“Stand clear, he has power over electrical forces,” a voice commanded. Paul didn’t know if it was an angel or a freaky disembodied spirit and right now he didn’t care. His life was in danger. He strode off down the lane, past the house and towards a field with an iron gate. Above him stretched a tangle of telephone and power cables.
“Don’t touch metal,” screamed the warning voice in his head. “He has command over metal.”
“What doesn’t he have command over?” Paul shouted in desperation. There were waves of icy fear now rippling through his insides and he knew they were being caused by an external source.
Everywhere he turned he seemed to be in danger as the blackness started to envelope his mind, blotting out rational though, strangling any kind of thought.
‘Go back into the house.” Guardian Angel told him. “And say the name of Ru-Ah. Remember the vision.”
Paul didn’t wait to argue. The time for intellectual niceties and reasoned debate was over. Now it was pure survival. Paul sprinted to the house, careful not to touch anything. He started to chant the name of the supposed new world savior over and over. He was desperate, panting with exhaustion and his mouth was dry with fear. He made it to the house and into the living room where he was compelled to fall to his knees. A sensation similar to pins and needles or frost bite began to creep upwards from his feet to his legs. When it reached his heart that would be the end. Frantically, he searched for his crystals, crawling around on his hands and knees. Why hadn’t he kept them with him at all times? He remembered and lunged for a jacket hanging over the back of a chair. He scrabbled in the pocket and withdrew the little black bag. He was just in time. Acting partly on instinct and partly on some kind of telepathic instruction he began to retch into a cushion which had fallen from a chair.
“Begone foul spirit,” he yelled, panting desperately and clutching his crystals as if his life depended on it. He used all the force of his will to resist the creeping paralysis. He prayed as he had never prayed before. If the telephone had rung he would not have heard it. At this rate his business would fall apart. He retched, visualizing some kind of evil entity infesting him. An image was placed in his mind of a man with a prayer book and a crucifix. Behind him, and somehow attached to him, was a mullah and a rabbi. They formed a spiritual amalgam. Paul understood then that there were more spirit forces than the angels and dark force involved here. There were the crazies who had first made contact. The weaker ones, like Clara’s spirit guide and those freaky spirits still living in their own fantasies, could be blown aside by angelic power and demonic forces or used by them. Some kind of religious triumverate of zealots was parked in his subconscious. They were separate from the other forces that Paul was only too aware of but they were also extremely dangerous to the living. Paul continued retching and trying to exorcise the bigoted infestation. The crystals were beginning to gather heat inside the little bag. Paul could feel the heat emanating within his knotted fist and starting to course around his bloodstream. It was a huge struggle to hold on to his sanity and not resort to cracking his head against the wall.
“There is no fear,” he heard himself say. “There is no fear, there is no fear.” He was resisting fear, terrified that if he succumbed he would be done for, gone forever, away with the fairies, as his father used to say.
“Ru-Ah, Ru-Ah, Ru-Ah,” came the chant that gradually caused the fear to ebb. He found himself chanting and weeping with relief.
He struggled to his feet, bathed in sweat and staggered to the living room to collapse on a sofa.
“We must take the next step, Paul,” said Prosperity Angel. “The book is all important. It will be some time yet.”
“You have resisted well, my cherub,” grunted Punishment Angel. “You would not have done without pain. And there is more to come.”
Paul was lashed with an invisible whip till he was whimpering on the carpet, his mind blazing with images of Kate and Terry Sullivan, Marcie’s leather clad thighs. He saw Annie and Rory and Cassie and called out with love for them. Other images of deserts and death, cities in the sand, crystalline palaces glowing with light, the unspeakable intensity of the vision of Ru-Ah and then the face of a boy smiling. The face was timeless, the expression beyond comprehension.
Paul came to and found everything as it should be, as though nothing had taken place. The angels were still here waiting for him.
“More difficult residues of dark matter have been removed,” said Punishment Angel with, what Paul sensed, was a degree of satisfaction.
