“How long have you been divorced?”
“It’s been a little over two years,” she responded, and as if bored with the conversation, she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.
“But surely you’ve had other men in your life in those two years?” I relentlessly continued.
“Yes, but only while visiting abroad, dear,” Casey grinned, “and none as charming as you.” She dismissed the questions with a gesture as if batting away an annoying gnat. Then, she sat down in my lap facing me.
“And have any proposed marriage or professed their undying love for you?” I persisted.
“Where’s this coming from, dear? Are you jealous of my past relationships?” she asked and then giggled, rubbing against me suggestively.
“No, I just want to know if I should watch my back when I’m walking to and from Cavenders. Is there anyone I need to be concerned about, anyone who might want to take me out of the picture in hopes of luring you back?” I was determined to stick with the line of questioning even though it was obvious that Casey was done with it.
“Don’t be silly, Mike, and for heaven sakes, kiss me!” she whispered as her lips reached mine.
Soon, we were back in the bedroom for deeply satisfying sex, and much too quickly for my taste, Casey was off to San Francisco on an errand for her father. We kissed goodbye at the door and then I went back to bed, enjoying the scent of her that still lingered on the sheets. I thought about Casey and her mysterious errands, wondering why she was so secretive about her work. I’d told her about my job with GMS during the first meeting at Cavenders, but all she’d volunteered was that she worked for her father. She was hiding something—that much I knew.
Do I want to know what she’s hiding?
Chapter Thirteen
When I got to his office, Nelson was waiting with the door open. He’d canceled all his other appointments so we wouldn’t be disturbed. I told him about the near-abduction and that Casey denied having any unhappy ex-lovers. Nelson didn’t say anything, and I was glad he didn’t. I wanted him aware, but uninvolved. He sensed that his comments about Casey were unwelcome and refrained from making any or asking questions.
“What was it you wanted my help with, Mike?” Nelson asked when I was silent for a few moments.
“I’ve been keeping a journal as you suggested, Nelson, and through writing, I’ve discovered why I’m reluctant to accept your help. Ever since elementary school, a sensation of fear sits in my guts, refusing to let go. I feel trapped by the memory of it.” Nelson remained silent while I describe the incident and that it was my belief the early experience affected everything I did. He enthusiastically nodded approval.
“Mike, acknowledgement of a problem is the first step in resolving it. The fact that you understand why you’ve been afraid in the past can set you free from that fear now and in the future. Your description of this emotion sitting in your guts is also very accurate. I call it the Geiger-counter of emotion. Everyone has it. It’s a feeling in our innermost part, our gut-instinct if you will, that keeps us safe. It’s from those instincts that the hair on the back of our neck stands up when we feel threatened or in dangerous situations. The tightening in your abdomen tells you that something’s wrong. Recognizing the original cause, the incident of being locked in the stairwell closet, is a huge leap in your understanding. I commend you for being introspective enough to reach this point. Any questions?” Nelson asked.
I shook my head to indicate I didn’t have any.
“Having the ability to see the future has also taken its toll on your emotional state, and I’m sure as we work through these issues, you’ll find relief in that area as well,” Nelson continued. “I have an exercise that will allow you to get rid of that emotional fear. I know you can’t close your eyes without the images interfering, so I won’t ask you to do that. Simply still your mind and stare at something, letting your eyes go out of focus while you listen,” Nelson directed.
I nodded and shifted my gaze. Nelson continued; his voice became monotone and he paused after each sentence allowing the words to seep into my consciousness. It was hypnotic.
“Now, recall the incident of those bullies locking you in the closet. Feel the anger deep in the pit of your stomach. Don’t censor it. You have the right to be angry. It’s ok to be upset—those assholes locked you in a closet. They did it because they could. They outnumbered you three to one. You were younger and weaker. It wasn’t fair,” Nelson said.
He’s right; it wasn’t fair.
The knot in the pit of my stomach grew tighter and hotter. I didn’t try to suppress it, avoid it, or ignore it. I let it grow hot with indignation.
“Feel the anger as it grows hotter,” Nelson continued in a soothing monotone voice. Free from any attempts to suppress it, the knot took on a life of its own.
“It’s so hot it’s boiling over,” Nelson persisted. “It’s your anger and you have the right to feel it. Who wouldn’t feel the same way under the circumstances, right? The anger is boiling hot, and white steam is rising from it.” I followed Nelson’s vivid imagery easily. “There’s a lot of steam, Mike. It’s very thick—that thick steam represents your anger and frustrations. It needs to escape. It’s drawn to the only path that’ll let it leave: a smokestack situated directly above it,” he directed. I was amazed that, at his description, a smokestack materialized. I saw the scene as described.
“The smokestack runs from the pit of your stomach and right through the top of your head,” Nelson continued. “It’s sturdy and can easily handle the thick smoke from your boiling rage. You feel the anger catching the draft and rushing out the top of the smokestack.” I did feel it…the vapors flew up it like smoke rising in a fireplace chimney.
