First and Only

by Flannery, Peter

  ‘Sally doesn’t want to come home just now.’

  The words had echoed in Steve’s mind as he felt himself shrinking away to nothing. ‘Listen,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll go up to the cottage for a few days. You come home when you’re ready. Give me a call when Sally is ready to see me.’

  ‘Okay,’ Christine had said.

  Not, ‘Okay darling’. Not, ‘Okay, I love you. See you soon’… just, ‘Okay’.

  Steve had never felt so miserable, so hopeless, so guilty in his life. He had packed a bag, grabbed the keys to the cottage and stalked out the front door walking straight into the florist who was delivering a big bunch of flowers and a large, incredibly cute, Nemo cuddly toy.

  ‘Delivery for Brennus,’ said the florist brightly but one look at Steve’s stony expression and the smile faded from her face.

  ‘Fucking typical,’ Steve fumed to himself. Typical of Paul to think that a bunch of flowers and Sally’s favourite Disney character could make up for ruining their lives. ‘Just leave them in the hall,’ Steve had said ungraciously. ‘Close the door when you leave.’

  And with that he had climbed into the BMW and driven away. Had he paused to read the note that came with the flowers he might have been less harsh in his manner; more puzzled perhaps but certainly less rude. But he did not read the note; he had only assumed that the flowers were from Paul.

  But they were not.

  If Steve had bothered to read the note he would have seen that the flowers were, in fact, from him.

  And that was that. Steve had spent the rest of the day talking to bank managers, lawyers and his accountant trying to see if there was any way out of the hole that had swallowed them. There was not. It all came down to money. When you had it your options were limitless, when you did not those options dwindled to zero. Now it was all about damage control. Retaining the house, salvaging as much of their lives as possible but this too came down to money. Steve had to find a way of earning money and earning it fast, and he could think of no way quicker than three thousand pounds a day for the next five days…

  Steve pressed the tears from the corners of his eyes and tried to get comfortable in his seat. He pulled the blanket up over his chest and closed his eyes, searching once more for the oblivion of sleep. For another thirty minutes he fidgeted and wrestled with his blanket, his body mirroring the churning anxiety within him. And even when his breathing finally grew deep and regular his blanket refused to lie across his body and the frown of worry refused to leave his face.

  And as sleep finally brought relief to Steve, Psimon opened his eyes. He looked across at his sleeping companion, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Then he reached across and pulled the blanket up around Steve’s shoulders.

  He envied Steve the refuge of sleep as he waited in frightened anticipation for what he knew was soon to come… for the next confession to begin. He waited for the pain and fear of the latest victim to become so great that it burst, unbidden, into his mind. He closed his eyes once more. He was tired and the distant sound of the aircraft’s engines had a soothing, soporific quality to it but still the repose of slumber eluded him.

  There would be precious little sleep for those condemned to die.

  Chapter 11

  Thursday March 3rd

  Missing

  There is growing concern for the welfare of psychiatrist Dr Patrick Denning who disappeared last night after giving a public reading of his new book ‘Silencing the Voices’. A police spokesman has said that it is too early to conclude that anything untoward has happened to Dr Denning and they are continuing in their attempts to ascertain his whereabouts. There is as yet no evidence to link this disappearance with the abduction and murder of Dr Marcus Bryant, the psychologist whose body was found earlier this week.

  The main terminal of Orlando International Airport was lofty and bright. The facetted glass ceiling allowed the early morning Florida sun to flood in, bathing the homogenous airport facilities in a flattering light. Psimon and Steve sat in the food court, just across from the Krispy Kreme Doughnuts counter, while they waited for their connecting flight to Fort Lauderdale.

  ‘How can you eat those for breakfast?’ asked Steve nodding towards Psimon’s second blueberry doughnut.

  Psimon said nothing as he licked the powdered sugar from his lips but his eyes flicked to the empty McDonald’s packaging that lay beside Steve’s coffee cup. Both men felt tired and somewhat crumpled after the long transatlantic flight but the coffee was finally starting to take effect and the brightness of the day made it easier to function.

