All the Broken Places

by Anise Eden

  “Were you able to sleep after I left last night?” he asked.

  “Like a baby,” I said, smiling. “I’d guess I’ve had a lot more sleep than you have in the past twenty-four hours.”

  “You get used to living on little sleep in the Corps. It sticks with you.”

  I wanted to know more about his time in the military, but I had never known a Marine before, and I didn’t know if it was rude to ask a lot of questions. I figured it was safe to inquire about the issue we had discussed the night before. “Was it hard for you in the Marines? I mean, with your eating issue?”

  He thought for a moment. “You know, I never had trouble eating in front of the guys, and I never understood why until last night. If the core problem is that I’m afraid that people I eat with will die, then I wouldn’t have that problem with other Marines because we all knew that dying was always a possibility. We signed up for that. Maybe having their consent, so to speak, short-circuited my anxiety in that situation.”

  “Oh,” I said, impressed with his insight. “That makes sense.”

  “I’m looking forward to our work on that at lunch today, by the way.”

  “Me too.” I was a little surprised at the collegial manner in which we seemed to be interacting. I’d half-expected him to return to drill-instructor mode once treatment restarted.

  “About last night,” he said, “I know the empath healing was a first, but the way you submerged into me—is that what you do with your clients?”

  It was my turn to think. “Well, yes, to an extent,” I explained. “With you, as with them, I could only really submerge when you told me what your problem was. And I followed the same process, which is to go inside and look around until I find the source of the pain. The difference is that I wouldn’t tell a client what I was seeing. Instead, I would ask them normal diagnostic questions, but subtly direct the conversation toward the problem areas.”

  “Yeah, it probably wouldn’t go over too well if you started discussing things about your clients that they hadn’t even told you yet.”

  “Exactly. They would think I was a freak. But with you…”

  “I already know you’re a freak.” His eyes flickered gold.

  “Right.” I tried, and failed, to suppress a smile.

  Ben shifted into serious manager mode, but the change seemed a little less abrupt—or I was just getting used to his quick changes. “What you’re describing, having to hide aspects of your gift at work, leads us right into this morning’s topic: what we do here at the clinic. Dr. MacGregor set this place up with a couple of goals in mind. The first was to create a space in which alternative healing modalities could be practiced in a safe and supportive environment. Many people in the medical field still view acupuncture and Reiki as nothing but smoke and mirrors, for example. And most don’t even recognize the existence of sensitives.”

  “Sorry, what? Sensitives?”

  “Shorthand for people with paranormal abilities. Most people view parapsychology the way you were taught to in grad school—as a pseudoscience, not a serious field of study. The bias is so strong that my mother lost her faculty appointment at Washington Hill when she expressed an interest in doing parapsychological research. That was why she went into private practice. The irony, of course, is that the same doctors who pushed for her removal from the hospital now send her their patients who aren’t responding well to conventional treatments.”

  “That’s totally unfair.” I grimaced. “So that’s who you treat? Patients other doctors can’t help?”

  “Yes, as well as people from the community who’ve learned about us by word-of-mouth. We take all patients regardless of their ability to pay, so we get a lot of people who can’t afford to go elsewhere and are open-minded enough to try our methods. If they need more traditional medical care, though, we have relationships with certain doctors and clinics who are willing to make financial arrangements for patients we refer.”

  The MacGregors had bigger hearts than I’d thought. “How many patients do you see in a given day?”

  “Fifteen, twenty—it varies, based on demand and everyone’s work schedules. But you won’t see any patients at the church this week. We cleared our schedules once we knew you were coming.”

  I did a double-take. “Why?”

  “Supporting the healer is our top priority. If the healers aren’t doing well, they can’t help others. We wanted to be able to focus our energy exclusively on you.”

  “Oh.” I felt guilty for some reason. I looked down and examined my fingernails.

  “Which brings us to her second goal for the clinic: research. We also treat research subjects from the National Institutes of Mental Health.”

