Psych: A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Read

by William Rabkin

  “Must have saved him a fortune on catering bills,” Shawn said.

  “It reminds me what a genius that man was,” Steele said. “He understood that if you simply say something with enough confidence, people will believe you. You’ve got the same kind of genius, Shawn. That’s what we’re here to toast.”

  Steele raised the bottle and refilled their glasses, then knocked his back in one gulp. Gus glanced over at Shawn and saw that he was beaming under the praise. Gus wasn’t so sure this was a time to be celebrating. There was something in Steele’s tone that suggested there might be more than a few thorns hidden among the roses.

  “So why exactly did you bring us up here, Dal?” Gus said.

  “As I said, for a celebration,” Dallas said. “I’m very impressed with the work you’ve done for me.”

  “So the investments are just as good as you expected?” Shawn said.

  “Every bit.”

  Again, Gus had the sensation of a thorn biting through his thumb.

  “What do we do now?” Shawn said. “Can we start dividing up the profits yet? Because my friend here could certainly use six thousand dollars. And I hope you notice that I’m acting entirely in his interests here, and that I’m putting my own desires second. Because that’s what friends do for each other.”

  Gus aimed a kick at Shawn’s ankle, but Shawn stepped neatly out of the way.

  “You’ll certainly be getting a large share of the profits,” Steele said. “But that’s just money. I want to let the world know all about your astonishing accomplishment. That’s why we’re having the press conference tomorrow.”

  Gus wasn’t sure why he was feeling so uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. He was even less sure why Shawn wasn’t. “Press conference?”

  “I’ve invited the local media,” Steele said. “And some of the more important figures in the community: mayor, city council president, police chief, heads of various charitable organizations. All groups that stand to profit from our investments in the local business community. I’m sure they’ll all want to express their gratitude to you for your hard work.”

  Gus glanced over at Shawn again. Was it possible that he was actually blushing?

  “I don’t know what to say,” Shawn said.

  “Just say you’ll be here.”

  “Of course we will,” Shawn said.

  Steele pressed an intercom button on the wall. Before he lifted his finger from the buzzer, Shepler had already arrived. “Yes, Mr. Steele?”

  “Are the rooms ready yet?”

  “Of course. I thought we’d put them in the north tower.”

  “Terrific,” Steele said, then turned his dazzling smile on Shawn and Gus. “The press conference is going to start at eight in the morning to make sure we maximize the news cycle. I thought it would be much more convenient for you guys to stay here overnight instead of schlepping down and back up the mountain.”

  What had been a nagging feeling in the back of Gus’ head was now spreading throughout his brain and trickling down into his body. He couldn’t remember which fairy tale he’d read as a kid that had a scenario frighteningly like this one, but he was sure that it had one hell of an ugly ending. And even if Gus managed to convince himself that the invitation was entirely for their own benefit, he couldn’t stop thinking about Tara. It was possible that she was still waiting for them at the pass. But would she stay there all night? Or would she realize that they were tucked safely away and go off to do some of Shawn’s psychic bidding?

  “That sounds great, Dal,” Shawn said.

  Gus tugged at Shawn’s sleeve. “Yes, Dal, great,” he said trying to put as much a significance into his voice as he could. “But we promised Shawn’s dad we’d help him clean up a little mess in his house. You remember what happened at your dad’s place, don’t you, Shawn?”

  “That’s the place Shepler picked you up today? The bungalow by the shore?” Steele asked.

  “Hasn’t moved in decades,” Shawn said. “He’s kind of like a fungus that way.”

  “How did you know where Shawn’s dad lives?” Gus said. “And how did you know we were there?”

  “Can’t hire a consultant without performing my due diligence,” Steele said, then turned to Shepler. “Get a full cleaning crew to that address this afternoon. Oh, and have the painters tag along, see if any of the rooms need freshening.”

  “Oh, they do,” Shawn said.

  “Great,” Steele said. “Send the whole crew: painters, plasterers, plumbers, electricians. Tell them to improve everything in the house, and not to stop until I tell them to personally.”

  Shepler turned away and spoke quietly into his cell phone as Steele gestured for Shawn and Gus to follow him back the way they’d come.

  “That’s incredibly generous of you,” Shawn said.

  “Got to keep my crew busy somehow,” Steele said. “You’re going to love the north tower. You’ll feel like kings of the world.”

  “Hear that, Gus?” Shawn said. “You always wanted to be like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic.”

  “Yes, because it worked out so well for him,” Gus said. “Don’t you think if we’re going to be speaking at a press conference tomorrow we should at the very least go home and change our clothes?”

  “What’s wrong with what we’re wearing?” Shawn asked.

