Never Again, Seriously

by Forrest Steele

  Bill didn’t reply. He felt a rising in his chest and breathed in to quell it. The psychic leaned back against the desk, his hands on the edge. He peered at Bill’s face intently, silent for a few beats. “Was it a man?”

  Bill stood. “I didn’t come here to talk about this kind of stuff.” His voice was hoarse. “I only wanted to learn what these readings are about.”

  “Well, I hope you’re beginning to get an idea …” Claude’s eyes were fixed on Bill’s. “All right,” he continued, “I’m getting the idea you have mixed feeliings regarding a woman.”

  Bill chuckled. “I’m getting the idea you’re wrong.”

  Claude let out a sigh. “Please excuse me for a moment.” He took a book from the shelf and sat at his desk with it open in front of him, speaking in an incomprehensible mumble.

  Bill’s gaze landed on the bookshelves. A Bible. The Life of Buddha. Theosophy Explained. Be Here Now. A mishmash of other titles on spiritualism. He wondered if this guy ever read any of those books. So far, this “reading” was a bust. Bill didn’t intend to rise to any of these leading questions or statements, and Claude, if that was his name, seemed exasperated. Bill considered confessing he had no interest in imaginary connections and asking for some practical tips on reading people—something for his money, at least.

  As the water wheel turned, the water spilling down to a trough made a gentle, burbling sound. A hidden pump brought the water back up to a spout, from which it flowed back down on the wheel. Bill found his mind drifting to the past, and he lost the sense of where he was.

  At the sound of the book being closed, Bill’s head snapped up. He must’ve dozed off. Had he spoken?

  Claude raised his eyes from the book. “You present me a dilemma. I prefer to open doors gently, one at a time, and let my client go at his or her own pace. You’re locking each door as we approach it. This indicates the session should be concluded.” He glowered. “Normally, I would have no problem about ending a session with an uncooperative subject. You could walk out of here as uniformed as when you came in, but I can’t allow it. Not this time. It would be irresponsible of me when I sense you’re facing perils, lethal ones. The alternative is what we call crashing, with something you can’t deny.”

  Bill tried a drill-sergeant scowl.

  The corners of Claude’s mouth lifted. “Please understand I’m not doing this out of anger. I’ll give you a thought to meditate on. You may wish to consult me or another psychic about it soon.”

  Bill stared at Claude, and the psychic stared back, hands clasped before him.

  Claude stood. “You have been engaged in an ill-advised scheme, driven to it by feelings of emptiness. Trying to fill the void this way is feeding a black dog.” Claude stood, bowed, and opened the door. “I’m sorry. We’re done for today.”

  When Bill rose, he noticed a brass pentagram inlaid in Claude’s desk. “Witch,” he muttered under his breath.

  Claude stepped directly in front of him. “That symbol has a long history. At one time, it was the official seal of the city of Jerusalem. You will not speak about witchcraft again.”

  After the door closed behind him, Bill smiled to himself. Speak about it with whom?

  From behind the door, Claude intoned something he couldn’t hear.

  A bell tinkled as Vicki entered the little house. She scanned the shop and drew into her nostrils a potpourri of cloying scents, overlaid by vanilla. Candles, oils, music CDs, books, and other offerings, mainly occult, crowded the countertops. Her attention turned to a pendant, finely crafted on a round gold base, gold wire inlaid along the perimeter of a mother-of-pearl pentagram. The shifting pastels soothed her. Soft harp music played over unseen speakers.

  A beaded curtain parted, and a woman emerged. Her head was a nest of red curls, and the white skin of her neck contrasted with the orangey color of makeup at the border of her jaw. Magenta lipstick bled into the creases around her lips. Around sixty years old and overweight, she moved like a younger and lighter person. She wore a floor-length caftan with an elaborate geometric design of red, yellow, deep green, deep blue, and light blue.

  “Hello. I’m Reverend JoAn. You can call me JoAn.” She pronounced it “Joe-Ann.”

  “My name’s Vicki.”

  “Vicki, would you like a reading today?”

