First and Only

by Flannery, Peter

  ‘Be advised 2-7… authorisation has been granted. I repeat… authorisation to detain subjects has been granted. Car 1 will be at West Sunrise overpass in four minutes…’

  *

  Steve sighed as the barrel of the gun came to a halt just inches from his face. But his sigh was one of annoyance and not fear. He should have anticipated that even a city as shiny as Fort Lauderdale had its seedier side.

  The individual holding the gun had the hard, gaunt face of a man who was no stranger to Florida’s judicial system. White, unshaven and grubby-looking he was of slight build and a good deal shorter than Steve, while the man in the driver’s seat cast an altogether larger shadow.

  For a moment the man seemed unnerved by the lack of reaction from Steve. He looked into Steve’s eyes and the gun’s barrel wavered slightly.

  Behind him Steve heard the door of the Chevy open as Psimon disobeyed his command to stay in the car. The car-jacker’s eyes flicked past Steve’s shoulder and in that instant Steve’s hands lashed out with blinding speed. In the blink of an eye he had disarmed the car-jacker and turned the gun on its owner.

  ‘Easy now, man,’ beseeched the car-jacker quailing before the gun that was now pointed at his head.

  The gun was rock-steady in Steve’s hand.

  ‘You, out of the car,’ said Steve to the man in the driver’s seat and out climbed a great hulk of a man in torn overalls that were thick with oil and grime.

  ‘Over by the truck,’ Steve ordered the two men, and over his shoulder… ‘Psimon, get in the car,’ he called.

  Psimon moved quickly round to the far side of the Hyundai but he hesitated to get inside. His heart was pounding, not because of the scene being played out before him but because he could feel their pursuers getting closer.

  ‘Steve, they’re coming,’ he said.

  ‘I know, Psimon. Now get in the car.’

  The two car-jackers hovered edgily near their pickup still no more ten feet from Steve. Anger had replaced fear in their mean, reckless minds and Steve could see that they were beginning to doubt whether he would actually use the gun. He knew he would not but he could not take it with him and he was damned if he was going to leave it for them. Quickly he grabbed the barrel of the gun popped the round out of the chamber, ejected the magazine and disassembled the gun. Then he threw the parts into a nearby storm drain.

  The car-jackers were less than pleased.

  ‘That was a mistake, friend,’ said the small wiry man producing a knife from nowhere and starting towards Steve. Meanwhile the big guy reached into the pickup’s cab and pulled out a large pick-axe handle.

  ‘Get in the car Psimon,’ said Steve as the smaller of the two men closed on him.

  Psimon did not move as the violence began and time slowed to a crawl…

  As the knife flashed towards Steve he blocked the attack with his left hand and slapped the skinny man in the throat with his right. The slap appeared ineffectual but the man’s body tightened with a spasm and he fell, twitching, to the floor.

  Steve took a step forward to meet the downward blow of the axe handle as the big fellow launched a mighty overhead swing. He caught the descending club; his hands closing over those of the heavier man and with a savage twist Steve flipped him onto his back.

  There was a grunt and the sound of something snapping.

  Then, before the big man could regain his feet, Steve crouched down behind him, one arm going round his neck the other round the back of his head. His left hand was clasped firmly in the crook of his right arm. The headlock was secure, and then he began to squeeze. The big man was strong but Steve held him down and did not let go.

  ‘Steve…’ protested Psimon when he saw what was happening.

  But still Steve did not release his hold. He just squeezed… and squeezed until suddenly the big man went limp in his grasp and Steve dropped him in the dirt. Then without a backward glance…

  ‘Psimon, get in the fucking car!’

  Finally seeing the truth of what had just happened Psimon jumped in the car and barely had chance to close the door before the wheels spun noisily in the verge.

  ‘You didn’t kill him,’ stated Psimon as he reached back to pull on his seatbelt.

  Steve kept his foot to the floor looking for a gap in the traffic.

  ‘Of course I didn’t kill him,’ he said, sounding somewhat insulted. He pulled back onto the main road and by the time the Hyundai emerged from the overpass it was moving at the same speed as the rest of the traffic on the highway.

