A report by Agent Ellen Eisenstein

Multiple organisations including the FBI, NSA and CIA have tried and failed to solve the enigma that is Derren Brown.  Who is he? What’s driving him? And most asked of all, how is he capable of the seemingly impossible?

Some people believe that Brown is a Witch of the 15th Century, because of his apparent ability to curse people. But this is too far-fetched to investigate as that would make him five hundred years old.  Others say he is a Visitor from another planet.  This might explain his advanced intelligence and memory, not to mention his ability to predict people’s medical history.

But how can we explain his knowing things he shouldn’t possibly? What hospital your baby was born in.  Your first kiss.  Even your dreams.  This information supports the most likely theory that Brown has psychic powers, something which has made it enormously hard for us.  Our data is classified, and we have had to use the height of technology to hide it from Brown. But in spite of our efforts, even the best has proven unsuccessful as the electricity in his brain is sufficient enough to infiltrate our systems.

He knows all our passwords, has all our codes, and is no doubt reading every word of this report even as I type it.

He surely knows we’re onto him, so why does he do nothing about it?  It is one question of many that we don’t have answers to yet.

Brown has never confronted us on the matter of our pursuing him, neither welcomed us nor rejected.

Not that this does anything to reassure us.

Whether he enjoys being mysterious or dramatic Brown is a very powerful individual.

Some people believe him to be in league with The Devil, a man of pure evil second only to the Prince of Darkness himself. These people fear the man and some are paranoid.  I think this is needless fear bordering the ridiculous, personally.

I do not believe in paranormal entities and nor am I about to start.  Brown is merely trying to scare us for power reasons.

I am a rationalist and a sceptic.  I like to keep my feet on the ground but am wise enough to exercise caution.  If it is one thing I have come to learn about Derren Brown it is this:

Never underestimate him. This is something which previous agents have done and been carried away to psychiatric hospitals, gibbering that Brown knows their pin-numbers.

There have been various ‘Derren Sightings’ uncovered over the years by myself and some of our top agents. Do not be alarmed if some are close to your home, he never stays in one place for long.  Most of these photos, I’m sorry to say, are of poor quality because his brainwaves interfere with our cameras.  You get the idea now of just how difficult it is to keep up with him.  We’ve been doing our best to get as physically close to Brown without him knowing … Or rather, him knowing as little as possible … That is, he knows everything, as well as exactly what we had for breakfast that morning and what time we finished swallowing it.

The day arrived when my boss phoned me to say that written data was no longer sufficient evidence. His orders were that I speak to Brown in person.  I rose to the challenge and went alone lest Brown tried to defend himself in ways only he knew how.

I went cleverly disguised as just another fan, ordinary looking, and carrying a programme from tonight’s show.

In the eye of the public, Derren called himself a ‘psychological illusionist.’  Magic is the perfect guise for him.  It covers all areas of unexplainable activity.  If people don’t know how something is done they simply say “It must be magic!”

I confess I have some expertise on the subject of magic.  I have studied its various styles, modern and old, as well as its grisly history.  Magic has gone in and out of fashion over the years and, looking at Brown amidst the teenage girls, his was clearly the latest trend.  Brown is the new black magic.

Maybe the parrots are accessories? I thought cynically.

Finally my turn came to be introduced for I had carefully positioned myself last in line.

“Hello, Mr. Brown.”

As he warmly shook my hand I privately hoped it not to be our only friendly exchange. It would be serious if things got ugly with a man this powerful.

“Hi there.”  He was all charm and smiles.

“You’re shorter than I thought you’d be.” I told him, crushingly.

“Yet I made you think I was tall.” he replied.  Oh very quick!

I was surprised by how unfazed he was but wasn’t about to let him know-

“Don’t be surprised.” he told me, suddenly.

Bugger.

“Most people think I look taller until I come closer.  Taller would suit me better though as it would hide the thinning hair.”

“But you do have a nice goatee.” I said, echoing his speedy answer.

“Thank you.”

I chose that moment, right then and there, to be open about who he was dealing with.

“Alright then, mister-”

“Please, call me ‘Derren’.”

“-Enough of the sweet talk.”

I dropped my voice. “I know that you’re more than you pretend to be. It’s obvious if you pay attention!  Yet in spite of the evidence millions of people are convinced you’re a mere magician.”

His next reply was swift as a House Martin.

“Millions of people also believe in God. Another serious error that’s been made for 2,000 years.”

His smile could have belonged to a Vampire of several thousand years.

“I find believing in unearthly entities incredibly misleading, not to mention dangerous.”

