The Secret of Excalibur

The Secret of Excalibur

Sahara Foley

Copyright (C) 2014 Sahara Foley

Layout Copyright (C) 2014 by Creativia

Published 2014 by Creativia

eBook design by Creativia (www.creativia.org)

ISBN 978-952-7114-59-9 (mobi), 978-952-7114-60-5 (paperback)

Cover art by Viladesign.net

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

The Institute of Psychic Research, London, England - 1987

“I have no idea why you get so adamant about this, Dr. Tober,” says a tall, thin woman, wearing a white lab coat and a conservative, gray, pinstriped skirt with matching expensive pumps. Arms loosely crossed, lips pursed, she's peering down at a man who has large, soft brown eyes, made bigger by the coke-bottle lenses of his glasses.

“As I've told you before, Dr. Burns,” the older doctor impatiently explains, “having several psychic abilities is theoretical. We've never found clinical evidence a person can have more than one paranormal ability. And the few people we've found with only one ability are sad specimens indeed.”

“Commander Dobie seems perfectly satisfied with the results from Williams and Halvorson,” the lady says with a trace of annoyance in her soft, cultured voice. She's toying with a man's gold wedding band threaded on a gold necklace around her neck. “And after all, he's in charge of the Institute, sir.”

“Yes, quite, Doctor, as he's so fond of reminding me.” Adjusting his glasses, he picks up some reports and heads towards a door. “Should anyone need me, I'll be in my office.”

With a heavy sigh, Dr. Burns strides stiffly to her workstation and sits, crossing her long, thoroughbred legs. Picking up a gold-plated pen with well-manicured, soft pink fingernails, she starts doodling on a yellow legal pad.

Another voice quietly reprimands her from the far corner of the room. “Ruth, you shouldn't keep reminding Dr. Tober about Commander Dobie. You know how upset he becomes over bureaucrats and their paperwork.” This man is short and round, also wearing a white lab coat that makes him resemble a giant cotton ball. He has curly blond hair and sparkling, periwinkle eyes. Waddling to her workstation, he continues, “I can understand your place here, the pressure of trying to find the perfect specimen, when we very well know if such people truly were alive, we'd never know of their existence.”

“Yes, Gordy,” she agrees with a soft, dejected sigh. “And any person we did find, would have so much psychic power he couldn't possibly be controlled, not by us anyway.”

* * *

For the past half hour I've been hanging around, invisible, eavesdropping on the doctors. I call this trick my 'Almost Mode'. Learning this ability took weeks of practice and resulted in some embarrassing moments. It's surprising what happens when a person materializes among a group of people. I've caused ear screeching screams to drop-dead faints and a few times, even mild coronaries. Let's not forget the people who wet themselves over the least provocation.

* * *

“Do you ever feel as though we're wasting our time here?” She's still doodling on the yellow legal pad, looking as if she'd lost her best friend.

“If I felt like that, I'd have left the Institute years ago,” Gordy says, leaning one round buttock against her table top. “Think of the specimens we have found so far. Not just Williams and Halverson, but the others who showed one type of the phenomena or another.”

“I know, but each year it's harder to obtain funding, and after twelve years, all I have to show for our research is several hundred miles of computer tapes.” With a slight, elegant shrug she adds, “Oh, and a few tons of paperwork in boxes no one cares about. Our lack of results is rather depressing sometimes.”

Toddling to a cabinet, her lab partner pulls out a folder. “I remember a few years ago a young woman very excited about this man.” He plops the manila folder on the table in front of her.

“But I was only twenty-two,” she explains, ignoring the closed folder, “and Uri was my first contact with the phenomena.”

“Yes, but certainly not your last,” he replies, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Ruth glances up at Gordy with a thoughtful frown. “Do you think it's possible for a person to have more than one psychic ability?”

Picking up the ignored file with stubby fingers, he slides it back into the drawer. “Do you remember Mrs. Holmquist?” Twirling the wedding band on her necklace, his unhappy coworker reluctantly nods. “Then, you should remember, for a brief span, how many psychic tendencies she exhibited.”

With a sigh of exasperation, she rises from her chair, glides gracefully to a hot-plate and pours steaming water into a monogrammed mug, then adds a tea bag and sugar. Talking over her shoulder, she disputes, “Yes Gordy, but she was a fluke, and you know it.”

“Call her what you will Ruth, but for three weeks, we had our hands full with that woman,” Gordy reminds her, following her to the hot-plate.

