Dead Cell

by Chris Johnson

It came from an anonymous number, making it difficult to call back or trace.

  All the pieces started joining, connecting dots, and she wondered how long they had been driving. She should have told someone else where she was going. Who was going to know her story?

  Brakes squeaked and the vehicle stopped with a jolt; Sally rolled a bit, feeling queasiness in her stomach. A car door opened, someone stepped out of the driver seat to walk around the vehicle. The steps seemed closer to her. The door opened, loud enough to wake the dead as it slid, and Sally thought she saw a glimmer of light through the blindfold she wore. Strong hands grabbed Sally, lifting her from the vehicle's hard floor before slinging her like a sack of potatoes onto a shoulder. Whoever carried her was strong and carried her with barely a grunt. She couldn't be sure but she thought her captor was a man. Sally thought to herself and decided to stay quiet, let the man think she was still unconscious. It could make escape easier if she found an opportunity. He carried her the whole time; he didn't even rest her on the ground while the lift carried them up however many floors it took. She tried counting the seconds but she still could not be sure how fast the lift was going. If asked to guess, she would say between ten and fifteen, but that was only how many floors. It didn't show how tall the building was or where it stood.

  His body felt warm against hers, warm and hard with muscle, and she guessed his age to be in the thirties or forties. Strong hands held her as her captor leaned forward, placing her on a bed. He pulled the handkerchief from her mouth. Sally fought the greedy urge to suck air in, now that she could breathe more through her mouth; it had been difficult to breathe through her nose before with inflamed sinuses. It was hard not to gulp hard at the air now too.

  She felt her captor's fingers check the ropes binding her wrists behind her, before he moved to loosen the bindings around her ankles.

  "I know you're awake." His voice was firm and carried strength.

  Sally remained quiet, her eyes still closed underneath her blindfold.

  "I heard you scream when you woke up," he explained, displaying his certainty in her level of consciousness. "The gag only muffled you, but just enough to stop you screaming."

  His fingers reached her face, grabbed the blindfold, and removed it, pulling it away from her hair. The interior lights blinded her, stinging like a migraine for a moment, before her eyes re-adjusted. Sally took a deep breath to scream but his voice stopped her, confident and commanding.

  "Try screaming if you like. The room is soundproofed."

  THE POLICE SPECIAL Ops unit's vehicle arrived just after Brianna and Craig pulled up in his Jaguar. The officers, each holding high-powered assault rifles and wearing body armour, piled out of the armoured vehicle. The superior officer sent two other officers to survey the terrain and check the surrounding area for tactical advantages. Craig watched Brianna as she donned some body armour too. The detective winced as she slipped the vest on.

  "Are you sure you are up to this?" Craig wanted to know. He could see the pain in her eyes, as if every shoulder movement was agony, but she did it.

  "I'm fine," she grunted, buckling everything up, and indicated a nearby vest. "You better put one on too."

  Craig looked at the bulky piece of protection gear. "But I'm going to be back here," he protested. "That's not my job, and I don't think you're well enough for a gunfight yourself."

  Brianna Cogan looked straight in Craig's eyes; determination and something darker. Craig felt a twinge of intimidation but refused to acknowledge it. "Put the damn thing on," Brianna hissed at him, "and stay out of the way. I don't want you hit by a stray bullet."

  "But you're still injured," Craig responded, not changing his stance.

  Emily appeared beside them. "Children! Children! Stop the bickering, the both of you."

  They both turned to face Emily who looked back at them like a scolding mother. Emily turned her gaze to Craig. "Mr Ramsey," she spoke with a haughty tone. "If you would stop patronising women, you would realise that real women can handle more pain than you mere men. That's why none of you give birth."

  Brianna burst out laughing, and one of the nearby Special Ops people turned to look at her with a scowl. She hushed herself, remembering they should be sneaking up on a suspect, not pre-warning him.

