Psychomantium Pt 1, "Miracles," PG-13
Psychomantium Pt 1
A Miracles Fanfic by Laurel (Sailorhathor)
Rating: Parental Supervision Suggested for children under 13
Dates: Written March 2004
Word Count: 11,312
Summary: Alva and Paul build a psychomantium chamber in the SQ office in an attempt to have a direct link to the other side. It proves to be just as dangerous as Alva warned.
Warnings: Adult language and theme, occult themes.
Beta: Thanks to Kaye, Kaija, and Deejay for the betas.
Author's Notes: If you've read my purely adult "Miracles" fanfics, you'll notice a similar theme - the psychomantium chamber - in this one. Part of the reason that I wrote this story was to get the psychomantium into my regular fanfic series also. They're just such cool paranormal concepts.
Interior With Sudden Joy was painted by Dorothea Tanning, 1951. I'm going partially on memory for the appearance of the painting. She's a pretty obscure artist, and so I could find no available pictures of this work online. All I have is the partial scan I made of the painting from a book. Also, I do not know who owns this painting - it could be a private collector, gallery, or a museum. The idea of Alva Keel owning it is purely fictional. I'm not completely sure how big the painting is, but I seem to remember it being too large for one person to carry.
Petals in shades of pink fell all around him, lighting in his hair and sticking to his sweater. It was beautiful, the way they danced on the wind as the blossoms fell from the cherry trees. How long had it been since Alva had been in Japan? Especially at this time of year, the time of the cherry blossom festival. Smiling, Alva made his way across the park, through the floating curtain of petals.
Ahead he saw Paul, lying on his back on a sloping hill with the cherry blossoms falling around him; his clothes and hair were littered with soft pink bits of vegetative silk, and he gazed up at the sky, an idyllic look upon his face. Paul seemed completely unaware of the young girl lying at his side.
"Who is this?" Alva asked as he approached. He quickly realized that Paul wasn't going to answer, so he addressed the blonde teenage girl. "What's up with him?"
The girl turned on her side, propping her head up on her hand. Her mid-back length hair currently looked pink as well as a medium shade of yellow because of the abundance of petals in the air. "He's alright," she proclaimed. "Just feeling the pulse of the Earth."
"He's doing what?" It wasn't that Alva didn't understand the words, but that didn't sound like a Paul thing to be doing.
She wrinkled her pug nose at him. "Well, they intersect here, you see. This is one of the sacred places."
For a moment, Alva stood and looked at her, then he shook his head. "I'm not sure what you mean. Who are you?"
"I'm Paige."
"What are you doing here, Paige? What do you know about Paul, and this place?" A sacred place... that could mean several different things.
The girl absently picked a few petals off Paul's coat. "Mr. Keel, you're dreaming. Can I call you Alva?"
He shrugged and nodded.
"I've sent you this dream to begin preparing you for what's to come. You know it's coming."
A serious expression came to Alva's face. "The end of the world."
"If you do your job right, it will just be an attempt at ending the world. You've been chosen to prevent it this time, Alva. You and the group." Paige removed a blossom petal that had fallen into Paul's eye, up against his nose. "You must be ready. Paul must be ready. I will help all I can, but this isn't my current visage, so my abilities will be limited." She looked long and hard at Paul. "Isn't it strange that God would put such power in such a fragile package? Sometimes I think it's a bad system."
Alva crouched on the other side of Paul, gazing at the girl. "Why do you speak so cryptically?"
"The things I say will eventually come together for you." Paige looked beyond him, then back at his face. "There are forces working against you. There are always forces that would like to see the world end."
"That, I understand." He patted Paul's arm. "Come on, enough daydreaming. Let's get to work."
Paul finally acknowledged Alva, slowly turning his head toward him. "Work?" he asked. "You mean you're ready to stop just observing?"
Furrowing his brow, Alva's expression was quizzical as he asked, "Hm? Why do you say that?"
"We've been chosen, Alva. You have to stop only observing."
"I act," Alva declared, a bit scoldingly. "When it matters."
Paul looked to his left, past Paige, toward darkening clouds hanging over the park. "It may not be enough."
Standing back up, Alva shielded his eyes with his hand so he could examine the storm clouds better. This was an obvious symbol, of the coming Apocalypse, but did they lend a clue as to the method with which the attempt would be made on the world? The clouds seemed to be filled with underlying noise - rumbling, screaming, and this horrible cracking sound that seemed like it would never end.
Paige looked in the same direction. "You really should tell him, Alva." She turned back to him.
After a few seconds of thought, he seemed to realize what she meant. "I'm waiting for the right time," he replied, his face troubled.
"Just be sure you don't wait too long. You don't want to risk the bond."
Something the girl said made Alva feel uneasy. How did she know so much? "Don't worry about that. It's my business." He took hold of Paul's arm, urging him to get up.
"But Alva, it could be the world's business, what with you being chosen to save it," Paige remarked. "After all, if he trusts you at all after he realizes what you did..."
Alva frowned. "I can handle it."
"You really should tell him while you still have the chance." Paige stayed in a reclining position as Paul got to his feet; he didn't seem aware of her conversation with Alva. "This is a monumental secret you're keeping."
"Don't you think I'm aware of that?! Now hush before he hears you!" He kept his hold of Paul's arm and started to walk away.
Paige sighed. "Tell him, Alva," she called.
He looked over his shoulder a few times while walking away with Paul. "Well, did you enjoy your conversation? Find out anything interesting?"
Paul suddenly became very excited and animated, taking hold of Alva's coat sleeves and shaking them like a little boy begging his parent to buy him an ice cream bar. "Oh, yes! I found out something very important!"
"What's that?"
Paul took a deep breath and said, "It's not a negative message!"
With a little bit of a start, Alva awakened in his bed to the sound of his clock radio signaling the beginning of the morning. He turned off the alarm and picked up a pad of paper and a pen from his bedside table, which he kept there for just such occasions. Often, dreams revealed a great deal; although, while he wrote down the details of this one, Alva had to mumble, "Dream talk... I hate cryptic dream talk..."
********
Paul looked at his watch as he moved across the room to turn off the TV and close the entertainment cabinet, a half-eaten bagel hanging out of his mouth. The newscaster was talking about the only surviving victim of a high school shooting massacre finally getting to go home from the mental hospital, though his doctor thought it might be a little soon. The teen's mother smiled from the TV screen as a reporter interviewed her; she was obviously overjoyed to take her son home. Paul barely heard anything more than the minimal details of the story because he was preoccupied with making sure he didn't miss his bus. Just after he switched off the TV, he heard a soft female voice say, "Paul?"
Paul turned around with some surprise to see a teenage girl; chestnut brown hair, freckled face, wringing her hands together; standing in his living room. He removed the bagel from his mouth before he choked on it, licking some errant cream cheese off his top lip. "Uh... hi."
"You're Paul Callan?"
"...Yeah. Who are you? Do you need something?" He had already figured out that she wasn't a normal, living human being by the fact that she had simply appeared in his apartment.
"I'm Audrey. Will you make me a promise? One simple little promise?"
"I can try..."
"Will you promise me that you'll save Kellen?" she asked.
"Kellen?"
"He's in trouble."
A noise from the hallway stole her attention. Paul was horrified to see a teenage boy with lots of shaggy dark blonde hair hanging in his eyes emerge from the hall, carrying a shotgun. He aimed it at Audrey; she cringed in fear.
"No, no, no, wait - " Paul began in desperation.
