First and Only

by Flannery, Peter

  Grabbing a bottle of water from the coffee table he went to stand before the mantel piece. At the centre was a picture of Steve with an attractive woman and a beautiful young girl. His smile broadened but then his eyes closed and his face contorted with a frown of regret. ‘What a fucking mess,’ he said softly to himself.

  Shaking his head he took a mouthful of water and placed the bottle on the mantel piece then he went to get the rest of his things from the car. The rain was getting heavier so he grabbed his father’s waxed-cotton jacket from the peg in the hall. His father had been every bit as tall as Steve although not as solidly built. The jacket felt tight but Steve liked to wear it when he came to the cottage. He found the smell comforting.

  In the living room Steve’s mobile phone began to ring.

  ‘Christine,’ he breathed and some of the weight seemed to lift from his face as he dashed back into the front room of the cottage. His heart was suddenly racing but his face fell as he picked up his phone. There was no sign of Christine’s name on the phone’s screen and he did not recognise the caller’s number. With a heavy sigh he pressed the button to accept the call. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Brennus.’

  The caller sounded shaken up and for a moment Steve thought it was Christine’s brother, Paul, calling to apologise for ruining his life. But no, this guy sounded younger.

  ‘Who is this?’ said Steve as he shrugged himself into the waxed cotton jacket.

  ‘My name is Psimon and I would like to employ your services.’

  ‘As what?’ asked Steve becoming suddenly wary.

  Psimon paused. ‘As a chaperon, I suppose you might say.’

  ‘You mean bodyguard,’ said Steve with annoyance. ‘You want a bodyguard.’

  ‘In a sense, yes.’

  ‘I’m not in the security business anymore. Haven’t been for years. Besides, I’m not really trained for personal protection. If you need a specialist I can…’

  ‘I don’t need an expert,’ said Psimon. ‘I need you.’

  ‘Thanks a lot!’ thought Steve. His thumb twitched to end the call but he was curious to know how this guy had got hold of his number.

  ‘Who put you on to me?’ he asked. ‘How did you get this number?’

  ‘That’s not important,’ said Psimon. ‘What’s important is that I need your help… and you need mine.’

  Steve’s attention was now fully engaged. ‘In what way can you help me?’

  ‘I will pay you three thousand pounds a day for five days employment. Plus expenses,’ said Psimon.

  Steve’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Fifteen thousand pounds was enough to prevent the bank foreclosing on the house. However, going back into the field of personal security held no appeal for him, and Christine would never approve. ‘Not interested,’ he said.

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Psimon. ‘Fifteen thousand pounds...’

  ‘Money isn’t everything.’

  ‘No... But the love of a wife and daughter is.’

  ‘What the hell do you know about my wife and daughter?’

  ‘I know that you didn’t mean to hurt her,’ said Psimon. ‘And that they will miss you when you don’t come home.’

  Steve spun round in the small living room of the cottage. He was suddenly anxious, confused and furious. Was this guy threatening him? He said he wanted to help. What the hell was going on?

  ‘Mr Brennus,’ said Psimon. ‘I have no desire to add to your troubles. I wouldn’t be calling you at all if I didn’t think it was necessary.’ He paused allowing Steve to absorb what he was saying. ‘But I really do need your help. And I’m not trying to intimidate you either… I really can help sort things out with your wife and your little girl.’

  ‘How do you know about this?’ said Steve. ‘No one knows about this… Are you a friend of Paul’s? Did he put you up to this?’ Steve knew he was ranting and he hated the sense of being in the dark; of feeling so unnerved.

  ‘No one put me up to this, Mr Brennus,’ said Psimon. ‘I will explain in more detail when we meet.’

  Steve gave a hollow laugh. ‘And what makes you think I’m willing to meet you?’ He was suddenly calm and more annoyed than ever.

  ‘You will agree to meet me because you will want to know what I know. And…’ said Psimon. ‘You really could do with the money.’

