by Linda Hawley
As I entered my creative zone, I let my intention slide away, and in its place, I allowed my mind to wander. I found myself remembering a conversation with John O’Brien, when I was still with the CIA.
* * *
We sat in the remote-viewing room, after another training session.
“I know that the primary goal of Project Stargate is to observe targets and gather information on them. But has anyone ever altered events while remote viewing?” I asked, curious.
“My, my, lass, now you’re considering the possibilities of what we’re doing here,” John said excitedly.
“So it’s our goal to eventually change events?”
“Well, Ann, let’s say that it’s our hope.”
“Has anyone done it yet?”
“Not that we’ve documented.”
“What do ya mean? Has it been done, but not in a controlled situation?”
“Let’s move to the observation room,” John said cautiously.
We walked the twenty feet to the empty room.
After closing the door of the soundproof and camera-free room, he faced me. “Ann, changing events is not something that anyone on our team is focused on.”
“But it’s been done?”
“Yes.”
“By who?”
He paused while I stared at him. “Me.”
“You? When?” I asked him, full of anticipation.
“Not long ago.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Okay, I’ll explain, but I want you to know that I worked on this outside of the normal protocols.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just wanted to know if it could be done. So I worked on it on my own.”
“How?”
“Boy, you are one impatient lass, aren’t you?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, just tell me about it.”
“After I learned to remote view and went live, I decided to try to change something. I was viewing a meeting where Mikhail Gorbachev was present—”
“Wait a minute…I didn’t know you spoke Russian.” I shook my head, confused.
“I do, and four other languages. Can I continue, Ann?” he asked, frustrated with me.
I gave John a dirty look. He continued.
“It was 1986, just after the Chernobyl disaster. In the meeting, they were discussing moving more than one hundred strategic nuclear weapons from the Ukraine and Belarus to the outer regions of Russia. The conference room they were meeting in had its walls and ceiling covered with heavy wood panels. There was a very long table that easily seated fifty people. Present were many military officers in uniform and several suited KGB agents. On one long wall were three maps. The first was a map of their current arsenal, the second was a map showing where they could move the one hundred warheads, and the third was a map showing what countries the warheads could reach when fired. On that last map, all targets were either within the United States or its territories. Gorbachev wanted to use the Chernobyl disaster as a cover to hide those weapons from us.”
“Oh man, what a meeting to be remote viewing,” I said excitedly, grinning at him.
“You’re right about that, lass. Viewing this meeting was one of my greatest successes for the Agency. Since it was such a high-level meeting, I decided to test my skill in changing the future. So the next morning at my house, I did another remote view, but this time I viewed those coordinates one hour earlier in time. I watched as the room was prepped for the meeting. Servants brought in food and drink, and the room was set up. At one point, an officer came into the room and put the maps on the long paneled wall. When he was finished and left the room, I started to imagine that the third map—the one that showed the U.S. targets for the warheads—did not exist, and therefore was not on the wall. I don’t exactly know how it happened, but I think I may have blacked out. I awoke on my couch with a massive headache. I had no idea whether I was successful or not. I took some heavy medicine, and about two hours later the headache was gone. I decided to remote view the target a third time, but I would go in right as the meeting was starting, to see if the map was there. When I viewed the room, the map was missing.”
John paused to see my reaction.
“So you did it! You changed something using only your mind?”
“I did.”
“Did you ever try it again?”
“No, because later that afternoon, I got the worst headache of my life and ended up having my girlfriend bring me to the hospital. By then, I was bleeding from my nose. It took Demerol to knock out the headache. After that experience, I wasn’t eager to try it again.”
“I can see why. But you succeeded—you traveled to the past, and you changed the future. The map was gone,” I said passionately.
“It was. So I know it’s possible to change something physical. I don’t know if you can change events that involve human beings, though.”
* * *
As that conversation with John flowed through my mind, I considered what I had recently achieved while remote viewing, as I worked the clay into a pot on the wheel.
I destroyed digital information at the Canadian Motor Vehicle Records Centers. But I haven’t changed anything physical. I also haven’t tried to alter events themselves. I had brought back the Herkimer—that was not only physical, but it was bringing an object from a dream to reality. Also in that dream, I may have caused an earthquake by dreaming it. Can I go back in time and change Raymond’s tax lien, altering the course of events? I wondered.
As I worked on the pot, I let my mind marinate on how I could help my friend using my paranormal abilities. When I finished, I cut the vessel off the wheel using a wire and placed it on the drying rack. After that, I took a bath and went to bed, still saturating my mind with Raymond’s situation.
Chapter 6
BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON
The Year 2015
In the morning, Raymond was on my mind as I awoke, and I couldn’t shake his dire situation from my thoughts. I decided to take a run with Lulu to shake off the pain I felt for my friend and his family. Running in the rain always cleared my head. That put me a half hour behind in getting to work, but since I was on a flex schedule, I didn’t worry about it.
