Dead Cell

by Chris Johnson

  He saw Emily's face change from anger to something else; concern. Before Craig could ask, Emily said, "He came home last night, just after you left, but he left again this morning. He told me he was going to stay with a friend this weekend."

  Craig started the car's engine, released the handbrake, and started the car forward towards the parking complex's exit. "Oh, okay," he answered. "I suppose he still wants some space from me and feels he's better with friends. He's got time off from school still for bereavement."

  "You should talk to him," Emily said, sounding perturbed again. "Boys can be so sensitive and high-strung these days. I guess they were when I was alive too, but there was also more pressure on them to be men and warriors."

  "I'll call him tonight," Craig promised. Emily knew he meant it so she said nothing more on the subject.

  Craig drove the car out into the traffic, driving in the opposite direction to his home. The traffic seemed congested towards the bridge, so he took a different direction. He commented on the traffic to Emily, adding that there had been more shootings on the expressway.

  "Ah!" Emily said, brightening a little. "And how is that lovely lass?" She winked with a cheeky grin at Craig who realised he was blushing a bit. Emily cooed when she saw that. "So did you?"

  "Yes," Craig replied, letting a pause sit there for a moment. "We had some action last night."

  He knew Emily would bite at that and he couldn't stop laughing when he saw the shock on her face. "Not that kind of action," he added.

  So Craig told her about what happened that night with the people from Project Gemini. Emily shook her head at what she heard. Having lived in Scotland during the Jacobite era, she had a strong dislike for the English; at that time, many of them were cruel, ruthless and dominating over the Scottish. Since Australia started as a British colony, Emily saw the Australian government as another extension of the English government's treachery. For her, there were many things going on that the government hid from the people they should have been serving. Hearing of this one solidified her belief.

  "They're using twins psychic connections to kill and suppress more people," she replied. "And they won't even deal with their own who are killing innocent people. The dogs! What are we going to do about it?"

  Craig, used to Emily's outbursts about governments, responded in an even voice. "I've got a hunch I want to check out."

  Emily noticed that Craig had driven the car into the local hospital. "What's this?" she asked. "Is everything okay?"

  He grinned. "It's all good. I want to check something out. While I'm doing that, can I ask you a favour?"

  AT NINE O'CLOCK, CRAIG walked up the hospital's front steps and into its foyer. He hated hospitals, preferring not to go near them unless he was visiting a sick person, such as the time when he visited Tyrone a few weeks earlier. No one was at the reception desk; he figured they were out the back; so, he went by memory, following a few signs along the way until he reached the ward he wanted. A nearby sign told him visiting hours started at 10am. Deciding he didn't have that much time to wait around, and that it would be better now before more people were likely to arrive, he made his way forward, anyway. His mind raced a little, trying to think about what he would do when challenged, and an idea came to him.

  He still had a folded unused napkin in his pocket from breakfast that morning. Retrieving the napkin, he folded it over itself a few times until he had a long white rectangular shape; satisfied it was the right size, he slipped it under the collar of his black shirt. He checked it in the reflection of a painting's frame on the wall and grinned at the result; it was not perfect but it would pass a casual glance.

  Craig walked straight to the ward nurse's station, rested his arm casually on the desk, and leaned towards a nurse who hadn't noticed him as she concentrated on her paperwork. He cleared his throat and spoke in a gentle voice. "Excuse me, I am here to (he almost said "speak", and changed his word) see Mr Shane Denton."

  The nurse, bleary-eyed from the late shift and still waiting for the new one to arrive, looked up from her paperwork. Her eyes were a soft blue, very clear, but somewhat bloodshot from the late night. She noticed the white part under his black collar. "Ah, yes, Father, of course." She stood, pointing down the hallway. "Room 6."

