by Sahara Foley
“A few minutes ago, a car pulled up by the gate,” I explain. “I scanned the car and found two of his men inside with a package of listening devices.” There was a fifty-fifty chance the person on the phone wasn't Dobie, but since the two men at the gate were waiting for a call to deliver the package, and the phone rang, I figured what the hell.
Ruth has an antique phone with an L-shaped receiver and the mouthpiece comes to the bottom of my chin. It feels awkward and clumsy in my big hands.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Yes, well, this must be our Mr. Merlin, then,” inquires a deep, pompous voice.
“No, it's not,” I say just as pompously.
“Uh, who do I have then?” the voice asks uncertainly.
“Oh, I'm Mr. Merlin. But sure as hell not your Mr. Merlin, Dobie. And you can tell your two goons to stick the bugs up their asses. If you bother us again, I'll pop over there and fry your toupee off.” I slam the receiver down; belatedly remembering the phone's an antique. God, I hope I didn't break the damn thing.
Clamping her hands over her mouth, Ruth starts making strangling sounds. She bursts out with a sputtering laugh. “Oh my, Arthur, that was priceless. He'll be having a fit with Dr. Tober.”
The phone rings again, and I pick up the receiver. “Hello, Dr. Tober. I know you're with Dobie, and I meant what I said. My cooperation is not questionable, nor negotiable.” Looking at Ruth, I continue, “I'm having a very nice chat with the Doctor, and if you don't stop bothering us, she'll never get any control over me. Uh, that is what you expect from her, isn't it?” I ask sarcastically.
Click.
Well, my speaking to Dobie like that was agreeable to Ruth, but evidently not to her Dr. Tober. “You were pretty hard on him, Arthur,” she admonishes with condemning eyes, hands on hips.
“Not at all, Ruth,” I defend myself. “Dobie has the CIA and FBI reports on me, and one of the local CIA agents is in his office right now. They'll try to convince Dobie to handle me the way they tried to. And I want it clear from the start that I'm no one's puppet.” Turning on my heels, I stride briskly back into the kitchen.
Chapter Four
“Well, Dr. Tober, any luck?” The speaker is tall and angular, Richards, CIA, assigned to the London area. From the stunned expression on Tober's face, Richards knows he has him. Facing the intimidating leader of MI6, he defends his case. “See, I told you, Commander. Our reports reflect the man is unstable and could be dangerous.”
“How do you explain Mr. Merlin being able to fly from your country without either a ticket or a passport? Then, when he arrived here, he wasn't stopped by either customs or the police, even after he stole a car from the airport? And that car, Mr. Richards … was yours,” Commander Dobie declares accusingly from behind his large, dark teak desk.
Richards tried to bull his way through this mess, and hoped no one would bring it up. The theft of my car will be embarrassing enough at the office, once the reports are released, I certainly don't need any crap from these stupid Englishmen. Going back over the events in his mind, he can't understand what happened. He was sent ahead by the Home Office, to apprehend Mr. Merlin. At the airport, he didn't see anyone who looked like the picture in the file. And the guy driving off in his car didn't look like the picture either. His report said Mr. Merlin was an unstable individual, and should be detained, lest he cause some embarrassment with the English Government.
There'd been more information in the file, but after so many years of reports, he learned how not to read them. Just get the name, photos, and catch the guy. No one told him any of what the bug-eyed Dr. Tober just told him; that this Mr. Merlin can disappear into thin air, start fires with his mind, and other wild stuff. Maybe Dr. Tober should be the one locked up?
“Dr. Tober, the man who stole my car didn't look like the photo of Merlin,” Richards reiterates, wiping several beads of sweat from his forehead.
Tober drops a file on the desk in front of Dobie. “Sir, the fingerprint report from the Yard.”
“Yes, Richards, the prints Scotland Yard lifted off your stolen vehicle, which they found outside the front door of the Institute. This report confirms the prints are Merlin's all right. How do you account for that?” Commander Dobie demands, hands folded on top an open folder, glaring at the fidgeting agent.
