Dead Cell

by Chris Johnson

  "Yeah, it is," he muttered, probably a little too low. His head still felt heavy and his mouth full of cotton wool; he also felt angry with himself for his failure.

  "Is this a bad time?" Cogan answered, trying to keep her eyes off Ramsey's unexpectedly half-naked self. Ramsey turned around and headed back towards the kitchen, leaving Cogan wondering. "Perhaps I should come back later? You look like you've been sleeping."

  Ramsey shrugged, turned around towards her. "Are you coming in or what? Shut the door after you. It's bloody freezing."

  Cogan reflected on his own lack of a shirt, as she walked in and shut the door. "It is nipply, I mean nippy, tonight."

  Emily suddenly materialised in front of Ramsey, talking straight away, "What happened? You disappeared so quickly. Do you know that Mrs Taylor was in -" Emily noticed Cogan a few steps away from Ramsey. "Oh! Did I come back at a bad time?"

  Ramsey turned towards Cogan, speaking quickly. "Detective, please feel free to take a seat. I'm just going to get changed."

  "Call me Brianna," Cogan responded, looking around at the living room and its set-up. To her, it seemed more "homey" than she expected, compared to some other men's places she had visited before. She saw no takeaway boxes littering the floor, for one.

  "Oooh," Emily giggled. "It's Brianna now," she sing-songed, following after Ramsey into his bedroom, unnoticed by Cogan.

  Ramsey shut the door and hissed, "Do you have to follow me while I'm getting dressed?" He dropped his tracksuit pants off and Cogan laughed.

  "It's not like you have anything I've never seen before," she said, pretending to cover her eyes and sneaking a peak between her fingers. "What are you going to say when Co - I mean Brianna sees?"

  Ramsey slipped quickly into some underpants and turned to look at Emily, looking her in the spirit eyes. "Her knocking at the door distracted me," he hissed so Cogan wouldn't hear him.

  "Oh, yeah," Emily smirked, "I bet she did."

  Ramsey felt livid and bit his tongue. Slipping on a pair of jeans and buttoning them up, he said, "Quickly. Before I walk out of here, what happened?"

  Emily sobered a little, answering, "Your vision came true. Nick got shafted by the spirit assassin and, you'll never guess, but -" and she hesitated. "Why is the detective here?"

  "Everything is going so fast," Ramsey responded, finding a dark blue jumper to wear. "I know about Nick dying. I saw that just as I woke up. did I miss anything else?"

  His spirit companion answered easily. "I think you will want to check your phone soon. Your reporter friend caught an eyeful of something but she can tell you."

  Craig Ramsey opened his bedroom door and walked back down the hallway towards the living room where he saw Cogan examining the family photos. Cogan bent to look closer, and Craig couldn't help noticing her backside and the way jeans fit so well. Emily was standing beside Ramsey and snickered when she noticed where his eyes went. Ramsey's visitor looked up, and turned to face him.

  "The three of you looked like quite a family," she mentioned. "I couldn't help noticing the photos. How is Tyrone doing?"

  "Ooh," Emily cracked, "she's asking about the kids. That's a good sign, Craig."

  Ramsey ignored Emily the best he could by walking over towards Brianna and looking at the photo. It showed a selfie taken at Dreamworld on the Gold Coast six months earlier, during the summer. Ramsey's mind flashed back to the time, remembering better times and couldn't help smiling at it. "We had a good time then. Debra was on break from Uni then." Ramsey suddenly remembered Brianna's question. "Tyrone's still grieving. I tried talking to him today but he seems to be bottling it up, doesn't want to talk about her to me. They were always close and he's a sensitive kid."

  Brianna put a comforting hand on Ramsey's elbow. "Where is he now?"

  Ramsey stopped to think for a moment, realising that he had forgotten. "He was supposed to be here tonight but he said something about staying with a friend tonight."

  Brianna's expression appeared concerned. "You don't know where he is?"

  Ramsey laughed. "I normally know where they are, if that's what you're implying. We've always had a good bond."

  "He's a good parent," Emily chimed in, although Brianna could not hear her. "He'd make a great father."