  “NIMH?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Really?”

  “Yes. For political reasons, they don’t advertise it, but NIMH does research on sensitives. Often their subjects need extra healing or support of some kind, so we provide our services. My mother hopes that joining forces will speed up our progress in demonstrating that these abilities exist and how they work.”

  My indignation flared on Dr. MacGregor’s behalf. “I’ll bet Washington Hill will want her back then.”

  “That would bring things full-circle for her, certainly. It’s no secret that she’d like to return there someday soon. For one thing, a hospital with their resources would provide unequalled research opportunities. For another—”

  “Vindication.” I could get behind that. I wouldn’t have guessed it from our first encounter, but it appeared that Dr. MacGregor was an underdog, willing to risk her reputation for something she believed in. “So she’s not planning to retire anytime soon.”

  With a rumbling laugh, Ben said, “Oh, no. My mother believes that retirement would bore her to tears, and the women in her family tend to live a long time. I have a feeling she’ll outlive and outwork all of her critics.”

  That was heartening. “Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

  “Good. We’ll take you up on that. Any questions?”

  “Just one.” There was something I’d wanted to ask him ever since class the day before. “You mentioned identifying the origins of paranormal abilities. I gather that you’re not a big believer in the Bronze Age tribal stuff Vani was talking about yesterday.”

  Annoyance flitted across his face, but he recovered quickly. “Running the clinic in the here-and-now requires all of my focus. I leave questions of history to those who are interested in that subject.”

  So I’d been right about Ben’s opinion—but he didn’t want to directly contradict his mother or his colleagues. “Your mother must believe in it, then,” I probed. “I mean, someone put it on the orientation syllabus.”

  There was a slight pause. I could tell that Ben regretted asking me if I had any questions. “My mother finds the theory interesting enough that she’d like to investigate it further,” he said coolly. “And Vani and Kai are more than willing to help. Vani has been studying the subject since college, in fact.”

  “It surprises me that your mother takes it that seriously,” I said, genuinely curious. “I mean, she’s a psychiatrist doing scientific research, not a folklorist.”

  Ben stood and retrieved a small plaque from the table by the window. “You’ll have to talk to her about that. But I can tell you that Dr. MacGregor and I both see the wisdom in this quote from Jung.” He handed it to me. The plaque read, “I shall not commit the fashionable stupidity of regarding everything I cannot explain as a fraud.”

  “Interesting,” I said, trying to hide my chagrin. If he was implying that I was “stupid” for considering the Bronze Age tribal theory to be folklore, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a response. He returned the plaque to its spot on the table.

  Skeptic though he might be, loyalty clearly took precedence for Ben. But he’d referred to his mother as “Dr. MacGregor” again, so I must have hit a nerve. They must not be the perfectly united front they liked to present.

  Ben sat back do
wn behind the desk and clasped his hands behind his neck. “Any more questions?”

  His stony expression told me what answer he wanted. I was willing to leave it there for the moment. “Not right now. Thanks,” I said lightly. “I was just wondering.”

  There was a knock on the door, and I heard Kai’s voice. “You ready for me yet?”

  “Come on in,” Ben said, visibly grateful for the distraction.

  Kai entered the room in an elaborately embroidered salwar kameez and gave me a low bow. “Orientator person, at your service.”

  “Thank you!” I stood and did my best to bow back.

  “Kai will take you downstairs and tell you more about the people who work here,” Ben said. “You’ll probably know their star signs and favorite colors by the time he’s done with you. Have fun, and I’ll see you at lunch.”

  “Oh, right.” I perked up. “Where are we doing lunch?” I was looking forward to our first session to work on his problem.

  Kai gave Ben a curious look.

  “I think…” Ben looked around the room. “Let’s do it in here.”

  “Okay. See you then!”

  “What was that all about?” Kai asked as we headed to the basement. “Ben doesn’t eat, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  “We just have some stuff to go over,” I said, trying to make it sound uninteresting.

