from a Chinese store with a mind to look mysterious and ‘psychic’, but for some reason this helped Maribel relax, took the edge off her apprehension so that she stepped inside.
“Now, my services cost $225 for the first consultation, and the price is negotiated thereafter,” said Ms. Silestra. “Each session usually lasts about half an hour, but there is no guarantee of that duration, nor is it unheard of for one to last much longer. I never know quite what to expect. I accept all major credit cards, but don’t like checks. Okay?”
Maribel lowered herself into the seat opposite her, and set her purse on the table. “That’s fine,” she said.
“Good. All right.” Ms. Silestra leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the table edge, brows raising as she gazed frankly at Maribel. “Now, please, tell me your name, and how I can help.”
“My name is Maribel Martel,” she said, and it was as if the voice were coming from another throat. She felt pinned by Ms. Silestra’s eyes which gleamed dark and hard like buttons. “My baby was stolen from me by a thing that appeared in the air and disappeared in the same way. Everybody says I’m crazy, but I’m not.”
Ms. Silestra held her gaze, and then shook her head. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she finally said. “I’ve never had a child, so I can’t imagine how much it must hurt.”
“I didn’t come here for your pity,” said Maribel. “If you can tell me something that can help, say it. Otherwise I’m going to leave.”
The psychic didn’t seem to take offense. “Of course. I’ll see if I can help. Give me your hands, please.”
Maribel reached across the table cloth, encircling the large plate, and Ms. Silestra took her hands once more and then closed her eyes. She took a sudden breath, held it, and then exhaled slowly, slumping down in her seat. Sat still, with no air in her lungs, and then took another sudden breath, rising up with it, released it quickly, and then sat still again. Maribel watched her dispassionately, curious about what theatrics might now ensue. But Ms. Silestra simply sat there. There were no knocks, no thuds. No calling out to the spirits, no dimming of the lights. There was in fact a disconcerting lack of atmosphere altogether. Only a look of fierce concentration on the psychic’s face.
Several minutes went by. Ms. Silestra suddenly frowned, as if she had heard a piercing and unpleasant sound. Her frown remained, eased away, and then came back, her brow growing furrowed, her mouth hard, pinched. Her grip on Maribel’s hands grew tighter.
Maribel opened her mouth to ask something, but then closed it. Slowly Ms. Silestra forced her eyes open, but where before she had met Maribel’s eyes, now she stared down at the plate of water, and what she saw seemed to scare her, repulse her, for her face became a mask of fear and disgust.
“Ms. Silestra?” asked Maribel. This was part of a rehearsed act. This was how she gulled her customers , part of her stammered. “Ms. Silestra?”
“I can hear you,” said the psychic. “I can hear you, Maribel, but I can’t see you. Hold my hands. If you let go, I’ll lose my way.”
“What… what do you see?” asked Maribel. Her hands were beginning to ache where Ms. Silestra was holding them with the strength of a vise.
“Darkness. A tunnel, perhaps. There are pipes. They’re going by—no, I’m moving past them. Like I’m running, or floating quickly through the tunnel. It’s very dark. I can only make out some details. It feels heavy, deep. Underground, perhaps.”
Sweat was beginning to bead on the psychic’s upper lip, across her forehead. Her face had grown pale. “This place—it’s under the city. Or, no, a place under the city leads here. A land of death. And. Something is down here. No—there are many things down here, but one thing, one thing. That I am being drawn to. It’s pulling me in.”
Maribel tore her eyes away from Ms. Silestra’s blank
“Now, my services cost $225 for the first consultation, and the price is negotiated thereafter,” said Ms. Silestra. “Each session usually lasts about half an hour, but there is no guarantee of that duration, nor is it unheard of for one to last much longer. I never know quite what to expect. I accept all major credit cards, but don’t like checks. Okay?”
Maribel lowered herself into the seat opposite her, and set her purse on the table. “That’s fine,” she said.
“Good. All right.” Ms. Silestra leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the table edge, brows raising as she gazed frankly at Maribel. “Now, please, tell me your name, and how I can help.”
“My name is Maribel Martel,” she said, and it was as if the voice were coming from another throat. She felt pinned by Ms. Silestra’s eyes which gleamed dark and hard like buttons. “My baby was stolen from me by a thing that appeared in the air and disappeared in the same way. Everybody says I’m crazy, but I’m not.”
Ms. Silestra held her gaze, and then shook her head. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she finally said. “I’ve never had a child, so I can’t imagine how much it must hurt.”
“I didn’t come here for your pity,” said Maribel. “If you can tell me something that can help, say it. Otherwise I’m going to leave.”
The psychic didn’t seem to take offense. “Of course. I’ll see if I can help. Give me your hands, please.”
Maribel reached across the table cloth, encircling the large plate, and Ms. Silestra took her hands once more and then closed her eyes. She took a sudden breath, held it, and then exhaled slowly, slumping down in her seat. Sat still, with no air in her lungs, and then took another sudden breath, rising up with it, released it quickly, and then sat still again. Maribel watched her dispassionately, curious about what theatrics might now ensue. But Ms. Silestra simply sat there. There were no knocks, no thuds. No calling out to the spirits, no dimming of the lights. There was in fact a disconcerting lack of atmosphere altogether. Only a look of fierce concentration on the psychic’s face.
Several minutes went by. Ms. Silestra suddenly frowned, as if she had heard a piercing and unpleasant sound. Her frown remained, eased away, and then came back, her brow growing furrowed, her mouth hard, pinched. Her grip on Maribel’s hands grew tighter.
Maribel opened her mouth to ask something, but then closed it. Slowly Ms. Silestra forced her eyes open, but where before she had met Maribel’s eyes, now she stared down at the plate of water, and what she saw seemed to scare her, repulse her, for her face became a mask of fear and disgust.
“Ms. Silestra?” asked Maribel. This was part of a rehearsed act. This was how she gulled her customers , part of her stammered. “Ms. Silestra?”
“I can hear you,” said the psychic. “I can hear you, Maribel, but I can’t see you. Hold my hands. If you let go, I’ll lose my way.”
“What… what do you see?” asked Maribel. Her hands were beginning to ache where Ms. Silestra was holding them with the strength of a vise.
“Darkness. A tunnel, perhaps. There are pipes. They’re going by—no, I’m moving past them. Like I’m running, or floating quickly through the tunnel. It’s very dark. I can only make out some details. It feels heavy, deep. Underground, perhaps.”
Sweat was beginning to bead on the psychic’s upper lip, across her forehead. Her face had grown pale. “This place—it’s under the city. Or, no, a place under the city leads here. A land of death. And. Something is down here. No—there are many things down here, but one thing, one thing. That I am being drawn to. It’s pulling me in.”
Maribel tore her eyes away from Ms. Silestra’s blank