Double Blind (5 page)

Anita’s usually open and animated face tightened. Her eyes narrowed.

“I know,” I said. “It sounds mad. But wait, it gets worse. After the bizarre encounter with my dead mother, I began seeing auras over people. Auras that predict death.”

“Auras,” Anita repeated.

I nodded. “And the stronger the aura, the sooner the person will die. But, I also worked out that it is possible to change the fate of the victim so that they don’t die and then the aura disappears. I saved my nephew. His aura has gone now.”

Anita tapped a manicured fingernail on the table. “But we are all going to die at some point, so surely we all have auras?”

“I only see them when death is imminent, anything from a few days to a few weeks in the future.”

Anita leaned back in her chair, as though trying to put some distance between us.

“What does an aura look like?”

I hesitated before answering, thinking of the ways I’d tried to describe them before. No one really understood. “It’s as though the air is rippling around the person’s head and shoulders. You know how air is all wavy over hot asphalt? It looks like that.”

Anita pursed her lips. “Does anyone else know?”

I kept the answer simple. “Leo, Dad, Josh.” I didn’t want to recall the painful details of those conversations, the confrontations with my brother Leo, and my father, who hadn’t wanted to believe me. And poor Josh, torn between loving me and doubting the impossible stories I was telling him. There were other unbelievers too, like Clarke, the detective chief inspector who’d handled the investigation into the deaths of my friend and her neighbor. When I’d told him about the auras, he’d closed up like a sea anemone poked by a crab. Sometimes, during the trial, when we had to be in the courtroom at the same time, he’d looked at me warily, as though I was an unexploded bomb. He’d made me swear not to tell anyone about my strange gift, convinced it would demolish the prosecution’s case if the jury thought that I, as a key witness, was mentally unstable.

“Okay.” Anita drummed her fingers on the table. “How would you feel about going for some tests, Kate? MRI, CT scan?”

“I’ve done them all,” I said. “Nothing shows up. I’m perfectly normal.” I laughed, but Anita didn’t.

“So what did I say that made you gasp earlier?” she asked. “Something to do with Dr. Reid?”

“He has an aura, Anita.”

When she looked skeptical, not shocked, I felt a familiar sense of frustration.

“And you really believe that means he will die?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, but yes,” I said. “His aura and his recent erratic behavior are probably connected. What do you think? Could he be ill? Ill enough to affect his ability to work?”

“Ill enough to die?”

“Maybe you can persuade him to get a check-up? Tell him you’re worried about him and recommend he has an EKG and an MRI or something?”

Anita stared off across the cafeteria. I could almost see her brain ticking through the options. “I’d be taking a huge risk, talking to him like that. I have to admit that I don’t feel comfortable about it.”

“You don’t believe me.”

She looked at me. “Would you believe me if our roles were reversed?”

“Yes, actually I would, because it’s you. But I don’t blame you for doubting me. It’s hard to accept.”

“I’ll try to persuade Dr. Reid to take some time off. The rest of it, I just don’t know. I need time to think about it.”

When her pager buzzed, she glared at it. “I’m sorry. I have to go. We’ll talk later. I want to help you if I can.”

I watched her stride away from the table, white coat flapping around her knees, dark hair wound in a neat bun. Her words echoed in my head. She wanted to help me, as though
I
were the victim. It was an understandable reaction. Sometimes I did think of myself as a victim, cursed with this extraordinary and unwanted ability. Wiping the table clean with a napkin, I let my mind wander, recalling the scrambled emotions of the previous year, the grief for my mother, the strange and unsettling encounter on the hill in Italy, followed by the terrifying realization that I could see auras that predicted imminent death.

It was so weird. How could I expect Anita to believe me? Still, I wished that she’d just trust me. Acceptance could come later. Once, when we were students, I was about to turn down a chance to work on a research project with a celebrated professor, sure I wasn’t smart enough to keep up with him. Anita had talked me into saying yes. “Trust me,” she’d said. I did and it had all worked out. That coveted research opportunity had given me a choice of premium jobs when I graduated. I was always grateful to Anita for her faith in me.