He looked me in the eye. “Something you know well about being a sceptic in that so-called ‘top-secret’ organisation of yours.”

My pulse quickened unpleasantly; I struggled to keep my face unreadable.

“Alright,” I kept my voice calm. “So you know who I work for.”

“I know every morning you pass the church on your way to work and wonder how can something primitive as religion survive the ages, and every morning it maddens you that people are prepared to kill for Gods, or a ‘gut reaction’. Your words, not mine.”

His look of pure innocence would have convinced an admirer but I was made of sterner stuff.

I was losing control of the conversation so I changed the subject.

“Do you have a motto, Mr. Brown?”

“‘Derren.’ What kind of motto would you like me to have?” he asked, sweetly.

I raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down.

“‘Expect the unexpected’?” I suggested, dryly.

He raised both eyebrows and tilted his head from side to side.

“I’d change ‘expect’ to ‘predict’: ‘Predict the unpredictable’.  How about ‘Don’t expect the unexpected, just predict everyone and make a packet of cash’?”

 “Money isn’t what you want though is it?” I said, shrewdly. “You joke about it, pretending that you do, but it’s a lie … Just like you.”

“So let’s be honest.”

His face darkened and he took a step closer.  I didn’t move - I don’t do intimidated - But we were squaring up to each other now.

“The reason you asked me if I have a motto is so you can try to predict my own actions (Note my use of the word ‘try’). I’m sorry to disappoint you, Agent Eisenstein-”

“No you’re not.” I muttered, my face colouring as he knew my name.

“You’re right. I’m not sorry, I’m Derren Brown; and you’re Ellen - May I call you ‘Ellen’?”

I suppressed a splutter.  He gave me a curt nod.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’ve been doing a little investigation of my own.”

He proceeded to lay bare all the top-secret information I’d gathered on him.  He didn’t leave out a single detail, and the accuracy of his knowledge was astonishing.

I stood there, thunderstruck, and in spite of myself I was very impressed.  Then I was embarrassed and angry.

“Damn it, Brown!” I fumed. “Have you any idea how long it took me to find that evidence?”

He treated me to that devilish smile of his. 

“Yes!” he replied, happily.

He really can be quite infuriating.

Agent Eisenstein’s Personal Log:

MONDAY

Needless to say I was in a fowl mood as I arrived at HQ next morning. I even snapped at Callow, the new guy, who’d become my working partner.

‘Callow’.  That meant ‘gullible’.  Poor sod!

It was the last name you needed in the paranormal business.

Christopher Callow was a skinny man in his mid-twenties. He had dark hair and always appeared ruffled, as though he’d dressed in a rush.

I was the only one kind enough to take him seriously.

My boss had told me Christopher needed a mind like mine to be around. Callow always had his head in the clouds and I always kept my feet on the ground.

We were an unlikely paring.  Not exactly Mulder and Scully but he cheered me up when times were low.

The investigation of Derren Brown was our present focus at the organisation, as he had been for the past four years.

He was our top mystery we had never solved.

There was no denying that Brown was extraordinary but it never ceased to amaze me how quickly some people thought him to be of out of this world. Just this morning I had caught Callow sticking his ‘THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE’ poster on our cubical wall and it was this which made me shout at him.

“Sorry, Eisenstein.” Callow mumbled, turning pink.

I suddenly felt guilty.

“No, I’m sorry Callow.” I sighed, slipping into the cubical with him.  “It’s just Brown. He’s being … well, Brown.”

“I can see how that would be a problem in this business.”

Callow grinned at me but I didn’t return it.

I dropped into my swivel chair and leant back, slowly revolving myself with my feet.

“He’s spinning us webs faster than we can cut them.” I mused.

“Who?  Spider-Man?”

“No, Derren Brown.”

“Wow!  And all this time I thought it was Peter Parker!”

“And as if that isn’t enough to be getting on with, he can predict us days in advance.  Weeks even!  I’m sure of it.”

“Cool!”

I stopped revolving so that I could face my colleague.

Callow was often like this, but he grew on you like a flower grows out of a wall: In theory impossible but in practice lovely.

I snapped open my briefcase and removed some papers.

“I got these from the in-tray, fresh from the boss this morning.”

I fanned them in my hands like a terrible poker-player for Callow to see.

“He’s got a new lead for us on tracking Brown.” I explained.

My partner didn’t greet this news with the usual enthusiasm.

“Why am I sceptical that’ll work?” he muttered, sarcastically. “Hey, I sound like you.” he chuckled.

