Dead To Me

Again, Davidson pointed randomly into the sea of media. “Yes?”

This time the camera settled on a young woman with glasses. “What about the eyewitnesses on the sidewalk who claim they actually saw this apparition pass right through another person?”

The camera quickly cut back to Davidson and the practiced smile was already back in place.Cool as a cucumber, I thought again.Ice water in your veins, buddy.

“Look, the Village and the people who live there are some of the most…colorful in the City. I’m not surprised to hear an eyewitness account like that. It is New York City, after all! I recently had someone stop me in Washington Square Park to tell me how the squirrels were plotting a coup d’йtat against the Department of Parks.”

The crowd rippled with laughter. The camera switched back to the female reporter as she dug into a large bag hanging off her shoulder and pulled free a stack of photos.

“What about these photos a tourist took of the incident? They clearly show something distinctly spectral-”

Davidson cut her off. “Double-exposed film or merely a trick whipped up on the computer.”

I watched uncomfortably as the camera stayed with the reporter. She tucked the photos under her arm and began rummaging through the bag once more. This time she produced a small clay pot filled with a jellylike substance, just like the ones we had found last night. “What about this? Some sort of residue left by the manifestation?”

I knew the stuff well. I had rolled around in it last night.

Damn,I thought,physical evidence. Surely that would throw Davidson, but when the camera switched back, I was relieved to see his unfazed smile.

“Miss,” he said, “I just have to say…you’re a brave young woman for scraping anything up off the streets of Manhattan.”

The crowd roared with laughter and I was pretty sure that he was in the clear. Davidson held his smile for a few moments before the camera pulled close in on his face.

“Look. We’ve been over this type of situation before and my answers are still the same. Time and time again, the Mayor’s Office would like to state for the record that there is no government body that handles any sort of ‘paranormal’ investigations. His Honor is a practicing Catholic, and as such, he refuses to give credence to rumors of endorsement for any program that encourages a belief in life after death or the supernatural, unless it is in an appropriately monotheistic ma

“Simon,” croaked an elderly voice from the back of the coffee shop. It was Mrs. Teasley and her voice sounded roughly like the creaking of well-worn leather. “Is that nice young man Davidson helping us out again?”

“Yes, Mrs. T, I suspect he is.”

I rarely entered the cafй without finding the plump, pleasant woman with her kind face and always-present tabby cat seated somewhere at the back of the Lovecraft’s main room. Mrs. Teasley supposedly possessed the gift of telling the future by reading leftover coffee grounds from the morning brew at the Lovecraft. I had seen her powers at work only once, but it had taken a great deal of interpretation on my part to make any sort of sense of her vision. The old mystic had told Co

I turned to see Co

He spotted me by the television, and headed over as he tried to wipe the out-of-place goofy grin from his face. He took a seat across from me in a ghastly purple chair covered in a paisley print that I bet even the seventies had rejected. He gave a nod to the punker behind the counter, who began whipping up Co

“Hey, kid,” Co

“Morning,” I said. “I see the Stripes noticed your badge of honor.”

He tugged the streak of white in his hair. “If I had known how many free drinks this thing was go

I smiled at that but remained silent. Maybe it was vanity, but I hadn’t quite made up my mind where I stood on the hazinglike esteem that was part of the White Stripes clique. It smacked of elitism, and I didn’t see how it fit here on Team Good.

Hoping to change the subject, I motioned toward the television. “Davidson was just talking about how last night’s eventdidn’t happen.”

“Tell my stripe that,” Co

“At least we made the news,” I said with an optimistic shrug.

The counter jockey arrived and handed an iced coffee to Co

Co

“I promised you a beverage if we survived last night,” I said. “Remember?”

Co

“Davidson was just on TV. One of the reporters held up one of those clay pots we found. I guess Haunts-General didn’t do that great a job cleaning up the scene.”

“Not our concern, kid,” Co

As I took a hearty swig of my coffee, my eyes caught those of the attractive brunette across from me and the two of us stared at each other. A notable awkward silence stretched out and it was only when Co

“Whatcha got for me, boss?”

Co

“It’s a PEZ dispenser,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Case solved then, isn’t it, Poirot?” he said, brushing his hands together as if wiping them clean. He pointed to the television, where Dave Davidson was still press-conferencing away. “Let’s just close up shop and put him out of a job denying that the Department of Extraordinary Affairs even exists, shall we, kid?”

“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious,” I said with retaliatory testiness. I flicked the marred and unidentifiable head of the dispenser back, the empty candy clip mocking me with its lack of PEZy goodness. At one time the dispenser might have had a cartoon character or the mask of a superhero for its hinged top, but with age, the identity had been worn away. Just another mystery on top of Co

“You tell me,” Co

I knew this was just another little challenge meant to help me cha

I thought about refusing, just getting up and heading off to my backlog of paperwork and mountain of forms back at my desk. Deep down, though, I knew that random exercises like this were good for my training.

I wrapped my hand around the object and focused the entirety of my concentration. I felt it wash over the tiny plastic toy as my eyes glazed over. I opened up a closed-off section of my mind.

Mrs. Teasley cleared her throat at the back of the coffeehouse and my concentration broke. I had come to know that sound all too well during the past few months. One of her half-baked visions was coming through, and since there was no getting around Mrs. Teasley having her say, I simply waited. She kept her eyes focused intently on the pile of soggy coffee grounds spread out on the table before her, not once looking up. “Simon, dear, I think you ought to know…”