Psychic

by F. P. Dorchak

  Lizzie smiled. Yes, she had gotten used to many bizarre things over the years, but this Mr. Black she never saw coming, and that was unacceptable. She should have been able to pick up on him, just like everything else she picked up on. It just made no sense.

  Hmmm, just like… that little voice inside her head whispered… Joe’s “untimely” death? Why hadn’t you picked up on that?

  His death would have been too much for me, so I had to unconsciously block it—

  So, her conscience countered, it was easier the way it happened?

  That’s not what I meant—

  What did you mean? If you’re such a big-wig “sensitive,” why hadn’t you picked up on Joe’s death and Black’s arrival — or, for that matter, tuned into Black now? Find that stupid Incrediblock? Could it be that maybe you aren’t as hotshot as you thought?

  Lizzie paused at the end of the aisle, and reached out to a display shelf for support.

  That wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair at all.

  Why couldn’t she just leave well-enough alone?

  Because she didn’t know, that’s why.

  She had absolutely no idea why she hadn’t been able to foresee Joe’s death — not an inkling. Absolutely nothing — not a dream, not an itch — zilch.

  Same with Black.

  This totally malignant tumor enters her life, and she has no forewarning?

  How could that be?

  How could she see things in other people’s lives, but when it came to her own, utter failure? And now she was being asked to actually work with the guy?

  Maybe this was all a dream… a ghastly, wicked nightmare… and she was about to wake up any minute—

  “Excuse me, ma’am… but are you all right?”

  Lizzie looked up, embarrassed, and wiped her eyes. The clerk’s nametag read “Melanie.”

  “No,” she sniffled, “but I will be. Thank you.”

  “You sure? Is there anything I can get you — a glass of water? A quiet place?”

  Lizzie stared at her for a moment. Eyes full of genuine concern, her short bob of stylistically unkempt blonde hair — with just a “jet” of pink

  (… pink-pink-pink…)

  in it — just perfect.

  What was the biggest thing in Melanie’s life?

  Finishing her degree.

  Completing her degree in electrical engineering and starting her own consulting firm.

  See — she could still pick up on others — why the hell hadn’t she picked up on Joe or Black?

  “Ma’am?” Melanie again asked.

  Lizzie smiled and looked away, then returned to her. “Sorry. I was just reliving the loss of my husband. It tends to hit… at oddest of times.”

  Melanie reached out to her. “I’m so sorry… I-I can’t even imagine. Do… do you… want to talk about it?”

  “No… no, that’s okay, but thanks for asking. He died in a construction accident.” Lizzie choked off into silence, raising a hand before her. “I’ll be all right.”

  “May I ask his name?”

  “Joe. Joseph Gordon. Thanks.”

  “Well,” Melanie began, “I’m sure wherever your husband is now… he’s always thinking of you, too, wishing you the best. Looking after you.” Melanie reached out and squeezed Lizzie’s hand.

  Lizzie looked up surprised.

  “That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.”

  Lizzie smiled, feeling renewed energy.

  “It’s been over a year, and I thought I was handling it — obviously I’m not,” Lizzie said. “But… to change the subject — and I hope you don’t mind nor take offense — but, I can tell you, because it’s my business to know,” Lizzie continued, “that you will have that firm you’ve been wanting. You’ll have… a great life, an exciting one, and will travel the world.”

  Now it was Melanie who stared back in surprise.

  “What — how’d—”

  Lizzie completed wiping away her tears with the backs of her wrists and took hold of both of Melanie’s hands.

  “Because, my dear, it’s what I do. You may not believe in it, but I’m a medium — a psychic. You don’t even have to believe me, but it will happen — and isn’t it better to believe and dream, than to do neither? You’ll also do just fine in finishing your degree. EE, isn’t it? Electrical engineering?”

  Melanie nodded, flabbergasted.

