The Medium

by David Hatton

  The photograph of Suzanne lay on the table staring up at the reticent reader of the Manchester Reporter. To her right, the lingering hermit card continued to taunt.

  The sweet scent of a candle turned sickly sour to a trembling Elizabeth; she shivered as the medium interrogated her regarding her involvement in Suzanne’s disappearance. A basketball match echoed from her chest. Jackie moved closer to her, thrusting the newspaper into her eye-line, preventing Elizabeth from escaping her secrets.

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘The night Suzanne went missing, I was with her at your show. We came to see you. You gave her a reading regarding her son, Jason. At the intermission we decided to leave. It wasn’t that you weren’t very good, it’s just…’

  Jackie waved her hand. ‘Go on…’

  ‘We said our goodbyes outside in the lobby. I offered her a lift home but she declined. She wanted a quiet walk to contemplate. After that, nobody saw her again. I wish I’d forced her to take the lift.’ Elizabeth broke down, flooding Jackie’s tablecloth with her tears. Her shoulders trembled and a mournful squeal leaked from her lips.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell the police? They could have traced her footsteps and found her?’

  ‘I was scared. I was told not to tell anyone I was with her that night.’

  ‘By who?’ Jackie quizzed.

  ‘Suzanne!’

  ‘Excuse me?’ The medium’s eyes widened, curious whether her client had the ability to talk to the dead. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When we went to the show, she begged me not to tell anyone as she said her husband would never understand. He’s an atheist and thought any beliefs in the afterlife were silly. She couldn’t face the embarrassment of him finding out and I held on to that promise. He always accused her of not letting their son’s death go and so it would’ve caused uproar if he discovered she’d come to see you. I had to keep her secret.’

  ‘But Suzanne went missing. Your sister-in-law was presumed dead, did this not concern you? Didn’t it worry you that she could’ve been in danger?’

  ‘I made a promise.’

  ‘But Michael’s been going out of his mind. Surely Suzanne’s embarrassment couldn’t hold you from revealing where she was that night? She needed your help and you let her down.’ Jackie paused, frustrated by the client who had her priorities muddled. ‘…something isn’t right here. You’re not telling me something.’

  Elizabeth swallowed the guilt lodged in her throat. The medium glanced down at her gullet and spied her gulp. Black mascara ran down her smudged cheeks, flowing from her dark eyes, dodging contact with Jackie’s interrogative stare.

  ‘There’s something missing here. Who really told you not to tell anyone about seeing Suzanne that night?’

  Jackie grabbed hold of a shuffling Elizabeth who appeared ready to escape. The whimpers recommenced. Attempting to catch her breath, she moved off the gold chair and collapsed onto a nearby couch, laying her head on a pillow.

  ‘My husband… Robert.’

  12.

  “I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is ready for the ordeal of meeting me is another matter.”

  - Winston Churchill (1949)

  The doorbell stunned them. The ringing broke the tension which bound them together and their bottoms bounced off the couch.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Jackie blew out the candle casting them into darkness. Stepping into the hallway, Jackie peered into a mirror and removed the hairclip veil before answering the door.

  On the doorstep, Michael patiently waited for the medium. Having been sent home from work, the consultant still wore the ill-fitting charcoal suit which drooped around his waist, clinging on with a leather belt. The suspended salesman appeared fit for a day in court rather than a shift at work, forcing Jackie to shake her head at the chaos before her.

  ‘Michael, what a lovely surprise,’ Jackie bellowed. Behind her, Elizabeth jumped up at the call of her in-law’s name. Throwing the cash she owed onto the table, she grabbed her handbag and escaped the living room.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m just in the middle of a reading… ow!’ Jackie yelped as she fell aside onto the door frame, her client pushing her aside as she passed.

  ‘Elizabeth?’ Michael called to the escapee, running to her silver Audi outside. A small wave formed the only interchange between the in-laws, the aching aunt hiding her tears as she ducked into her vehicle and sped off out of the neighbourhood. A bewildered Michael returned to Jackie. ‘What was she doing here?’

