by Diane Hester
‘Thank you, it is cold this morning.’ She walked down to join him near the soundproof cubicle.
Ikeman returned to the seat at his desk. ‘Actually I was just going over your test results again. They’re proving an interesting challenge for me.’
‘In what way? Didn’t I record my answers properly?’
‘Oh no, that’s fine. I’m just not sure what to make of them, yet. Please, pull up some debris and sit down.’
She shifted the same stack of files from the chair that he had moved yesterday. ‘What’s the problem with my test results?’
Ikeman gathered the pages he’d printed and scanned them briefly before looking up at her. ‘Feeling any warmer?’
Again she was struck by his lack of distance. His smile was open, his dark eyes caring. A warm friendly shrink? Surely one of a kind.
‘Better, thank you.’
‘Would you like a hot drink? Coffee? Tea? We have all the comforts of home in this lab.’
‘Thank you, I’m fine.’
‘Well then, your test. To answer your question, there’s nothing wrong with your results, it’s just … Well, to put it simply, your scores are consistently far below average.’
‘Yes, I know.’
He blinked at her. ‘Oh?’
‘Detective Macklyn told me. He and I talked after we left here yesterday.’
‘I wasn’t aware you knew the detective. He never mentioned it.’
‘Well, I don’t really know him. We met a week ago … in relation to Martha Daniels’ disappearance.’
‘I see.’
She shifted. Tell the man now her real reason for coming? He seemed suddenly lost in thought. She decided against it. ‘You were saying? About my results?’
‘Yes.’ Ikeman looked down at the papers. ‘As I said, your scores are intriguing to say the least. Quite below average.’
He laughed. ‘Forgive me. I make it sound as though you failed in some way. That’s not what I meant at all. Your score was low. Significantly low. Which leads me to wonder … how shall I put this? … if the results you’ve presented are not representative of your true potential.’
It was her turn to frown. ‘I don’t understand.’
Ikeman steepled his fingers before him. ‘Humans fear what they don’t understand. Throughout history people exhibiting paranormal abilities have been burned as witches, stoned, imprisoned, exiled, you name it. Even today, though we like to think of ourselves as enlightened, the truth is, things aren’t much different. That’s because science is yet to provide conclusive explanations for these phenomena. Which is part of what I hope to accomplish with my research.’
Lindsay waited. So far he hadn’t made the matter any clearer.
‘Many times when a person has a psychic experience, they don’t even recognise it. Our concept of reality is so deeply ingrained we literally don’t see what our extra sense is showing us—in our dreams and in our daily lives.’
He was starting to get her attention now. This seemed a bit more than the routine blurb he would offer new subjects.
He leaned forward to stress his next words. ‘But sometimes an experience is so profound and inexplicable it can’t be mistaken for anything else. Such experiences can leave a person feeling lost, confused and deeply afraid. Sharing the experience usually only makes matters worse as most people can’t even begin to understand.’
She sat absorbed. It was almost as though he was describing her.
‘In such situations a person may end up wondering if there’s something wrong with them. Whether they’re strange, subnormal or just plain crazy. Those who accept that clairvoyance exists might call it a gift, but the reality is often quite different.’ He regarded her intently. ‘Isn’t it, Lindsay?’
Her eyes widened. She couldn’t move. After a moment she forced out the words. ‘Do you have ESP, Dr Ikeman?’
He smiled. ‘No. What I have is an open mind and fifteen years of clinical experience. See, it wasn’t just your results that told me, it was your discomfort over the initial questions I asked. I sensed you’d had a bad experience somewhere along the line.’
She looked away. She wasn’t ready to go into that yet. ‘So … even though my score is well below average it still suggests I have ESP? How can that be?’
He explained about the law of averages and how bucking the odds at either extreme was always significant.
She sat a moment digesting his words then frowned at a thought. ‘Did you by any chance mention these facts to Detective Macklyn yesterday?’
‘We discussed it at length. He seemed quite interested in my thoughts on your test results.’ Ikeman sighed. ‘I do apologise. I never would have spoken to him about it had I known you were acquainted. Frankly, I find it somewhat unprofessional of him that he didn’t tell me.’
‘He asked you questions about me then?’
‘He did, quite a few. I thought at the time he was inquiring about psychic phenomenon in general. I had no idea he was seeking information about you in particular. He disguised the fact well. Rather underhanded of him I must say.’
‘It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.’
She recalled the conversation they’d had over coffee. Why had Macklyn concealed certain facts from her? Why had he told her she had no ‘gift’? Was he trying to prove she couldn’t have known where the body was? Had he been hoping to coax another confession from her? Was there nothing the mongrel wouldn’t stoop to?
Lindsay looked up. Ikeman’s gaze was warm and concerned.
‘You’re probably wondering why the police are so interested in me,’ she said.
‘The detective did mention a certain anonymous call to police. I had to wonder …’
She hung her head. ‘Yes, it was me.’
Ikeman sat forward. ‘So you actually saw where the girl’s body was?’
She swallowed. ‘Yes.’
