Overheard in a Dream (28 page)

“But this guy wasn’t simply someone making a few bucks off the gullible. He had also predicted a great human conflict in which only the most highly evolved beings would survive. The Voices, naturally, knew who the select would be, and they had decreed that the Prophet had been chosen to be the new spiritual leader in North America who would provide guidance to people through the dark time. Eventually he would lead them to create a new world, known as the New Atlantis.”

Laura laughed good-naturedly. “I know it sounds ridiculous. But you know how these cults can start. All you need is one charismatic nutter preaching the end is nigh, and there you are.

“Anyway, it didn’t bother me at all that the Prophet had these weird, grandiose ideas. If anything, it made him seem exotic and enigmatic, more like someone from Torgon’s world than our own. I very much wanted to meet him. I also knew that eventually I would need his endorsement if I was to continue using my own ‘powers’ with the group.

“Despite Robin’s prediction, however, the Prophet never made any effort to contact me. According to people in the Tuesday night group, he tended to just drop in on them unannounced occasionally and that was no doubt what would happen, but I had been going for almost three months by that point and he had still never shown up. Nor did he make himself known to me in any other way. There wasn’t the slightest indication that he was even aware of my existence.

“In the end I decided that if the mountain wouldn’t come to Mohammed, then Mohammed was just going to have to go
to the mountain. After a bit of investigation, I discovered the Prophet used a private room at an exclusive health club near the city centre to give psychic readings. So I called for an appointment. There was a three-week waiting list. Moreover, what he charged for a fifteen-minute reading would have bought my groceries for two weeks.

“I didn’t want anyone in the Tuesday night group to know what I was planning to do, certainly not Alec, and I didn’t want to give the Prophet any advantage, so I made the booking in Tiffany’s name instead of my own. Then I waited, curious. And curiously excited.

When I got to the health club, I remember being greeted very courteously by this young woman at the front desk. I can even recall what she was wearing – this blue and white outfit that made her look like a stewardess. She led me through the area where all the weight equipment was and then opened a door to a staircase. ‘That way,’ she said and pointed downward while remaining on the landing herself. I remember feeling unexpectedly nervous and wishing she’d come with me.

“At the foot of the stairs there was a very large room with a low ceiling and stucco-textured walls. The floor was covered with a deep shag pile carpet in the most startling St Patrick’s Day green. The health club was built on a slope, so despite the fact that I had entered at street-level upstairs and come downstairs, this room was at ground level in the back. Early evening sunlight was slanting in through floor-to-ceiling windows on that side and it gave the carpet a vibrant aliveness, as if it were real grass, but at the same time, it made the rest of the room feel squashed because of the low ceiling. The entire room was completely empty except for the far corner, distant from the windows. There the Prophet sat behind a flimsy-looking
table. The only other piece of furniture was a chair opposite him for the client.

“He remained seated behind the table and I was keenly aware of how much more easily he was able to size me up as I crossed the vast space than I was him. I tried to stride confidently. He watched me closely. I watched him watching me.

“As I came up to the table, he rose to his feet and reached out to shake my hand. With a name like Fergus I’d been expecting a tall, ruddy-haired Celt, some kind of William Wallace or Rob Roy. In fact, he was no taller than I was and looked Latino to me. Loose black curls fell down over his collar and two or three days’ growth of stubble gave rebellious virility to his features. He wore cream-coloured safari-type clothes, the kind with all the pockets, and this, along with his stylish shaggy hair and dark looks, gave him the aura of Che Guevara. A very handsome Che Guevara, I might add. All the information I’d had about the Prophet, and no one had mentioned he was drop-dead gorgeous, but he was. It broke my concentration.

“The allure was in his eyes. They were dark and deep and had this magnetic vitality to them that enabled him to effortlessly fix you to the spot. Very gently. You only ever realized afterwards that he had sapped your will.