  Steve drained the last of his coffee. ‘Shouldn’t we be making a move?’ he said.

  ‘We’ve got a few minutes,’ said Psimon.

  ‘Not many,’ said Steve looking at his watch. ‘We still have to get over to the airside terminal.’

  But Psimon was not really listening. He was staring past Steve towards the south side of the terminal where people were coming through from the check-in desks.

  ‘Come on,’ said Steve pushing back his chair. ‘We’re going to miss our flight…’ He reached down to grab his bag but when he straightened up Psimon was no longer in his seat.

  Steve felt a moment’s alarm at Psimon’s sudden disappearance but he soon spotted him striding away across the terminal. With an exasperated sigh he shouldered his bag and started after Psimon. He had just about caught up with him when Psimon called out to a middle-aged man in a smart, blue suit.

  ‘Captain Kern,’ said Psimon in a tone of friendly deference. ‘I thought it was you…’ He held out his hand to the somewhat baffled looking man.

  ‘Christ, not again!’ Steve said to himself swerving away from Psimon and trying to appear casual as he hovered nearby.

  Captain Kern turned a puzzled stare on Psimon.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t…’ he began, shifting his bag as he automatically reached for Psimon’s outstretched hand.

  ‘King’s Bay, last June,’ said Psimon. ‘I never got chance to thank you for smoothing things out with Commander Tully.’

  Captain Kern looked none the wiser for this information, although he smiled stiffly as he tried to place the young man in front of him.

  ‘I hope he didn’t hold you to that promise,’ Psimon went on in a knowing tone. ‘I don’t think Stephanie would appreciate having him down at the lake for a whole weekend.’

  Captain Kern’s smile looked more strained than ever.

  ‘Well,’ said Psimon. ‘Best not keep New London waiting.’

  At this Captain Kern’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and, a few metres away, Steve’s ears pricked up.

  ‘Thanks again Captain,’ said Psimon, bringing his other hand up to clasp Kern’s. And there it was again that fleeting spike of intensity as Psimon’s eyes pinioned the older man.

  Captain Kern was clearly mystified but even as his lips parted to formulate a question Psimon let go of his hand and began to move away.

  ‘Goodbye Captain…’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Say hello to Commander Tully for me…’

  And with that Psimon walked away heading for the AGT station and the train that would transfer them to the airside terminal.

  Steve lingered for a few seconds, watching as Kern turned to follow Psimon with his eyes. He could see the indecision on Kern’s face. Would he let this strange encounter pass? Would he call Psimon back? Would he call airport security to find out how this young man knew he was flying up to New London?

  ‘Naval Submarine Base New London, Connecticut’ thought Steve, the submarine capitol of the world. ‘What the hell was Psimon playing at?’

  Finally Captain Kern turned away from Psimon and, with his brows still knitted together in thought, he continued on his way.

  Steve let out a sigh of relief and hurried to catch up with Psimon.

  ‘Don’t tell me…’ said Steve falling in beside Psimon on the AGT platform.

  ‘Never seen him before in my life,’ said Psimon with a sideways smile as the train pu
lled up in front of them.

  Steve gave Psimon a withering look as the doors slid open and they stepped onto the train.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Steve taking a seat beside Psimon. ‘Two naval captains on opposite sides of the Atlantic. That’s not a coincidence… Just what are you playing at?’

  For a moment Psimon looked at Steve as if he were a stranger who was not entitled to know such things. Steve was surprised at the hardness in his eyes. Then his expression softened.

  ‘Just a little trick I learned from the Trojans,’ said Psimon and the smile came back to his eyes as he turned to look out of the window.

  Steve raised his eyes to heaven wondering just what he had got himself involved in.

  The flight to Fort Lauderdale was just a short hop of an hour but it gave Steve a chance to pose a few questions. And this time he would not settle for stony silence. These questions concerned their security… ‘I need you to get me out,’ Psimon had said.