  “A three-point-four — no five — GPA? You’ll break three-five,” she added casually. “I have to go — but thanks. Enjoy your life, Melanie, and continue to be caring to all you meet. People — even psychics — need that every now and then. We’re not perfect, you know,” she said, smiling, “nobody is.” Lizzie pushed her cart before her, and continued on down the aisle.

  “Thank you,” Melanie said, staring after her.

  2

  The Man With No Name stood before the safe Black had recently visited, and with a tug and a sturdy metallic click, pulled open its heavy steel door. The envelopes were filed as Black had left them, including those Black had swapped out. The Man With No Name unerringly reached in and removed the three envelopes he’d switched, and replaced them with three of his own. Grinning, he closed the safe.

  Victor, you simply can’t outsmart me.

  3

  “Mr. President,” a Secret Service agent announced over her wire from her position outside the Hyannis Port home, “the Scorpion has arrived.”

  Victor Black’s black Chrysler pulled to a stop before Kennedy’s home. He exited the vehicle. It was early morning enough to still be dark as he approached the front door. Before Black could ring for access, the door opened, and he was greeted by another agent. The agent said nothing, but eyed him for a moment before allowing him entry.

  Black entered the house, subtly rolling his left shoulder. He passed several other agents on his well-traveled route to the retired President’s study. He was admitted into the study by another female agent, and as he entered the room, found two more agents positioned at opposite ends of the room, on either side of a desk. The high-backed chair was turned away from him, behind the desk, and in the chair Black was sure sat the former President.

  “Good evening, Mr. President, or should I say ‘morning,’” Black said, flatly.

  “You should say ‘good day, sir,’ and, ah, make your way back to Virginia,” Kennedy said, as he swiveled about in his chair to face Black. “And be bettah served to forevah leave old men like me alone.”

  The President folded his hands gravely before him on the desk.

  “Now, what is it that you have need to disturb me at this ungodly owah and couldn’t be done over the phone?”

  Black, still working his left shoulder, addressed him squarely.

  “I’m looking for someone. It’s a matter of national security, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m sureah it is, Victah. Get to the point.”

  “We’ve been tracking this man for years—”

  “His name?”

  Black paused. “You know who — and that we don’t know it.”

  Kennedy burst into uproarious laughter so hard his agents momentarily started for their weapons.

  “Oh, it’s all right, gentlemen,” Kennedy added with a tired wave of a hand. “You’ll, ah, have to forgive me, Victah, but you, who have at your disposal the entiah national security resources of this and other countries, and you’re telling me you still don’t know this man’s name?”

  Black clenched his jaw.

  “His real name.”

  Kennedy again laughed. “Well! Then you certainly have made it worth getting up — just to see that confounded look on that, ah, arrogant son-of-a-bitch face of yours!”

  “Sir, I might add—”

  “You might add nothing. You have the gall to awaken me at this insane owah, bahrge into my home, and make demands on me in the name of national security — and you haven’t even identified the threat? And to think we put you where you ahr.”

  “Sir—”

&nbs
p; Still chuckling, Kennedy again waved his hand. “Oh, go on, Victah.”

  “I need to know… anything,” he said, again clenching his jaw, “anything you might remember all those years ago — about that meeting in the Rose Garden. We know you met someone — he can’t be the same man, but he’s most surely acting within an organization. The one from ’62, the one who gave you the idea for Program One—”

  All of Kennedy’s mirth drained from his face. “Leave us,” he curtly ordered his agents, who immediately departed the study. Kennedy rose from his seat and unflinchingly stared back at Black. Neither said a word as the study was cleared. Kennedy’s words came out measured and thick.

  “Let me make myself perfectly clear, Victah. I may be an old man,” he said, “but as the, ah, second most powerful person in this room, you ahr at my mercy. You may be able to throw your powah around like a bad fahrt during a Mexican Siesta, but I can — and will — crush you like a bug if you evah get in my way, again. My dying doesn’t scare me, Victah — but you, you dying — I know that scares the living hell outta you, or you wouldn’t be hearah. You have used your prerogative for the last time, sir, and I will no longer entertain you — nor your requests. If I nevah see you again — in this or any othah life — it will be fahr to soon. I am sorry to have wasted your time. Good night.”