  The two officers returned from surveying the terrain, meeting with Brianna and their own Sergeant Paulsen. They found the cottage, but there was no vehicle about. There were tyre tracks and footprints around the scene, and it looked as if the tracks were a day or two old.

  "We've missed him," Craig said, biting his thumbnail when Brianna told him the news. "What are you doing?"

  Brianna replied in a pragmatic tone. "I've got a warrant. It would be stupid to waste the opportunity of searching. We just need to check for any booby traps first?"

  "Booby traps?"

  Brianna nodded. "Denton is a military man," she explained. "I know from experience that he would have learned survival. If he had been hiding out here, he would have planned for unexpected visitors."

  Craig shrugged. "I didn't pick up the signs of any from my visions -"

  "But we still need to be sure," Brianna interrupted, "unless you're so keen to go ahead of us. If so, be my guest."

  Craig stopped to think and looked at Emily who returned her gaze. "Do you want to meet the Reaper again?" she quipped.

  Brianna ignored Craig's embarrassed silence, turned towards the officers and asked them to check for any traps. A quarter hour later, they signalled the all clear. They could find no booby traps. But Brianna pointed out that meant there was nothing in front of the cottage. They had no idea what was inside.

  "That's where I come in," Craig said, striding towards the cottage's front door. When he reached it, he slowed down and paused before taking a guarded stance. Lifting his hand, he applied a gentle touch to the wooden door. It felt sturdy and steady enough. A few visions flashed through his mind: a face, which could have been Joseph's; a view down a rifle sight; and a few black boxes. It all seemed good.

  Craig lowered his hand, waited and took a breath when -

  "BANG!"

  Craig jumped backwards before he realised it, and groaned to himself. Emily laughed aloud at her joke, shouting from behind him when Craig was at his most tense.

  Craig swore at Emily as she continued laughing. The Special Ops officers, who couldn't see or hear Emily's joke, looked on at Craig and then at each other. They didn't know what had happened, and they weren't sure what to think of this so-called special psychic investigator. Then Craig turned back towards the door, turned the handle, and walked inside. The others waiting outside held their breath for what felt like a long time. One of them expected the cottage could blow up, but a moment later, Craig poked his head out and waved towards Brianna.

  "Detective," he called out. "You might want to see this."

  Chapter 25

  The cottage's interior looked like a madman's dream. The kitchen and bathroom were the cleanest parts. The rest of the unit showed the signs of an obsessed mind. Newspaper stories, detailing the traffic accidents and killings, covered the walls in a dark mosaic of terror and violence. Black plastic covered all the windows, except one, to keep out the natural light. The uncovered window allowed a tentative ray of light in from outside that shone onto a coffee table littered with the fast food wrappers. A lingering stench of dead animal fat and stale potato chips hung in the thick air.

  "It looks like it could use a woman's touch," Emily commented, as Brianna surveyed it all.

  "A picture of obsession," the detective replied. She laid a latex-covered finger upon one of the news clippings and tried to read it in the faint light. "These aren't just the stories of those he shot," she observed, passing her gaze towards another news scrap. "There's also the story here of his brother and nephew's accident. The girl responsible for it was let off by the judge for community service."

  "I wonder how that worked out for her," Craig muttered as he looked at another wall. His hands w
ere also wearing gloves, on Brianna's advice. She didn't want any evidence contaminated by his fingerprints, and that made it difficult to check on any psychometric messages. He looked at a large map of Statton's central business district and some of its surrounding suburbs, printed on four A1-sized pages taped together. The sniper, presumably Joseph Denton, had marked points on the map with drawing pins, some connected by pieces of red cotton thread. He called out to Brianna, pointing to it. "What do you reckon of this?"

  Brianna stepped around a couch laden in assorted junk and stood next to Craig to look at it. She studied a few areas and pointed to one of the drawing pins. "That's the warehouse we thought the sniper used on Tuesday. I was on my way there when the other killer got me." She pointed along the red cotton rays that emanated from it in different directions. "He used it as a vantage point for a number of shootings, by the looks, or at least he planned on it."