  Craig thanked her, staying in character as a member of the clergy, walked down to the room and hesitated at the door before entering. The room seemed empty, soulless even, and he felt like crossing himself before entering. A solitary bed with a male patient sleeping on it sat in the middle; the curtains, although open, did not allow much light inside; and a machine in the corner beeped at regular intervals, displaying vital statistics. Flowers with long colourful petals that looked like exploding fireworks sat in vases on a nearby bedside cupboard. A few greeting cards stood amongst them, messages written inside with loving messages; Three drawings stood out amongst them; one of them had a stick figure man with a stick figure girl, holding hands, and a message scrawled in green crayon, "gEt wELL dAddY. i loV yOu".

  Could this be the man he sought?

  Craig approached the bed, looking at the patient's sleeping face, took out his mobile phone and flicked through the photos and screenshots until he found a couple of the spirit assassin from the video clip. The clip's resolution was blurred by comparison, but when Craig compared the photo against the sleeping patient, he knew.

  Craig allowed a small smile to cross his mouth as his eyes took in the patient's features. The man's face had a strong chin, as though he could be a determined man, and a short dark stubble covered his cheeks and chin line. He didn't look evil or vindictive, but the machines beeping to the side indicated that the man had been monitored for some time. A bandage curled around the man's head, covering the scalp, and some light brown hair poked out from the side. Craig moved to the foot of the bed and pulled the patient's file from the folder. He flicked through it.

  Shane Denton was the man's name, and he had been in a coma since mid-to-late May. Craig wondered what had happened. He felt a few random visions niggling, little tickling images crossing his consciousness, and concentrated on them.

  Surgeons standing over an inert Denton, a machine helping him breathe. A piece of skull removed, his brain swelling through the hole.

  A pretty young woman, looking scared and worried, holding Shane's hand as he lay silent on the bed. A little girl sitting on her mother's lap, jumping down and kissing her father's face as he slept.

  The doctor talking to the young woman. "We're sorry, Mrs Denton. We have no idea how long he will be comatose. He may never wake, and we have no idea how functional he will be."

  Another man who looked like Shane, but not quite identical. His twin brother?

  "He's breathing on his own now."

  The random images flooded through Craig's mind and he struggled to keep a track of them all. He was beginning to see something behind everything but he needed more. He reached towards Shane Denton's blanket.

  It was an idyllic scene. Father and son were out with each other for a day together, playing with a Maisto Rock Crawler remote controlled car. The little boy's name was Jai; he and his twin sister Rebecca were the youngest in the family. Shane's wife Rachael was at the movies with Jai's twin sister Rebecca. His oldest son, Nicholas, was also at the movies. The time at the park seemed too short for little Jai; he felt disappointed they had to leave, but the car's battery had run out; it was time to go home. Shane and Jai began their journey home from the park still talking about kid stuff. Although Shane felt love for all of his children, he felt close to Jai. Both of the twins were intelligent for their age; one specialist claimed they also registered on the scale for Asperger syndrome, but Rebecca refused to believe it; she said they were just gifted, very particular in their interests and needs, and very intuitive.

  As Shane and Jai walked home, talking about superheroes (Jai loved Green Lantern, but he also knew about the less trendy The Shadow and Doctor Fate), they didn't feel a care in the world.

 
; The traffic sign said, "Walk"; they took their first steps to cross the street; Shane heard a crunching noise. He looked up, jumped between the car and his son, trying to protect his flesh and blood. I give my life for you. Pain. Darkness. Disconnection. Floating.

  Shane saw his body floating below him, laying next to his son's body. Blood; a growing pool of darkness surrounding his body's head; Jai's body was so still. Jai's body seemed to double, to reproduce itself; the second Jai that emerged from the original appears pearly white but transparent. A ghost.

  Brilliant light exploded in front of both Shane's and Jai's spirit bodies, and they heard a scraping sound, like a door.

  "What is that?" Shane said aloud through his spirit mouth.

  "It's a door, Daddy," Jai's spirit responded. "The doorway to Heaven. Come on, Daddy!"

