SOUL BEHIND THE FACE

By

Madona Skaff

The Great Leonard sat motionless on the wooden chair. Shoulders back, his arms rested comfortably on the Plexiglas table before him. He controlled his breathing and the relentless need to scratch at the electrodes attached to his chest and scalp. He resisted the urge to fiddle with the oxygen monitor on his left index finger. The four researchers, wearing intense expressions, watched him from outside the glass-enclosed booth.

He closed his eyes and tried hard not to laugh.

After 10 years of pretending to be a psychic, life was good. Profitable. Comfortable. And boring.

So when he heard about a northern university’s research study to verify psychic abilities scientifically, he volunteered to be a test subject.

Leonard pictured the headline: Psychic Is Real Deal, Scientific Tests Show. He’d be famous—and filthy rich.

He’d fooled the eggheads for three days, graduating to today’s final, most rigorous stage.

Late at night, when he’d first arrived, he’d sat in his car in the parking lot to hack into their computers to download the tests. This one consisted of a series of numbers he’d have to “see.” With so many sets of numbers and no way to tell which he’d be assigned, he’d memorized them all, thanks to his only legitimate talent—a great memory.

It took four to five numbers before he knew which set the researchers were using. He threw in random wrong answers to make his “vision” seem legit. He smiled inwardly. Took a dramatic deep breath for the last answer.

“Fifty-nine!”

He opened his eyes, expecting to see expressions of surprise and awe.

You didn’t need to be a psychic to realize that something was horribly wrong. The techs stood there, staring at him. Finally, the head technician, Stanley, came into Leonard’s booth, holding something behind his back.

“The Great Leonard,” Stanley mocked. “Proud of how well you did?”

Leonard’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes.”

“You really sailed through every test. Even passed this last one. My personal favorite.”

Then with a magician’s stage-show flourish, Stanley revealed a laptop hidden behind his back. He tossed it on the table. It bounced once.

Leonard’s mouth went dry. He recognized the computer as his.

“Look at the great confused psychic,” Stanley gloated. “Halfway through this test, I switched to a new set of numbers. But you happily continued on the first.” He leaned forward on the table and tapped the computer with his index finger. “You really should lock your car.”

With a laugh bordering on maniacal, Stanley left. Another technician came in to remove the electrodes. Leonard winced as a couple of chest hairs were yanked off in the process.

Leonard stood, buttoned up his shirt and squared his shoulders. His face calm, he slipped his laptop under his arm and, with head held high, left the lab. He ignored the cackles behind him.

Stiff-legged, Leonard returned to the parking lot, opened the door of his navy Mercedes and pitched the laptop onto the backseat. Then he collapsed into the driver’s seat, panting with suppressed anger.

What a way to end a lucrative career. Debunked by a bunch of geeks. Maybe it was time for The Great Leonard to return to plain Lennie. Life had been simpler then.

All he wanted right now was the quickest route out of this place, but of course the GPS was useless out here. He tossed his cell onto the passenger seat and pulled out a map.

With the car’s tires squealing, he roared out of the university parking lot. Within minutes, he was on a washboard gravel road with occasional potholes. The unnaturally straight road and the flanking trees created a claustrophobic tunnel effect. That, along with the groans of his Mercedes shuddering over the rough surface, soon irritated him. He turned on the radio hoping for some distraction. Static. Damn stupid northern town. Did anything work here? He punched Autoscan.

Then something up ahead that wasn’t a tree caught his attention. A roadside memorial. He’d always zipped past those shrines on his way somewhere. He didn’t have to be anywhere now, so he pulled over.

The memorial was a wooden cross, about three feet high, with pots of brilliant flowers at the base. There was a simple inscription on the cross: OCT. 4. No name. No year.

Today was Oct. 2.

He shut off the engine and got out for a closer look. As he came around the car, he doubled over with intense nausea. He gagged and leaned against the car, managing to stay on his feet. He swallowed the acrid taste in his mouth.