"You should have gone to the prom with me, bitch," the boy told her, and pulled the trigger.
"Auuugh!" Paul heard the girl scream just before the shot resounded in his ears and he covered his eyes. What was left of his bagel tumbled to the floor, leaving a short trail of crumbs and smears of cream cheese. When he dared to look, one hand still holding the cabinet door in a death grip, the two teen ghosts were gone.
********
"Paul, are you alright?" Evie asked as soon as she saw Paul's face. He walked into the SQ office with his hands still shaking. "You look like you've seen a -- you look shaken up." It occurred to her that maybe he had seen a ghost. Well, that saying was going right out the window...
"I saw something. Is Keel in his office?"
Alva was, so Paul entered and told him everything he'd seen that morning. "I saw the bullet connect with the girl's head before I got my eyes covered; it was horrible, Keel. We've got to figure out who this girl is. She needs my help."
"The boy she mentioned was Kellen?"
"Yes. She said he was in trouble." Paul sighed, though talking about it had helped. His hands were no longer shaking.
"Hm." Alva rifled through the papers on his desk until he'd found the morning paper. "Kellen, Kellen... ah! A boy named Kellen Murtaugh was released from Suffolk County Mental Hospital yesterday afternoon. He was the only survivor of a shooting massacre at a local high school earlier this year."
"That was on the news this morning. I didn't pay much attention to it."
"It was fairly well publicized at the time. In cases like this, the names of juveniles often get released." Alva paused to read more of the article. "The shooter was a senior named James Heckert. It has his school picture here."
Paul nearly pounced on the newspaper to view the black and white photo. Just a collection of closely placed dots, but it chilled him to the bone. "That's him, the boy with the shotgun."
"Seems you were visited by one of his victims, Paul. It sounds like she's worried about Kellen Murtaugh. Can you blame her under the circumstances?" Alva remarked.
Sitting back down, Paul asked, "What can we do?"
"We can't be too careful with this one. Normally, I'd say let's just go in there and interview the boy, but he was just released from a mental hospital," reminded Alva. "Let's find out all we can about the massacre and then we'll decide where to go from there. Maybe we can interview Audrey's family... the Heckerts..."
"But we will help Kellen, right? We'll do as Audrey asked?"
"We'll do the best we can, Paul." Alva stood up. "I was researching something else when you came in; I need another book from my apartment. You check in with Evie and help her with the new case, alright?"
"Okay." Paul stayed in the office a little while longer to collect his thoughts. He watched Alva go up the stairs, and then stood up, but the books on the desk caught his eye. Paul read off their spines. Mansfield's Dream Analysis. Sacred Places. The Varo Compendium Guide to 5,000 Years of Armageddon. "Such an odd little man I work for..." he commented to himself.
Evie smiled at him when he emerged from Alva's office. "You okay Paul?"
"I'll be alright. Another banner morning for the..."
Evie finished the sentence for him. "...for the medium?"
A small laugh escaped Paul's lips. "I guess. I don't know if I'll ever get comfortable with that label."
"Take your time. We can wait, even if the ghosts can't." Patting his shoulder and grinning, she started to go through the mail.
Paul laughed again. "Anything for me? A scintillating letter for Occupant?"
Evie's eyebrows dipped in a cross expression. "That jerk just won't let up," she growled at the letter in her hand.
"Who?"
She glanced between Paul and the envelope. "It's a letter from my ex."
"Ohhh..."
"Ohhh, lose that tone, buster," Evie joked, trying to keep the atmosphere light. "Gets awfully lonely in prison, from what I hear. I won't write him back, that's why he's writing to SQ now." She sighed. "Maybe I shouldn't be so bitchy. He's just concerned about his son."
This seemed like the perfect time to ask... "What did your ex-husband do to wind up in prison?"
Evie laughed, a little light, a little embarrassed. "Uh, he committed aggravated assault against a man in a bar. Broke the guy's arm. Unfortunately for him, the man turned out to be an undercover cop."
"Ooh... that's bad."
"Yeah. Aggravated assault against a police officer guarantees you prison time in many states. Up to three years," Evie explained.
"Uh huh. So why'd he attack the guy?" asked Paul.
Evie stifled a big grin. "Um... the man he attacked has dark brown hair, sharp features, blue eyes, sorta stocky..."
Wide-eyed, Paul exclaimed, "Your ex attacked him because he looks like Keel?!"
"Ohhh yeah," she nodded.
"Did he hate Keel or something?"
"Well... Jon accused me of having an affair with Alva, so I think it's safe to say he didn't like him much," Evie said, finally letting that smile out.
"With Keel? Wouldn't that be robbing the cradle?" Paul joked, grinning back.
She giggled, "He's not that much older," then glanced past Paul. "Ixnay; here comes the cradle robber."
As Alva trotted down the stairs, he caught Evie and Paul snickering to themselves. "Something amusing in the mail?"
"Not really," replied Evie, catching Paul's eye and nudging him. "They delivered a large, flat package for you, though." She pointed to the hallway that led to the outside door. "It's from Scotland. From Dr. Sebastian Keel."
"Sebastian... Keel?" Paul looked at Alva.
Alva's eyes shifted uncomfortably. "My father."
They each took an end and dragged the package into the main room, propping it up against the conference table. Alva took the small envelope off the front, opened it, and read the letter aloud. "Son, It's important for every man to own something of great value. Therefore, I purchased this work of art for you on my last trip to Los Angeles. Art is a sound investment. The painting is Dorothea Tanning's Interior With Sudden Joy. Take care of it. Regards, Father."
"I've never heard of Dorothea Tanning." Paul grabbed a corner of the heavy brown paper, but stopped. "May I?"
"Go ahead." Alva folded the letter and dropped it on the table. "She was an American Surrealist painter, married to Max Ernst. This is one of her more well-known paintings." He helped Paul tear off the paper to reveal the painting beneath.
Paul made a face at it. "It's an odd painting." On one side there were two women embracing, their tops open. All of their eyes moved to the left side of the painting; here there was an open door with a man standing beyond. At least it could be assumed he was standing, for his feet were obscured by a cloud of grey smoke. As if the smoke served as his origin. He wore a dark grey trench coat buttoned up to his chin, and his beady eyes stared out from his almost white face. "Is he... a genie?" Paul queried. The man was emerging from a puff of smoke...
Although he chuckled lightly at the question, Alva shrugged. "Possibly. It's hard to tell with Surrealism; most of the images painted as part of this art movement do not make a lot of sense. They are supposed to invoke dreamlike imagery."
"Ah, that explains his hands." Paul leaned in to study the fleshy blobs that were where the man's hands should be. "It sort of looks like he's holding a catcher's mitt, but not a catcher's mitt."
"His hands are the mitt," Evie added.
He frowned at the man's pale face, remarking, "Really creepy. Reminds me of that killer in the Halloween movies."
"I wouldn't know; I don't watch that rubbish." Alva took one end of the painting. "Let's put it over there, painted side to the wall. It might bother the clients."
"Or Paul." Evie nudged him again with a grin. "Alva had the most deprived childhood ever, never having seen any cheesy horror movies, and you're afraid of a guy in a painting. Edward Catcher's Mitt Hands. The men I work with..."
Rolling his eyes, Paul took the other end of the painting. "We've got to discover her weaknesses, Keel. She's several jokes up on us."
Once they had properly placed the piece of art, Alva went through the rest of his mail; he suddenly exclaimed, "Ah! It arrived."
"What?"