  Vicki hesitated.

  “I feel you have a need to explore some things, so I’ll discount my usual rate for you, to fifty instead of sixty.”

  Vicki’s head turned to the door, and JoAn said, “Tell you what. If you deem the reading to be unhelpful in the first ten minutes, we’ll stop, and I’ll give you back your money. I prefer cash in advance—is that all right?”

  Vicki dug the money from her purse and handed it to her.

  After putting the money in a teapot, JoAn led Vicki through the beaded curtain into a kitchen. Above a brick-colored countertop, maple cabinets covered one wall. A window with a small sink below it looked out into a garden. Worn linoleum, printed to simulate inlaid tile, covered the floor. In the middle of the room was a tubular chrome chair with green padding on the back, seat, and armrests. JoAn gestured for Vicki to be seated while she went over and leaned against the counter next to a bar stool, also chrome.

  The woman regarded Vicki with a warm smile and raised her hands as though holding a beach ball. She slowly circled Vicki three times. The shuffling sound made Vicki wonder if JoAn wore slippers. She stood facing Vicki, hands still in the air, and spoke in a muted voice, almost a whisper.

  “This is your first reading ever, correct?”

  Vicki nodded, and the psychic murmured, “You take care of yourself, and you dress very well.

  “You’re agreeable but not to the point of compromising your integrity. I think you have a wild side as well.”

  She moved her open hands in a figure-eight pattern. “I’m going to tell you what to expect. I already feel your energy, some positive, some not. Tuning into this will allow me to talk to you about your past and your future. I’m not sure about spirit contact. Part of this depends on how open you are, and part of it depends on the particular spirit or spirits. Sometimes they don’t cooperate.”

  Vicki crossed her ankles, her hands resting on the arms of the chair.

  The woman inhaled slowly, then breathed out. “You’ll do better when your feet are flat on the floor. Crossing your arms or legs blocks the energy.

  “The first step is to breathe deeply. In through your nose, hold it deep in your lungs for a few seconds, and let it out your mouth slowly. After you do that a few times, you should be aware of your body relaxing and your mind becoming free of cares. Any thoughts that intrude, let them go by. When you’re ready, we’ll start.”

  The sound of a conversation between two men carried from another room. She wasn’t sure if men were present or if it came through a speaker, because something was off with the resonance, and the sound was at such a low volume. JoAn let her hands drop. “Excuse me a moment. I’ll be right back. Keep breathing the way I told you.” She disappeared through a door.

  The talking stopped abruptly, and JoAn shuffled back into the room. “I’m sorry,” she said in her soft voice. “Let’s continue. You’ve been doing the breathing exercise. Your energy is already more serene.”

  The reverend hiked herself up, placing an elbow on the counter between stacks of papers, feet on the rail of the stool. Vicki couldn’t help noticing the flip-flops below the caftan.

  “You had a difficult childhood.” JoAn studied Vicki’s face. “Were you abused in some way?”

  Vicki tried too late to check a slight nod, one of those micro-expressions Bill talked about. Before Vicki could speak, the psychic raised her hand and interrupted. “I’m also picking up something about your father. There was a problem …”

  Vicki swallowed. “I never met my father.”

  “Your stepfather then?
Or another man.” The psychic nodded conclusively.

  Vicki blinked three times. “My stepfather was a drinker. He used to beat me and my sister after Mom died. We didn’t have enough food because he never held a job. Our clothes were castoffs from somewhere.”

  “Yes, yes. That came to an end, didn’t it?” The woman stood to the side and gazed at Vicki’s profile. “You mentioned a sister, but you had five siblings in all.”

  “No, it was only me and my sister.”

  “You are the older sister.”

  Vicki was silent.

  “Your mother had four miscarriages.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Ask someone in the family.”

  Vicki straightened and shook her head, irritated. “I don’t believe I’m comfortable with that idea.”

  “I know, dear.”

  Vicki decided to leave that one alone.

  The psychic smiled. “That’s in the past. But you are involved in—”

  “Excuse me, but would it be possible to contact my uncle?”

