Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller (2 page)

The acoustics of the room
enhance the clatter and chaos resulting from this announcement. Jeff picks up
and straightens his notes, tapping them gently on the lectern, then walks away
with them in hand. He always makes time for his students, and as they pass, he
smiles and says good morning. His office is now only a few yards down the hall,
and as he reaches for the door handle he hears:

“Sir.” He stops and turns
around. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t come across as impertinent?”

“You didn’t, Jane. Don’t
worry, it’s good to have an enquiring mind. I look forward to seeing you after
lunch.”

“Thanks sir.” Jane walks
away. Jeff reflects that she’s going to keep him on his toes this year. He
opens his office door: sanctuary at last. He closes the door behind him. The
room may look tired, and in need of decoration, but it’s still his second home,
filled shelves of academic books and years of offerings and gifts from past
students. The space on the shelf where his family portrait once sat has since
been replaced with a photograph of his two daughters, although he’s thought
many times about taking it down. As much as he loves them both dearly, their
presence brings forth the pain of not being a full time father anymore. He
walks over to the mirror. Hung on the top right corner is a dusty braided
leather bangle; a photograph is tucked into the left corner of the gilded
frame. A smiling ex-student looks out to him, a memory frozen in time,
collecting dust. Jeff reaches out and touches her for a moment.

“You fool,” he whispers to
himself, pulling his hand away.

In the mirror, Jeff looks
well for a man of his age, his dark hair and rugged looks still get admiring
glances from his students. The telephone disturbs his reverie. He walks over to
the desk, picks up the phone, reclining back into his well-worn leather office
chair.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Jeff.” The ex-student,
the face in the photograph. It's her voice.

“Eve?”

“Yes, how are you?”

“I was just thinking about
you.”

“Coincidence?”

Jeff’s flustered and
confused. He sits upright in his chair and leans forward onto his desk.

“I didn’t think I would hear
from you again.”

“You’re married, Jeff.” With
a hint of regret she says, “I’m sorry, but for my own sanity I had no choice
but to leave.”

“You could have told me you
were leaving.”

“It was easier that way. I
might not have gone otherwise.”

“Why phone me now?”

“I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know where to
start.”

Jeff taps his right hand,
fingers outstretched, on the pile of books on his desk, before relaxing back
into his chair. A stray part of his mind notes the titles: Kubler Ross's
On
Death and Dying
; Michael Shermer's
The Believing Brain
. Readings for
his course. He focuses back on Eve.

“From the beginning.”

“Did you follow the Casey
Lee Jones trial?”

“The cop killer?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah... he’s the psychopath
that claimed he could see into the future. His defense was that if he hadn’t
shot them, they would have killed him.”

“That’s the one.” In a more
serious tone of voice Eve states. “I’m his psychiatrist.”

For a moment Jeff’s silent,
then with concern he asks “Why do you need me?”

“To be honest, I’m scared.
He has a future memory.”

“A future memory? Come on,
Eve, you know there's no such thing. He’s a psychopath playing head games with
you.”

“You have to believe me.”
Jeff can hear the desperation in her voice. “I have him under clinical study.
He taps into a sensory world beyond my understanding, and he’s prophesied events
around us before they’ve happened. The government is interested, we have agents
here; he knows this, somehow, and has shut down on me. If anyone can open him
up, it’s you.”

“Me?”

“Please, Jeff, I need you.”
She pauses. “There’s one more thing you should know.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s the one who asked for
you.”

The plane starts
its descent towards Pueblo Memorial Airport. Jeff looks out from his window
seat. Cloudless skies reveal the beauty and contrasting landscapes of the South
West below. Reaching upwards are the jagged peaks of Southern Colorado, whilst
the rolling plains of the east stretch far out beneath them, leaving to the
south the New Mexico Rockies. These rise up out of the desert, expansive
canyons and green slopes, a flourishing oasis of trees and foliage.
 

For all our technology, cell
phones and in-flight entertainment, the act of a plane landing is still a
brutal affair. A momentary squeal of rubber and smoke on touchdown. The howl of
reverse thrust, and four hundred tons of vibrating steel hurtling towards
oblivion. The plane docks with the precision of a watch maker.

All Jeff wants to see is
Eve. With luggage trailing, anticipating, he walks out into the lounge. His
heart flutters. She’s there waiting for him. Jeff can’t stop smiling as he
walks towards her. She still wears her long dark braided hair in pigtails. Her
slim, athletic yet voluptuous figure is the envy of many. Plump ruby red lips
and emerald eyes; damn, he would travel the world to lose himself in her.

“Jeff.”

“Eve.”

She offers a hug. It feels
good to be able to hold her once again; she smells like home. Then she pulls
away.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Outside in the car park he
can only shake his head and smile. This vehicle is without doubt an extension
of Eve’s personality. Three thousand pounds of black American muscle sits on
the tarmac.

“A Camaro?”