  They noticed red drawing pins marked the sniper's vantage points. There were some blue points without threads attached.

  "I wonder what these are," Brianna murmured.

  Craig started to remove a latex glove. "There's one way to find out." He stopped, pausing to think. "I'm not sure this is the best idea."

  Brianna's eyebrow arched. "Why not?"

  Craig stood back for a moment, as Brianna took more photos of the cottage's interior. "What happens when this goes through court? If the other side's lawyer sees my fingerprints, which will be there if I put my hands on this, they will try to turn it around somehow."

  Brianna shook her head. "We'll have a notation on the report that indicates your prints are on it. We needed to use you for -"

  "But that's just it," Craig responded. "Psychic evidence can't be entered. Yes, you believe in me. Inspector Myles does too, but it's still not something that can be proven. The defence lawyer will turn around, perhaps even saying that I contaminated the evidence, or even that I am in league with Denton and turned traitor on him. What is there to defend me?"

  Brianna stopped, wearing her detective role for a moment to think about it. Craig had a point there; they didn't need to have seeds of doubt planted in the jury's minds. "But we have a warrant already that says you are here. We also have confirmation from another source that this property belongs to the Denton family. It used to be his father's cottage, given to him through his father's will. Your involvement here today is as a consultant."

  Craig thought about it a moment. Everything would have been fine if he had stopped after finding Shane Denton, the spirit behind most of the killings. He'd done that now, as agreed upon with both Myles and Brianna. But helping with this part of the case was also a good thing. He couldn't cut out now.

  Brianna noted Craig's hesitation. "Do we have a problem here?" Craig shook his head, but his hands stayed still instead of removing the gloves. Brianna looked at the map and then back at Craig. "If there is a problem, let me know because we do need your help."

  "I just can't shake this feeling that something is up," he responded.

  "Like what?"

  Craig shook his head. "Probably just nerves," he told Brianna. Somehow she didn't believe him, and she started to feel a bit tense about it all too.

  His latex glove came off, making a tiny snapping sound, and Craig's fingers reached out towards the maps. His slowed as he was about to -

  "Craig! Brianna!" Emily's voice sounded urgent, almost panic-stricken. "Get out! Hurry!"

  Craig's head whipped around towards Emily. "What -?"

  "NOW!" Emily's voice roared.

  Craig's head snapped around, looking towards the door. Brianna started running with Craig just behind her.

  They squeezed through the door together. It seemed like time took ages, as they had to move one at a time. Craig followed Brianna still, pushing her ahead of him.

  Craig's back felt hot, as though his back was facing an open furnace, and a burning shock pushed him into Brianna. They both tumbled to the hard stony ground fifty metres from the door and they heard glass shattering. Craig held the back of Brianna's head, holding it down to shield her from the blast, protecting her head as well as his own. But there was no explosion, just the incredible heat radiating over them.

  They slowly uncovered their heads, looking towards the house to see it engulfed in orange and red curtains of flame.

  "It was a fire bomb!" Brianna shielded her face from the heat. "He must have booby-trapped something inside that we tripped off. Could have been in the floorboards."

  The Special Ops officers who had been outside hurried over. Craig saw a dark figure on the ground nearby; it was another Special Ops officer who must have been just outside the door. Craig crawled over to him to check his vitals.

  "Officer down!" he called out, noting an absence of a pulse.

  Chapter 26

  The remaining Special Ops officers transformed into a ball of activity. Two of them started administering CPR, a third started calling in for an ambulance, and the fourth ran for the van for something. Craig assumed there may have been some kind of first aid kit and stood back to watch. He had nothing else to do at that moment. He absent-mindedly removed his latex gloves, crumpling them together and holding them in his hand as he looked on.

