Ascension Vision- The Levels of Ascension Box Set

by Amy Proebstel

  It was only then that Petre realized the car she had flagged down had writing on it and a light on the top. All Petre had to do was wait for another vehicle which looked like that one to come by, and he would try again. Luckily, he only had to wait a few seconds and, just like he had seen the woman do it, it worked for him.

  “Where to, mister?” the driver asked as Petre sat down in the back seat.

  “Creedmoor Psychiatric Center.”

  The driver gave him a second look in the rearview mirror to make sure his passenger was not actually planning on being a patient before he pulled away from the curb and merged into the flow of traffic. “Are you visiting a friend there?”

  “No, I’m meeting with Stephen Gascon. Do you know him?”

  “Can’t say that I do.”

  “How long will it take to get there from here?”

  “This time of day, it should take about twenty minutes.”

  Petre nodded and kept his eyes scanning the crowds and buildings as they passed them. He could not understand why the people would want to live here in such a hustle and bustle. When he got back home, he planned on getting back onto his water craft and disappearing for a good long time to let the peace and quiet of the water ease his nerves.

  Eventually, the car pulled up to a tall building and stopped in front of the double-door entrance. The driver turned around and said, “That’ll be forty-six, seventy-five.”

  Petre looked at him with a blank stare.

  “It’s time to pay up, mister!”

  Petre had no idea what he was talking about and said, “Thanks for the ride.” He reached for the door handle and was surprised when the driver’s hand shot out and grabbed his other arm.

  “Not so fast. You have to pay for the drive out here before you get out. Don’t make me call the cops!”

  “But I don’t have anything to pay with,” Petre protested and tried to pull his sleeve out of the man’s grasp so he could get out of the car. “Let go of me!”

  “Not until you pay. You can use a credit card, you know!” He lost his grip on his passenger’s sleeve and grabbed his radio. “Dispatch, please call the police and send them to Creedmoor Psychiatric Center. I have a customer who is refusing to pay.”

  As soon as he was free, Petre shot out the door and rushed to the doors of the building. He wanted to be as far away from the crazy man as he could get. Stepping up to the front desk he waited for the middle-aged woman to get off of the phone before he spoke.

  “May I help you?” she asked even as she noticed the commotion going on outside the entrance.

  “I’m here to see Stephen Gascon.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. I didn’t know I needed one.”

  “Oh, yes. Dr. Gascon is a very busy man. Just one moment and I’ll find out when he will have any time to schedule you in. Are you a patient of his?”

  “No.”

  The woman nodded and picked up her phone. She dialed several digits and then conversed with someone on the other end of the line. “I’ll let him know. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and looked back at Petre and said, “Dr. Gascon will be out of the office until Wednesday. He won’t have any openings until Friday at 2:00 p.m. Will that work for you?”

  Not knowing what the days of the week were called, Petre had no idea how long of a wait it was. He shook his head and said, “How many days is that? Where am I supposed to stay until then? This is unacceptable! I need to meet with him and then get back home! I don’t want to be hanging around this disgusting city for who knows how long.”

  “It’s only four days away, sir. I’m sorry, it’s the best we can do for you without an appointment. I’m actually surprised you were able to get anything this week. Should I put you down for Friday then?”

  “It sounds like I don’t have much choice, now, doesn’t it?” Petre said snidely.

  “No, you don’t. Can I have your name, sir?” she asked with less enthusiasm because of his rudeness.

  “Petre MacVeen.” He tapped his fingers on the countertop as he tried to figure out how to get out of this mess. “Do you have any sleeping accommodations here?”

  “Only for patients.”

  “What does it take to become a patient?”

  “You have to admit yourself or have a court order admit you. Are you saying you want to admit yourself?”

  Looking over his shoulder at the two men talking heatedly and moving closer to the door, Petre nodded and said, “Yes. Is there someplace private where we can make that happen?”

  “Certainly,” she said as she stood up and grabbed a clipboard off of the countertop. “Right this way, Mr. MacVeen.”

  “Petre,” he corrected as he hurried to catch up with her and put more distance between him and the cab driver’s anger.

  “Okay, Petre, just step into this room and fill out this paper. I’ll have an orderly come in and admit you in a few minutes.” She stepped to the side and shut the door behind Petre when he moved into the room.

  “Where did that man go?” the driver asked as he burst into the lobby.

  “He’s being admitted. Is there a problem?” the receptionist asked.

  “Yes, he skipped out on paying his fare.”

  “I can take care of that for you,” she replied. She pulled out an envelope which contained donations for indigent patients and asked, “What is owed?”

  “Forty-six, seventy-five,” he said belligerently.

  The receptionist’s eyebrows rose at the amount, but she counted out the correct fare and handed it over to the man’s outstretched hand. “There you go. Have a nice day.”

  “Thanks,” he said over his shoulder as he had already turned to get back to his cab. He had already lost enough time at this stop, and his dispatcher was certain to yell at him for it. Next time a customer asked to come out here, he would tell them to get a different cab.