“‘Hello,’ he said in a soft, honeyed voice. He shook my hand firmly. Then he sat down and gestured that I do likewise. Folding his arms on the table, he leaned forward towards me. ‘So, how can I help you?’”

Laura smiled. “I was struck dumb. It’s not too much of an exaggeration to say it was love at first sight. All I could focus on were those melting brown eyes, so dark they looked black in that low light. No mystery here why so many women were parting with serious money to have fifteen minutes of his
undivided attention. Two weeks of groceries meant nothing in comparison.

“He was unperturbed with my silence. He just said again with almost hypnotic slowness, ‘How can I help you?’

“I said, ‘I just wanted to see you.’

“He nodded gently and smiled. ‘Very good. And why is that? There’s something you’d like to discuss.’ This last wasn’t a question. He was still studying my face intently. I grew aware of the sustained eye contact and found it hard to keep up. I lowered my head.

“‘You have a problem you’d like some help with?’ he asked sweetly. He smiled but kept up the unflinching gaze.

“I found it impossible to look at him. I couldn’t get my thoughts to organize, which was a weird sensation. They were there, but I couldn’t pull them together into coherence. All I could really think about was how handsome he was, how masculine, and, oddly, how good he smelled. It wasn’t a scent. Not like aftershave or anything. Just him. Just this warm male odour.

“He stretched his palms, upward, out across the table. ‘Here, give me your hands.’

“I held them out. Taking them in his, the Prophet held them in his open palms and regarded them before slowly closing his fingers over them. His skin was startlingly hot. ‘You’re going to be famous,’ he said, still looking down at his hands, holding mine. ‘You’re going to be very famous indeed.’

“This broke the spell, because I laughed out loud. ‘What a great psychic chat-up line’, I was thinking.

“The Prophet looked up in surprise. ‘I’m mistaken?’ He seemed slightly taken aback. ‘I can’t be. I read it very strongly. Are you famous already, then?’

“‘Hardly.’

“‘Ah, but you will be.’ He had regained his confidence. ‘I sense many people knowing who you are. Communication figures very strongly. TV, perhaps? Because I sense you communicating with millions.’

“Withdrawing my hands, I sat back and smiled. ‘I bet you tell all the girls that.’

“It was his turn to laugh then, and he did, heartily. ‘Ah, a sceptic.’ He laughed again. ‘I love your kind.’ Then abruptly, mid-laugh, he stopped. His gaze grew intent. He searched my face.

“This time I kept eye contact. Torgon came into my mind.
There are small necessities one must learn, the Seer had said, that others might recognize you are holy. Never look away first. The lowering of eyes is for those lesser than yourself
.

“‘You are not who you say you are,’ the Prophet said in a quiet voice.

“I held his gaze.

“His eyes narrowed, as if trying to see me from a great distance. ‘Who are you?’

“His gaze grew so intense that I started feeling uncomfortable in an odd sort of way. In the muted light of that corner of the room, his eyes appeared absolutely black.

“‘Who
are
you?’ he asked again, his voice barely audible. ‘I sense the presence of another. Shimmering around you. Enveloping you in its light. Becoming you … becoming separate … becoming you.’

“Instantly, I thought, ‘
He’s seeing Torgon
’, and the weirdest sensation went through me, like a shake of ice shards falling inside my body. I physically shuddered. ‘I’m Laura,’ I whispered.

“When I said that, the Prophet bounced forward in surprise and his chair banged against the table, shattering the eerie moment.

“‘
You’re
Laura?’ he asked with undisguised surprise, his honeyed voice gone into hoarse astonishment. ‘
You’re
Laura? Oh my God, really? Alec’s friend?’

“‘Yes.’

“Falling back into his chair, he let his shoulders sag in an expression of utter disbelief. ‘Why didn’t I know?’ he cried out. ‘Shit! And I’ve been waiting for you for so long.
Shit
. God. I’m so overwhelmed.’