  Black paused before he turned to leave.

  “And by the way, Victah,” Kennedy said, “my ordah still stands, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  Black stopped, keeping his back to the President; again worked his shoulder.

  “I’ve had at least two agents constantly trained on you evah since you entahed my home. Purely out of my own unadulterated hatred for who and what you ahr. Should you evah entah my circle of influence again, I shall entertain my prerogative. Do I make myself cleah?”

  The study doors were opened, and Black silently disappeared through them.

  “Fucking bastahd,” Kennedy said as the doors closed.

  Two agents with silenced weapons held at-the-ready emerged from their hidden wall recesses.

  “Mr. President?” one massive, square-jawed agent asked, while the other checked in with the rest of the security detail on his wire.

  Kennedy nodded. “I’m going back to bed,” he said, and walked out from around the desk.

  But, as he headed back to bed, a thought occurred to him:

  Since when had Victor Black developed a trick shoulder?

  Victor Black’s anger boiled, as he returned to his awaiting jet. Even before airborne, he put in a call to the Virginia compound. True, there was no love lost between him and Kennedy, but the fact that he continued to work in an agency with that man’s name on it got under his skin like no cancer ever could. Add to that at seventy-seven he still showed no signs of yet departing God’s green Earth, and Victor Black’s ulcers and headaches got no better. His shoulder felt worse. And he was no closer to getting any answers. It had been a calculated move — one that had failed miserably. He at least drew some measure of satisfaction in that he’d awoken Kennedy out of a sound sleep for this.

  But, this was the last straw.

  He would — somehow — get back at that man… and in a way that would forever tarnish his name, his reputation, his soul, his entire goddamned philanthropic and long-lived family. Every last one of them.

  When the time was right.

  Kennedy may have given him his job, controlled his paycheck, and groomed him into the man he had become, but embarrass him, then toss him away — that would be Kennedy’s undoing. He’d put up with him long enough. It was time to put the old nag out to pasture and bring in new blood.

  Yes, Kennedy would pay dearly for such a grave error in judgment.

  4

  Kennedy returned to bed, but ended up just lying on top of the blankets, eyes open.

  He’d almost forgotten about that… the time he’d been contacted by that man in the White House gardens; had almost forgotten about him — or had he also just been part of another dream? In fact, for a while there, he would have sworn there had been no such meeting, out of which Program One had indeed been the result. Like so many other decisions he’d made, efforts he’d begun had been the result of him and his advisors working out solutions together.

  Except Program One.

  It had been 1962… May, mid-May of ’62. It was oddly coming back… he’d taken a walk by himself through the gardens, and had been quite amazed at his position in life, that he was actually President of the United States — president of the most powerful nation on Earth. The highest honor ever bestowed upon anyone. He’d been walking along innocently enough, deep in thought… when the man approached, seemingly out of nowhere…

  “Mr. President?”

  Not-quite-forty-five-year-old President Kennedy spun around. Out from behind a hedge he came, thirty-something in appearance, well-groomed, in dark trousers and a pressed white shirt, sleeves rolled up — and an outrageous Dalmatian tie. The man was confident in his approach. Kennedy didn’t recognize him — or did he?

  How had he broached security?

  “Who ahr you, sir, and how’d you get past—”

  “Mr. President, begging your pardon, sir, I haven’t much time,” the man said. “Please, sir, we need to talk. It’s about the present… and the world’s future.”

  5

  Lizzie Gordon lay on the couch in her trailer, drifting in and out of a troubled nap. Thinking about Joe had drained her. She wanted to think of him… but every time she did so, the same old demons resurfaced… the same guilt.

  Why couldn’t she just think about the good times and ignore her mistakes?

