First and Only (14 page)

‘Turns out we’ve got a lot in
common,’ said Psimon.

Steve snorted and Psimon’s smile
softened. He knew that Steve was only feeling bitter because he had not heard
from Christine and could not bring himself to phone her. Being away from his
family, even for a few days, felt like an eternity to Steve but he did not want
to call until he had something to offer, something to tell Christine that might
make a difference to their awful predicament. And that meant seeing this job
with Psimon through.

‘
Just a few more days
,’
thought Steve. ‘
Just a few more days and life can return to normal...
Bollocks!
’ Steve chided himself. ‘
We’re going to lose the house, maybe
the cottage too. And on top of that my wife and daughter think I’m some kind of
violent monster. Life is never going to be normal again.
’

‘Here’s our bus,’ said Psimon,
breaking Steve’s despairing train of thought and regarding him with his
penetrating grey eyes. Psimon had his own reasons for dreading their return to
the UK. He knew that there was no escaping destiny, not unless you were willing
to let someone else pay the price.

The bus ferried them quickly to
the long stay car park and Steve disembarked first, his eyes scanning the
deserted rows of vehicles before Psimon stepped off the bus. Despite the
anxieties tumbling through his mind Steve’s senses remained alert for any
potential threat to Psimon. For his part Psimon enjoyed the sense of security,
even though he knew it was just an illusion.

In the eerie brightness of the
towering lamps they made their way to Steve’s BMW. They did not see it at
first, hidden as it was by a large white transit van parked beside it.

‘Where next?’ asked Steve as he
made his way round to the driver’s side.

‘My flat,’ replied Psimon
hovering by the passenger’s door. ‘Seventy-four, Freshfield Road, Altrincham…’
his words trailed off as his chest felt suddenly strained. His shoulders burned
with a rending pain and he struggled to draw a breath as the fear seeped like
black oil into his mind.

Once again the heretic was waking
up.

*

Lucifer took a fistful of the
heretic’s hair, lifted his head and drew back his arm to strike a waking blow.
Then he paused, glancing from the heretic’s form up to the inverted image of
Christ the Deceiver. The symmetry was pleasing but one detail was missing.

Lucifer walked over to the altar,
opened an inlaid wooden box and took out a small, short-bladed dagger. The
dagger was not of a conventional design. The stubby handle was designed to sit
in the palm of the hand with the blade extending between the fingers. Such
blades were known as fist-daggers or push knives. Protruding from Lucifer’s
massive fist the short three-inch blade looked insignificant but it would be
more than sufficient to wake the heretic.

Lucifer returned to the dying
man, glanced up at the inverted crucifix for reference then stabbed the heretic
between the ribs of his right side. Then as the heretic gasped and choked his
way back into consciousness Lucifer stepped back to admire the scene.

‘Yes
,’ he thought, ‘
there
is poetry in life
.’

*

The BMW gave a familiar
‘beep-beep’ as Steve thumbed his key ring. He opened the driver’s door and
threw his travel bag onto the back seat.

‘It’s open,’ he said when Psimon
did not move to get in.

‘I said it’s open,’ repeated
Steve glancing across at Psimon who just stood there silhouetted against the
side of the white transit van. He did not appear to have heard Steve. He just
stood there, shoulders slumped, head bowed forward.

‘Psimon!’ said Steve raising his
voice. ‘The car’s op…’

Steve’s words died in his throat
as Psimon’s arms slowly raised up on either side of his body until he stood
there like a scarecrow. Then, with a suddenness that made Steve take an
involuntary step backwards, Psimon was slammed back against the side of the
transit. His arms stretched out to either side, suspending his body by
invisible means, invisible wires… or nails…

Steve felt as if his feet had
been welded to the floor. For several seconds he stood there aghast. Then
Psimon drew in a sudden, stifled gasp that sent a chill down Steve’s spine. It
was the sound that someone makes when they are stabbed, a shocked intake of
breath. Then slowly and painfully Psimon raised his head but he did not see
Steve. Whatever it was that his eyes beheld was terrifying. Psimon’s eyes
stared straight ahead. The ugly bruising round his left eye, which had faded,
now returned; so too the haemorrhaging in the palms of his hands.

