramsey's hand, her hand feeling warm and soft in his. She responded with something he didn't quite hear as he picked up some impressions from the contact. Ramsey understood that Cogan had a soft heart despite her hard exterior and she didn't want things to be bad between them either. His eyebrow moved when he realised that Cogan had not visited funerals for the other victims either.

  Cogan repeated what she said to Ramsey. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr Ramsey."

  "You can call me Craig," he said, softening a little himself.

  "I have things I need to share with you," Cogan replied. "Can we talk?"

  Ramsey looked around at everyone else. He wanted to talk with her too, but he didn't want her seeing what he was about to do. The detective already thought him to be strange.

  "I don't mean now," Cogan corrected herself. "Perhaps tomorrow?"

  Ramsey smiled, keeping it low-key. "Yeah, tomorrow is fine, but I need to go now."

  Cogan nodded. "Of course," she answered, handing him her card. Ramsey looked at its simple design, removed his black leather wallet from his pocket and placed the card inside it. He exchanged one of his own.

  "I'll come by at 10am," he replied, before turning and walking off in another direction to speak with other friends who had turned up. "Thank you for coming."

  RAMSEY EXCUSED HIMSELF from the other attendees. After checking to see no one was following him, he hurried along the pathway from behind the chapel and past the walls of cremated remains. As he moved closer to the graves, he felt aware of phantom eyes watching him. He looked at some of them, recognising some of them from previous visits but no one he knew. Phantoms of all kinds, dressed in a range of clothes from different time periods, floated about the graveyard with their business. One of them, a man Craig who knew as Oliver, called out to him as he passed. Craig would have stopped to talk, but he was in a hurry. He waved to the man as he passed, whispering, "Next time," and Oliver went back to chasing away birds.

  At last, he came to the section reserved for those who died serving in the armed forces. Phantoms, dressed in different uniforms as though they were still active in duty, marched or carried out drills. In a way they were on active duty as they now served the Spirit Force. He looked at Colonel Ryan's tombstone, beside the spirits, but saw no sign of him.

  "Over here, Ramsey!" Ryan's spirit called from the side. "Come into my 'other office'."

  Ramsey turned towards the disembodied voice that sounded like a mix of John Wayne and George Peppard, only with an Australian accent. Ryan's ghost, no longer dressed in the ceremonial uniform, was now in battle fatigues and smoking a cigar that Ramsey could smell. As Ramsey approached, Ryan gestured towards a seat sheltered from the sun by frangipani trees. They sat down on the seat near a small pond with a family of ducks, a mother and her ducklings, swimming in a line across its calm surface.

  "It's the family I left behind," Ryan murmured, watching Ramsey with concern. "How are you holding up, civilian?"

  Ramsey shrugged. "The worst of the grieving is gone. Now I want to stop this character before it happens again."

  Ryan nodded, turning the cigar in his mouth with his fingers, before blowing another plume of smoke out. "What do you want from me?"

  Ramsey sat forward in the seat, looking Ryan dead in the eye. "I must know who this spirit is."

  Ryan let a smile flicker on his visage before removing the cigar from his mouth. "Ramsey, I don't know who the spirit is. He's creating a few ripples for me too, in case you hadn't guessed." Ryan motioned something to the other armed spirits and continued. "This is the most activity I have seen since Vietnam when you weren't even an itch in your father's undies." Ramsey lifted an eyebrow in curiosity and the phantom colonel explained. "At present, we have a situation from the downstairs people, meaning Density. You know the place; bad people go there. Some of my scouts, those who have returned, tell me trouble is brewing down there. The administrators down there are having trouble keeping people in for their full rehabilitation. We have caught a few of them and either disposed of them or sent them back."

  "What about the hooded one?"

  "Well," Ryan answered, chuckling to himself. "He is inadvertently helping recruit for both sides. I don't mind the people who come to me sooner than needed, but I'm not happy about those he sends downstairs. Do you get my drift?"

  Ramsey listened, feeling the enormity of the situation. "So you want him just as much?"

  Ryan shrugged. "What happens to the living isn't entirely my business, but I don't need the complication either."

  Ramsey smiled. "Does that mean you will help me track him down?"

  Colonel Ryan appeared to take a deep breath, considering his answer before looking Craig in the eyes; meanwhile, the living man shielded himself from the coldness in Ryan's mood.

  The Colonel felt impatient with him. "Listen, Ramsey," he asserted, throwing his cigar into the pond where it splashed despite being immaterial like himself. "Chasing after a dip shit like that spirit is not my problem. I have no men to spare, and any information I give will be what I or my unit trip over. The man you seek is not mine, and although he seems capable, I assure you I didn't train him. I am not even sure if he belongs to our other units across the town."

  "How can you be sure he's not?" Ramsey asked, thinking Colonel Ryan knew more than he would have him believe.

  The Colonel found another cigar in his pocket, lighting it with a finger which seemed to catch fire. "Because their commanding officers asked me. He's causing headaches for them too."