  She was a psychic, for goodness sake, she’s supposed to have just a little more control over her mental facilities than the average bear. Why couldn’t she do what was needed when needed? What was wrong with her—

  “Nuthin’s wrong with you.”

  Lizzie sat up.

  “You leave a door open and just about anybody can walk on in…”

  The Man With No Name sat in one of her living-room recliners. He got up and went to the refrigerator.

  “Iced tea?” he said, calling out to her from the kitchen.

  Lizzie stared at him, wiping her eyes.

  “Who — what?”

  “I asked, would you like some iced tea?”

  Still groggy, Lizzie again wiped her eyes. “Wait a minute… no-no no-no, I don’t want any iced tea — what are you doing in my home?”

  The Man With No Name came back and sat in the swivel chair, sipping iced tea. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I knew you had some, and, well, I just can’t resist a tall cold glass of—”

  “How did you… what’s going on here? First the FBI — now you?”

  The Man With No Name smiled. “Well, actually, I was ‘here’ first.”

  “And he had your picture!”

  “My picture? The FBI?”

  “Yes—”

  “A photograph?”

  “No, no — a sketch — a police sketch. Said you were a child molester and a security risk, or something.”

  “You believe him?”

  “What he told me,” she said, shaking her head, “just isn’t what I’m picking up from you… but what he didn’t tell me about himself, is definitely what I picked up from him.”

  The Man With No Name smiled.

  Lizzie dropped her head into her hands, bent over her knees, and groaned. “What is it about me all of a sudden that I’m the most important person in the world?” She sat back up.

  “Utility. You’re useful.”

  “What is that supposed to mean! I’m just living my life, trying to deal with my own issues — make a new life for myself — when suddenly, out of the woodwork, come you and this Black. One’s a creep and the other doesn’t have a name, and drinks way too much iced tea!”

  “I did offer—”

  “Could we get to the point, please?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you — o
r me, for that matter. I’m no child molester. He just said that to get to you emotionally. Manipulate. He’s extremely practiced at that. But, I also want to say… you’ve done nothing wrong. You shouldn’t feel any guilt—”

  Lizzie shot to her feet.

  “How do you know — what do you know?

  “Christ! How does everyone seem to know so much about me? How do you know what guilt I’m feeling? What kind of a person I am? How does this Black?”

  The Man With No Name calmly placed his glass on a coaster on the coffee table.

  “Elizabeth — I know you prefer ‘Lizzie’—but Elizabeth… listen to me. You’ve been through some trying times. You are a gifted person with much to offer the world — so much that you can’t begin to imagine—”

  “How do you know this? How can you say something like that? Look at me — look at me! I live in a trailer park and do psychic readings over the telephone, for God’s sake! My husband’s dead, and I’m racked with guilt over why I hadn’t been able to pick up on it! Not one iota! Now, you tell me what the hell it is I have to offer the world that I couldn’t offer my husband?”

  The Man With No Name sat back in the recliner.

  “That’s what I thought,” Lizzie said, pacing. “I don’t know what kind of joke you guys are trying to pull, but—”

  “It’s no joke, Elizabeth—”

  “‘Lizzie,’ dammit, only my mother calls me ‘Elizabeth,’ and she’s gone.”

  The Man With No Name smiled. “When I came to you in your dream—”

  “And that’s another thing, how’d you do that? How’d you find me?”

  “I need to tell you that some very nasty things are on the horizon… and that I need your help. Do not trust that man, Black, he’s no good… and the less you know the better.”

  “Why? Is this supposed to be some super-secret cloak-and-dagger spy mission, and the less I know the longer I—”

  “Yes.”

  Lizzie stopped pacing. “Well, that’s the most direct, understandable thing I’ve heard from anyone so far.”

  “This ability of yours… you have what you have for a purpose, and that purpose is slowly being revealed as you become better equipped to handle it. Which is why I’m here. To help. I have this ability to enter dreams. There are things I need to show you, and you, in turn, can help me.”