What Shadows Lie
Chapter 4: Riddles
By: Chris Ward
January 17- 18, 2007
Rita’s funeral was scheduled for 6:30 this evening, four days after her murder and
the arrest of Angus Sullivan. It was also the fourth day of Tru’s seven days unpaid
leave.
With just under an hour until the funeral, Ray was on her sofa, channel surfing and
impatiently checking his watch. Getting to his feet, he went to her bedroom and
knocked on the door. “Tru? Not trying to be an ass here, but we’ve got less than an
hour.”
Her voice, muffled behind the door, called out, “Gimme a couple. I just finished my
shower.” Rolling his eyes, he went back to the living room. Rounding the corner, he
barely had time to register a slight popping sound before tripping over something that
had suddenly materialized in front of him.
Rolling to the side and reaching for his weapon, he stopped in shock as he realized
what, or who, he had tripped over. “Son of a bitch!”
In the doorway, Tru was seated on the floor, wearing only underwear and an
unfastened bra. As she stared around the room in complete bewilderment, her eyes
fastened on her partner. “What the fuck?”
Standing up, he walked over and offered her a hand. “Not a damn clue. We should
probably wait until later to talk about it, though.”
Ten minutes later they were in the car and headed to the funeral. Ray glanced over at
his partner. “Any clue just what the hell happened in there?”
“I wish. I was on the bed getting dressed, felt a little light headed for a second, and
then you were falling over me.”
“Nothing else?”
“Other than feeling a bit rushed because I was running late? Nope.”
**************
Pulling back into the driveway after the funeral, Ray looked at the clock. “It’s almost
midnight, Tru. Did you still wanna talk about what happened?”
“Not tonight. You have tomorrow off, right?” when he nodded, she said, “Can you
come over tomorrow then?”
Thinking about it for a minute, he shrugged. “I’ve got a 9 AM with Rita’s lawyer, but I
should be able to get here around 1 or 2.”
Cocking an eyebrow at him, she smiled. “Why the lawyer?”
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he grunted. “Apparently, she wanted me present
when her will was read.”
Shrugging, she said, “All right. 1 or 2 sounds good.”
After watching her vanish into the house, he pulled back out and drove to his
apartment, alone with his thoughts. If he wasn’t sure what had happened this
afternoon, he was even less certain about what had happened a few nights ago. He
had been prepared to dismiss it as an odd, disturbing, possibly even perverted, dream
until yesterday when he got the call from the lawyer. Now he was faced with a difficult
and uncomfortable question; had it been a simple dream, or had it been something
much different?
**************
The next afternoon, shortly after 1:30, he knocked on her door. Having just come
from the lawyer, he had been wearing a dark suit, but had left the jacket and tie in the
car. When Tru let him in, he saw she was wearing her typical off-duty outfit; a
comfortable pair of jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.
She laughed when she caught his glance darting around the house. “Don’t worry,
Ray. Mom’s working until 10 or later. You won’t have to deal with her bitching about life
in general and men in particular.”
After they had gotten drinks and gotten comfortable in the front room, she looked
curiously at the gun case he was carrying. “New toy?”
“Not exactly.” Opening the case, he pulled out a Colt .45. “This was why I had to go to
the lawyer. Rita left it for me.”
With a shrug, Tru took a sip from her rum and coke. “It’s a nice enough gun, I guess. I
assume it means something special?”
Laughing quietly, he replaced the weapon and closed the case. “I gave it to her
shortly before we broke up. She loved this gun, and was scary accurate with it.” His
eyes lost in thought, he continued, “She saved my life less than a week later with it.”
“Really? How?”
Smiling, he took a drink of his soda. “Not that big a deal, really. We were in a shoot-
out with maybe a dozen druggies after a bad bust. My gun jammed at the worst
possible moment. Punk had a gun leveled at my head, and I’m pretty much convinced I
have another couple seconds of life left. Next thing I know, he’s missing part of his
face, and Rita’s tossing me her spare with the hand not holding the Colt.”
Shrugging the memory aside, he took another drink. “Have you been able to figure
out what happened yesterday?”