The excitement that had lit in his eyes died just as quickly. ‘And this troubles you. Yes, of course. Aside from the horror of the vision itself, the police would now suspect your involvement. You must be under tremendous strain.’
This small show of sympathy was her undoing. ‘I can’t sleep at night. I can’t concentrate on my studies, in or out of class. I took a make-up exam on Saturday and I can’t even remember what the questions were.’ She had planned to relate this information logically but it was all coming out in a mindless rush.
‘I walk around like a zombie. I have no idea when it’ll happen again, where I’ll be or who might see me. And as if that isn’t bad enough, this cop keeps hounding me, following me around, asking people questions about me. He thinks I’m protecting the murderer.’
He reached out and lightly touched her hand. ‘Would you like me to talk to him again? I can show him cases, documented evidence of people having experiences like yours.’
‘It’s kind of you to offer but I really don’t think it would do any good.’
Ikeman nodded. ‘I suspect you’re right. Some people find it extremely difficult to open their minds. Still, I’d like to help if I can.’
‘Oh, yes, thank you. I was hoping you would.’
‘Of course. That’s part of what I’m trying to do here.’ He squeezed her hand, then pressed a finger to his lips in thought. ‘We’ll continue with the standard tests for now, I think. Once I’ve thoroughly analysed the results I’ll know the best way to present your case.’
She frowned. ‘My case?’
‘The surest way to get this cop off your back is to prove to him your abilities are genuine.’
She shot to her feet, paced a few steps then swung back to face him. ‘Dr Ikeman, you don’t understand. I don’t want to prove anything to anyone. I don’t want to have my ability tested or analysed or documented in any way. I’m sorry I misled you, but the truth is I don’t want to take part in your study.’
His expression faltered. ‘Then what do you want?’
‘To make it stop.’ The words burst out with too much em
otion but she was helpless to rein herself back. ‘You were right, I went through something like this as a child and I don’t think I can do it again. Please, can you help me stop having visions?’
‘Come and sit down again.’ Ikeman gently took her arm and led her back to the chair she was in. As she settled herself, he handed her a box of tissues then got a glass of water from the sink.
‘All right,’ he said, pulling over another chair. ‘Let’s just think about this for a moment. I want to be certain we’re addressing what’s really the issue here. Were you friends with the campus girl who was murdered?’
‘No, I didn’t even know her.’
‘And the visions you’ve been having … Are they horribly graphic? Violent? Terrifying?’
‘Not in themselves. I mean, not their content.’
‘So you didn’t actually see the girl being killed.’
‘No, just where her body was dumped.’
‘And was she badly disfigured?’
Lindsay winced. ‘She was strangled. There was no blood at all.’
‘Then I’m confused. If your visions aren’t frightening or violent, why are you so desperate to stop them?’
‘It’s simply the fact they’ve started again and I’m terrified where it could lead.’
He held her gaze. ‘Where could it lead?’
She swallowed, unable to speak the word. Insanity.
‘All right, Lindsay, I think I understand.’
‘Then you’ll help me?’
‘I will, I promise. But not in the way you’re asking. For one thing, I wouldn’t know how to begin.’
‘You could try. You could … use whatever techniques you’ve found that enhance ESP only in reverse.’
His smile was self-mocking. ‘My techniques haven’t as yet produced any results. Oh, I can teach subjects how to relax, how to reach certain meditative states more conducive to experiencing ESP. But as to affecting the accuracy and scope of what they perceive …’ He shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, Lindsay. I don’t know what you were told, but I have no magic formula for what you’re asking. I can’t make your abilities go away. All I can do is help you deal with them.’
Lindsay nodded. She got up slowly, wiped at her face and smiled bleakly down at the man. ‘Then I’m afraid you can’t help me at all.’
Chapter 16
Lindsay finger-combed her hair over the warm stream of air from the hand dryer in the ladies’ room. Her run across campus from psych to English building had been through a solid downpour of rain. Despite her thick jumper she’d been soaked to the skin and was now shivering. She couldn’t change till she got back to her flat but at least she could do something about her hair.
The dryer shut off and she stepped to the mirror. A bubble of some nameless emotion rose in her throat. She’d already tried crying, maybe laughing would help. The bedraggled creature staring back at her certainly warranted one or the other.
Assailed by both tears and rain, her mascara had run in tracks down her face. Wiping it away only exposed the dark shadows beneath her eyes. She dug in her bag for some concealer. Her hand shook as she dabbed it on, though how much of that was due to the cold she couldn’t be certain.
Ikeman couldn’t help her. His compassion had surprised, even touched her, but in real terms it was no use to her whatsoever. What options did that leave? None that she could see. She was on her own. Against not only the likes of Macklyn but something she could neither name nor fathom.
Reluctantly she pulled down the collar of her turtleneck. Any inclination to laugh died at once. The necklace of bruises had almost completely faded in the six days since they’d first appeared. But the lingering shadow was a disturbing reminder she still had no idea how she’d acquired them.
She touched the mark gently. It was no longer tender but a chill raced through her nevertheless. The bruises had appeared on the very same night she’d had her last vision. Was there a connection? Had something more than her abilities awakened with the death of Martha Daniels?
