IT LIVES IN THE BASEMENT (16 page)

With a sigh of exasperation, she rises from her chair, gliding gracefully to a hot-plate and pours steaming water into a monogrammed mug, then adds a tea bag and sugar.  Talking over her shoulder, she disputes, “Yes Gordy, but she was a fluke and you know it.” 

“Call her what you will Ruth, but for three weeks we had our hands full with that woman,” Gordy reminds her, following her to the hot-plate.

“I remember.  I still have the paperwork.”  She takes her steaming mug and returns to her workstation, trailing behind her a faint scent of herbal tea.  “But if she didn’t have the car crash she never would’ve shown any of them,” Ruth points out.

“Aha, but we don’t know that for certain.  She may have done some of her tricks for years, and never even noticed.”  Now he pours hot water into a bright-yellow mug. 

“How can someone do everything Mrs. Holmquist did and never notice?” She gives a slight shrug as she swirls the teabag in her cup.

He pours a generous amount of sugar into his hot water and stirs, but no tea bag.  “The same way you don’t notice what you’re doing with your spoon.”  Gordy nods toward her mug.

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Moving over a few paces to see what the Doctor’s doing, she glances directly at where I stand; a funny look on her face.  She has the spoon balanced on the edge of her mug.

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“Oh, this is nothing,” she dismisses with an elegant wave of her hand.  “It’s just an idle habit of mine.”

“Precisely Ruth, just as Mrs. Holmquist may have telekinetically opened and closed doors for years, never paying any attention to what she was doing.  If a habit feels natural and done often, we take it for granted more often than not.”

“Yes, I understand what you’re saying,” Ruth argues, “but that doesn’t explain how she could move things, start fires, even go to sleep in one place and awake in another.  Sometimes so far away the journey would’ve been physically impossible to make in the time allowed.” She removes the teabag, dropping it into the wastebasket next to her workstation.

“Yes, but all Mrs. Holmquist’s psychic abilities occurred after her concussion from her car crash,” Gordy patiently reminds her, “then after three weeks, just stopped.” He waddles back to his corner with his steaming mug of sugar-water.

“So, what are you saying, as if I didn’t already know?” Ruth says, rolling her eyes.

“I’m afraid I side with Dr. Tober on this subject.  I think we have the latent tendencies in us, maybe not every person, but certainly many of us, and with the right stimulation they manifest themselves.”  With pressed lips, Ruth toys with her spoon.  Dr. Gordy continues.  “And I feel strongly, as Dr. Tober does, that somewhere there’s at least one person who has these and other traits of the phenomena.  Some abilities we may not be aware of yet.”

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Right on, Doctor
, I think.   My psychic abilities are part of the reason I’m here.  I can do so many things, and this is the place to show off my talents: The Institute of Psychic Research, London, England. 

I mentally concentrate on Dr. Tober’s office, and BLIP! I teleport into the Doctor’s office. 

He’s reading some reports, papers strewn across his desk.  He reads on for several minutes, unaware of my presence, though I’m no longer in my ‘Almost Mode’.  He finally glances up at me, his eyes growing bigger, then in an instant he’s under control.  I guess working at the Institute would condition you to the unexpected.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “Ahem, uh, who are you, and why are you in my office?”  Then he peers around me, probably trying to see whether one of the Doctors had ushered me into his office. 

“Excuse me for dropping in Doctor, but I’m the man who called you the other day.”

“The American, uh, Mr. Merlin?” he politely inquires.

“That’s right, Doctor.  Arthur Merlin, late of the US of A,” I proudly announce with a flourish and a bow. 

He stares at me impassively, not at all impressed.  He waves to a nearby chair.  “Please sir, be seated.” 

I sit in a chair designed to get you up and out of the office as quickly as possible.  Apparently, lollygagging isn’t allowed in Dr. Tober’s office.

Shuffling up the scattered papers, he places them in a file folder, sliding it to the right side of his desk.  Leaning forward, with clasped hands on top of his desk, he asks, “I have the standard tests to arrange, but why don’t you start by telling me what abilities you’re capable of performing that you think I might be interested in?”