  Brianna smiled, "It's okay. I'm sure you'd make a great father," and she appeared embarrassed. "I mean, you obviously make sure to spend time with him." What made her say that?

  Ramsey noticed a black backpack beside the sofa in the living room. He knew it wasn't Tyrone's bag. "Is this a personal visit or business?"

  Brianna's expression changed slightly, she hesitated as she looked at the bag, and replied, "I wanted to tell you about what I found during my investigation today and -"

  He looked her in the eyes and she noticed her pulse become a little unsteady, something about the way he looked made it seem he was looking in her head. "Are you trying to read my thoughts?" she asked, a little uncomfortably.

  Ramsey smiled, looking away a moment. "I don't read minds. Your thoughts are mostly safe."

  "Mostly?" she responded. She changed track. "I saw you on YouTube ("Oh, she's been checking you out, Craig. I think she loves you," Emily giggled) and I saw part of your stage performances. It title was Mind Reading. What was that?"

  "The short answer for you, Detec- Brianna, is that I am psychometric," he replied. "I know things by touching them. That's how I knew things about you from your watch. I've got something to tell you too. Your phone is about to ring soon as there's been another killing just before you knocked on my door."

  "What?" she responded, looking at her phone, which started ringing the moment Ramsey said it. "How did you know?" she asked, answering it. "Hello, Detective Cogan."

  Ramsey moved around Brianna, heading towards the kitchen where he looked about for something to eat. He heard Brianna talking on the phone to some Sergeant, grinning to himself as he found some bacon he had removed from the freezer earlier for the night's dinner.

  Brianna hung up her phone and approached the counter opposite to Ramsey, holding her phone up to indicate it. "How did you know about that?"

  Ramsey poured some rice into a cooker with some water, turned it on, and looked at Brianna as he placed a wok on the gas stove. "Do you mean the phone ringing or that Mrs Taylor was in the car with the victim?"

  "Don't show off," Emily chided Ramsey, waving a finger in the air at him. "That's not gentlemanly."

  Brianna recovered from her surprise. "How did you -?

  "I hope you don't mind my cooking dinner. I'm famished." Ramsey smiled, cracking four eggs in a bowl and beating them with a fork. "As for how I know, I was there when it happened."

  Ramsey told her about his astral travelling without mentioning Emily's involvement, as he didn't want to upset Brianna. Experience told him people often freak out when they learned spirits watched them a lot of the time. Brianna, who appeared to be a sceptic to the core, was only just taking the time to listen to him now. He wasn't sure yet if it was because her Inspector Myles suggested, or forced her, to work with Ramsey. Emily was quick to act put out that Ramsey failed to mention her, but Ramsey acknowledged her with a disarming smile. At last, he reached the part of the story where he had been fighting the spirit and a distraction forced him to awaken.

  "That seems to fill in how you know about Mrs Taylor and the other victim," Brianna mused.

  "Nick," Ramsey corrected her, chopping up a Chinese style omelette into squares, before putting the now-cooked rice in the wok to fry. "The man's name was Nick."

  "What are you cooking?" Cogan asked, sniffing the air. "It smells good."

  "Special fried rice," Ramsey replied.

  "It looks like a lot there," Brianna commented.

  "That's because I figure you're staying for dinner while we discuss the case," Ramsey grinned, "and I am famished after this evening's action. What have you found today?"

  Brianna grinned. "You're not going to believe me but I want you to read something for m
e." Moving towards the lounge area, where her backpack was, she unzipped it and removed two items; both of the items were in plastic evidence bags. She came back to the kitchen counter with them. "Are you able to check these out with your voodoo stuff?"

  Ramsey paused, looked at the bags, and saw that one of them contained a white handkerchief with a blue border on it; the other held a handkerchief as well but it was completely brown. "Picking up men's hankies, are we?" he grinned. "Do you want me to tell you which one is the better suitor?"

  Brianna gave a har-de-har-har in response. "No, I found them both as part of my investigations."

  Ramsey cocked an eyebrow, not completely believing her; Brianna hadn't shaken hands with him, and she kept her distance as though avoiding touching him. She was testing him!

