The story that I am about to tell you is a bizarre case I encountered one sunny New York day. I decided that I would not tell it until I retired, so now here I am with all the time in the world, a few grey hairs too many and a cheap electric typewriter. My job was an interesting one by all accounts. I was a member of the Brooklyn homicide squad. The case began when I was called up to an apartment block with my partner, Louis Mezza. The janitor had called the cops, saying there was a corpse in one of the apartments. As usual, we arrived before the ambulances.
The apartment belonged to a well known psychic, Bryant Spelling who had solved a couple of unexplained murders for us. I thought it ironic at the time, as I took the lift, that someone who had helped solve crimes had himself died in suspicious circumstances.
When I arrived in the apartment, opening the door slowly, the first thing I noticed was that there was no smell of death but there was a lifeless body. That was when I knew something was up. Bryant was lying out stretched on the bed with his eyes barely open, pale as a ghost. A spooky picture of him hung on the wall above his body. It was a dark, almost sinister oil painting. His hands seemed to reach out at me.
I could've sworn Bryant wasn't breathing but Louis placed a mirror over his mouth and it steamed up every five seconds indicating how slowly his body was functioning. It was the weirdness of the look on Bryant's face that got to me. He seemed to be trying to focus on something distant and his expression never changed. I looked behind me to see if there was something that he could be looking at but all there was behind me was a window.
Louis took the whole thing in his stride, shrugging his shoulders and said he thought it was a case of drugs overdose. I wasn't convinced. I noticed that Bryant was clutching something in his right hand. I tried to pry it free but it was lodged solidly in there.
On closer inspection I noticed that it was a small twig that had been broken from a Bonzai dwarf tree which was growing in his apartment. It was just an ordinary twig and we couldn't get it out of his hand without breaking one or more of his fingers, so I decided to leave it there, seeing as he was still alive.
We asked the neighbours if they had seen anyone come or go, the usual sort of questions. I felt out of place, I mean the guy wasn't dead but he appeared to be for all intents and purposes. The neighbour said he looked like he was in limbo.
Bryant was brought to hospital and we were taken off the case because there was none; but I was curious. I kept wondering what had happened to him. He was almost challenging me to figure out what had happened to him.
I knew the boys in the lab had already checked out his blood and found nothing wrong with it. There were no poisons, drugs or toxins present. Whatever had happened to him was far more subtle than a bang on the head.
The following day, I called into the hospital to check up on Bryant. He was in a private room, wearing a pair of silk pyjamas with his clenched hand out of the bed. His eyes were closed but they opened quickly when a nurse came into the room behind me and opened the curtains, flooding the stuffy room with light. I started.
"Mister Spelling?" I said, speaking up, wondering maybe that he had pulled out of his trance but he made no reply.
His left hand which was holding the small twig moved discernibly towards the light. It moved at a snails pace. I thought about prying the twig from his steely grip. I wondered if maybe there was some chemical that was shutting down his nervous system that the lab boys hadn't checked for.
I was just about to break a piece off the twig and then I heard a woman's assertive voice behind me. "You there! Get away from my son!!" she commanded.
Mrs. Spelling poked me in the small of the back with her umbrella and I grimaced. I spun around quickly, stuck for words. The crackly, terse voice was that of an upright old lady, dressed in fashions that were thirty years out date.
"Who the hell are you?!" she demanded, waving her umbrella at me. Her tall chauffeur stood passively alongside her like a docile Rottweiler.
I pulled out my police badge and the old lady relaxed slightly but she tensed up once more.
"Have you caught who did this to my son?" she demanded.
"We're not sure what has happened to him," I admitted. After I had said that, I knew I'd make a big mistake.
The old lady began to fret. "Not sure what has happened to him! What has the world come to when you cannot see that my son has been harmed! Just look at him! Look!!" She continued to wave her umbrella at me.
I nodded and looked around as she harangued me, feeling like a rookie on his first day. She had a way with words which made me feel like I was five years old.
I explained the situation, careful not to hurt her feelings. "In order to prosecute someone, we have to have proof that your son has been harmed, Mrs Spelling."
"Proof! Just look at him, isn't that proof enough!!"
I shook my head, trying to make it seem like I empathised. "No, unfortunately it's not. I need something which can hold up in a court of law." I was too brow-beaten to explain to her that I was not even on the case. She would have just exploded with anger. "Look, I'm sorry about your son but I have to go now," I explained, trying to be free of her anger. "My partner is waiting for me."