"One of my contacts in England sent me the plans for building a very good psychomantium chamber. If we're going to make one, we might as well do it right, so it doesn't fall down around us." Alva unfolded the blueprints to look at them more closely.
Paul glanced across the table at the papers. "A psychowhatium? Psychomantium? That's Latin, isn't it?"
"Yes, it refers to a chamber where one interrogates the dead. A little room. Also known as a psychomanthium." He pointed at areas of the blueprint while he explained it. "We're building one with eight walls. A mirror is placed on each wall, and the ceiling, and that is where the spirits appear."
"Uh huh. And we're building one so we can play Good Cop, Bad Cop with dead people?" Paul sarcastically asked.
"If necessary."
Paul incredulously glared at him.
Catching the look, Alva attempted to explain further. "This chamber might give us more control over the information you're receiving. Perhaps you can contact Audrey again."
He considered that. "You mean it's like taking my experiences of seeing ghosts and putting them in a little room?"
"Yes," Alva replied. "This could give the spirits that come to you enough of an outlet that they would seek you out only in the psychomantium. You could even call them there."
"Wow."
"Of course, it would take some time before things could happen that way. Like many methods of contacting spirits, a psychomantium becomes stronger with use. It picks up your vibes." Alva folded the blueprints back up. "You can contact much more than just the dead with one of these rooms, though. We could learn a great deal."
Although he wasn't sure how much he bought of that notion, Paul still asked, "Are they dangerous?"
"Very much so, if used ignorantly. Never use it without me, at least until you've been utilizing it for a while." Alva put a hand on Paul's shoulder. "Not everything you can contact through a psychomantium is good, but if we're careful, it should be a useful tool. What do you think?"
Smiling a bit, he replied, "I think we should head for Home Depot to get those supplies."
********
It was just short of 6 o'clock when Evie picked up her purse and stopped near where Alva and Paul had been working all day on her way to the door. "Wow, you've almost got this thing together."
Paul stood back, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. They did almost have the psychomantium chamber finished; after all, it wasn't a complicated design. The chamber was an octagonal room, about 6 foot 5 inches tall, with a door on one side. In general, it was the width of a love seat - they'd already put the old piece of furniture that Alva owned inside it.
Evie looked the little room over. "So this is where my overtime pay goes."
Laughing, Paul said, "The materials weren't that expensive. I really loved our little trip to Home Depot." His tone grew sarcastic. "The salesman was just being polite and asked us what we were building. Keel promptly replied, 'A chamber for contacting the dead.' I must've turned five shades of red."
Evie snickered heartily, peering inside the psychomantium. "You got the inside painted; is it dry yet?"
"Yeah. Tomorrow we paint the outside. All black."
Alva came back from his office with a handful of screw anchors. "These will help us hang the mirrors."
Paul glanced at the nine mirrors propped against the stairs. "I'll be able to use this thing soon?"
"Soon." Alva smiled at Paul's eagerness; he must really want to contact that girl, Audrey.
A mischievous smile came to Evie's face. "Why exactly are we putting a mirror on the ceiling, anyway?"
Paul held back an amused, but embarrassed, smirk at what she was insinuating.
Impishly, Alva replied, "Well, it's not for fun, Evelyn. Some spirits are, well, shy. They do not like to be seen. By putting one on the ceiling, we are inviting those spirits in also, because it would take a more special effort to view them if they were to appear in that mirror. We could, in essence, strike up a deal with them - if you come to this mirror and speak with us, we will not look up at you. That sort of thing."
"Spiffy. Well, I'm off - my mother's cooking fajitas," Evie said with a wave.
"You're taking home those files you've been working on all day, aren't you?" Alva wondered.
"Yes, Alva." She tapped Paul's arm and whispered, "I think he's more of a slave driver than a cradle robber." They shared a joint snicker. "Night." Picking up the files on her way out, Evie headed home.
Alva, busy counting out the screw anchors, didn't hear her little joke. "You heading home too, Paul? We can finish this tomorrow."
"Um, actually, I'd like to at least get the mirrors up tonight." He took the anchors from Alva's hand.
Alva smiled and crossed his arms. "You're anxious about Audrey, aren't you?"
"Um, yeah." Paul took out a handkerchief and sheepishly mopped off the back of his neck. "We've been building all day; it's sort of a letdown to go home without trying it out."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Paul, but this isn't the kind of thing you can use before it's finished." Ticking off the list on his fingers, Alva continued, "We've got to paint the outside, hang the mirrors, put a permanent light in it, and then there are the safeguards that need to be taken. A psychomantium can act like a large antennae to the supernatural unless you ground it properly. Do you want every ghost, demon, and fourth-dimensional being from ten miles around coming in here to say hello?"
Paul sighed; he'd have to be patient. "Fine." He started to turn away, but then swiveled back and, in disbelief, said, "Fourth-dimensional being?"
Someone knocked at the alley entrance door. Alva went to answer it. A grey-haired man in a suit and a tan raincoat inquired, "Are you Mr. Keel?"
"Yes. Can I help you?"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't sure if your establishment would still be open at this time. I'm Randolph Mecham from the Boston Modern Art Gallery. A Dr. Sebastian Keel hired me to appraise the painting you received today - I believe he said he was your father. The painting arrived all right?"
Alva, shifting with discomfort, stepped aside so Mr. Mecham could enter. "Yes, it arrived. Come in." He had never liked his father in his business. This felt like an intrusion, but it wasn't this man's fault.
Paul watched from the doorway of the chamber as Alva came back with Mr. Mecham. He'd carried a few of the mirrors into the little room. After pointing out the painting to the appraiser, Alva walked over to ask Paul, "What are you doing?"
"I'm just going to hang a few of these. I'll really feel better about the work we got done today if I get this one last thing done."
Alva spoke in a quiet voice. "That may not be a good idea, Paul. I'm going to be distracted with Mr. Mecham; I can't supervise this. Once the mirrors are hung - "
"Mr. Keel, could I get your help with turning this painting around?" Mr. Mecham called.
Paul leaned out of the chamber's door. "I do not need a baby-sitter. I'm just going to hang them, that's all. I promise that if I see even one weird thing, I will come and get you."
"Paul, don't be stubborn - "
"Mr. Keel?"
"I'll be there in a moment." He turned back to Paul, who was closing the door to the psychomantium. "Why are you doing that?"
Paul looked at him in confusion. "You can't talk over the sound of this drill, and I can't hang the mirror on the back of the door with it open." The worried expression on Alva's face caused him to add, "I won't call anybody, I swear."
"I'm sorry to be a bother, Mr. Keel, but I must be downtown by seven," the appraiser informed him bruskly.
Alva gave Mr. Mecham an apologetic look, then spoke to Paul in an annoyed tone. "You should wait until I'm done. Lord, you're stubborn."
"And you worry too much." Taking hold of the knob, Paul started to close the door. "Pedro, tell Keel everything's alright." He shut the door and quickly opened it again. "S'awright," Paul said in a scratchy little Senor Wences voice.
Despite his frustration with Paul, Alva couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Just be careful. If anything happens, come get me."
With a nod, Paul closed the door.
First, he hung the mirror on the back of the door, which only took a few minutes with the new drill Alva had allowed them to purchase, then moved to mount up the one that would be viewed straight on while sitting in the love seat. Paul wondered exactly what would be involved in contacting spirits through these mirrors. Would it involve a big show, or did he simply need to think of them and viola, they'd show up? It was when he had finished hanging a third mirror that he thought he heard someone say his name.
