--9--
"I've never seen anything like it", Elijah Beck was saying, babbling, his voice loud and agitated. "Erik, you have to meet him. He's waiting outside. I promise you won't regret it".
Erik Heilmann leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of his coffee, looking up at his old friend. Beck was pacing in front of the closed door of Heilmann's office, hunched forward slightly, uneasy looking. Heilmann watched him with his head slightly tilted, holding his coffee cup close to his chest. He couldn't say that he'd ever seen Elijah act this way, and it confused him.
Beck had often derided him in the past for his ardent belief in the paranormal, in ESP. It had become a kind of running joke between them - whenever Erik mentioned his work, Elijah would make a witty debunking comment and they would both laugh. Even when Erik had left his old work behind and gone into Abnormal Psychology, the two old friends hadn't exactly seen eye to eye; Elijah saw Abnormal Psych as the realm of the cowboy psychologist, those looking for fame and a quick buck and weren't concerned with the genuine fundamentals of the study of psychology.
That was why he'd so often turned down Elijah's offers of work, and why he turned down the cases of murderers and often rapists. He was and always had been primarily interested in the study of the mind for its own sake, understanding general human behaviour and reactions. He didn't care to investigate the anomalous sector of society and their abnormal psychology. That he happily left to men such as Erik Heilmann.
But that day, Elijah was more excited about this 'psychic' patient of his than Erik had been about ESP in his whole life. It was intriguing if a little confusing.
"What did you say his name is?" Heilmann asked.
Beck stopped pacing and turned to his friend. "Dennis", he said, stooping to pick up the file wallet that he'd left leaning against the leg of the chair at the front of Heilmann's desk. "Dennis Rafkin". He took out a thick file and slid it over the desk; Heilmann took it, glancing down at the cover. 'Rafkin, Dennis T', it said in bold black letters. He frowned up at Beck. "Don't worry, he gave me permission to show you", he assured him.
He opened the file. A bad photograph of Dennis stared up at him, his face grim and pale. He looked familiar somehow, though he knew they'd never met. Something in his eyes maybe, the way they shone flat and almost lifeless out of the file photo. It stirred an uneasy feeling in his gut.
"You know I don't do this anymore, Elijah?" Heilmann said, flipping through the pages of the file, glancing up just long enough to punctuate his point.
"Yes, I know. But trust me, Erik - once you've met Dennis, you'll never want to go back to Abnormal Psychology. This is it. Erik, he's the real thing".
"Then you'd better send him in", Heilmann said.
Beck was immediately at the door, opening it, beckoning through it. "Dennis, come in".
Dennis was taller than either man in the room; Beck stood a healthy 5'10" whilst Heilmann had inherited his stature from his second generation Jewish immigrant father, and stood a mere 5'6". According to the file in front of him, and as he could see as he walked into the room, Dennis Rafkin was a good six feet three inches tall. He looked taller though, if simply by merit of his dark clothing and thin frame.
"Dennis, allow me to introduce Dr. Erik Heilmann. Erik, this is Dennis".
Heilmann stood and offered Dennis his hand from behind his desk. Dennis just smiled politely and shook his head. Heilmann withdrew his hand and motioned to the chair opposite him as Beck left the room.
"So you're the expert".
Heilmann cocked his head, frowning, steepling his fingers as he leant back in his padded leather chair behind his expensive leather-top desk. "And what makes you say that, Dennis?" he asked.
"Dr. Beck, actually, *Erik*".
Heilmann had to bite back a smile. "Well in that case yes, there are those people who would consider me an expert", he told him. "I suppose that's why Dr. Beck has brought you here to talk to me. He believes that you possess powers of extra-sensory perception. What do you think about that, Dennis?"
"It took him long enough to believe me".
This time Heilmann allowed himself the smile. "It would. Erik was never exactly well known for his open mind". He shuffled the pages of the file back together and set it down on the desktop.
"Now, before we go any further, I want you to know that I do believe that psychics exist. I've met psychics, Dennis - I *know* they exist. ESP isn't just a figment of some science fiction writer's imagination. But I've also come across my fair share of clever fakes. It was those clever fakes that drove me out of this particular field of study, and I don't care to have my time wasted.
"But, that having been said, you've convinced my friend the sceptic, so there must be some merit to your story. Now, I have some tests."