Grimacing, she slumped in her overstuffed chair. “Not even a little. I can walk you
completely through the events, but not what it means.”
“So, walk me.”
Narrowing her eyes in thought, she shifted in her seat. “I was in a hurry anyway
because I was running late. When you knocked, I had just finished drying off. Then I sat
on the bed and pulled on my underwear. Next thing I know, I’m feeling light headed and
you’re falling over me.” Taking another sip, she shrugged. “That’s everything I can
think of.”
“What about what happened Saturday?”
Deliberately avoiding the thrust of his question, she shrugged her shoulders. “We
took down a killer. You were there, Ray. You saw everything I saw.”
Rolling his eyes, he leaned forward. “You’re damn right I did. I saw him pull his
fucking vanishing act at the docks, and then I watched him pull the same damned shit
in his apartment; only, this time, he took Rita’s head with him. And, unless we forget, he
tried to pull that same fucking stunt on me, but you stopped him, Gert.”
Looking into his glass, his pale blue eyes lost in thought, he shook his head. “I don’t
know what the fuck happened there, but you stopped him from killing me, Tru.”
Looking directly at her, he asked, “How?”
Closing her eyes for a minute, she said, “I wish to God I knew. It’s the same problem. I
can tell you some of what happened, and the exact order in which it did, but I can’t
even approach an explanation.” Over the next half hour, she attempted to describe
what had occurred that night. When she explained, as best she could, the intangible
wave that had seemingly exploded from her, overwhelmed Sullivan, and flowed back
into her, carrying with it an indefinable sense of change, his face grew interested and
thoughtful. “What is it, Ray?”
Scratching his chin thoughtfully, he stared into her face. “Did you have any trouble
seeing?”
Thinking about it for a minute, she shook her head. “Not that I can think of. Why?”
“Because, at about the time you say you were feeling that wave, your eyes flashed
pure white, and they almost seemed to glow. When you fired, your eyes flashed back to
their normal brown.”
As she leaned back in her chair, stunned, he kept his eyes on her. “There’s
something else. Do you remember that weird popping noise Sullivan made when he
vanished?” When she nodded, he finished. “I head that same sound just before I
tripped over you.” Taking a thoughtful drink, he leaned back on the sofa. “I can’t
explain it, hell, I don’t even know how it’s possible, but I think you somehow, for lack of
a better word, stole Sullivan’s power from him.”
Blinking in surprise, she looked about ready to argue the point when her face
suddenly changed expression. Standing up quickly, she said, “Wait here a minute.”
Heading back to her room, she took a thick manila envelope from the bottom of her
nightstand and went back to the living room.
Reopening the envelope with her thumb, she pulled out a thick copy of Activating
Evolution by Chandra Suresh, as well as an introductory letter. “I got this in the mail
last October, shortly around the time Matt started working with that blonde Fed.”
Handing the letter to Ray, she began paging through the book. Reading through it, he
saw a cell number listed at the bottom under the name of Mohinder Suresh.
Ms. Gertrude Ransome;
My name is Mohinder Suresh. Until recently, I was a professor of genetics at the
University Of Madras in Chennai, India. The enclosed book was authored by my father
several years ago.
As he explains, he discovered an unusual genomic mutation within some humans. This
mutation has the startling effect of bestowing seemingly supernatural abilities on
those in whom it manifests. That research, which I have attempted to further, has
indicated the presence of this mutation within your cells. It is for that reason I sent this
book.
If you have questions, feel free to contact me through the number provided.
Holding the letter loosely in his hand, he looked over to where Tru had stopped
paging through the book and was now reading it with interest. “Find something?”
Glancing up at him briefly before looking back at the book, she nodded shortly. “I
think so. He talks about people like Sullivan, and calls what they do Teleportation.”
“What about what you did?”
“To be honest? I’m still not sure just what the fuck that was, Ray. There’s a section in
here about the possibility of people who might be able to, either temporarily or
permanently, block other people’s abilities, although this Suresh guy calls them
‘manifestations.’
“He’s got an entire damned chapter devoted to what he calls Power Sharing.
