First and Only

by Flannery, Peter

Still clasping Psimon’s head Steve looked into his sad grey eyes. That chink of fear had opened up in his mind once more. Not fear for himself but for Psimon. He could not bear the thought that he might be hurt, that he might be killed. Psimon had hired Steve to protect him. ‘…keep me safe,’ Psimon had said but for the first time Steve truly doubted that he could.

  If Psimon had seen it, how could he possibly stop it?

  ‘You saw him,’ said Psimon suddenly.

  Steve nodded. ‘I actually apologised to the bastard,’ he said.

  ‘You saw him,’ repeated Psimon as if he had not heard Steve. ‘Did you see the hatred and the pain? Did you hear the chorus of angels in his mind?’

  Steve shook his head, frowning at the strangeness of Psimon’s words.

  ‘They are not angels…’ hissed Psimon ominously. ‘They are demons. They hold him in thrall. He is the vessel of their torment, the instrument of their wrath.’

  The small crowd of people gathered round Psimon drew back at the alarming change in the tone of his voice. Concern changed to discomfort and awkwardness.

  ‘Come on,’ said Steve angrily. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’

  He drew Psimon’s arm across his shoulders and hauled him to his feet.

  ‘Then we’re calling the police.’

  ‘No,’ cried Psimon. ‘No, Steve, you mustn’t.’

  ‘Police?’ enquired the psychologist anxiously as Psimon seemed to become increasingly debilitated. ‘Why would we need to call the police?’

  Steve groaned. He was not about to tell them that a serial murderer had just vacated the building and might, even now, be prowling around outside. With Psimon hanging deliriously from his shoulder Steve turned about looking for the quickest way out of the building. He spotted a fire exit at the back of the stage and forged a path towards it, the people parting nervously before him.

  ‘Can I help?’ came a quiet voice beside him.

  It was Natasha.

  ‘You could get that door,’ said Steve, nodding towards the exit.

  Natasha moved ahead to the set of double doors.

  ‘It’s closed,’ she said apologetically as Steve approached the door.

  The bar across the doors was sealed by a small plastic security tie. Natasha held it up between her fingers.

  Steve looked down at the tie then nodded Natasha to stand aside. Then he raised his foot and gave the doors a hefty kick. The plastic tie flicked away as the doors slammed open. There were gasps of shock and disapproval from the stage behind them but Steve could not have cared less. Hitching Psimon higher on his shoulder he started through the doors.

  ‘Will he be all right?’ asked Natasha as he passed.

  ‘I hope so,’ said Steve, pausing in the doorway to look at her. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  ‘He’s special isn’t he,’ said Natasha, her hand starting to reach out to Psimon.

  ‘Yes,’ said Steve. ‘He is.’

  And with that he marched Psimon quickly back to their car before the campus security, or anyone else, could stop them.

  *

  Lucifer would not have seen them if he had been waiting with the crowds but the closeness of so many people had been more than he could bear. He had retired to a quieter vantage point where he could watch the entrance to the hall of lies and calm the din of righteous ire that raged in his mind.

  And then he had seen them.

  Seen them slinking from the back of the building, the accursed witness and his guardian angel. He watched them as they moved between the cars. He followed closer now, watchful, wary. The guardian angel was not a man like other men. Lucifer could see that.

  He knew a predator when he saw one.

  He would take care with that one.

  They stopped at a car and the angel propped up the witness while he opened the door. Lucifer crossed quickly to his van. He must move with care, with guile, lest the angel mark his presence. He slipped inside, started the engine and waited for them to leave.

  *

  Steve bundled Psimon in through the passenger door and watched as he curled into a foetal position making it impossible for Steve to fasten his seatbelt.

  ‘Sod it!’ thought Steve, closing the door and moving quickly round to the driver’s side. He jumped in, started the car and drove quickly out of the car park heading away from the psychic convention and away from the man who would do Psimon harm. Beside him Psimon cowered in his seat muttering incoherently.

  ‘Hang on, Psimon,’ said Steve. ‘We’re going to get you home. Then I’m phoning the damn police.’