Lennie had felt like this once before—when he was nine at his grandfather’s funeral. As he walked deeper into the cemetery, he’d felt a bit dizzy and queasy. Without warning, the air thickened and forced itself down his throat into his lungs. He sputtered as if he were drowning. Fists of pain had pounded on his chest. Knocked him to the ground. He’d come to and saw his mother’s tear-streaked face looking at him. His parents had described it as a seizure. The doctors had agreed.

He’d never set foot in a cemetery again.

The stress of being unmasked today and being strung out on too much coffee had triggered the memory. Nothing more, he told himself as he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Enough sightseeing. He just wanted to get home and set up his next scam. He returned to the driver’s side of the car and pulled on the door handle.

Locked. With the keys in the ignition. Damn! He punched the roof of the car with both fists. He rested his head on his fists and closed his eyes to hold back burning tears of frustration.

He heard a loud rustling in the woods, jerked his head and scanned the forest in wide-eyed panic. With his luck, it would be a bear. He’d bought the gun a few years earlier, after receiving threats from the furious husband of the woman who’d been cheating on him. Lennie had that gun with him now—safely guarding the glove compartment.

When nothing arrived to eat him, he relaxed and reached for his cell to call for roadside assistance. Then he laughed bitterly; his cell sat on the passenger seat. He’d have to walk back to the main road and civilization, such as it was. This was the last place where he’d want to be walking in the dark. He looked up to see the sun hugging the treetops. Best to get moving.

After walking for a while, he got tired of his brisk pace and glanced at his watch. Only 3:30? He squinted searching for the turnoff in the distance. How fast had he been driving to get so far? He glanced over his shoulder and saw…

His car! A few yards away. Impossible. He’d been walking for…how long, only to be back to where he had started?

He turned to face the vehicle as thick, humid air rushed into his lungs. Pressure pounded on his chest. A heart attack! Here? All alone? With all his strength, he sucked in long, deep breaths. The pain eased.

Time to get the hell out of here. Now! He rushed to his car and yanked on the door handle.

“Damn!” He punched the roof of his car. “Calm down, Lennie. Relax. Think!”

Locked car? No problem, with the universal key. What he needed was a rock. The only ones big enough were holding up the cross.

“Sorry.” He picked one up. “I’ll bring it right back.”

A shadow hovered over him, and he spun around. He lost his footing and fell back, knocking the cross over and breaking several flower pots. He cried out in pain as a sharp piece of ceramic pierced his hip. He held up his arms to shield his face, expecting to be attacked by some animal. He was alone.

He checked the wound and removed the fragment. He’d live. He started to get up, but was pushed back down by some unseen force.

Brain racing, he lay still. It felt like a hand on his chest. He gasped as a shadow moved overhead. Nothing there. He tried to sit up and was forced down again. Less gently. Another attempt. This time, a powerful punch to the chest knocked him flat. He lay on the destroyed shrine as images and sounds enveloped him. He shut his eyes, but couldn’t block out the vision.

Lennie holds a beautiful, dark-haired woman in a loving embrace before driving away. Turns onto a dark road. This road. An oncoming car. It pulls over. Lennie makes a U-turn and stops behind the other car.

The scene faded as Lennie sat up.

Rubbing his chest with the heel of his hand, he stumbled back to his car. He tugged on the door handle and didn’t question why it was unlocked. He got in and revved up the engine to get the hell out of there.

That’s when he saw a wallet lying among the crushed flowers. He checked his pants’ side pocket. “Damn it!”

He got out and braced against the urge to puke as he picked up his wallet.

A blow to the middle of his back dropped him face-first into the flower pots. Through the blinding pain he heard…

A gunshot.

Lennie falls sideways onto the front seat, and his arm hits the car stereo. Rock music blares from the speakers. How can she listen to that crap?

Ears still ringing from the blast, he looks up to make eye contact with a man staring at him through the open car window. There is a blurred movement. He closes his eyes and through the loud music he hears the echo of a second…

Gunshot.

Lennie rubbed his temple to relieve the lingering pain as the vision faded. He was sitting in his car with the engine running. His clothes were clean. The shrine undamaged.

He checked the time. Three-thirty. Peering through the windshield, he was relieved to see the sun still hovering over the treetops.

