As she stood up, she wobbled for a second or two, but with one paramedic under each arm, they helped her over to the back of the ambulance, and she sat down on the bumper. There was an even larger crowd now. She looked at them nervously, wondering if the punks were still here, but she didn’t recognize anybody.
“Can you tell me what happened?” asked the police officer.
She recounted the story and the police officer asked questions, but there was little information she could supply in the way of descriptions. Then, when she got to the part where they had called her “shaman scum”, the police officer’s attitude cooled noticeably.
As the officer made notes, the paramedic took her pulse again.
“Looks like you’ve got a bump on the back of your head and bruising on your throat,” he said. “You know, you’re lucky it wasn’t worse than that. Much worse.”
The officer tore off a carbon copy of the form he’d been filling out and handed it to her.
“Walking down an alley at night in this neighborhood is asking for trouble,” he said.
The second paramedic packed up their boxes and put them into a side compartment on the ambulance. It felt like getting tossed out of the hospital–except for the fact that her attackers could be around the next corner.
“They said they’d be back,” she said as she took the paper and stood up. “They might know where I live.”
“I doubt it,” said the cop, handing her bag over. “They left your wallet, your phone, and that pair of goggles in there.”
He held it out like it was diseased. She took the bag as the second paramedic came around to the back.
“All set?” he asked.
“Oh yeah,” said the cop. Without a glance at her, he folded up his clipboard and turned toward his car.
“I guess so,” said Livvy as she looked through the bag.
Everything was there, of course. They hadn’t intended to rob her. As she watched the cop go back to his car, she wondered if the report would even get filed. He got in and drove away, dispersing what was left of the crowd as he did.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” said the paramedic after they’d watched the cop drive away.
It made Livvy laugh. It hurt her stomach, but she laughed anyway. She looked at him and, even in the dimness, realized that his skin was olive colored, his short hair jet black and straight. His dark eyes were smiling but focused on her with an intensity that made her feel suddenly shy.
“You should try that more often,” he said. “That whole smiling laughing thing looks good on you.”
She was glad for the relative darkness now since she knew she must be blushing a bright red. The engine on the ambulance started up, distracting him. When he looked back, he was serious.
“Are you headed home now?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she lied.
“Good. Just stay out of alleys, okay?”
“Promise,” she said.
He stared at her for a few moments.
“All right, I’ve got to go.”
He looked as though he wanted to say more.
“Please be careful,” he said.
“I will.”
As he walked back to the ambulance, Livvy headed for the street. A few stragglers watched her warily as she passed. As she slung the messenger bag over her shoulder, the ambulance rolled past her, and she saw the paramedic looking at her through the window. He gave a quick wave and then was gone.
Livvy hurried the remaining distance to the sidewalk. Not only did she want to get out of the alley, she was now at least an hour late for her appointment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE WOMAN’S GOGGLES buzzed to life in the dark room. They weren’t tuned quite right, but the imbalance wasn’t a problem. After all, she didn’t have to wear them. The buzzing was annoying, not lethal, especially not for the creatures that would be using it.
The woman sipped her margarita from a tall, crystal highball glass with a wedge of lime at the edge. As she waited for the rest of the electronics to warm up, she tasted the salt at the rim.
“Good,” she said, nodding.
She padded around the new condo, very pleased as her toes dug into the thick carpet. Maybe tomorrow she’d do more furniture shopping or get a bread maker for the kitchen.
Unfortunately, there was no view from this room. Not only had she drawn the vertical blinds closed, she had taped cardboard over the glass. From the bedroom, you could see the lights of the city stretching out to the distance and eventually the ocean. In the living room, she had to be careful.
As the electronics warmed up, the buzzing got louder. She went back to the table where the goggles lay and tweaked a small knob on the side. They were almost completely disassembled. Instead of the black molded plastic that looked like bulky sunglasses, the components and wires were spilling out. The thin multicolored leads went to a small box, about a foot square and three inches deep on the table next to the goggles. It had a home-built look, plain gray metal with pre-cut holes that could be punched out. Most of the openings had small toggle switches and dials in them. Others had LED indicators of various colors.
When the buzzing didn’t stop, she reached over and adjusted one of the controls on the housing, turning it ever so slightly as she sipped.
“Come on,” she said, coaxing it.
It quieted down.
“Good,” she said.
As she watched, the first small bulb flared on. She turned away again, skating a slow and wide arc through the living room.
She glanced back and saw that the second lamp was on. On the other side of the makeshift controller, a bunch of wires that were tie-wrapped together ran off the end of the table and then along the floor over to the nearby wall.
At the baseboard, the cable split into two equal bundles that went right and left. Then they both shot straight up to the ceiling about eight feet apart. There they made reverse right angles and met again in the middle at a much smaller metal box. It had no switches or controls but it had LEDs, and the first one was on. A faint luminescence began to grow on the wall below it, eventually filling most of the frame created by the cables. She looked back to the goggles and saw that the lenses were glowing. The dark glass coverings had been removed, the mirrors reversed, and the prisms repositioned such that symbols on the tiny movie screens inside bounced off the mirrors and were projected on the wall.