  Steve would have his answers.

  ‘So what makes you think we might have trouble leaving the country?’ Steve asked quietly when they were airborne.

  ‘Just a feeling,’ replied Psimon.

  ‘Yeah, well your feelings are starting to give me the creeps.’

  Psimon offered a wry smile. ‘Welcome to my world,’ he said.

  Steve gave a gentle snort. He could not believe that he was starting to believe this whole psychic thing. ‘Seriously,’ he said. ‘If there’s some reason why we might have trouble getting out I need to know.’

  Psimon nodded his understanding and began.

  ‘The James Randi Educational Foundation is a world renowned institution that actively challenges claims of a pseudo-scientific or supernatural nature; anything that can not be demonstrated to be true.’

  ‘Spoon bending mediums,’ interjected Steve.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Psimon.

  ‘But some of them are pretty convincing,’ argued Steve. ‘There’s this guy in America, John something… He’s a medium… gets pretty close to the truth a lot of the time.’

  Psimon raised an eyebrow at Steve’s familiarity with daytime television programmes.

  ‘And do you believe he can talk to the dead relatives of people in the audience?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Steve.

  ‘And that’s the point,’ said Psimon. ‘If he were able to demonstrate his ability in a reliable way; if he were able to prove that he really can talk to the dead then it wouldn’t be a matter of belief, it would be a matter of fact.’

  Steve nodded and Psimon went on.

  ‘The same goes for bending spoons, reading people’s minds, prophesying the future.’

  ‘They call it precognition,’ said Steve with a glint in his eye.

  ‘Quite,’ said Psimon with a smile. ‘But the same thing applies to all of them.’

  ‘Namely?’

  ‘That it’s not possible to demonstrate they are real.’

  ‘Not to sceptics, you mean,’ challenged Steve.

  ‘Not objectively,’ clarified Psimon. ‘Not to people with an open mind.’

  ‘Would people with an open mind not be prepared to accept that it might be true?’ asked Steve.

  ‘Yes,’ admitted Psimon. ‘But having an open mind also means being prepared to accept that it is not true.’

  ‘So none of these claims are actually true,’ stated Steve.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Psimon.

  ‘Because they can’t be proven objectively?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So…?’ urged Steve hoping that all this was heading somewhere.

  ‘So why do governments around the world spend serious money on paranormal research?’

  Steve just looked at Psimon.

  ‘The Americans, the Russians, the Chinese, even the Europeans. They all believe there might be something in it. Or at least, they cannot afford to dismiss it out of hand.’

  Steve felt a chill run down his spine. Even during his military reconnaissance training they were taught never to look directly at the subject. There was this enduring notion that the target might somehow feel the eyes of the enemy upon them.

  ‘Imagine someone who could break the White House’s ‘lost leaf’ code system,’ Psimon went on. ‘Or someone who could bring down an F-22 Raptor using nothing but the power of thought.’

  For the first time in his life Steve was starting to appreciate the ramifications of a true psychic existing in the world. ‘So what are you saying?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m saying that the ‘powers that be’ cannot afford to ignore the possibility that someone somewhere, with genuine psychic abilities, might one day exist.’

  Steve’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘I’m saying that they are working to find them. And that they keep at least half an eye on the kind of places where someone might just turn up.’

  ‘You’re saying that the Randi Foundation is being watched?’ asked Steve, finding the idea somewhat less than credible.

  Psimon nodded.

  ‘So, what…’ asked Steve. ‘Is the place bugged? Do they have a man inside?’

  ‘Let’s just say one of the JREF staff members has been… ‘approached’.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Steve. ‘I feel like I’m in an episode of the X-Files!’

  Psimon’s smile did nothing to undermine the seriousness in his gaze.

  ‘Okay… Let’s say I buy into your conspiracy theory,’ said Steve, although his expression suggested otherwise. ‘Who exactly would be watching? …the police? …the FBI? …the media?’