“Okay Doctor, It’s been called the Geller Effect, but what he plays with, I do quite well,” I brag.  “Then there are other tricks I do he can’t even pretend to do.”

Leaning back in his chair, Dr. Tober removes his glasses and tiredly rubs his big, round eyes.  “Uh, exactly what do you do, Arthur?”  Stifling a yawn, he replaces his glasses. 

I sit here flummoxed.  I don’t understand why he isn’t impressed.  I’m exactly the person the Doctors were discussing in the lab, but he doesn’t seem at all interested.  True, there can’t be that many people, if any, who have all my abilities.  I suppose Dr. Tober would have to be leery in his position.  Who knew what kind of nutcases wandered in off the street?  I’ll have to prove my uniqueness. 

“Telekinesis, teleportation, pyrokinesis, astral projection, levitation in any form,” I elaborate, ticking them off on my fingers, “and a kind of matter transference I doubt you’ve had any experience with.” 

“Uh, yes Arthur, well perhaps you would consent to a small, uh, demonstration for me?”  With an impatient frown, he starts fiddling with a pen on his desk. 

“Certainly, Doctor.”  Eager to flaunt my talents, I shift in that unwelcoming chair, glancing around his office.  Filing cabinets, a few pictures, and a dozen framed diplomas.  Not much else.  Ah, the wastebasket, full of crumpled-up papers.  Focusing my pyrokinesis ability on the wastebasket, the crumpled-up papers burst into orange flames.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Springing from his chair, Dr. Tober yells, “My God, man.”

“Relax Doctor, I can control the flames,” I hastily assure him.  I mentally shut down the fire and it fizzles out with a small WHUMP.  Simple, if you remove all the oxygen from that spot.  But there’d been some interesting episodes while mastering the trick.  Once, I almost suffocated a roomful of government scientists.  I still get a chuckle over that one.

The good Doctor’s plastered against his file cabinet, eyes as round as the frame of his glasses, mouth hanging open.  He doesn’t look nearly as disinterested or skeptical now.  Thick, grey smoke drifts through his office, causing him to lean over coughing.

“I’ll open a window, Dr. Tober,” I gallantly offer, nodding toward the window.

From his rumpled, brown suit jacket’s breast pocket, he removes a white handkerchief, covering his nose and mouth.  Big eyes blinking rapidly, he mumbles, “Uh, the windows don’t open above the second floor, and we’re on the fifth floor.”

I mentally focus on the window set into the wall behind his desk; glass, thick, wire-reinforced.  The window begins to dissolve, allowing a stream of fresh air to flow inside.  

Jerking his head towards the window, he demands, “What did you just do?”

“Relax.  I dissolved the window into a screen.  Don’t worry, I’ll change the window back.”  With a self-satisfied smirk I lean back, resting my left ankle on my right knee, trying to get comfortable in that torture-device-of-a-chair.

Still staring bug-eyed at the window turned to screen, he reaches out and picks up his phone, keeping his distance from me.  “Doctor Burns, grab Gordy and get in here right now.”

Judging by his reaction to my demonstration, he might not be as immune to the unexpected as I thought.  Returning the handkerchief to his pocket, he gives me the
look
most people do when I’ve used abilities they don’t have, as if I’m a cockroach crawling across their hand. 

The door bursts open and in rushes the tall woman from the lab, followed closely by the short, round and now puffing man.  She shoots me the same funny look she had in the lab. 

With his underlings at hand, Dr. Tober returns to his chair, introducing us around.  He gives a brief description of my demonstration.  Dr. Gordy peers quizzically into the trashcan at the smoldering embers, while Dr. Burns hesitantly glides to the window, gently touching the screen.  She turns, staring at me with creased brows and fingering her necklace.

Telepathically I say to her, *No Ruth, no hoax.*

Startled, she asks, “Telepathy?”