  ‘She came to see me after she read the story in the newspaper. She needed somebody to lean on and talk to, maybe even make a connection.’

  ‘Is she OK?’ He followed Jackie into her living room and double-took at the Tarot cards on the table.

  ‘She’s hurting. She’s lost her nephew and sister-in-law. She’s grieving, what do you expect?’ Jackie said as she tidied away the reading apparatus. ‘So what brings you here?’

  ‘Two things… this!’ Michael picked up the newspaper covering the morning’s headline and threw it down on the table. ‘We’ll come to that later. But I’ve also just had a strange visitor come to my apartment and tell me to keep well away from you. She warned me that you were a fraudster and I should stay clear. Do you know who she is?’

  The psychic stroked her chin. She had a few enemies in her line of work; other mediums who tried to break her image for their own gain, non-believers protesting against her ability to take advantage of the vulnerable, but a light bulb lit up as she remembered one particular person a little closer to home.

  ‘Let me guess… tall lady? Around my age? Slim? Flowery dress?’

  ‘That’s her. You know her?’

  ‘She’s my sister. She always wears those hideous dresses. We don’t get along. We haven’t for years but we put up with each other. You’d never guess we were twins, we couldn’t be different in looks or personality.’

  ‘I see.’ Michael sighed with relief. ‘Why don’t you get on?’

  ‘She’s a devout Catholic and thinks what I do is the work of the devil.’

  ‘I can’t believe she’d fall out with you over it though, then again, my brother isn’t too happy I’m here either. We haven’t spoken since I told him about you.’

  ‘So how’s your morning been?’ Jackie changed the subject. The widower’s woes evolved into anger as he considered his morning at work tackling the media enquiries.

  ‘I’ve had nonstop calls asking for interviews!’

  ‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’ Jackie chuckled, rubbing her hands together. ‘That reminds me, Hello and OK magazines want to interview us. They reckon we’ll be on the front covers.’

  ‘Jackie, it’s pure hell. I’ve been suspended from work until it all blows over. The media won’t leave me alone. This story is ruining my life and it was only published this morning. And now you’re talking about Hello magazine? This isn’t some juicy story to fill a gossip column, this is my life!’

  On the side was a copy of the latest edition of a sister magazine covering a supermodel’s wedding to her footballer husband and a reality star’s ex-husband revealing the truth behind his former partner’s affairs.

  ‘You want me to be in this?’ he said, holding up the cover.

  ‘Well I don’t think you can criticize the magazine. You should be grateful for the audience. Anyone who’ll listen. If we’re not out there telling our story, how do you expect anyone to donate the cash to fund the dive to find Suzanne? At the very least we could get a survey going to convince the police to search the canal for us?’

  ‘I suppose.’ Michael slumped down onto a chair and read over the story again. ‘I guess I just wish it focused more on my wife than the fact that a medium told me about her whereabouts. I suppose I should stop being so damn proud.’

  ‘You can be proud, Michael, you just need to manage your expectations about what sells.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Michael sat down and read over the story again. Jackie sat beside him and t
hey stared at the photograph of Suzanne, her smile beaming through the Portuguese sunshine.

  ‘It’s a lovely photograph.’

  ‘It was a wonderful holiday, our last. Robert and Elizabeth offered to look after Jason for the afternoon so we just took off. We walked for miles. We hadn’t had that alone time for years. We found ourselves being a couple again rather than just parents.’

  ‘I’m sure most couples find that hard.’

  ‘We got so lost.’ He giggled. ‘She’d bragged for weeks that she’d learned Spanish at school, which they can speak in Portugal. The problem was she couldn’t remember any of it. She walked around bars saying ‘Dónde están los apartmentos blancos?’ They’d respond with directions and she had no idea what they were saying but she attempted to keep up the pretence anyway. She could never lose face!’