I was sceptical too and not just because it was my job.

It was extremely hard to follow Derren Brown.  Our spies kept waking up in dark alleyways with no memory of how they’d got there, and the sniffer dogs ran, yelping, in the opposite direction, tails between their legs.

“’Can’t disagree with you partner.” I confessed. “We’ve been searching for ages and it’s getting us nowhere … It’s as if … Oh, I don’t want to get distracted!” I muttered, irritably.

As if I needed to hand Brown another piece of knowledge!

I gestured round the cubical at the smattering of evidence sheets.

“I don’t like these blurry ‘sightings’ shots any more than The Press does.”

“And they wouldn’t recognise truth if it stared them in the eyes!” Callow nodded, loyally.

“We have only one option left: To question the man himself.”

My partner spluttered, aghast, but I was serious.

“W-what! Question Derren Brown?!”

I gave a single, slow nod, just like Obi-Wan Kenobi after he offered Han Solo £17,000 for the Millennium Falcon.

“’Last time Agent Jake tried questioning Derren Brown he lost his memory-” Callow said, frantically.

“I know.”

“-and his wallet-”

“Yes.”

“-and his watch.”

“And he spent the rest of the week thinking he was a parrot. I am familiar with the details, Callow. I’ve felt the dark side in Derren Brown.” I added in a low voice.

“So is his neighbour’s cat, rumour is he ate it.”

“That was disastrous.” I admitted, “But to be fair on Brown, Agent Jake asked him a very … wrong question.”

“About him disliking cats because they eat birds?”

“No.  Jake asked Brown if he was ‘Satan’s Little Helper’.”

“Ouch.”

“That sort of accusation pleases no-one.”

“You’ve got to hand it to him though, haven’t you?” Callow asked, his voice suddenly filled with admiration.  “He’s had us going for years now, Derren Brown.  The ultimate question:  What is he?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.  Here we go again.

”The Devil? An alien? A psychic Witch from 1745?” Callow asked, excitedly.  “Who knows?”

I do, I thought.  He’s a liar, that’s what he is.

But then I hesitated, considering this more carefully for the umpteenth time. 

Beside us, my computer monitor flickered. I frowned at it for a moment then faced it away: You never know who else may be watching. One very reason I had become one of HQ’s most respected agents was because I never dropped my guard.

Some people call me paranoid, except that I wasn’t paranoid because I knew Derren Brown was always watching me!

 

 

Agent Eisenstein’s Personal Log:

 

FRIDAY (Several Weeks Later)

Just as I had suspected, all the ‘top-notch’ leads that the boss had given us led myself and Callow to dead-ends. I had followed them against my better judgement but was still disappointed all the same.  Brown had obviously got scent that we were on his trail and easily evaded us.

The procedure had cost us dear in money as well as energy.  Coffee was downed, tempers were high, and we were no closer to unravelling our knotty mystery.

“Not even Houdini could untangle this one.” Callow had said in response to groans.  I hadn’t groaned as I thought the comment appropriate.

Deciding to treat myself to a break I left HQ building for some relaxation.  I had to get away from the damn computer screens; they had been flickering again which was bad for thinking.

My feet carried me into the nearest cafe for a cup of tea.

To my surprise it was completely empty except the staff who were drifting quietly in the background.

Soon I was sat at my table, tea steaming, with my head in my hand. I stared unfocused at the table-top, mind running on auto-pilot-

“Any luck finding me?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Derren Brown was seated opposite, eyes on mine, as though I’d invited him along. His approach had been perfectly silent.  Unbelievable!

He was wearing a long, black, sweeping coat that made him look once again like a Vampire and the toothy smile wasn’t helping.

His hands were locked neatly on the table-top between us, both of which were encased in black leather gloves.

“Jesus Christ!” I hissed.

“No, sorry, you’ve mistook me for someone else, either that or you’ve seen my TV special Messiah and been greatly misled, not unlike yourself and the other agents.”

He pretended to cough but was really trying to hide a smirk.

Brown removed his gloves by pinching the tips of the fingers and pulling, then tucking them into his coat pocket.

Then he raised his hand with a snapping motion that made me jump.

“Do excuse me.” he exclaimed. “It’s rude of me to wear my wings indoors.”

He swept off his bat-like coat and draped it over the back of his chair.  I could see now that he had been wearing a baby-blue shirt under all that black.  Surprising.

I had indeed seen his TV Special ‘Messiah’.  What a hypocrite he’d been!

“‘Messiah’!” I repeated sourly. “You had a nerve, lying to all those people that you were something you’re not!”

