breathed Steve, still
not quite sure what to make of what he had just heard. Having those memories
dragged from his past and held up before his eyes had provoked a fierce
reaction. He felt angry, frightened, threatened. But now as he looked at Psimon
he found those feelings seeping away just as they had on the Edge. There was
something vulnerable about Psimon, something desperately lonely. It took the
heat out of Steve’s anger and aroused within him a kind of fraternal instinct,
which as an only child, Steve found surprising.
‘Okay,’ said Steve when his heart
had stopped trying to beat its way out of his chest. ‘I’m impressed.’
Glancing up at Steve Psimon felt
a wave of relief. There was no sign of the defensive paranoia that he might
have expected.
‘ Yes, ’ he thought to
himself. ‘ I was right to phone him. ’
He had never known a man of such
contrast… a man capable of such destructive violence and yet possessed of a
gentle nature and understated empathy. He had chosen his knight well.
‘So, what else can you do?’ asked
Steve in a tone that lightened the mood.
‘Well,’ said Psimon, and here he
held up the envelope of cash that Steve had returned to him on the Edge. ‘How
would you like to trade the fifteen thousand pounds for tonight’s winning
lottery numbers?’
‘I said I was impressed, not
stupid,’ said Steve, snatching the envelope from Psimon’s hand and deftly
slipping it into the covered compartment between their seats.
Psimon’s smile broadened.
Steve let out a deep breath and
ran his hands down over his face. He inserted the car keys, checked his mirror
and flicked on the lights as it was already getting dark.
‘Okay, freak,’ he said. ‘Where to
first?’
‘Did you bring the things I told
you to?’ asked Psimon, finding the light-hearted insult strangely pleasing.
‘In the boot,’ said Steve
referring to the travel bag and passport that Psimon had instructed him to
bring during their phone call. He reached round to grab his seat belt and when
he turned back Psimon was holding up two airline tickets. Steve reached across
and turned up the flap of the envelope to look at the destination.
‘Manchester to Fort Lauderdale
via Orlando (MC0),’ the tickets read.
‘So what’s in Florida?’ asked
Steve.
‘The James Randi Educational
Foundation,’ replied Psimon.
‘And what do they do at the James
Randi Educational Foundation?’
‘They challenge claims of
paranormal phenomena,’ said Psimon.
Steve looked at Psimon with a
‘you’ve got to be kidding’ expression on his face.
‘There’s a million-dollar prize
for anyone who can demonstrate genuine psychic ability.’
Steve’s expression changed to one
of the ‘Oh really?’ variety.
‘We have an appointment with the
testing panel tomorrow afternoon at two-thirty.’
‘Oh, we do, do we?’ challenged
Steve.
‘Yes,’ replied Psimon.
‘And I suppose you want me to
protect you from all the nutters in America?’
‘No,’ said Psimon and his voice
was suddenly serious once more. ‘I need you to get me out.’
Chapter 8
Dr Patrick Denning left the lecture in buoyant mood.
‘Silencing the Voices’ was far and away the most successful book he had ever
written. That was the third lecture this week and every one sold out. The
psychiatrist smiled to himself as he dwelt on the crowd of enthusiastic faces
at the signing, each one eager to share their own ideas and insights into the
world of schizophrenia. But it was he who held court, he who could grant or
deny them the few minutes of attention that they craved. Now it was off to the restaurant
for another free dinner at his publisher’s expense.
He turned off the main road and
headed for the short-cut via the canal. It was too dark and wet to take the
towpath tonight but he was running late and nipping over the bridge would still
save him a few minutes.
The orange glow from the street
lamps faded as he made his way up the narrow
not quite sure what to make of what he had just heard. Having those memories
dragged from his past and held up before his eyes had provoked a fierce
reaction. He felt angry, frightened, threatened. But now as he looked at Psimon
he found those feelings seeping away just as they had on the Edge. There was
something vulnerable about Psimon, something desperately lonely. It took the
heat out of Steve’s anger and aroused within him a kind of fraternal instinct,
which as an only child, Steve found surprising.
‘Okay,’ said Steve when his heart
had stopped trying to beat its way out of his chest. ‘I’m impressed.’
Glancing up at Steve Psimon felt
a wave of relief. There was no sign of the defensive paranoia that he might
have expected.
‘ Yes, ’ he thought to
himself. ‘ I was right to phone him. ’
He had never known a man of such
contrast… a man capable of such destructive violence and yet possessed of a
gentle nature and understated empathy. He had chosen his knight well.
‘So, what else can you do?’ asked
Steve in a tone that lightened the mood.
‘Well,’ said Psimon, and here he
held up the envelope of cash that Steve had returned to him on the Edge. ‘How
would you like to trade the fifteen thousand pounds for tonight’s winning
lottery numbers?’
‘I said I was impressed, not
stupid,’ said Steve, snatching the envelope from Psimon’s hand and deftly
slipping it into the covered compartment between their seats.
Psimon’s smile broadened.
Steve let out a deep breath and
ran his hands down over his face. He inserted the car keys, checked his mirror
and flicked on the lights as it was already getting dark.
‘Okay, freak,’ he said. ‘Where to
first?’
‘Did you bring the things I told
you to?’ asked Psimon, finding the light-hearted insult strangely pleasing.
‘In the boot,’ said Steve
referring to the travel bag and passport that Psimon had instructed him to
bring during their phone call. He reached round to grab his seat belt and when
he turned back Psimon was holding up two airline tickets. Steve reached across
and turned up the flap of the envelope to look at the destination.
‘Manchester to Fort Lauderdale
via Orlando (MC0),’ the tickets read.
‘So what’s in Florida?’ asked
Steve.
‘The James Randi Educational
Foundation,’ replied Psimon.
‘And what do they do at the James
Randi Educational Foundation?’
‘They challenge claims of
paranormal phenomena,’ said Psimon.
Steve looked at Psimon with a
‘you’ve got to be kidding’ expression on his face.
‘There’s a million-dollar prize
for anyone who can demonstrate genuine psychic ability.’
Steve’s expression changed to one
of the ‘Oh really?’ variety.
‘We have an appointment with the
testing panel tomorrow afternoon at two-thirty.’
‘Oh, we do, do we?’ challenged
Steve.
‘Yes,’ replied Psimon.
‘And I suppose you want me to
protect you from all the nutters in America?’
‘No,’ said Psimon and his voice
was suddenly serious once more. ‘I need you to get me out.’
Chapter 8
Dr Patrick Denning left the lecture in buoyant mood.
‘Silencing the Voices’ was far and away the most successful book he had ever
written. That was the third lecture this week and every one sold out. The
psychiatrist smiled to himself as he dwelt on the crowd of enthusiastic faces
at the signing, each one eager to share their own ideas and insights into the
world of schizophrenia. But it was he who held court, he who could grant or
deny them the few minutes of attention that they craved. Now it was off to the restaurant
for another free dinner at his publisher’s expense.
He turned off the main road and
headed for the short-cut via the canal. It was too dark and wet to take the
towpath tonight but he was running late and nipping over the bridge would still
save him a few minutes.
The orange glow from the street
lamps faded as he made his way up the narrow
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