James Swain - Shadow People

Monday was also Herbie’s day off, and they cabbed it, arriving a few minutes before their appointment. As they waited to be buzzed in, a cold wind whipped off the East River that knifed through their clothes and made them both shiver. Peter said, “Let’s go find a restaurant and get a nice hot chocolate.”

“Not on your life,” Liza replied.

They were let in, and took an elevator to the top floor. Sierra’s waiting room was small and dreary. A receptionist sat at a computer and appeared hypnotized by its screen.

“Good morning. We’re here to see Dr. Sierra,” Liza said.

“He’s waiting for you. Go right in,” she replied without looking up.

They passed into an office whose walls sagged under the weight of thick medical books. Sierra stood at a window that faced onto the street with a faraway expression on his face. He had aged since his photo, his hair now gray. Turning, he said, “Is it already nine thirty?”

It was a strange way to begin a counseling session. Peter acknowledged that it was while helping Liza remove her coat. Dr. Sierra crossed the room and politely shook hands. “I must have lost track of the time. Please make yourselves comfortable.”

The doctor motioned toward a leather couch in the room’s center. On the side table was an open box of Kleenex. Sierra pulled up a chair so he was sitting directly in front of them.

“Excuse me for acting so distracted when you came in,” he said. “I’m afraid I was daydreaming.”

“It must have been some daydream,” Liza said.

“A strange case that was never resolved to my satisfaction. But that was a long time ago. Please tell me about yourselves, and why you’ve come to see me. My receptionist said you were vague over the phone as to the nature of your problems.”

Liza cupped her hands in her lap and gazed at the floor. “God, I don’t know where to start. It’s so complicated. And so… well, weird.”

“Is the problem sexual in nature?” Sierra gently asked.

“Our sex life is terrific. Peter is a wonderful lover.”

Sierra glanced at Peter and dipped his chin approvingly. It was hard not to like the guy, but Peter wasn’t taking the plunge just yet. He made eye contact with Liza.

“You’re wonderful, too.”

“Well, we’re off to a good start,” Sierra said, clapping his hands enthusiastically. “You are both in love, and enjoy each other’s company in bed. Is your problem financial?”

“Peter makes a very good living,” Liza said, still doing floor patrol.

“Is it religious in nature?”

“Sorry.”

“That leaves family. Are your families interfering in your lives?”

“Peter’s family is gone, and mine isn’t a problem,” Liza said.

“Well, this hardly sounds like a bad situation. Unless of course I’m missing something.”

Liza squirmed uncomfortably. Peter felt like he was in a cab stuck in traffic with the meter running. He reached across the couch and took Liza’s hands in his own, then cleared his throat. “Okay, here’s the deal. The problem with our relationship is me. I’m a psychic. I can read minds, see into the future, and communicate with the dead. Liza and I have been living together for two years. I kept this hidden from her until recently. It’s causing us a lot of problems.”

Sierra’s face had gone blank, and Peter wondered if it was too much information for him to absorb. After a moment, the good doctor spoke.

“You look familiar. Aren’t you a professional magician?” Sierra asked.

“That’s right. I have a show downtown.”

“And you’re telling me that the tricks you do are real?”

“Some of them.”

“But not all.”

“Correct.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, I’m finding this rather hard to believe.”

Sierra had a bemused look on his face, and Peter felt himself grow flush. He hated when people laughed at him, and he felt his inner demon about to rear its ugly head. He didn’t want that to happen in the presence of a stranger, and forced himself to calm down.

“Perhaps you could give me a demonstration,” Sierra said.

“You want me to read your mind?”

“Could you? That would be splendid.”

“Give me your hand.”

With a twinkle in his eye, Sierra placed his hand onto Peter’s outstretched palm. As their skin touched, the doctor jumped in his chair. “Your hands are ice-cold,” Sierra said.

“I have a demon inside of me. When it starts to come out, my skin turns cold.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious. Now, think of something in your past. Anything at all.”

Sierra looked at Liza for help. “Is your boyfriend on the level?”

“Everything he says is true,” Liza said.

“Including this demon?”

“Including the demon.”

“This must have come as a great shock to you.”

“Well, it’s definitely taken some getting used to.”

Sierra shifted his attention back to Peter, who had not let go of his hand. “Most people think I was born in Havana, because that is what it says on my passport. In fact, I was born in a small village in the mountains of Cuba that is not on any map. Tell me about it.”

“Are you thinking about this village right now?” Peter asked.

“I most certainly am.”

Peter gazed into the depths of Sierra’s eyes and went searching. The doctor’s head was a library of information, and it took an extended moment before he found the images he was looking for. The rural village where Sierra had been born and raised held a special place, and Peter treaded carefully on the older man’s memories. “You were born in a farming village in the Sierra Maestra mountains in the western region of Cuba. Your family has lived there for six generations, raising sheep and cattle. On the outskirts of the village is a primitive cemetery where many of your relatives are buried. Your older brother rests there: He perished after being thrown by a horse. He was your best friend, and it broke your heart the day it happened.

“You left the village at the age of twelve to attend a school for gifted students in Havana. When you were a teenager, you escaped Cuba with a group of friends on a makeshift raft made of tires, and landed on a small island off Key West. You later relocated to New York, where you worked three jobs to put yourself through college and, later, medical school. You have not been back to your birthplace in forty years, and long for the day you can return safely, without fear of retribution from the government.”

Sierra’s eyes welled with tears. “Astonishing. How long have you had this… gift?”

“Ever since I could remember. At first, I thought everyone could do these things. But then I learned that only certain people can.”

Sierra adjusted himself in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. He seemed to be having a hard time coming to grips with what Peter had just done. There was a name for this: seeing but not believing. The brain did not accept what the eyes had seen, and that caused the mind to wrestle with reality. It was not a fun process, but in the end, reality usually won out.

“You said that you did not tell your girlfriend about your gifts until recently, yet you’ve been living together for two years,” Sierra said, the professional tone returning to his voice. “The obvious question would be, did you read her mind during that time, and not tell her?”

Peter looked at Liza as he replied. “No, I didn’t.”

“Why not? Most men would.”

“I wanted our relationship to work. If I started to read Liza’s mind, it would make things off balance.”

“Not even once?”

“No, sir.”

Sierra addressed Liza. “Do you believe him?”