However, she held up her index finger assertively. "You are to come to my home for dinner tonight at eight, sharp. Do not be late, I wish to discuss with you what progress you are making on my son's investigation." She handed me a card with her address on it and I reluctantly accepted. I didn't have the heart to refuse her. I read the embossed gold name, Mrs Charlotte Spelling and my eyes gazed fleetingly upon the expensive Manhattan address. I was about to return the card and explain that I was not really on the case when she butted in: "I will not take no for an answer," she said, firmly, turning away. "Please leave now, I must tend to my son. Service in this hospital is simply terrible." She sat beside Bryant and took a mahogany hair brush out of her handbag, brushing his hair, tending to her son as if he were still a child. "How are you, today, Bryant?" she asked, her voice sweetening. "I brought you your favourites, marshmallows in chocolate."
I turned and left, pocketing the card, raising my eyes fleetingly skyward and then looked briefly at my watch. I swore and dashed out of the hospital. I was late.
"What the hell took you so long?" asked Louis, finishing off his double cheeseburger in our unmarked car. He straightened his tie which sat over his sagging belly and combed his hair into place with his fat fingers. "We were supposed to be at the McPherson shooting five minutes ago!" he exclaimed, his mouth full of half-chewed burger.
"She's invited me to dinner," I said, still caught up with Mrs. Spelling's invective.
"You meet a nurse?" inquired Louis, a broad grin widening on his face.
"No." I sighed. "Bryant's mother has invited me to dinner."
"The zombie's mother?" Louis chuckled. "What's she look like?"
I looked hard at Louis. "You're coming too. I told her we were both on the case."
Louis had immediate heartburn. He shook his head and began waving his hands negatively. "No way, you got yourself into this, you can get yourself out."
I realised that it was time to call in an old debt. "You remember the Christmas party?" I began.
"Aw Jesus, Dan, why did you have to bring that up?" Louis frowned as a bad memory was rekindled.
I continued relentlessly. "Remember what you said when I sorted out the drink driving charge?"
"Hey, that could happen to anyone!" he protested.
"Remember?!" I persisted.
"Ok," Louis shrugged his shoulder. "So, I messed up."
I eye-balled him.
"Ok, I'll go," he strained, "We're even!"
I smiled wryly and we drove off.
While we were examining the bloody corpses in the McPherson shooting, I kept thinking about what I would say to Mrs. Spelling and drew a blank.
I met Louis beforehand so that we could go over what we were going to say. I wanted to keep our story straight about Bryant. Mrs Spelling was not a lady I would underestimate. Louis' wife thought that he was dressing up to see another woman and so I had to call Carmela and explain the situation. Carmela then rang up my wife to corroborate the story. I couldn't get over how complicated this non-existent case had become.
We arrived outside the apartment. Mrs Spelling lived in the penthouse suite and I was as nervous as a kid on his first date. I pressed the buzzer sharply and the chauffeur answered the door. Louis looked askance at me as the chauffeur-cum-butler took our coats. I ignored his piercing glance and tried to make the most of my unexpected quandary.
We walked through the hallway. On the walls were the usual family pictures and a couple of framed newspaper clippings about Bryant's murder cases. The apartment was dimly lit and over-decorated. The rose-patterned wallpaper seemed to absorb the light. I breathed in the stuffy air.
"Welcome gentlemen," said Mrs spelling as we entered the plush dining room, walking past a solid mahogany door. The curtains were closed and the light from the overhead glass chandeliers sparkled with the flickering light from the candles on the table.
Louis stifled a gasp of amazement when he saw the long marble table, laid out with silver cutlery. On the wall was a giant picture of Bryant. It was the same one as I had seen in his apartment. She had obviously taken it after his accident. Charlotte noticed my distracted looks and seized upon the moment. "It's my favourite picture of Bryant," she commented as he seemed to loom psychically through the picture. "I painted it after he solved his first murder."
"It's very interesting," I replied, careful to choose my words as the murky purples and blacks swirled about his glowing eyes.
"Yes, it is," she replied, her lungs rasping. She lit up another cigarette, attached to the end of her ruby holder. "Bryant loves it too," she said and exhaled.
I noticed her present-tense wording and took a seat to her right. Louis seemed to be studying the room as if he were at the scene of a murder. I had to cough subtly to tell him to sit down. He took the hint and sat to Charlotte's right.