“This is important because there is less for any antagonistic force to latch on to. I hope you understand.”
Paul didn’t reply. He was mentally and physically exhausted. If things went on like this there was no way he could hide it from his family and friends. As for work, it might become impossible and this would be a disaster.
“Paul,” said Development Angel, “what you have been experiencing will ease very soon. It is important that you understand that, in the course of the next few years, you will be directed to meet particular people. It will often be under surprising circumstances. But you will learn and appreciate ideas and concepts that will help prepare you to meet Ru-Ah at a time when he is preparing to emerge into the world.
There may be attacks on you up to the point where your true mission begins. We will erase part of your memory of these events leaving just those necessary for you to work on the first book, ‘An Angel On My Shoulder’, with someone who will be drawn to you. Then life will return to normal.
“You will know this person as soon as you meet and spend time together working on the book. You have been given insights into the nature of humanity, spiritual life, time and space, the universe as you know it, energy generation – particularly through sexual activity – angelic existence, religion and the duality of life. This education and these insights will continue with those whom you will meet. Co-incidences and sudden insights will continue to remind you of what has taken place and we will be watching over you and your family as always just we do for others under our aegis. Now, do you have any questions?”
“I thought you could read my every thought and emotion,” said Paul wearily.
“Yes,” said Guardian Angel. “You are wondering why you cannot learn all you need to know from us instead of waiting to meet other human beings.”
“Yes I was,” agreed Paul.
“You would be too exposed to spiritual harm. Opposing forces have as much reason to operate in your life as our form of contact. You will be far happier and safer communicating with other human beings.”
“Is there a God? Is one religion closer to the truth than any other? Is there life like us elsewhere in the universe? Do we reincarnate? If so why can’t we remember? What exactly is Ru-Ah going to tell the world? Is all this actually happening to me or am I going slowly mad? Are we victims of secret societies and brotherhoods sworn to enslave us?” Paul decided to ask the obvious.
“The answer is yes and no and we cannot tell you what Ru-Ah is going to bring to the world,” said all the angels together. “God and supreme consciousness are one and the same. There is other life similar to you in other universes. Religion and scientific thought are trying to make sense of the human condition and, as you will discover, are closer together than it would appear. All religions share fundamental truths. Human spirit reincarnates in the sense that, as we have already told you, spirit and energy are in a constant flux of creation, all are interdependent and whatever germ of truth you have gained in a life span can be born again and in that sense the individual never dies although new individuals are being born. There is a memory of lives but for a human being to experience them would do harm. You have already had glimpses of your own experiences which you see as in the past. What you are experiencing is real in your terms and is not an illusion. It will not last much longer. You must understand that you will easily forget our contact together but you must always remember what you really are at all times. You will receive r
eminders of your role or destiny and gain wisdom from those you will meet until the day you meet Ru-Ah and learn his Earthly name.”
“Am I going to be driven mad by these other spirits?” Paul asked.
“You will not be as susceptible now as you were,” explained Punishment Angel with a degree of affection. “You are still a target but all is coming to an end. It is not over yet, however.”
With this news the angels melted into the ether just as the telephone rang. Paul picked up the receiver.
“Hi, Paul, it’s Oscar, Spears Industries,” the voice barked down the line. Paul was jolted back into business mode.
“Oh, Oscar, how are you doing?”
“Fine, just fine. Look, thanks for coming in the other day. We’ve had an opportunity to chew over your ideas and we like what we see. There are some innovative approaches in your report. We like that.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” replied Paul.
“Here’s what we’d like to do,” Oscar continued. “We’d like to work on one project with you as a kind of trial, see how we work together in practice. Then, if that proves successful, we can take it a stage further. How does that sound to you?”
“That sounds very good to me,” said Paul. “It’s just what I would have done.”
“So we need to compare diaries. Got yours handy?”
