David Ambrose: Superstition

As she stepped into the elevator and began the high-speed descent to the Sixth Avenue lobby, a wave of depression swept over her. What had been obvious from the questions asked was how much the public wanted to believe. She found something sad in their need to reach out for something beyond their daily lives. She understood the impulse, of course, even shared it to some extent. But it meant that people like the Rays would always flourish. She had stepped on a couple of ants, but the anthill was as busy as ever.

The huddled figure on the low wall by the stunted evergreens had attracted barely a glance in the forty minutes she had been sitting there. Like a cat waiting for a mouse to emerge from its hole, Ellie Ray had not taken her eyes from the revolving door. The psychic mafia had done her this one last favor, even though outwardly they were obliged to disown her and join in the universal chorus of condemnation. She still had friends, and word had been passed along that Joanna Cross was in the building to record a TV show with some members of the profession.

Although she had only ever seen Joanna Cross in the unflattering disguise that she had worn at Camp Starburst, Ellie had no trouble recognizing the smartly dressed, dark-haired young woman in the gray raglan coat who stepped briskly out onto the building's slightly raised forecourt.

Joanna didn't notice the form that moved in the corner of her vision. Only when she reached the last of the four broad steps down to the sidewalk did she find her way blocked. The sight of Ellie Ray's face gazing up at her with stony hatred gave her a jolt. She knew that the woman had tried to get into the magazine offices, and had resigned herself to the fact that sooner or later an unpleasant confrontation was inevitable. Having it here and now, out in the open, was probably as good a way as any of getting it over with.

“I've been looking for you.”

Ellie sounded as though her jaw and throat were rigid with tension, strangling her words and at the same time giving them an abrasive edge.

“I know,” Joanna replied. “I have nothing to say to you, so please get out of my way.”

“Bitch!”

Joanna moved to step around the diminutive figure, but felt a hand grip her arm like a steel claw.

“Murray's dead.”

Ellie spat the words out before Joanna could even try to pull free. She froze for an instant. The death of anyone you've known, no matter how slightly or under what circumstances, always has a certain impact. But the news of this death hit her hard, because she could see in Ellie's face what was coming next.

“You killed him, and you're going to pay for it.”

“I'm sorry to hear about your husband,” Joanna said, keeping her voice level, measuring her words, “but I can't accept that I had anything to do with-”

“We lost everything because of you.” Ellie spoke as though Joanna hadn't even opened her mouth, dismissing her protest. “Six more months and we'd have been out of that place with a small fortune in the bank. Now it's unsellable, except for its real estate value-which is nil. You fucked us over good, young lady, and you're going to pay.”

“Let me go!” Joanna tried to shake the little woman off, but the grip on her arm tightened so sharply that she gasped in pain.

“When I'm ready. I'm stronger than you-and don't you forget it.”

“If you don't stop this at once, I'll call the police and have you arrested.”

The older woman's eyes bore up into hers with a feverish concentration. They were dark ringed, as though she hadn't slept in several days.

“He started three nights ago, chest pains. I called an ambulance but he died before they reached the hospital. His last words were, ‘Fix her, Ellie. Fix that bitch.’ And I promised him I would.”

Suddenly Joanna didn't want to struggle anymore, or even protest. It wasn't that she was afraid, just that she was transfixed by an awful, morbid fascination. She felt oddly passive in the face of it, the way you were supposed to feel in an accident when time slows down and stretches toward infinity. She knew she had to let the moment play out to its natural conclusion, accepting the torrent of abuse in the knowledge that it would then be over. Somehow she knew she wouldn't see this woman again.

There was the twitch of a bitter smile at the corner of Ellie's mouth, almost as though she had read Joanna's thoughts.

“Don't worry, you won't see me again. This moment is all I need. You're going to remember it. And before you die, you're going to wish you'd never been born.”

She paused, enjoying the feel of having her victim hooked. “You think I'm a fake, do you? A phony. You'll find out.”

Her face took on the rapturous look of a fanatic entering the hallowed presence of the supreme power.

“It's done,” she whispered. “There's only the nightmare now.”

Joanna shivered. It was a silly, empty threat uttered by an angry and bitter old woman. But the moment had been charged with such emotion that a cocoon of silence seemed to have descended on the two of them, isolating them in a strange and loathsome intimacy. The people pushing past them on the side walk could have been a million miles away or on another planet.

Then, abruptly, it was over. The circulation-blocking pressure on Joanna's arm was lifted, and the woman who had filled her field of vision for the past few moments was just a short and unimposing figure scurrying off amid the shoppers and office workers on their way to lunch.

A shudder ran through Joanna, stronger than before, as though her body was shaking off the memory of the old woman's repugnant touch. She took a deep breath, and felt her heart beating fast. A delayed reaction of anger welled up in her.

And fear. There was no denying the fear.

She started walking north toward the park, telling herself that the exercise would calm her. But two blocks on she felt no better. The anger she now felt was less with the dreadful little woman who had buttonholed her and more with herself for being so easily shaken.

“Miss Cross?”

She jumped. The voice had come from just behind her as she waited to cross the street. She turned and saw Sam Towne.

His smile immediately faded as he saw the look on her face.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “I didn't mean to startle you.”

“No, you…” she stammered, “it's all right, I…I…”

“Is something wrong?” he asked, concerned now.

She didn't mean to tell him anything. It was too absurd, and she felt she would only make herself look foolish by talking about it. She would just say yes of course she was all right, perfectly all right. They would have a polite, brief conversation, and then part.

But instead she heard herself saying, “Something really horrible just happened…”

They sat down and he looked across the table at her. His face still wore an expression of concern.

“Feeling better?”

“Thanks-I'm fine.”

“What would you like? Water, wine, coffee?”

“A little water to begin with.”

Sam signaled the waiter. He had suggested they go somewhere, maybe have lunch if she had time. He told her that Mario's was one of his favorite haunts, then apologized for the unintended pun. She laughed, and it released some of the tension in her.

“Seriously, don't feel bad about getting spooked,” he said. “Those people are professionals. They know exactly what buttons to push to trigger all your superstitions.”

“But I'm not normally a superstitious person.”

“Everybody's superstitious, even those who say they aren't. We're rational beings, so we have no choice.”

One of her eyebrows twitched slightly, the way it always did when she reacted to something with skepticism.