God, he’d never fallen asleep at the wheel before. He rested his head on the steering wheel, grateful that he’d pulled over in time. Loud music startled him fully awake. Autoscan had found a station playing a song by the Scorpions.

“How can she listen to that crap?” He clicked off the radio.

Surprised by his comment, he laughed at how vivid the dream had been. He actually liked “Soul Behind the Face” and reached to turn the radio back on when the air gradually thickened around him. He remained calm as the images drifted back and finished the story.

After the vision faded, Lennie looked at the cross. He understood now. Armed with the date and the face of the man who had looked in through the driver’s side window, Lennie drove back to the university library.

***

Lennie used the library’s WiFi to search the Internet for local news stories. Within moments, he found a newspaper article dated Oct. 4 of last year. The headline read:

Prominent Businessman Franklin Boyd Commits Suicide.

The article had the usual obituary-type details. Boyd had enjoyed a successful career in accounting. Coworkers and friends were heartbroken and couldn’t imagine why he’d taken his life. “Because it wasn’t suicide,” Lennie whispered to the computer screen.

He had to tell someone. But who? Stanley, the technician? He could still hear the guy laughing. The police? They’d lock him up for sure when he mentioned the visions.

He thought about his grandfather’s funeral and in the calm of the library he remembered forgotten details. As he’d walked through the cemetery, images from each grave had conjured up a different, horrifying scene. Violent deaths, lonely deaths, lingering deaths. He remembered the pain had become unbearable the more he’d tried to block out the images.

So many years lying about being a psychic—he could only laugh at the irony.

He looked at the article. He couldn’t let Franklin Boyd’s killer get away with murder.

“Lennie…” a voice whispered behind him.

He spun around, but no one was there. Damn his overactive imagination. He turned back to the computer in time to see his fingers on the trackpad clicking through several Web pages on their own. He yanked his hand away.

Great. Not only was he stressed and depressed about his crumbling life, now he had to deal with hallucinations.

Loud rock music cracked through the silence, then faded away. Looking behind him, Lennie shook his head at the person he presumed was playing the music. How ignorant and inconsiderate to be doing that in a library. But the staff and students didn’t pay any attention.

Funny that it was the same Scorpions’ song that had been playing on his car radio. It must be a local favorite, he decided as he turned back resume his search.

His eyes widened, lips parted as though to speak. He’d found the killer in a photo in an article. It showed people handing out balloons to children at a charity fundraiser. He checked the names in the cutline and smiled.

Dan Kabala worked at the same accounting office as Boyd had.

***

Lennie checked into a hotel on the outskirts of town. The key to any good scam was preparation. He spent Saturday searching for information on both men and the accounting firm they worked at. From what he understood of human nature, the best time to confront the murderer would be on the anniversary of the crime—tomorrow, Oct. 4.

On Sunday, Lennie showed up unannounced at Dan Kabala’s apartment just before 3:30, when the murder had been committed. His lame excuse of being Franklin’s college buddy got him inside the plush three-bedroom condominium.

Dan was a gracious host. Anything for Franklin’s old college buddy. Over coffee, he chatted freely about how nice Franklin had been, how his friends and coworkers missed him.

“Terrible how Franklin died,” Lennie interjected.

“Yes.” Dan’s voice was sombre.

“It was early morning, right?”

“No, 3:30 in the afternoon.” Dan swallowed hard and stood abruptly. “How about some more coffee?”

“Thanks.”

Dan picked up both mugs and started for the kitchen.

Lennie hadn’t seen any reference to music at the murder scene in any of the news reports. That was a detail only the killer would know, he concluded. He decided to egg Dan on.

“It must have been terrible for him to lie dying listening to music he hated,” Lennie observed.

Dan turned around, still carrying the mugs. “W-what are you talking about? What m-music?”

Lennie sensed Dan’s hesitancy and pressed ahead. “Wasn’t there a CD playing hard rock?”

Dan stared at him, shook his head and started to turn away. “Look, Lennie, I’m sorry, but I have some work to do.”