Heilmann reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, rummaging around in the clutter. It was a drawer that had remained unopened in many years, full of the paraphernalia of his old research. And there, at the bottom, was what he was looking for. He pulled out the bundle of cards and set them on the desk.
"I'm going to look at these cards one by one, and I want you to tell me what it is I'm looking at".
He turned up the first card, concentrating on the three wavy blue lines. He remembered the last time he'd done it, years before, sitting right there in that chair. The subject had been a thirteen-year-old girl with an amazing gift who got every one of the cards wrong, and he knew why - her mother had been sitting in the chair beside her, looming over her, the disapproving look never fading from her face for a second. The girl was petrified of her mother and what she might have said if she'd got Heilmann to believe in her abilities. He could see it - the mother resented the fact that her daughter had the whole neighbourhood believing she was psychic. She resented being thrust into the limelight like that, embarrassed, ridiculed behind her back because of her daughter who she would never believe was more than a clever faker, seeking attention. Heilmann had had to let the girl go. He couldn't put her through any more torment.
He stared at the wavy blue lines and waited.
"I can't tell you what you're looking at", Dennis said. Heilmann looked up with a frown. "It doesn't work like that. I can't just read your mind, you know. I have to touch you. And I don't really wanna touch you just to find out what's on some card you're looking at when it feels like someone's driving railroad spikes into my head every time I touch someone, y'know?"
Heilmann sighed and put down the card. "So how is this going to work? I'm going to need some kind of proof, Dennis".
Dennis shrugged. "You tell me something you want me to find out from you then I touch you, I guess", he said. "I usually go for the fifth grade English teacher, but anything you want me to look for's fine".
Heilmann nodded slowly, sliding the cards back into the desk. "I see. I want you to tell me. the name of my fifth grade English teacher, my wife's maiden name, my date of birth and the colour of my grandmother's eyes", he told him, well aware of how ridiculous the requests seemed. "Can you remember all of that?"
"Sure". Dennis leant forward over the desk. "Which grandmother? Your mother's mother or your father's mother?"
Heilmann smiled. "That's a very good question", he said. "My mother's".
"Then I think it's time I shake your hand after all", Dennis said with a smile.
***
"I've never seen anything like it", Elijah Beck was saying, babbling, his voice loud and agitated. "Erik, you have to meet him. He's waiting outside. I promise you won't regret it".
Erik Heilmann leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of his coffee, looking up at his old friend. Beck was pacing in front of the closed door of Heilmann's office, hunched forward slightly, uneasy looking. Heilmann watched him with his head slightly tilted, holding his coffee cup close to his chest. He couldn't say that he'd ever seen Elijah act this way, and it confused him.
Beck had often derided him in the past for his ardent belief in the paranormal, in ESP. It had become a kind of running joke between them - whenever Erik mentioned his work, Elijah would make a witty debunking comment and they would both laugh. Even when Erik had left his old work behind and gone into Abnormal Psychology, the two old friends hadn't exactly seen eye to eye; Elijah saw Abnormal Psych as the realm of the cowboy psychologist, those looking for fame and a quick buck and weren't concerned with the genuine fundamentals of the study of psychology.
That was why he'd so often turned down Elijah's offers of work, and why he turned down the cases of murderers and often rapists. He was and always had been primarily interested in the study of the mind for its own sake, understanding general human behaviour and reactions. He didn't care to investigate the anomalous sector of society and their abnormal psychology. That he happily left to men such as Erik Heilmann.
But that day, Elijah was more excited about this 'psychic' patient of his than Erik had been about ESP in his whole life. It was intriguing if a little confusing.
"What did you say his name is?" Heilmann asked.
Beck stopped pacing and turned to his friend. "Dennis", he said, stooping to pick up the file wallet that he'd left leaning against the leg of the chair at the front of Heilmann's desk. "Dennis Rafkin". He took out a thick file and slid it over the desk; Heilmann took it, glancing down at the cover. 'Rafkin, Dennis T', it said in bold black letters. He frowned up at Beck. "Don't worry, he gave me permission to show you", he assured him.
He opened the file. A bad photograph of Dennis stared up at him, his face grim and pale. He looked familiar somehow, though he knew they'd never met. Something in his eyes maybe, the way they shone flat and almost lifeless out of the file photo. It stirred an uneasy feeling in his gut.