  There was a long and deeply uncomfortable silence in which Steve tried to think of any way he could possibly ignore this strange and infuriating guy on the other end of the telephone. After almost a minute he knew there was not.

  ‘Where?’ he said… ‘When?’

  *

  Psimon put the phone down and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  There, he had done it. He had made the call; faced his fear.

  It was the fear that made him uncertain. It was the fear that clouded his view. For all his insight the fear was like a black shadow that engulfed his mind. There were gaps in the shadow and glimpses of what might lie beyond but the gaps were filled with pain and what lay beyond seemed insubstantial. More like wishful thinking than concrete reality. He drew his hands over his face. The trauma of the mysterious attack was still evident in his trembling limbs but that was not the first time he had experienced violence like that and he knew, with sickening certainty, that it would not be the last. However, the growing intensity of the attacks was almost more than he could bear. But bear it he must, for the next five days at least. One way or another that would decide it.

  Decide the manner of his death that is…

  Psimon rose from the chair and limped through to the bathroom to examine his face in the mirror. His left eye was badly swollen with a livid red mark across his temple. The spattering of pockmarks was still intensely painful but even now they were beginning to fade. A wave of exhaustion swept over him and he leaned heavily on the hand basin. He had to remain strong; he had to remain focussed. It had taken many months to plan the next five days, he could not lose it now. He was frightened and tired and needed to get some sleep because tomorrow he was going to meet Steve Brennus.

  Steve Brennus, the man that he hoped would kill him.

  Chapter 4

  Lucifer was satisfied.

  Lucifer was sated.

  One less voice of heresy in a world of lies.

  Dressed in the filthy cassock and cotta of an altar server Lucifer gazed at the inverted crucifix that hung battered and splintered from the bare stone walls of his chapel. He was filled with the glory of the chorus but slowly the ecstasy lifted from his mind. He looked at the body of the heretic lying at his feet; the broken face, the shattered knee, the smoking flesh. He bent down, removed the hose from the shroud and sealed it with a plastic tie before lifting the body from the slick and sticky paving stones. Soft hues from the stained-glass-window fell across his massive form as, with apparent ease, he raised the man’s grotesquely wrapped corpse high above the altar. The sleeves of his cassock fell back to reveal powerful arms covered with a hatch work of scars, and lines of scripture crudely tattooed or burned into the skin.

  With something closer to control than care, Lucifer laid the limp body on the altar. He pinched out the thick tallow candles and stepped back from the great slab of marble. He genuflected in the aisle between the short rows of crudely made pews then he rose from his knee, crossed himself and retired.

  Chapter 5

  Wednesday March 2nd

  Torture

  Police have refused to confirm that the body of a man found earlier this morning on the outskirts of Liverpool, is that of the missing psychologist, Dr Marcus Bryant.

  They have also refused to comment on the cause of death or the nature of Dr Bryant’s injuries. Although witnesses at the scene have reported signs of apparent torture.

  Steve Brennus picked his way up the wooded hillside of Alderley Edge. He knew the Edge well and had been surprised that his mysterious caller had chosen this particular location for their meeting. The path levelled out and Steve paused beside a sandstone outcrop a
t the foot of which was a shallow stone basin filled with water. Above the basin an inscription had been carved into the rock, now weatherworn and barely visible but Steve knew what it said…

  Drink of this

  and take thy fill

  For the water falls

  by the wizard’s will

  Above the words one could just make out the image of a wizard’s face. Steve smiled as he continued along the woodland path. He had always loved the legend of Alderly Edge…

  A hundred enchanted knights lying beneath the hollow hill, sleeping in wizard-induced slumber. And beside each knight a milk-white steed. A hundred knights, ready to ride out and defeat evil in the hour of Britain’s greatest need.