Richards can't, nor can anyone else, explain how his car had been driven. Without the keys, the wheel won't unlock, at least without some force, and there'd been no evidence found any force had been used. He patted the outside of his pants pocket, feeling the reassuring bulge. A key must've been used, but it's in my pocket.
Stammering, Richards says, “Sir, I'm sure we agree there's something very strange about this Merlin. But I really can't swallow these stories Dr. Tober has been telling us.”
Dobie isn't sure he can either. But Tober has been working for him for many years, and in the past, produced several good prospects. Dobie has two of them on his payroll now, mind control people, men who exert a mental force to make people do what he wants them to do. That's an ability I'm always looking for.
Dobie doesn't agree with Tober about not being able to control a person with several psychic abilities, if they found one. I've been controlling people for years, some of the most important people in the country, and I know all you have to do is find the right key. So, he was pleased when Tober told him this Merlin seemed taken with Dr. Burns, and Tober sent Merlin home with her. Merlin's attraction to Dr. Burns may work out to be the key. I just can't figure out why this Merlin would go off with a bloody lesbian. He's never told Tober about Dr. Burns' sexual preferences. He doesn't share his reports with anyone, and besides, Tober protects her like one of his own. No sense upsetting the man. He's strange enough already.
Unlike Richards, Dobie already read all his reports on Merlin from his private sources in America, and before the uncouth American was called Merlin. Dobie knows plenty. The fact he can't abide the incompetent American agent won't affect his thinking. The bloody fool has his uses. That's the other thing I'm good at, using people.
“Richards, I assure you we will keep a close eye on this man. You can tell your office that for me. Thank you and good day.”
Richards knows when Dobie dismisses you, you leave. Bowing, he gratefully hurries out the door.
After he's gone, Dobie asks Tober, “Doctor, do you feel we found the person we've been searching for in this Merlin?” Tober's pacing the floor, wiping his eyes again. A constant habit of his that irritates Dobie.
“Well, Cecil, yes and no.” He nervously folds his handkerchief. “I mean, yes, he certainly appears to have all the abilities we've been looking for, but there's something very strange about the American. I mean, not only his amazing powers, but something else.” He stops pacing for a minute beside a wall-length, dark teak credenza, which sports a wet bar. “I'm convinced, after reading these reports from the CIA, and the Cal Tech experimenting, there's something about him I'm missing.” He resumes his pacing. “Why has he come to England? He can go anywhere in the world. Why here? In fact, he can setup or takeover his own country, he's that powerful.” Stopping in front of Dobie's desk, he says with exasperation, “You should've seen those guards, Cecil. They're still wandering around smiling, totally useless. He told them to go take a break, and by Jove, they're on a perpetual tea break now.”
“Doctor, that's your department,” Dobie says impatiently. “You find them, I'll figure out how to use them. Let's get Merlin under control first, then we can speculate.” Patting his hair, he says arrogantly, “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important work to do. Good day, Dr. Tober.”
After Tober leaves, Cecil reads over the Cal Tech reports again. This man, if the reports are accurate, is just what I want. With Merlin under his control, no one will be able to stand-up to his department. And that, above all else, is his fondest wish.
Turning around in his chair, he thoughtfully surveys his domain through the floor-to-ceiling window. Not much to see today with all t
he fog and smog, but when it's clear he has a breathtaking view of the London skyline. Swiveling back around, he glances over his office walls at the framed diplomas, newspaper clippings, and pictures of him shaking hands with almost every dignitary around the world. His eyes settle on his favorite picture, a portrait of himself, centered on the biggest wall, illuminated with recessed lighting.
Yes, he thinks with a self-righteous smile, I've spent thirty years making MI6 the most feared and powerful department in the country, not to mention the world. Now, the potential for Knighthood is just around the corner. He smiles broadly. Sir Cecil Dobie. That's worth thinking about. Oh, yes. He'll have to get this Merlin involved with something quickly, the faster the better. Keep him busy, and in line.