  ‘That’s fantastic!’ Jackie howled. ‘What did you?’

  ‘We walked around the village for an hour before she finally gave up and we got a taxi home. Even then she couldn’t admit it, blaming the subtle differences between Portuguese and Spanish for the reason she couldn’t understand them. Robert and Elizabeth were so gracious, simply smiling and nodding but we all knew she had no friggin’ idea.’

  ‘They sound like wonderful trips.’

  ‘They were. The four of us had a blast. I’d do anything to go back to that time.’

  ‘Anyway I’m glad you came.’ Jackie moved the newspaper away. ‘I have something to cheer you up. I have a surprise for you.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Michael perked up. ‘Have we had someone say they’ll fund a search for her?’

  ‘Not quite. Have you ever seen the dark underworld of Manchester?’

  ‘What? Moss Side? Wythenshawe? I’ve seen it all, thanks. I don’t particularly want to go back.’

  ‘No, you fool!’ Jackie rolled her eyes at Michael’s ignorance of Manchester’s more deprived neighbourhoods. ‘I’m talking about the underground tunnels of Manchester.’

  ‘I can’t say I have. I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never even heard of them.’

  ‘Well tonight we’re going to visit them… you’re in for a treat.’

  Michael departed, leaving Jackie to consider her morning with Elizabeth and everything that had been revealed. She made some notes in her diary. Her thoughts then trailed to her sister. The devout Catholic who picked and chose when she should be the good little church girl. She lifted out her mobile phone and sent her a text message.

  ‘Stay away from my clients. Otherwise I’ll reveal to Michael exactly who you really are and what you’ve done.’

  Michael returned home to change. If he was going to be tottering around damp tunnels all evening he needed to change out of his suit. He swapped into a more comfortable pair of jeans, a hoody and waterproof boots, and tried without success to locate a torch.

  With a few hours to kill, he browsed the website of the Manchester Reporter to read over the comments on the article. It had also been reposted on FaceHub where anyone could have their say on the article. It had been shared hundreds of times, which at first he thought was a positive move as it would get the outreach he needed, until he saw the laughing emoji and ridicule which came with it. Messages from old friends expressing concern for his sanity were an unwelcomed arrival too.

  On the television, a daytime talk show covered the headline, bringing in scientific experts to criticize the story, and Psychic Paul made an appearance to discuss how mediums have had a long history of helping the police. Attempting to escape his reality, Michael turned the television off, rested his head back and closed his eyes.

  A buzzing disturbed his nap. He sighed, anticipating more aggro from the press or Jackie’s estranged family members. He looked into the screen of his intercom and his eyes widened.

  ‘Pamela?’ he said, speaking through the intercom. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  He clicked the buzzer and waited in anticipation for the knock on his apartment door. He hadn’t seen Pamela since he visited his in-laws in Stratford. But a visit alone was surprising for a girl whose anxiety had kept her indoors for most of her adult life.

  She knocked and he urged her to come in. They embraced, an act they hadn’t partaken in since his wedding to her sister. For the first time in years, he’d seen her in something outside of a dressing gown, although a baggy jumper and sweat-pants was as much as she could aspire to and her hair still hadn’t met the end of a brush in some time.

  ‘Can I make you a brew?’

  She nodded and he switched the kettle on.

  ‘How did you get here?’ he asked.

  ‘I got the train. I got your address out of Mum’s diary.’

  ‘I’m not going to lie, this is quite a surprise. I don’t recall you ever visiting us before.’

  ‘It’s quite important that I see you. I know I haven’t been the closest to you and Suzanne.’

  ‘Well you’ve not been well…’

  ‘I’ve had my reasons.’ she said and fell silent. They stared at each other for several moments until Michael broke off and made two coffees. Besides a query about whether she took milk and sugar, the apartment remained quiet.