  His eyes clouded over, and he felt himself shift in consciousness as the sights and sounds seemed to change around him. He looked around him and he saw himself sitting in a car, parked in a shopping centre's parking area. Looking in the car's rear-view mirror, he saw the glass sliding doors. A man and a woman, pushing a child in a stroller, emerged from the open doors; the parents were talking to each other, seemed to be having an argument, and the little girl was crying her eyes out. Tears streamed down her eyes. An older woman who appeared to be in her sixties walked past them, casting a backward glance at their loud bickering as she entered the doors.

  Craig didn't know what it was that made him look. His eyes flicked towards a nearby dumpster, close by to the entrance, close to another parked car.

  A fireball erupted from behind the dumpster, hurtling it across the car park so that it hit the young couple from behind. The young couple, the pram, and the child smashed into the back of the car Craig was in. He felt the force crush him, squash him against the window, and tasted his insides coming through his mouth.

  The vision faded and Craig found himself flat on his back. Brianna stood over him, looking down at him, and calling his name.

  "Are you okay?"

  Craig blinked his eyes, turned over and vomited; Brianna jumped back in time to avoid it. It was such a strong vision; he could still taste his guts in his mouth although they weren't his real entrails. He sat up, wiping his mouth, and spitting more of the taste out.

  "He's been setting bombs in the town," he announced, trying to steady his shaking legs as he stood.

  "What?" Brianna asked. "How do you -"

  Craig showed her a torn scrap of the map. "I must have grabbed at it as we ran out of his hut," Craig explained. "I think he's set a few others too. We need to find them first."

  SALLY FELT A STRONG hand, gentle but firm, on her upper arm, shaking her. A voice, her kidnapper's voice, spoke. "Wake up, Ms Green. It's nearly time for you to work."

  His hands lifted her to a sitting position, and she pushed him away. "I can do it myself. What's the work?"

  Her captor, wearing a ski mask over his face, looked at her through the eye slits. "We're going to be on television."

  "And you're going to be wearing that?" she asked.

  He didn't reply, only nudged her towards a door into a living room that looked like they were inside someone's house. A brown leather lounge-suite sat against a white wall with a painting of two elephants walking away from a river; its frame looked to be the most expensive part. The opposite wall had a large flat-screen television on it, but it wasn't turned on. In front of the television sat a tripod with a camera attached to a nearby laptop. Sally saw a modem router nearby. Other furniture sat to the side; it looked as though her captor had pushed them to the si
de. She tried to hear some sounds, any sounds, from outside. Somewhere, in the direction of the television, she heard heavy traffic. It must have been a main street, but she didn't know which one. If only she could hear something else to give her bearings.

  "Where are we?" Sally asked. "Is this your home?"

  His silence was its own reply, punctuated by his hand on her arm as he pushed her onto the lounge-suite. Her legs spread a little as she landed, and she saw him catch a glimpse up her dress. But, he did nothing more than push her legs together, murmuring an apology before he snapped cuffs over both her ankles.

  "It's not going to be a good look if I'm cuffed here," she told him. "What are you doing with me?"

  He stopped, looked at her, and regarded her with his steely grey eyes. They stared at her for what seemed a long time, never wavering from her eyes. Sally thought the worst could be about to start happening, but his eyes started crinkling and she knew he was smiling. "You're safe, as long as you do as I tell you. Then he pointed at the camera.

  "We're going to give a news report to the city," he replied, "and the whole world will be able to watch as well."

  "HEY, FIONA! ISN'T THAT the chick from the news?"

  Fiona, the man's companion, looked up from her Kobo e-reader to look at his iPad and took a deep breath to calm her impatience. Why did Steve always have to interrupt her reading at the book's best parts? It was probably some pornographic cartoon featuring female television personalities he loved to ogle. Fiona took a glance at his screen, which showed his Facebook news-feed, and then looked again at the video clip playing. Her eyes opened wide when she saw the headline above it.

  THIS MAN WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE #STOPMOBILEPHONEDRIVING #STATTON #BOMB

  The woman snorted. "Is this another one of those personal development life coaches?"

  He shook his head. "No, this guy looks like a terrorist or something. Look at his mask. And it has the hashtag #BOMB."