  “Whatever you say.” With a shrewd grin, Kai showed me to his desk.

  The basement was a long rectangular room that looked as though it may have served as a social hall at one time. At the front of the room was a stage upon which sat a large makeshift altar. Cubicles lined the sides of the room while floor mats and folded chairs were stacked against the walls. The exercise studio and bathroom were in the back.

  Kai’s cubicle was the one closest to the stage. In addition to his computer, it was filled with all manner of what I silently dubbed “New Age whatnot.” Various crystals, stones, incense cones, bundled herbs, and packs of matches were scattered around. Pinned to the walls were images of the Buddha and the chakra system. Kai also had a collection of what looked like sacred objects from various religious traditions.

  “Welcome to my lair.” With a flourish, he pulled up a chair for me.

  My attention was drawn to an assortment of flat, round stones on Kai’s desk that had gold symbols painted on them. “What are these?” I picked one up.

  “Chakra stones.” He reached out and took me by the wrist, then removed the stone from my hand and put it back on the desk. “Ben asked me to give you the lowdown on our crew.”

  “Sorry…right, the crew.” But my attention was drawn to what looked like a short metal staff leaning against the wall. It was covered in elaborate silver and gold carvings and topped with a fan of peacock feathers. “Oh wow, did you make this, too?” I reached for the staff.

  Kai lightly slapped the back of my hand. “Didn’t anybody ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself? You’re getting your chaotic energy all over everything.” He waved his hands around me, as though trying to sweep the air clean.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled as I continued to examine the contents of the cubicle. “Everything just looks so cool.”

  “It’s okay. It’s only natural to be curious. I’ll be showing you all of these things as time goes on.”

  It seemed like the right time to ask a question that had been puzzling me. “This is kind of a weird workplace. Do you know why the MacGregors decided to set up in a church?”

  “It made sense for them to move into a building that was already energized by centuries of sacred activity. There’s a lot of divine mojo coursing through this space, keeping it protected and cleansed. But we can talk more about that later.”

  Obviously relishing his role as official gossip, Kai launched into a description of the group. He said that Dr. MacGregor had recruited him and the others through a newspaper ad asking for subjects in her research study. Many people had been screened, but only the four of them had been chosen.

  Asa was originally from Philadelphia, but his father was invited to become head of the English department at a university in Baltimore just as Asa was starting high school. He had stayed in the area for college, joining the campus Wicca Club in the hopes of meeting free-spirited girls. One of their club activities had been a Reiki workshop led by a local instructor. Asa had immediately taken to it and had earned Reiki master certification in less than a year. It was during that time that he had rediscovered his gift for telepathy. He was born with the ability, but had learned to repress it as a child since it kept getting him into trouble. Now he was working to hone it again.

  Eve’s family had moved to Washington, D.C. from Hong Kong when she was a baby. Her father had studied traditional Chinese medicine before emigrating and setting up a private practice. Eve had been training with him since she was sixteen. According to Kai, she could see the future while in a deep trance—something Eve first experienced while taking a meditation class in high school. She was still learning how to harness her gift, so the future often came to her in impressions and brief glimpses that were hard to interpret. Dr. MacGregor didn’t feel it was safe to let Eve stay in a trance state for too long yet. As a result, she primarily did acupuncture—a skill that Kai felt was just as useful as precognition, and needed more often. Apparently, Eve and Asa had become close friends through their mutual interests in computer gaming and attending comic book conventions.

  I already knew about Vani’s aura-reading gift, so Kai filled me in on the rest of her life. Apparently, she was incredibly busy, dividing her time between her advertising job, aura reading, and grant writing for the clinic, not to mention the evaluation—and so far, rejection—of an endless string of suitors. And that was when she wasn’t jetting off to visit family in London or Mumbai.

  The multiple suitors part didn’t surprise me, but something else did. “You mean people actually give out grant money for the kind of stuff you do here?”