But now, I felt lonely, cast adrift. I’d have to find a better way to talk with her about it. Something that would make sense to a medical professional. I decided to walk part of the way home, to give myself time to think about how to broach the subject with her again. Turning out of the hospital, I took Newgate Street towards St. Paul’s. I loved this part of the city, where ancient and modern buildings stood side by side in the shadows of Sir Christopher Wren’s beautiful dome. Circling the cathedral, I weaved through the usual cosmopolitan mix of Londoners, interlaced with out-of-season tourists. Across the river, the spire-like structure of The Shard, currently the tallest building in Europe, soared upwards to the overcast sky. I dreamed of working on a project like that, something that would stand as an icon of contemporary architecture.

The thought was an unwelcome reminder of my current status as a freelancer. I should do something about that. Later, once I’d solved the current aura situations perhaps. Pulling my mind back to the problem at hand, I strolled along the Embankment, inhaling the musty cellar smell of the Thames. After thirty minutes, I still didn’t know what to do about Anita. My hurt feelings seemed to be blocking my thought processes and I couldn’t come up with a single idea on how to break down the barrier between us.

I decided to take the tube the rest of the way home, not because I was tired of walking, but because I was weary of wrestling with my thoughts. Anita’s reaction had been understandable and I couldn’t blame her for it. But, as always, when confronted by someone who didn’t believe that I could see auras, I struggled. Should I just start ignoring the auras, pretend I didn’t see them, let fate take its course? That approach would certainly smooth the path of my many tortuous relationships with friends and family.

I got off one stop before my own, remembering that I needed to visit Josh’s flat to water his plants and collect his post. When his small mailbox in the lobby filled up, the postman started leaving the letters in a pile on the floor, which upset the landlady.

Today, among the usual bills and flyers was a postcard depicting red-tiled roofs and stone towers against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains. Turning the card over, I saw that it was from Munich. The handwriting, in green ink, crammed every spare centimeter of space. Although I was curious, I put it, unread, with the other letters on the kitchen counter. I’d take it all back to my flat.

Five minutes later, my watering duties complete, I picked up the post to put it in my bag. The image of brilliant blue sky and carmine rooftops again caught my attention. Unable to help myself, I flipped the card over and read it. The scrawled name at the bottom confirmed that it was from Helena, Josh’s university girlfriend. All I knew about her was that she was half-English, half-German and that she’d gone back to Germany right after they’d graduated.

Josh hadn’t been dating at all for the several years that I knew him before we got together. I knew he’d had a college girlfriend he’d been serious about, and I’d wondered if he was still in love with her. Mostly, it was his refusal to talk about her at all that had worried me.

After the first few lines of the hope you are well variety, Helena wrote that she had a new job and had just moved to Munich. She included an email address and told Josh to get in touch. The last line caught my attention. “I miss you.”

Really? After nearly four years? Did Josh still miss her? For a fraction of a second, I considered throwing the card away. Josh wouldn’t know anything about it. It seemed likely that Helena didn’t have an email address for him, or she would have communicated that way. But I couldn’t do that, so I put the card back in my bag. On my walk home under leaden clouds, I thought of that azure sky.

Leaving the letters on the hall table, I went to my desk in the spare bedroom, intent on finishing my magazine project. I tried not to think about Helena, but her message ate away at me, destroying my concentration. There was no way to settle down to work. After looking at the clock for the umpteenth time, I decided to go for a run. There was even a remote chance that I’d see Scott again. I could check on whether his aura was still there.

A strong wind shook the bare grey branches of the trees and there were few people in the park. I had the path to myself for the first half a mile or so and I ran hard, concentrating on my breathing and refusing to think about Helena or auras. A momentary break in the clouds allowed a solitary ray of sunshine to fall on the lake, illuminating a few rowboats and a couple of canoes. I thought I saw the same birdwatcher out there, with his binoculars in hand. He must be a dedicated ornithologist to sit out in the wind and damp to spot a few ducks.

Looking ahead, I saw the muscled security man coming towards me. Behind him ran Simon Scott, with Kevin Lewis trailing behind, their auras clearly defined. A spur of the moment impulse propelled me to the ground, where I sat, holding my leg and rubbing my calf. The security man ran past me, but then I heard Scott call out. “Whoa, Frank. Woman down. Let’s see if we can help.”

The three men stopped. With a wide, reassuring smile, Scott crouched down next to me. “What seems to be the problem?”

