-Collins Gem English Dictionary, 1985.

Isaiah did the driving while Elijah scanned through the file, probably absorbing each typed word and figure in rapid speed. Isaiah had thrown numerous looks from the corner of his eyes at Elijah and saw that never once did Elijah looked up from the files.

He had suggested that they use his car- a brand new Lexus that was soon becoming his new love affair- since Elijah did not own a car. Just like everything else, his car reflects the yearning for some normalcy- for some drastic break away from the life filled with secrets and danger. Three strings of Oriental wind chimes hung from his rear-view mirror, harmonizing in a crystalline symphony each time the car swerved too roughly or stopped too abruptly. A few pastel-colored cushions had fallen onto the floor behind. The culprit of the mess at the back was a gigantic Donald Duck who lorded over the backseat, a present from his beloved Lynn who seemed to be extremely evasive when Love popped into their conversation. His mien turned sour as he remembered the morning’s drive to work.

"So, we’re back…passed Bayport…" Isaiah sped down the highway, the exit sign that said Bayport brought an aching to his heart. That was their hometown, where Elijah was still Lijah and he was still Saiah. He would be Saiah in an instant, had Lijah called out to him. But Elijah was hiding Lijah from the world.

The still figure was still engrossed in the file that had only three pages of nothing inside and a map of Eaeshore. Isaiah shook his head and pressed the button that would roll the window on the his side of the vehicle down. Only with one hand, he managed to take his cigarette out and lighted it. He took a deep puff and the car was soon filled with the pungent; fragrant smell of tobacco leaves and nicotine.

"Put it out." Elijah finally looked up from the file and commanded Isaiah quietly. Isaiah cocked his head towards Elijah’s direction, temporary disrupted and almost swung the car onto the curb, risking more than just scratches and burst tires.

"What?"

"Put it out. Second-hand smoke is bad for human beings. If you want to slowly kill yourself, do it considerately." Elijah seemed weary and at the same time, dripping with sarcasm as he explained. Well, it sounded good to Isaiah. There were emotions- albeit negative ones.

Isaiah did not really want to stop but he obliged. First, he had Lynn giving him third degrees about the evils of the cigarette until he shut his ears and went "Lalalala…" each time she did it. She caught the hint and stopped, but he knew how she felt. He knew she was still pissed each time he took a drag.

Biting down a rude word, Isaiah put out his cigarette in the ashtray of the car and leaned back onto the cool leather seat. The highway drive was becoming much too relaxing. Even with an extremely trying passenger, Isaiah was appreciating the scenery they would have to pass before reaching Eaeshore.

The drive intoxicated Isaiah and he found himself half day-dreaming, riding on a different sort of high- the breeze beating on his face from the open window; the steady speed that made him felt like he was flying.

Elijah did not seemed to be enjoying the ride though- he was still scrutinizing the file.

Realizing that he was approaching the exit too quickly, he cut across three lanes immediately, thankful that the traffic was almost non-existent on that particular stretch. Driving down the exit, the brothers had arrived in the coastal town of Eaeshore after a long, tense ride.

***

The town of Eaeshore was not as bustling as its neighbor Bayport. In fact, it was pretty quaint in its own way. Bayport had been slow to change and development but once it did, there seemed to be no stopping the once sleeping town.

However, Eaeshore stood firm in retaining its identity. That was not to say Bayport did not- just that Eaeshore was more stoic to the changes around it than its sister town. Looking at the dominant Victorian architecture and quiet roads- a rare sight for him- he wondered if the population had even heard of the latest technology like BlueTooth, Wap and Palm.

The streets were not empty on the Saturday evening. The only thing that spelled modernity to Isaiah were the teenagers that littered the sidewalks. He smiled warmly to himself when he saw a middle-aged couple pushing a baby stroller with an inquisitive bundle inside. Old shop houses greeted him, bringing the historian out in him as he basked in the simplicity of the place.

"Hmm…population 40 000. Pretty small…two murders would surely rock it." Isaiah commented to which Elijah only raised his head ever so slightly. Isaiah was getting very used to such one-way exchange. Maybe it was a blessing. He could do a soliloquy- he always wanted to do a soliloquy.