“I remember. I still have the paperwork.” She takes her steaming mug and returns to her workstation, trailing behind her a faint scent of herbal tea. “But if she didn't have the automobile accident, she never would've shown any of them,” Ruth points out.

“Aha, but we don't know that for certain. She may have done some of her tricks for years, and never even noticed.” He pours hot water into a bright-yellow mug.

“How can someone do everything Mrs. Holmquist did and never notice?” She gives a slight shrug as she swirls the tea bag in her cup.

He pours a generous amount of sugar into his hot water and stirs, but no tea bag. “The same way you aren't noticing what you're doing with your spoon.” Gordy nods towards her mug.

* * *

Moving over a few paces to see what the doctor's doing, she glances directly at where I stand; a funny look on her face. She has the spoon balanced on the edge of her mug.

* * *

“Oh, this is nothing,” she dismisses with an elegant wave of her hand. “It's only an idle habit of mine.”

“Precisely Ruth, just as Mrs. Holmquist may have telekinetically opened and closed doors for years, never paying any attention to what she was doing. If a habit feels natural and done frequently we take it for granted more often than not.”

“Yes, I understand what you're saying,” Ruth argues, “but that doesn't explain how she could move things, start fires, even go to sleep in one place and awake in another. Sometimes so far away, the journey would've been physically impossible to make in the time allowed.” She removes the tea bag, dropping it into the wastebasket next to her workstation.

“Yes, but all Mrs. Holmquist's psychic abilities occurred after her concussion from her auto accident,” Gordy patiently reminds her, “then after three weeks, completely stopped.” He waddles back to his corner with his steaming mug of sugar-water.

“So, what are you saying, as if I didn't already know?” Ruth says, rolling her eyes.

“I'm afraid I side with Dr. Tober on this subject. I think we have the latent tendencies in us, maybe not every person, but certainly many of us, and with the right stimulation, they manifest themselves.” With pressed lips, Ruth toys with her spoon. Dr. Gordy continues. “And I feel strongly, as Dr. Tober does, that somewhere there's at least one person who has these and other traits of the phenomena. Some abilities we may not be aware of yet.”

* * *

Right on, doctor
, I think.
My psychic abilities are part of the reason I'm here.
I can do so many things, and this is the place to show off my talents: The Institute of Psychic Research, London, England.

I mentally concentrate on Dr. Tober's office, and BLIP! I teleport to the location.

He's reading some reports, papers strewn across his desk, unaware of my presence, though I'm no longer in my 'Almost Mode'. He finally glances up at me, his eyes growing bigger, then, in an instant, he's under control. I guess working at the Institute would condition you to the unexpected.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “Ahem, uh, who are you, and why are you in my office?” He peers around me, probably trying to see whether one of the doctors had ushered me into his office.

“Excuse me for dropping in Doctor, but I'm the man who called you the other day.”

“The American, uh, Mr. Merlin?” he politely inquires.

“That's right, Doctor. Arthur Merlin, late of the US of A,” I proudly announce with a flourish and a bow.

He stares at me impassively, not at all impressed. He waves to a nearby chair. “Please, sir, be seated.”

I sit in a chair designed to get you up and out of the room as quickly as possible. Apparently, lollygagging isn't allowed in Dr. Tober's office.

Shuffling up the scattered papers, he places them in a file folder, sliding it to the right side of his desk. Leaning forward, with clasped hands, he asks, “I have the standard tests to arrange, but why don't you start by telling me what abilities you're capable of performing that you think I might be interested in?”

“Okay, Doctor, it's been called the Geller Effect, but what he plays with, I do quite well,” I boast. “And there are other tricks I do he can't even pretend to do.”

Leaning back in his chair, Dr. Tober removes his glasses and tiredly rubs his big, round eyes. “Uh, exactly what do you do, Arthur?” Stifling a yawn, he replaces his glasses.

I sit here flummoxed.
Why isn't he impressed? I'm exactly the person the doctors were discussing in the lab, but he doesn't seem at all interested.
True, there can't be that many people, if any, who have all my abilities. I suppose Dr. Tober would have to be leery in his position.
Who knows what kind of nutcases wander in off the street? I'll have to prove my uniqueness.

“Telekinesis, teleportation, pryokinesis, astral projection, levitation in any form,” I elaborate, ticking them off on my fingers, “and a kind of matter transference I doubt you've had any experience with.”

“Uh, yes, Arthur, well perhaps you'd consent to a small, uh, demonstration for me?” With an impatient frown, he starts fiddling with a pen on his desk.

