Free The Sister by Max China Page A

time."
    Czech, a good man who'd lost his way. She smiled. They didn't need her tonight.
    It didn't take long for her to achieve a mythical status among the down-and-outs in Brighton. Some swore she could perform miracles, or they'd say she could be in two places at once. They christened her, 'Our Lady of Brighton.'
     
     
    When the church heard the rumours of a miracle Lady, they sent emissaries to investigate. She knew they were coming, and stayed away from the streets at night. It didn't occur to them to look for her in a fortuneteller's kiosk in the Lanes of Brighton during the day. The following Easter Sunday, she resumed her services. Through her, tramps, wino's and the lost, lonely and disconsolate, found a God they could believe in.
    The little bell above the door tinkled, taking her out of her reverie. She looked out from the darkness where she sat, not seeing who it was, but she knew.
    "I've been expecting you."

     
     
    Chapter 15
     
    Brighton June 1975
     
    Ryan was not looking for an affair that morning, as he strolled along the seafront past the pier. A few seagulls squabbled on the ground over scraps on the promenade, their loud cries attracting new screeching arrivals from the sky above into the fray. As the size of the group grew, he wondered absently, how many gulls it took to qualify as a flock.
    He turned away from the front and headed towards the heart of the town. A shepherd and his flock … a congregation of people. The definitions took on a religious connotation, and he found himself wondering what had happened to Vera Flynn . . .
Inevitably, he arrived at the point in his recollections where she'd made the second of her predictions. The first was of course, uncanny, and left no doubt she was in possession of something extraordinary: the ability to foretell at least the near future. When she'd whispered the second prediction to him, it was far into an indeterminable future. The warmth of her breath was on his ear once more, and the tingle of pleasure her tongue had sent through him as she pushed it deep inside, sealing the memory there. As he thought through the coming about of, and later the consequence of her suggested future, he felt the stirring of an erection.
    Over the years, he still thought about her occasionally. How he would have loved the chance to study her.
    He reflected on the order of things, on the million and one thought processes discarded every hour of every day and deliberated on the sensory impressions filtered out as unimportant to survival. He also considered the unlikelihood of successfully predicting what would happen in the next minute. Oh, you might have a clue in the here and now as to which way events might turn, based on chance, probability and the ability to guess well, but to predict something an hour before, or the day before? The odds were beyond calculation. What mechanism could be involved in singling out from all other perceived information, a moment in time that did not yet exist? He sought answers from beyond the bounds of established convention, visiting mediums and their like.
    He'd yet to find a single one with any special ability, other than well polished-trickery.
    At first, he walked past the shop by a few paces. A distinct impression formed that he should go back. There's something different about this place . . . He stopped, retraced his footsteps, and then peering through the window; decided to go in. A tiny bell signalled his arrival.
    A soft female voice came from the gloomy interior. "I've been expecting you."
    What…? This was a new ploy. He squinted into the darkness.
    "Turn the sign around on the door, Dr Ryan, and lock it for me, will you?"
    He did as she asked without question; a sense of unreality pervaded as he turned the sign to Closed, and crouching, turned the key in the lock. He stood up and sensing someone right behind him, he spun around.
    She was there. He'd known it would be her. She lifted her face to him, her eyes a myriad of