“The more of the anger that reaches the top, the better your stomach feels,” Nelson said. “You let it go and think, ‘good riddance.’ You’re glad to be rid of it. You’re glad the anger is gone and the pit of your stomach is free from the hurt and fear. Watch carefully; all of the smoke is gone. Even the smallest strands rush up and out the smokestack.” Nelson’s voice grew louder and when the last strand disappeared, he said, “It’s all gone.”
And, it was.
The release was complete. The knot that had been in the pit of my stomach for many years was gone. My gut no longer felt tight from holding onto it. After that, I didn’t have any objections to recording the sessions. Since it was late in the day, we agreed to meet the next morning. I left Nelson’s office feeling free and unhindered. It was delicious and I walked with my head held higher and my posture more erect.
Chapter Fourteen
When I arrived the next morning, Nelson was anxiously pacing. His office was devoid of other people. I wondered briefly if our sessions cost him other sources of revenue. It appeared he’d cleared his schedule completely on my behalf. Even his secretary was conspicuously absent. Nelson thought we needed this type of seclusion in order for me to feel completely safe. It worked. I did feel safe with just the two of us here.
“You must remember, Mike, the images can’t harm you or affect you in any way,” Nelson began as he prepared me for the role of silent or passive observer. “You’re separate from the images. You can observe them without consequences.”
In the past, I’d been horrified of the visions. I felt involved in each event witnessed as if it happened to me personally. When I saw the fast-growing kudzu-like plants, I’d felt them covering me as well as the ground. What Nelson explained now was an epiphany.
I stretched out on the sofa and took a deep breath. He moved a chair nearby. I gave him one last look, and then nodded, closing my eyes. I heard the soft click of the tape recorder as the kaleidoscope images began.
“I see a city with very few buildings over one story high. This might be considered a town. It’s not very large. There’s a white two-story building with a flagpole in front of it. The images are focused on this street. There’s automobile traffic, but there are also people walking around and riding
bikes. The town seems to be relaxed and pleasant. The lights are starting to go off, one section at a time. People are afraid. I feel their fear and alarm. Some say to stay calm, that a backup generator will kick-in. It doesn’t. Others are anxious, saying the entire place could blow. They’re growing frantic. Time is speeding up and everything is moving faster now. The people are running in blind panic and terror, trying to get to a place of safety. Some are angry and lash out at others. A woman comes out of a store; she’s trampled underfoot on the sidewalk. It’s terrible.” Without realizing it, my voice sped up along with the fast-moving images. I felt trampled along with the woman. I opened my eyes and sat up. Nelson’s look was sympathetic, but he was determined to stay on course.
“Mike, you’re the passive observer. You’re not in the scene, you’re watching the scene. The scene can’t affect you in any way because it’s not happening to you. Keep the distinction firmly in your mind—it’s critical to our success here. Now, let’s do it again, but take your time. Go slowly. Pause after each description. Allow me time to ask you specific questions that’ll help us gather more details about the location and event. Can you do that?” Nelson asked.
I nodded, realizing the recorder was still taping. I lay back down on the sofa, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes. The visions started immediately and I began again.
“I see a small town with only a few buildings that are two stories high,” I said and then paused as Nelson had directed.
“Do you see any landmarks?” Nelson asked using the same soothing monotone voice he’d used during the guided release.
“The landmark that’s most obvious is the larger building with a flagpole in front.”
“Do you see any water nearby, a river or body of water?” Nelson asked.
“I don’t see any water, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any.”
“Do you see any street signs?” Nelson asked.
“No, my line of sight isn’t ground level. It’s slightly above the actual scene. Wait… there is something. I see a green sign with white lettering—6th Street.”
“Do you see any words written on any of the buildings, Mike?” Nelson asked, prodding for more information.
“No, it’s dark, too dark to see any writing. But I don’t see how this helps; it could be anywhere. There must be thousands of 6th Streets in the United States alone,” I said in frustration.
“Take your time, Mike. Take a deep breath. Remember, you’re not involved. You’re only watching.” I took a deep breath and let it out. “That’s good. Do you see an airport?”
“No, I can only see the scene in front of me. I can’t fly around the top of the scene and check it out from other angles. My view is fixed. If there’s an airport for this size town, it must be privately owned or regional at best.”
“It’s ok, Mike. Stay calm. Take your time. Take a deep breath in and then let it out slowly,” Nelson said in a calming tone. Again, I breathed deeply and exhaled. “Do you see any distinctive city buildings or offices?”
“No, only the one with the flagpole in front. It might be an official building—maybe the city hall or something, but I can’t be sure. The lights are already off in that section. And now, the vision is speeding up. The fear and panic has set in. I don’t like staying with it so long, Nelson,” I opened my eyes again and sat up, shaking my head.
“Mike, you must remain detached. The images aren’t happening to you or around you. You’re here, right here in this office with me. This isn’t personal; this is separate from you. Look how much information you were able to obtain from this one session. We know more than we did before,” Nelson said as he patted my shoulder. He was nodding enthusiastically.
It was true. I had focused on different details at Nelson’s prompting. I’d noticed the town was small or that it had an official-looking building with a flagpole. I’d even seen a numbered street sign. We’d accomplished something in one session. I tried to feel good about that.