"You know I don't do this anymore, Elijah?" Heilmann said, flipping through the pages of the file, glancing up just long enough to punctuate his point.
"Yes, I know. But trust me, Erik - once you've met Dennis, you'll never want to go back to Abnormal Psychology. This is it. Erik, he's the real thing".
"Then you'd better send him in", Heilmann said.
Beck was immediately at the door, opening it, beckoning through it. "Dennis, come in".
Dennis was taller than either man in the room; Beck stood a healthy 5'10" whilst Heilmann had inherited his stature from his second generation Jewish immigrant father, and stood a mere 5'6". According to the file in front of him, and as he could see as he walked into the room, Dennis Rafkin was a good six feet three inches tall. He looked taller though, if simply by merit of his dark clothing and thin frame.
"Dennis, allow me to introduce Dr. Erik Heilmann. Erik, this is Dennis".
Heilmann stood and offered Dennis his hand from behind his desk. Dennis just smiled politely and shook his head. Heilmann withdrew his hand and motioned to the chair opposite him as Beck left the room.
"So you're the expert".
Heilmann cocked his head, frowning, steepling his fingers as he leant back in his padded leather chair behind his expensive leather-top desk. "And what makes you say that, Dennis?" he asked.
"Dr. Beck, actually, *Erik*".
Heilmann had to bite back a smile. "Well in that case yes, there are those people who would consider me an expert", he told him. "I suppose that's why Dr. Beck has brought you here to talk to me. He believes that you possess powers of extra-sensory perception. What do you think about that, Dennis?"
"It took him long enough to believe me".
This time Heilmann allowed himself the smile. "It would. Erik was never exactly well known for his open mind". He shuffled the pages of the file back together and set it down on the desktop.
"Now, before we go any further, I want you to know that I do believe that psychics exist. I've met psychics, Dennis - I *know* they exist. ESP isn't just a figment of some science fiction writer's imagination. But I've also come across my fair share of clever fakes. It was those clever fakes that drove me out of this particular field of study, and I don't care to have my time wasted.
"But, that having been said, you've convinced my friend the sceptic, so there must be some merit to your story. Now, I have some tests."
Heilmann reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, rummaging around in the clutter. It was a drawer that had remained unopened in many years, full of the paraphernalia of his old research. And there, at the bottom, was what he was looking for. He pulled out the bundle of cards and set them on the desk.
"I'm going to look at these cards one by one, and I want you to tell me what it is I'm looking at".
He turned up the first card, concentrating on the three wavy blue lines. He remembered the last time he'd done it, years before, sitting right there in that chair. The subject had been a thirteen-year-old girl with an amazing gift who got every one of the cards wrong, and he knew why - her mother had been sitting in the chair beside her, looming over her, the disapproving look never fading from her face for a second. The girl was petrified of her mother and what she might have said if she'd got Heilmann to believe in her abilities. He could see it - the mother resented the fact that her daughter had the whole neighbourhood believing she was psychic. She resented being thrust into the limelight like that, embarrassed, ridiculed behind her back because of her daughter who she would never believe was more than a clever faker, seeking attention. Heilmann had had to let the girl go. He couldn't put her through any more torment.
He stared at the wavy blue lines and waited.
"I can't tell you what you're looking at", Dennis said. Heilmann looked up with a frown. "It doesn't work like that. I can't just read your mind, you know. I have to touch you. And I don't really wanna touch you just to find out what's on some card you're looking at when it feels like someone's driving railroad spikes into my head every time I touch someone, y'know?"
Heilmann sighed and put down the card. "So how is this going to work? I'm going to need some kind of proof, Dennis".
Dennis shrugged. "You tell me something you want me to find out from you then I touch you, I guess", he said. "I usually go for the fifth grade English teacher, but anything you want me to look for's fine".
Heilmann nodded slowly, sliding the cards back into the desk. "I see. I want you to tell me. the name of my fifth grade English teacher, my wife's maiden name, my date of birth and the colour of my grandmother's eyes", he told him, well aware of how ridiculous the requests seemed. "Can you remember all of that?"
"Sure". Dennis leant forward over the desk. "Which grandmother? Your mother's mother or your father's mother?"
Heilmann smiled. "That's a very good question", he said. "My mother's".
"Then I think it's time I shake your hand after all", Dennis said with a smile.
***