  ‘Let’s just call them an agency,’ replied Psimon.

  Steve raised a hand to his forehead. ‘Please don’t tell me you want me to protect you from the fucking CIA,’ he said in a hushed tone. Despite what people might like to believe the CIA were not the bumbling incompetents that they were often portrayed to be in the media. If the CIA did not want them to leave the country then that would be that… end of story.

  ‘No,’ said Psimon, much to Steve’s relief. ‘Let’s call them a private surveillance agency that happens to have certain government organisations on their books.’

  ‘So what kind of resources might they have?’ asked Steve going through the automatic procedure of gathering intelligence.

  ‘Cars…’ said Psimon. ‘Cell phones… standard surveillance equipment…’

  Steve’s anxiety was steadily diminishing.

  ‘Some latitude with the law enforcement authorities…’

  Steve’s anxiety stepped up a notch.

  ‘And helicopters…’ added Psimon as if it were an afterthought.

  ‘Helicopters?’ repeated Steve.

  ‘Well a helicopter,’ amended Psimon. ‘But I thought I should mention it as it might make it difficult for us to get back to the airport without being followed.’

  ‘Damn right!’ snapped Steve.

  He could not believe that Psimon had not told him all this before they left the UK. Being away from Christine and Sally for a few days was one thing but being held in America as some kind of threat to national security was something else entirely. Steve took a deep breath and tried to get things in perspective.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘These guys are not linked to the police.’

  ‘Not officially,’ said Psimon.

  ‘And they’re not CIA or FBI?’’

  ‘No,’ Psimon reassured him. ‘Not directly,’ he added.

  Steve gave him a severe glance before sitting back in his seat.

  ‘So we’re talking about some kind of freelance security firm carrying out a passive surveillance operation.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Psimon.

  ‘And what are they waiting for?’ asked Steve.

  ‘Why, for someone to succeed in the challenge,’ said Psimon as if it were obvious.

  ‘What challenge?’ asked Steve.

  ‘The million-dollar challenge,’ said Psimon. ‘A standing prize to anyone who can demonstrate genuine
psychic ability.’

  ‘And how many people have tried?’ asked Steve.

  ‘Oh I don’t know,’ said Psimon. ‘A couple of hundred maybe.’

  ‘And they all failed.’

  ‘Every one.’

  ‘And you think you can succeed?’ asked Steve.

  ‘Well if I can’t,’ replied Psimon. ‘I won’t need you to get me out of the country, will I?’

  Much to Steve’s relief their arrival at Fort Lauderdale airport had been pleasantly uneventful. Now they stood at the Avis car rental counter just across from the terminal building.

  The woman behind the counter looked up from her computer screen.

  ‘And how long will you be needing the vehicle for?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, just the da…’ began Psimon.

  ‘A week,’ interjected Steve. ‘We’re heading up to Cape Canaveral later today,’ he added, giving Psimon a ‘let me do the talking’ look.

  Psimon raised an amused eyebrow and stepped back to let Steve complete the booking.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Steve, a few minutes later, when the woman handed him a paper wallet containing all the details of the rental.

  ‘You’re welcome sir,’ she said sunnily. ‘Have a nice day.’

  Steve started to turn away. ‘Oh,’ he said suddenly. ‘Do you have a road map… something listing parking lots in the city?’

  ‘It’s all in the GPS unit, sir,’ said the woman.

  ‘I prefer the old-fashioned paper kind,’ insisted Steve.

  The woman smiled politely and pointed to a series of shelves at the far end of the counter. ‘The green one should have everything you need.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Steve.

  Steve helped himself to one of the maps, opened it briefly and gave a small nod of satisfaction. ‘Let’s go,’ he said to Psimon heading out to the forecourt where a metallic-blue Chevy Cobalt was waiting for them. ‘Where to now?’ he asked, adjusting the seat and mirror to his satisfaction. ‘Are we going straight there?’ He was a little surprised to feel a flutter of excitement in his belly.