Lindsay let the collar slip back in place and hurried out into the hall.
A short way along it she stopped to wait outside Collier’s English room. His class was just finishing. She bounced on her toes, at the same time trying to warm herself and smother a fresh sense of apprehension.
When the last student had exited the classroom, she went in and stood before the man’s desk. He sat, head bowed over a stack of papers, pretending not to see her.
‘Professor Collier?’
He looked up and frowned. ‘Ah, Cavenaugh. Here so soon? Your class doesn’t start for another fifty minutes. You really should find yourself a clock that works.’ His look soured further. ‘Stand back please, you’re dripping water on my desk.’
Lindsay stepped back. ‘I’m not here for class. I was just wondering if—’
‘Oh no, let me guess.’ He laid his pen down. ‘You’re having trouble with one of the books I’ve assigned and you’d like me to read it to you.’
Lindsay blinked. Had she heard him right? She knew he’d been angry about her going over his head to the chancellor, but could even Collier be so childish?
He raised a brow at her innocently. ‘Did I guess incorrectly? Do I get another try? Wait, don’t tell me—you want an extension on the paper that’s due. The work is interfering with your beauty sleep.’
Lindsay forced her jaw to unclench. ‘I came to ask if you’d had a chance to grade my exam yet.’
‘Oh, your exam. Of course. I have it right here.’
He began leafing through the pile before him. ‘I made it my top priority over the weekend. After all, just because you took yours after everyone else doesn’t mean it should be graded last, right?’ He changed his tone to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘We wouldn’t want the chancellor to have to intervene again, now would we?’
Lindsay waited, reminding herself how badly she needed to pass this course and how unlikely her chances would be if she slung her pack down over his head.
‘The chancellor couldn’t do much about your grade though, unfortunately.’ Collier tossed some pages across to her. ‘Honestly, Cavenaugh, where was your brain when you sat this exam? Back in bed?’
A large circled ‘F’ graced the top of the page. She knew it didn’t stand for Fantastic. Some little valve let lose in her stomach, flooding it with acid and a keen sense of nausea.
‘I trust Chancellor Wallace won’t be calling me over this,’ Collier said, taking up his pen again. ‘I presume you’re mature enough to accept these results as your responsibility, not mine.’
She couldn’t believe it. The little worm was really enjoying this. On top of everything else, did she have to put up with his snide remarks?
‘Although, you never know,’ he continued, ‘with your powers of persuasion, you might just convince her to let you take the exam again. You could say your chair was uncomfortable. The room too dark. The colour of the exam paper hurt your eyes. I’m certain you could come up with something.’
She shoved the papers into her purse and started for the door.
‘Maybe if you’d accepted my initial proposal …’ Collier whispered without looking up from the work he’d resumed.
Lindsay stopped and turned around. She glared at the man’s thinning pate, willing herself to contain all she felt and shaking with the effort.
Collier looked up. His smile died at the first drop of blood that hit the paper he was grading. He hauled out a handkerchief and swabbed his nose. ‘Damn air conditioning.’
Lindsay wheeled, walked out the door into the hall. And was blinded by a brilliant flash of light.
***
This time he would get his answers. Logical, concrete, tangible proof. Explanations that didn’t involve the supernatural, ‘messages from beyond’ or any of that other psychic double-talk.
He’d been an ass. ‘I saw the body in a dream, detective.’ How could he have listened to it, even for a second? No doubt she thought she’d c
ompletely conned him. And if she wasn’t laughing, the blokes at the station sure as hell would be if they ever found out.
And it was laughable. Letting himself be swayed by that face, those sultry eyes, that fragile demeanour. Letting his judgement be tossed out the window by the prime suspect in a murder case.
Well, not again.
Head bowed, Macklyn stalked towards the campus English building where administration had told him Lindsay would be. This time he would get his answers.
***
She winced at the stabbing pain in her eyes. Before she could see the source of the flash, a thin voice spoke up. ‘Lindsay Cavenaugh? Harlan Douglas of the Adelaide Bulletin. Did you make the anonymous phone call to police telling them where Martha Daniels’ body was buried?’
‘What?’ She squinted. A round little man clutching a camera and an open notepad stood before her. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Are you helping police with their investigation? Do you know who the murderer is?’
‘I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She shouldered past him and started up the hall.
The man stayed with her. ‘Have you worked with police before on cases? How do you receive your information? Do you handle objects belonging to the victim, visit the crime scene, or does it come to you some other way?’
‘I have nothing to say to you.’ Lindsay walked faster. The words, his questions … so horribly familiar.
‘I’ve been authorised to offer you three hundred dollars for an interview,’ he said. ‘I’ll double the amount if you can verify you made the call to police.’
She was running now. As she reached the main door it was suddenly opened from the other side. She collided with the figure stepping through.
‘What the …!’ Mac took her arm to steady them both.
‘Have you had any visions about the other missing girl?’ Douglas pressed. ‘Will your gift help police find her in time?’
Quickly assessing the situation, Mac steered her back up the hallway. ‘Police business,’ he told the reporter.
Douglas trailed them. ‘Is it about the case, detective?’