"Paul." The male voice was quiet and slightly nasal.
He glanced around a little; even with the small battery-operated lantern, the room was very dim. Seeing nothing of note, Paul assumed he'd heard Alva and Mr. Mecham's muffled voices speaking through the door, and bent over to pick up another mirror.
"Paaa-aaaullll..."
He nearly dropped the framed glass in his hands - that definitely came from inside the psychomantium chamber. Looking around again, Paul spied a hazy glob of grey smoke reflected in the mirror to his left; it drifted behind the love seat. He leaned over the piece of furniture to look, but saw nothing there. Was he seeing things? Had the paint fumes gotten to him? Or was the psychomantium simply doing its job? "Hello?"
A figure slowly came into focus in the left mirror, standing behind the love seat. Once Paul saw who it was, he imagined that floating within the glob of grey smoke was a better description of what this particular spirit was doing. It was the "man" from Alva's painting, the Dorothea Tanning. The man Evie had called Edward Catcher's Mitt Hands. Paul gaped at him, then quickly turned around, fully expecting to see the man drifting about behind him. He was alone in the chamber. So, the man was only in the mirror. "What - what... who...?"
"Hello Paul. Would you like to call me Edward? I am the guardian of this chamber. Every psychomantium should have one," the nasal-voiced man said.
Paul swallowed hard; could it read his mind? "Uh... why do you look like..."
"Your subconscious chose my form."
Backing slowly toward the door, he commented, "I should get Keel."
"You thought maybe I was a genie. Perhaps I can grant you a wish," the spooky entity, "Edward," offered.
"No way. I'm going - "
"We have some very important things to tell you, Paul. You should stay. Keel would never tell you these things, I promise you." Edward continued, "Does the name Edward please you? I know your name."
"I know; you just said it." Paul fumbled for the doorknob, keeping his eyes on the entity.
"No," Edward almost scolded. "I mean, I know your secret name."
He narrowed his eyes at the reflected spirit. "My secret name?"
"The name your father would have given you," Edward replied with a sly smile.
Heavy chills moved all through Paul's back. "This conversation is over." He turned to exit the chamber.
Reflected in the mirror on the back of the door was the image of Chad Goodwell. He looked as he did in the police car that night, his face streaked with blood. "Don't leave, Paul! There are things you have to know."
Overwhelmed, he backed into the love seat and clumsily sat down. "Ch-Chad Goodwell?! What are you doing here?"
"You haven't completed the work, Paul! Kenneth Webster and the other two people who saw 'God is Nowhere' are still alive. What are you waiting for?!" Chad cried desperately.
"Two people? You said there were three more."
Chad frowned, looking on Paul with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Paul. The third person... is you."
It was unlikely that Paul's eyes could have gotten any wider in reaction to that. "What are you talking about? I saw - "
Edward spoke again. "Do you remember when you were looking for Matty, and you cut your hand, and bled on the white sheet? You never saw what your blood spelled out."
Paul, swallowing deeply again, asked, "You're trying to tell me that I'm a 'God is Nowhere' person as well as a 'God is Now Here' person?" He paused. "You have no proof. You're trying to trick me."
"You need to accept it, Paul. Time is running out. The other two are about to get their act together; soon they'll be trying to recruit you," Chad explained. "You have to kill them, and then yourself. Otherwise, you don't know what you'll do... how many people you will hurt." He looked on Paul with anguish. "You have to believe me."
Paul shook his head. "No. None of this is true. Keel said - "
"You trust him? With all his secrets?"
"Don't even try it; Keel and I have already spoken about that. He will tell me when the time is right." Paul started to stand up.
"But there's something you missed, Paul. It was right under your nose, and you overlooked it," Edward all but teased. "Read Danielle Franklin's file again. Her dream of you and Tommy. Think about it as you're reading it again... you are Alva Keel, reading this file years ago."
"I don't know what you mean." Paul wasn't even sure why he'd stayed this long, listening to the two spirits. The things they were saying... it was all seductive information, everything that Paul wondered about. They were trying to trap him.
"Do it, Paul! Then think about who you're working for," Chad urged. "Your destiny isn't good. Please, save the world by finishing the job I started."
His head swam with the immenseness of what they were trying to get him to believe. "I - I - I won't!"
"Perhaps I need to show you what the 'God is Nowhere' people were, and are, going to do." The mirror directly in front of Paul showed him several quick, but horribly memorable, images of innocent people, even children, being brutalized by Gretchen Albright, Danielle Franklin, Kenneth Webster... the final person he saw was himself, chasing down Evie, tackling her, her screaming as he beat her in the head and ripped at her clothes... laughing, such evil laughter. Paul saw himself with insane eyes as he snatched up Matty, grinning at the little boy while he cried for his mother; a river of blood flowed over the floor of the SQ office. These images, though swift, were burned into Paul's brain.
"Finish it, Paul!" Chad cried.
Although he clamored for the door, Paul couldn't take his eyes off the center mirror as it showed him images of the Apocalypse. Him causing it, and Keel right behind him, delivering instructions.
Wide-eyed and panting, he finally stumbled out of the psychomantium with those horrific images forcing their way into his mind. Alva and Mr. Mecham turned when they heard the door slam.
"Paul?"
They had turned the painting around so they could see it. Paul's eyes fell on the creepy "man" again just before he bolted from the room, running up the stairs to Alva's apartment.
Excusing himself, Alva rushed upstairs to find Paul in the bathroom, drinking water from the cup by the sink, still panting and shaking. He gripped the sink edge like he might fall down if he didn't hold on. "Paul, what happened? You saw something, didn't you? I told you it was a bad idea for you to hang those mirrors alone!"
Nodding vigorously, he stammered, "I saw... oh God, I saw - "
"Mr. Keel? Is everything alright?" Mr. Mecham called from the bottom of the stairs.
Alva called down, "Yes!" then took Paul by the arm. "Sit over here, take your cup with you, and wait for me. I'll get rid of the art appraiser and then I'll come back, and we can talk about what you saw. Alright?"
"Okay... okay..." Paul sat in an overstuffed armchair near Alva's bed, still holding the cup in his shaking hand.
"Don't do anything until I get back," instructed Alva, as if telling Paul not to do something had ever worked in the past. He went back downstairs.
The things Chad and the entity had said played over and over in Paul's head. Could any of it be true? There was no way to check up on their claim that his blood had spelled, "God is Nowhere" on the sheet; Keel had thrown it away. Unless...
"Mr. Keel, the gallery has a budget for new acquisitions. We would be willing to make you an offer on this Tanning." Mr. Mecham handed him a business card.
"Thank you, I'll think it over." Alva walked him out. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Mr. Keel."
Once he'd locked up, Alva sprinted over to the psychomantium to peer inside. Nothing amiss; whatever Paul had seen was gone for the time being. He hurried up the stairs. Alva had had to leave him alone for a good few minutes while he dispatched of the art appraiser. That made him nervous, under the circumstances.
For good reason.
Paul had moved back to the bathroom, where he'd hunted up Alva's extra razor blades and used one to cut open his palm. He now sat on the closed toilet staring at the blood on the floor while fresh blood occasionally dripped from his hand. The look on his face was a mixture of shock and resignation.
In one way, Alva was not surprised. "You've done it again? Paul, why?" When he looked down, he saw why.
Paul's blood had spelled out, "God is Nowhere."