These egghead doctors talk too much. A man with powers like Merlin will need action. But he won't bumble as the Americans did; they tried to own the man. You have to use them, and control them, but not own them. As long as the man jumps when I want him to, I don't care where Merlin goes, or what he does. Even with the bloody lesbian doctor.
There's still plenty of time to put his grand scheme into play. Right now, he has to prepare himself for a meeting with the Prime Minister. Bloody woman. She always wants more and more from him and his department, but never any extra money, nor manpower. Maybe soon she'll see what an asset he and his people really are, if this Merlin turns out to be what Tober claims he is.
Chapter Five
Ruth opens the kitchen door, peering around it. “Arthur, would you like to see the garden before dinner? Michael is very proud of it.”
I've been so busy stewing over the phone calls, I forgot about her. Why can't these government fools just leave people alone? “Uh, yes, thank you,” I mumble.
As we stroll along a flagstone path through the prolific garden, Ruth begins asking questions. “Arthur, why magic? I mean, why not use your powers the way you want to? Maybe help people?”
“Fair enough question and I'll tell you,” I reply, pausing for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “Whenever I use one of my abilities, people look at me like I'm a bug. They don't understand how I do what I do, and most people get jealous because they can't. By telling people I'm a magician, I get to use my abilities, and they accept them as magic tricks. That way, I can still live around 'normal' people,” I explain, emphasizing with two air quotation marks.
I still harbor bitter feelings over the way I've been treated after developing my powers. Going from a likable guy to one almost all my friends envy, despise, or fears, has been a difficult adjustment to make.
“Is that important to you? I mean, living around people?” she asks, peering up at me. She's nervously toying with her necklace again, and I resist the urge to hold her hand.
“Well, Doctor, I am human and I have needs too. One is plain old-fashioned companionship. I've spent too many years alone,” I softly confess. These questions are making me feel uncomfortable, bringing up bad memories, but I want her to understand that even with my powers, I have feelings and needs like everyone else.
“What about your country? Don't you want to help them?” she asks with a disapproving frown.
With a shrug, I tell her, “I agreed to do one job for them a few years ago, and now they think they own me. Don't see eye-to-eye with them. But, if there were civilians involved, or the country itself were in danger, then yes, I'd help. Besides, they muck things up enough by themselves.”
We stop in front of a low, stone bench, out of sight of the house. Looking around, I can tell Michael not only spends many hours at his job, he must thoroughly enjoy it. Not one flower in the hundreds, not one leaf, is out of place. The garden displays a symmetrical beauty you don't often see.
“It's so peaceful here, sometimes I stay here for hours in the evenings,” Ruth says. We sit in an awkward silence, while I'm slipping in and out of her mind. She asks quietly, “Arthur, do you consider yourself human? I mean, do you still do the same activities you used to before you changed?” She's trying to maintain her professional distance from me, but she has personal feelings she's battling with as well.
“Yes I do. I eat, sleep, drink too much, smoke too much, and make love when I can, you know, normal,” I reply as softly.
“With your hypnosis ability, you could make love whenever you wanted,” she says shyly, a faint, pink flush spreading across her cheeks. We're treading on dangerous ground.
“I don't take things unless offered. Except money, of course,” I lightly reply.
“What?” She turns to me in surprise.
“Well, before we left the Institute, I went across the street to the King's Corner Bank and withdrew fifty thousand pounds. And I don't have an account.” Her eyes are big. “Oh, don't worry, I signed for the money, and used Dr. Tober and Commander Dobie's names.”
“Oh my God, they'll imprison you, Arthur,” she says, with wide eyes. I give a wicked grin. She begins to laugh. “Uh, no, I guess they won't, will they?”
“That's been tried before, doesn't work very well.” I explain about taking Richards' car at the airport.
“You're a strange man. Always so daring and devilish,” she says with a wistful look. Because of her rape and the accidental death of her parents, she's led a sheltered life.