And all before Steve’s horrified
gaze.

Suddenly Psimon’s eyes locked
onto something in the nether world of his perception. Something that terrified
him further still. His lips mouthed pitiful objections then he opened his mouth
and let out a horrible scream that reverberated round the empty car park.

*

With an agony of strained tendons
the psychiatrist raised his head and looked with abject terror into the black
eyes of his tormentor. He watched as the giant in priestly robes donned thick
rubber gloves and lifted a small metal bucket and what looked like a holy water
sprinkler or aspergillum, the silver head of which was corroded and heavily
pitted. A dread sense of foreboding shot through the psychiatrist’s mind as the
acolyte dipped the head of the aspergillum into the bucket. Drops of clear
liquid dripped onto the floor and where they fell the paving flags bubbled and
spat as the vitriolic fluid burnt into the stone.

The acolyte raised his hand and,
even before the first droplets had landed in his flesh, the psychiatrist was
screaming.

Lucifer was placated.

The cleansing had begun.

*

Steve watched in horror as the
screams of fear turned to screams of agony and small, dark blisters began to
appear on Psimon’s face and hands.

This sudden manifestation of pain
broke the spell that held Steve in its grasp and he dashed round the car to
Psimon’s side. He hesitated for a second as if Psimon were afflicted by some
deadly contagion then he reached up and put his hands under Psimon’s arms. For
a moment it seemed as if some force was resisting his efforts to help Psimon
down. Then suddenly he collapsed into Steve’s arms.

‘Psimon,’ said Steve desperately.
‘God, Psimon. Are you okay? Can you hear me?’

In response Psimon could only
moan incoherently.

‘I’m sorry,’ he sobbed. ‘Yes, I
confess… I confess…’

‘Come on,’ said Steve. ‘I’m
taking you to hospital.’

With that he leaned over to open
the car door. Then he gathered Psimon up, lifted him bodily from the floor and
manoeuvred him as gently as he could into the passenger seat.

‘Hang on Psimon,’ he said gently.
‘We’re going to get you some help.’

Steve slammed the door shut and
sprinted round to the driver’s side. He jumped into the car, fired up the
engine and sped towards the car park’s exit before skidding to a halt at the
security barrier. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for the ticket he had paid
for in the terminal.

‘No!’ sobbed Psimon suddenly from
the seat beside him. ‘No…’ he said again cringing into the grey upholstery of
the car.

*

Lucifer dragged the heretic to
the foot of the altar and tied his feet and bloody hands with plastic ties. He
offered a short submissive prayer before pulling the shroud over the heretic’s
head and down the length of his tortured body. He inserted the hose before
securing the shroud with another tie around the heretic’s ankles. Then he
genuflected before crossing to the side of the chapel. Bending down he checked
that the other end of the hose was properly connected. Then, with the solemnity
of a religious rite, he flicked the switch on the pump and the chapel was
filled with a loud unpleasant whining.

Lucifer returned to stand over
the condemned as the breath of life was taken from him, the breath of life that
had been so heinously abused.

*

Psimon’s sobbing was growing
quieter. His eyes began to close and he seemed to be losing consciousness.

Steve leaned across the car,
grabbed Psimon’s chin, and turned his face to look at him.

‘Psimon!’ he said in an
authoritative voice. ‘Psimon, look at me,’ he ordered.

Slowly Psimon’s eyes began to
focus on Steve’s.

‘Good,’ said Steve. ‘Keep looking
at me.’ Steve willed Psimon to focus on the here and now. ‘There’s no one here
Psimon. You’re in the car, with Steve. You’re safe… there’s no one here.’

A kind of fearful lucidity
returned to Psimon’s gaze and he looked up at Steve as if he could not quite
believe it was true.

‘That’s it, Psimon. That’s it...
look at me… only at me.’ Steve was unbelievably relieved that Psimon was coming
round and, seeing the recognition in his eyes, he let Psimon relax back into
his seat.

Quickly Steve lowered his window
and inserted the ticket into the barrier.