“I was feeling overwhelmed myself but with something darker. How could he have detected Torgon? What was he doing? The preceding few minutes had been so intense and so weird that I couldn’t take this sudden lightness in.

He smiled broadly. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

“‘How do you mean?’ I asked.

“‘I
knew
you were the one. They told me it would be you. They said, when I called you, you’d come.’

“‘Who are they?’

“‘The Voices.’

Confused, I just stared at him.

“‘I brought you here, Laura. I called you. You may think you came of your own accord, but I called you, with my mind. And you came because you heard me.’

I just sat there. Because what could I say? I didn’t know. I didn’t even know what to say to myself at that moment. I stumbled to my feet and said, ‘I have to go.’ Lifting up my handbag, I began to take out payment for the session.

“‘Oh no, no, no,’ he said, waving off the money. ‘You keep that. I’d never take money from you.’ He grinned knowingly.

“Still overwhelmed, I shook his hand, then turned and started towards the door.

“‘Oh, and Laura?’ he said after me.

“I paused and turned to look at him.

“‘You
will
be famous.’”

W
hen the session was over and Laura had left, James went over to the filing cabinet and pulled out the bottom drawer. It was easy to see how the lure of attention and real-life friends had proved too much for this lonely, isolated girl and Torgon-the-imaginary-companion began to fade into the shadows of Torgon-the-spirit-guide.

James was curious, however, about the “real” Torgon. Laura had still been writing about her, even while channelling the fake Torgon. He paged through the thick file of stories, each carefully dated, to see which ones corresponded with the year Laura was twenty-three.

“
Four turns of the moon and I haven’t talked to you a single time,” Mogri said
.

Leaning forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, Torgon covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry, but it has been going ill for me.
”

“Aye, I can tell. Has there been winter sickness among you at the compound?”

“No, it is the old man. He has fallen into a deathly sleep. His spirit left his body to dwell among the dead some weeks ago, but his body has refused to follow. He must be cleaned and fed like a suckling babe, but there is no reward for it. He never wakes.”

“Surely you don’t do these things,” Mogri said. “What of the holy women
?”

“They do much of it, but all his holy tasks fall to me. I must now be the Seer and the benna both. And I feel Dwr would have me spend some time in the old man’s presence, so I bring his food to him.”

“Remember Old Grandfather?” Mogri said. “So it was the same with him. He similarly fell into a deathly sleep and his body followed soon enough of its own accord. Comfort yourself meanwhile with thoughts of Ansel, for now his coming isn’t far.”

Mogri looked over and grinned. “And he is so blessed with manly looks, Torgon. You are a lucky one! Fill your time now with dreams of how he’ll touch you. I know I would, that’s for sure!”

At this, Torgon smiled slightly. Crossing her arms over her knees, she rested her head on them
.

“Look how tired you look,” Mogri said and reached a hand out to stroke her sister’s hair back
.

“Do you think it’s tiredness? Or am I simply looking old?” Torgon asked. “This gives me worry. I’ve passed twenty-nine summers, Mogri. I am no longer young. Look. Lines have come across my forehead.” She leaned over to show Mogri. “I’ve wasted all my youth on his aged father. I fear now that Ansel will not wish me for his holy mate. He
is
handsome and might not want someone whose looks don’t equal his.”

“I wouldn’t worry. You’re comely yet, and from what I’ve heard, Ansel beds happily with any who are willing. And even a few who aren’t.”

“I’ve heard the same, but that’s just the rutting fever, Mogri. I speak of the holy union. Once it’s made, it can’t be broken. He won’t be bedding any others then.”

“He’s waited a longer time than you to marry. By his age, he won’t want youth from you. He’ll only want a mother for his unborn children.” She smiled again. “Just think of his lovely curls and beard. And of the many pretty children he will give you. His kind breeds well. No doubt his manroot is as handsome as his face.”

Lowering her head, Torgon nodded
.