Swimmer by Graham Masterton Read Free Book Online Page B

experience and I realized that nobody had heard her because she hadn’t made a sound. The only person who had heard her was me.’
    She hesitated for a moment, and then she looked at him with narrowed eyes. In this light she was really quite beautiful, in a strangely dated way. Black hair, white face, like a publicity photograph for a 1940s movie star.
    â€˜You believe me, don’t you?’ she said. ‘And you’re relieved, too, that somebody else has to carry a burden like yours. You’re not alone, Jim; and now you never will be.’
    Medlar Tree looked daggers at him, the kind of daggers with decorated handles that come out of people’s eyes in cartoons. Jim sniffed, and smiled, and said, ‘How about another glass of that Sauvignon, Mr Tree?’

Four
    T hat night, after his shower, Jim hung the psychic necklace around his neck, along with the silver St Christopher medal that his mother had given him only two hours before she died. He didn’t really know why he wanted to wear it. Maybe he wanted to step just a little nearer to the edge. Maybe he wanted to look into the darkness, face to face.
    â€˜I hope you realize this isn’t going to work,’ he told his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His reflection looked oddly unimpressed. ‘I hope you also realize that you don’t
want
it to work. Supposing it tells you you’re going to meet your maker at lunchtime tomorrow, choking on a cheese and alfalfa sandwich?’
    In truth, he didn’t seriously believe that the necklace would reveal the exact date he was going to die. But ever since he had discovered that he could see almost every kind of spirit that walked through the world of the living, he had become fascinated by occult paraphernalia such as crystal balls and Ouija boards and Tarot cards, as well as voodoo fetishes and Native American sundolls. After all, they were all attempts by mystics of varying cultures to see through to the other side – and, if he could ever find one that actually worked, he would be able to share his visions with other people. He could show them that spirits are everywhere, close beside us. He could show them that their dead relatives are still close at hand. More than that, he wouldn’t feel so different, so alone.
    Before he went to bed, he sat on the couch with his scraped-clean spaghetti plate still on the coffee table in front of him, and called up Karen.
    â€˜Karen – it’s Jim. I want you to know that I’m deeply, deeply sorry about today. Deeper than deeply. Bathyscaphically.’
    â€˜That’s okay, Jim. You’re forgiven. And it was all in a good cause, wasn’t it?’
    â€˜Well, yes it was. The spirit-trace worked, believe it or not. It worked! We saw the spirit! Well,
I
saw the spirit. And at least Jennie doesn’t blame herself for Mikey’s death any more.’
    â€˜So she came through? The busty mystic in the low-cut dress?’
    â€˜Susan? She’s interesting. A very interesting young woman. And very, genuinely sensitive. And interesting.’
    â€˜And busty.’
    â€˜Yes, busty. Okay. That’s a natural attribute. But that’s not what makes her interesting.’
    â€˜All the same, you like her.’
    â€˜Sure I like her. I’m not going to deny it. I like lots of women. No, I didn’t say that right. I like lots of women, not
lots
of women. For God’s sake. But I still want you to come to Washington with me. I mean, this is why I’m calling. This is a genuine repeat offer for a limited time only. I’ve thought very seriously about your color-coded sweaters and I’ve thought about your step aerobics and your logical mind and your tofu; and I’ve come to the conclusion that I could easily adapt. Easily. Do you know what I did this evening, when I came home?
I rearranged my spice rack
. It’s all in alphabetical order, starting with Allspice and ending with Wasabi.