  In Shawn’s case it was a plaid flannel shirt over a white T, blue jeans, and white sneakers. At least that was how his clothes had started out this morning. Now they were all various shades of gray and black, smeared with the ashy remains of the Perths’ less-than-memorable lives. Although Gus had tried to be careful when cleaning up the mess, his baby blue button-down and khakis were spotted with old oil from the chase through the auto-wrecking lot.

  “Nothing,” Gus said, “if the press conference is to launch a new laundry powder, and we’re the ‘before’ picture. You know, ‘I just spent the day rolling in oil from a thousand rotting cars. How can I ever get the spots out?’ Otherwise, I think we should go back home so we can get some clean clothes.”

  Shawn turned to Steele and gave him an apologetic shrug. “Some people just don’t understand how rich people live.”

  “It does take some adjustment,” Steele said.

  “Gus, I’m sure if we stay here, Shepler can have our clothes cleaned before eight o’clock tomorrow,” Shawn said. “Isn’t that right, Shep?”

  Gus hadn’t noticed that sometime in the conversation Shepler had caught up with them.

  “Of course my staff will have your clothes cleaned,” Steele said. “You’ll find robes in the rooms. Just put your stuff in a bag outside the door, and you’ll have everything back cleaned and pressed in plenty of time.”

  “Excellent,” Shawn said.

  “But—”

  “I won’t hear any buts, Gus,” Shepler said. “If there’s anything at all you need, we can provide it for you.”

  “What if we have tickets to a ball game tonight?” Gus snatched at one last straw. “Remember, you were going to take Tara?”

  “Dude, when have we ever had tickets to a ball game?”

  “When have the Pumas ever had an unbroken win streak?”

  “The Pumas? Really?” Shawn said. “The Santa Barbara Middle School Pumas?”

  “I like to support our alma mater,” Gus said. “And with the new coach and their winning season, Puma soft-ball is the hottest ticket in Santa Barbara.”

  “They don’t even have tickets,” Shawn said. “They ripped out the bleachers after Vice Principal Provenza found out Mary Lombardi was selling peeks at her bra for fifty cents under them.”

  “Lawn seating is extremely competitive,” Gus said. “You have to line up early to get a good spot.”

  A crack of thunder boomed somewhere above them. At the end of the corridor, sheets of rain pounded down into the open atrium, turning the tranquil surface of the reflecting pond into the kind of surf that capsized lobster boats.

  “I don’t t
hink the championship is going to be settled tonight,” Steele said. “And now I really have to insist that you stay. You don’t want to ask Shepler to drive down and up the mountain in this kind of weather, do you?”

  Gus wanted to say that he didn’t care what Shepler had to do. He was getting the creeps here, and he wanted to get away from this place. But it didn’t look like that was going to happen easily, and the goofy grin on Shawn’s face suggested that he wasn’t going to help Gus out.

  “Of course not,” Gus said. “Besides, who could resist the north tower?”

  After they’d been walking for what felt like an hour, the slick marble of the walls gave way to rough, unfinished stone blocks. The floor, too, was paved with uneven flagstones.

  Gus pulled Shawn aside and whispered in his ear, “Something’s wrong here.”

  “I agree,” Shawn said. “We seem to be going back in time. But Roman is actually older than German. So which way is the Wayback Machine going?”

  “Not with the house, with Steele,” Gus said. “I think he’s setting us up for something.”

  “Of course he is,” Shawn said. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that this whole thing was too good to be true?”

  For a moment, Gus was speechless. In his entire life he’d never been able to accept a gift without wondering about the motivation behind it. But he had welcomed Steele’s attention without question, lunged at the opportunity he offered with no qualms. Because he wanted it so badly. “You’ve known all along?”

  “I figured he must be up to something,” Shawn said.

  “Then why did you let us go along with it?”

  “Couldn’t think of a better way to find out what it was,” Shawn said.

  “So what is it?”

  “No idea,” Shawn said. “But I figure we’ll find out in the morning. So we might as well have a good time at Steele’s expense tonight.”

  Steele stopped in front of a massive wooden door. “These are the stairs to the north tower. I wish I could provide you with an elevator, but I’m afraid Mr. Adler was a stickler for authenticity, and if King Ludwig didn’t have an elevator in his tower, then Eagle’s View wouldn’t either.”

  “How did King Ludwig feel about cable?” Shawn said.

  Steele laughed again. “If there’s anything you need, just let Shepler know.” He glanced at his watch. “I was hoping to join you two for dinner, but I’ve got an international conference call that’s going to go late, so if you wouldn’t mind eating in the dining room up there, I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of.”

  “Sweet,” Shawn said.

  Dallas lifted a wrought-iron hoop the size of a hubcap and used it to pull open the door. In the gloom beyond, a tight spiral of stairs loomed upward roughly to eternity.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” Steele said. “Shepler will bring you down to the auditorium for the press conference.”

  Shepler stepped through the doorway and started up the spiral staircase, and Shawn was right behind him. Gus wasn’t quite ready to follow.