“Mike, I want you to practice being the observer from now on, every time you see the images, every time you close your eyes. In fact, before you close your eyes, remind yourself that you’re only observing the images. This will help with our sessions here if you practice at home. Can you do that?” Nelson encouraged.
Chapter Fifteen
In the past, I’d avoided the visions as much as possible. I’d never deliberately closed my eyes for the sole purpose of viewing them. However, that’s exactly what I did that afternoon. If Nelson suspended other appointments on my behalf, it was the least I could do to assist in the investigative endeavors.
Following his advice to be objective, like a reporter, I closed my eyes and watched the images, distancing from them. Each time I was overwhelmed by the emotions of the people in the images, I took a few deep breaths. I was amazed that this was similar to working out—I was exercising the muscles of my mind. The work was exhausting and another effective tool to find sleep quickly.
As I watched the images that afternoon, I scanned beyond the panicked citizens to glean something about the location. Everyone wore casual clothing—shorts or sleeveless tops, indicating a warm, tropical climate. It was a new clue. My brain grew tired from the continual focusing and strain, reminding me of the electric shock from Adom’s tap.
Were previously lost, synaptic connections found and restored?
Images of Casey randomly drifted through my mind…the way she’d looked in the kitchen that night wearing the blue sweater…her ecstatic orgasmic release…sitting on the deck wearing one of my starched, white shirts and drinking coffee. I had strong feelings for her and it wasn’t a good thing. Like Janelle, she was bad news. I went to the gym and when I got home, the house seemed especially empty. I missed Casey.
“Hello, Mike,” Joe began when I answered the phone. He immediately launched into a report about the bug without giving time for a response. “Our lab found that the listening device is a high-tech transmitter with a range of approximately 300 yards, about the length of a football field. So, whoever was listening was nearby. What’ve you gotten yourself into, Mike?”
“Joe, I really appreciate you doing this. I’ve racked my brain wondering if it had anything to do with one of the classified jobs we did in Iraq a few months back, but I don’t see how it could,” I told him in all honesty. I didn’t mention Casey or my ability. No one else needed to know about it. The awareness might put Joe in danger.
“We need to sweep your entire home for bugs, Mike. I’ll get a crew over there tomorrow. They can be trusted even if it is corporate espionage.”
I wondered if there was another bug somewhere else in the house. A loud crash on the street made me jump involuntarily as the sound of clashing metal cut through the night. I looked out the living room blinds only to discover a teen had run his bicycle into the garbage cans placed outside for the morning pick up.
“Did you take my advice on the security system?” Joe asked.
“Yes, I am now fully secure,” I replied with a forced laugh. The crashing sound had unnerved me, and I paced with the phone to my ear while Joe continued.
“Don’t worry, Mike, we’ll find out if there’s more bugs in your home or if there’s anything else they’ve been tapping into—your phone line for example. I’ll see you Saturday morning.” Joe was finished and abruptly hung up. It was just his way.
I felt a little guilty. I’d called on Joe for help, but I couldn’t tell him everything. I couldn’t tell him about the kaleidoscope images or Casey. I didn’t want to implicate her in this when I didn’t know what it was. Siccing the FBI on your lover wasn’t acceptable behavior. I had to allow the mystery to unravel in its own time.
Time with Casey had been scarce since the interrogation about her husband and ex-boyfriends. At the moment, she was in San Francisco on some business trip for her father. I missed her. I’d fallen hard, but I had to be honest with myself. After the release of the trapped emotional baggage, I sincerely wanted to find a loving and committed rela
tionship. I wanted a companion. I no longer feared being ‘trapped’ and now welcomed the very thing I’d delayed for so long. To have a real and satisfying relationship, I’d have to share the secret I’d kept for so long.
Can I tell Casey about the kaleidoscope images?
That was the real question. She isn’t upfront about her work… how can I be forthcoming? How can I trust her with so much? It’s a two-way street, but apparently, we’re on a six-lane highway going in opposite directions. I wasn’t ready to admit it yet. Still, somewhere deep inside, I knew I couldn’t be in love with Casey.
Chapter Sixteen
While waiting on the deck for Joe’s crew to arrive, I retrieved the journal from the safe and thought about my family. My parents, Dawn and Patrick Lewis, were gone now.
Did my parents suspect that I was different? Did they know about this gift? What did I really know about them? What did they know about me?
When Dawn passed away her funeral was small, with only a few family members and several close friends, other teachers that she’d remained friends with since retirement.
Uncle Henry had come with his only son, Magin. Aunt Sandy had remarried after the divorce from Henry and couldn’t make the trip. Magin, my cousin, was two years younger, but we were close. When we were children, I’d teased him often saying, “Again, Magin.”
Uncle Henry and Magin lived in Albany on the west bank of the Hudson River. It was a two-and-a-half-hour trip to get to the City and they’d lingered for a while after friends and acquaintances left.
I sat on the deck with my father, Uncle Henry and Magin. We drank cold beers together while I smoked a cigarette and Henry puffed on a black cherry-scented pipe. We reminisced about things Dawn had done or said. It was nostalgic and healing.
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