  Petre heard the whole exchange through the flimsy door of the room. He felt pretty smug about coming up with a great plan to not only get out of that mess but also for finding a place to stay until he could meet with Dr. Gascon. Petre had no idea what a doctor was, but that was the title the receptionist had given to the man.

  He looked down on the paper and filled in his name. Nothing else seemed to apply to him, so he left it all blank. Several minutes had passed before a man dressed all in white entered the room. Petre was forcibly reminded of the Elders by the man’s clothing, and he took an instant disliking to him.

  “Let me look over your paperwork,” the big man said as he held out his hand to take it from Petre. He glanced at it and frowned. He looked back to Petre, offering the paperwork back to him, and said, “You need to finish filling this out before you can be admitted.”

  “I put in everything I could,” he replied with a smile.

  “All you entered was your name. What is your address?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Fine, give me a former address, then.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “What are your symptoms? Why are you being admitted?”

  “I need a place to stay until Friday.”

  “This isn’t a hotel,” he looked down at the name written, “Petre. This is a mental health hospital. You need to have a valid reason for being admitted.”

  Petre remained silent and simply glared at the man.

  “How come you don’t have any addresses? Are you homeless?”

  “I don’t know what that means here.”

  “What do you mean by ‘here’? It means the same everywhere. Where are you from?”

  “A different world, one I’m sure you’ve never heard of,” Petre spoke argumentatively.

  The orderly’s eyebrows rose, and he was beginning to realize this man really did need to be admitted if he thought he was from a different world. He wrote something speedily on the notes section and signed his own name at the bottom of the form. “Fine. Follow me, and I’ll get you settled in your room.” He turne
d, opened the door, and waited for Petre to precede him from the room before he stepped beside him and led the way to the elevators.

  Once the doors shut and he selected the thirteenth floor, he began his usual speech. “Lunch is served at 11:30, dinner is at 5:00.” The elevator stopped, and the doors opened to a wide, white corridor. They exited and turned to the left. They only had to walk a few feet before the orderly stopped, pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, and unlocked the door to Petre’s room. “This is your room,” he said as he pulled open the door and waited for Petre to enter.

  “It’s pretty plain in there. Do you have something nicer?” Petre could hardly imagine spending any amount of time in the plain, white room with only a bed and a chair in it. A window would have gone a long way to making it more welcoming.

  “This isn’t the Ritz; this is a hospital.” He was becoming impatient, so he grabbed Petre’s arm and propelled him into the room. Without waiting for any other excuses, he used his key to lock the door again.

  “Hey!” Petre yelled as he heard the lock being turned. “You can’t lock me in here! Let me out right now.” He banged on the door a few times before he recalled he had no other place to go. Turning around, he walked over to the bed and sat down on the lumpy mattress. “I should have stayed in another hotel. Oh well, at least I’m already at the place where Dr. Gascon works. As soon as he gets here, I’ll be on my way.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  THE TRIP TO the jail was silent. Nobody knew what they could say that would make the drive any less depressing, so they kept their own counsel. Luckily, Chris had received directions, so they drove straight to the jail and parked right outside the main entrance. Chris got out of the car and went around the front to get Diane’s door for her.

  Diane took the extra few seconds to check her makeup in the mirror one last time. She had been crying before they left and she wanted to make sure all evidence of it had been erased. The last thing Carrie needed was to see her mother falling apart and not remaining strong. She would be the rock her child needed if it were the last thing she did that day.

  Amanda patted her mother’s shoulder for support before opening her door and getting out of the vehicle and standing beside her father. “What time are visiting hours?”

  “We’ll find out when we get in there. Nobody seemed to know for certain.” He put his hand out for Diane to hold as they walked to the front doors. Again, Chris held open the door while Amanda and Diane entered ahead of him. They only had a few steps to take before they had to empty their pockets, put their purses on the conveyor belt, and walk through a metal detector.

  Amanda had never seen such a thing before, and she was more than a little curious why such a small town would need something so extreme. She turned and saw the same expression on her mother’s face as well. She thought better about asking anything about it until after they were well away from the jail. The last thing they needed was to get turned away because of their curiosity.

  Once they were through the initial screening, they came to an information window with a bored attendant. “How can I help you,” she said drolly.

  Chris leaned forward and said, “We’d like to visit with Carrie Covington. We were told she’s being held here.”

  “One moment while I check the intake records.” She turned away and tapped out several things on her computer. “I’m sorry, she’s not here anymore. After her indictment hearing, she was moved over to county.”

  “What?” Diane almost screamed.

  Chris shushed her and then asked more calmly, even though he was far from feeling calm, “Is she allowed visitors there?”

  “Yes, unless she’s in solitary. Would you like me to get you the address?”

  “Please.”

  The woman found the proper business card and handed it to Chris.

  “Thank you,” he said as he turned away. He practically dragged Diane away from the window as she clearly wanted to ask more questions which the woman would not have answers to anyway. It was better to get them all back to the car before Diane really exploded and caused them more trouble.