  Psimon could manage nothing more than a stifled protest. He was lost in a life’s worth of fear.

  *

  Lucifer was careful not to get too close but still he dare not lose them. Those in dominion would not be forgiving if he were to let the witness go a second time. It was fourteen years since his first killing; fourteen years since the priest had failed to stop him, and died for his sins, for his shame. But the witness had heard him. The witness knew what he had done.

  The witness must be silenced.

  Lucifer was calmer now. The pain had lessened; the tumult subsided. But the chorus had not retreated; it hovered over the deep, waiting to see that he would not fail.

  *

  Steve was having difficulty concentrating on the road. Psimon kept twisting in his seat making it difficult to move the gear stick. He was sweating and mumbling like a man caught in the grip of a nightmare.

  ‘Pain and death,’ he muttered. ‘All is pain and death.’

  ‘It’s all right, Psimon,’ said Steve, reaching out a hand to calm him. ‘We’re almost there.’

  Steve kept glancing down at Psimon, growing more concerned by the minute, and when Psimon slipped down into the foot well beneath his seat Steve just let him lie there. He was driving on auto-pilot, navigating the traffic with one eye always on his tormented passenger. He barely glanced in his rear-view mirror. He did not notice the stealthy shadow that matched their every turn; the black van that followed them like a hearse.

  *

  Lucifer hung well back. He drew the van in to the curb. The car had stopped; stopped outside a house, a row of large motorcycles lined up on the road ahead of it. He waited to see if this were the place, the place where the witness lived.

  Yes. There… The angel climbing out of the car. Moving round to get the witness; dragging him out, heaving him up the driveway like a boneless cripple.

  ‘Where are your bold words now?’ thought Lucifer. ‘Your boasts and your certainty? Has your courage failed in the presence of the chorus?’

  Lucifer’s gaze burned as he pulled back out into the road, coasting slowly down the tree-lined street. He wanted to see where they went. Knowledge was power. The more he knew the easier it would be to overcome them.

  *

  ‘Oh, great,’ thought Steve as he pulled up outside Psimon’s flat. ‘A biker’s rally on our own fucking doorstep.’

  There was a row of five or six bikes parked up on the road outside the neighbour’s house, many more packed onto the driveway. And, strung up between the trees on either side of the drive, a crude banner fashioned from a white bed sheet.

  ‘WELCOME HOME SPIKE,’ the banner read.

  Steve shook his head and climbed out of the car. He went round to the passenger’s side and manhandled Psimon out of the car. Then with Psimon barely able to walk he shuffled awkwardly towards the flat. Holding him up against the door he felt in Psimon’s pockets for the key.

  ‘That’s it, Psimon,’ he said. ‘We’re back at the flat.’

  ‘He’s here… he’s here,’ moaned Psimon looking at Steve through his watery eyes.

  ‘I know,’ said Steve. ‘It’s okay, you’re home now.’

  ‘No,’ said Psimon but all assertiveness had gone from his voice and Steve took little notice of his objection.

  ‘Let’s get you upstairs,’ he said.

  And as he closed the door a black van cruised slowly past the house.r />
  Had he not been so distracted Steve would surely have noted the slow speed of the van. Had he not been so distracted he would have recognised the unusually large shape of the van’s driver. But as it was, he did not. The van just grazed his peripheral vision and was gone. Then without a second thought Steve closed the door and turned to face the stairs.

  *

  It wasn’t until he had driven past a second time that Lucifer made sense of the house. It was split into two; two flats, one up and one down. The lights in the upper flat had come on and he caught a fleeting glimpse of the angel through the large bay window.

  ‘We have you now,’ he thought, turning off the road to check the area and to see how he would come at the house.

  He had seen a small pedestrian footpath leading off down the side of a neighbour’s house. He would head round the block to see where it led. Perhaps it would offer a less conspicuous approach.

  Lucifer surveyed the terrain and laid his plans.

  He would wait till dark and then, chorus willing, he would take the witness.