  ‘Believe me,’ added Steve, checking his rear-view mirror. ‘It takes a lot longer than thirty seconds to strangle a man. I just cut off the blood supply to his brain. He’ll come round soon feeling happy as Larry.’

  Steve remained in the inside lane and took the exit immediately after the overpass.

  ‘But you did break his wrist?’ insisted Psimon.

  ‘Well, he shouldn’t have been so fat,’ said Steve.

  The slip-road curved round a small circular lake, bringing them up onto West Sunrise Boulevard and passing directly over the Chevy that now lay abandoned under the bridge.

  ‘And what about the other guy?’

  ‘Jiu-jitsu move,’ said Steve. ‘A Japanese master gave us a demonstration in the Regiment. Don’t ask me how it works but if you get it right they’re out for a few minutes, wake up with a headache.’

  ‘And you got it right…’

  ‘Didn’t I just,’ said Steve with an immodest grin.

  Psimon smiled at this flash of bravado. Steve had earned it. He had done enough to secure their escape, enough and no more. Psimon settled back in his seat. Their excursion to America was over. He had done what he came to do. Now it was time to leave the bright sunshine and return to the UK where the shadows waited to engulf him. The novelty and adrenaline of the day had proved a useful distraction but now it was time to go back and Psimon could feel the fear lurking on the edge of perception threatening to poison his resolve and crush his will in its merciless jaws.

  With a weary sigh Psimon turned his face to the window.

  Steve noticed the sudden change in Psimon’s mood. He felt a surge of concern but he sensed that this was a personal battle that Psimon needed to face and he remained silent. He manoeuvred across the lanes of traffic, heading for the left-hand filter lane that would bring them back onto highway 95 going south. Meanwhile, a thousand feet above them, a helicopter circled the overpass waiting for a blue Chevy Cobalt to emerge and, as a silver Volvo disappeared beneath the overpass, a bright red Hyundai cruised south heading for the airport.

  Chapter 16

  Friday March 4th

  Lucifer felt cheated.

  The delusions of normal life had kept him too long from the accused. Now the heretic was close to death and had not yet been cleansed. He hung from the wall still. His torn hands encrusted with blood, his naked body pale and slack, his head hanging forward in oblivious stupor. Only the faint, rasping grate of his breathing and the occasional delirious moan suggested that he was anything more than a corpse.

  No, this would not do at all. Those in dominion would not be appeased. The inquisition must be consummated. The heretic must meet his end with open eyes, must confess his sins as the breath of life was taken from him.

  The heretic must wake, before he is allowed to die.

  *

  The late evening skies over England were a world away from the wide sunlit blue of Florida; the low dark clouds illuminated with a lurid orange glow from the lights of the city.

  Steve could not say that he was pleased to be back. The only message waiting on his mobile was from his bank manager. A deposit of fifteen thousand pounds should be enough to prevent the bank from foreclosing on the house immediately but they might still insist on the sale of the property to repay the remainder of the outstanding debt. No, their Virgin Atlantic 747 was not the only thing to have come down to earth with a bump and Steve turned moodily to see if Psimon had finished the call he was
making.

  ‘Your girlfriend?’ he asked when Psimon finally joined him outside Terminal 2 of Manchester Airport.

  ‘No,’ replied Psimon putting away his mobile phone, the smile on his face still lingering from the call. ‘Actually it was a woman I’ve not spoken to before.’

  ‘Well you seemed to be getting on well enough,’ said Steve sourly.

  ‘Turns out we’ve got a lot in common,’ said Psimon.

  Steve snorted and Psimon’s smile softened. He knew that Steve was only feeling bitter because he had not heard from Christine and could not bring himself to phone her. Being away from his family, even for a few days, felt like an eternity to Steve but he did not want to call until he had something to offer, something to tell Christine that might make a difference to their awful predicament. And that meant seeing this job with Psimon through.

  ‘Just a few more days,’ thought Steve. ‘Just a few more days and life can return to normal... Bollocks!’ Steve chided himself. ‘We’re going to lose the house, maybe the cottage too. And on top of that my wife and daughter think I’m some kind of violent monster. Life is never going to be normal again.’

