First and Only (22 page)

A face of wrath was long
remembered; a smile was soon forgot.

Lucifer continued up the aisle
towards the exit.

*

‘Aren’t you nervous?’ asked Steve
as they crossed the quadrangle and approached the entrance to the lecture hall.

‘Nope,’ said Psimon, taking hold
of the door and holding it open for Steve.

Psimon’s optimism had persisted
through the night. He had greeted Steve that morning with a cheerful air that
Steve found more than a little uncomfortable. He preferred the old Psimon, the
unsettling Psimon, the always slightly melancholy Psimon.

Steve gave Psimon a sideways look
as he went through into the lecture hall’s foyer.

‘Two?’ enquired a man sitting
behind a long wooden counter.

‘Just one,’ said Psimon, before
Steve had a chance to speak. ‘I’ll be taking the stand.’

‘Jolly good,’ said the man,
reaching for a nearby clipboard. ‘Have you registered?’ asked the man eagerly.

‘Yes,’ said Psimon.

‘Name?’ asked the man.

‘Psimon,’ said Psimon.

The man glanced down the short
list of names.

‘Ah yes,’ he said, ticking off
Psimon’s name. ‘You’re sixth on the list.’

The man handed Psimon a small
card.

‘Give this to Natasha,’ he said,
pointing through the door into the hall. ‘She will show you where to sit and
invite you onto the stage if you get a chance to speak.’

‘If he gets a chance?’ queried
Steve.

‘Depends how quickly we get through
the speakers,’ the man explained. ‘Each speaker has the opportunity to
introduce themselves before facing the audience and the panel of experts. They
can speak for as long as they like or until the audience votes them off.’

‘And why would the audience vote
them off?’ asked Steve.

‘If they are not impressed by
their performance,’ said the man as if this were common knowledge.

Psimon met Steve’s raised eyebrow
with a bright, unapologetic smile.

They had arrived early for the
debate. Sam Delaney, ‘Sports Psychic’, had just finished his talk and the hall
was slowly emptying of people. They stood to one side as a group of people
emerged from the exit and passed through the foyer. Then Psimon and Steve went
through into the hall.

They passed through a small
anteroom, the walls of which were lined with mirrors, and on into the main
lecture hall where the seats rose up in a broad semicircle around the stage.

Natasha met them as they entered
the hall. Psimon gave her a dazzling smile and held out his ticket. Steve
rolled his eyes as he noticed the affect this had on the young woman.

‘This way,’ she said, blushing
and smiling in return as she led Psimon away towards the left-hand aisle.

Steve stood there, feeling
somewhat at a loss, until Psimon looked back and nodded at him to take a seat.
Steve glanced down the aisle looking for somewhere to sit. People were still
leaving their seats. Most were talking quietly as they left but one group was
laughing and noisily carrying on. They were all big, solid men.

‘
Rugby players,
’ thought
Steve. Probably Sam Delaney’s own team, come to give their ‘psychic coach’ a
hard time.

Steve looked across the hall at
Psimon. Even in these innocuous surroundings he felt uncomfortable being
separated from Psimon. This was the final day of their contract and despite
Psimon’s positive transformation Steve still believed there was something of
substance behind his fears. As he descended the shallow steps down the middle
of the hall Steve’s eyes followed Psimon as Natasha led him down the left-hand
aisle to a bank of chairs to one side of the stage.

‘Sorry,’ said Steve, distractedly
as he almost collided with a man and woman who seemed to be talking excitedly
about the validity of Mr Delaney’s ideas.

‘Sorry,’ Steve said again as he
bumped hard into another member of the departing audience.

Steve glanced up at the figure
who had stopped him in his tracks.

The guy was massive, several
inches taller than Steve and, even in his smart blue suit, Steve could see that
he was built like the proverbial ‘brick shit-house’.

‘Sorry,’ Steve repeated as he
stepped round the man.

The big guy said nothing. He
didn’t seem the least bit inclined to move out of Steve’s way but he smiled as
Steve edged round him. It was the smile of a charming man; a man with obvious,
if somewhat ‘Neanderthal’, good looks. But Steve was not reassured, for the
smile never came near the man’s eyes, eyes that were so dark they were almost
black.

