The Simpatico Series Box Set (3 books in 1)

by Dermot Davis

  Looking toward where the arrow was pointing, Andrew decided to go check it out. He walked to an odd-looking building that looked more run down and neglected than the rest. Seeing that only one light was switched on, he figured that little or no activity was going on inside. Leaning over a hedge, he peered through a window. He was unable to see anything other than a large cardboard box which obscured his view.

  Perhaps the building was vacant, he thought, as he turned the door handle and walked right in. Although the inside of the room was quite large, it was crowded with moving boxes. A short, stocky man, possibly in his sixties, packed a box with old books. “Hello?” Andrew called out, and stood still, hoping not to startle the man.

  “Hello?” the man called back.

  “Is this the parapsychology lab?” Andrew asked as he walked slowly forward.

  “Used to be,” the man answered, still packing.

  “Are you moving buildings?” Andrew asked.

  “And you are?” the man asked.

  “Andrew,” Andrew said, walking closer. “Andrew Cox. Business studies. I’m a student here, at the university.”

  “They’re shifting business studies in here?” the man asked.

  “They are?” Andrew asked. “I mean, are you asking me?”

  “What are you doing here, exactly?” the man asked, now stopping to give Andrew his full attention.

  “Oh, I was just passing by and, well, this might seem strange but I think I was led here, to this building,” Andrew answered and paused.

  “You were just passing by?” the man asked, clearly puzzled.

  “You could just be the person I’ve been looking for,” Andrew said.

  “And why is that?” the man asked.

  “This may seem very weird and I guess it is but I was coming from the library and something told me to come this way, to come into the building, well, when I say something told me, I don’t mean I’m hearing voices, but I do have these powers that I’m not sure about, psychic powers; see, I spent the whole day looking up all about this stuff, parapsychology, I mean, and psychic powers or extrasensory perception, I guess is the academic name…” Andrew rambled excitedly and then stopped when he realized that maybe he was making an ass of himself.

  “Psychic powers, huh?” the man said, not sounding impressed and returning to his task.

  “Precognition,” Andrew said, as if finally finding the word he was looking for. “I can see things before they happen.”

  "Precognition?" the man repeated. "The foreknowledge of information or of an event in time?"

  "Yes," Andrew answered.

  "You can tell the future?" the man asked.

  "I guess," Andrew answered, now unsure.

  “What card is this?” the man asked, holding up what looked like an over-sized playing card.

  “Oh, uh,” Andrew floundered, not expecting to be so immediately tested. Relaxing his mind as best he could, he mentioned the first image that came into his mind. “King of spades,” he answered confidently.

  Looking impressed, the man held up another. “This one?” he asked.

  “Five of clubs.”

  “How about this one?” the man said, holding up another.

  “Queen of hearts,” Andrew answered. As the man turned over the cards, Andrew’s facial expression turned to one of puzzlement. The front of the cards was not at all like a regular playing card deck; instead, they displayed an assortment of circles, triangles and wavy lines.

  “You never saw ESP cards before, did you?” the man asked.

  “Well, it’s not something that I can control,” Andrew said defensively. “It kind of just happens when I’m not expecting it.”

  “You’re too late, my friend,” the man said, putting away the cards. “I lost my funding; they’re closing me down.”

  “Look, I don’t know you and you don’t know me but I really don’t think that this is an accident," Andrew said. "Me showing up here like this. As a matter of fact, you’re probably the only person that can help me, right now."

  "Help you?" the man asked. "Help you with what?"

  "I’m in trouble,” Andrew explained, wondering to himself how much he should reveal.

  “We’ve all got troubles, son. Go on home and sleep it off and I guarantee you it’ll all look different in the morning.”

  “No, it won’t!” Andrew said sharply, the man taken aback. “All due respect, sir, but no it won’t look any different in the morning. I lost two of my best friends and they won’t be coming back tomorrow or any time soon because they’re dead,” Andrew said, unable to stop his eyes from welling up.