Psychomantium Part 2
Psychomantium (c) 2004 Demented Stuff
Miracles is (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment & Touchstone Television
A Miracles Fanfic by Laurel (Sailorhathor)
Rating: Parental Supervision Suggested for children under 13
Dates: Written March 2004
Word Count: 11,312
Summary: Alva and Paul build a psychomantium chamber in the SQ office in an attempt to have a direct link to the other side. It proves to be just as dangerous as Alva warned.
Warnings: Adult language and theme, occult themes.
Beta: Thanks to Kaye, Kaija, and Deejay for the betas.
Author's Notes: If you've read my purely adult "Miracles" fanfics, you'll notice a similar theme - the psychomantium chamber - in this one. Part of the reason that I wrote this story was to get the psychomantium into my regular fanfic series also. They're just such cool paranormal concepts.
Interior With Sudden Joy was painted by Dorothea Tanning, 1951. I'm going partially on memory for the appearance of the painting. She's a pretty obscure artist, and so I could find no available pictures of this work online. All I have is the partial scan I made of the painting from a book. Also, I do not know who owns this painting - it could be a private collector, gallery, or a museum. The idea of Alva Keel owning it is purely fictional. I'm not completely sure how big the painting is, but I seem to remember it being too large for one person to carry.
Petals in shades of pink fell all around him, lighting in his hair and sticking to his sweater. It was beautiful, the way they danced on the wind as the blossoms fell from the cherry trees. How long had it been since Alva had been in Japan? Especially at this time of year, the time of the cherry blossom festival. Smiling, Alva made his way across the park, through the floating curtain of petals.
Ahead he saw Paul, lying on his back on a sloping hill with the cherry blossoms falling around him; his clothes and hair were littered with soft pink bits of vegetative silk, and he gazed up at the sky, an idyllic look upon his face. Paul seemed completely unaware of the young girl lying at his side.
"Who is this?" Alva asked as he approached. He quickly realized that Paul wasn't going to answer, so he addressed the blonde teenage girl. "What's up with him?"
The girl turned on her side, propping her head up on her hand. Her mid-back length hair currently looked pink as well as a medium shade of yellow because of the abundance of petals in the air. "He's alright," she proclaimed. "Just feeling the pulse of the Earth."
"He's doing what?" It wasn't that Alva didn't understand the words, but that didn't sound like a Paul thing to be doing.
She wrinkled her pug nose at him. "Well, they intersect here, you see. This is one of the sacred places."
For a moment, Alva stood and looked at her, then he shook his head. "I'm not sure what you mean. Who are you?"
"I'm Paige."
"What are you doing here, Paige? What do you know about Paul, and this place?" A sacred place... that could mean several different things.
The girl absently picked a few petals off Paul's coat. "Mr. Keel, you're dreaming. Can I call you Alva?"
He shrugged and nodded.
"I've sent you this dream to begin preparing you for what's to come. You know it's coming."
A serious expression came to Alva's face. "The end of the world."
"If you do your job right, it will just be an attempt at ending the world. You've been chosen to prevent it this time, Alva. You and the group." Paige removed a blossom petal that had fallen into Paul's eye, up against his nose. "You must be ready. Paul must be ready. I will help all I can, but this isn't my current visage, so my abilities will be limited." She looked long and hard at Paul. "Isn't it strange that God would put such power in such a fragile package? Sometimes I think it's a bad system."
Alva crouched on the other side of Paul, gazing at the girl. "Why do you speak so cryptically?"
"The things I say will eventually come together for you." Paige looked beyond him, then back at his face. "There are forces working against you. There are always forces that would like to see the world end."
"That, I understand." He patted Paul's arm. "Come on, enough daydreaming. Let's get to work."
Paul finally acknowledged Alva, slowly turning his head toward him. "Work?" he asked. "You mean you're ready to stop just observing?"
Furrowing his brow, Alva's expression was quizzical as he asked, "Hm? Why do you say that?"
"We've been chosen, Alva. You have to stop only observing."
"I act," Alva declared, a bit scoldingly. "When it matters."
Paul looked to his left, past Paige, toward darkening clouds hanging over the park. "It may not be enough."
Standing back up, Alva shielded his eyes with his hand so he could examine the storm clouds better. This was an obvious symbol, of the coming Apocalypse, but did they lend a clue as to the method with which the attempt would be made on the world? The clouds seemed to be filled with underlying noise - rumbling, screaming, and this horrible cracking sound that seemed like it would never end.
Paige looked in the same direction. "You really should tell him, Alva." She turned back to him.
After a few seconds of thought, he seemed to realize what she meant. "I'm waiting for the right time," he replied, his face troubled.
"Just be sure you don't wait too long. You don't want to risk the bond."
Something the girl said made Alva feel uneasy. How did she know so much? "Don't worry about that. It's my business." He took hold of Paul's arm, urging him to get up.
"But Alva, it could be the world's business, what with you being chosen to save it," Paige remarked. "After all, if he trusts you at all after he realizes what you did..."
Alva frowned. "I can handle it."
"You really should tell him while you still have the chance." Paige stayed in a reclining position as Paul got to his feet; he didn't seem aware of her conversation with Alva. "This is a monumental secret you're keeping."
"Don't you think I'm aware of that?! Now hush before he hears you!" He kept his hold of Paul's arm and started to walk away.
Paige sighed. "Tell him, Alva," she called.
He looked over his shoulder a few times while walking away with Paul. "Well, did you enjoy your conversation? Find out anything interesting?"
Paul suddenly became very excited and animated, taking hold of Alva's coat sleeves and shaking them like a little boy begging his parent to buy him an ice cream bar. "Oh, yes! I found out something very important!"
"What's that?"
Paul took a deep breath and said, "It's not a negative message!"
With a little bit of a start, Alva awakened in his bed to the sound of his clock radio signaling the beginning of the morning. He turned off the alarm and picked up a pad of paper and a pen from his bedside table, which he kept there for just such occasions. Often, dreams revealed a great deal; although, while he wrote down the details of this one, Alva had to mumble, "Dream talk... I hate cryptic dream talk..."
********
Paul looked at his watch as he moved across the room to turn off the TV and close the entertainment cabinet, a half-eaten bagel hanging out of his mouth. The newscaster was talking about the only surviving victim of a high school shooting massacre finally getting to go home from the mental hospital, though his doctor thought it might be a little soon. The teen's mother smiled from the TV screen as a reporter interviewed her; she was obviously overjoyed to take her son home. Paul barely heard anything more than the minimal details of the story because he was preoccupied with making sure he didn't miss his bus. Just after he switched off the TV, he heard a soft female voice say, "Paul?"
Paul turned around with some surprise to see a teenage girl; chestnut brown hair, freckled face, wringing her hands together; standing in his living room. He removed the bagel from his mouth before he choked on it, licking some errant cream cheese off his top lip. "Uh... hi."
"You're Paul Callan?"
"...Yeah. Who are you? Do you need something?" He had already figured out that she wasn't a normal, living human being by the fact that she had simply appeared in his apartment.
"I'm Audrey. Will you make me a promise? One simple little promise?"
"I can try..."
"Will you promise me that you'll save Kellen?" she asked.
"Kellen?"
"He's in trouble."
A noise from the hallway stole her attention. Paul was horrified to see a teenage boy with lots of shaggy dark blonde hair hanging in his eyes emerge from the hall, carrying a shotgun. He aimed it at Audrey; she cringed in fear.
"No, no, no, wait - " Paul began in desperation.
"You should have gone to the prom with me, bitch," the boy told her, and pulled the trigger.