  Steve had spent endless days as a child exploring the rocks and caves of the Edge searching for the secret gates beyond which the knights were said to lie. He and Christine had brought Sally here. They had raced down the forest tracks, stopping at every rock face to rap on it with their ‘staffs’ to see if the golden gates of magic would appear. They never did of course but the magic was not diminished.

  A spasm of regret gripped Steve’s chest at the thought of his wife and daughter. Waking without them had been the most miserable experience but he did not know how to fix what he had done, and he would not go back until he did. With an effort he pushed them from the forefront of his mind and brought his attention back to the reason why he was here.

  ‘Stormy Point, five o-clock,’ the man called Psimon had said.

  Stormy Point was a famous prominence on the Edge where a jumble of sandstone boulders forged an opening in the forested slopes to reveal the wide expanse of the Cheshire plain.

  Another half mile saw Steve drawing close to the agreed meeting place. Following his military training he left the path and circled round through the undergrowth to come at the Point from the opposite direction. If this guy was actually there he wanted to get a good look at him before he made his presence known. Moving slowly now he scrambled up a bank and, using a stunted holly bush for cover, he peered out through a cleft in the rocks.

  A young man sat on the rocks some fifty yards away staring out across the plain, a mobile phone held to his ear. Dressed in jeans, light walking boots and a brown corduroy jacket, he looked too normal to be Steve’s mystery caller, too pleasant. Cautiously Steve shifted his position to see if there was anyone else there…

  Nope, no one.

  He glanced down at his watch…

  Five o-clock dead.

  Steve looked back up and felt his balls tighten with the cold chill of discovery. The young man was staring directly at him, a strange smile on his ‘pleasant’ face. Steve cursed himself as he realised he had just broken one of the primary rules of engagement… never underestimate the enemy.

  Forsaking any vestige of stealth Steve came out from his hiding place and made his way across the open space.

  The young man put away his mobile phone and stood to meet him.

  ‘Psimon?’ said Steve as he came within a yard or two. His manner was gruff almost menacing. Their phone conversation was still fresh in his mind. This man had made mention of his family and Steve was here to make damn sure that he meant them no harm.

  Psimon held out his hand.

  ‘Mr Brennus,’ he said. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  Steve stepped forward and hesitated before taking the young man’s hand. ‘You left me little choice,’ he said.

  Psimon smiled apologetically. He released Steve’s hand and invited him to take a seat on the rocks. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I wanted to make sure you would come.’

  Steve remained standing for a moment. Whatever he had been expecting this was not it. He placed great store on first impressions and his instincts told him that this ‘Psimon’ was all right… a typically nice guy. Slender build and tall, though not quite up to Steve’s six-two. He wore his sandy brown hair casually long, and with his prominent cheekbones and grey eyes he was essentially a good-looking young man. His face was discoloured with some nasty bruising but that looked to be a week or two old and would soon be gone.

  No, not what he had been expecting at all.

  Despite the unsettling intrigue of that first phone call Steve found Psimon’s demeanour to be gentle, almost timid. Only his eyes suggested that there might be more. There was a strange intensity to Psimon’s gaze but there was something else too; something that Steve had seen many times before; something with which he was all to familiar… fear.

  Much of Steve’s apprehension leeched away and he sat down on the bare ground just a few feet from Psimon. Whatever trouble this kid was in Steve suspected that he would not have to sell his soul to keep him safe. ‘What was it?’ he thought. ‘Borrowed money from the wrong people… selling dope on some thug’s turf in Manchester… some kind of corporate trouble maybe…’

  ‘Do you believe in psychics, Mr Brennus?’ asked Psimon suddenly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Steve momentarily thrown by the unexpected question. ‘Bending spoons or talking to the dead?’

  ‘Mediums claim to be able to speak to the dead,’ clarified Psimon. ‘While bending spoons comes under the heading of ‘macro-psychokinesis.’

  ‘As opposed to micro…’

  ‘Psychokinesis,’ Psimon finished for him. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which is?’ queried Steve playing along for the sake of it.

