The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [13]
"The Sophie Hills."
"Ah, so you are familiar with her."
Sophie Hills was the most celebrated, if not notorious, psychic-medium in England of the moment. The woman claimed to be attended by a vast congregation of disembodied spirits, all with direct links to the central switchboard of the hereafter, which time and again had coughed up on request verifiably accurate information about dead relatives, lost envelopes, missing engagement rings, mysterious medical ailments, and, in one sensational instance, a revelation about an unsolved decade-old crime in Heresfordshire that resulted in a confession of murder. Sophie occasionally demonstrated the peculiar talent of apport mediumship, the ability to manifest out of thin air three-dimensional objects as oddly diverse as African bird nests, ancient Roman coins, and exotic—still flopping—fish. Her puzzling faculties had been subjected to exhaustive tests by the scientific community and to date not a single reasonable doubt had been confirmed as to their authenticity. In one such instance, before credible witnesses, while strapped into a strait-jacket and wearing a gunnysack on her head, under the guidance of Miss Hills one of her spirit guides played ' 'Turkey in the Straw" on an accordion stashed across the room under a bushel basket.
Oh yes, Doyle was familiar with Sophie Hills. And more than passingly interested in a chance to have a whack at the old girl in action.
"I have proposed to Mrs. Saint-John," said Captain Hoffner, "that one night during our crossing we might impose upon Miss Hills to give a demonstration of her powers."
"And in so doing put to rest the tormented spirit that haunts the good ship Elbe," said Mrs. Saint-John. "After hearing that you were to sail with us, it was my suggestion that we solicit your participation, Mr. Conan Doyle. And if you were to find such a demonstration of sufficient scientific rigor, the strength of your reputation could go a long way towards persuading the general public of the goodness of Sophie's powers."
"Perhaps tomorrow night, then," said the Captain. "I would propose that we do this after dinner?"
"I should be delighted, Captain," said Doyle.
Now if there were only some way to keep Ira Pinkus from finding out about it. He could just see the headline waiting for him in New York: HOLMES CREATOR CHASES SHIPBOARD SPOOK.
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
Look at yourself, Jacob: What you are doing here? Can there be any doubt? No, truthfully, I don't believe so. At the ripe old age of sixty-eight, when most men of your profession have long ago achieved mastery of their mind and self, you have taken complete leave of your senses.
You old fool, the best part of your life was just beginning; remember how you sustained yourself through the striving and deprivation with the promise that after retirement you would devote yourself to scholarship? No domestic distractions or professional obligations, alone in your library, a lifetime's accumulated wisdom lining the walls, peace and quiet and months without end of metaphysical study and solitary contemplation. The logical, satisfying culmination of a life's work and such a joyous time this was going to be! And with it, within reach, the genuine possibility of enlightenment.
But instead of sitting at your desk surrounded by books, in your cozy basement office on Delancey Street, a cup of hot tea with lemon in your hands, here you stand on a railway platform in the pouring rain in downtown Chicago, Illinois, waiting to board a train for—where?—Colorado, God forbid, where you don't know a soul in the world. And when was the last time they saw a rabbi in Colorado, I'd like to know.
Because a dream told you to do it.
All right, not a dream, exactly; a vision, if you like, that's haunted your sleep for the last three months. A vision powerful and frightening enough to send you careening out of your rabbit hole into the wilderness like some mad biblical prophet. The kind of Old