"Auuugh!" Paul heard the girl scream just before the shot resounded in his ears and he covered his eyes. What was left of his bagel tumbled to the floor, leaving a short trail of crumbs and smears of cream cheese. When he dared to look, one hand still holding the cabinet door in a death grip, the two teen ghosts were gone.
********
"Paul, are you alright?" Evie asked as soon as she saw Paul's face. He walked into the SQ office with his hands still shaking. "You look like you've seen a -- you look shaken up." It occurred to her that maybe he had seen a ghost. Well, that saying was going right out the window...
"I saw something. Is Keel in his office?"
Alva was, so Paul entered and told him everything he'd seen that morning. "I saw the bullet connect with the girl's head before I got my eyes covered; it was horrible, Keel. We've got to figure out who this girl is. She needs my help."
"The boy she mentioned was Kellen?"
"Yes. She said he was in trouble." Paul sighed, though talking about it had helped. His hands were no longer shaking.
"Hm." Alva rifled through the papers on his desk until he'd found the morning paper. "Kellen, Kellen... ah! A boy named Kellen Murtaugh was released from Suffolk County Mental Hospital yesterday afternoon. He was the only survivor of a shooting massacre at a local high school earlier this year."
"That was on the news this morning. I didn't pay much attention to it."
"It was fairly well publicized at the time. In cases like this, the names of juveniles often get released." Alva paused to read more of the article. "The shooter was a senior named James Heckert. It has his school picture here."
Paul nearly pounced on the newspaper to view the black and white photo. Just a collection of closely placed dots, but it chilled him to the bone. "That's him, the boy with the shotgun."
"Seems you were visited by one of his victims, Paul. It sounds like she's worried about Kellen Murtaugh. Can you blame her under the circumstances?" Alva remarked.
Sitting back down, Paul asked, "What can we do?"
"We can't be too careful with this one. Normally, I'd say let's just go in there and interview the boy, but he was just released from a mental hospital," reminded Alva. "Let's find out all we can about the massacre and then we'll decide where to go from there. Maybe we can interview Audrey's family... the Heckerts..."
"But we will help Kellen, right? We'll do as Audrey asked?"
"We'll do the best we can, Paul." Alva stood up. "I was researching something else when you came in; I need another book from my apartment. You check in with Evie and help her with the new case, alright?"
"Okay." Paul stayed in the office a little while longer to collect his thoughts. He watched Alva go up the stairs, and then stood up, but the books on the desk caught his eye. Paul read off their spines. Mansfield's Dream Analysis. Sacred Places. The Varo Compendium Guide to 5,000 Years of Armageddon. "Such an odd little man I work for..." he commented to himself.
Evie smiled at him when he emerged from Alva's office. "You okay Paul?"
"I'll be alright. Another banner morning for the..."
Evie finished the sentence for him. "...for the medium?"
A small laugh escaped Paul's lips. "I guess. I don't know if I'll ever get comfortable with that label."
"Take your time. We can wait, even if the ghosts can't." Patting his shoulder and grinning, she started to go through the mail.
Paul laughed again. "Anything for me? A scintillating letter for Occupant?"
Evie's eyebrows dipped in a cross expression. "That jerk just won't let up," she growled at the letter in her hand.
"Who?"
She glanced between Paul and the envelope. "It's a letter from my ex."
"Ohhh..."
"Ohhh, lose that tone, buster," Evie joked, trying to keep the atmosphere light. "Gets awfully lonely in prison, from what I hear. I won't write him back, that's why he's writing to SQ now." She sighed. "Maybe I shouldn't be so bitchy. He's just concerned about his son."
This seemed like the perfect time to ask... "What did your ex-husband do to wind up in prison?"
Evie laughed, a little light, a little embarrassed. "Uh, he committed aggravated assault against a man in a bar. Broke the guy's arm. Unfortunately for him, the man turned out to be an undercover cop."
"Ooh... that's bad."
"Yeah. Aggravated assault against a police officer guarantees you prison time in many states. Up to three years," Evie explained.
"Uh huh. So why'd he attack the guy?" asked Paul.
Evie stifled a big grin. "Um... the man he attacked has dark brown hair, sharp features, blue eyes, sorta stocky..."
Wide-eyed, Paul exclaimed, "Your ex attacked him because he looks like Keel?!"
"Ohhh yeah," she nodded.
"Did he hate Keel or something?"
"Well... Jon accused me of having an affair with Alva, so I think it's safe to say he didn't like him much," Evie said, finally letting that smile out.
"With Keel? Wouldn't that be robbing the cradle?" Paul joked, grinning back.
She giggled, "He's not that much older," then glanced past Paul. "Ixnay; here comes the cradle robber."
As Alva trotted down the stairs, he caught Evie and Paul snickering to themselves. "Something amusing in the mail?"
"Not really," replied Evie, catching Paul's eye and nudging him. "They delivered a large, flat package for you, though." She pointed to the hallway that led to the outside door. "It's from Scotland. From Dr. Sebastian Keel."
"Sebastian... Keel?" Paul looked at Alva.
Alva's eyes shifted uncomfortably. "My father."
They each took an end and dragged the package into the main room, propping it up against the conference table. Alva took the small envelope off the front, opened it, and read the letter aloud. "Son, It's important for every man to own something of great value. Therefore, I purchased this work of art for you on my last trip to Los Angeles. Art is a sound investment. The painting is Dorothea Tanning's Interior With Sudden Joy. Take care of it. Regards, Father."
"I've never heard of Dorothea Tanning." Paul grabbed a corner of the heavy brown paper, but stopped. "May I?"
"Go ahead." Alva folded the letter and dropped it on the table. "She was an American Surrealist painter, married to Max Ernst. This is one of her more well-known paintings." He helped Paul tear off the paper to reveal the painting beneath.
Paul made a face at it. "It's an odd painting." On one side there were two women embracing, their tops open. All of their eyes moved to the left side of the painting; here there was an open door with a man standing beyond. At least it could be assumed he was standing, for his feet were obscured by a cloud of grey smoke. As if the smoke served as his origin. He wore a dark grey trench coat buttoned up to his chin, and his beady eyes stared out from his almost white face. "Is he... a genie?" Paul queried. The man was emerging from a puff of smoke...
Although he chuckled lightly at the question, Alva shrugged. "Possibly. It's hard to tell with Surrealism; most of the images painted as part of this art movement do not make a lot of sense. They are supposed to invoke dreamlike imagery."
"Ah, that explains his hands." Paul leaned in to study the fleshy blobs that were where the man's hands should be. "It sort of looks like he's holding a catcher's mitt, but not a catcher's mitt."
"His hands are the mitt," Evie added.
He frowned at the man's pale face, remarking, "Really creepy. Reminds me of that killer in the Halloween movies."
"I wouldn't know; I don't watch that rubbish." Alva took one end of the painting. "Let's put it over there, painted side to the wall. It might bother the clients."
"Or Paul." Evie nudged him again with a grin. "Alva had the most deprived childhood ever, never having seen any cheesy horror movies, and you're afraid of a guy in a painting. Edward Catcher's Mitt Hands. The men I work with..."
Rolling his eyes, Paul took the other end of the painting. "We've got to discover her weaknesses, Keel. She's several jokes up on us."
Once they had properly placed the piece of art, Alva went through the rest of his mail; he suddenly exclaimed, "Ah! It arrived."
"What?"