"How do we get to the morgue? I think Grey gave us a map…" Isaiah inquired and Elijah sighed a little and finally put away the files onto the backseat, to accompany good’ ol Donald. Isaiah now realized what Elijah was doing. He was injecting every single detail into his memory cells.

"Turn left at the junction and you’ll hit the main street. Exit left following two more junctions and we’ll be on River Street. Drive on for two more miles and you’ll see the hospital. The morgue is just next to the hospital." Elijah directed Isaiah- his curt and precise directions were extremely useful and clear. Isaiah had no trouble following them. Half and hour later, they were already in the morgue.

***

The morgue stunk of formaldehyde but Elijah was used to it. The nature of his previous stint with FBI made visits to morgues rather frequent. It had not caused him much grief the very first time he visited the place of soulless bodies. He found it fascinating in fact- found the human body- without the substance that kept it animated- a very absorbing subject.

Staring at the subject for the day lying on a metal slab on a table in the middle of the chilly room which was a popular setting for ghost stories, Elijah’s penetrating gaze was scourging the lifeless form, asking it questions that would not be answered- but still he asked it mentally anyway.

Strangely, he felt exceptionally at ease with dead bodies, more so than with live ones. He concluded that it was his nature. Though he had been reticent and alienated from people during stages of his life, he knew most people thought him to be dead, nothing more than just a corpse with a hidden puppeteer.

Dead bodies could not reach out to harm him. He could just look at them and they would not judge, would not sympathize, would not empathize. They were the quintessence of ennui- of Apathy.

In addition, they would not try to find reasons for a person’s behavior, nor act like they knew everything. They would just lay down where they were, eyes closed, tired of the world.

If the coroner and Isaiah were not around, Elijah would not be surprised if he would actually start talking to the girl. In a way, he probably did, for he put on the gloves, swiped out his mini-tape recorder and started examining the body without waiting for any cues from Isaiah. He needed none. He had decided he was ready to start investigating and would need no permission.

Isaiah was still speaking with the Coroner, probably still unprepared for direct contact with the deceased. Elijah probed around and noted that the girl was average in looks by common standards and did not seemed to be sexually assaulted. She had yellow hair that should had been a healthy blond when she was alive. It was already disintegrating and dulled.

"Deceased, female. According to the files, a girl by the name of . No marks on her face. A small incision is found on the right side of her lower neck. Incisions are also found on the carotid and jugular veins…probable cause of death should be excessive loss of blood, unless challenged otherwise." He mumbled into his recorder, observing, memorizing.

"Rope burn marks on her wrists and ankles. Tied up. Could have been drugged owing to the lack of signs of struggles…" He flicked the girl’s left wrist, exposing the underside and a deep gash across the purple vein that no longer flowed with abundant life-giving blood.

"Left wrist slit with a serrated blade. Jagged edges instead of a smooth slash."

He did the same with the right wrist.

"Same with the right wrist."

Isaiah walked over to him then and cocked his head towards the corpse. "Anything of interest?"

"She was bled. The four main veins all slit to let the blood flow. No struggles. Taken by surprised or drugged. Maybe someone she knew and trusted." Elijah spoke monotonously as he always had. But he was thinking, or trying to think. Yet, his thoughts were all about nothing but Death.

Isaiah took in all he said and nodded before shutting his eyes and his eyes furrowed in deep concentration and suddenly, an uncanny sadness veiled his mien.

Elijah studied his brother, pondering over what could Isaiah be doing. Recalling, he knew Isaiah, when he was child, had an almost bottomless well of empathy. However, he did not ask. It was not his business, no matter how strangely curious he was.

"Not enough. We need to go on with something more." Isaiah revealed the emerald gems after that short contemplation in which he looked like he was on another plane of existence. He looked at the body with some remorse and heaviness. Elijah stared at the man who was related to him by blood, thinking that Isaiah was much too overly involved with someone who was already gone.

Isaiah twisted his head towards Elijah and smiled grimly. Elijah concluded that Isaiah was too affected by deaths and should not be in this line. Something must had spurred him. But it would not be the lure of money. Logical deduction told Elijah it was definitely not for the same reason that he had.