  Kai sucked in his cheeks and nodded. “You’d be surprised at how many people are interested in our work, and who they are. Quite a varied crowd. But they keep it on the down low, of course. No one wants to be publicly affiliated with our sort,” he said with a wink.

  For his part, Kai said that he and Pete had met each other after Kai joined the MacGregors’ program. We spent most of our time talking about their romance—how they met (Pete came to pick up Kai for an appointment with Dr. MacGregor), Pete’s first awkward attempts at courting, and how they had finally moved in together three years before.

  Kai’s parents had moved from Greece to North Carolina when he was five to help some extended family members run their business crafting jewelry. Kai said he grew up talking to spirits, and his family was well known for having the “sight,” as he called it. When Kai had come out of the closet at nineteen, it had caused a huge family rift, and his parents had disowned him. Alone and without resources, he had worked his way up the East Coast and finally landed in Baltimore. As an artisan skilled in fine metalwork, he had quickly made a home for himself in the city’s quirky, spirited arts scene.

  After Kai and Pete moved in together, Kai and his parents had achieved a fragile reconciliation. Ironically, his relationship with Pete had made Kai’s parents much more comfortable with his sexuality. They seemed pleased that at least he was in a stable relationship, and Pete had impressed them with his stoic brand of solidity.

  Kai spoke about reading minds, seeing the future, and talking to the dead as though they were entirely ordinary occurrences to be taken for granted. In a way, I envied the ease with which he engaged in magical thinking; Kai’s inner world was much more expansive and colorful than mine. To show that I was taking an interest, I asked him what it was like being a medium. He smiled and said, “Oh, you’ll find out tomorrow. We’re doing something special then, and I don’t want to scare you off by telling you about it now.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t have to worry about scaring me, Kai.”

  “Oh, you just
wait, honey.” He patted the back of my hand.

  Kai appeared so at home in the clinic, truly in his element. “It seems like you’ve really found your niche here.”

  “Oh, yes. This is the only place I’ve worked where I can be who I really am, and help people in the way I was put on this earth to do. I mean, you know the MacGregors can be—” he gestured vaguely—“personality-challenged. But believe me, they are wonderful people to have in your corner.”

  He proceeded to tell me a bit more about the MacGregors. Dr. MacGregor’s family had made their money in Scottish shipbuilding. Her parents had sent her Stateside for medical school where she had met Ben’s father. They had been married for thirty-five years when he had died five years before. Soon afterwards, Ben had left the Marine Corps and moved in with his mother because he didn’t want her living alone. That was when they started the clinic.

  “Oh.” My heart ached for Ben and his mother. “I didn’t realize they’d gone through all of that.”

  “I know Dr. MacGregor seems like the Iron Lady, but she fell apart for a while after her husband died. Ben didn’t even hesitate; as soon as he could, he dropped everything to come take care of her. That’s kind of his thing, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  “What is?”

  “Taking care of his responsibilities, looking out for the people close to him.”

  “Oh.” That certainly explained why Ben had left the Corps when, from what I’d seen, it remained such a strong part of his identity. “And Pete just dropped everything, as well, to come help Ben?”

  Kai nodded. “Once he was able. Those two are basically brothers, and Dr. MacGregor is kind of like Pete’s surrogate mother. Pete would do anything for those two.”

  “Wow, so Ben’s father must have been relatively young when he died. Do you know what happened?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Kai said in a low voice, “but Pete says it was probably alcohol-related. Ben used to enjoy throwing back a few, but he hasn’t touched a drop since his dad died.”

  “Oh, that must have been terrible.” Substance-related deaths were so often torturesome tragedies. I couldn’t imagine the suffering his father must have gone through—not to mention Ben and his mother. And addiction could elicit such complex emotions. If Ben’s father had suffered from an alcohol problem, that might be related to Ben’s apparent anger toward him.