  “Dal?”

  Steele was already halfway through dialing a call on his BlackBerry, but he slipped it back into his pocket at the sound of Gus’ voice. “I was just going to make sure that the Pumas game really was canceled. Sometimes we get a storm up here, and by the time it gets down to the coast, it’s just a little drizzle.”

  “That’s okay,” Gus said. “I just have a question about something you said before.”

  “What’s that?”

  Gus knew he could stop now. Let Dallas go without answering and try to enjoy the night ahead like Shawn. But Gus wasn’t like Shawn, and he knew he could never enjoy the night. He’d spend it lying awake, worrying about what would come tomorrow.

  “When we first got here you took us to the celebration room,” Gus said. “You said it seemed appropriate.”

  “I did say that.” Something in Steele’s voice suggested that he was happy Gus had asked the question.

  “Because we were celebrating,” Shawn said. He and Shepler were standing on the steps just before they curved out of sight. “Let’s go. Those stairs aren’t going to climb themselves, you know.”

  “But there were never actually celebrations in the celebration room,” Gus said.“As you pointed out, the whole thing was a fraud. Even the room itself was a fraud, just a big door hanging in front of a broom closet.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So why was it appropriate that we celebrate there?” Gus said.

  Steele’s laugh boomed past Gus’ ear on its way up to Shawn. “Whatever you do, Shawn, never lose this guy. He’s one of the sharpest minds I’ve ever met.”

  The dark fears in Gus’ mind suddenly grew large enough to split off into separate camps. One of them immediately set out and established a colony in his stomach. “So what is the answer?” he said, increasingly certain that he might never be as happy again as he was right now.

  “I was going to let that be a surprise,” Dallas said, mulling it over. “Hold this little thing back and spring it on you at the press conference. Let the whole world see your faces when you found out what any sentient beings would have known before they came up here.”

  Having completely conquered his stomach, the suspicions opened a new frontier in Gus’ knees, leaving him reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Umm, Shawn, I think you want to come down for this,” Gus called up the stairs.

  “I’m already five stairs up,” Shawn said. “Why don’t you come here?”

  “Shawn!” Gus didn’t glance back over his shoulder to see if Shawn was coming, but the heavy sighs and heavier footsteps told him the story. “There’s something Dallas wants to tell us before the press conference.”

  “I promise I won’t bring up the whole shoelace thing, if that’s what this is about,” Shawn said.

  “It’s not,” Gus said.

  “Gus was asking why I thought it was appropriate to announce my intentions to you in a room that was designed as a complete fraud,” Steele said. “The reason for that is as simple as it is obvious. Because you are complete frauds. And tomorrow the whole world will know.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gus watched the line of light creep across the eastern lip of the cereal bowl. After six hours of staring into the darkness, the newly revealed view of the valley should have been a refreshing change. But all it did was make Gus realize that the press conference was going to start in a couple of hours, and they still had no plan for what they were going to do.

  At least Gus didn’t have a plan. Shawn seemed to have come up with one on his own. The light snoring from the adjoining room suggested that he had put it into action.

  Gus knew that he should be the one sleeping peacefully. Shawn should have spent the entire night staring hopelessly out the window. After all, it wasn’t Gus who had a reputation as a psychic to protect. It wasn’t Gus who’d be singled out for the greatest ridicule.

  But there was going to be plenty of ridicule to go around, and even a fraction of it would be enough to cover Gus with a veneer of shame he’d never be able to scrape off. Everyone they’d ever met, everyone they were ever going to meet, everyone in the whole world they’d never meet would think of them as phonies. His name would be a punch line on the late-night shows. He thought back on all the ways the kids in middle school had twisted “Guster” into obscene variations, and shuddered to contemplate what highly paid comedy writers could do with it. He’d finally managed to convince his parents that his work with Shawn was a real career, not a distraction from his conventional job pushing pharmaceuticals; there was no way they’d take Psych seriously now. If he ever wanted to have another civil conversation with them he’d have to go back to pharmaceutical sales full-time—if his company didn’t fire him first. He wasn’t sure about the exact wording, but he was pretty sure that there was a clause in his contract that said being exposed on national television as a fraud was grounds for termination.

  The scale of the
ir losses was that huge. In a matter of weeks, they had not only lost the entire hundred million dollars Dallas gave them to invest—they were now actually thirteen million dollars in the red.

  Shawn and Gus’ first disastrous investment was an electric car that could run six hundred miles on a single charge. Gus thought it had the potential to change the world, and it might have—but only as long as no one ever drove above seven miles an hour. It turned out that once the cars hit the eight-mph mark, their batteries burst into flame. Except that “burst” didn’t adequately capture the true quality of the explosion that ensued. Two late-night janitors had decided to drag race through the factory in a couple of test models, and investigators were still trying to figure out exactly how deep the crater was.