One of the tabloids managed to track down Lukas Jessen-Petersen, who refused to give an interview. He threatened the reporter, saying that if he so much as mentioned Viorel in his articles, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

The following day, the tabloid carried the headline: "Witch of Portobello's Ex Would Kill for Son."

That same afternoon, two more charges under the Children Act 1989 were brought before the courts, calling for the child to be taken into care.

There was no meeting after that. Groups of people--for and against--gathered outside the door, and uniformed officers were on hand to keep the peace, but Athena did not appear. The same thing happened the following week, only this time, there were fewer crowds and fewer police.

The third week, there was only the occasional bunch of flowers to be seen and someone handing out photos of Athena to passers-by.

The subject disappeared from the front pages of the London dailies. And when the Reverend Ian Buck announced his decision to withdraw all charges of defamation and calumny, "in the Christian spirit we should show to those who repent of their actions," no major paper was interested in publishing his statement, which turned up instead on the readers' pages of some local rag.

As far as I know, it never became national news but was restricted to the pages that dealt only with London news. I visited Brighton a month after the meetings ended, and when I tried to bring the subject up with my friends there, none of them had the faintest idea what I was talking about.

Ryan could have cleared up the whole business, and what his newspaper said would have been picked up by the rest of the media. To my surprise, though, he never published a line about Sherine Khalil.

In my view, the crime--given its nature--had nothing to do with what happened in Portobello. It was all just a macabre coincidence.

HERON RYAN, JOURNALIST

Athena asked me to turn on the tape recorder. She had brought another one with her, of a type I'd never seen before--very sophisticated and very small.

"First, I wish to state that I've been receiving death threats. Second, I want you to promise that, even if I die, you will wait five years before you allow anyone else to listen to this tape. In the future, people will be able to tell what is true and what is false. Say you agree; that way you will be entering a legally binding agreement."

"I agree, but I think--"

"Don't think anything. Should I be found dead, this will be my testament, on condition that it won't be published now."

I turned off the tape recorder.

"You have nothing to fear. I have friends in government, people who owe me favors, who need or will need me. We can--"

"Have I mentioned before that my boyfriend works for Scotland Yard?"

Not that again. If he really did exist, why wasn't he there when we needed him, when both Athena and Viorel could have been attacked by the mob?

Questions crowded into my mind: Was she trying to test me? What was going through that woman's mind? Was she unbalanced, fickle, one hour wanting to be by my side, the next talking about this nonexistent man?

"Turn on the tape recorder," she said.

I felt terrible. I was beginning to think that she'd been using me all along. I would like to have been able to say: "Go away. Get out of my life. Ever since I first met you, everything has been a hell. All I want is for you to come here, put your arms around me and kiss me, and say you want to stay with me forever, but that never happens."

"Is there anything wrong?"

She knew there was something wrong. Or, rather, she couldn't possibly not have known what I was feeling, because I had never concealed my love for her, even though I'd only spoken openly of it once. But I would cancel any appointment to see her; I was always there when she needed me; I was trying to build some kind of relationship with her son, in the belief that he would one day call me Dad. I never asked her to stop what she was doing; I accepted her way of life, her decisions; I suffered in silence when she suffered; I was glad when she triumphed; I was proud of her determination.

"Why did you turn off the tape recorder?"

I hovered for a second between heaven and hell, between rebellion and submission, between cold reason and destructive emotion. In the end, summoning up all my strength, I managed to control myself. I pressed the button.

"Let's continue."

"As I was saying, I've been receiving death threats. I've been getting anonymous phone calls. They insult me and say I'm a menace, that I'm trying to restore the reign of Satan, and that they can't allow this to happen."

"Have you spoken to the police?"

I deliberately omitted any reference to her boyfriend, showing that I'd never believed that story anyway.

"Yes, I have. They've recorded the calls. They come from public pay phones, but the police told me not to worry, that they're watching my house. They've arrested one person: he's mentally ill and believes he's the reincarnation of one of the apostles, and that 'this time, he must fight so that Christ is not driven out again.' He's in a psychiatric hospital now. The police explained that he's been in the hospital before for making similar threats to other people."

Tags: Paulo Coelho Fantasy
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