  ‘The ability to influence things on a small scale… computers, electrical circuits, that kind of thing.’

  ‘You’re talking ESP.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Moving things with your mind… reading people’s thoughts… prophesying the future.’

  ‘They call it precognition,’ said Psimon.

  ‘No,’ said Steve.

  ‘No, what?’ asked Psimon.

  ‘No, I don’t believe in psychics,’ said Steve with annoyance. ‘If this was some kind of wind-up, some kind of scam…’

  Psimon looked at Steve with his deep grey eyes. ‘You’ve never had something happen to you that you can’t explain?’ he asked.

  ‘Course I have,’ admitted Steve. ‘But that doesn’t mean it was supernatural.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Psimon.

  There was a moment’s silence between the two men.

  ‘My dad claimed to have had psychic experiences,’ said Steve, somewhat irritated that he had been drawn into this ridiculous conversation.

  ‘Are you calling your dad a liar then?’ challenged Psimon.

  ‘No,’ replied Steve. ‘I believe what he said happened. We just reached different conclusions about how it happened.’

  Psimon gave a satisfied nod. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a brown envelope. He reached across and laid it on the rock within arm’s reach of Steve.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Steve.

  ‘There’s three thousand pounds in there, Mr Brennus,’ said Psimon. ‘I will pay you another three thousand pounds a day if you will accompany me while I go about my business and keep me safe for the next five days.’

  ‘What happens in the next five days?’ asked Steve.

  ‘I die,’ said Psimon and the fear that Steve had perceived in him earlier was suddenly brimming in his eyes.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Steve not at all certain that he wanted to know the answer.

  ‘I have two visions of my death, Mr Brennus,’ said Psimon, his voice strained with the effort of speaking about something which quite obviously terrified him. He looked away before going on…

  ‘One in which I drown in agony and despair…’

  ‘And the other?’ asked Steve with a sudden sense of foreboding.

  Psimon turned back and there was a kind of pleading in his eyes. ‘In the other... you stab me in the face with a short-bladed knife.’

  Steve felt a chill run down his spine. ‘Not a chance,’ he stated with angry conviction.

  But still Psimon looked at him.

  ‘Listen,’ said Steve rising to his feet. ‘I can se
e you’re in trouble. I can see you’re frightened.’ He held out the envelope of cash. ‘But my days of hurting people are over,’ he said, wishing with all his heart that that was true.

  ‘But that’s why I need you,’ protested Psimon. ‘Because I don’t want anyone hurt over the next five days.’

  ‘You just said I was going to fucking kill you!’ snapped Steve, beginning to lose his composure.

  Psimon’s eyes pleaded with him for a moment longer then with a tremulous sigh he lowered his eyes.

  ‘Listen,’ said Steve suddenly, his distrust finally giving way to sympathy for this frightened kid. ‘You don’t need me… the police maybe or a doctor.’

  ‘You mean a psychiatrist,’ said Psimon and the expression in his eyes changed to one of disdain.

  ‘Well I don’t know,’ said Steve sheepishly. ‘You seem a little…’

  ‘Nuts,’ said Psimon.

  ‘Well… yes,’ admitted Steve.

  Psimon suddenly smiled and the haughty expression faded from his eyes. The two men glanced at each other furtively for a minute or two. Finally Psimon turned away looking out once more over the rural landscape below them. Steve hovered beside him. Not wanting to stay but not wanting to seem too hard-hearted either. The envelope of money felt uncomfortable in his hand so he laid it down beside Psimon.

  ‘What if there was?’ asked Psimon still staring off into the distance.

  ‘Was what?’ asked Steve.

  ‘Someone with genuine psychic ability.’

  ‘Are you saying you’re psychic? Is that how you seem to know so much about me?’ said Steve, making no attempt to disguise the scorn in his voice. He was still annoyed about the references Psimon had made to his family during the previous day’s phone call.