"I had him taken out of that dreadful hospital. He's here now with the people who truly love him," said Charlotte. She eyed me and Louis behind her quick moving, blood-shot eyes, as she inhaled the smoke. Thirty-years younger and the scene could have been mistaken for two lovers competing for the affections of a beautiful young woman but this was not the case. She was old and ragged from a life time of smoking and her mottled skin was like an old leather jacket with stress-lined eyes and tar-stained teeth.
I wondered if she was psychic too, the way she glared at me and Louis behind those old, darting eyes that seemed to X-ray. I wondered too if I was overestimating her, seeing as I didn't know her too well but I had learned from experience to trust my gut feelings about people.
Louis stared around the room, no doubt trying to figure out how much the old broad was worth.
"A drink, gentlemen?" proffered Charlotte and then paused perceptively. "Are you still on duty?" she asked, masking a small teasing grin.
Louis frowned at me, wondering if it were a trick question but I felt that we should try to be as natural as possible with her. "No we're not on duty. This is definitely off duty." I smiled reassuringly and her expression widened.
"This house was so full of life once," began Charlotte. "I remember Bryant as a young boy. I can see his face as clearly as I can see yours now. He was such a talented child, he took after his father you know." I nodded appreciatively. She grew silent as if a bad memory had been rekindled. "Even as a child Bryant knew what I was thinking, in particular when I was carrying him. I used to talk to him as if he were with us and he would kick to show that he understood. Men simply cannot understand the bond between mother and child." A prawn cocktail was served as a starter and I ate it slowly. I remained attentive, glad that she was doing all of the talking. Louis eyed the prawns suspiciously and I encouraged him with some sharp glances to swallow them in the line of duty. "Bryant's father committed suicide when he was very young, I think that event had a very profound effect on him. He grew more introverted after that and this was when I saw his power grow. It also brought us closer together."
"His power?" questioned Louis, swallowing a prawn, unable to control his curiosity. I knew from the look on his face that he was close to breaking out into a smile but he managed to keep a straight face.
"Yes," she asserted, stubbing her cigarette out. "I developed leukaemia in my late forties and Bryant was the first to diagnose it. He told me that he could sense the poisonous cells flowing through my body. He said they looked out of my skin like evil eyes. Well! I just laughed at the time but I went to the doctor and he was right!! I never laughed after that." She looked hard at Louis as if she had seen though his fake sincerity and Louis sat back in his seat, wiping his mouth with his napkin, casting a look my way. "Bryant placed his hands on me and he cured me. He is such a wonderful, gentle son." Charlotte placed her hand symbolically on her chest, fingers outspread and closed her eyes as if in ecstasy, her fake elongated fingernails long like a witches. I finished off my prawn cocktail and swallowed hard. She was growing weirder by the moment.
"I never remarried," she continued, "I decided to dedicate my life to Bryant to encourage his powers to grow, to use them for good. That was why he decided to help solve the murders. He used to have such terrible nightmares. He told me that he witnessed some of them. He could see the murder from both points of view; either as the murderer or the victim. That thought terrified me and I wept for him. So, he and I decided to help solve some unsolved murders so that the souls of the dead could be laid to rest at last."
Peking duck was served in a bright orange sauce and I tucked in. I was beginning to find Charlotte's invective spell binding, being caught up by her ageless charm. "He actually met one of the murderers face to face and he told me that he saw into his blood drenched mind cluttered with the chopped limbs of his victims." I cut small portions of duck and Louis loosened his tie. "Are you enjoying your meal?" asked Charlotte, noticing my decreasing appetite.
"Yes, it's delicious," I reassured her.
She smiled politely back. "Now," she said. "I have told you a little about myself, why don't you tell me a little about yourselves. More wine?" She gestured in my direction.
I refused and noted her intent eyes; ones so reminiscent of her son's. I cleared my throat. "Well, I've been a detective for eleven years," I began but she interrupted me.
"No! No! Tell me about yourself. Are you married?"
Louis began coughing up his food and wiped his mouth with his napkin, not ready for the personal details.
"Yes," I replied, ignoring Louis.
"Happily?" she probed, grinning, her eyes narrowing.
I sat up. "Yes," I answered candidly.
"Children?"
"No."
"Pity. You would make a fine father, Dan Ramstold."
"Uh, thank you," I replied, courteously, shuffling listlessly in my seat.
Louis was close to breaking into a laugh when Charlotte fixed her gaze on him.
"I take it from the ring on you finger that you are married too," commented Charlotte, slightly more sharply.