  “I’m on my way back to prison and I pissed off so many gang members, I don’t even know if I’ll wake up alive in the morning. My girlfriend was born into a secret cult and her father practices black magic which is why I’m trying to understand all this stuff but I’m way in over my head and I swear to heaven if my head doesn’t burst, I’m going to go out of my mind…” Feeling suddenly faint, Andrew held onto a desk to steady himself.

  “Are you okay, son?” the man asked.

  “Yeah, just hungry, I guess. Haven’t eaten all day,” Andrew said, regaining his composure.

  “I’m professor Dowling,” the man said, extending his hand. “Everyone here just calls me Dowling.”

  “Andrew,” Andrew said, shaking his hand.

  “Yeah, I got that,” Dowling said, smiling. “I haven’t eaten yet either,” he then said, looking around at how much work remained. “How about we go grab a bite? I’m buying.”

  “That would be fantastic,” Andrew said, smiling and feeling much better.

  For the sixth time that day, Fiona walked across to the guest house to see if Andrew was around. Although she had advised him to turn himself in, she had hoped that she would see him again. If only she could have him hold her in his arms, at least one more time. Disappointed that there was still no evidence of his return, she sat upon the bed, her tears welling up.

  Even though she knew that he had no phone or any easy way to contact her, she felt angry that he didn’t call and let her know what was going on with him. Was he angry with her that she had advised him to return to the prison? Did he misinterpret her advice by thinking that she didn’t care for his welfare or that she would prefer for him to be behind bars?

  Could he be so insecure in her love for him that he would think the worst of her intentions? Checking her phone again, for any sign of an incoming call or text, with utter distress in her heart, she returned to the main house.

  Blinded with sadness and despair, she didn't notice that her father had returned home and was parking his car in the garage. Entering the main house, Fiona closed the front door behind her. Retrieving his briefcase from the trunk of the car, Simon wondered why Fiona had come from the direction of the guest house.

  Glancing around for clues, he entered the guest house from the rear. Although it had been a while since he had spent any appreciable time in there, he carefully looked for anything that might be obviously amiss or out of place.

  The hastily made bed, which looked like it had been recently slept in, sent a shiver down his spine. Was Fiona sleeping with a boy while he was away at work? What did she do all day long while he is gone?

  Looking underneath the bed, and finding an article of clothing which did not belong, sank his painful anguish even deeper to the bottom of his gut. It took him only a second to identify the orange jumpsuit as a required uniform for prison inmates. Fiona had some answering to do, he almost said aloud as he stormed out of the room.

  Between mouthfuls of fries and a tenderloin steak which he savored with every bite, Andrew told his story to Dowling. “I know that he’s her father and everything but, honestly, I’m concerned about her. I don’t know what he’s capable of, you know? If her mother died while giving birth and he never even talks about her, like she never even existed, I mean, how cold-hearted can he be? What if he turned that way on Fiona?”

  “The secret order
he belongs to,” Dowling said, looking around and quieting his voice, “what did you say the name was?”

  “I couldn’t find any information about it on the web. I probably got it wrong or maybe it doesn’t even exist. The Order of the Wise Serpents,” Andrew responded, surprised when he sensed a recognition on Dowling’s part. “You heard of it?” he asked.

  “Yeah, it exists alright,” Dowling said, putting down his fork to take a sip of red wine. “My wife used to be a member.”

  “Well, then,” Andrew said, excitedly. “That’s fantastic!”

  “No, it isn’t,” Dowling said, sounding sad. “She was last seen going to a meeting there over twenty years ago and she’s been missing ever since.”

  “Wow, I’m sorry,” Andrew said, shocked. “Did she make it there or did she?” he asked and then stopped, feeling like maybe he was being intrusive.

  “I don’t know at what point she went missing or whether the group was involved in her disappearance,” Dowling answered. “It’s an unsolved cold case at this point.”

  “I assume you asked everyone there, at the meeting?” Andrew asked.

  “As far as they were concerned, she never showed.”