"One of my contacts in England sent me the plans for building a very good psychomantium chamber. If we're going to make one, we might as well do it right, so it doesn't fall down around us." Alva unfolded the blueprints to look at them more closely.
Paul glanced across the table at the papers. "A psychowhatium? Psychomantium? That's Latin, isn't it?"
"Yes, it refers to a chamber where one interrogates the dead. A little room. Also known as a psychomanthium." He pointed at areas of the blueprint while he explained it. "We're building one with eight walls. A mirror is placed on each wall, and the ceiling, and that is where the spirits appear."
"Uh huh. And we're building one so we can play Good Cop, Bad Cop with dead people?" Paul sarcastically asked.
"If necessary."
Paul incredulously glared at him.
Catching the look, Alva attempted to explain further. "This chamber might give us more control over the information you're receiving. Perhaps you can contact Audrey again."
He considered that. "You mean it's like taking my experiences of seeing ghosts and putting them in a little room?"
"Yes," Alva replied. "This could give the spirits that come to you enough of an outlet that they would seek you out only in the psychomantium. You could even call them there."
"Wow."
"Of course, it would take some time before things could happen that way. Like many methods of contacting spirits, a psychomantium becomes stronger with use. It picks up your vibes." Alva folded the blueprints back up. "You can contact much more than just the dead with one of these rooms, though. We could learn a great deal."
Although he wasn't sure how much he bought of that notion, Paul still asked, "Are they dangerous?"
"Very much so, if used ignorantly. Never use it without me, at least until you've been utilizing it for a while." Alva put a hand on Paul's shoulder. "Not everything you can contact through a psychomantium is good, but if we're careful, it should be a useful tool. What do you think?"
Smiling a bit, he replied, "I think we should head for Home Depot to get those supplies."
********
It was just short of 6 o'clock when Evie picked up her purse and stopped near where Alva and Paul had been working all day on her way to the door. "Wow, you've almost got this thing together."
Paul stood back, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. They did almost have the psychomantium chamber finished; after all, it wasn't a complicated design. The chamber was an octagonal room, about 6 foot 5 inches tall, with a door on one side. In general, it was the width of a love seat - they'd already put the old piece of furniture that Alva owned inside it.
Evie looked the little room over. "So this is where my overtime pay goes."
Laughing, Paul said, "The materials weren't that expensive. I really loved our little trip to Home Depot." His tone grew sarcastic. "The salesman was just being polite and asked us what we were building. Keel promptly replied, 'A chamber for contacting the dead.' I must've turned five shades of red."
Evie snickered heartily, peering inside the psychomantium. "You got the inside painted; is it dry yet?"
"Yeah. Tomorrow we paint the outside. All black."
Alva came back from his office with a handful of screw anchors. "These will help us hang the mirrors."
Paul glanced at the nine mirrors propped against the stairs. "I'll be able to use this thing soon?"
"Soon." Alva smiled at Paul's eagerness; he must really want to contact that girl, Audrey.
A mischievous smile came to Evie's face. "Why exactly are we putting a mirror on the ceiling, anyway?"
Paul held back an amused, but embarrassed, smirk at what she was insinuating.
Impishly, Alva replied, "Well, it's not for fun, Evelyn. Some spirits are, well, shy. They do not like to be seen. By putting one on the ceiling, we are inviting those spirits in also, because it would take a more special effort to view them if they were to appear in that mirror. We could, in essence, strike up a deal with them - if you come to this mirror and speak with us, we will not look up at you. That sort of thing."
"Spiffy. Well, I'm off - my mother's cooking fajitas," Evie said with a wave.
"You're taking home those files you've been working on all day, aren't you?" Alva wondered.
"Yes, Alva." She tapped Paul's arm and whispered, "I think he's more of a slave driver than a cradle robber." They shared a joint snicker. "Night." Picking up the files on her way out, Evie headed home.
Alva, busy counting out the screw anchors, didn't hear her little joke. "You heading home too, Paul? We can finish this tomorrow."
"Um, actually, I'd like to at least get the mirrors up tonight." He took the anchors from Alva's hand.
Alva smiled and crossed his arms. "You're anxious about Audrey, aren't you?"
"Um, yeah." Paul took out a handkerchief and sheepishly mopped off the back of his neck. "We've been building all day; it's sort of a letdown to go home without trying it out."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Paul, but this isn't the kind of thing you can use before it's finished." Ticking off the list on his fingers, Alva continued, "We've got to paint the outside, hang the mirrors, put a permanent light in it, and then there are the safeguards that need to be taken. A psychomantium can act like a large antennae to the supernatural unless you ground it properly. Do you want every ghost, demon, and fourth-dimensional being from ten miles around coming in here to say hello?"
Paul sighed; he'd have to be patient. "Fine." He started to turn away, but then swiveled back and, in disbelief, said, "Fourth-dimensional being?"
Someone knocked at the alley entrance door. Alva went to answer it. A grey-haired man in a suit and a tan raincoat inquired, "Are you Mr. Keel?"
"Yes. Can I help you?"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't sure if your establishment would still be open at this time. I'm Randolph Mecham from the Boston Modern Art Gallery. A Dr. Sebastian Keel hired me to appraise the painting you received today - I believe he said he was your father. The painting arrived all right?"
Alva, shifting with discomfort, stepped aside so Mr. Mecham could enter. "Yes, it arrived. Come in." He had never liked his father in his business. This felt like an intrusion, but it wasn't this man's fault.
Paul watched from the doorway of the chamber as Alva came back with Mr. Mecham. He'd carried a few of the mirrors into the little room. After pointing out the painting to the appraiser, Alva walked over to ask Paul, "What are you doing?"
"I'm just going to hang a few of these. I'll really feel better about the work we got done today if I get this one last thing done."
Alva spoke in a quiet voice. "That may not be a good idea, Paul. I'm going to be distracted with Mr. Mecham; I can't supervise this. Once the mirrors are hung - "
"Mr. Keel, could I get your help with turning this painting around?" Mr. Mecham called.
Paul leaned out of the chamber's door. "I do not need a baby-sitter. I'm just going to hang them, that's all. I promise that if I see even one weird thing, I will come and get you."
"Paul, don't be stubborn - "
"Mr. Keel?"
"I'll be there in a moment." He turned back to Paul, who was closing the door to the psychomantium. "Why are you doing that?"
Paul looked at him in confusion. "You can't talk over the sound of this drill, and I can't hang the mirror on the back of the door with it open." The worried expression on Alva's face caused him to add, "I won't call anybody, I swear."
"I'm sorry to be a bother, Mr. Keel, but I must be downtown by seven," the appraiser informed him bruskly.
Alva gave Mr. Mecham an apologetic look, then spoke to Paul in an annoyed tone. "You should wait until I'm done. Lord, you're stubborn."
"And you worry too much." Taking hold of the knob, Paul started to close the door. "Pedro, tell Keel everything's alright." He shut the door and quickly opened it again. "S'awright," Paul said in a scratchy little Senor Wences voice.
Despite his frustration with Paul, Alva couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Just be careful. If anything happens, come get me."
With a nod, Paul closed the door.
First, he hung the mirror on the back of the door, which only took a few minutes with the new drill Alva had allowed them to purchase, then moved to mount up the one that would be viewed straight on while sitting in the love seat. Paul wondered exactly what would be involved in contacting spirits through these mirrors. Would it involve a big show, or did he simply need to think of them and viola, they'd show up? It was when he had finished hanging a third mirror that he thought he heard someone say his name.