"Yes and I've two children," said Louis, "a boy of four and a girl aged six."
"Good," said Charlotte, dispensing with the small talk. "Now, to my son. How is the case progressing?"
"It's a difficult case. Progress is slow," I began. I prevaricated and she knew it.
"You mean to tell me that you've made no progress!" interrupted Charlotte angrily.
"We have very few leads," I admitted.
Louis cut in: "We've had other cases. There's a very heavy work-load. We're not even sure if there is a case yet for your son."
"My son is a very important person to me, and to society! He has helped out your police department many times."
I raised my hand trying to placate the old lady. "I'll talk with my captain. He might be able to..."
"I may be old but I am not stupid!" interrupted Charlotte. "You have done nothing on my son's case, have you! Nor do you intend to!! If it's money that you want, then I'll offer you money, as much as you want. I'm very wealthy," she declared. I didn't doubt it. "I'll give each of you one hundred thousand dollars if you can find out what has happened to my son."
I didn't think it was possible but I could have sworn that Louis' jaw had dropped onto the table with a firm thud. One hundred thousand dollars was written all over his face. Charlotte pulled her cheque book out of her purse and began scribbling out the two cheques. "There's no need to do that," I resisted feebly but Louis kicked me under the table. I could see the greed written all over his face.
"Here are two post-dated cheques. They may be cashed in one month's time if my son has been returned to health, if not, the cheques will be cancelled." She handed us each a cheque.
"Look, there's no need," I protested.
"Take it!" she demanded. "All I ask for are results."
I nodded and placed the cheque in my wallet.
"Have you got the names of Bryant's friends?" asked Louis, springing to life, pulling out his notepad.
Charlotte replied quickly: "Yes, he had two female friends, Gina Dolan, a close psychic friend of his and Pauline Banks who was once his lover. Bryant was a solitary figure at the best of times, he had few male friends. The majority were women." Louis scribbled the names down, nodding understandingly.
"I would like to do some more tests on that twig in his hand," I said.
Charlotte nodded. "Of course."
"Have you got their addresses?" interrupted Louis.
"There's no need, I've already invited them over," she answered. "They'll be here within the hour." It was then I realised, I'd underestimated this old lady.
I telephoned my wife to tell her that I'd be home later than expected. She quizzed me but I explained the situation. Louis' wife was not so understanding until she heard about the money. While he was on the phone, I wandered down the corridor to Bryant's room. I was still curious about the twig in his hand.
As I entered the room, I saw Bryant. He was sitting up in the bed almost as if he were awake but his eyes were closed. I felt uneasy as I walked towards him. I got the impression that he was watching me, even though his eyes were closed shut. His left hand lay against the bed sheets, the small twig still clasped firmly in his hand. Once more I tried to pry open the hand but it was useless. His granite grip refused to budge.
"Dammit, open up!" I said in vexation. To both my shock and surprise, Bryant's grip on the twig lessened and his hand opened out. I caught my breath. "Bryant?" I said, wondering if he had suddenly slipped out of his coma but he still remained as lifeless as ever. I drew my curious stare closer to his opened fist. The roots of the twig had burrowed into his skin as if it were soil, joining up with the network of small blood vessels under his skin.
"Jesus," I muttered under my breath and turned to call Louis but as I did the hand closed shut again. Vainly I tried to pry open the fist but to no avail. Confused more than ever, I left the room. As I closed the door, I thought I heard a noise that sounded like a sinister laugh. I felt a chill run down my spine and locked the door.
Pauline arrived first in the apartment. She looked at us nervously, not expecting anyone other than Charlotte to be there. Her eyes were bloodshot, her pupils dilated. She clutched her purse against her as if her very life depended upon it. I had a feeling that it contained a fix of some kind.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm Dan Ramstold and this is my partner Louis Mezza from NYPD," I answered, showing her my ID. "We're helping out with Bryant in an informal manner only." I spoke in a relaxed manner, trying to put her at her ease.
We took her into the dining room and gave her a drink. She took it and swallowed it down hard, glancing only briefly at the spooky picture of Bryant. Her look said it all; she detested the painting.
"So, how long have you known Bryant?" I asked while Louis refilled her glass.
"About two years," she replied. "When we first met, he told me that I was the next intended victim of Hugo Marsellas, the serial killer. He was right and saved my life."
I nodded, remembering the television publicity that the search for the serial killer had produced. It was the case which had turned Bryant into an overnight celebrity. What intrigued me about the case was that the woman he had saved had been a well-to-do lawyer. Instead, sitting in front of me was a strung out junkie.
