First and Only (23 page)

‘Come on, let’s go.’

Despite his contempt, Lucifer was
intrigued. He fell in with the swelling crowd and returned to the hall of lies.

*

Steve was getting more than a
little concerned. The atmosphere had changed from shock and astonishment and
was rising towards a kind of hysteria. And still more people were coming into
the hall. The word had obviously got around that something extraordinary was
going on. He looked up at the rows of seats behind him. They were all full now
and people were sitting and standing in the aisles.

Back on stage Psimon was fielding
one question after another.

‘So you’re saying that
none
of the other people speaking here today are actually psychic. That none of them
have supernatural powers of any kind.’

‘That’s right,’ said Psimon and
Steve found himself wishing that Psimon could be a little less honest and a
little more diplomatic.

‘Don’t you think that’s
incredibly arrogant?’

‘It would be, if it wasn’t true,’
replied Psimon.

‘So they are all liars and
con-artists.’

‘No,’ said Psimon. ‘Only three of
them are guilty of wilful deception. The others believe their powers to be
real.’

‘But they’re not.’

‘No.’

‘Then what are they?’

‘Yeah, what are they?’

Psimon bowed his head. How
quickly the brightness of wonderment fades to the dull flames of hostility.

‘People seek explanations for
things they do not understand,’ Psimon said. ‘Some turn to science, because
logic and reason prevail and endure.’

Here he turned to the scientist
on the panel.

‘Some turn to God, and find their
answers there.’

The clergyman inclined his head.

‘While others turn their gaze within,
to the mysteries of the mind.’

Psimon’s hand gestured towards
the psychologist but he raised his eyes to the audience.

‘People believe in the
supernatural because they do not understand. They do not understand the amazing
complexity of the human brain and the influence of the subconscious mind. They
believe in the supernatural because they do not appreciate just how unendingly
wonderful nature truly is.’

‘And you do?’ came the unpleasant
challenge.

‘No,’ said Psimon. ‘No one fully
does. But we can try. And when we reach the limits of our understanding we must
have the courage to say, I don’t know.’

‘So what about us?’

‘Yeah, are we all deluded?’

‘No,’ said Psimon, much to
Steve’s relief. ‘You have simply believed in something that is not true.’

The audience was silent.

‘But we can believe in you,’ said
a woman from the back of the hall.

‘If you like,’ said Psimon with a
smile.

Silence again and Steve wondered
whether Psimon had succeeded in calming the mob or if it was just taking a
breath before going for his throat.

Then once more from the back of
the hall.

‘My husband hears the voice of
our dead son,’ the woman went on in a small, tremulous voice. ‘But it brings
him no comfort,’ she said. ‘It only makes him weep.’

Psimon looked up at the woman.
His eyes glittered with tears. The lecture hall was full but he spoke only to
her.

‘Liam is gone,’ he told her. ‘He
exists only in your hearts.’

The woman put a hand to her
mouth. The tears spilled down her cheeks.

‘The voices are not real,’ said
Psimon. ‘Your husband is suffering from a mental disorder. He is grieving and
he is ill. He will find no peace in chasing after ghosts.’

The woman was too upset to
answer. She could only nod her thanks.

*

Lucifer was inflamed.

Who was this blasphemer to doubt
the voice of this woman’s son, to dismiss what he had never heard?

‘His mouth is full of curses
and lies and threats;

trouble and evil are under his
tongue.’

He had been right to follow the
chattering crowds. This man was dangerous. He spoke his lies with authority. He
spoke with the power of the damned.

*

Silence claimed the crowded hall
once more. The aching clarity of the woman’s grief had sobered the volatile
mood. Then an old man from the front row raised himself up on a walking stick
that was carved in the likeness of a Jack Russel terrier.

‘I once knew a priest who told me
he knew a real and genuine psychic,’ the old man said. ‘A child truly gifted
from God,’ he said.

Psimon held the old man’s eyes,
which, for all their years, were still clear and bright and had not changed.

‘Was he lying?’ the old man
asked.

For the longest time Psimon said
nothing. Then he smiled at the memory of a kind old Priest; a memory that still
warmed his soul.

‘No, he was not lying,’ said
Psimon. ‘He spoke of me... I knew Father Kavanagh well.’

The old man nodded his
understanding.

‘I loved him,’ said Psimon. ‘I
was with him when he died,’

*

Lucifer’s mind erupted in a
conflagration of hate.

And the chorus roared in fury.

‘It is the witness! The
witness in the house of Jehovah!’

He reeled with the force of
revelation. He put out a hand, crushing the shoulder of the man standing in
front of him at the back of the hall.

‘Hey! What the hell,’ protested
the man.

But Lucifer did not hear him. The
chorus was deafening, the pain unendurable.

‘No one must know…’

Lucifer opened his burning eyes
and sought out the blasphemer at the front of the hall.

‘Silence the witness.’

The rage was too great. It was
all he could do not to rush down the steps and tear the heretic’s face off
there and then. The chorus was rising, the blackness encroaching on Lucifer’s
sight.

‘Cut out his tongue.’

‘Fill his mouth with dirt.’

He could not bear to be in the
presence of such profanity and suffer it to live.

Lucifer turned and fled.

*

Steve was out of his seat.

The look of absolute terror on
Psimon’s face left him in no doubt. Any vestige of hope in Psimon’s mind was
gone. The fear in all its fury had returned.

He called out to Psimon but the
rising clamour drowned out his words as people began to realise that something
was wrong. Steve shouted louder but Psimon would not even look at him. He just
kept staring up towards the back of the hall as if he had seen the killer
himself.