As Lulu and I drove to work, I made a decision to remote view tonight, to go back in time and change something to help Raymond. After all, John O’Brien had done it successfully, although his brain did suffer some consequences. I was willing to risk it to help my friend. I also decided to ask Raymond to lunch today to offer a financial solution directly from me. If he didn’t accept, I would find a way to do it anonymously.
I was lucky enough to get one of the electric-only parking spots by AlterHydro’s front door, which was a win on this overcast and rainy Pacific Northwest day. Lulu and I jumped out and into the foyer.
“I’ve been calling you all morning!” Vicki shouted at me.
Just what I need—Psycho-admin first thing in the morning. “Good morning, Vicki,” I said with a smile to counteract her anger.
“Good morning? I bet it is a good morning to someone who shows up to work almost an hour late,” she nagged a second time.
I think I might know why you never married.
I approached the reception desk with Lulu on high alert by my side. “What seems to be the problem, Vicki?” I asked her calmly.
“The problem is that you never come to work on time. Your problem is that you’re about to miss an all-hands meeting, called by the president himself,” she snarled.
A low growl started from the back of Lulu’s throat. This was Lulu’s modus operandi when near Vicki.
“What time is the meeting, Vicki?”
“Ten o’clock, so you’ve only got five minutes,” she answered smugly.
“Thank you for the information,” I said with a smile and then turned to head to my desk.
“And Ann, if your mangy dog growls at me again, I’m going to report it!”
I turned around and face
d the wicked witch. “You can use many words to describe Lulu, but mangy is simply inaccurate. Maybe try using the word Killer,” I said with emphasis on the word.
Lulu’s growl increased in volume, as though she recognized the name.
Vicki’s face revealed her fear.
“Try to work on your vocabulary, Vicki,” I said clearly, seriousness making my voice firm.
She huffed in silence, and Lulu stopped growling, as if she knew I zinged Vicki.
Lulu and I turned together to approach the stairwell and then zipped down it quickly. Approaching my desk, I saw that Paul and Edwin were already in the meeting. I dumped my bag on my desk, situated Lulu, and then headed to the conference room.
What’s with the all-hands meeting? I considered, climbing the stairs.
This was a meeting where every available employee was expected to attend, and Bennett called it when a significant new corporate direction was about to occur.
Climbing through the dank stairwell, I finally exited and approached the conference room. It was packed, and clearly Bennett was about to start the meeting; I was just in time. All the seats around the conference-room table were taken, and other employees were already standing, so I joined them near the door. Bennett looked gloomy, and both Bennett and Brock were avoiding eye contact with anyone.
This doesn’t look good.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Bennett began, looking up from the conference table. “For the directors, if anyone is missing from your department, please talk with each of them one on one and convey the message that I’m about to give you,” he said, looking at each director. “No emails,” he clarified and then avoided eye contact with anyone else.
Getting worse each moment…
“All of you are valuable members of AlterHydro. So much so that I consider every one of you part of our corporate family,” Bennett started, the air thick in the room.
Oh no…he’s gonna lay off people.
“I got a call very early this morning that rocked me to my core. There is no easy way to tell you, so I’ll just press on…”
Bennett paused at length and then looked down at the table, overwhelmed with emotion. I saw a salty drop fall from his eyes and onto the dark polished surface.
What the heck?
He looked to his brother with his eyes filled with tears. Brock was stone-faced, with no emotion showing. Some unspoken communication passed between the brothers.
“Last night, Raymond Brown committed suicide,” Brock coarsely announced.
The entire room had an audible intake of breath at the same time. The murmuring of employees started. Suddenly the room didn’t seem to have enough oxygen in it; I found myself trying to breathe deep, but I was unable to.
“I know you all have many questions,” Brock said loudly, above the murmur. “I’ll tell you the one fact we know. It happened about eight o’clock last night, in his garage.”
“Oh no,” I said out loud and headed out the door and into the stairwell. I ran down the stairs to the basement, repeating, “No, no, no…” I made it to Lulu’s bed and sat on the floor next to her. “He died, Lulu. He died, and I know why!” I said to her as she stood and looked at me. Tears filled my eyes, and I was blinking hard to hold them back.
Just then, the basement door banged open. I looked over. Paul rushed over to me. He extended his hands, pulled me up, and moved in tight for a hug. My reaction to Paul’s kindness broke the dam holding back my tears, and they spilled over onto his shirt. When I could speak, I pulled away, grabbed the tissues off my desk, and blew my nose.
“I just had lunch with him yesterday,” I said quietly.
“What did you talk about?”
It felt wrong to reveal Raymond’s secrets to co-workers, and so I replied, “Just regular stuff…work and his family, nothing in particular.”
“You probably should keep the lunch thing to yourself. The last thing you want is the police asking you questions,” Paul cautioned.
“You’re right.”
The basement door opened again, and Edwin joined us.
“That is terrible news,” Edwin said, standing in our little circle.
“Yeah,” we both replied, and all of us studied the floor.
“I just saw him three days ago in the kitchen. We had a nice talk. I did not think anything was wrong,” Edwin shared.
“I don’t think anyone thought anything was wrong,” Paul replied.
“Clearly, everyone is going to be in shock for some time,” Edwin added compassionately.