  Ramsey allowed that information, or rather lack of it, to digest for a moment before standing. The Colonel added, for his benefit, "Ramsey, I understand Debra meant a lot to you and those kids are the closest you've had to family in a long time. I still remember when I first met you, and I think highly of you, even if you can be a stubborn boofhead sometimes. Do you mind if I give you some advice?"

  Ramsey looked at him, nodding.

  "Don't turn your back on the living for the sake of the dead."

  Ramsey acknowledged Ryan with another nod, as though considering the soldier's words, but the Colonel knew he was considering something else.

  He called after Ramsey who was already walking off down the path towards the car park. "Oi! What are you going to do with him when you catch him? How can you gain revenge on a dead man? Did you consider that?"

  Ramsey didn't respond and Ryan shook his head. "Damn mortal bastard never listens."

  COLONEL RYAN REMOVED the cigar from his mouth, spitting a glob of ectoplasmic goo in the grass at his feet. Another soldier, a spirit with a hole in his chest that allowed a view through his body, approached.

  "What is it?" he growled at the soldier.

  The spirit, a private with half of his left leg missing below the knee, saluted. "Sir! Bad news. There have been deserters!"

  Ryan's eyes opened wide in surprise. "What? Who?"

  "Some of the new recruits, sir!"

  The phantom colonel swore loudly. "Send out a couple of the special ops to track them down." As the soldier
ran off to carry out his orders, Colonel Ryan wondered to himself, contemplating if he should tell Ramsey as well but changed his mind. Ramsey had enough on his plate already. With what was happening for Colonel Ryan's unit and the escalating conflict with Density, Craig Ramsey would realise what was happening soon enough.

  Chapter 7

  Linda Crandon terminated the phone call, letting a heavy sigh escape her tired self. Why do all the crazy and angry people call up during a full moon? One of the other banking consultants in the call centre told her five years ago that it always happens. She didn't believe it then, but she did now. The previous call, the first since she started her shift, left her craving time away from the workstation and she had barely started her shift. The caller was an unemployed customer; she preferred to wait ten minutes in queue, rather than two minutes on an automated service, to learn if her pension had arrived in her account. She blew her temper because it had not yet arrived. Was it because she needed to buy food for her children crying in the background? No. She wanted to buy grog and cigarettes; she said so herself. Linda used to feel sorry for the Centrelink pensioners, being a single mother herself after her deadbeat husband left for some blonde bimbo with more boobs than brains. After receiving so many calls from the unemployed, she realised how many of them were mostly beyond reason or the capability of budgeting. Linda's bank deposited the pensions into their accounts up to twelve hours earlier than other banks, but their customers believed it was their "right" to have it sooner. When it was not provided before its due time, they became seething illogical creatures filled to the brim with bubbling venom and screamed through the phones like spoiled children.

  The phone rang again, barely four seconds after the last call finished, demanding Linda's attention. She wanted to cry from mental exhaustion already but sucked up the feeling and answered the phone, introducing herself as the bank's representative. Was this another Centrelink customer who wanted money to feed her kids at the fast-food restaurant instead of cooking healthier and cheaper food at home?

  "Hello Linda," the caller's voice, familiar to Linda, said to her. "Is it a busy night tonight?"

  Linda recognised the voice, and she wished it was another angry Centrelink customer. It would be even better if it were some nice elderly person asking for help to use internet banking; those calls took forever, but those people were polite - most of the time. Anyone would have been better than the Customer Service Department's manager, Marnie Aniston. Linda used to be friends with Marnie, another single mother, when they first started together. Their friendship and close bond continued even while Marnie rose through the ranks although Linda always recognised the sociopathic tendencies behind Marnie's apparent workaholism. She used to forgive that until she learned what Marnie had done behind her back, leaving Linda feeling dejected and angry with her.

  Linda took a breath to reply and terrified screaming cut her off.

  "Marnie?"

  Linda thought she heard a man's voice say something viciously, something like "cock" and "bitch", above Marnie's screams.

  A soul-wrenching scraping and crunching sound added its sickening voice to the cacophony of noise torturing Linda's ears.

  "Marnie!" Linda almost shouted into the phone. "What's happening? Are you okay?"

  For all the ways Marnie had betrayed their friendship and her trust, Linda felt concern and fear her now.

  She heard brakes squealing.

  A massive thump.

  Crunching.

  A blood-gurgling whimper.

  Silence.

  Another thump. Louder this time.

  Metal screeching and crushing.

  Longer silence.

  Linda's lower lip trembled, and a tear stung her eye before she wiped it.. Her heart beat so fast and she felt sick in the stomach. She could still hear something. Some kind of wind noise. She didn't know what it was.

  A dying breath?

  Linda choked back something that tasted like reflux or vomit, swallowing hard

  "Marnie?"

  Silence filled the phone line, and Linda strained her ears trying to pick up anything. She thought she heard something but wasn't sure if it was her imagination.

  The phone rang again, making her jump with a surprised scream.