Which was just to work in a place which could train his mind and not be too routine; ordinary. Besides the pay would keep him alive of course. The salary to buy him sustenance and provide a roof over his head.

"Where is the body found?" Isaiah enquired in a grave tone.

"Near the dumpster behind her hostel block. The garbage collector found her."

"Let’s go then." Isaiah indicated to the exit of the morgue with a swipe of his head. Elijah let Isaiah moved on first. After giving the dead girl one final glance, he turned around and treaded on the path his brother took.

***

The back dumpster of a graying hostel block in Eaeshore College was cordoned off and guarded by a portly officer with a too protruding gut. It was where they found the body, but not where the girl was murdered. Remembering what Elijah had told him, Isaiah noticed at once that the site was too clean.

A faint sense of something disturbing hit him. Like someone was trying to scream but could not. Isaiah closed his eyes so he could ‘see’ inwardly. That was his gift. He did wonder at times- when the feelings got too intense, when the silhouette visions he had only frustrated him and most disconcerting such that he could not even breathe- if God was playing a joke on him.

However, in times like these, knowing his gift could help, or at least seek some justice, he strove to make sure he utilized it well.

The ‘gift’ fully materialize when he was fifteen, having ran home from school one day because he thought he saw his mother fall from some height in his waking dream which was not really a dream because he could control himself- he could move in the visions. A sudden fear seized him and he just had to skip classes immediately to be by his mother’s side. Déjà vu rushed through him when he saw his mother on the floor, writhing in pain because she fell from the ladder and sprained her ankle badly.

A charismatic Christian friend of his whom he confided in told him it was the gift of foresight. Isaiah had strove to be as good a Christian as he could, influenced deeply by his ‘re-born’ mother and also because he really felt His presence once when he was fourteen. He could not explain- he could only believe. Studying the Bible only strengthened that belief. He thought he had felt Truth.

It was exactly a year later since the touch when the vision about his mother’s fall came to him. In a way, he did not feel proud or embarrassed by it. He simply told his mom that he saw her falling and somehow, she did not doubt him.

She told him he did not cry when he was born. That he simply looked around and seemed at ease. Right then, she knew he was special. She told him whatever gift he was given, that he must use it for good and not bad. That he must always try his best to be the person he was created to be. A beautiful person, like everybody else and yet unique, like everybody else.

The visions did not come again until he started working for the NYPD, guided to the job only by his sixth sense. Three cases were solved because he felt in sync with the killer’s mind. Four cases were solved because his visions provided clues. Numerous cases were cracked very much because of his senses.

He had always been a melancholic person, his childhood or lack of it affected him even until this day. The horrors he had seen during his stint with the NYPD and his new, on-going job frightened him and left him rather disenchanted sometimes about the goodness that was supposed to be in everyone’s heart.

But he walked on because he felt his calling. He knew his purpose. He had hope and he definitely still had love, his own and what was given to him. He knew he was not perfect, he had his weaknesses and his sins. As he grew up, he sometimes questioned God’s purpose but not His existence. Yet, His comforting touch would always come to him and he would still be unable to explain, only believe. A comforting touch that made the cross he was carrying not a burden, but a joy. A comforting touch that gave him hope, love and forgiveness.

The visions and the senses would not always come of course. Only in some cases- out of many- did any visions came. Senses were more common, however he still found it a little difficult at times to decipher between his own paranoia and those there were true. So, sometimes he could be wrong.

Quite a number of times, he was just dead right.

Someone touched him on the shoulders and it was only then he realized how close Elijah was standing behind him. Doing an about turn, he saw Elijah’s stately mien. Elijah was so near him that when he spoke, his breath which hit Isaiah’s face smelt of fresh mint.

"You’re blocking the way."

True enough, Isaiah was hindering Elijah from passing through the only opening to the crime scene since the area was fully cordoned. Uncannily chastised, Isaiah moved away to one side and with that same surprising speed, grace and stealth, Elijah went for the chalk outline of the body’s placement.

Isaiah closed his eyes again. The feeling had passed. Now, he only felt emptiness.