The second of the three control lamps brightened on the table. When she looked up, she saw the LED there had turned on as well.
“Let the show begin,” she said as she took a seat in an overstuffed leather chair, the ice cubes tinkling.
Finally, the last indicator on both boxes blazed to life, as did the animated projection. She watched as the iconic symbols of the transition between worlds floated like giant amoebas. The reds, yellows, and oranges weren’t as intense as when wearing the goggles, but they were still there, morphing and changing, becoming indistinct.
As the symbols disappeared, a brilliant white light replaced them. It was so bright that it illuminated the entire room. She squinted from her seated position, took a sip, and waited to see who came through tonight.
“You never know,” she whispered.
As if she had commanded it, the light on the wall seemed to ripple and the snout of an animal protruded from it but then disappeared.
She laughed. The big animals were always the most timid. The snout came through again and then the entire face of a grizzly bear.
“Wow,” she said.
Judging from the size of the head, it was a giant. Slowly it pushed through, looking left and right with its bright red eyes. The reddish brown hair on its head spread outward from its face and eventually its ears emerged. As it came forward, its head held low, it seemed to grow as more of its enormous body became visible. Its giant paws nearly had to lie on their sides because of the long curving claws underneath.
Raising its head up, it sniffed the absent wind and finally looked down to where the shama
n was sitting. It made a loud snuffling sound, puffing its cheeks and baring its teeth.
“Cheers,” she said, raising her glass in salute.
Satisfied, it moved forward, emerging in its entirety. It was indeed a giant. Had it decided to stand on its hind legs, it would have gone through the ceiling. Even on all fours, it dwarfed everything in the room.
Walking faster, it traversed the living room in a few steps and then exited through the far wall, off into the night. She stood up, went over to the electronics and hovered her hand over them–too warm. The bigger ones always took their toll on the equipment. It was time to shut down. As she flipped the toggle switches, the projection died and the indicator lamps turned off in order. Soon, the room was in darkness.
“Very good,” she said and finished the last of the margarita.
CHAPTER THIRTY
ALTHOUGH THIS NEIGHBORHOOD was way better than her own, Livvy couldn’t stop checking over her shoulder as she walked up the steep driveway to the front door. The bus stop had only been two blocks away, behind her on the main street. It had all been well lit and there was plenty of traffic, but the pulsing at the back of her head and her bruised stomach were a constant reminder to keep her eyes open.
Roger answered the front door.
“Livvy, come in. Thanks for coming.”
She had called from the bus to let them know she’d be late, and they had been grateful that she’d still make her appointment.
“Honey, Livvy’s here,” he called up the stairs. Turning back to Livvy, he said, “Brad’s downstairs, as usual.”
Margaret came down the stairs, taking off her reading glasses. She was always working, the head of her own corporate law firm with major movie studio clients. Their lovely home in the hills, and another in the Cayman Islands, was the result of her hard work.
“Livvy,” she said, coming over and giving Livvy a small hug. “Good to see you.”
When she pulled back, she studied Livvy’s face.
“Are you all right? Is something wrong?”
“No,” said Livvy, trying to sound casual. “Just a little tired this week.”
She had learned some time ago that clients, when they asked how you were, didn’t really want to know. They had their own problems, which is why they had called.
“How’s Brad?” Livvy asked.
“About the same,” said Roger as he led the way down the stairs. “It was a pretty good week, actually.”
Brad was in his late teens now. Livvy had started treating him when he was in high school. To be more exact, she had started treating him when he’d been thrown out of high school. Roger had quit his job as a technical writer for one of the local aerospace companies to be the stay-at-home dad. He had home-schooled Brad and was the major reason that Brad wasn’t institutionalized.
Roger and Margaret had been at a loss to explain his behavior. Seemingly overnight he had become isolated, avoided his friends, and had been caught stealing from other students. The last thing he needed to do was steal with the kind of money his mother made, but he seemed unable to stop himself.
They had bounced between different counselors and finally MDs and psychiatrists, but everyone had a different opinion to give: attention deficit disorder, schizophrenia, autism, bipolar disorder, and all sorts of combinations of these. They had tried medications and even an institution for a short while. Anything, as long it might help their son.
Then, through a television documentary, Roger had learned about shamanic trips to Siberia and had convinced Margaret to take a chance on it. It had made believers out of them. They had snowmobiled to the remote location of traditional Laplanders who moved their reindeer herds every month or so. One particular group had a shaman of renown, and Roger had seen the story of a couple from the west who brought their young boy to the woman as a last resort and were delighted with the results. They had been delighted too.
“We must be coming up on the six month mark,” said Livvy, quietly, as they all began to walk more softly on the bottom stairs.
“Right,” whispered Roger. “We’ll be heading back in a few weeks.”
Although the visits to Siberia had greater and lesser degrees of effect on Brad, he sometimes seemed like his old self, especially right after one of the trips.