  ‘Here’s our bus,’ said Psimon, breaking Steve’s despairing train of thought and regarding him with his penetrating grey eyes. Psimon had his own reasons for dreading their return to the UK. He knew that there was no escaping destiny, not unless you were willing to let someone else pay the price.

  The bus ferried them quickly to the long stay car park and Steve disembarked first, his eyes scanning the deserted rows of vehicles before Psimon stepped off the bus. Despite the anxieties tumbling through his mind Steve’s senses remained alert for any potential threat to Psimon. For his part Psimon enjoyed the sense of security, even though he knew it was just an illusion.

  In the eerie brightness of the towering lamps they made their way to Steve’s BMW. They did not see it at first, hidden as it was by a large white transit van parked beside it.

  ‘Where next?’ asked Steve as he made his way round to the driver’s side.

  ‘My flat,’ replied Psimon hovering by the passenger’s door. ‘Seventy-four, Freshfield Road, Altrincham…’ his words trailed off as his chest felt suddenly strained. His shoulders burned with a rending pain and he struggled to draw a breath as the fear seeped like black oil into his mind.

  Once again the heretic was waking up.

  *

  Lucifer took a fistful of the heretic’s hair, lifted his head and drew back his arm to strike a waking blow. Then he paused, glancing from the heretic’s form up to the inverted image of Christ the Deceiver. The symmetry was pleasing but one detail was missing.

  Lucifer walked over to the altar, opened an inlaid wooden box and took out a small, short-bladed dagger. The dagger was not of a conventional design. The stubby handle was designed to sit in the palm of the hand with the blade extending between the fingers. Such blades were known as fist-daggers or push knives. Protruding from Lucifer’s massive fist the short three-inch blade looked insignificant but it would be more than sufficient to wake the heretic.

  Lucifer returned to the dying man, glanced up at the inverted crucifix for reference then stabbed the heretic between the ribs of his right side. Then as the heretic gasped and choked his way back into consciousness Lucifer stepped back to admire the scene.

  ‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘there is poetry in life.’

  *

  The BMW gave a familiar ‘beep-beep’ as Steve thumbed his key ring. He opened the driver’s door and threw his travel bag onto the back seat.

  ‘It’s open,’ he said when Psimon did not move to get in.

  ‘I said it’s open,’ repeated Steve glancing across at Psimon who just stood there silhouetted against the side of the white transit van. He did not appear to have heard Steve. He just stood there, shoulders slumped, head bowed forward.

  ‘Psimon!’ said Steve raising his voice. ‘The car’s op…’

  Steve’s words died in his throat as Psimon’s arms slowly raised up on either side of his body until he stood there like a scarecrow. Then, with a suddenness that made Steve take an involuntary step backwards, Psimon was slammed back against the side of the transit. His arms stretched out to either side, suspending his body by invisible means, invisible wires… or nails…

  Steve felt as if his feet had been welded to the floor. For several seconds he stood there aghast. Then Psimon drew in a sudden, stifled gasp that sent a chill down Steve’s spine. It was the sound that someone makes when they are stabbed, a shocked intake of breath. Then slowly and painfully Psimon raised his head but he did not see Steve. Whatever it was that his eyes beheld was terrifying. Psimon’s eyes stared straight ahead. The ugly bruising round his left eye, which had faded, now returned; so too the haemorrhaging in the palms of his hands.

  And all before Steve’s horrified gaze.

  Suddenly Psimon’s eyes locked onto something in the nether world of his perception. Something that terrified him further still. His lips mouthed pitiful objections then he opened his mouth and let out a horrible scream that reverberated round the empty car park.

  *

  With an agony of strained tendons the psychiatrist raised his head and looked with abject terror into the black eyes of his tormentor. He watched as the giant in priestly robes donned thick rubber gloves and lifted a small metal bucket and what looked like a holy water sprinkler or aspergillum, the silver head of which was corroded and heavily pitted. A dread sense of foreboding shot through the psychiatrist’s mind as the acolyte dipped the head of the aspergillum into the bucket. Drops of clear liquid dripped onto the floor and where they fell the paving flags bubbled and spat as the vitriolic fluid burnt into the stone.

