Magician by Timothy C. Phillips Page A

his other he was . . . touching me. It seemed to go on forever. Finally, I managed to turn my head, and scream. I woke the whole house up. The neighbors too, I might add. He was over two hundred pounds, even then. If he had been one year older, though . . . ” She shook her head and shuddered again. “He’s a monster .”
    I started to say something, but she held up her hand.
    “When I think about it, it makes me ill. How many times was he out there, looking at me while I bathed? Or how many times before had he come into the room with me, while I slept . . . ? Naturally, I moved out immediately.”
    “Is that the last you saw of him, Anna?”
    “No. I saw him one more time, about two years ago. We were both at his father’s funeral. We didn’t speak.”
    “So, would you have any idea where Samson is currently staying?”
    “Heavens, no. Nor do I ever care to know.” She rose from her seat, and on her face was a look of inspiration.
    “Wait right here. I’ll bring you something.” She went into a back room. She moved like a much younger woman, I noticed. Presently, she emerged with a picture, which she was removing from the frame.
    She held it out to me, and for the first time, I saw the unpainted face of Samson Fain. A smiling, chunky young man of about twenty years beamed out at me. He wore thick glasses and had dark brown hair, in a bowl haircut.
    “He doesn’t wear glasses any more. He had corrective lens surgery. And he has lost his hair. He’s quite bald. His head is rather bullet shaped.”
    “To your knowledge, does he have any friends?”
    “Like I told you earlier, he’s never had any friends. He simply doesn’t know how to make them. He’d been sheltered all of his early life. That was partly his mother’s fault, I suppose. His father could never get him to show the proper interest in sports . . . or young women his age.”
    “Are there any more relatives? In another state, maybe?”
    “I’m afraid not, Roland. We’re a small clan, and exclusively Southern. No distant kin. Sorry to disappoint you.”
    “Well, that’s okay. I’m getting used to having my hopes dashed of ever finding this guy.”
    “I completely understand. I don’t know what he’s been doing with himself all these years, but it wouldn’t have surprised me one bit if he’d ended up in prison. No one was more shocked than me that he wasn’t arrested in the Champion affair.”
    “So do you think that he was responsible?”  
    Anna looked past me, and shrugged lightly. “I don’t know for certain. I have no reason to say that . . . no rational reason. They say he wasn’t there, but I’ve always suspected.”
    “Well, thank you for talking with me today, Anna.”
    “Please, call or come by if there is any way I can be of further assistance.”
    “I appreciate that. You’ve already helped plenty. It certainly was my pleasure to meet you.”
    For some reason, I stopped and turned back to her. There was a strange intensity on her face.
    “Do be careful, Roland Longville. I believe you just might find him.”
    For some reason, we found ourselves embracing. When we drew apart, she smiled at me.  
    “I’ll be careful,” I whispered, and turned and walked back out into cold rain.
    A small clan. A big boy. Standing over me. Touching me. With my gown completely off. In the beginning, he brought me flowers.
    I thought of the look on the woman’s face when she had called her own nephew a monster. There was no doubt in my mind, anymore. Samson Fain was my man.  
    But how am I going to prove it?
    Fain had been masterful in one thing at least. Besides a few disturbing recollections, he had left no leads for pursuers.  
    I looked down the empty street. So Samson Fain was gone, and he had taken his mysteries with him. And apparently, he had gone without a trace. I gazed out at the traffic piling up on the expressway.
    Somewhere out there, beyond the falling rain, Samson Fain was free, going about his business. He held