James Swain - Shadow People

Peter glanced at Snoop. His assistant mouthed the word “Wow!”

“Can you teach me that?” Snoop asked under his breath.

It comes with a heavy price tag, Peter nearly told him.

“Afraid not,” he said instead. “What else did Dr. Sierra say?”

“He asked for your phone number. I told him it was private, and not something I could hand out. He got insistent, and I told him to have a nice day.”

“He wouldn’t tell you what he wanted, huh?”

“No. If you ask me, this guy is trouble.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re a public person. People don’t just come banging on your door unannounced every day, do they? This guy Sierra is unhinged. Take my advice, and stay away from him.”

“I’ve got another session with him tomorrow morning.”

“Cancel it.”

“I promised Liza.”

“Excuse me, but aren’t you Peter Warlock the magician?” the college girl at the next table asked. “Why, yes, you are. I saw your show with my girlfriend last year. We had the best time. Will you do that trick for me again? I’m just dying to know how it’s done.”

She held out her cup of latte, as if expecting Peter to make it boil again. Snoop pulled back in his chair. He was laughing under his breath and enjoying himself at his boss’s expense. Peter gave him the eye. It wasn’t funny, but Snoop kept laughing.

“What’s your name?” Peter asked.

“Sheri,” she replied.

Peter borrowed one of Sheri’s rings and made it magically pass through a coffee stirrer. The ring was put into a paper napkin and made to disappear. Peter then asked Sheri to pick a packet of sugar from the dish on the table. Sheri chose a yellow packet of Splenda. Tearing the packet open, he produced the ring and slipped it on her finger. Sheri squealed with delight, and seemed to have forgotten about the boiling latte. He stole a peek inside her head just to be sure. The memory was on a back shelf, never to be used. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Is it safe?” Snoop asked under his breath.

“Yes, it’s safe.”

Peter’s Droid vibrated. Garrison calling. He took the call in the street.

“We caught one,” the FBI agent said.

“You caught a shadow person,” Peter said breathlessly.

“Caught it dead in its tracks,” Garrison replied. “We spotted it coming out the Westchester train platform and watched it run across the main concourse. There were people in the concourse, so we waited until it ran upstairs into a hallway by the west-side exits. That’s when we hit the lights. You’d be amazed at how bright they can make them.”

“How did it react?”

“It screamed so loud I heard it upstairs. Then it turned to stone. We cordoned off the area, and are keeping people away. My boss wants it moved out of here. He’s telling me to take it to an empty hangar at Kennedy Airport so a bunch of pointy-headed scientists can stick needles in it. I didn’t like the sound of that, so I decided to call you. Is that a wise idea?”

Peter panicked. Violating a ghost or spirit would upset the psychic balance of the universe. Innocent people would perish as a result, not just here, but in other parts of the world as well. “That’s a bad idea. Lots of people will die in ways that you cannot possibly imagine.”

“How about if we just move it down the hall to a room?”

“Don’t. It will burn you. The scars will never heal.”

“Well, I can’t just leave it here. Too many people will see it.”

“You want my help?”

“I didn’t call to hear the sound of your voice. Of course I want your help.”

It was not uncommon for a spirit to become trapped in this world. When that happened, psychics often rushed to the spirit’s aid, and built makeshift walls around it to hide it from peering eyes. Those walls, along with a few well-placed sawhorses, usually did the trick.

“Build a wall around it using plywood and sheets of translucent plastic,” Peter said. “The plastic will keep the public from seeing it. At the same time, the plastic will allow the light to filter through, which will keep the shadow person frozen.”

“I want you to take a look at this thing. You game?”

“I’m game.”

A cab crawled down the street looking for a fare and Peter waved the driver down. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Snoop inside the coffee shop, chatting away with Sheri. Snoop was doing a magic trick where it appeared he removed his thumb, and then made it whole. Sheri seemed absolutely enthralled. Peter waved good-bye before hopping into the backseat.

“Whatever you do, don’t throw a blanket over it,” Peter said. “The darkness will allow it to become unfrozen, and it will escape.”

The cabbie turned around in his seat, his dreadlocks bouncing on his shoulders. “You talking to me, mon?”

“No, I wasn’t. Grand Central Terminal.”

The cab lurched ahead. Peter went back to his conversation. “I would also advise you not to stare at it very long, either. It will give you nightmares that will last a long time.”

“I’ve got enough of those,” Garrison said. “How soon can you get here?”

“As fast as my cabbie can drive.”

Peter put away his phone. So much for taking Liza out to the movies. It was stuff like this that ruined relationships, yet he wasn’t sure how to stop it.

“You’re that magic guy I heard about,” the driver said, spinning the wheel.

“That’s me,” Peter replied.

“Are you the devil? I’ve talked to passengers who’ve seen your show. They say you do weird shit, like move things with your mind, and know what people are thinking. I’ve heard enough of them talking to know that something ain’t right.”

Peter’s face burned. “It’s all a bunch of tricks.”

“Is that so?” The cabbie took a corner at Canal and headed uptown. “I heard other drivers talking. Their passengers told them the same things. The stuff you do defies imagination and cannot be explained. If enough people believe something, it’s usually true. At least in my experience it is.”

Peter tried to imagine the other cabbies the driver worked with. They probably all got together after their shift was over, and had a cold beer. Peter needed this Jamaican telling those drivers that he was an ordinary guy who was adept at fooling people, and that was all he was.

The cab braked at a light. Peter said, “I want to show you something.” Taking a flesh-colored hollow thumb from his pants pocket, he passed it through the partition. “This handy little device is called a thumb tip. You can buy one in any magic store. They’ll actually help you mold it so it fits perfectly onto your thumb. Put it on.”

It was not every day that a passenger was carrying a hollow thumb. The driver inspected it closely before slipping it onto his thumb. The plastic jarred with his dark skin.

“Now move your hand around,” Peter said.

The driver waved his hand, and the thumb tip did not fall off.

“I use that to make small objects disappear,” Peter said.

The driver passed the gimmick back. The light changed, and he hit the gas. “What’s all this supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Do you honestly think that if I had supernatural powers that I’d carry that stupid thing around in my pocket all day long? Do you?”

The driver burst into laughter. “No, I guess not.”

“Thank you.”

“You really can’t read minds?”

“I wish.”

“Or move things around by thought control?”

“Give me a break, will you?”

“You’re not in league with the Devil?”

“No, but I once dated his sister.”

The driver’s eyes danced in his mirror, and he slapped the wheel. He had been won over, but how many more were there like him out there? A hundred? A thousand? For all Peter knew, half the population of New York thought he had supernatural powers, and were whispering behind his back. Or maybe it was just this driver and the guys he hung out with. There was no way of knowing for sure. One day, his whole world might fall apart, and there was nothing he could do about it. It gave him an idea. Again he stuck his head through the partition.