James Swain - Shadow People

“Join him in what?”

“I honestly don’t know. He spoke to me by name. It was so strange.”

“What happened then?”

“I told him no thanks. Then I woke up, and found myself covered in sweat.” She paused. “I have no idea what the dream meant. Do you?”

Ray the tattoo artist had been thinking of a magician who made vultures appear from scarves as well. Was the man in Rachael’s dream the same person?

“No, I don’t,” Peter said.

“Well, I sure hope he doesn’t come back. Good night. Thanks again for saving my life.”

The taxi pulled out with the dark cloud still hovering above it. It occurred to Peter that he didn’t even know Rachael’s last name. He would have to ask one of the cops what it was. That way, he’d be able to Google her, and find out how her research was going. Something told him that before long, her name would be in the newspapers, and for all the right reasons.

He headed back inside. Through the glass doors he spied Liza standing in the lobby. She had a cell phone pressed to her ear, and was waving frantically to him.

He rushed inside.

“It’s Dr. Sierra. He needs to speak with you,” Liza said, handing him her cell phone.

Sierra was the last person Peter wanted to be talking to right now, and he pressed the cell phone to his ear. “Hello, Dr. Sierra. What a pleasant surprise.”

“I’m sorry to be calling at such a late hour,” Sierra said. “Hunsinger is dying. I’m with him at his apartment. The doctor just left, and said he only has a few hours left. It was Hunsinger who asked me to call you. He wishes to speak with you before he passes.”

A dying man’s last request was hard to turn down, only Hunsinger had already told him enough bad things about his childhood to last a lifetime, and Peter didn’t want to hear any more horror stories tonight. “I’m sorry your friend is dying, Dr. Sierra, but I’m going to take a pass. I’m already having a hard enough time dealing with what he told me the other day.”

“This concerns your parents,” Sierra said as if not hearing him. “It seems that your father confided in Hunsinger about certain events which had happened during your parents’ childhoods. Hunsinger wishes to share these things with you.”

“I already know about my parents’ childhoods. Good night.”

“Please don’t hang up. You don’t know about these things.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hunsinger said your mother was the reason it all happened in the first place.”

“My mother? What is that supposed to mean?”

“He said your mother was the prize.”

“The prize for what?”

“I’m sorry, but I have no idea what any of this means. I would suggest that you speak to Hunsinger yourself. And hurry. The clock is running out for my friend.”

Peter cursed under his breath. If he didn’t rush back to the city to see Hunsinger, he’d never know what the old priest was talking about. The words would haunt him for the rest of his life, and he had no doubt this was why Hunsinger had uttered them to Sierra.

“Where does he live?” Peter asked.

Sierra gave him the street address and apartment number. Peter memorized it and ended the call. He felt like throwing the cell phone against the wall, only it happened to belong to Liza. “We need to go back to the city,” he said.

“Right now?” Liza said.

“Yes. Right now.”

They sat in a pair of middle seats on the midnight train back to New York, facing each other. The car was otherwise empty.

“That was rude to leave and not say good-bye,” Liza said.

Peter had sent Garrison a text, explaining that he had to go see a dying friend. He’d also asked Garrison to contact Chief Burns’s family, and pass along those things which Burns had communicated to him a few moments before he died.

“Hunsinger is on his deathbed, and has asked to speak with me,” Peter explained. “He knows a secret about my mother that he wants to tell me. I couldn’t say no.”

Liza had run out of patience, and she gazed out the window at the passing scenery. “When are things ever going back to normal? I feel like a puppet being jerked around on a string. First I get yanked one way, then another. This isn’t right, Peter.”

“Our lives used to be dull, You even complained about it once.”

She frowned at him. “Our lives are out of control, I don’t know what normal is anymore. You’re going to have to make a decision.”

“I am?”

“Yes. Do you want to be a psychic who runs around helping the FBI solve crimes, or do you want to be in love with me? You can’t have both.”

“I can’t?”

“No. I’ve reached my limit.”

It was his turn to stare at the scenery. Being a psychic was a reward for all it enabled him to achieve and punishment for all the lies it forced him to tell. That was his destiny, and there was no getting around it. But was it fair to Liza? He was pulling her into a world where she had no control. If he was going to keep her, he would have to change, even if it meant never sitting down to another Friday night séance with his psychic friends and talking with the dead. He had to stop it if he truly loved the woman sitting across from him.

And he had to do it right now.

“I want to be in love with you,” he said. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted. I’ll stop the psychic stuff. No more talking to ghosts, or helping the FBI.”

The words hit her hard, and it took a moment for her to compose herself.

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes, it’s a promise.”

Liza switched seats, and snuggled up beside him. They held hands and kissed, and he saw how incredibly happy she was. That alone told him he’d made the right decision. That hadn’t been so hard. All he’d ever wanted was to have a normal life. By walking away from being a psychic, he could have one. It was as simple as that.

He resumed looking out the window. The train route was lined with billboards for theatrical shows playing in the city. There were musicals, revivals, and plenty of serious dramas, reminders that New York was the theater capital of the world.

One billboard caught his eye. It was for a magic show, the performer someone he’d never heard of. Peter tried to stay up on any magicians who played New York, if for no other reason than to know who his competition was.

He brought his face up to the glass for a better look. The billboard showed a dark figure wearing a flowing black robe, his face painted in fright makeup, his hypnotic eyes daring you to enter his world. Perched on his shoulder was vulture with a bunny rabbit in its mouth. Bold lettering announced his show at a theater in Times Square.

Dante-The Anti-Conjuror

Prepare to have your imagination turned inside out,

and your emotions stripped bare.

Call now for tickets

It was the same dark magician that Ray the tattoo artist had been thinking of before he died, the same evil character who’d invaded Rachael’s dreams as well.

Peter fell back in his seat. Anti-conjurors were the Devil’s entertainers, and were sent to earth during times of turmoil and strife, their sole purpose to recruit more disciples to the Devil’s unholy cause. Dante was about to unleash his dark magic on the unsuspecting populace of New York. If unstopped, the city would never be the same.

He had to act. He could not sit by, and let the city he loved be harmed. But how was he going to tell Liza that? Hadn’t he just promised to stop being a psychic? She was not going to let him off the hook this time. If he didn’t stop, she would leave him for good.