  A part of Linda wanted to answer the call, pure force of habit, but she couldn't. The phone kept ringing until it stopped on the seventh ring, the call automatically diverting back into the queue to wait for another consultant to answer it. Whoever answered that call would receive an angry voice asking why they had to wait after hearing the phone ring. Her phone flicked into Not Ready, so it wouldn't ring now.

  Linda could not care less as she continued processing the recent events. What could she do? On the one hand, she still felt angry with Marnie for what she did to Linda behind her back, sleeping with her boyfriend. But Marnie was still a human being, a dumbarse at times, but still human.

  Serves the bitch right, Linda thought to herself, and then wondered if she should report it. What if her call was recorded tonight? She could not hide it under the carpet as anyone who listened to the call would hear the impact.

  Linda picked up the phone, dialled Marnie's number. It went straight to voicemail without ringing. She hesitated, not knowing what to say to the voicemail, and left a short message, letting Marnie know she had tried calling.

  It had been so long since Linda showed friendly concern to Marnie. She did not know what to say if she was okay although she had a sneaky feeling that Marnie was dead. Linda recalled the background sounds she heard earlier before Marnie's terrified screaming. She must have been driving while talking on the car.

  At least Linda had covered her arse now. Her workplace would see that record and know that she had cared enough to try calling.

  Her phone rang, surprising her, but she picked it up.

  "Is everything okay there, Linda?" It was one of the supervisors and, better still, he was one of the cool ones.

  "Yeah, Neil," she replied and hesitated.

  He picked up on her uncertainty and asked her again if everything was okay.

  She thought for a moment, recalling her previous phone conversation and imagined what could have happened and the consequences if she did nothing. "No, I'm not okay, really. I just had a call from Marnie. Yeah, our Marnie Aniston. I think she had a car accident while talkingto me."

  The supervisor felt no love lost for Marnie. The other consultants knew how Marnie had screwed up his career path within the call centre. However he still paused; either because he had a heart and recognised Marnie as another fellow human being or because he respected Linda's feelings and past friendship with Marnie. But then his sarcastic humour kicked him.

  "It serves the sadistic bitch right for calling while driving, eh?"

  "Yeah, right." Crandon laughed. It wasn't funny, but Neil always highlighted the truth in a way that shocked with honesty. "But what do I do? I tried calling her back and there was no answer."

  Neil paused, thinking, and Crandon felt what he could say. "Did the phone ring or go to message bank?"

  "Straight to message bank without ringing."

  "Probably her calling the cops, do you think?" Neil enquired. "That would explain why you can't reach her. I'd think differently if it rang for ages before voicemail took over."

  "I don't know, maybe," Linda answered.

  Neil paused again and Linda could hear him thinking before he responded. "I'll call her check and that will cover both of us. You have done all you can. If it was any other customer, we couldn't do any more with it as we wouldn't know where they were. Whatever. It serves the bitch right anyway, and you weren't being recorded, so relax."

  Linda Crandon laughed, "I knew you would say that."

  "Great minds," Neil chuckled back. "Relax and take a short breather. The queue's dropped a little anyway as the pensions have finished processing."

  MARNIE'S LIMP CORPSE hung from the driver's side window. She wore no seatbelt at the time of death when her ki
ller forced his astral finger through her skull, stirring it in her brain until her motor functions stopped. Death was not instant. He had put his face in front of hers, making himself visible to her so she could recognise his face before she died. Marnie's look of horrified recognition was worth it although he didn't like looking in her eyes then. The assassin recognised Marnie from a distant faded memory. He must have known her well, he thought, to feel the tinge of remorse biting his conscience. But anger exploded from his mind, and with a wave of his hand, he psychokinetically flung the compressed gas cylinders from the service station into the car. He had hoped for an explosion, but it was enough the car and its driver were now out of commission.

  Now he stood there in silence as he watched Marnie's body in the blue Mini Cooper. Marnie's body shimmered, a double image forming, blurring for a moment before separating.

  He allowed a smile to edge across his face as he watched Marnie's spirit leave its physical body.

  At last, Marnie emerged with a lurch, looking back at her inert corpse. A moment later, she gasped, realising she had died, and then with a desperate cry she tried in vain to re-enter her body.

  "You're too far gone, Marnie Aniston," her killer murmured.

  Marnie turned around to face him, recognition crossing her face. "You?"

  He nodded. "You deserved it, just like the others."

  Shocked, Marnie looked back at her body before facing her killer. "Why?"

  Marnie's phone flew from where it landed straight to the killer's waiting hand, and he shook at her. "Because you're a thoughtless sadistic bitch like the others. People like you did this to me, not caring about what you are doing when you talk and text on these things while driving a fucking guided missile."

  Marnie thought for a moment. "I went to -"

  "Shut the fuck up, bitch! You and everyone else were warned by others, not just me. You can't say you didn't know this could happen. But you let your own festering addiction to mobile phones, their pretty pictures and sounds, take you over," the killer boomed. "It's my job to remove you like the cancer you are."