  Leaving the wooden spoon in the wok with the fried rice, he pointed at the cooking food. "Watch this for me, and I'll have a look. Be careful with the food as some of it is yours."

  They swapped places, Brianna still being careful to avoid touching Ramsey. Ramsey opened the first plastic bag, removing the brown handkerchief, being careful to pick it up by the corners.

  "Are these clean?" he asked, cheekily.

  Brianna shrugged, letting one side of her mouth rise in a cheeky smile. "You tell me."

  Ramsey snorted, amused, and relaxed. "The person this belongs to is dead. Some time back, it seems, so he's not a victim. This handkerchief has remained folded up for some time and you have only unfolded it today, shaking it up. You are testing me against the other one which is the one you really want me to read." His voice trailed off as he found himself in a vision; he felt a crushing pain in his chest, saw flashes of faces that he recognised as Brianna and her other family members, and then it went black. Ramsey felt a lump rise in his throat and a tear at the corner of his eye, and waited a moment before handing the handkerchief back to Brianna. "I'm sorry," he said, "So sorry about your adoptive father."

  Brianna took the brown handkerchief back, with an apologetic look in her eyes. "No," she told him. "I'm sorry. I still felt that I had to test you."

  Ramsey looked her in the eyes and she returned the look, and they both knew what each other were thinking. Emily, who had been watching the whole time, was about to say something cheeky but changed her mind. At last, Ramsey turned to look at the stove, which Brianna had forgotten about. "How is the rice looking?"

  Brianna realised with a surprise and took it off the heat, checking the food out. It smelled good, and she felt her stomach rumbling as a reminder that she hadn't eaten more than a few bites throughout the day. "Mm mm I'm getting hungry."

  "Well then," Ramsey said, charging his voice and mood up again. "I'll check this other handkerchief out after we've eaten. Astral fighting and psychometry make me hungry."

  Chapter 14

  Sally stepped out of her car, slammed its door behind her, and hurried towards the door between her garage and the house. The garage doors groaned when she flicked the switch. She swore; her fingers fumbled with the keys before at last opening the door, and she hurried inside her home. Flicking on some of the lights, she made a beeline to her PC, turning it on. While it booted, Sally hooked her iPhone up to its USB connection and tapped her foot as she waited for the computer to finish its initialisation sequence.

  The computer finished booting, displaying a desktop with a background photo of herself and her three godchildren, the closest she had to children of her own. Sally clicked the mouse button, bringing up the video file from her iPhone. She watched it, listening to the dark voice of the hooded creature; its eyes seemed to glow into the camera as it spoke. Its deep angry sound filled her with dread. Sally's hand shook as she sat there, thinking. Should she send this to the station? No one would believe her although she took great pains to include as much other footage in the clip as she could. The authorities more than likely would disbelieve her too, despite her good relationship with them.

  But there was one person who would believe her.

  Sally copied the video clip to her PC, waiting in heightened anticipation as the green bar crept across the screen at a sloth's pace. Five minutes of video amounted to a huge file and that takes a long time to transfer via USB. It finished transferring; Sally disconnected the iPhone from the PC and looked up Craig Ramsey's phone number on her contacts list.

  Did she still have it?

  No!

  Where was it?

  Her heart beat so fast she had to take a deep breath, clear her mind and think. Her eyes rested on her computer screen and she tapped away in Google Chrome. She felt like a cigarette but had none; the old feelings felt like returning after ten years of abstinence. Search results flicked up on her computer's screen, and she found Craig Ramsey's website link.

  His picture appeared on her screen, standing tall in an immaculate dark suit and his brown eyes engaging the camera's gaze. She used to feel mesmerised by the photo, sometimes still did, but she had to contact him. He had a link on the website, allowing people to send pictures of their palms or a personal object and he sometimes gave complimentary readings from those. It didn't take videos. How else could she send it to him? After searching through her Outlook's contact list, she finally found Ramsey's email and phone details. She clicked his email address, typed a quick message, hit Send, and dialled his number at the same time. Being ambidextrous could be handy sometimes.