“‘He’s not the Messiah he’s a very naughty boy!’” Brown squawked in an uncanny impression of Terry Gilliam from Monty Python’s ‘The Life of Brian’.

The joke had caught me unawares.  I loved Monty Python.  Now it was my turn to smother a smile.

“Feel free to smile if you feel like it.” Derren said, happily. “Free choice is a luxury.  Don’t take it for granted.”

At the mention of taking things I was instantly on the defensive.  I subtly felt my watch and jewellery, my mobile in my coat pocket, and my handbag with my feet.

Good Lord! He hadn’t stolen anything.

That was an excellent sign.  It meant that he wanted to talk.

Derren pretended not to notice this as he casually produced his own cup of coffee out of nowhere.

“Stop fidgeting please.” he told me as I tightened my watch-strap. “I’m not here to steal anything from you … I’ve already won money on the dog tracks … on the dog which came last.”

He smirked at me with his eyes as he took a delicate sip.

I couldn’t stand the smugness anymore.

“Why are you here then?” I asked, louder than I meant to.

“Because you wanted to talk to me.” he replied, his tone reasonable.

I gave a little impatient cough.  “We’ve been tracking you for-”

“Nearly a month.  I know.”

“Don’t interrupt!  Why wait all this time and come to me now?”

He slowly lowered the cup to the table.

“Because I have something for you I wanted no-one else to see.” he said, softly.

I hadn’t been expecting that.  ‘Expect the unexpectable’.

A little shoot of nerves blossomed in my stomach but I kept my excitement hidden (Yeah, like an elephant behind a window!) as Brown opened his jacket and reached into the dark recesses of an inside pocket.  I looked away as the beautiful purple-blue lining shimmered at me, like it too could hypnotise me.

The illusionist moved aside our cups before smartly placing something rectangular on the table-top between us.

It was a black-and-white picture of a young boy smiling at me.

“A photograph?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“One of my childhood memories.” Derren said, softly. He was gently rubbing his hands together but his eyes were dropped and his expression was unreadable.

“Why are you giving me this, Derren?” I asked solemnly.

He leaned towards me and I watched as the brown eyes came closer. Unblinking and unmoving I gazed back into them. There was a pause so intense the steam from our cups stopped in mid-curl.

“I trust that you’ll keep it private.” he murmured.  His tone was that of a best friend who’d just shared something special.

Without another word he gave me a curt nod. In one fluid movement he stood and gracefully swept his coat over his shoulders.

I blinked a few times and gave myself a little shake.

It was that moment that I realised he hadn’t answered my question but he had already reached the door when I looked round.

“Derren!”

I grabbed my things and lunged after him – Far too late Eisenstein, he’s already in your blind-spot –

I flung open the café door and looked about wildly.

There was the inevitable lack of Derren Brown in the street.

He had vanished.  Of course he had.

“God Almighty, you’re a teleporter now?!” I shouted into the sky.

Right on cue a passing vicar gave me a stern look.

“Well He is everywhere you know!” he rebuked me, crossly.

I immediately thought a string of very unholy words and stomped back to HQ.

 

THAT EVENING

My thoughts went round and round in my head as I made myself dinner, picking absent-mindedly from a bowl of grated cheese.  I paced my flat in a circular a pattern but no matter where I went my feet always led me back to my desk.

Derren’s photo was placed on top of it.

It was definitely him.  So, he’d been a child once.  That ruled out the theories of him being a Demon at least … Unless it was a fake … No, no, it was genuine.  I’d had all sorts of tests done on it to find that out.  All Tip-Top Secret, meaning only Derren and I knew about it (and maybe his parents but they didn’t count).

I didn’t want HQ knowing I had this picture. They’d probably say I was getting too close to Brown.

I picked the photo up now and looked at it closely.

The boy’s mile had a trace of his older self’s cheekiness but seeing him at so young an age, it … changed things.

It was hard to think badly of him after he’d trusted me with something this personal.

But why had he?  For goodness sake, why?

The answer felt so much closer than my mind was letting me know … if that made sense.

 

 

NEXT AFTERNOON

 

What a peculiar turn of events!  Weeks of nothing and then suddenly Brown comes to me as if at an invitation.

Feeling the need of a second opinion I confided in Callow that Derren had approached me.

I swore him to secrecy even from the boss - I have no idea why - and was probably breaking regulations doing so, but it was important to keep Brown’s secret.  It would save a lot of panic on behalf of the others as there’d be hours of pain-staking tests run on me, done to check I’m clean of possession or curses, or a sudden interest in taxidermy.