Apparently, that entire group, in theory, should be able to absorb, or mimic, or copy,
either temporarily or permanently, other manifestations. There are probably a dozen
variants listed here.” Closing the book, she looked back at Ray. “Wasn’t there a phone
number in that letter?”
Handing it over, he narrowed his eyes in thought. “On the bottom. Why?”
Picking up the nearby phone, she called the number. “Maybe this Mohinder guy has
some answers.”
After several rings, a noticeably accented voice came on the line. “Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Professor Suresh?”
“It is.”
“This is Gertrude Ransome. You sent me a copy of your father’s book a few months
ago. I was wondering if you could answer a couple questions for me.”
“Certainly. Before we begin, though, is this personal or professional?”
With a short laugh, Tru said, “About as personal as you can get.”
Mohinder’s voice grew interested. “Have you experienced something recently that
you are unable to explain?”
“You could put it that way, I suppose.”
“I suspected as much.”
“How?”
She could almost hear the smile in his voice. “I only mailed three or four copies of my
father’s book. All of them to people he suspected had a high probability of
manifesting.” After a brief pause, he cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best for
us to meet in person. I assume your questions regard the nature and possible
problems of your manifestation?”
“Basically, yes.”
“And might I ask from where you are calling?”
“Los Angeles, California.”
“Excellent. I’m in France for a couple days, but I’ll be traveling through California
soon. I should be able to arrange things to allow me to be in LA on the 25th. Would that
work?”
“One minute.” Pulling her schedule out from the side table, she glanced through it.
“Actually, yes. It looks like both my partner and I have that day off.”
“Excellent. If you’ll give me your number, I will contact you once arrangements have
been made.”
After doing so and disconnecting, Tru relayed the information to Ray. After she
finished, she flashed a tight grin. “Maybe now you’ll explain what the fuck’s up with
you.”
Startled, he nearly choked on his drink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“How long have we been partners now? A couple years anyway? I know when
something’s bugging you, Ray. And something’s been wrong since before the funeral.”
“It may be nothing.”
“Then again, it may be something?”
Shrugging, he described the dream from the night Rita died. When he finished, Tru
stared at him for several minutes before cracking up. “Let me get this straight. You’re
worried about a sex dream?”
Laughing sheepishly, he nodded. “I suppose so; although worry might be too strong
a term. Let’s just say I’m a little concerned, and a lot interested.”
“Why?”
“Some of what she told me I already knew. Some of what she said amounted to logical
connections I could have easily made, assuming I hadn’t already. But some of what she
said was stuff there was no possible way I could have known, or even guessed.”
Taking a quick drink he closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “Not just that, but
I’m convinced I saw her at the cemetery as well.”
Leaning back, she regarded him soberly. “You’re starting to scare me, Ray.”
With a quick grin, he shrugged. “I’m still as sane as ever, Tru.”
“That’s supposed to reassure me?” With a puzzled look, she leaned forward. “You
realize what you’re saying don’t you? And, more importantly, what just about anyone
but me would be thinking right now?”
“What? That saying ‘I see, and fuck, dead people,’ makes me sound like a raving
lunatic? Yeah, I got it.”
“Not necessarily the way I’d have put it, partner, but that’s pretty much it.”
“And a week ago, hell, three days ago, I’d have said the same damned thing. But, if
you’d told me that people would be capable of moving just by thinking about it, even of
killing people that way, I’d have called you all kinds of crazy.”
“Point taken.” Opening the book, she began to thumb through it again. “Anything new
and exciting going down?”
“Cases, you mean?” At her nod, he shrugged. “Don’t know how exciting it is, but the
Captain’s got me working a series of high-dollar thefts.”
Confused, she glanced up at him. “Since when does theft belong to Major Case?”
With a slight grunt, he pulled out his notebook and flipped through the pages. “Since
the perp’s already made off with almost three hundred million.”
Startled, she swore. “Three hundred? Damn! How the hell’re they pulling it off?”
“No one knows. That’s what’s pissing me off. Whoever’s doing this is damn good. No
prints, no usable images, and they’re taking the money out of fully secured safes. The
safe gets locked, the security system gets activated, and when they get to work the
next day the safe is still locked, the security system is still activated, and the safe is
completely empty.”