“Working on the weekend? What a shame,” Lennie said mockingly. “I guess that’s ironic, too.”

“What?”

“Well, if Franklin had gone to work on a weekday rather than a Saturday, there would have been people around. They might have noticed he was…well, you know…suicidal.”

Dan’s hands trembled so much that he barely got the mugs back to the table. He collapsed into the armchair and ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end.

The image of a folder flashed before Lennie’s eyes. “I guess he went in to pick up the Trelaine file.”

Dan’s face blanched. His eyes moistened.

Lennie continued, “He probably stopped on the side of the road to either talk to or help someone and they shot him. Close range, so it’s no wonder the police thought it was suicide.”

“Stop it!” Dan screamed as he jumped to his feet

Startled, Lennie reached inside his windbreaker for the gun he’d brought with him. Dan stopped his advance as he leaned his hands on his knees for support. Lennie released his grip on the weapon.

“It was an accident. I swear!” Dan’s voice was shrill, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

Lennie helped Dan sit down. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was on my way home from work when I saw Franklin coming the other way. He signaled me to pull over. Asked why I was at work on a Saturday. When I told him I was picking up some files with irregularities, like the Trelaine file, he freaked out. Yelled something about refusing to be blackmailed anymore. Then he pulled a gun on me!

“I grabbed his wrist, but the gun went off. He fell over. I ran. I could hear rock music. I didn’t know where it came from. But I got back in my car. Left. Left him there.” He sobbed once. “When the morning news called it suicide, I kept quiet.”

“Yeah, right,” Lennie cut him off. A faint image of a gun in a gloved hand came to him.

“It was an accident, Lennie, I swear. My God, he tried to kill me. I couldn’t take the chance the police wouldn’t believe me. You can understand how I felt, can’t you?”

Lennie was angry. “You let his family think he committed suicide?”

“He’s never been close to any of them.” Dan frantically fingered his hair. “I needed to do something, so I placed a cross at the spot. Every day I stop to make sure the flowers are doing fine, watering them, replacing them.”

“Very touching.”

“No one knows that I do it. With those potholes, hardly anyone uses that road. I make sure the shrine’s never without a flower tribute, so I can’t even take holidays. My wife wants me to pay attention to the living. I think she’s going to leave me soon. But I have to do this.”

Lennie had brought his gun with him because he’d expected to meet a greedy, cold-blooded killer—not a sniveling, pathetic shard of a man slumped in an armchair.

Lennie heard the condo door open. He started at the sudden blare of that same Scorpions’ song. The music stopped abruptly when the door closed.

“Dan, I’m back!” a woman called from the entrance, then walked into the living room. “Wait until you see the dresses I—” she broke off as she saw Lennie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

She tilted her head, giving him an approving look and a seductive smile. Instead of being flattered, he felt like a caged animal.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Dan wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand, then went to greet her with a peck on the cheek. “Angela, this is Lennie, Franklin’s friend from college.”

Lennie didn’t miss that Angela never noticed her husband’s red eyes, strained smile or trembling voice.

When Lennie reached out to shake her hand, the air in his lungs thickened. He stayed calm. He felt Franklin’s presence in the room. This time, the information flowed freely.

This was the dark-haired woman in the loving embrace.

“You were there,” Lennie whispered. “You were having an affair with him. You were there.”

“You hired a private eye?” she screeched at Dan. “Our marriage is in trouble because of your problems. Don’t start inventing affairs!”

“Honey, no…I didn’t…this…he isn’t…”

“You were blackmailing him,” Lennie said to Angela. “You were partners at first. You gave Franklin your husband’s computer codes to access the clients’ investments and liberate a tiny amount of their profits—too small to be noticed. But when he started having second thoughts, you blackmailed him to keep going.”

“Are you going to let him talk to me like that?” she screamed at Dan.

“That last day,” Lennie continued, “after you’d made love, you guessed that Franklin was going to work to cover his tracks. Maybe you were worried he’d make sure you got all the blame. Or that he’d implicate your husband, which meant you’d lose this cushy lifestyle. Whatever the reason, you followed Franklin. Took advantage of the scene on the side of the road.”