Pauline smiled to her herself, almost in a bitter sweet manner. "What?" I asked, knowing that a highway of thoughts were passing through her mind.
"It's just the way everyone thinks of him," she commented.
"Sorry, I don't understand," I elaborated, knowing that she was about to open up on me. Louis and I exchanged hopeful glances.
"The press have him labelled as some kind of super human but he's got a dark side too. He's not the hero everyone makes him out to be."
"He saved your life, didn't he," interjected Louis quickly.
Pauline was moved close to tears by the comment. "Sure, he saved my life," she said with added sarcasm. "But he knew that I owed him!" She wiped her eyes. "And nobody let me forget it!!" Her hands shook as she took her drink.
"You were close?" I interjected, knowing this to be an understatement.
Pauline nodded, glancing away as if embarrassed by the memory.
"Lovers?" prompted Louis.
Pauline nodded quickly again and rubbed her red nose. "He used me!" she said vindictively, surprising me. I hadn't expected her to be so clearly hostile. I got the impression she was holding a grudge against Bryant. "He took my life away from me," she asserted and then broke down into tears in front of us.
Jesus, I thought, and quickly handed her a handkerchief. I felt guilty about having pushed her too hard but I knew that we had to, in order to get a clearer picture of what had happened to Bryant.
"I had a career once, before he took it all away from me. I had a good job and friends," she sobbed. "We did some soft drugs when we started dating each other at first. I'd never done anything like that before I met him. After a while, I moved onto cocaine and became addicted. I'm on a drugs rehablitation program now. At the time, I just felt that my life had been given back to me and I went wild. I built up a bad habit and lost my job. Then one night, Bryant just said to me, it's over. He turned cold on me and that's when I saw his dark side. People don't realise what a cold, calculating bastard he really is!"
"That's enough!" shouted Charlotte, walking into the dining room. I turned around and saw her, the way her face was wild with anger. She walked over to Pauline. "You owe him so much, how could you??" she demanded, as if a sacred trust had been defiled. She slapped Pauline's face and her rage faded as if it had been doused by icy water. The strangest part of it all was that she tried to hug Pauline immediately afterwards.
Initially, I found the relationship between Pauline and Charlotte hard to figure out. Charlotte evidently felt bitter towards Pauline, yet her anger was more like that between mother and daughter. Later, I found out why this was. Charlotte explained what had happened between Bryant and Pauline. Pauline had gone into Bryant's room to see how he was and we talked in a low key.
"She was pregnant with Bryant's child but miscarried last year," explained Charlotte. "Bryant was terribly upset when she lost the baby. They broke up after it happened. He so desperately wanted a son. He also began to lose his power during the pregnancy. It was a time of great anxiety for him. He felt like he was going blind but he soon recovered his powers when they parted. Still, I think he made a big mistake by leaving her. I know you may find this hard to believe, Dan, but I think Pauline still could be good for Bryant. All her anger with him is really bitterness with him leaving her. She still loves him no matter what she says."
I wasn't so sure but I nodded and chewed on my pen, realising Bryant's angle on life. I focused on Charlotte's words: losing his power. I thought about them and dwelled on how important his psychic ability had been to him. Without it, he must have felt like a part of him was dying. I wondered if that had something to do with his present condition. As I pondered on the case, the door bell rang, distracting my thoughts.
Louis opened the door to Gina and he immediately saw her drawn features and deep set eyes. She seemed to scan him with her fixed stare.
"Louis Mezza," he said, reaching for his badge but she stayed his hand.
"No need to explain, you're a police officer helping out with Bryant," she pre-empted and walked quickly by him.
"Got it in one," said Louis in a slightly bemused manner and closed the door.
I turned to look at Gina and saw her distant likeness to Charlotte as she made her way towards Bryant's room. She seemed compelled to see him, clutching a small pendant about her neck as if it guided her to him.
I began to realise that women played a large part in Bryant's life. There were few if any relations to male friends. He seemed to have built these people around him to represent the different facets of his life. However, it seemed as if the women themselves had once competed amongst themselves for his time and energy. I wanted to see if Gina was any different in this respect and followed her into the room.
