by Sharon Joss
CHAPTER 10
After the pep talk from Karen, my mood was on the upswing, and by the time I took the downtown exit to Rochester, I was almost back to my sunny old self again. The spirit guide information Karen provided finally convinced me. So what if I’m psychic? I shrugged. As long as I can get rid of the stink, I can live with the rest. Not something to brag about, but nothing to worry about, either. No one at work need ever know. The tension eased from my shoulders.
Government scientists had been studying extrasensory perception for years. My test results would speak for themselves. The FBI were the experts; of course they would have the resources to solve my problem. The test would be the final confirmation I needed. Afterwards, I would let Agent Porter tell me how to get rid of my spirit messengers.
I skipped up the stairs of the FBI district office feeling pretty chipper, and gave my name to the receptionist. Forty-five minutes later, I sat in the sound-proofed test room staring open-mouthed at Agent Porter. He wasn’t smiling.
“What do you mean I don’t have any psychic abilities? Of course I do.” I hung onto my chair for dear life, every muscle tensed in rigid denial of Agent Porter and his stupid test results.
“That is not what your test results indicate, Ms. Blackman. Your scores fall clearly outside the parameters of what the United States government defines as psychic ability. In fact, you registered significantly less intuitive ability than average. I cannot recall any other applicants who scored this low on the evaluations.”
“This is a mistake,” I said. “I told you, I’ve got five spirit messengers following me.”
The agent shook his head. “The tests don’t lie.” He began to put his equipment away, dismissing me.
“Give me another chance. I was probably just nervous.”
“I think we’re done here.”
I felt like a dying goldfish circling the bowl for the last time, as the vortex of flush sucked me down into nothingness and sewage. At this point, I had nothing left to lose.
“Wait. You said you had to investigate all reports of demons. Well I have demons. They’re sitting right here in this room with us. They smell so bad, I can hardly stand it. How can you just let this go?”
He froze, and for a second at least, I had his attention again.
“Are you now telling me you are in communication with evil spirits? Think very carefully before you answer, Ms. Blackman. Demons are more dangerous than loaded weapons. They are unsafe in anyone’s hands, and cannot ever be made safe. The temptation to use a summoned demon is irresistible. I am required by law to enforce a standing order of execution against anyone who is identified as a demon master. Are saying you summoned five demons, and they are awaiting your command?” His blue eyes drilled into me.
The blood drained from my face and I choked on my protest. I bit my lips shut.
“I thought not.” His jaw relaxed. He finished packing away the laptop and slipped my paperwork into his briefcase. The interview was over. I had been tested and found unworthy.
Hot tears stung my cheeks. “What am I supposed to do? How do I get rid of them? I could lose my job.”
Porter sighed and took a clean white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and handed it to me. I buried my face into the soft cotton and sobbed. Porter didn’t say a word. After a few moments, I got a grip again, and blew my nose. I stared at the handkerchief in my hand and wished I’d thought to bring a dryer sheet.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Mattie,” he said. He was being gentle with me, I could tell. “Most people aren’t so disappointed. Perhaps you should talk to someone.”
“I’m not crazy.” The forms I’d filled out before he administered the tests had asked all kinds of questions about my family history of mental illness. I could just imagine what he was thinking. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Oh-kaaay.”
“What would you do if you were someone without any psychic ability, like me? I mean, if you were experiencing olfactory and visual hallucinations?”
“I’d consult with a psychiatric professional.”
I closed my eyes and shrank against the thought. I wondered how long the hospital stay would be, and how I would ever be able to face anyone I knew again. I remembered my mother’s drug-ravaged face and dismissed it. No. Not me, not now, not ever.
I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. “You’re wrong about me,” my lips trembled.
His face softened. “Hey, for what it’s worth, the tests we use focus on a narrow aspect of paranormal sensitivities. The government is looking for people that fit a unique profile. Not everyone with extra-sensory abilities is identified by these evaluations.”
A spark of hope flared within me. I bit my lips.
“Let me tell you something, Mattie,” he sat on the edge of the desk. “We’re more alike you than you imagine. I haven’t got a shred of intuition, either. My test scores were almost as low as yours.”
“So how did you end up here?”
“It’s a long story. This is a temporary special assignment.” He couldn’t keep the chagrin out of his voice, and I wondered what he’d done to earn this duty. After six years working for the City, there was nothing worse than ‘special assignment’.
“This is a new program, and the bureau doesn’t employ many agents with psychic abilities. I contract with a local guy to help me identify and register true paranormals. He’s not always right, but he’s got some kind of inner radar that can spot them. And he’s not an intuitive either.”
“Maybe I’m like that too.” I handed Porter back his crumpled, wet handkerchief. “Who is he?”
“Rhys Warrick.”