  The acolyte raised his hand and, even before the first droplets had landed in his flesh, the psychiatrist was screaming.

  Lucifer was placated.

  The cleansing had begun.

  *

  Steve watched in horror as the screams of fear turned to screams of agony and small, dark blisters began to appear on Psimon’s face and hands.

  This sudden manifestation of pain broke the spell that held Steve in its grasp and he dashed round the car to Psimon’s side. He hesitated for a second as if Psimon were afflicted by some deadly contagion then he reached up and put his hands under Psimon’s arms. For a moment it seemed as if some force was resisting his efforts to help Psimon down. Then suddenly he collapsed into Steve’s arms.

  ‘Psimon,’ said Steve desperately. ‘God, Psimon. Are you okay? Can you hear me?’

  In response Psimon could only moan incoherently.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he sobbed. ‘Yes, I confess… I confess…’

  ‘Come on,’ said Steve. ‘I’m taking you to hospital.’

  With that he leaned over to open the car door. Then he gathered Psimon up, lifted him bodily from the floor and manoeuvred him as gently as he could into the passenger seat.

  ‘Hang on Psimon,’ he said gently. ‘We’re going to get you some help.’

  Steve slammed the door shut and sprinted round to the driver’s side. He jumped into the car, fired up the engine and sped towards the car park’s exit before skidding to a halt at the security barrier. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for the ticket he had paid for in the terminal.

  ‘No!’ sobbed Psimon suddenly from the seat beside him. ‘No…’ he said again cringing into the grey upholstery of the car.

  *

  Lucifer dragged the heretic to the foot of the altar and tied his feet and bloody hands with plastic ties. He offered a short submissive prayer before pulling the shroud over the heretic’s head and down the length of his tortured body. He inserted the hose before securing the shroud with another tie around the heretic’s ankles. Then he genuflected before crossing to the side of the chapel. Bending down he checked that the other end of the hose was properly connected. Then, with the solemnity of a religious rite, he flicked the switch on the pump and the chapel was filled with a loud unpleasant whining. />
  Lucifer returned to stand over the condemned as the breath of life was taken from him, the breath of life that had been so heinously abused.

  *

  Psimon’s sobbing was growing quieter. His eyes began to close and he seemed to be losing consciousness.

  Steve leaned across the car, grabbed Psimon’s chin, and turned his face to look at him.

  ‘Psimon!’ he said in an authoritative voice. ‘Psimon, look at me,’ he ordered.

  Slowly Psimon’s eyes began to focus on Steve’s.

  ‘Good,’ said Steve. ‘Keep looking at me.’ Steve willed Psimon to focus on the here and now. ‘There’s no one here Psimon. You’re in the car, with Steve. You’re safe… there’s no one here.’

  A kind of fearful lucidity returned to Psimon’s gaze and he looked up at Steve as if he could not quite believe it was true.

  ‘That’s it, Psimon. That’s it... look at me… only at me.’ Steve was unbelievably relieved that Psimon was coming round and, seeing the recognition in his eyes, he let Psimon relax back into his seat.

  Quickly Steve lowered his window and inserted the ticket into the barrier.

  ‘I’m taking you to a hospital,’ Steve repeated now that Psimon was more comprehensible. He had no idea what had just happened to Psimon or what to do about it. Bullets, knives, bombs… people trying to kill him. These were things that Steve could handle, things that he could understand. But an invisible enemy that can strike at you without even being present. No warning, no defence… How can you live with that and still retain your sanity.

  ‘No,’ said Psimon in a tremulous voice.

  ‘What?’ Steve glanced across as he drove through the airport complex heading for the motorway.

  ‘No hospital,’ said Psimon more firmly.

  ‘But you’re hurt,’ protested Steve. ‘You need help.’

  ‘They can’t help me,’ said Psimon.

  Steve looked across once more. He was filled with uncertainty. He was not equipped to deal with this, no one was. The only person who seemed to have any understanding of what was going on was Psimon. He was the one who was suffering. It was for him to decide his fate.