Needless to say Callow was spellbound by my short story.

“Blimey!  He just appeared right there right in front you?”

“Yes.”

“Like magic?”

He grinned at me like an over-grown school boy and it was all I could do right then to grin back.  I dropped my gaze and when I looked up again Callow appeared tense and thoughtful.

That reflected my true mood accurately.

“But why did he go to you at all?” Callow asked. “Surely he’d try to get away as far as possible?”

I shrugged and didn’t answer for the same question was on my own mind.  I felt privately relieved Callow hadn’t questioned why Brown had targeted me in particular.  That would be really awkward.

I had carefully left out the part about the photograph.  I felt a little guilty for doing so as I had deliberately excluded a friend from this important bit of information.

I didn’t know why Derren wanted his photo kept secret but, by keeping it, I guessed that I could gain his trust.

On the flip side of the coin there was a jealous side to me that wanted to keep the secret all for own. I was ashamed to admit this to myself and should have confronted it as the potentially dangerous error it could become.  It might even put the future of my career at risk but I ignored it for selfish reasons.

Then I gave myself a shake because Callow was talking to me.

“Was there anything else?  Did he say or do anything unusual?”

I sighed and gave a miserable-sounding grunt. That way I wasn’t giving my friend a direct lie.

Fortunately Callow interpreted this as a ‘No’.

Realising he wasn’t going to get an up-to-the-minute update on his idol Callow idly began folding a paper fortune-teller.

I watched him make it. Fortune-telling. Mind-reading. Both were connected by the same link: Something out of the ordinary.

I looked at our research on the cubicle walls, the files, newspaper cuttings, sightings shots, the print-outs from security-protected websites, feeling defeated.

“You’re not a bad agent just ‘cause you don’t know how Brown does his stuff.” Callow reassured me. “Take your mind off it.”

“But it’s not just ‘How’ it’s ‘Why’.” I told him, doggedly.

Callow looked up from drawing a little ‘3’.  “Why what?” he asked.

“Why is he doing this?” I gestured at our surroundings and at the flickering computer screens.

“Why is he making us believe he’s something impossible?  Whoever heard of a Psychic Alien Vampire with magic powers?”

“Awesome!” Callow exclaimed (He promised himself to write a book later about a magical psychic Alien Vampire for 9-to-12-year-olds … After he’d finished the comic book series of course).

“Why is Brown doing this?” I repeated more to myself now and promptly picked up my mobile.  “I’m gonna ask the boss. ‘See what his theories are - Oh for God’s sake!”

I jabbed the buttons irritably. “My mobile’s playing up again!  Nothing’s working at the moment!”

I slapped the phone down and put my face in my hands.

“Maybe this’ll cheer you up.”

Callow offered me the fortune-teller. “Eisenstein, pick a number!”

“Not now.” I replied, wearily.

“Oh come on, Eisenstein!  Indulge me.  You know you want to.”

I dropped my hands, sighed, and stared down at the little paper device.

It was enticing once you looked at it.  Like an open box of chocolates or a bowl of grated cheese … They were so tangible …

Slowly my eyes widened as an idea formed in my brain … My gaze darted from the fortune-teller in Callow’s hands to the pictures on the walls.  Brown’s eyes appeared to widen slightly in the pictures.

“I’ve got an idea!” I exclaimed.

“Are you sure Derren didn’t just put it in your head?” Callow asked in mock caution.

I gave him a dark look.  It said: ‘Exactly my point.’

I grabbed the cubical phone and dialled the boss.  I’d just have to put up with the static and the rapid, indecipherable whispering.  Interference, we all assumed.

“Sir-”

“We’ve got him.” The boss said before I could speak.

It took me a couple seconds before I realised what he’d just said-

I leapt to my feet.

“You’ve got Derren?!” I exclaimed.  Everyone’s heads turned to me at once and everyone stopped where they were. Tea spilt from half-tipped cups, pens tinkled to the floor, uncollected.  The ringing of phones echoed in the far distance, unanswered.

I cleared my throat.

“I’m sorry sir.” I said, more quietly. “You’ve caught Brown?”

“Not caught him, Eisenstein (Not yet anyway).  But we’ve targeted his prime location: His flat in Croydon, London – I hope you’re getting this down.”

I snatched Callow’s pen from his hand (He had been drawing a fake goatee onto his chin).

“Yes, sir.” I replied, scribbling on a scrap of paper.

“Good.  We’ll be sending you and Agent Callow in at 10:30pm tonight and, Eisenstein?”