“Yes,” I answer, gazing back into her entrancing jade-green eyes.

With narrowed eyes at Ruth, Tober says, “But I heard nothing.  Gordy?”

“No sir, not a word,” Gordy confirms, also staring at Ruth

Hands on hips, she states, “Well I did.”

“Of course, Ruth,” I tell her with a smirk.  “I was only speaking to you.”

She starts toying with her necklace again, glancing from Dr. Tober to Dr. Gordy.  She looks like a deer ready to bolt.

“And I read your mind Doctor,” I say with a smug, arrogant smile, “and now I know everything about you, down to your smallest, little secret.”  Telepathically I say, *Don’t worry Ruth, I won’t discuss your sex life.* I give her a lewd wink.

Her hand flies to her mouth, a bright blush spreading across her cheeks.

“Dr. Burns, are you alright?” Dr. Tober asks with concern.

“Yes Dr. Tober, I’m fine,” Ruth hisses through clenched teeth.  She’s trembling with indignation.

Tober‘s analytical eyes and Gordy’s puzzled ones bounce back and forth from Ruth to me.

By her mannerisms and her speech, I can tell she’s from an affluent background.  She’s fighting to maintain her composure.  Aloud I say soothingly, “Relax Doctor, calm down.”

Clearing his throat, Dr. Tober adjusts his glasses, reminding them, “Mr. Merlin has come to the Institute so we can conduct some tests.”

With teenage boy exuberance, Gordy asks, “I’d like to see the pyrotechnic demonstration again, sir.  I’ll gather more paper.”

“No need Doctor,” I tell him, “I can burn the ashes for you.”  The trashcan bursts into a ball of yellow flames.  Creating intense heat takes so little of my concentration.

The Doctors stare transfixed at the smokeless fire, as I lean back with a satisfied smile.

With wrinkled brow, Gordy asks, “Hypnosis?”  He holds his hand toward the fire.  “I can feel the heat,” he exclaims with a gasp.  Suddenly the flames intensify, the fire growing to twice its size.  Too close, Gordy’s jacket catches fire, flames rising quickly.  “Ahhh,” he screams, staring in shock at his flaming arm.

My foot thumping to the floor, I jerk upright, mentally shutting down the fire with a WHOMP!  Gordy’s skin is badly burned, the pain beginning to register.  Telekinetically, I focus on his pain receptors, blocking his pain and order Tober, “Better get him to the hospital; he sustained a second-degree burn.”

Tober is already on the phone and seconds later two men in lab-coats rush through the door and over to Dr. Gordon. 

I tell the two men, “He’ll be pain free for several hours, which should give you time to get him treated.”  Helping support Gordy, trying not to cause more harm to his injured arm, they slowly guide the frightened man out of the office. 

I’m stunned.  I rub my forehead, trying to figure out what just happened.  I didn’t mean to hurt Dr. Gordon.  Maybe I had been showing off, but the fire shouldn’t have leapt up like that.  Once I mastered my abilities, I’ve had no trouble controlling them.  So why did I lost control now? 

In the doorway appear two men in uniforms, wearing guns.  They’re guards or more likely soldiers.  The uniforms march to Tober’s desk and stand at attention.

Tober rises stiffly to his feet.  Staring down at me, he declares, “I’m sorry Arthur, but I’m afraid we’ll have to detain you.”  With military precision and steely eyes, the guards draw their weapons, pointing them at me.  One guard holds a pair of handcuffs.  Tober confidently continues, “We are primarily funded by our government, and I’m sure they’ll want to question you at length.  You appear to be just the man we’ve been searching for.”

Staring into the dark barrels of the guards’ weapons, with a wolfish grin, I slowly rise from the nonlollygagging chair and mentally focus on the guards.  Their at-attention stances melt to loose-limbed stances.  With idiotic smiles on their faces, the two guards amble over, handing me their guns, and the cuffs.  I holster their guns back on their belts, ordering them, “Nice of you to stop by men.  Now, please go take a break.”