‘Fucking rugby players,’ cursed
Steve as he squeezed past.

He looked up to check on Psimon
who had just put a hand to his head as if to ease a headache or a moment’s
dizziness. Natasha helped him to a chair and put a hand on his knee. Steve
worked his way into a row of chairs near the front of the auditorium. He shook
his head at Psimon’s dramatics.

‘
She’s already interested
,’
he thought. ‘
No need to play the sympathy card
.’

But when Psimon raised his head,
Steve grew more concerned. There was a familiar haunted look in his eyes. It
seemed the fleeting levity of Psimon’s rosy outlook had come to an end.

‘Are you all right?’ Steve
mouthed the words.

For a few seconds Psimon just
looked at him uncertainly. Steve was about to rise from his seat when Psimon
waved him down.

‘I’m okay,’ he mouthed back.

The shadow had passed.

Lucifer had left the building.

Steve was actually enjoying this.
The panel consisted of a clergyman, a scientist, a magician-come-illusionist
and a psychologist who had spent many years researching the way ‘psychics’
performed their so-called supernatural feats. They were all intelligent and
well informed and none of them had that unpleasant edge of superciliousness
that often plagued the detractors of the psychic world.

And up against them came the
psychics, the clairvoyants, the mediums and the rest…

The first guy had been more
comedian than psychic and had been hugely entertaining until the clergyman had
caught him out with a clever piece of logic.

The clergyman had led the
applause as the comedian left the stage.

Next came a man who claimed to be
able to speak to the dead. But when the psychologist gave a more impressive
performance than the would-be medium, the poor man had nothing else to say.

The clairvoyant made some
impressive claims and dire prophecies for the future but as there was no way to
prove or disprove what she was saying, the audience lost patience and sent her
packing.

The fourth pretender was a spoon
bender and clock mender, firmly in the mould of the great Uri Geller but the
illusionist showed the audience how such trickery was accomplished and Uri had
only one place to go.

Another medium then, who claimed
to be able to speak not just to the spirits of the dead but also to animals and
babies who had passed away without ever being able to talk. Despite her
impressive list of satisfied clients she had been unable to pass a simple
challenge set her by the psychologist.

‘Only those who want to come
through will do,’ she had protested as the audience invited her to leave.

And then it was Psimon’s turn.

Steve shifted anxiously in his
seat as Psimon crossed to the lectern in the middle of the stage. He looked at
Steve and gave him the smallest of smiles as if to settle the former-soldier’s
nerves. Then Psimon lifted his eyes to the expectant faces.

‘Hello,’ he said in a quiet
steady voice. ‘My name is Psimon… and I am psychic.’

Steve looked up at Psimon with a
mixture of pride and embarrassment. It was like watching a psychic version of
Alcoholics Anonymous.

‘Hello Psimon,’ said the
clergyman. ‘Can you tell us what makes you think that you are psychic?’

‘The fact that I am,’ replied
Psimon to a ripple of soft laughter.

‘But what abilities do you
possess?’ asked the scientist.

‘Many,’ said Psimon. ‘Chose one
and I’ll tell you if I can do it.’

The scientist sat back in his
chair raising a contemplative hand to his chin. This softly spoken young man
displayed none of the ego and self-aggrandisement that most of the other
speakers had. But it was clear that he had already captured the attention of
the audience.

‘Can you talk to the dead?’ asked
the scientist.

‘No,’ said Psimon.

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Psimon.
‘But I believe it’s because the dead no longer exist, other than as corpses in
the ground, and in the memories of those left behind.’

The scientist seemed entirely
satisfied with this answer but there were mutterings of disapproval from
amongst the audience.

‘Can you read people’s minds?’
asked the psychologist.

‘Yes,’ said Psimon.

‘Can you read my mind?’

‘Yes,’ said Psimon.

The psychologist raised his
eyebrows at this bold claim and the murmurs from the audience grew louder as
they began to realise that there was something different going on here.

The psychologist bent down and
retrieved a large brown envelope from the briefcase beside his chair.