“Yes, sir?”

There was a loaded silence on the line; I waited with baited breath.

“You’ll be taking weapons.”

My jaw dropped and the blood drained from my face.’

“What?” I whispered.

“Is there a problem, Eisenstein?”

“I-it’s just that we’ve never resorted to such extremities.”

“We can’t get to the truth any other way!” The boss barked. “Brown has cost us thousands over the years and we can’t afford to chase him anymore!  We certainly can’t afford to buy the newest technology only to have Brown play with it like his personal PC!  If he doesn’t let near him then we’ll force him to come to us!”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him about Derren meeting me: Anything to defend him. Then I thought of the childhood photograph and the words sprang off the tip of my tongue, dove down my throat, and took refuge in my heart.

“But surely not … guns, sir?” I gulped, trying to be calm (Note my use of the word ‘trying’).

A paper fortune-teller rolled near my feet.

The voice in my ear had a tone that scared me far more than the previous bark; it was tinged with a concern I’d never heard before.

“It’s for your own safety, Ellen, not his.”

First-name terms.  Not a good sign coming from my boss.

My mouth had gone dry.

“Understood.” was all I could manage.

I slowly put the receiver down and felt my heart sink with it.

I had felt Callow’s watchful stare on the side of my head throughout the entire conversation but had avoided meeting it ‘til now.

His face was a picture of worry at the look on my own, and he asked the question I was dreading answering.

“What did he say?”

From the way all the other agents’ eyes were still on me I could tell that they wanted to know the same.  The temptation to hide from them in our cubical was overwhelming, but there’d be uproar if I tried to keep this between Callow and me.

I addressed them all in a clear, carrying voice.

“The boss has located Brown’s flat and our mystery man is definitely inside. Agent Callow and I have been given orders to break in at 10:30pm tonight.”

There was instant buzzing as the whole room discussed this, and I shot down out of sight and into the safety of my swivel-chair.

“10:30pm?” Callow whimpered.  “It’ll be all dark!”

I grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Forget that! The boss wants us armed!”

“And loaded?” Callow asked, anxiously.

I nodded mutely and found myself trembling.  Not many people wanted to shoot Brown but I hated to think what happened to those who tried.  Not that I believed he did horrible things to people because he was innocent and I wanted him safe …

I slowly released my partner’s shoulders as I realised something for the first time: I wanted to protect Brown … and now I felt even worse for what we were going to do at 10:30 tonight.

I wasn’t the only one feeling afraid.

Callow looked like he’d just been told he had to retake his GCSE Maths exam all over again.

He was gaping at the phone I’d put down moments before.

“What does he think Brown’s gonna do to us?” he croaked.  “What is Brown gonna do to us?!” he added, horrified. “We’re gonna break into a magical psychic Alien-Vampire’s secret lair!  Scooby-Doo where are you?!”

“You do realise the paradox, don’t you?” I asked.

“No but I know what a paradox is because The Master built a paradox machine in The TARDIS on the last two episodes of Doctor Who.”

“The paradox is that although we have the element of surprise Derren will know that we’re coming!”

“He must be impossible to throw a surprise birthday-party for … Hey, hold the phone …”

Callow was now fixing me with a shrewd expression.

”Since when have you and Brown been on first-name terms?”

 

10:30pm

Finding Derren’s flat was the easy part.  Getting inside without a Psychic knowing what you’re doing is impossible, and I knew it, but I had orders.  Giving Callow a nod we entered by stealth through an upstairs window.

We lowered our shoes, softly, onto bare floor-boards.

Directly opposite us was the door which led to Brown's living room.

The only light source was the yellow line at the foot of the door, and the moon-light streaming through the window.

“Let’s pray the floor doesn’t creak.” Callow whispered. “Are you scared?”

“'Pray the floor doesn't creak'?! like that's gonna do us any good!” I whispered, desperately.  “Let’s pray to the God we don’t believe in that we won’t be found by a Worshipper of His nemesis, The Devil … that we also don’t believe in!”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“Yes I am scared!” I hissed.

“SHH!”

There was a stomach-clenching moment when the light beneath Brown's door went out, and we thought he was going to discover us.

Then the line of light reappeared, paler now, which meant that Brown had moved into another room.

We breathed out in unison and I shut my eyes.

“He knows that we're here, I’m sure of it!” I breathed.  “We might as well knock and say ‘Hi!’”

Callow's teeth glinted in the dark as he grinned.

“#Knock, knock, knocking on Derren's door#” he sang, ever so quietly.