“You mentioned an image. We talking about an image from surveillance tape?”
In disgust, he closed his notebook. “If that’s what you want to call it. It’s a grainy
piece of video from a shit camera. You can, vaguely, make out a shape moving in the
background before the entire thing goes black.”
“It stops?”
“No. It just goes black. After several minutes it clears back up, but everything’s
gone.”
“Shit!”
Rubbing his forehead, he agreed. “Tell me about it. I’ve got them mapped out, trying
to find a pattern, or a link of some kind, but I’m coming up dry right now.” With a self-
conscious grin, he shrugged. “I’m secretly hoping for another theft so our friend can
fuck up.”
“You need another set of eyes, Ray.”
“You think I don’t know it? The problem's nobody wants to partner with me knowing
you’ll be back in a few days.”
With a grunt, she automatically scanned the page she was on. “Wait a minute. Here’s
something that might explain your dream and the cemetery.”
The abrupt change of conversation threw him for a minute. “My dream? Oh, you mean
that whole Rita thing?”
“Of course. What else would I be talking about?”
“Never mind. You just lost me for a minute.”
“Whatever. This guy says you may not be crazy. Here; read.” Pointing to the section in
question, she handed the book to him.
From the beginning of recorded history, there have been those who claimed an ability
to communicate with those who had died. In many, perhaps in most, such cases, they
were either liars or lunatics. In some cases, however, the situation seems to have
been different.
For them, the information they claimed to have received from the deceased was
consistently accurate. Although this, in itself, is not enough to prove authenticity, it is
strongly indicative. That authenticity is further aided when the information seems of a
type that the person could have no reasonable way to know or learn. The one thing
each of the few seemingly legitimate communications had in common was that the
deceased had a close relationship, be it familial, sexual or platonic, with the deceased.
As these people have come forward through history, they have been burned as
witches, heralded as prophets and worshipped as deities. The truth, though much
simpler, is no less special. In a world where human flight, telepathy, and spontaneous
tissue regeneration exist, is it truly so improbable that a genomic mutation would grant
a select few the ability to communicate with those who have died?
Chapter 4: Riddles
By: Chris Ward
January 17- 18, 2007
Rita’s funeral was scheduled for 6:30 this evening, four days after her murder and
the arrest of Angus Sullivan. It was also the fourth day of Tru’s seven days unpaid
leave.
With just under an hour until the funeral, Ray was on her sofa, channel surfing and
impatiently checking his watch. Getting to his feet, he went to her bedroom and
knocked on the door. “Tru? Not trying to be an ass here, but we’ve got less than an
hour.”
Her voice, muffled behind the door, called out, “Gimme a couple. I just finished my
shower.” Rolling his eyes, he went back to the living room. Rounding the corner, he
barely had time to register a slight popping sound before tripping over something that
had suddenly materialized in front of him.
Rolling to the side and reaching for his weapon, he stopped in shock as he realized
what, or who, he had tripped over. “Son of a bitch!”
In the doorway, Tru was seated on the floor, wearing only underwear and an
unfastened bra. As she stared around the room in complete bewilderment, her eyes
fastened on her partner. “What the fuck?”
Standing up, he walked over and offered her a hand. “Not a damn clue. We should
probably wait until later to talk about it, though.”
Ten minutes later they were in the car and headed to the funeral. Ray glanced over at
his partner. “Any clue just what the hell happened in there?”
“I wish. I was on the bed getting dressed, felt a little light headed for a second, and
then you were falling over me.”
“Nothing else?”
“Other than feeling a bit rushed because I was running late? Nope.”
**************
Pulling back into the driveway after the funeral, Ray looked at the clock. “It’s almost
midnight, Tru. Did you still wanna talk about what happened?”
“Not tonight. You have tomorrow off, right?” when he nodded, she said, “Can you
come over tomorrow then?”
Thinking about it for a minute, he shrugged. “I’ve got a 9 AM with Rita’s lawyer, but I
should be able to get here around 1 or 2.”
Cocking an eyebrow at him, she smiled. “Why the lawyer?”
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he grunted. “Apparently, she wanted me present
when her will was read.”