"Paul." The male voice was quiet and slightly nasal.
He glanced around a little; even with the small battery-operated lantern, the room was very dim. Seeing nothing of note, Paul assumed he'd heard Alva and Mr. Mecham's muffled voices speaking through the door, and bent over to pick up another mirror.
"Paaa-aaaullll..."
He nearly dropped the framed glass in his hands - that definitely came from inside the psychomantium chamber. Looking around again, Paul spied a hazy glob of grey smoke reflected in the mirror to his left; it drifted behind the love seat. He leaned over the piece of furniture to look, but saw nothing there. Was he seeing things? Had the paint fumes gotten to him? Or was the psychomantium simply doing its job? "Hello?"
A figure slowly came into focus in the left mirror, standing behind the love seat. Once Paul saw who it was, he imagined that floating within the glob of grey smoke was a better description of what this particular spirit was doing. It was the "man" from Alva's painting, the Dorothea Tanning. The man Evie had called Edward Catcher's Mitt Hands. Paul gaped at him, then quickly turned around, fully expecting to see the man drifting about behind him. He was alone in the chamber. So, the man was only in the mirror. "What - what... who...?"
"Hello Paul. Would you like to call me Edward? I am the guardian of this chamber. Every psychomantium should have one," the nasal-voiced man said.
Paul swallowed hard; could it read his mind? "Uh... why do you look like..."
"Your subconscious chose my form."
Backing slowly toward the door, he commented, "I should get Keel."
"You thought maybe I was a genie. Perhaps I can grant you a wish," the spooky entity, "Edward," offered.
"No way. I'm going - "
"We have some very important things to tell you, Paul. You should stay. Keel would never tell you these things, I promise you." Edward continued, "Does the name Edward please you? I know your name."
"I know; you just said it." Paul fumbled for the doorknob, keeping his eyes on the entity.
"No," Edward almost scolded. "I mean, I know your secret name."
He narrowed his eyes at the reflected spirit. "My secret name?"
"The name your father would have given you," Edward replied with a sly smile.
Heavy chills moved all through Paul's back. "This conversation is over." He turned to exit the chamber.
Reflected in the mirror on the back of the door was the image of Chad Goodwell. He looked as he did in the police car that night, his face streaked with blood. "Don't leave, Paul! There are things you have to know."
Overwhelmed, he backed into the love seat and clumsily sat down. "Ch-Chad Goodwell?! What are you doing here?"
"You haven't completed the work, Paul! Kenneth Webster and the other two people who saw 'God is Nowhere' are still alive. What are you waiting for?!" Chad cried desperately.
"Two people? You said there were three more."
Chad frowned, looking on Paul with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Paul. The third person... is you."
It was unlikely that Paul's eyes could have gotten any wider in reaction to that. "What are you talking about? I saw - "
Edward spoke again. "Do you remember when you were looking for Matty, and you cut your hand, and bled on the white sheet? You never saw what your blood spelled out."
Paul, swallowing deeply again, asked, "You're trying to tell me that I'm a 'God is Nowhere' person as well as a 'God is Now Here' person?" He paused. "You have no proof. You're trying to trick me."
"You need to accept it, Paul. Time is running out. The other two are about to get their act together; soon they'll be trying to recruit you," Chad explained. "You have to kill them, and then yourself. Otherwise, you don't know what you'll do... how many people you will hurt." He looked on Paul with anguish. "You have to believe me."
Paul shook his head. "No. None of this is true. Keel said - "
"You trust him? With all his secrets?"
"Don't even try it; Keel and I have already spoken about that. He will tell me when the time is right." Paul started to stand up.
"But there's something you missed, Paul. It was right under your nose, and you overlooked it," Edward all but teased. "Read Danielle Franklin's file again. Her dream of you and Tommy. Think about it as you're reading it again... you are Alva Keel, reading this file years ago."
"I don't know what you mean." Paul wasn't even sure why he'd stayed this long, listening to the two spirits. The things they were saying... it was all seductive information, everything that Paul wondered about. They were trying to trap him.
"Do it, Paul! Then think about who you're working for," Chad urged. "Your destiny isn't good. Please, save the world by finishing the job I started."
His head swam with the immenseness of what they were trying to get him to believe. "I - I - I won't!"
"Perhaps I need to show you what the 'God is Nowhere' people were, and are, going to do." The mirror directly in front of Paul showed him several quick, but horribly memorable, images of innocent people, even children, being brutalized by Gretchen Albright, Danielle Franklin, Kenneth Webster... the final person he saw was himself, chasing down Evie, tackling her, her screaming as he beat her in the head and ripped at her clothes... laughing, such evil laughter. Paul saw himself with insane eyes as he snatched up Matty, grinning at the little boy while he cried for his mother; a river of blood flowed over the floor of the SQ office. These images, though swift, were burned into Paul's brain.
"Finish it, Paul!" Chad cried.
Although he clamored for the door, Paul couldn't take his eyes off the center mirror as it showed him images of the Apocalypse. Him causing it, and Keel right behind him, delivering instructions.
Wide-eyed and panting, he finally stumbled out of the psychomantium with those horrific images forcing their way into his mind. Alva and Mr. Mecham turned when they heard the door slam.
"Paul?"
They had turned the painting around so they could see it. Paul's eyes fell on the creepy "man" again just before he bolted from the room, running up the stairs to Alva's apartment.
Excusing himself, Alva rushed upstairs to find Paul in the bathroom, drinking water from the cup by the sink, still panting and shaking. He gripped the sink edge like he might fall down if he didn't hold on. "Paul, what happened? You saw something, didn't you? I told you it was a bad idea for you to hang those mirrors alone!"
Nodding vigorously, he stammered, "I saw... oh God, I saw - "
"Mr. Keel? Is everything alright?" Mr. Mecham called from the bottom of the stairs.
Alva called down, "Yes!" then took Paul by the arm. "Sit over here, take your cup with you, and wait for me. I'll get rid of the art appraiser and then I'll come back, and we can talk about what you saw. Alright?"
"Okay... okay..." Paul sat in an overstuffed armchair near Alva's bed, still holding the cup in his shaking hand.
"Don't do anything until I get back," instructed Alva, as if telling Paul not to do something had ever worked in the past. He went back downstairs.
The things Chad and the entity had said played over and over in Paul's head. Could any of it be true? There was no way to check up on their claim that his blood had spelled, "God is Nowhere" on the sheet; Keel had thrown it away. Unless...
"Mr. Keel, the gallery has a budget for new acquisitions. We would be willing to make you an offer on this Tanning." Mr. Mecham handed him a business card.
"Thank you, I'll think it over." Alva walked him out. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Mr. Keel."
Once he'd locked up, Alva sprinted over to the psychomantium to peer inside. Nothing amiss; whatever Paul had seen was gone for the time being. He hurried up the stairs. Alva had had to leave him alone for a good few minutes while he dispatched of the art appraiser. That made him nervous, under the circumstances.
For good reason.
Paul had moved back to the bathroom, where he'd hunted up Alva's extra razor blades and used one to cut open his palm. He now sat on the closed toilet staring at the blood on the floor while fresh blood occasionally dripped from his hand. The look on his face was a mixture of shock and resignation.
In one way, Alva was not surprised. "You've done it again? Paul, why?" When he looked down, he saw why.
Paul's blood had spelled out, "God is Nowhere."
Psychomantium Part 2
Psychomantium (c) 2004 Demented Stuff
Miracles is (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment & Touchstone Television