“Why are we doing this?” I hissed, not in the mood for jokes.  “What’s Derren ever done to earn this?”

I removed my gun from its holster, indicating it as I said this. “He’s not evil!  He’s not even a bad person!  He-”

I stopped as I looked at Callow, realising what I was saying.

“First-names again.” he whispered, eyes narrowed at me. “Just what do you know about Brown?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to stall him.  Putting off the inevitable.

“Personally.  What do you know about him personally?”

I spluttered at the question.  We were Top-Secret Agents, armed and loaded, and here we were in a flat, in Croydon, whispering about a psychic genius who was surely about to come out of that door right now and erase our memories forever.

Or, worse, he’d feed us to his parrot first.

I calmed myself down and focussed on the question.  Questions relaxed me.  They were intelligent and logical.  So I did my best to answer this one well.

“He's thirty-six, has brown hair and eyes. He's five-foot-six -”

“Oh, he’s shorter than I thought he was.”

“I know, taller would suit him better as it would hide the thinning hair-”

“-but he has got a nice goatee.”

“Yeah. He loves parrots.”

“What else?”

“No-one. He’s single.”

“I meant ‘about him?’”

“He studied Law and German at University but decided to be a magician because he didn't want to be a lawyer or a German-”

“These are just the facts partner, talk about his personality!”

“He’s smug on stage but is shyer and less confident in reality-”

“That two-faced bastard-”

“-He's solitary at home but touchy-feely in public, likes giving hugs and kisses-”

“-He's such a nice guy!”

“-He’s an obsessive and a perfectionist.”

“That’s it!” Callow gasped, stopping me abruptly. “You’ve got him!” 

“How do you mean?”

“Obsessives adopt habits which they perform on a daily basis as part of their routine, like a ritual.  But once they're disallowed that comfort zone, it throws them.”

“Excellent, Callow!”

“Thanks, Eisenstein!” Callow beamed, looking pleased with himself.

“So, what are Derren’s obsessive habits?” I asked.

“Not a fucking clue.” Callow said, offhand. “Well, he’s a mystery isn’t he?” he reasoned as I went limp from the shoulders up. “No mystery is any good if people go around knowing stuff about it.”

“Just kick the door open so I can kick some mystery arse.”

 

One kicked-open door later …

We burst into Derren’s living room, knees bent, guns pointed forward, and then we froze, gaping at our surroundings in terror.

A dozen eyes stared in our direction through the gloom. Some of their owners bared their teeth at us, others extended sharp beaks or cruel talons.  But they were dead. All dead.  Their eyes glinted in the moonlight spilling in through the windows.

It was no secret Brown had a somewhat disturbing passion for taxidermy.

“‘What manner of man is this or what manner of creature is it in the semblance of a man?’” Callow breathed.

My eye was now on the door at the end of the room.  It led to the art-room where Derren painted strange caricatures in acrylics.

It stood ajar, yellow light flooding out of the gap.

It was then I realised that music had been playing, softly, within that room. Beethoven, I registered dimly.

The familiarity of the sound should have been comforting, but with all the eyes, claws and teeth facing us in the dark it was eerie.

I signalled to Callow for us to begin our approach, and my partner whispered as we crept.  It may as well have been the Lord's Prayer.

“I feel the dread of this horrible place overpowering me. I am in fear, in awful fear, and there is no escape for me. I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of.”

I tried to convince Callow that Vampires didn’t exist outside Bram Stoker books, but my voice had died.

The eyes of the dead animals seemed to follow us - Of course they did - They probably weren’t really dead but were trained by Brown to keep perfectly still.

They’re his spies, said the numb side of my brain that wasn’t working properly. That’s how he knows everything. He watches us through their eyes when they come alive and creep around in our houses after the lights go out.

We reached the art-room, and silently positioned ourselves on either side of the door, our guns raised.

We prepared ourselves to enter.

Callow caught my eye and mouthed the following: I want to go first.

I was about to protest but before I could respond he darted inside and vanished … There was total silence … followed by more total silence … That was completely wrong.

There should have been yelling and gunshots.  I wanted to look into the room but the strangeness had paralyzed me.  Maybe Brown had given us the slip again and just left the light on-

“AAAAGHHH!”

Jolted into action I exploded through the door.

“FREEZE!” I bellowed, finger on the trigger.

The light-bulb flickered and buzzed, like an angry hornet, casting a dim light over us all.

There, his figure etched in black shadows, stood Derren Brown, motionless in the centre of the room.  His deadly stare gripped me where I stood.