  Shane loitered, wanting to follow his son but also feeling torn as he saw his son's body below. People were surrounding them, including the driver of the car that had hit them. He noticed another driver step out from the car behind that one again; she was a young woman in her early twenties and resembled a slutty bitch like that American with the dog in her handbag. She had a mobile phone in her hand, talking into it. It sounded like the conversation was a long one, one that had started before her car collided with the one in front of her. Had the skinny slut been talking on the phone while driving?

  The woman lifted her large round sunglasses off her eyes, perching them in her bleached blonde hair, and started to mouth off at the driver of the car in front of her. The other driver, the one from the car pushed into the father and son, took no notice; he was still panicking, feeling responsible for killing them.

  "Someone call an ambulance," the man cried, his Italian accent blurred through panic and concern. He turned around, saw the slutty bitch with the phone still to her ear as she mouthed off at him. He bellowed at her. "You! You caused this! You hit my car and killed the child! You and your fucking talking and texting on phone while driving!"

  Anger. Growing inside him. Not just anger; this was Anger with a capital A for Angry. Shane felt as angry as the Italian man who he now recognised as his next-door neighbour, a man who would not hurt a fly, a man who loved to plant roses and talk about his childhood in Sicily.

  Shane heard the scraping echoing sound and looked up in time to see the door disappear. Jai! Jai is gone!

  Anger grew stronger again and Shane felt like exploding. He turned around to see the slutty mobile phone bitch, heard her trying to place the blame back on Luigi. What a lying bitch! He did not stop suddenly in front of her. She had not been paying attention, but had been more interested in talking to her other slutty friends on the phone instead.

  More images flew by in the psychometric visions Craig picked up. He felt his heart pounding, almost palpitating, and he sat down on a nearby chair, breathing hard. He coughed a moment and let the rest of the images and memories piece themselves together in his mind. At last, he felt the crushing feeling leave his stomach, and the cramps faded. Sadness flooded through his being and hot tears came to his eyes, the salt water burning them.

  He understood the anger and grief felt by Shane. When he walked into the hospital, he still felt like he wanted to kill the man responsible for murdering his adopted daughter, the closest he had come to a real daughter in his life. Understanding Shane Denton's other experiences put a new light on things.

  Craig remembered the next vision after the accident.

  Shane could not believe it. He wished he could hug Rachael's words to comfort her after the judge gave the verdict to the young slutty driver Tori Stamford. Not guilty? How could the judge have allowed that? Who paid him off? Or still, who performed fellatio on him?

  Shane wished again that he could hug Rachael, but he couldn't even hold her hand. Damn this business of being dead. That slut, Tori Stamford, took his life and the life of his Jai. She tore a family apart and had the audacity to tweet about it on Twitter with a message saying, "I love the judge - not guilty. Justice."

  Justice? That little bitch who probably had enough STDs to scare the World Health Organisation thinks she knows justice?

  Shane's other memories as a spirit still came through his body, including each of the killings; he had managed to kill Tori Patterson after some time, but he still felt the need to kill anyone using a mobile phone while driving. The obsession would last for an eternity as long as he was dead.

  Craig removed his hand from Shane's blanket and thought for a moment, clenching his fists and dropping his head in his hands. A part of him still wanted to kill Shane for killing Debra, not so much everyone else, but another part of him recognised the distraught and angry parent. Violence was not the answer. If he killed Shane now, Shane's spirit (or astral body) would still be out there. If Shane were to wake, nothing would stop him astral travelling and killing people while he felt so angry at the world. Further to that, the law would not recognise him as a murderer, because no one could prove he was using his astral self to kill the living. The judge would laugh it out in court.

  Craig sighed. What could he do?

  Chapter 20

  Brianna's fingers felt fuzzy, not feeling the steering wheel in her hands, and her head numbed as though it would roll off her shoulders. Even her vision flicked about, as though someone had flipped the vertical hold switch on her eyes. It seemed as if her own thoughts were not controlling her body; she explained to herself that this was shock from the gunshot to her left shoulder, which felt like a battering ram had punched it. She wanted to cry from the pain that invaded her shoulder, spreading across her upper body, but then it seemed to disconnect from her as well. She felt like she was floating, not in control of her anything.