I looked at Edwin’s face, and his eyes showed sadness. His eyes met mine for a few moments, and then he looked down again.
“I feel exhausted, like the wind has left my sail,” I said as I plopped down at my desk.
“That is a shock reaction, Ann. Perhaps you should go home to lie down,” Edwin advised.
“That’s kind of you,” I said quietly. “I think I’m gonna go for a drive. I’ll be back soon,” I said, standing and slinging my purse over my shoulder.
While Edwin turned to return to his desk, Paul hand-motioned to ask whether he should go with me. I shook my head no.
“Lulu, let’s go, girl.”
She padded with me up the stairs and out to the lobby. Thankfully, Vicki was absent.
Chapter 7
BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON
The Year 2015
Lulu and I got in my BYD, and I pushed the start button. In the quiet of the electric engine, I backed up and pulled onto Fairhaven’s cobblestone street. My mind was racing.
Could I have stopped it? What if I had just told him the truth yesterday—that I could have helped him financially, or that I could try to remote view a change? If I hadn’t been so guarded, maybe he would still be alive.
The tears blurred my vision, and I pulled off to the curb, next to a grove of evergreen trees. I cried unrestrained into my hands.
“Oh, Raymond!”
Lulu came forward from the back seat and licked my hands. I turned toward her and hugged her.
“Thank you, Lulu.”
Maybe I can still make some of this right.
I couldn’t resurrect Raymond, but I could try to make things easier financially on his family. I decided to visit his widow.
In a few minutes, I was at their front door, and I knocked softly. The door opened slightly.
“Hello?” The door was open a crack, and a plump elderly woman peered out at me.
I spoke gently through the crack in the door. “Hello, my name is Ann Torgeson, and I was Raymond’s co-worker and friend. I wonder if Rosamaria will speak to me for a few minutes. It’s important.”
“Just a moment,” she replied through the crack and then closed the door again.
I waited on the porch. Then the door opened fully.
“Rosamaria will see you for just a minute. Please come in,” she said, gesturing.
“Thank you,” I replied softly, entering their home.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I offered, looking into the woman’s large, sad eyes. I guessed that she was Rosamaria’s mother.
“Thank you,” she replied, dabbing her eyes with a cloth handkerchief that she pulled from a flowered pocket of the apron she was wearing. “Rosamaria is down the hall in the last room on the right,” the woman said, gesturing to the hall in the small house.
After taking a breath, I moved down the hall and stood in the doorway. Rosamaria was sitting in a wicker chair with a small garbage can at her feet, overflowing with used tissues. Next to her was a bed. There were no lights on in the room, and the only illumination was coming from the hall.
“Rosamaria, I’m so sorry,” I said, taking in her haggard appearance.
She looked up at me, and on her grief-stricken face also simmered a hardness. “What do you want?” she asked with a dead voice.
There would be no easy way to bring it up.
“Rosamaria, yesterday, Raymond and I had lunch. He told me about the IRS garnishing hi
s wages and the extreme financial stress your family is under—”
“What are you talking about?” she spat at me.
“I came here to help you and your boys. Raymond told me about it while we ate. He—”
She stood suddenly. “How is it that you claim you had lunch with my husband yesterday, when he and I took our son to the doctor together, and he ate his lunch while we drove there? Huh?” she pressed me angrily.
“No lunch? But I remember…” I said slowly.
“You don’t belong here,” she raged at me, “and I don’t know what kind of scheme you’re trying to pull on a woman whose husband just died. We don’t owe the IRS any money, and we certainly have no problems with them.”
“What? But Raymond told me—”
“Get out of my house,” she bellowed.
The air was full of Rosamaria’s fury. Her mother rushed in, confusion spilling over the edge of her grief.
My mind was racing. “I’m sorry to confuse you. That was not my intention. I came here to help your family,” I offered sincerely.
“Get out!” the new widow demanded, her eyes betraying furious intensity.
Moving past her mother, I rushed out of the room. Filled with confusion, I hurried out of the house, and when I got in my car, I raced out of the driveway. A mile down the road, I pulled the car over to the curb to think through what had just occurred.
“No lunch?” I said out loud. “I remember having lunch with Raymond yesterday and his telling me about the IRS.”
Oh my goodness.
Suddenly I remembered my dream from last night.
“I went back in time…to four months ago,” I said, astonished.
* * *
I was in an office, dressed in a black suit, with an IRS badge clipped to my lapel. On that badge was the name “Lynn Green” and my picture. I was an IRS field agent speaking to another IRS employee, directing him to follow up on a lead I had.
“Apparently the woman is claiming her daughter as a federal tax deduction, but her ex-husband, Raymond Brown, has the right to claim her. The divorce decree spells this out. Also, the marital house was sold, and the woman is responsible for paying the taxes due from the sale, but she claims that Raymond Brown owes that tax. That is apparently false. The woman owes the tax. So it looks like we’ve got a woman who’s responsible for these taxes, but she’s trying to pawn it off on her ex. I would suggest you lien the proceeds from the sale of the house, unless she can prove otherwise. What do you think?”