Charlotte accompanied me into the room. Gina was already alongside Bryant, moving her hands over his face, touching only the outline of his features in the same way a blind person would first acquaint themselves with someone, yet I knew she was doing something more than sense his physical presence. On first impressions, she came over as some kind of psychic practitioner and for the first time since I had seen Bryant in his coma-like condition, I felt a small glimmer of hope that he would be returned to a normal condition. Pauline sat in the corner of the room in a deep chair, looking on placidly. I wondered what she was thinking, curious as to whether she really did love Bryant as Charlotte had said. The fact that she had joined him in the room, indicated that there was some kind of bond that they still shared but I wondered how strong it was.
Slowly, Gina's hands spread out across his body, reaching out to his arms and legs. Gradually, her hands came together and she drew them along his arm, past his elbow and down to his clenched hand with the twig in it. She released a deep breath and opened her eyes. "There," she said triumphantly as if she had found the location of a hidden treasure. To my surprise, she touched his index finger and his fingers opened like flower petals in the sunlight. She nodded to herself and touched his hand again. It closed automatically as if by her will. Louis joined us in the room, looking bemused by it all but I remained attentive, trying to figure out how Gina fitted into the picture. She seemed to have a presence about her which was all-pervasive but I wondered if it was just some heavy, musk scented perfume or whether it really was an indicator of an unusual talent. "I came as quickly as I could," she said, addressing Charlotte, brushing her black hair over her shoulders. "A young girl in Phoenix needed my help." I glanced at her and realised she was talking about a wealthy businessman's daughter who had recently been reported kidnapped.
Charlotte nodded tearfully. "What's happened to him, Gina?" she asked.
"He was experimenting. It seems to have gone wrong," she explained.
"Can you undo it?" I interrupted, getting to the point.
Gina looked at me quizzically at first, then nodded to herself. "You were the first to find him," she said, almost as a statement rather than a question. I nodded and looked into her alluring eyes then glanced away, finding them captivating.
"It's not like tying a knot," she replied. "You can't tie and then untie a mind easily. Bryant needs our combined help to be worked free."
"From what?" asked Louis, becoming bored by Gina's roundabout way of talking.
She turned and pointed at the small twig in his hand.
Louis shook his head, glancing away from Gina as if she were one of those crazies we occasionally came across on the streets.
"So what are you telling me?" snorted Louis. "That he's trapped in that twig? Is that what you want me to believe?? What's wrong with him is chemical. It's some kind of toxin that's shutting down his brain. I don't need this phoney hocus pocus," he said.
"If you're not going to help us then you can give me back that cheque, right now!" shouted Charlotte but Gina stayed her outstretched hand.
"It's all right," said Gina disarmingly. "We'll need someone on the outside to watch over us when we make contact with Bryant. He can do that." Gina then turned and looked at me. "What about you, Dan?" she asked, meeting my stare. "Do you believe me?"
I shrugged my shoulders, trying not to seem unreasonable. "I don't need to know how he got into this condition," I answered. "I just want to help him out. He did some good work for our police department; helped out a lot of decent people. Nobody could figure out how he did it then. He just did. I'd just like to help him out; to return the favour. That's all," I explained.
Gina folded her arms, satisfied. "Good, then we are four," she concluded. I masked my cynicism and sipped on my mug of coffee. Little did I realise, I had gotten myself into more than I had bargained for.
Gina set up the dining room for us, dimming the lights, setting five places in a circle on the floor; one for each of us, including Bryant. Louis was close to walking out altogether but the potential to earn one-hundred thousand dollars for an easy night's work kept him firmly in the apartment. Still, he remained cynical. "You're not buying into any of this crap are you?" he whispered, sounding concerned.
"Of course not," I answered, keeping my voice down. "But what harm can it do?"
Louis frowned, looking for an answer. "It's just weird, that's all. I don't think we should get involved in this stuff. What if the guys in the department heard? We'd be made a laughing stock!"
"And what if Bryant comes out of his coma?" I retorted. "Who'd be laughing then? That cheque could pay for your kids' education."
"I can think of better ways of spending it," grinned Louis and then I knew I had him on my side again.
"You keep a close eye on us and the big guy," I said, motioning my eyes towards the butler.
Louis nodded easily and folded his arms, "Sure."
The butler brought Bryant out of his bed and placed him in a seat which propped him up.
"We're ready," said Gina, gesturing my way.
I nodded and loosened my tie.
"Say hello to Bryant for me," quipped Louis, trying to keep a straight face.