  “Let go of my arm, Chris!” Diane spoke through clenched teeth as she tugged her arm free of her husband’s grasp. She was seething with rage and was starting to see white streaks on the sides of her vision. Once she was seated in the passenger seat of the truck, she turned on her husband and accused, “How could you embarrass me like that?”

  “I was trying to keep you from getting yourself in trouble.” He spoke calmly as he looked down at the business card to read the address of where they needed to go.

  “How could they have already sentenced her?” Diane screamed.

  “It wasn’t a sentencing; it was an indictment hearing. All they did was bring her in front of the judge and read the charges against her and asked her to give her plea. It’s just the first step in the process.” Chris turned on the ignition and looked behind them, preparing to back out of the parking space.

  “What are you now, a lawyer? How do you know any of this?” Diane accused, unreasonable in her anger.

  “I did some research on it before we flew out here. I wanted to know what we were up against.”

  Amanda remained quiet in the back seat; her stomach churned in fear for her sister. This problem was suddenly more real and more serious than she had imagined. She wished she could be anywhere other than where she was at the moment. The buildings whizzed by as her father navigated the streets to the county jail. Only a few minutes had passed before they were once again parking and going into another austere-looking building.

  This time, when Chris asked to see his daughter, they were directed to a big, open room and told to sit at one of the round tables. A few minutes later, Carrie, dressed in orange coveralls, was escorted over to them by an armed guard.

  Diane rose and put out her arms to hug her daughter.

  The guard spoke in a clipped voice, “No physical contact is allowed. Please be seated.”

  Dejected, Diane seemed to wilt back into her chair, tears forming in her eyes as she stared at her daughter.

  Carrie could not bring herself to even look at her mother; she did not want to see the disappointment in her eyes. Instead, she stared at the sister she had believed would never come out of her coma. This was the first time she had seen her in over seven years, and she wondered why she had come. She shifted her gaze to her father and said dully, “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hi, honey. Are you doing okay?”

  “Does it look like it? I guess I really screwed up this time, didn’t I?” Carrie sat down hard in the chair between her sister and father.

  “My husband offered to help. Can you think of anything he can do to get you out of here?” Amanda offered helpfully.

  “I’d heard you’d married some rich dude you hardly knew. How’s that going?” Carrie asked rudely.

  Amanda blinked at the unexpected attack and remained silent.

  Chris cleared his throat and said, “Carrie, be nice. We all want to help. Tell us what we can do?”

  “There’s nothing you can do for me, but you can do something for April and Emily. They were taken into foster care, and I’m sure they’re scared. Find them and take them home with you.”

  Diane sobbed suddenly and began digging in her pocket for a tissue.

  “Jeez, Mom, please stop. I’m not dead; I’m just in jail. Hopefully, I won’t be here long, and then I’ll come and get the kids.”

  “Do you really think it’ll work out like that? That you can be out of here soon?” Diane sniffled and dabbed her nose with the tissue.

  “Sure, piece of cake.” Carrie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

  “Carrie? Are you okay? Why are you acting like this?” Amanda asked, hardly recognizing her sister through the harsh mannerisms.

  Carrie threw her head back and actually laughed. She plucked at the jumpsuit with both her hands and said, “Does this look okay to you? That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve heard today,
Amanda. Why don’t you go home to your rich husband? You’ve done your duty and came and saw me. I don’t need you rubbing in your perfect life to me anymore.” She stood up and turned to the guard, “I’m ready to go back now.”

  “Carrie, wait!” Chris stood and willed his daughter to turn around.

  Carrie’s shoulders stiffened, but she did not look back. She walked out of the visiting room without even saying goodbye. It was all she could do to keep from crying until after she could turn the corner to go back to her cell.

  Diane whimpered and let the sobs begin in earnest. She felt as though she had lost another daughter; only this time she was not dead. There was nothing she could do or say which would make this any better. The whole trip had been a waste of time.

  “Let’s go find out what we can do about getting April and Emily,” Chris said quietly.

  Amanda put her arm around her mother’s shoulders to help her up out of her chair. “C’mon, Mom. Let’s go.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Daven did as much research as he could on Shemalla and found relatively little of interest. He had been surprised to find she was officially an agent of Elder Vargen. The fact that her assignment was based on Earth was also something which had only been discovered when he peeled back several layers of classified clearances.

  He wondered if any of the other Elders knew that the museum in Roswell was being run by Elder Vargen. How many other facilities were being run by the Elder on Earth? This was highly unusual and would need further investigation. Maybe a conversation with Elder Debbon would be in order.

  After typing up his reply to Riccan’s message, he could not help but think about the prophecy predicting that the Elders would fall. Could Elder Vargen be one who would fall? He never really had liked Vargen’s brash style, nor the way he always sided with the most difficult Elders in any discussion regarding policy. Vargen seemed to be the ringleader of the ornery cronies.