  “You didn’t believe them?” Andrew asked, sensing Dowling’s skepticism.

  “No, I didn’t believe them but what could I do? No leads, no clues, the police spent their time focusing upon me and eventually pretty much told me that maybe she took herself off someplace and started over with a new identity or some idiocy,” Dowling said, sounding angry.

  “Why would they say that?”

  “Her body was never found so, to cover up their incompetence, they made up a story so they could close the case. Cops hate missing person cases, FYI.”

  “Fiona said that this group does rituals and magic… maybe black magic and stuff?” Andrew said, like it was a question.

  “I guess,” Dowling said, sounding and looking sad.

  “You miss her, your wife?” Andrew asked gently.

  “I’d like to know what happened, you know?” Dowling said. “Just to know how she…” he said and stopped. “If she suffered in any way, I guess,” he then said.

  Although Andrew had more questions that he was dying to ask, he respected the sadness and pain that Dowling seemed to be feeling: he remained quiet.

  “So, what’s your next move?” Dowling finally asked.

  “I don’t know,” Andrew answered as he placed his knife and fork on his empty plate. “I go back to jail and Fiona stays living like a prisoner with her father, I guess.”

  “I live a few blocks from here,” Dowling said as he opened his wallet to pay the check. “You can crash at my place tonight if you promise not to snore.”

  “I don’t snore,” Andrew said.

  Fiona cut some homemade bread and made a cheese sandwich for herself.

  “What’s this?” Simon asked, holding aloft the orange jumpsuit as he stormed into the kitchen.

  “Where did you?” Fiona immediately asked but stopped herself when she realized she had given herself away. “Are you spying on me now?” she then asked, the bread knife still in her hand.

  Simon threw the jumpsuit onto the kitchen island before her and moved closer to his daughter. His facial expression suggested that he was still awaiting an answer. "Well?" he asked.

  “You’re not the boss of me,” she then said.

  “You’re not the boss of me?” he repeated, like her answer was lame. “What was that doing in the guest house, Fiona?”

  “I can see whomever I want, whenever I want,” she answered defiantly. “I’m eighteen and that’s the law.”

  Simon made a face as if he couldn't believe the words coming from his daughter’s mouth. “What’s happened to us, sweetie?” he then asked in a softer tone. “We used to be so close? We shared everything together; we never kept any secrets from each other.”

  “We still are close,” Fiona said and relaxed her defensive posture as she continued to butter her bread. “Since when did you get all inflexible and… controlling?”

  “Things changed between us since you began seeing that boy,” Simon said. “This belongs to him, doesn’t it?”

  “I can’t stop seeing him, daddy, I can’t. I tried but I can’t.”

  “You can see what’s happening here, can’t you, Fiona?” Simon said gravely. “I’m losing you and you’re losing yourself to some… to a puppy love crush on some kid that’s obviously not good for you.”

  “He’s the best thing that’s ever—“

  “This is a prison uniform!” Simon shouted, interrupting her. “What did he do? Break out of prison?”

  Fiona sliced a tomato and kept her eyes down on her task.

  “That makes you an accomplice, you know that, right? They could charge you and, heaven forbid, put you in jail along with him,” Simon said sounding deeply concerned. "Is that what you want? Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know,” Fiona answered. “He’s probably on his way back to jail.”

  “You don’t know or you're not going to tell me? Which is it?” Simon asked. “Is he on his way back here?”

  Fiona didn’t raise her eyes as she placed some cheese on her sandwich.

  “That’s why you went to the guest house, isn't it?" he asked, watching her face closely for any kind of reaction. "You went to see if he was back there,” Simon suggested. “Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t call the police?”

  “Why would you do that?” Fiona asked.

  “Because now I’m an accessory too! You brought home an escaped convict to my house. I would have been in trouble if I didn’t know but now that I do… they could arrest both of us, sweetheart! What were you thinking?”

  “I’m not expecting him back; he was going to turn himself in,” Fiona said.