“Well, I try to keep a sense of humor, Ruth.” We sit for a few more minutes in a more companionable silence. A slight breeze blows through, bringing with it the smell of roses and petunias. A strand of Ruth's auburn hair drifts across her lips, and I want to reach out and brush it aside. I restrain myself, instead saying, “No, I don't think you're sick, Ruth. In fact, I find your private life rather intriguing.”
I thought she'd be offended, but she wasn't, as she changed the subject. “You're in my head again.” She brushed the stray, strand of hair from her lips. “Can people tell when you're doing that?”
“Some people can, they don't know what it is, just feel something different. Others react really strangely. Can't take the idea of someone else in their heads, I guess.”
“I felt nothing,” she says, nervously rubbing her temple.
“Well, I try to be careful. It wouldn't take much to cause damage or pain. The ego bruises rather easily.”
Looking out the corner of her eye at me, she asks, “When I was dressing, was that the first time you spied on me?”
Oh, oh, this might set her off. Clearing my throat, I say contritely, “Actually, the first time you were in the shower.”
“Were you trying to make me feel anything?” she asks, looking down at her hands in her lap, playing with the woman's wedding ring on her right hand.
“No, I was just enjoying the beauty of you. Why?”
With a soft sigh, she looks at me, confusion reflected in her eyes. “I felt a desire for you, and, as you know, I'm a lesbian. If you didn't do it, what was I feeling?”
“You were feeling a minor sympathetic response.”
“What's that?” she asks with furrowed brows.
“Well, when I saw you naked, I became sexually aroused, and that feeling must've transferred on to you,” I explain.
She's thinking, looking down at the ring on her finger, then asks, “Can you intentionally make a person feel that way?” She's playing with the idea from a professional and personal standpoint.
“Yes, quite easily. In fact, without touching you, I can give you an orgasm. Want me to show you?” I suggest with a bold smile.
“Uh, no, I don't,” she hastily declines, squirming in embarrassment.
“Ruth, I don't want you to misunderstand me. I'm your friend. I know what happened to you, and because of the violation, you've built a wall around yourself. I won't condemn you for your sexual practices. I'm no saint either.”
“I'm thirty-one, and I've been touched by a man once, but by several women hundreds of times. Women are easier for me to be around because they're gentle with me.” Her lips are trembling and a few tears slide from her closed eyelids. She's clutching the wedding band on her necklace like it's a lifel
ine to her salvation. What a confession, from this noble, beautiful woman.
“I understand,” I say gently, wiping the tears from her cheeks. My heart is breaking for her.
In a timid, shaky voice, she asks, “You would never sleep with a woman who prefers other women, would you?”
Trying to lighten her mood, I reply, “Well, that depends. Some women are very possessive.” She gives me a small, teary smile before lapsing into a heavy silence. She's having a raging war inside herself. With a sigh, I tell her, “I want to give it a try, Ruth.” Cupping her chin, I turn her face towards me, staring into her gorgeous, jade eyes and confess, “I may even cheat, if I have too. I find you very desirable. I hope you're not offended.”
I can still feel the mental push I gave her earlier when she was dressing. Sometimes, I don't realize how hard I push. There are some people who take so little to affect, and Ruth is one of them. I wasn't the only one who'd been aroused when I saw her in the shower. The sympathetic response she felt is real and it's certainly affecting her.
Meeting my gaze, she says, “It's odd. Here I am talking about my most personal feelings, and with a stranger.”
“I'm not a stranger. I know more about you than anyone else, besides yourself,” I point out.
“But I know nothing about you, I mean, personally,” she disputes.
“Yet, you know you can trust me.”
“Yes, I do believe you're a man to be trusted,” she agrees, with a slight nod.
Leaning forward, I gently kiss her lips. She stiffens slightly, so I give her another little mental push. Too much. She begins moaning and throws her arms around me, her whole body shuddering as she has an intense orgasm, hips grinding against the stone bench.
Now what have I done? I had no intention of giving her an orgasm. I only meant to ease her fear at being kissed by a man. I've lost control of my power, again. What is going on?