Gina seemed more like a sister figure to the family. I realised that was what the three women represented in total; Bryant's relationships - mother, lover and friend. Contrary to what I had thought, Gina and Pauline were not in the least bit competitive, rather neutral in each other's presence. The key point was that Bryant was their focus and then I realised something I had missed from the very start of the investigation; my own role. The missing relationship, father, popped into my head and I immediately asked the next question almost without thinking.
"Charlotte, what did your husband do?"
"He was a businessman who sold antique furniture. He inherited the business from his uncle," she explained. "We did very well out of it."
I could tell from the plush apartment that she couldn't have spoken a truer word but I felt that there was still a piece missing from the jigsaw. "What did he do before that?" I inquired, taking my place.
"He worked for the police department like you. He was a successful detective for many years but that was long before I met him," explained Charlotte.
At that point, my gut instinct told me that I shouldn't have participated in the gathering but I knew I couldn't opt out at this stage. It was too late.
We were going to act as one unit, to try to reach out to Bryant in a way which I could not even begin to comprehend. "You said he experimented," I said, addressing Gina, feeling I needed more answers. "What exactly did he do?" I wondered, sitting beside her.
She sat up, crossing her legs beneath her and lit the candle in the centre of the floor. "He moved away from human minds after he split up with Pauline. I'm not sure why but I think he grew disillusioned with helping out with police investigations. I think he felt that no-one really cared nor understood what stress it put him under. He began to reach out to more inert forms of life as a result; things like plants and trees. I remember once, he told me he found them reassuring in comparison to his normal life." She turned her attention to Charlotte and Pauline, urging them to sit on either side of Bryant. "Each of you, please take his hand. I need the people who loved him the most, closest to him." Charlotte took her son's hand, looking frailer than I had seen her all night. She seemed tired and haggard, her eyes full of hope for Bryant's recovery. My heart went out to her. I realised Bryant was all the family she had left. She seemed close to desperation, ready to try anything to get her son back. Pauline seemed more reluctant to take his hand but did so anyway, and I began to understand her love-hate relationship with Bryant. She must have wondered whether he was worth helping after of his harsh treatment of her.
I took Charlotte's right hand and Gina's left, feeling more stupid by the second but Gina put me at my ease with her soothing words. We all closed our eyes and listened to her voice. It began.
"We are gathered here one and all to reach out to Bryant. We are testimony that there is a great deal of love in this world for him. We ask Bryant to talk with us." I hadn't realised how tired I was but Gina's voice seemed to slowly lull me in a light sleep. "We ask Bryant to show himself to us," she said softly. Our hands clenched tighter and the room grew so quiet I could hear the candle flicker. "Show yourself Bryant," whispered Gina, "show yourself to us." She repeated the sentence gently and I felt myself falling into what seemed like a deep sleep...
I opened my eyes and found myself in a wheat-field which resembled the one from my dreams. The golden sun which had baked the earth all day was retiring behind the evening sky, casting its blue and pink hues across the horizon. The fat ears of wheat had already been cut away from the tall stalks and we sat on a bed of newly cut, golden straw. We continued to hold hands in this new location, almost as if one unit. Bryant could no longer be seen. Instead, Pauline and Charlotte's hands reached in a thicket of twigs, matted like hair, which surrounded the large stump of a felled tree.
"Show yourself," repeated Gina and I looked with astonishment as the thicket of twigs moved apart, showing the shape of a human face within the bark of the tree stump. The eyes blinked open and I started with fright, holding my firm grip with the others. Bryant's eyes were like two wooden plugs but they examined each of us carefully, one after the other. Then the face smiled, showing its wooden teeth and spoke: "Hello Gina, so you've come to visit me at last and you've friends too," said Bryant. His voice was deep, confident and resonant.
"We've come to bring you back," said Gina. "We all want to help."
"I don't need any body's help," answered Bryant. "I am perfectly happy here, more content than I ever was in your world. What can you possibly offer me that I don't already have?" he argued. He glanced at us again, addressing us in turn. "Pauline, you taught me how to love but you took my powers away. After you lost our child, I realised it was the baby who was absorbing my power in the same way I took my father's. I know now that he committed suicide when he no longer had the sight. Our love nearly destroyed us." Pauline was sobbing, scared by Bryant's new form and his strong words. "Gina, you showed me what I was. Unlike you though, I never wanted to be of public service. It was difficult to care about the people I saved. They were just puppets and I could see the strings moving. I wanted more than that. Now I have it." His eyes then zoomed in on me. "Dan, the metropolitan detective. Do you know how many of your kind I have met with your suspicious eyes and narrow minds? Do you know how many times I heard them think, Maybe he did it, that's how he knows so much. Yet, you cared when you found me. I was touched. You are unlike the cynical one, Louis, who'd rather be at home watching baseball. Sometimes I dream of my father, the detective, and wonder which was he? Carer or cynic? Maybe you can tell me sometime, Dan." I sat there saying nothing, wondering if this was some kind of mass hallucination. His stare moved away from me. "And finally, mother. Did you ever wonder whether you had a right to run my life, forcing me into the spotlight? I was so tired of all the murders, being made use of by the police. Why couldn't you see that? Why couldn't you leave me be??"