‘I’m taking you to a hospital,’
Steve repeated now that Psimon was more comprehensible. He had no idea what had
just happened to Psimon or what to do about it. Bullets, knives, bombs… people
trying to kill him. These were things that Steve could handle, things that he
could understand. But an invisible enemy that can strike at you without even
being present. No warning, no defence… How can you live with that and still
retain your sanity.

‘No,’ said Psimon in a tremulous
voice.

‘What?’ Steve glanced across as
he drove through the airport complex heading for the motorway.

‘No hospital,’ said Psimon more
firmly.

‘But you’re hurt,’ protested
Steve. ‘You need help.’

‘They can’t help me,’ said
Psimon.

Steve looked across once more. He
was filled with uncertainty. He was not equipped to deal with this, no one was.
The only person who seemed to have any understanding of what was going on was
Psimon. He was the one who was suffering. It was for him to decide his fate.

Psimon gave a small affirmative
nod. ‘Seventy-four, Freshfield Road, Altrincham,’ he said. ‘Flat number two.’

Despite his misgivings and his
feelings of inadequacy Steve approached the motorway but instead of taking the
exit for Wythenshaw Hospital he veered left, heading away from Manchester and
towards the suburb of Altrincham.

Chapter 17

Steve pulled up outside Psimon’s flat. The street was
wide and lined with mature trees. It was after ten now and raining; the bare
branches of the trees forming spidery halos round the widely spaced street
lamps. Except for a single car, parked some way back on the other side of the
street, the road was quiet; there was no one about. Steve turned to Psimon who
had been dozing in his seat.

‘Nice area,’ he said, the idle
small talk helping to diffuse the tension that persisted from the incident in
the airport car park.

Psimon straightened up in his
seat, wincing at the sudden pain in his hands and in his side. ‘Yes,’ he
replied, waving Steve’s hands away when he tried to help.

Steve watched Psimon’s face
anxiously as he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for his bag. He was clearly
still in pain but the crisis had passed. ‘I had you in a bedsit,’ he said
looking up at the handsome Victorian villa.

Psimon managed a weak laugh and
reached to open the door but a sharp intake of breath spoke of the pain in his
ribs.

‘Let me get that,’ said Steve
jumping out of the car and moving quickly round to open the door for Psimon.

With an effort Psimon managed to
get out on his own but his legs felt numb and unsteady and he was grateful for
Steve’s help when he tried to stand.

‘Where are we heading?’ asked
Steve, supporting Psimon as they made their way towards the driveway.

‘Main door,’ said Psimon. ‘Then
up the stairs.’

‘Right you are,’ said Steve,
pointing his key ring behind them to lock the car. And as he glanced back
something caught his eye; a tiny glint of light from the car across the street.
Light reflecting from a pair of spectacles…

There was someone in the car.

‘What is it?’ asked Psimon, his
voice heavy with fatigue.

‘Just a minute,’ replied Steve,
trying to pierce the shadowed interior of the car with his gaze. He turned to
look directly at the car but just at that moment it started its engine and
pulled off down the road. Steve’s gaze followed the car as it passed them but
the light was not sufficient for him to see inside. He caught a quick glimpse
of the driver, a woman in a dark suit, nothing more.

‘Steve?’ queried Psimon.

‘It’s nothing,’ said Steve. ‘Come
on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you inside.’

Steve did not know what he had
been expecting but he felt surprised that Psimon’s flat was so normal. It was a
nice flat with large rooms and high corniced ceilings, a good conversion of the
original house. Whatever Psimon did for a living he was doing well to be able
to afford this. But all that aside it was the home of a normal young man;
untidy, with clothes lying about the floor, music CDs, empty glasses, stacks of
DVDs piled on the floor, rather than back on the shelves where they belonged.

Steve helped Psimon through to
the living room and lowered him into a big comfy armchair. There was a large
‘home cinema’ unit in the corner, several sweaters and a thick fleecy blanket
strewn across the sofa opposite. There were two games consoles set up beside
the TV and beside them the obligatory pizza delivery box and an empty bottle of
wine.

‘
Normal
,’ thought Steve
incongruously as he glanced down at Psimon.

Psimon relaxed into the chair
with a bone-weary sigh and Steve crossed to the deep bay window. He moved from
one side to the other pushing the curtains back so that he could see as much of
the road below as possible.