  Chapter 28

  Steve ceased his pacing and crossed once more to the window.

  ‘Where the hell are they?’ he cursed.

  It was over three hours since he had first called the police, more than thirty minutes since they had last assured him that someone would be with them directly. It was dark now and Steve peered up the street hoping to see the lights of an approaching police car. If they did not come soon he would pack Psimon into the car and take him down to the police station himself.

  Steve glanced in the other direction, to the house next door, where Psimon’s rowdy neighbours seemed to be warming up for the evening. The noise from the biker’s ‘homecoming party’ was getting louder by the minute. With an irritated snort Steve stepped back from the window and went over to check on Psimon.

  Psimon sat hunched in the armchair as he had for hours, knees drawn up against his chest, head tilted to one side, staring into space. He was traumatised, insensible. Steve had not been able to get a coherent sentence out of him since they got back to the flat. He had tried gentle reasoning and stern commands but all to no avail. Now he knelt once more beside his chair and lifted the fourth mug of tea with which he had tried to coax Psimon out of himself.

  ‘Why don’t you just try and drink something,’ he suggested, although he knew that it was less for Psimon’s benefit than for his own reassurance.

  If Psimon would just take a drink, do something normal; at least that would give Steve something to work with, some way of breaking through this wall of fear. But Psimon did not even register the tea. His gaze simply passed through the cloud of steam as it did through Steve.

  Steve put the mug of tea down beside Psimon’s chair. He sat back on the sofa, a twisted knot of frustration in his guts. If there were ever a time that he needed Psimon’s special abilities it was now. But Psimon was lost to him, locked away in the fearful mind of an eight-year-old boy, a little boy waiting to feel the cool touch of his mother’s soothing hand, a touch that would never come.

  *

  Lucifer kept to the shadows.

  The fates were smiling upon him. The footpath had led to the perfect place to leave the van; a small car park beside some tennis courts, dark, unused, surrounded by trees, perfect. He had left the van in the corner of the car park, reversed it close to the footpath while staying clear of the dim pool of light cast by the first of the small street lamps. He had swapped his suit jacket for one of dark leather that absorbed the light. He had donned his black leather gloves then reached into the back of the van to take what he would need.

  A small crowbar to gain entry… a gag… some black plastic ties… a telescopic security baton and of course his pistol; a handful of lightening that made it all so easy.

  Lightening for the angel.

  Baton for the witness.

  That would be more than enough.

  Now he padded down the path, keeping to the side where the widely spaced lamps did not reach. A vast shadow moving through the lesser shadows of night; moving with stealth and purpose, doing what he had done a dozen times and more, doing what he had been called to do, to seek out those who spoke untruths.

  And to silence them.

  *

  ‘Psychic?’ said Detective Inspector Hunt.

  ‘Yes,’ said Steve with a deep sigh of annoyance.

  ‘Like Uri Geller?’ asked Detective Inspector Regan.

  ‘No,’ said Steve trying to retain his composure. ‘Not like Uri Geller. Psimon is the real thing… a genuine psychic.’

  The two plainclothes CID officers had arrived a few minutes earlier and it was clear that neither of them considered this a worthwhile use of their time. Now they stood in Psimon’s living room looking down at him and even Steve could read their minds…

  ‘So what makes you think it was the killer?’ asked DI Hunt.

  ‘It was Psimon’s reaction,’ said Steve. ‘And the exit sign, TIX and the number three.’

  Steve raised a hand to his forehead. He knew how this sounded. He wished that Psimon were coherent. He could convince them in a second.

  ‘And he fitted Psimon’s description,’ Steve added futilely.

  ‘So Psimon had seen him before?’ asked DI Hunt.

  ‘Not exactly,’ replied Steve, the sinking feeling getting stronger as he spoke. ‘Psimon has visions,’ he said wearily. ‘Glimpses of the future, of other places.’

  The inspectors looked as if they had heard enough.

  ‘He had an impression of this guy; a big guy, like a giant… with eyes so dark they are almost black.’

  ‘And that’s the best description you can give us?’ asked DI Regan.