"Come back to us," urged Gina again, focusing our joint will on him.
"No!" shouted Bryant. "For once in my life, I am happy somewhere. I have found such peace and serenity in this simple life form that it would be unimaginable to return to your torrid world. I have merged and there is no return. I am at one with the root."
"Please come back Bryant," sobbed Charlotte, "we love you."
"There is another option. Join me," proposed Bryant.
But Gina quickly answered, "No!"
"Silence!" shouted Bryant, "this is my domain. You are merely visitors here."
I watched with shock and horror as the ground beneath Gina sprung to life, growing ivy tendrils about her body which quickly smothered her face. I tried to pull away from the circle but was unable to, fearing for my safety. Suddenly, I realised that the meeting with Bryant was a trap. I knew that he wanted us to join him in this limbo world; to merge with the root. I could tell from the look on Charlotte's face that she would gladly stay here with her son, now that she had recovered him. Pauline on the other hand seemed afraid of him, and was trying to pull free from his grip.
"Come, join us," said Bryant and I began to see the branches grow from his form, stretching along Charlotte and Pauline's arm. His mother remained passive but Pauline struggled and screamed as Bryant tried to merge us with the root. Soon, Charlotte was engulfed by the growing form.
I felt the mass of twigs crawling quickly along my arm, dulling the sense in it. I struggled as my body was engulfed by a mass of growth, which grew over my face and eyes, replacing my skin with bark, my blood with wood sap, my consciousness with only a sense of light, warmth and palpitating energy. The leaves pushed into my mouth, shutting out my call for help. I began to sense the peaceful serenity of being part of the same root. My struggle ended as our minds slowly merged into the one.
Suddenly, I snapped out of it. It was a sensation which made me feel as if I had been torn in half.
"Hey Dan, are you okay?" said Louis, his fat face looking down into mine. I could feel his hand lightly tapping my cheek.
"What happened?" I said groggily, sitting up.
"I heard you call out and pulled you free. What happened?"
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. "I'm not sure," I said, looking around me.
Pauline was sobbing, free from Bryant's hold on her. She stood up and pulled his picture off the wall then tore the canvas apart viciously with her hands. After she had destroyed the picture, she ran out of the room.
Gina sat up and quickly moved over to Bryant where she slapped his face hard. "You bastard!" she shouted but his featureless expression revealed nothing.
Meanwhile, the butler was trying to revive Charlotte. Her hand was still clasped firmly to Bryant's and when he managed to pull it free, she remained catatonic. After a couple of minutes failing to revive her, we called for an ambulance.
I tried to talk to Pauline afterwards but she said that she didn't want to talk about it and left. That was the last I ever saw of her.
Gina seemed shaken. She had experienced roughly the same thing that I did when we discussed it, except the background was different. She was concerned with Charlotte's condition. She told me she'd only made things worse.
I guess she was right. Charlotte never recovered after that night. I visited her in the hospital from time to time. Gina tried to make contact with her but told me she couldn't revive her because she didn't want to return. Being with Bryant was all that Charlotte had ever wanted.
A month later, Charlotte and Bryant died in hospital on the same evening. It happened when the resident surgeon had tried to remove the embedded twig from Bryant's hand. When he cut it free, Bryant's body went into convulsions. Bryant screamed out once and his convulsions subsided. His heartbeat flatlined on the scanners and they were unable to revive him. In the room where they were keeping Charlotte, she cried out at the same moment and died.
Louis had tried to cash the cheque when he'd heard the news but all of Charlotte's accounts had been frozen. I kept mine for nostalgia's sake and added it to my private case folder.
Now, the cheque is old and tattered. Sometimes I take it out and look at Charlotte's intricate writing. I think back to that night in the apartment when I came face to face with Bryant Spelling in that dream-world and wonder what my life would have been like had I become part of the root.