suggested Steve. ‘You obviously have some kind of gift. Why don’t you
use it to help the police find this guy.’
‘I can’t,’ said Psimon.
‘Why not?’ pressed Steve. ‘The
police use mediums… psychics. When they’ve got nothing else to go on,’ he
added. ‘Why not…’
‘Cos I’m afraid,’ snarled Psimon
rounding on Steve. ‘I’m afraid,’ he repeated more quietly looking embarrassed
as people turned to look at them.
Steve just looked at Psimon
feeling a mixture of sympathy and exasperation.
‘One coffee, one double-shot
cappuccino,’ said a young lad serving up their order.
Steve reached for their drinks
but stopped as he saw Psimon’s face suddenly screw up with pain. His lips drew
back from gritted teeth and his fingers curled tightly into claws. Psimon’s
body seemed unnaturally rigid, then as his legs buckled Steve grabbed hold of
him and held him up against the counter.
‘Psimon,’ he said. ‘Psimon can you
hear me?’ but Psimon was insensible, his body twitching with vicious spasms.
Steve lowered him to the ground
and cradled his head against his chest.
‘ What the fuck is this? ’
he thought. ‘ Some kind of seizure? ’
He was about to call for help
when Psimon drew a ragged breath.
‘It’s all right…’ he gasped to
Steve’s great relief. ‘I’m okay,’
Slowly Steve helped Psimon get to
his feet watching him closely.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked
a woman in a Costa Coffee uniform.
Steve glimpsed the manager’s
badge on her shirt. ‘Yes,’ he said sounding less than convinced himself. ‘Just
a nasty bout of indigestion.’
The manager asked one of her
staff to help them with their drinks as Steve led a still-shaky Psimon to an
empty table.
‘Thanks,’ said Steve as the young
lad set their drinks down on the table.
He guided Psimon into a chair
before taking a seat beside him. The manager returned with a glass of cold
water and, with a nod of thanks, Psimon reached out a trembling hand to take a
sip.
Steve waited for Psimon to regain
his composure. ‘So what was that all about?’ he asked gently when some colour
had returned to Psimon’s cheeks.
‘He’s taken someone else,’ said
Psimon.
‘Who’s taken someone else,’ asked
Steve but Psimon only looked up, a dark haunted look in his eyes.
‘The killer?’ whispered Steve.
‘That guy in the paper?’
By way of an answer Psimon
lowered his eyes staring into the glass of cool clear water in his hand.
Steve was struggling with this.
Picking out an incident from his past he could just about get his head round
but some kind of psychic link with a deranged serial killer was a step too far.
‘How do you know?’ he asked trying not to sound too sceptical.
‘I always know…’ replied Psimon
without raising his eyes.
‘This has happened before then?’
‘Many times,’ said Psimon.
‘How many times?’ asked Steve
warily.
‘Fourteen.’
‘Fourteen!’ exclaimed Steve.
‘Not counting Father Kavanagh,’
Psimon added.
Steve sat back in his chair,
stunned. His worldview was struggling to accommodate the new insights being
thrust upon him.
‘ This can’t be possible ,’
he thought. ‘ None of this is possible! ’
‘And he’s getting angrier…’ said
Psimon ominously. ‘More voracious.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s two in a week,’ said
Psimon. ‘The time between confessions is growing shorter. If we don’t stop him
soon…’
‘But you said he was going to
kill you,’ argued Steve. ‘Surely we want to stay away from this guy.’
‘We have no choice,’ said Psimon.
‘Our paths will cross. All that matters is how it ends.’
‘You mean if I kill you,’ said
Steve in a low scornful tone.
‘All I know,’ said Psimon looking
up at Steve. ‘Is that if he kills me then it’s over, that’s the end… but if you
kill me then everything will be all right.’
‘Some fucking choice,’ muttered
Steve under his breath. Then to his surprise
use it to help the police find this guy.’
‘I can’t,’ said Psimon.
‘Why not?’ pressed Steve. ‘The
police use mediums… psychics. When they’ve got nothing else to go on,’ he
added. ‘Why not…’
‘Cos I’m afraid,’ snarled Psimon
rounding on Steve. ‘I’m afraid,’ he repeated more quietly looking embarrassed
as people turned to look at them.
Steve just looked at Psimon
feeling a mixture of sympathy and exasperation.
‘One coffee, one double-shot
cappuccino,’ said a young lad serving up their order.
Steve reached for their drinks
but stopped as he saw Psimon’s face suddenly screw up with pain. His lips drew
back from gritted teeth and his fingers curled tightly into claws. Psimon’s
body seemed unnaturally rigid, then as his legs buckled Steve grabbed hold of
him and held him up against the counter.
‘Psimon,’ he said. ‘Psimon can you
hear me?’ but Psimon was insensible, his body twitching with vicious spasms.
Steve lowered him to the ground
and cradled his head against his chest.
‘ What the fuck is this? ’
he thought. ‘ Some kind of seizure? ’
He was about to call for help
when Psimon drew a ragged breath.
‘It’s all right…’ he gasped to
Steve’s great relief. ‘I’m okay,’
Slowly Steve helped Psimon get to
his feet watching him closely.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked
a woman in a Costa Coffee uniform.
Steve glimpsed the manager’s
badge on her shirt. ‘Yes,’ he said sounding less than convinced himself. ‘Just
a nasty bout of indigestion.’
The manager asked one of her
staff to help them with their drinks as Steve led a still-shaky Psimon to an
empty table.
‘Thanks,’ said Steve as the young
lad set their drinks down on the table.
He guided Psimon into a chair
before taking a seat beside him. The manager returned with a glass of cold
water and, with a nod of thanks, Psimon reached out a trembling hand to take a
sip.
Steve waited for Psimon to regain
his composure. ‘So what was that all about?’ he asked gently when some colour
had returned to Psimon’s cheeks.
‘He’s taken someone else,’ said
Psimon.
‘Who’s taken someone else,’ asked
Steve but Psimon only looked up, a dark haunted look in his eyes.
‘The killer?’ whispered Steve.
‘That guy in the paper?’
By way of an answer Psimon
lowered his eyes staring into the glass of cool clear water in his hand.
Steve was struggling with this.
Picking out an incident from his past he could just about get his head round
but some kind of psychic link with a deranged serial killer was a step too far.
‘How do you know?’ he asked trying not to sound too sceptical.
‘I always know…’ replied Psimon
without raising his eyes.
‘This has happened before then?’
‘Many times,’ said Psimon.
‘How many times?’ asked Steve
warily.
‘Fourteen.’
‘Fourteen!’ exclaimed Steve.
‘Not counting Father Kavanagh,’
Psimon added.
Steve sat back in his chair,
stunned. His worldview was struggling to accommodate the new insights being
thrust upon him.
‘ This can’t be possible ,’
he thought. ‘ None of this is possible! ’
‘And he’s getting angrier…’ said
Psimon ominously. ‘More voracious.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s two in a week,’ said
Psimon. ‘The time between confessions is growing shorter. If we don’t stop him
soon…’
‘But you said he was going to
kill you,’ argued Steve. ‘Surely we want to stay away from this guy.’
‘We have no choice,’ said Psimon.
‘Our paths will cross. All that matters is how it ends.’
‘You mean if I kill you,’ said
Steve in a low scornful tone.
‘All I know,’ said Psimon looking
up at Steve. ‘Is that if he kills me then it’s over, that’s the end… but if you
kill me then everything will be all right.’
‘Some fucking choice,’ muttered
Steve under his breath. Then to his surprise
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