Incandescence

21: Violet Eyes

"Back again, Thomas? Can't an old man rest in peace for a change without you hammering down the door every ten minutes?"

           Daniel's jaw tightens and his hands ball into fists by his side. I push aside the flimsy hospital curtain to get a better look in at the room. Nothing much has changed since Tuesday, only now Samuel looks even worse. His skin is yellow – no trick of the light – and he's lost weight, so much so that his collarbone stands out like the only lit candle in a room.

           Daniel takes a deep breath and relaxes somewhat, then says, "It's Daniel, Pa, not Thomas."

           Samuel lets out a hoarse chuckle. "Don't think you've got me fooled, boy. I may well be old but I ain't lost all my marbles yet. C'mere son, lemme see what ya did to your hair. Was it not blonde the last time you came by?"

           "That's Thomas. But I'm Daniel, remember?"

           "No you're not," Samuel rasps, coughing into his hands.

           I'm beginning to wish I'd listened to Daniel when he said this would be a waste of time, and not been so stubborn. Because the dying man before us is withered and feverish and clearly in no fit state to be answering questions about a dead parapsychologist.

           "I don't know that much about him," Daniel admitted when I asked about Elias Black. "He was some scientist that specialised in studying mental phenomena. Uncle Sam knew him but I never asked; didn't really care, to be honest. He wrote the book a coupla years before he died. Apparently he'd wanted to 'enlighten' the world with facts of the paranormal." At this he scoffed, which I supposed was understandable. After all, twenty years later and the human population's still none the wiser.

           "Have you ever read the book?" I asked.

           "Sure. It's crazy as hell. The guy was a complete madman – he wrote about every type of Seer he ever came across and tried to note what they could do. Oh, and then there's the part where he lists symptoms."

           "Symptoms?"

           "Yeah." His face darkened with blatant contempt. "'Cause, according to the wacko Black and his book, we're all suffering from some incurable disease that might even pass to our kids. You might wanna step back, April: I could be catching."

           And that's when I decided I'd be better off asking Samuel about the book. It's clear that all I'll ever get from Daniel is a biased rant-a-thon, like a Harry Potter fan ripping into Twilight.

           "I hope you don't mind, Pa. I brought someone here to see you," Daniel says after finally having managed to convince Samuel of his identity. I take this as my cue and step out of the shadows, bearing a smile I sure hope passes as friendly.

           Samuel cocks a grey eyebrow, and I wonder if he recognises me from Tuesday. But all too soon he's asking, "Who's this, son? A new girl? What happened to the last one? She get too clingy for ya?" and I have my answer.

           "This is April. She wanted to ask you a few things –"

           "What is she, a damn cop?"

           "–about Elias Black," Daniel finishes. The atmosphere in the room switches the moment the words are out, as though the mere mention of his name has filled the dying man with dread.

           "Well, what does she wanna know?" I realise two sets of eyes have turned my way. Clearing my throat, I speak up for myself.

           "I'm sorry to just barge in like this," I say, looking at the red clock rather than meeting his curious gaze. "But is it, err, true you have a copy of his book?"