  ‘No,’ said Steve with more excitement in his voice. ‘I’ve seen him. I can tell you what he looks like.’

  The inspectors continued to look at him but Steve noticed that neither of them had so much as reached for a notebook.

  ‘He’s big,’ said Steve. ‘I mean really big… six-seven, six-eight. And well built; must be nineteen or twenty stone.’

  They looked at him now as if he were exaggerating and DI Regan actually started moving towards the door.

  ‘He’s good looking too, in a scary kind of way…’ persisted Steve. ‘Strong jaw, dark eyes, heavy forehead.’

  DI Hunt lowered his eyes.

  ‘Dark hair,’ said Steve, doggedly refusing to let them write him off as a crank. ‘Long,’ he added. ‘But he had it smoothed back with grease or wax. And he wore a suit,’ he concluded. ‘A smart blue suit.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Brennus,’ said DI Hunt. ‘But in the absence of any actual evidence to suggest that this man might be the killer, there’s really nothing we can do.’

  Steve ground his teeth against the frustration. He looked down at Psimon but Psimon had started to rock slightly in his chair.

  ‘He’s coming… he’s coming… he’s coming…’ he whispered over and over.

  ‘That’s not helping our case,’ thought Steve bitterly.

  ‘Your friend really does seem to be in some distress,’ said DI Hunt and it was the first time that Steve had heard anything like sympathy in his voice. ‘Maybe you should call a doctor.’

  ‘So that’s it,’ said Steve, ignoring the inspector’s well-meaning advice. ‘You are not going to do anything.’

  ‘As I said,’ said DI Hunt. ‘There’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘You could call Chief Constable McCormack at Bootle Street police station,’ said Steve. ‘You can bet your ass he’ll take Psimon seriously.’

  ‘It’s Sunday night,’ said DI Regan from the doorway. ‘What do you want us to do, call him at home?’

  ‘Damn right,’ said Steve, his voice rising to a shout.

  DI Hunt raised a calming hand.

  ‘We’ll call him in the morning,’ he said. ‘If he supports what you’re saying then we’ll call back tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow might be too late,’ said Steve.

 
‘That’s the best we can do.’

  ‘So you’re just going to let the killer go free?’ challenged Steve.

  The inspectors gave him an unpleasant look.

  ‘Let him go free to kill again.’ Steve followed them out of the room as they headed for the stairs. ‘Well you won’t have to wait long,’ he called after them. ‘In fact you should be finding another body soon.’

  The inspectors started down the stairs.

  ‘That’s right,’ Steve went on. ‘Another tortured body... Only this poor bastard has been crucified.’

  The inspectors stopped. They turned. They looked back up at Steve with an intensity that had been sadly lacking till now.

  ‘What did you say?’

  *

  Lucifer had seen them arrive, the pawns of so-called justice. One big, one small. He had ventured round the house to watch them enter, to make sure. But the guardian angel had opened the door and let them in. There was no doubt, this complicated things. Three was an awkward number to handle. He would consult the chorus, ask for guidance, find a way.

  Should he wait?

  No, the pawns might remove the witness to a more secure place.

  Should he leave?

  The chorus would not hear of it.

  He must take the witness tonight.

  He must take the witness now.

  Lucifer crouched in the shadows but the noise coming from the house next door made it difficult to think, the sounds of debauchery flooding out into the street. He looked across at the bikes packed onto the drive and lined up along the kerb. A row of bikes and then the angel’s car.

  A row of bikes and then the angel’s car.

  That might just do it. Yes, that should be enough.

  Lucifer checked to see that the road was clear. Then, leaving the shadows, he approached the bikes.

  *

  ‘How did you know the latest victim had been crucified?’ asked DI Hunt. ‘No one knows about that.’

  They were back in Psimon’s living room, only now the mood had changed. Where before there had been apathy and impatience now there was heightened interest and something that Steve should have anticipated… suspicion.

  ‘I’ve already told you,’ he said, nodding towards Psimon. ‘It’s Psimon. He sees things.’