Shrugging, she said, “All right. 1 or 2 sounds good.”
After watching her vanish into the house, he pulled back out and drove to his
apartment, alone with his thoughts. If he wasn’t sure what had happened this
afternoon, he was even less certain about what had happened a few nights ago. He
had been prepared to dismiss it as an odd, disturbing, possibly even perverted, dream
until yesterday when he got the call from the lawyer. Now he was faced with a difficult
and uncomfortable question; had it been a simple dream, or had it been something
much different?
**************
The next afternoon, shortly after 1:30, he knocked on her door. Having just come
from the lawyer, he had been wearing a dark suit, but had left the jacket and tie in the
car. When Tru let him in, he saw she was wearing her typical off-duty outfit; a
comfortable pair of jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.
She laughed when she caught his glance darting around the house. “Don’t worry,
Ray. Mom’s working until 10 or later. You won’t have to deal with her bitching about life
in general and men in particular.”
After they had gotten drinks and gotten comfortable in the front room, she looked
curiously at the gun case he was carrying. “New toy?”
“Not exactly.” Opening the case, he pulled out a Colt .45. “This was why I had to go to
the lawyer. Rita left it for me.”
With a shrug, Tru took a sip from her rum and coke. “It’s a nice enough gun, I guess. I
assume it means something special?”
Laughing quietly, he replaced the weapon and closed the case. “I gave it to her
shortly before we broke up. She loved this gun, and was scary accurate with it.” His
eyes lost in thought, he continued, “She saved my life less than a week later with it.”
“Really? How?”
Smiling, he took a drink of his soda. “Not that big a deal, really. We were in a shoot-
out with maybe a dozen druggies after a bad bust. My gun jammed at the worst
possible moment. Punk had a gun leveled at my head, and I’m pretty much convinced I
have another couple seconds of life left. Next thing I know, he’s missing part of his
face, and Rita’s tossing me her spare with the hand not holding the Colt.”
Shrugging the memory aside, he took another drink. “Have you been able to figure
out what happened yesterday?”
Grimacing, she slumped in her overstuffed chair. “Not even a little. I can walk you
completely through the events, but not what it means.”
“So, walk me.”
Narrowing her eyes in thought, she shifted in her seat. “I was in a hurry anyway
because I was running late. When you knocked, I had just finished drying off. Then I sat
on the bed and pulled on my underwear. Next thing I know, I’m feeling light headed and
you’re falling over me.” Taking another sip, she shrugged. “That’s everything I can
think of.”
“What about what happened Saturday?”
Deliberately avoiding the thrust of his question, she shrugged her shoulders. “We
took down a killer. You were there, Ray. You saw everything I saw.”
Rolling his eyes, he leaned forward. “You’re damn right I did. I saw him pull his
fucking vanishing act at the docks, and then I watched him pull the same damned shit
in his apartment; only, this time, he took Rita’s head with him. And, unless we forget, he
tried to pull that same fucking stunt on me, but you stopped him, Gert.”
Looking into his glass, his pale blue eyes lost in thought, he shook his head. “I don’t
know what the fuck happened there, but you stopped him from killing me, Tru.”
Looking directly at her, he asked, “How?”
Closing her eyes for a minute, she said, “I wish to God I knew. It’s the same problem. I
can tell you some of what happened, and the exact order in which it did, but I can’t
even approach an explanation.” Over the next half hour, she attempted to describe
what had occurred that night. When she explained, as best she could, the intangible
wave that had seemingly exploded from her, overwhelmed Sullivan, and flowed back
into her, carrying with it an indefinable sense of change, his face grew interested and
thoughtful. “What is it, Ray?”
Scratching his chin thoughtfully, he stared into her face. “Did you have any trouble
seeing?”
Thinking about it for a minute, she shook her head. “Not that I can think of. Why?”
“Because, at about the time you say you were feeling that wave, your eyes flashed
pure white, and they almost seemed to glow. When you fired, your eyes flashed back to
their normal brown.”