My yell had neither frightened nor surprised him, and I shivered all the way down to my shoes.

He appeared much taller now, intimidating, dark, and powerful.

Callow was on the floor, terror-struck, and his hair had gone white with fear.

He was pleading with the creature that towered beside him.

“Please, please Mr. Brown, don’t turn me into anythin’ - unnatural!”

The glittering eyes fell upon Callow who covered his head with his arms.  Then the eyes returned to mine, and suddenly he changed back into a human again.  The light returned to normal.

“Ellen, I object to this intrusion.” He said, mildly. “I’m a solitary man (as well you know), and I like my privacy … Is that really necessary?”

He indicated the gun I had pointed at his heart.

“We should have put silver bullets in it!” Callow squeaked.

He was out of his mind and I wasn’t about to let him get worse.

“Absolutely it’s necessary, Brown!” I barked in my best authoritative voice, now aiming my gun at his head.  He didn't move.

Why wasn't he afraid!

His confidence was unnerving.  Unnatural even.

“Put your hands up.” I commanded, voice faltering.

Brown didn't put his hands up, he just raised his eyebrows.

“I’ll be speaking to my lawyer.” he replied, mild as ever.

“You don’t have a lawyer, Brown, why would you need someone to lie for you?”

I hadn’t meant to say it, it just came out.

Derren’s eyes crinkled with joy.  He laughed and clapped his hands.  Callow looked as confused and disorientated as I felt.  This was all so crazy that it threw me, and I lost all sense of procedure.

“I need back-up.” I murmured, dazedly.

As if in answer to my plea, the door behind me burst open again.

The rest of the team flooded into the room and they were bristling with weapons, all pointed at Brown.

The confidence fell off Derren’s face, and the look which replaced it scared me more than anything else had, including the taxidermy.  For the first time, he looked truly afraid, and it triggered something deep inside me.

Not even Derren Brown had predicted this would happen, I thought; with a great lurch of fear, I knew that Derren was about to die.  This was seriously wrong, just as wrong as hurting people for the sake of God, or Devil-worship ... or thinning hair.

A thought fixed itself in my mind and I reacted purely upon gut-reaction: I threw myself in front of Derren and shielded him.

“Hold your fire! Get out of the way, Eisenstein!” barked one of the team.  It should have been the boss, but it was just a guy from HQ.

“NO!” I yelled, shaking my head over and over like I could save us all.  My career was surely doomed but I didn’t care anymore.

My one last thought had been to protect Derren, and there wasn’t room for logical thinking.

Was this how mothers felt before they fought life and limb to protect their children?

“HE’S NOT EVIL!” I heard my own voice screaming. “You’ve got it all wrong!  He’s not The Devil!”

“Callow, could you please?”

The agent turned to my partner on the floor and jerked his head at me.  Callow’s face was as white as his hair, and in his desperate state, he obeyed the command.  I felt my partner grab me tightly round both legs, making me buckled and fall.

No longer protected, Derren was completely exposed … and mortal.

The Beethoven track which had been playing in the corner changed to a song which always makes me cry.

There was a single, terrible gunshot that rang in my ears … but even more terrible was Derren’s fall that happened in slow-motion.

He fell to his knees first, then sideways onto the hard, unforgiving floorboards.  But gravity hadn't finished having its way with him yet.  It rolled his unresisting body onto his back, legs half-bent, hand hitting the floor.

I hated the way his head lolled onto one side.

The light of my soul had died, leaving a black hollowness.

Suddenly, a blinding flash filled the room, and the other agents fell, unconscious, joining us all on the floor.

I barely noticed this happening and didn't have room in my head to care. I pulled myself free of Callow’s arms.

Half-gibbering the way one does in shock, I dragged myself heavily towards Derren’s body.  It was hard work as my arms were weak.

He was limp and docile, a big, ugly pool of red in the centre of his chest.  Face flushed and tear-stricken, I took his head in my arms, cradled it against me, and sobbed.

I’ve no idea how long I cried for.  It could have been a minute, it could have been twenty, I don’t know to this day.

Then something strange happened.  The music stopped, leaving a silence, and as if at a signal, calmness filtered into me.

I could think again, and my next thought was: ‘Get the phone Eisenstein.  Call an ambulance.  Save him.’

I gently lowered Derren's head back to the floor, leapt to my feet, and flew from the room.  Where did he keep his phone?

After a minute of ‘Where the FUCK is it?!!’ I raced back to the art-room to see if Derren had a mobile - and stopped dead in my tracks.