  JoAn riveted her blue-green eyes on Sharon’s face.

  “It’s my mother’s brother, Eric. He was in a wheelchair. Polio. When I was a lonely teenager, he took an interest in me, listened to me. We were close. I talked to him on the phone two or three times a week until he died, during my senior year at college.”

  JoAn dimmed the lights, and the two sat in silence for several minutes. “There is someone here—I’m not sure if this is your uncle. He’s asking why you call yourself Vicki. He knows you by another name—is it your real name? Something beginning with an S?”

  Vicki’s half-lidded eyes opened wide. The psychic continued. “This man hasn’t given me his name. He is upset about the difference in your name, and I sense him pulling away.”

  Reverend JoAn rose and turned the lights up. “Our time’s almost up. You come back sometime, and we can explore this business with your name. We can also interpret more recent events. You avoided that today.”

  She bent toward Vicki. “I have a mental image of you doing something—hitting someone or shooting a gun.”

  Vicki, who had begun to stand, collapsed back in the chair, shocked. “I don’t …”

  “I’m sorry, dear. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I did. You have the gift, don’t you? So you know crazy things sometimes come zinging in and they’re better left alone.”

  The bell tinkled, and the front door opened. Vicki followed the psychic through the beaded doorway.

  Bill stepped in. He examined Vicki’s face with concern in his eyes. “You okay? You seem rattled.”

  She gave a little wave of the hand to indicate I’m okay.

  Reverend JoAn touched Vicki’s sleeve. “Go in peace and love, my dear. Please come back.”

  Bill grinned at the psychic and shrugged. He put his hand on the small of Vicki’s back and eased her out.

  As they walked, Bill asked, “How was it?”

  “The session went more or less the way you said. If she was cold reading, she is quite good at it. I want to learn how to cold read, myself. At the end, she threw out an idea that my real name begins with an S. She also asked me something about violence today. Did I shoot a gun, or something along those lines.

  “To top it off, she said I have ‘the gift.’”

  Bill Stopped and turned to her. “Wow, this is strong stuff. I have no idea how she picked up on your name. You mentioned your real name when we were in front of the house. I wonder if they listen to people outside. That could explain about your ‘gift,’ too. In that same conversation, I said something about you being psychic.”

  “Yeah. Inside the house, for a few minutes, I could hear people talking. The sound echoed, which made me think of a radio or a room with no curtains. She seemed upset about it and left the room for a minute, and it stopped.”

  He thought a moment. “The outline of your little revolver is visible in your vest pocket. You cleaned your hands with the stuff we keep in the car, but if she has acute vision, she could have seen traces of powder on your sleeve. The spent shells are still in the chambers, so she may have been able to smell the gun itself. Is she sharp enough to figure that out?”

  They strolled to the SUV and began the trip back.

  Chapter 19

  The next morning, they again ate breakfast on the patio of their home “You never got a call from that electronics guy, did you?” Vicki asked.

  “Still hasn’t called me. I guess I’ll try the Yellow Pages for someone up the highway.”

  Vicki pushed back from the table. “I didn’t tell you this, but the other day when I was checking out at the grocery store, I asked the cashier if they have a brand of capers I like. I hadn’t found them on the shelf. The cashier asked one of the young men to look and check with customer service if he couldn’t find it.

  “The woman in line behind me muttered plenty loud, ‘Damn northerners.’ I said to her in my stickiest brogue, ‘I’m more suuuthin’ than yeuu are, mayyam. We learned some mannas in mah neck a tha woowids.’ She wouldn’t look at me, but her lips moved—Lord knows what she was saying.”

  Vicki placed her palms on the table. “I can’t wait ’til we’re out of here. When are you planning on finding a new place?”

  Bill gazed out over the water. “I think the ways of the local people take a little getting used to, but I’m starting to be comfortable here. I can’t say exactly why. All I can tell you is the idea of picking up and charging out to somewhere else makes me edgy. Face it. There are a few bad apples anywhere you go. You can’t condemn a whole town for it.”