Roger quietly turned the knob, opened the door, and Livvy stepped into the candlelit room. He and Margaret peeked in and then closed the door.
The walls were covered with the usual teenage posters of favorite bands and babes. A huge collection of DVDs and CDs lined one wall and a gaming mat took up a prominent place on the floor. It was a familiar room that Livvy hadn’t seen in regular light for at least a year because, when she arrived, Brad was usually ready to begin their session.
A trip to the Multiverse wasn’t the only way to help a patient. Once Livvy had determined that none of the usual spiritual ailments was at work–malevolent shamans, soul loss, soul transformation, or angry ancestors being the most likely–she had begun working directly with Brad.
Guided meditation was the treatment of choice, with no drugs whatsoever. Ironically, Livvy was probably more knowledgeable about matters pharmaceutical than most other shamans since she had done well in those classes. Even so, she had never felt comfortable with taking the drugs, let alone administering them. Besides, Roger and Margaret had made it clear from the beginning that Brad was off all his prescribed medications now, and they’d like him to stay that way. So far, the meditation seemed to be enough.
He was lying on his pallet on the floor. Several Siberian souvenirs were located around the room and the faint odor of peppermint as well as the lemony smell of flagroot seemed to be everywhere.
“You’re late,” he said quietly, never opening his eyes.
“Yep,” she said, not caring to elaborate.
She rolled out her mat and sat down cross-legged next to him.
“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” he asked, not quite fully awake but not yet meditating.
Their sessions seemed to start like this lately. It was almost as though he was testing her. She did the same thing she always did, answer honestly.
“Because of my work,” she said. “Not a lot of guys are into the…lifestyle.”
He didn’t reply. She looked down at his face, which was peaceful, and watched his chest rise and fall slowly, his hands resting on his stomach.
“Okay,” she said quietly, picking up the small clapping stick that he’d left next to his pallet. “Concentrate on my voice.”
She lightly rapped the clapping stick into the palm of her opposite hand. As the two flexible pieces of reed came together, they made a tapping noise followed by a buzz.
“We’re going to relax,” she said, her words matching the slow but steady cadence of the clapper. “You’re not trying to see anything. You’re not trying to hear anything. You are at rest.”
She watched as he breathed more deeply. At this point in their work, the sound of the clapper was so associated with the meditative state that he was able to slip into it quickly. She kept up the rhythm for several minutes, not too loud, not saying anything. The flickering candle light was soothing. She realized that one of the reasons she had not gone home after being attacked was not only that clients like this needed her help, but she knew she’d feel more peaceful too.
Taking in a deep breath, she released it slowly, closing her eyes.
“Let us journey,” she said, lowly, still tapping the clapper. “We travel inward.”
Tapping, tapping, tapping.
“Past the signs of the subconscious.”
Tapping, tapping, tapping.
“Onto another plane.”
Typically, Brad reported visualizing Siberia. Sometimes it was snowy; sometimes he was inside a tent with a warm fire. Other times he walked near the edge of a frozen river. It made sense. It was the place where he had managed to get in touch with himself and where someone had first been able to help him.
“Where are we?” she asked.
He paused for a moment, but then he said, “I’m at the edge of a lake.”
She waited, tapping.
“What else do you see?”
“The forest. It’s very quiet,” he whispered.
“Is anyone there?”
“No. I’m alone but…”
She waited and kept tapping. And waited. She opened her eyes and looked down at him. His eyebrows were knitting together.
“But what?” she said.
“I’m too alone,” he whispered. “It’s too quiet.” He paused. “And the lake is so dark…it looks black.”
Black? She stopped tapping. Black, as in the black lake of the Middleworld? How could that be?
“Stay where you are,” she said, putting down the clapper and fetching her goggles. “Stay right there.”
“Okay,” he whispered. Then, mumbling and barely audible, “Oh, I see someone.”
“Wait for me, Brad,” said Livvy.
She lay back, put on the goggles, and turned them on.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered.
The symbols finally appeared and began their familiar flow.
Settle down, she told herself. Settle down and get there. You can’t help him until you get there. She took in a deep breath and slowly let it go. How had he managed to get to the–suddenly, she was in the Middleworld.
• • • • •
She looked up and down the path and then spun around in a circle, but he was nowhere in sight.
“Brad!” she called and waited for an answer.
Nothing.
“Brad!” she tried again, but there was only the maddening silence of the Middleworld.
She looked up to the clouds. They flowed away from the path and into the forest.
“At least he didn’t go to the lake,” she muttered and took off at a run into the forest.
“Brad!” she kept yelling. “Brad, it’s Livvy. Answer me!”
The clouds hadn’t stopped yet. She crashed through the undergrowth, dodged around trees, dove under branches and heard a scream off to her left. She headed straight for it, her feet pounding the ground, her legs pumping. The branches and bushes whipped past her, snagging her clothes and scraping her face and hands. There was another scream, much closer this time.
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