As she leaned back in her chair, stunned, he kept his eyes on her. “There’s
something else. Do you remember that weird popping noise Sullivan made when he
vanished?” When she nodded, he finished. “I head that same sound just before I
tripped over you.” Taking a thoughtful drink, he leaned back on the sofa. “I can’t
explain it, hell, I don’t even know how it’s possible, but I think you somehow, for lack of
a better word, stole Sullivan’s power from him.”
Blinking in surprise, she looked about ready to argue the point when her face
suddenly changed expression. Standing up quickly, she said, “Wait here a minute.”
Heading back to her room, she took a thick manila envelope from the bottom of her
nightstand and went back to the living room.
Reopening the envelope with her thumb, she pulled out a thick copy of Activating
Evolution by Chandra Suresh, as well as an introductory letter. “I got this in the mail
last October, shortly around the time Matt started working with that blonde Fed.”
Handing the letter to Ray, she began paging through the book. Reading through it, he
saw a cell number listed at the bottom under the name of Mohinder Suresh.
Ms. Gertrude Ransome;
My name is Mohinder Suresh. Until recently, I was a professor of genetics at the
University Of Madras in Chennai, India. The enclosed book was authored by my father
several years ago.
As he explains, he discovered an unusual genomic mutation within some humans. This
mutation has the startling effect of bestowing seemingly supernatural abilities on
those in whom it manifests. That research, which I have attempted to further, has
indicated the presence of this mutation within your cells. It is for that reason I sent this
book.
If you have questions, feel free to contact me through the number provided.
Holding the letter loosely in his hand, he looked over to where Tru had stopped
paging through the book and was now reading it with interest. “Find something?”
Glancing up at him briefly before looking back at the book, she nodded shortly. “I
think so. He talks about people like Sullivan, and calls what they do Teleportation.”
“What about what you did?”
“To be honest? I’m still not sure just what the fuck that was, Ray. There’s a section in
here about the possibility of people who might be able to, either temporarily or
permanently, block other people’s abilities, although this Suresh guy calls them
‘manifestations.’
“He’s got an entire damned chapter devoted to what he calls Power Sharing.
Apparently, that entire group, in theory, should be able to absorb, or mimic, or copy,
either temporarily or permanently, other manifestations. There are probably a dozen
variants listed here.” Closing the book, she looked back at Ray. “Wasn’t there a phone
number in that letter?”
Handing it over, he narrowed his eyes in thought. “On the bottom. Why?”
Picking up the nearby phone, she called the number. “Maybe this Mohinder guy has
some answers.”
After several rings, a noticeably accented voice came on the line. “Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Professor Suresh?”
“It is.”
“This is Gertrude Ransome. You sent me a copy of your father’s book a few months
ago. I was wondering if you could answer a couple questions for me.”
“Certainly. Before we begin, though, is this personal or professional?”
With a short laugh, Tru said, “About as personal as you can get.”
Mohinder’s voice grew interested. “Have you experienced something recently that
you are unable to explain?”
“You could put it that way, I suppose.”
“I suspected as much.”
“How?”
She could almost hear the smile in his voice. “I only mailed three or four copies of my
father’s book. All of them to people he suspected had a high probability of
manifesting.” After a brief pause, he cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best for
us to meet in person. I assume your questions regard the nature and possible
problems of your manifestation?”
“Basically, yes.”
“And might I ask from where you are calling?”
“Los Angeles, California.”
“Excellent. I’m in France for a couple days, but I’ll be traveling through California
soon. I should be able to arrange things to allow me to be in LA on the 25th. Would that
work?”
“One minute.” Pulling her schedule out from the side table, she glanced through it.
“Actually, yes. It looks like both my partner and I have that day off.”
“Excellent. If you’ll give me your number, I will contact you once arrangements have
been made.”
After doing so and disconnecting, Tru relayed the information to Ray. After she
finished, she flashed a tight grin. “Maybe now you’ll explain what the fuck’s up with
you.”
Startled, he nearly choked on his drink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“How long have we been partners now? A couple years anyway? I know when
something’s bugging you, Ray. And something’s been wrong since before the funeral.”
“It may be nothing.”
“Then again, it may be something?”
Shrugging, he described the dream from the night Rita died. When he finished, Tru
stared at him for several minutes before cracking up. “Let me get this straight. You’re
worried about a sex dream?”