  “Sounds like you’re about to say you’re not going anywhere. Are we going to agree to disagree? I can tell you I’m not going to change my mind about this town.”

  “Hold your horses, Vicki. I’m only saying how I feel at this moment. Lots can change. Let’s keep working on it and get a handle on our long-term plans over the next few months.”

  Vicki took their cups inside.

  After a few minutes, Elmer Leonardis appeared at the corner of the patio, wearing his usual black. Bill shook his hand and gestured for him to sit. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Bill said. He wondered if Leonardis had eavesdropped on them.

  “Indeed it is,” Leonardis said. “I’ve been trying to catch you.”

  Bill twitched, but his neighbor didn’t give any sign he noticed, and his demeanor was friendly. An unfortunate word, catch.

  “Going to the bookstore in Bard Green. I have some time before I need to leave, so I thought I’d stop by. I hope you’re becoming acquainted with the area.”

  “We’re finding it takes a while to settle.”

  Leonardis touched the fingertips of his right hand to his collarbone. “Be sure to ask me about anything I can help you with. Seven years now since I moved up here from Miami.”

  “What did you do in Miami, Elmer?”

  “I had a twenty-year career in law enforcement, after which I earned my law degree. I worked for the prosecutor’s office down there until I moved up here. The city finally got to me.” He grinned. “I got my PhD at Wilmer University, and now I teach criminal justice there as well as at a couple of online schools. Almost ready to retire, I think. I’ve thought about obtaining a private investigator’s license, but I probably won’t. I do enjoy investigating things for friends and acquaintances, or to satisfy my own curiosity sometimes. You?”

  Oh, great. An investigator hobbyist with a police background. Bill quietly took a deep breath. “Vicki and I are from red-dirt Georgia and have known each other since we were sixteen. After college, we worked in the shipping business in Savannah until we decided it was time to retire.” He reached around and rapped his knuckles on the wooden frame of a plant container. “We were fortunate with our investments.”

  “You don’t sound southern,” Leonardis said
evenly.

  “Yeah … my parents moved us from Pennsylvania when I was ten, and I guess I got my accent at home instead of from the other kids. I can tell you they made fun of me a lot. Vicki has enough accent for both of us.”

  Leonardis stood, peered at his watch. “Well, gotta go. Busy, busy. I’ll take you up on the promised invitation for a drink sometime.”

  Bill gave a thumbs-up, and Leonardis walked away. Bill didn’t remember promising an invitation.

  There’s something about this guy, Bill thought. I’d better check him out. A few minutes after Leonardis drove off, he walked across the lawn to his neighbor’s back door. He rapped on the glass. No response, no dog. He slipped on a pair of neoprene gloves. The lock on the French doors looked impenetrable, so he checked the dining area window. The crescent-type lock was barely engaged. He remembered, from sneaking into his own house as a teenager after curfew, steady pressure would sometimes release this kind of lock. He pressed his thumbs against the top of the lower sash and pushed it up as hard as he could, wiggling it from side to side. Nothing happened. He kept pushing and wiggling until his thumb joints ached. The latch suddenly released. He raised the window and turned to scan the view behind. No one in sight on the water or on land. Climbing in, he closed the window, securing the lock the way it was originally. Fortunately, the deadbolt on the French doors was open. He would exit there, relocking them with the button in the handle, leaving no trace of his entry.

  He needed to hurry. In Leonardis’s office, the computer had been left on. He opened and checked the file directory, seeing no filename that might be about Bill and Vicki.

  Among the folders in the file cabinet, one marked “Clawson” commanded his attention. It contained some handwritten notes about their comings and goings and an entry reading, “Backpack?” Bill knew they’d been careful to bring the backpack in when it was dark, shielding it from view. Had Leonardis somehow spied it anyway?

  He checked the bathroom, finding it clean and neat. No clue here—or was there? The tang of men’s cologne permeated the small room. He had gotten a whiff of the same scent in his own closet, though faintly, a few days ago. It had come from where his shirts hung. Strange, since he never used a scent. He’d thought it was left over from the Dorseys.