‘In this envelope is a picture,’
the psychologist announced to the audience holding up the envelope with more
than a touch of showmanship. ‘Not a picture of a cross or a moon or a boat
sailing across a wavy sea.’

He looked meaningfully at the
audience. They knew exactly what he was talking about. They had all seen such
feats repeated by countless clairvoyants.

‘This is a picture that it would
be almost impossible to guess.’

Here he looked directly at
Psimon.

‘Now,’ he went on. ‘I’m going to
hold an image of this picture in my mind and you can either have a stab at guessing
what it is… or you can leave the stage now and save yourself the embarrass…’

‘It’s a picture of Leonardo da
Vinci’s giant crossbow firing an arrow at the world,’ said Psimon, cutting
across the psychologist. ‘Only the arrow is a pen and the world is actually a
human skull with the countries cut away to reveal the brain inside.’

The psychologist almost dropped
the envelope. His mouth sagged open and he could only stare at Psimon. The
audience waited with baited breath for him to open the envelope which, with
trembling hands, he duly did.

‘
Child’s play
,’ thought
Steve as the auditorium echoed to the sound of astonished gasps and
enthusiastic applause. ‘
Give him a real challenge
.’

‘How did you do that?’ asked the
psychologist in a breathless whisper.

‘I have no idea,’ said Psimon as
the noise in the hall subsided. ‘All I know is it’s as clear in my mind as it
is in yours.’

‘Can you read anyone’s mind?’
shouted someone from the audience.

‘Just about,’ said Psimon with a
quick glance at Steve.

‘What about mine?’ someone else
called out… ‘And mine,’ said another.

‘Wait, wait… just a minute,’ said
the scientist, rising from his seat and appealing to everyone to calm down.
‘How do we know you didn’t set this up with Martin?’ he gestured towards the
psychologist who was still quite obviously stunned by Psimon’s performance.

‘A true scientist,’ said Psimon
with a small smile on his lips. ‘Do you always demand proof?’

‘Not when it’s a matter of
opinion or belief,’ replied the scientist. ‘But when it’s a matter of fact,
yes... I do.’

Psimon acknowledged this answer
with a respectful nod. Then his eyes suddenly fixed on the man and the audience
watched as the scientist first gaped in surprise then blushed to the roots of
his thinning blonde hair.

‘Is that proof enough?’ asked
Psimon reining in his gaze.

‘Yes,’ gasped the scientist. He
sat down heavily in his chair and looked up into the audience, to an attractive
woman sitting near the back of the hall; his face a picture of anxiety.

‘Don’t worry about impressing
her,’ said Psimon gently. ‘She’s already fallen in love with you.’

The audience laughed as the
scientist blushed all over again but the beginnings of an astonished smile
showed that no damage had been done.

Psimon turned back to the
entranced faces of the audience. There were a few moments of bewildered silence
and then the avalanche of questions began.

*

Lucifer was waiting beneath the
vaulted skeleton of a willow tree. Waiting for the ridiculous debate to be over
and for the heretic healer to begin her sermon and seal her fate. He had seen
her arrive, this bride of speciousness; seen the fawns and the sycophants vying
for her favour. He had seen her enter the hall by the door reserved for the
privileged few. He would see her soon and watch with constraint as she
condemned herself and left him no choice but to take her.

Lucifer looked ahead to her
confession, to the humbling, the question, the cleansing and the end… the end
of all her lies. He would take his time with her. The last one had not followed
the rightful order of the mass ordained by the chorus. He would make sure she
knew the glory of pain before he took the breath of life from her sobbing
lungs.

Lucifer’s spirits lifted in
anticipation of the rite to come but his expectancy was interrupted by a
growing hubbub from people milling around in the quadrangle between the various
rooms and halls.

Lucifer widened his perception
and listened to what was being said.

‘That’s what they’re saying.’

‘Bullshit!’

‘Straight up… This guy’s the real
thing.’

‘…The scientist called his
bluff.’

‘Yeah but he shot him down… spoke
directly into his mind.’

‘A genuine psychic.’

‘Let’s go and see.’

‘Can we still get in?’

‘It’s this one over here… the
psychic debate.’