Lennie turned to Dan. “You didn’t kill him. The bullet missed and went out the open passenger window. He was just stunned by the sound of the gunshot. When he fell over, his hand hit the car stereo. She kept her CDs in his car.”

He turned back to Angela. “He hated rock but put up with it for you. As he lay dazed and helpless on the seat, you came by and picked up the gun. You wore gloves, so no prints.”

Lennie watched her expression change from denial to amazement to fear and finally to anger. Then a disturbing coldness swept over her eyes.

“Quite a nice story you’ve cooked up.” She turned, dropped her shopping bags on the sofa and reached into her purse. “Too bad no one else will hear it!”

She turned holding a gun leveled at Lennie’s chest, only to come face to face with the gun in Lennie’s hand.

Her eyes opened wide and her lips parted as Lennie’s finger pulled the trigger.

Lennie’s heart pounded, threatening to rip open his chest. He watched as, in movie-style slow motion, she fell backward, her startled eyes staring at him. Blood and brain matter formed a halo around her head. Somewhere beyond the sound of blood rushing in his ears, he could hear Dan screaming her name.

She lay on the floor, her blood pooling on white marble. Lennie’s mouth opened in a silent cry. He hadn’t meant to fire. The adrenaline rush of seeing a gun in her hand had made his finger squeeze the trigger. He wanted to drop the gun before it went off again. He willed his fingers to open. They refused.

Lennie finally managed to shift his focus from the body to Dan. The man was huddled on the floor in the corner, rocking himself as he sobbed Angela’s name over and over again.

He wanted to go to Dan and make him understand—before the police arrived—that it had been an accident. He tried to move, but his feet felt leaden.

A tremor rippled through Lennie’s body as a thick rush of air moved through him. He suddenly realized that Franklin wasn’t after justice; he was intent on revenge. A voice echoed in Lennie’s head.

I had to endure Dan’s sniveling each and every day. Knowing that he took my clients. Made money that should have been mine. No one else stopped on that road. Until you, Lennie.

Lennie felt his hand start to rise. No, he screamed silently. He wouldn’t kill. Not again.

Why let that useless bastard live and enjoy a life that is rightfully mine?

Lennie grabbed at the gun with his free hand, but only managed to flail at it pathetically. The gun was aimed at Dan, who paled and pressed himself into the corner, trying to escape.

Lennie’s heart pounded as he braced for the inevitable deafening blast. Sweat trickled down his back as he helplessly watched his finger begin to squeeze the trigger.

He refused to take another life. “Stop!” he cried, but his hand ignored him. He gulped in mouthfuls of air and stopped the thickening in his lungs by a will born of panic. He heard the Scorpions’ song grow louder, but he forced himself to ignore it.

“No!” Lennie shouted at his hand. It lowered the gun.

No, he had lowered the gun. With a sharp sense of relief, he realized hew was finally strong enough to keep Franklin under control.

Dan stared at him with wide eyes and stood up.

Lennie said, “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid.” What must the poor man be thinking as he watched the ravings of a lunatic? Lennie gave him a comforting smile and added gently, “It’s all right, Dan. I’m in control now.”

Dan shook his head. Then, with halting, almost robotic steps, he approached Lennie with his hand extended. He spoke calmly. Too calmly, Lennie thought.

“Just give me the gun,” Dan said. “I know you didn’t want to shoot her. Give me the gun. It’ll be okay.”

Lennie nodded and handed over the weapon. He realized that Dan’s calm voice was just an act to get the gun safely away from him. Which was just fine with him.

Taking the gun, Dan studied it carefully. Then he draped an arm around Lennie’s shoulders. Pulled him close and stared into his eyes. When he smiled, Lennie felt a shiver run down his back.

“Lennie, it’ll be okay,” Dan said gently, wrapping his arm tighter around Lennie in a brotherly embrace. “I’ll tell the police it was self-defense.”

The faint music echoed in Lennie’s head from a distance, as though he were listening to it coming from another room. He looked closer into Dan’s eyes.

“Franklin?”