  ‘I’m guessing this isn’t a social call…’

  ‘No. I saw on the television about what’s been going on here. You’re trying to search for Suzanne with a psychic.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ Michael scratched his head. ‘I’m sorry you all had to find out this way, I wasn’t anticipating the story would leave Manchester otherwise I’d have called ahead.’

  ‘Oh don’t worry, I think Mum was actually quite pleased that you’ve gone down this route although she was quite surprised following your last visit.’

  Michael bowed his head. He had been quite abrupt with Theodore and Jane regarding their beliefs in an afterlife. As Pamela spoke, he couldn’t believe how much had been said. He’d barely heard a peep out of her throughout his relationship with her family and here she was, talking like they were old friends.

  ‘I’d thought for some time that Suzanne had run away.’

  ‘As we all had…’ Michael said.

  ‘She and I had grown closer since Jason’s death. Weirdly she found comfort in speaking to the one person who spoke the least. Maybe she realized we were similar, facing the same battle.’

  ‘I didn’t know…’

  ‘No. Nobody did and there’s a reason for that. I told her a secret, one which was so dark that I’d never faced telling anyone before. She seemed determined to fix the wrongdoing which had been done to me but then I figured she’d either couldn’t cope with what I’d told her or had taken action into her own hands and been threatened.’

  ‘Threatened?’

  ‘But since all this came out. I can’t help but think that maybe she did confront those who did me wrong and they took action to keep her quiet.’

  ‘What? You think you know her killer?’

  She nodded her head.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I don’t know how much I can reveal because if I’m right I don’t want to be next. Nor should you.’

  ‘Pamela!’ Michael barked. ‘If you know something you need to tell me. You didn’t travel up here for nothing. Tell me who you think killed Suzanne!’

  Pamela wiped back her sweaty hair and turned towards the window.

  ‘My dad.’

  ‘Theodore?’

  13.

  ‘A large psychic void is left by a loss of faith.’

  - Phil Donahue (Date Unknown)

  Michael spat out his coffee into his mug. He’d never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. An eccentric retired professor who’d done nothing but support his family was now being accused of murder?

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘What I’m about to tell you is personal but it’s the only way to explain what’s been going on. Before Suzanne disappeared she spent a lot of time with us at our house. She slept in my room, our old room, and we tal
ked like we did when we were growing up, except less boy talk as there’s less of them around these days.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I told her my deepest secret. That Dad had been abusing me for years. He still does. Whenever Mum isn’t home, he attacks me and threatens to end me if I dare tell anyone.’

  ‘If that’s true why didn’t you just leave?’

  ‘To where? He’s got me trapped. I’m not qualified for anything. He’s destroyed me. I’m useless. And to the rest of the family, I’m the anxious nutter who has mental health issues that nobody is brave enough to talk about. At least there I have a roof over my head. Suzanne was always the smart one, she went to university. What could I possibly do?’

  ‘You should have gone to the police.’

  ‘I nearly did but then Suzanne disappeared. He got her and he’ll come for me next.’

  ‘Did Suzanne say anything had happened to her when she was back home?’

  ‘No. He never went for her. It began after his brother died, by which point she’d already moved out. He grew depressed and it began with the odd slap for talking back before moving on to more inappropriate behaviour. Suzanne wouldn’t have let this happen, she was the tough one.’

  ‘And your mum doesn’t know?’ Michael asked, his hand covering his gasping mouth.

  ‘No.’ She pushed out a lone laugh. ‘She thinks the sun shines out of his arse. She thinks the bruises are from my clumsiness or self-harm. Dad impregnated me once, she thought I was just putting on weight. I got rid of the kid, although he sickeningly wanted me to keep it.’

  ‘I just can’t believe this,’ he said, scratching his head. ‘He’s the nicest guy.’

  ‘Like most abusers he’s able to talk the talk to others. His charm is his gift. But he really isn’t. Look, you saw how he was when you came over. I heard it all. You excused my rudeness and he threw me under the bus. Using my mental health against me, brushing it off as me being problematic. It’s textbook.’