“A 1969 Chevrolet Camaro to
be precise.” Eve finds it difficult to play it cool, biting her lip to stop a
big corny smile erupting. She opens the trunk, can't hold back the smile any
longer. “Come on, throw your gear in.”

Jeff smiles back. She looks
so damn sexy holding that trunk open.

“Your lip piercing is new,
it suits you.”

“I know.”

The key turns and the
unmistakable sound of a big block Chevy V8 purrs out. Through chrome and steel
the beast roars and leaps forward. They leave rubber behind on the concrete.
Travelling through the desert heat, Jeff can’t help but inhale her. He's drawn
to her like a bee to nectar. If only he could touch her again, those perfect
legs so close next to him.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“I can feel your thoughts.”

“Sorry.”

Unbeknownst to Jeff, who now
feels scorned, Eve is secretly flattered.

“It’s okay, I forgive you.”

“Thanks. Do we have far to
travel?”

“No, it’s just over the
ridge.”

The roar of the V8 calms as
they turn left past the old black rusty mail box. The door swings on one
remaining hinge; the perched raven takes flight. They rumble along the dusty
red track. Jeff looks out in anticipation. Two small stone pillars support log
poles stretching up to frame the ranch entrance. A wooden beam bears the ranch
name, each individual letter dangling from wire, the paint turned to a faded
white. The perimeter fence, bar the odd log, still stands, casting long
timeless shadows onto the surrounding barren soil.

“Rainbow Ranch, that’s an
unusual name.”

“I like it.”

The old cattle ranch comes
into view, nestled in a rolling yet gentle terrain. A serene setting on this
plateau, with distant mountain backdrops. He can see why Eve would be drawn to
this place; she may be a town girl, yet her prizes were always solitude and
tranquility. The car stops, the roar extinguished by the simple turn of the
key. Dust settles all around.

“Come on, I’ll give you a
tour.”

Stepping out Jeff notes the
colors and charm within the old timbers, rustic beauty.

“Now this is history.”

“Antique, all timber and
still standing. We don’t get much rain out here, plus they can’t rent or sell
them anymore. It comes cheap.” A large timber weathervane overlooks the yard, its
blades motionless in the stillness of the day. The adjoining barn has its doors
pinned back, with two cart wheels centrally mounted either side. An old Ford
truck sits in its last resting place, slowly rusting into the earth. The porch
steps moan underfoot with age. A single rocking chair sits under the canopy.
Eve turns the handle to open the front door.

“You don’t lock it?”
Surprise in Jeff's voice.

“Only at night. There’s no
one around for miles. Besides, it would be easy for anyone to get in here, not
that there’s anything worth stealing.”

Jeff steps inside. It’s a
simple room. Log walls, timber framed ceiling and wood floor. A hand woven red
and white Navajo rug in front of a traditional stone fireplace. Dried flowers
on top of the mantel, and Eve’s psychedelic painting that she loves so well on
the wall.

“I’ll show you to your room,
you can freshen up whilst I make us some food.”

“You’re pampering me.”

Eve flashes him a smile.
“Don’t get used to it, we have work to do.”

It feels strange to be left alone
in Eve’s bathroom. Jeff looks around. Fresh pink towels and the shampoo, his
brand, left out for him. Nice touch, does she still care for him? The shower is
basic, yet refreshing enough to wash away the journey. Pausing at the top of
the stairs, he admires Eve as she sets the kindling for the fire. The creak of
his first step gives him away.

Apparently startled Eve
looks up, although secretly she knew she was being watched.   

“Was the shower okay?”

“Great, thanks.”

Jeff’s unsure, as he walks
down the stairs, if Eve had seen his admiring look. She gives nothing away.

“I light the fire early; it
gets cold later.”

“Great, anything I can do to
help?” Jeff looks around. The table isn't set yet.

“No, make yourself comfortable.
Dinner’s almost ready.”

Ten minutes later and the
table is now set. The fire’s crackling in the background, and food is served.

“This looks great. You were
always a good cook.”

“I’ll take that as a
compliment.”

“Please do.” An
uncomfortable moment's silence has Jeff reaching for his wine glass. “A toast
to us.”

He can see as he raises his
glass this has unsettled Eve. With a reserved smile she raises her wine glass
with a toast of her own.

“To the future.” Eve looks
away, a little flustered. She can’t help herself, is compelled to ask: “How’s
family life treating you?”

“I don’t have one.”

Shocked Eve asks “Why not?”

“It fell apart after you
left.”

“Me? It can't be my fault! I
took myself out of the situation.”

“No, it was mine. I couldn’t
live a lie any longer, and resentment got the better of me. I lost you because
I was with her.” Confused, Eve’s head drops. She’s unsure what to say next. To
ease the awkwardness Jeff brushes it away. “Anyway it’s in the past. I’m here
to see Casey Lee Jones, aren’t I?”