  Placing his hands on his hips, his head dropped in exasperation, Simon let out a big sigh.

  “I didn’t ask for a “royal birth,” you know,” Fiona said as she spread some mustard on her sandwich.

  “This is not going to get any better, is it?” he then asked, sounding fatalistic. “We’re not going to get any closer than we are, right now, are we? In fact, realistically, we’re going to get even more distant from each other. Isn’t that true?”

  “Why can’t I just live a normal life like every other teenager—“

  “Come,” Simon then said, taking her by the wrist.

  “What? Where?” Fiona asked, now frightened.

  “You want to be an ordinary girl with ordinary girl problems, then let’s go settle this,” he said, pulling her out of the kitchen. “For once and for all.”

  Opening the door to the basement room, Simon flung her in before him and closed the door. “Sit,” he said as he pointed to a seat near the altar that looked more like a throne. Once seated, Fiona relaxed a bit more.

  Tilting forward, his hands leaning on the chair armrests, Simon looked squarely at his daughter and took a deep breath. “This cannot work without your permission,” he said. “I know that your gifts have arrived,” he said, as if to preempt her denial. “Transfer them over to me and all your problems are solved. You’ll be free to do as you please; free to love whom you please.”

  “A transfer of powers? Is that even possible?” Fiona asked.

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” he asked as he turned to light some candles.

  Unsure about the right thing to do, Fiona tried to sort through possible options and consequences. “I really need more time to think about this, dad,” she said softly.

  “What is there to think about, sweetie?” Simon asked, not breaking his concentration on his task.

  “What happened to my mom?” she then asked. Simon paused, a match still lit in his hand. “I know that she... what exactly happened; what exactly went wrong?” Fiona asked.

  Blowing out the lit match, Simon turned to face his daughter. “That can’t happen to you, sweetie. It’s not the same.”

  “Why do you never mention her or tal
k about her, like she never even existed?” Fiona asked tearfully.

  “It’s not what you think, sweetie,” he answered softly. “I loved your mother very, very much.”

  “Then I don’t understand why you’d never even tell me about her; what was she like? What were the things she used to do and say? What kinds of food did she like? I don’t know, everything!” Fiona said, her voice quivering. “Do I look like her? In what ways am I like her? How much of her is in me?”

  Looking completely lost for words, Simon lost his balance and fell to one knee. Reaching out in concern, Fiona could see that he was sobbing. “What is it?” she asked.

  “There’s not one day goes by,” he said, not even trying to regain his composure. “I miss her so much. I thought that over time it would go away, that I’d get over her…” he said, looking up at her with sad and tearful eyes.

  Fiona had never seen her father so distraught; the intensity of his raw emotions frightened her. He took her hands in his own. “You so remind me of your mother, it’s… it’s hard to even look at you, sometimes,” he admitted.

  Empathically feeling the emotions of her father, Fiona also began to cry. As if to say, “It’s okay,” she squeezed his hands tighter. She understood now how much her mother had meant to him and how much pain he had been feeling all along. It was a pain he had hidden from her–and most probably himself–since her passing.

  Beneath the deep sadness at the loss of his wife, she could also feel his guilt. It was a guilt so powerful and strong that when she tuned into it, her body felt weakened. The self-blame was so overwhelming, she had to catch herself from losing consciousness.

  “It’s okay, dad,” she then said soothingly. “I had no idea. I didn’t know. It’s okay.”

  “You are so much like your mother,” he said, finally looking up at her. “You are so like her that sometimes, sometimes I think that you are her,” he said.

  Rising to his feet, Simon looked lost and utterly confused. As if irredeemably broken in some way, he wiped away his tears and dejectedly left the room. Shocked by his departing statement, Fiona remained seated. She wasn’t sure what exactly he had meant and if what he was implying was a good thing or a bad thing. What did he mean by that? Did she inherit the soul of her mother? Could her mother and she by the same person? Was she her mother, her mother’s soul reincarnated into a new body? The thoughts that ran through her mind were terrifying.