  He didn't answer his phone, and it diverted to voice mail after the sixth ring, but that didn't matter.

  "Craig Ramsey, Sally Green here," she said into the voice message. "If you haven't checked your email, check it now. I haven't approached my studio with it yet."

  Sally sat back, finding a Wild Turkey bottle in her desk drawer, and took a strong gulp from it before screwing the top back on. "Only you will understand it."

  BRIANNA COULDN'T HELP feeling anxious during the meal Craig Ramsey had cooked that evening. Although he had prepared the meal well, and she thought it tasted great, Brianna couldn't help thinking about the second package awaiting his attention on the kitchen counter. She still felt sceptical about his abilities, but Ramsey appeared more convincing than any magician or psychic she watched before. His knowledge of her deceased father astounded her, but she had to be sure. Could he have known about those details through public records? The second handkerchief would tell everything she needed to know.

  "What did you get up to today with your investigations?" Ramsey asked, appearing to ignore the second package as they began their meal, but Brianna changed the subject.

  "We can talk about that later," she reflected. "I don't like talking about work while eating."

  Ramsey tipped his head in understanding. "Fair enough. I can be the same."

  "You seem to know so much about me," Brianna mentioned after swallowing a mouthful of wine. "What about yourself? How did you start out as a psychic?"

  Ramsey's expression changed. He looked towards Emily for a moment; The spirit stood to Brianna's side, so he didn't appear suspicious by looking at her that time. A thoughtful expression crossed his face as he finished chewing and swallowed. "That depends on which part of my life you mean," he responded. "It's not a clear-cut answer."

  "Why not?"

  Ramsey grinned. "I assume that you researched me already. You have mentioned seeing me on YouTube, so I take it you have gone deep. How deep do you want me to go?"

  "Go as deep as you like," Brianna responded. "I can take it."

  Emily laughed in the background at the sexual connotation, and Ramsey choked on some rice. Brianna pretended to not understand by letting a puzzled expression cross her face but couldn't hide the cheeky glint of her eye.

  "Well, we'll soon see about that," Ramsey replied after taking a sip of his wine. "I've always had a certain level of psychic ability but I don't think there's anything special about it. I believe that everyone is psychic."

  "We can't all read minds or bend spoons," Brianna countered. "So how can you say we are all psychic?"

  "I can't
bend spoons either." Ramsey admitted it, holding a finger up as he had to pause; something stuck in his throat, and he cleared it before continuing. "Well, at least, only if I have some bloody hard ice cream for dessert," he added with a chuckle and then thought more. "I think I was a child when I first knew something was different about me. Whenever people started to say something, I always knew the rest of the sentences. These incidents, although not under my control, happened often enough that I knew I could do something that most didn't."

  "But people have flashes like that all the time," Brianna replied. "There's nothing special about it as we can explain a lot of things away with body language, intuition and -"

  "Yes! What is intuition exactly?" he asked. "Tell me. How do you define it?"

  Brianna thought for a moment, wondering how to describe it. She knew what it was but couldn't put it into words. "Its-um - it's knowing things."

  "Do you mean in the way a mother knows her child is in danger?" Ramsey ventured. "Or, to pick an example for you, how you seem to know the enemy is about to attack or ambush you?"

  Brianna felt on the spot, feeling he picked that because he knew of her military background. "That's different," she responded, "because it's instinct and experience."

  Ramsey nodded. "Okay, so you believe it's something to do with the five standard senses schools teach us when we're children, right?"

  Brianna thought for a moment, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, of course."

  Ramsey pointed to the second plastic bag containing the handkerchief he had yet to read. Pushing his empty bowl to the side, he reached across and held the bag up. "According to science, we have five senses: touch, sight, hearing, smell and taste. I believe that those are only the tip of the iceberg and I have my experience to back me up. For example, I can tell things about people by holding their personal objects. Sometimes I can tell by walking into a room."

  "Do you mean like walking into a house and you feel it's haunted?" Brianna responded. Ramsey nodded and Brianna replied, "That's an over-active imagination, a result of an innate fear of the dark, or unfamiliar places or being jumpy."