Magician by Timothy C. Phillips

sun going behind a cloud. Her voice became lower, her tone more serious. “To tell the truth, I never cared much for him. My sister knew it, too. We were always close, Eileen and I. Samson was never what I would call normal.”
    “Could you please elaborate on that, Ms. Ames?”
    “I was wrong to assume you read the police reports? And call me Anna.”
    “His records were sealed. Juvenile records usually are. And please, Anna, call me Roland.”
    “You are indeed an honest man, Roland. I know his court records were sealed. I remember that much. But even if you had found a way to see them, they wouldn’t have told the whole story. There are lots of things that never make it into police reports.” She flashed me another million-dollar smile. I returned one of my own, which looked like it was worth about thirty bucks, I figured.
    “Can you tell me what he was in trouble with the law for?”
    “No, his parents would never discuss it. In any case, by that time I could not have cared less.”
    “I take it that you suspected there was something strange about Samson, early on?”
    “I didn’t just suspect, Roland. I found out the hard way. You see, although I live here now—my parents left me this house—I used to live in Chicago, and Atlanta. For many years, I taught ballet.”
    Boy, Roland, you ought to be a detective .
    “I was married, once. It ended in divorce. Neither of us were meant for marriage. At any rate, after the divorce, Samson’s parents, Robert and Eileen, invited me to stay with them for a while. I had decided to pursue a master’s program, and some of the colleges in the area had made attractive offers.”
    She paused, and pressed her hand to the nape of her neck.
    “It was during this time that young Samson developed an . . . infatuation . . . with me.” She looked away. It was a full minute before she spoke again.
    “It wasn’t normal,” she said finally, in a distant voice. I gave her another minute. She collected herself and went on.
    “It started in a harmless enough way. I suppose that I might even have encouraged him, unintentionally, by saying nice things to him. But he was such a shy boy. I felt sorry for him. This was twenty years ago, and people were a bit different, but still he was a late bloomer. He was, I don’t know, fourteen, fifteen? By that age most boys are chasing girls. I thought I had done a good thing. It seemed so, at first. In the beginning, he brought me flowers.”
    “Guess he wouldn’t be the only kid who thought he was in love with his beautiful aunt.”
    Anna Ames blushed slightly, and shook her head.
    “Thank you. No, there was more to it. You see, one night, I found him peeking through my keyhole. I was . . . nude, you know. Brushing my hair after a bath, in front of the mirror. I heard a noise, and when I cracked the door, he was out there, in the hall.
    He was terribly embarrassed. I was shocked, outraged at first. But he was, after all, still just a boy. A big boy, but still so young . . . I mentioned it to Eileen, and Robert talked to him. I supposed that they would discuss matters with him; they were both such kind parents.”
    “So that was the end of it?”
    “I certainly thought so. I had believed that maybe he just needed to know the facts of life, so to speak. I thought he would never dream of doing anything like that again. But I was very, very wrong.” She leaned forward, but without looking me in the eye. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
    “You see, the next time, he was in the room with me. ”
    For perhaps the third time in one day, a man I’d never met made my skin crawl.
    “I awoke and he was standing over me. He was naked, and . . . you know. Excited. He had taken my gown completely off . I hadn’t felt a thing. He must have been very painstaking. It must have taken him an hour.” She shuddered visibly.
    “Samson, as I have said, was a large boy, and I am a small woman. He got on top of me. He put his hand over my mouth, and with