I was so stunned that my ploy had worked that I could barely summon any words. “I, er, my leg. It’s a muscle cramp I think.”

“Can I?” he asked, gesturing to my calf. Frank stood right behind Scott, eyeing me uncertainly. His whole body appeared tensed and ready to jump. A few yards away, Lewis bent over, trying to catch his breath. The auras over him and Scott were even more pronounced than they’d seemed from a distance. I realized with panic that there wasn’t much time left. I had to say something.

Scott was pushing on my calf muscle, and I reacted to the pressure with what I hoped was a genuine-sounding ‘ouch’. He moved my lower leg up and down a couple of times and asked me to point my toes. I’d forgotten that he’d been a doctor before becoming a Member of Parliament.

“The good news is that it’s not a muscle tear,” he said. “More likely just a strain from over-exercising or not warming up properly. I’d recommend a hot bath and some ibuprofen and rest.”

Up close, he was good-looking in an understated way. His fair skin was smooth and finely freckled and he had unusual eyes, hazel irises ringed with gold. Even in his sweaty T-shirt, and hair flattened with perspiration, he exuded charm.

He held out his hand. “Let’s see if you can stand on it,” he said, helping me to my feet.

I nodded. “It’s fine. I can walk on it easily enough.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Listen, Mr. Scott, sir, there’s something important I need to tell you.”

Frank took a step forward, his eyes fixed on me. Lewis straightened up.

You have an aura and you’re going to die.
The words ran through my head but I couldn’t say them out loud. Frank would probably shoot me or grab me in a neck lock, and they’d call the police or the psychiatric unit. Scott looked at me, confusion clouding his eyes.

“I’m going to vote for you,” I said.

Scott laughed. “I appreciate that.” He held out his hand to shake mine. “What’s your name?”

“Kate Benedict.”

“I feel as though I’ve seen you or heard your name. Have we met before?”

“Well, I was there for your speech in Kensington earlier this week,” I said.

“That’s it. You’re a journalist?”

Lewis stepped forward. “Time to go, Simon. I’m not sure what Miss Benedict’s motives are but I’m beginning to doubt the pulled muscle story.” He turned to look at me. “Can’t you people leave him alone? There are plenty of press opportunities without hounding him when he’s trying to relax. Jeez.”

“I’m not that kind of journalist,” I said. “I don’t have any motive. I am a voter, though, and you might be glad of my vote when the election comes.”

Scott grabbed my hand again, the politician in him taking over from the doctor. “Kate, we’re delighted to have your support.”

“We need to move, sir,” Frank said. Scott held up a hand in a gesture that told him to wait. Frank frowned and, although he stood still, I could almost see his leg muscles twitching. It was some comfort, I supposed, that Scott was guarded so zealously. But the aura negated any sense of safety. Someone or something would kill him, and soon. Lewis glared at me from a few yards away, dark eyes under bushy eyebrows looking me up and down as though measuring the extent of the risk I posed. I didn’t like him much, but I didn’t want him to die either.

“Mr. Scott, I’ve heard rumors of threats against you. I just want you to be careful, okay?” I spoke very softly, but Frank’s strength obviously extended to his ears. When he took a step forward, I felt the energy coming off him in waves.

Scott nodded. “There are all sorts out there who would like to have a go at me,” he said. “Not me, personally, of course, just what I represent. My party, government, authority, call it what you will. It’s a risk that comes with the job, but I appreciate your concern.”

He gave my hand one last squeeze and turned away. I watched as the three of them jogged away under the first drops of rain. I’d lied about the rumors of threats, but there was a danger of some kind; I just didn’t know what it was.

I jogged slowly to my flat. Halfway back, I had the idea of calling Colin Butler, the journalist I’d met at the campaign event. He was obviously a supporter of Scott and he’d said he was following him closely. Perhaps he might know something that would give me an idea of where to start. Suddenly energized by having something specific to do, I hurried home to look up Butler on the Web. There was no number listed for him, but I found an email address. I sent him a message, reminding him how we’d met and asking if I could talk with him about Scott. By the time I’d showered and dressed, Butler had replied, writing in the same shorthand style of speech I’d noticed when I met him. He gave me a phone number and said to call any time. He picked up on the sixth ring, just as I was about to give up.