Steve turned to follow the line
of Psimon’s gaze and as he did so he saw the shape of a huge man in a blue suit
pushing his way out of the hall. The great figure moved on through the small
anti-chamber and disappeared. Steve looked back at Psimon but as he did so an
image froze in his mind. It was the image of the exit sign reflected in the
mirrored walls of the anti-chamber. The ubiquitous metal box; the green sign,
lit up from within. The bright letters shining clearly for all to see…

Chapter 27

Steve felt torn and tormented. Torn because he did not
know whether to go and help Psimon or go after the ‘giant’ who had just left
the hall. And tormented because he had come face to face with the killer and
failed to recognise what was standing before him; what was smiling down at him,
smiling down with those dead black eyes.

The indecision lasted less than a
second. Steve went to Psimon’s aid.

‘Psimon,’ called out Steve as he
leapt up onto the low stage.

The members of the panel were
gathered hesitantly round Psimon who had collapsed to the floor and was
clinging to the base of the lectern like a man caught in a flood, fearful of
being swept away.

‘It’s all right,’ said Steve as
the scientist moved to block his approach. ‘He’s a friend of mine.’

‘That’s right. He is,’ said the
young woman called Natasha when the scientist looked doubtfully at Steve.

‘He just collapsed,’ said the
scientist as Steve knelt down beside Psimon.

‘Is it some kind of seizure?’
asked the psychologist. ‘Is there anything we can do?’

‘He gets these attacks,’ said
Steve vaguely, then… ‘Psimon… it’s Steve. Can you hear me?’

But Psimon just clung to the
lectern his face pressed against the hard edges of wood.

‘He’s here… he’s here… he’s
here,’ Psimon whispered over and over, his eyes staring blindly ahead of him,
his brow beaded with sweat.

‘Is he all right?’ asked Natasha
crouching down next to Steve, a glass of water in her hand.

‘He’ll be fine,’ said Steve
although he did not really believe it. ‘Let’s get him to a chair.’

A chair was brought from across
the stage but it took all Steve’s strength to pry Psimon’s hands free from the
lectern.

‘He’s here… he’s here… he’s
here…’

Steve half carried Psimon to the
chair.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked
Natasha.

‘He’ll be all right,’ said Steve
with more annoyance than he intended.

Psimon just sat there gripping
his knees rocking backwards and forwards, whispering over and over. Steve took
his head in his hands, gripped him firmly and turned his face to look up at
him.

‘Psimon,’ said Steve. ‘Psimon,
look at me.’

It was several long moments
before Psimon’s eyes focussed on Steve and then the tension melted from his
face and Psimon began to weep.

‘Steve,’ he said in a voice that
was so forlorn that Steve felt the tears standing in his own eyes. ‘He’s here.’

‘I know,’ said Steve. ‘I know.’

Still clasping Psimon’s head
Steve looked into his sad grey eyes. That chink of fear had opened up in his
mind once more. Not fear for himself but for Psimon. He could not bear the
thought that he might be hurt, that he might be killed. Psimon had hired Steve
to protect him. ‘…keep me safe,’ Psimon had said but for the first time Steve
truly doubted that he could.

If Psimon had seen it, how could
he possibly stop it?

‘You saw him,’ said Psimon
suddenly.

Steve nodded. ‘I actually
apologised to the bastard,’ he said.

‘You saw him,’ repeated Psimon as
if he had not heard Steve. ‘Did you see the hatred and the pain? Did you hear
the chorus of angels in his mind?’

Steve shook his head, frowning at
the strangeness of Psimon’s words.

‘They are not angels…’ hissed
Psimon ominously. ‘They are demons. They hold him in thrall. He is the vessel
of their torment, the instrument of their wrath.’

The small crowd of people
gathered round Psimon drew back at the alarming change in the tone of his
voice. Concern changed to discomfort and awkwardness.

‘Come on,’ said Steve angrily.
‘Let’s get you out of here.’

He drew Psimon’s arm across his
shoulders and hauled him to his feet.

‘Then we’re calling the police.’

‘No,’ cried Psimon. ‘No, Steve,
you mustn’t.’

‘Police?’ enquired the
psychologist anxiously as Psimon seemed to become increasingly debilitated.
‘Why would we need to call the police?’

Steve groaned. He was not about
to tell them that a serial murderer had just vacated the building and might,
even now, be prowling around outside. With Psimon hanging deliriously from his
shoulder Steve turned about looking for the quickest way out of the building.
He spotted a fire exit at the back of the stage and forged a path towards it,
the people parting nervously before him.

‘Can I help?’ came a quiet voice
beside him.

It was Natasha.

‘You could get that door,’ said
Steve, nodding towards the exit.

Natasha moved ahead to the set of
double doors.

‘It’s closed,’ she said
apologetically as Steve approached the door.

The bar across the doors was
sealed by a small plastic security tie. Natasha held it up between her fingers.

Steve looked down at the tie then
nodded Natasha to stand aside. Then he raised his foot and gave the doors a
hefty kick. The plastic tie flicked away as the doors slammed open. There were
gasps of shock and disapproval from the stage behind them but Steve could not
have cared less. Hitching Psimon higher on his shoulder he started through the
doors.

‘Will he be all right?’ asked
Natasha as he passed.

‘I hope so,’ said Steve, pausing
in the doorway to look at her. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘He’s special isn’t he,’ said
Natasha, her hand starting to reach out to Psimon.

‘Yes,’ said Steve. ‘He is.’

And with that he marched Psimon
quickly back to their car before the campus security, or anyone else, could
stop them.

*

Lucifer would not have seen them
if he had been waiting with the crowds but the closeness of so many people had
been more than he could bear. He had retired to a quieter vantage point where
he could watch the entrance to the hall of lies and calm the din of righteous
ire that raged in his mind.