  Brianna watched as her left hand switched the mobile phone off. Then she heard a zinging sound; a hole opened in her leg; blood spurted in a geyser. She screamed, a shocking composition of pain and fright. Her left hand threw the phone to the side and clasped hard on her wound to staunch the flow of blood. She craned her head to look for the sniper.

  You won't need that phone, dear, a voice spoke in her mind - a Scottish voice. Those things only cause trouble. And you won't see the sniper from here.

  Brianna's hands were not acting of her volition. As her left hand left the wounded leg, Brianna noticed the bleeding had slowed. With both hands gripping the steering wheel, she plunged her foot on the accelerator. The car whipped forward, and the force pressed her back into her seat. A whooshing sound came to her ears as she passed the car in front, her car's engine roaring with attitude.

  Something thumped into the car's roof, penetrating through the ceiling, and the car stereo seemed to explode from impact. The song stopped. Brianna realised she hadn't even been listening to the song that played until it stopped.

  So many people act on habit and lose track of what is around them, the Scottish woman's voice said in her mind. Something about the voice in her head sounded familiar to Brianna. Whose voice was it?

  My name is Emily, the voice told her, as her hands quickly steered the car into the driveway of an office building. The car's engine stopped. We used to know each other, dear. I am sure we will know each other again soon.

  Another bullet pinged, penetrating the windscreen, only things seemed to slow down. The spray of glass particles from the windscreen hung in the air like a halo of tiny crystals that reflected sunlight. The bullet glinted too as it made its slow-motion path towards her chest.

  We can do without that!

  The turquoise-coloured bullet changed course as though deflected; her left hand flopped at the same time. It was an ectoplasmic bullet, not a real one, and it dropped with a dull tap onto the dashboard. Brianna thought it looked like an invisible hand had plucked it from the air and dropped it there.

  It is an invisible hand, the voice assured her. Consider me your guardian angel for this trip, but we are much more, dear.

  Brianna's left hand recovered from flopping, as though something regained control of it. I'm sorry, Brianna
, but I am in charge for this little adventure.

  IN THE HOSPITAL ROOM, Craig was looking hard at Shane Denton's still body, processing the information in his mind. One simple squeeze; that was all it would take to crush the comatose man's larynx. He could then walk out, knowing that he would be killing no one else through his astral body. He wanted to do that so much. He took a deep breath, keeping his eyes on his deadly enemy's physical body, and set his jaw before leaning forward towards Denton's ear.

  He cleared his throat before speaking with clear enunciation so his words could not be mistaken or misconstrued.

  A SHOWER OF ECTOPLASMIC bullets came towards the car. Brianna watched them appear as though from nowhere. As sudden as they appeared, they stopped then hovered outside the car window a moment before dropping to the ground. A surreal feeling passed over her, and she wondered if she was dreaming. She looked at her shoulder, feeling daggers of pain twisting in the nerves, and saw blood pouring out. That hurt too much to be a dream. Brianna wasn't sure if it was her own thought or her invisible friend who lifted her hand to place it over the wound.

  That's you, Emily's voice said inside her head, keeping her from passing out. I do have some control, but you need to get out of the car. I can't hold back every one of those bullets.

  "Where is he?" Brianna asked aloud, feeling it best to verbalise.

  I can't see him from here, love, the voice told her, in an almost motherly fashion. I can see the others, but the bad one is probably above us.

  Others? Panic set into Brianna's mind, and she pushed it away. If there were others, she needed her wits about her. Brianna crawled out towards the passenger's side, opened the car door, and pushed it out. It hurt her shoulder to move, but the adrenalin coursing through her must have had painkilling abilities. She unbuckled her seatbelt, and lifted her legs.