“You are. I’m sorry about
your family, Jeff.”

“Don’t be.”

After dinner Eve clears the
dishes, then returns with a laptop. She places this on the table.

“I hope you’re ready for
this?”

“I’m intrigued.”

“At first I concluded the
patient must be a pathological and compulsive liar. He exhibits what I at first
believed to be a personality disorder. This diagnosis leads us into the
spectrum of the psychopath.”

“A reasonable deduction
considering his line of defense.”

“He displays all the classic
manipulation, deception and evasion of a psychopath. I can feel his pleasure
and domination of the situation. He toys and tries to exploit me.”

“Does he show any shame or
remorse?”

“No, he states time and time
again, it was the cops or him.”

“Does he elaborate on his
story?”

“No. It feels like he's
playing a sick game. Lying appears central to his personality. I think he's
trying to open up doors and opportunities for himself.”

Jeff nods. “As one would
expect.”

“Yes,” Eve pauses.
 
“But then he started to prophesize.”

“Eve, some psychopaths enjoy
pretending to be precogs, and take great pleasure in making others believe
them.”

“He’s beyond anything you
can imagine. At first he would say it’s time to go, or rap on the desk moments
before the guard would appear.”

“Did you test his hearing?
Do you wear a watch that’s visible? Are there any clues for him to work with?”

“His hearing is normal and
there are no visual clues. I cover up very well inside the prison. One thing I
learned fast about these inmates, Jeff, is that I’m the only living woman they
will probably ever see again.”

Eve can see Jeff’s face
drop. For a moment he’s silent. He wishes he could protect her. Before she gets
chance to speak he continues.

“Have you discounted the
internal clock theory?”

“Yes. It's not all about the
guards. In another session his exact words were 'keep your eye on your front
tire, Miss Perez'.”

“Miss Perez?”

“Alias Miss Perez. It’s
safer to conceal one’s identity.”

“Of course.”

“I thought nothing more of
it and left. A few miles down the highway and my front passenger side tire
blew. The car swerved in front of a truck, and if it wasn’t for the desert I
might not be here. I got out in shock, screamed and just stood there. The tire
was ripped off the rim. The truck didn't even stop.”

“Bastard.” Jeff’s angry,
angry that the truck driver didn’t stop to help. That he wasn’t by her side,
and that she had to face this alone. “It’s coincidence, he got lucky.”

“That’s what I thought. The
following day I didn’t mention anything to him, and it was only when the guard
was taking him back to his cell that he said 'I’m glad you’re alright'. I asked
him what he meant. He smiled and said 'your tire', then walked away.”

“He waited until then so you
couldn’t question him further. Was the incident common knowledge amongst the
guards?”

“I mentioned it to no one.”

“Hmm.”

“In one session he stated
that the raven would fall. I had no idea what he meant, but that night Senator
Jesse Raven was arrested on a variety of counts. All related to conspiracy and
fraud. He’s accurately predicted homicides, news reports, civilian and military
information. He couldn’t possibly have known about any of them, Jeff.”

Jeff sighs. “Eve, even
Nostradamus with his mysterious, cryptic writings spoke in riddles. His
quatrains are enigmatic puzzles from a false prophet whose musings you have to
solve for yourself. Many of his prophecies failed, yet it’s human nature to
want to believe, to find order and meaning. Casey Lee Jones is a master of
deceit. Take any stage up and down the country where a conjurer or medium is
performing. They deceive the eye and the mind. A clever cold reader will have
his audience mesmerized. A medium will have them believing that they are
speaking directly to the dead. But it's just subtle information gathering, and
misdirection.”

“I have footage to show
you.”

“This should be
interesting.”

“The clip you’re about to
see is taken via a hidden camera. He shouldn’t have been aware of its
presence.”

“Okay, let’s roll.”

The recording shows a
divided concrete interview room. Eve and Casey are separated via a glass
screen, with no further restrictions. Jeff studies Casey’s body language. His
laid back, confident manner dominates the interview. He’s intelligent and
articulate.

“He doesn’t come across as
someone convicted of a horrible crime, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t.” Jeff's
voice is firm. “You and I are restrained via our conscience. He never feels
guilt, takes personal responsibility, or feels shame. It’s the disease that
causes no dis-ease.”

The moment Jeff speaks,
Casey looks up to the camera and states.

“Disease, no matter how
small, always comes with dis-ease.”

“Explain that, he was
speaking directly to you.” Eve feels vindicated. “He knew you would be watching
this.”

“That can't be. There’s a
rational explanation for everything. Rewind the clip. What were you discussing
at that moment?”

“He has endophthalmitis, an
infection in his left eye. It occurs when a foreign object enters or damages
the eye.”

“How did that happen?”

“He said he fell and that
it’s from a splinter of glass that entered his eye from his glasses.”

“Then let's not jump to the
conclusion he was speaking to me. I thought he was unaware of the camera?”