Laughing sheepishly, he nodded. “I suppose so; although worry might be too strong
a term. Let’s just say I’m a little concerned, and a lot interested.”
“Why?”
“Some of what she told me I already knew. Some of what she said amounted to logical
connections I could have easily made, assuming I hadn’t already. But some of what she
said was stuff there was no possible way I could have known, or even guessed.”
Taking a quick drink he closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “Not just that, but
I’m convinced I saw her at the cemetery as well.”
Leaning back, she regarded him soberly. “You’re starting to scare me, Ray.”
With a quick grin, he shrugged. “I’m still as sane as ever, Tru.”
“That’s supposed to reassure me?” With a puzzled look, she leaned forward. “You
realize what you’re saying don’t you? And, more importantly, what just about anyone
but me would be thinking right now?”
“What? That saying ‘I see, and fuck, dead people,’ makes me sound like a raving
lunatic? Yeah, I got it.”
“Not necessarily the way I’d have put it, partner, but that’s pretty much it.”
“And a week ago, hell, three days ago, I’d have said the same damned thing. But, if
you’d told me that people would be capable of moving just by thinking about it, even of
killing people that way, I’d have called you all kinds of crazy.”
“Point taken.” Opening the book, she began to thumb through it again. “Anything new
and exciting going down?”
“Cases, you mean?” At her nod, he shrugged. “Don’t know how exciting it is, but the
Captain’s got me working a series of high-dollar thefts.”
Confused, she glanced up at him. “Since when does theft belong to Major Case?”
With a slight grunt, he pulled out his notebook and flipped through the pages. “Since
the perp’s already made off with almost three hundred million.”
Startled, she swore. “Three hundred? Damn! How the hell’re they pulling it off?”
“No one knows. That’s what’s pissing me off. Whoever’s doing this is damn good. No
prints, no usable images, and they’re taking the money out of fully secured safes. The
safe gets locked, the security system gets activated, and when they get to work the
next day the safe is still locked, the security system is still activated, and the safe is
completely empty.”
“You mentioned an image. We talking about an image from surveillance tape?”
In disgust, he closed his notebook. “If that’s what you want to call it. It’s a grainy
piece of video from a shit camera. You can, vaguely, make out a shape moving in the
background before the entire thing goes black.”
“It stops?”
“No. It just goes black. After several minutes it clears back up, but everything’s
gone.”
“Shit!”
Rubbing his forehead, he agreed. “Tell me about it. I’ve got them mapped out, trying
to find a pattern, or a link of some kind, but I’m coming up dry right now.” With a self-
conscious grin, he shrugged. “I’m secretly hoping for another theft so our friend can
fuck up.”
“You need another set of eyes, Ray.”
“You think I don’t know it? The problem's nobody wants to partner with me knowing
you’ll be back in a few days.”
With a grunt, she automatically scanned the page she was on. “Wait a minute. Here’s
something that might explain your dream and the cemetery.”
The abrupt change of conversation threw him for a minute. “My dream? Oh, you mean
that whole Rita thing?”
“Of course. What else would I be talking about?”
“Never mind. You just lost me for a minute.”
“Whatever. This guy says you may not be crazy. Here; read.” Pointing to the section in
question, she handed the book to him.
From the beginning of recorded history, there have been those who claimed an ability
to communicate with those who had died. In many, perhaps in most, such cases, they
were either liars or lunatics. In some cases, however, the situation seems to have
been different.
For them, the information they claimed to have received from the deceased was
consistently accurate. Although this, in itself, is not enough to prove authenticity, it is
strongly indicative. That authenticity is further aided when the information seems of a
type that the person could have no reasonable way to know or learn. The one thing
each of the few seemingly legitimate communications had in common was that the
deceased had a close relationship, be it familial, sexual or platonic, with the deceased.
As these people have come forward through history, they have been burned as
witches, heralded as prophets and worshipped as deities. The truth, though much
simpler, is no less special. In a world where human flight, telepathy, and spontaneous
tissue regeneration exist, is it truly so improbable that a genomic mutation would grant
a select few the ability to communicate with those who have died?