“Certainly, Doctor.” Eager to flaunt my talents, I shift in that unwelcoming chair, glancing around his office. Filing cabinets, a few pictures, and a dozen framed diplomas. Not much else. Ah, the wastebasket, full of crumpled-up papers. Focusing my pyrokinetic ability on the wastebasket, the crumpled-up papers burst into orange flames.

Springing from his chair, Dr. Tober yells, “My God, man.”

“Relax, Doctor,” I hastily assure him, “I can control the flames.” I mentally shut down the fire and it fizzles out with a small WHUMP. Simple, if you remove all the oxygen from that spot. But there'd been some interesting episodes while mastering the trick. Once, I almost suffocated a roomful of government scientists. I still get a chuckle over that one.

The good doctor's plastered against his filing cabinet, eyes as round as the frame of his glasses, mouth hanging open. He doesn't look nearly as disinterested or skeptical now. Thick, gray smoke drifts through his office, causing him to lean over coughing.

“I'll open a window, Dr. Tober,” I offer gallantly, nodding towards the window.

From his rumpled, brown suit jacket's breast pocket, he removes a white handkerchief, covering his nose and mouth. Big eyes blinking rapidly, he mumbles, “Uh, the windows don't open above the second floor, and we're on the fifth floor.”

I mentally focus on the window set into the wall behind his desk; glass, thick, wire-reinforced. The window begins to dissolve, allowing a stream of fresh air to flow inside.

Jerking his head towards the window, he demands, “What did you just do?”

“Relax. I dissolved the window into a screen. Don't worry, I'll change it back.” With a self-satisfied smirk I lean back, resting my left ankle on my right knee, trying to get comfortable in that torture-device-of-a-chair.

Still staring bug-eyed at the window turned to screen, he picks up his phone, keeping his distance from me. “Doctor Burns, grab Gordy and get in here, right now.”

Judging by his reaction to my demonstration, he might not be as immune to the unexpected as I thought. Returning the handkerchief to his pocket, he gives me the
look
most people do when I've used abilities they don't have, as if I'm a cockroach crawling across their hand.

The door bursts open and in rushes the tall woman from the lab, followed closely by the short, round and now puffing man. She shoots me the same funny look she did earlier in the lab.

With his underlings at hand, Dr. Tober returns to his chair, introducing us around. He gives a brief description of my demonstration. Dr. Gordy peers quizzically into the trashcan at the smoldering embers, while Dr. Burns hesitantly glides to the window, gently touching the screen. She turns, staring at me with creased brows and fingering her necklace.

Telepathically I say to her, *No, Ruth, no hoax.*

She takes a step backwards, rubbing her forehead. “Was that telepathy?” she asks in amazement.

“Yes,” I answer, gazing back into her enchanting jade-green orbs.

With narrowed eyes at Ruth, Tober says, “But I heard nothing. Gordy?”

“No, sir, not a word,” Gordy confirms, also staring at Ruth.

Hands on hips, she states, “Well, I did.”

“Of course, Ruth,” I tell her with a smirk. “I was only speaking to you.”

She starts toying with her necklace again, glancing from Dr. Tober to Dr. Gordy, and looking like a deer ready to bolt.

“And I read your mind, Doctor,” I say with a smug, arrogant smile, “and now, I know everything about you, down to your smallest, little secret.” Telepathically, I say, *Don't worry Ruth, I won't discuss your sex life.* I give her a lewd wink.

Her hand flies to her mouth, a bright blush spreading across her pale cheeks.

“Dr. Burns, are you alright?” Dr. Tober asks with concern.

“Yes, Dr. Tober, I'm fine,” Ruth hisses through clenched teeth, trembling with indignation.

Tober's analytical eyes and Gordy's puzzled ones bounce back and forth from me to Ruth.

By her mannerisms and her speech, I can tell she's from an affluent background. She's fighting to maintain her composure. Aloud, I say soothingly, “Relax, Doctor, calm down.”

Clearing his throat, Dr. Tober adjusts his glasses, reminding them, “Mr. Merlin has come to the Institute so we can conduct some tests.”

Periwinkle eyes sparkling with teenage boy exuberance, Gordy says, “I'd like to see the pyrotechnic demonstration again, sir. I'll gather more paper.”

“No need, Doctor,” I tell him, “I can burn the ashes for you.” The trashcan bursts into a ball of yellow flames. Creating intense heat takes so little of my concentration.