Paul used a large wall planner. He pencilled in a date to meet with Oscar and others he’d be working with and finally replaced the receiver with a feeling of satisfaction. One thing he knew for certain. These demons had to be out of his mind by the time he began work for Barry Spears. He couldn’t risk fouling up or appearing to be not up to the mark.
He made a cup of coffee and then noticed that tonight he was taking everyone out for dinner to mark Rory’s big decision. He was leaving for Australia the following month and bag packing his way across India, Malaysia, Singapore and finally Sydney. He had hoped Cassie and Geoff could have been there but his daughter was still recovering. She had been badly shocked by what happened to her and would take a little time to heal. Paul was convinced that it was all the work of the dark force. This is what made it all the more terrifying. If this force could cause his daughter’s liver to almost fail, what else could it do? But who was that doctor? He made a mental note to ask the angels. He had definitely seen him leaving Cassie’s room.
While close to the phone he looked out Romy’s number and dialled it. In a few moments she answered. Paul remembered the sound of her voice and introduced himself.
“Of course I remember you. The dancer.”
“Not really, well, used to be.”
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she said. Her voice carried an undertone of intimacy.
“I was hoping I could take you up on your offer,” said Paul.
“And what offer was that,” she asked in an amused tone.
“I may need some professional help. You mentioned hypnosis and psychotherapy.”
“I remember. I don’t normally discuss business at social events,” she said. “Look, why not come around tomorrow afternoon and we’ll just talk. If you need to be regressed then we can try it. If it’s obvious that you need my professional help then I would have to take you on formally as a fee-paying client. Does that sound fair?” she asked him.
“That sounds very fair,” said Paul. “That sounds very fair indeed. Are you free at around two o’clock?”
Romy was free and agreed to meet. There didn’t seem much more to say.
Romy’s apartment was situated in a leafy street in a town about ten miles away. It was on the ground floor of a Regency-style house, part of a row of similar houses with iron balustrades around the windows and all with basements or cellars.
She answered the door quickly and smiled at Paul who stood a little nervously outside. She was wearing a sloppy pyjama-type suit with, Paul noticed, nothing underneath. He didn’t know whether this was a deliberate signal or her normal attire.
“Come on in,” she told him and slouched back into the apartment.
There was a kitchen off the main living area that was furnished comfortably including giant cushions randomly spread around the floor. Paul could see what he took to be a consulting room further on which looked a bit sparse and severe. He noticed that there were bookcases everywhere it seemed. This woman read a lot or needed her private reference library. She indicated Paul should slump into an easy chair with a massive cushion.
“I thought we could be informal at this point,” she said, running her fingers through her thick hair as though she had been taking exercise and was cooling off. “That is, until we decide whether or not you are going to become a patient of mine.”
“Seems fair to me,” said Paul.
“Would you like some wine?”
“Yes, that would be just fine.”
“I hope you like Californian,” she said as she went to a small drinks cupboard and took out an extra glass. Paul saw that there was a bottle already opened. She poured wine for them both, settled down opposite him and tucked her feet under her.
“So, what’s all this about?”
Paul told her the whole story in as matter-a-fact a fashion as he could manage. She said nothing but listened intently, sipping occasionally from her wine glass. Shafts of afternoon sunlight broke through her tall windows in the far corner of the room bestowing an almost church-like atmosphere, which seemed somehow appropriate given the remarkable tale Paul was telling.
When he had finished, Romy said nothing for some time. She appeared to be assessing Paul’s state-of-mind.
“Hmm!” she said finally. “I know this will seem unscientific but there are a number of potential causes for these events. The fact that you are rational enough to come and see me, carry on working and living fairly normally does not lead me to believe that you are suffering from a psychosomatic condition which may have a physical or medical cause, such as a chemical imbalance. At the same time, the root cause of these alleged angel voices and the associated demons may still, and arguably must do unless you believe in the existence of angels, emanate from a mental condition. You may not appear to be, or think that you are, suffering from the effects of stress, but your subconscious is a tricky customer and may be inventing an angel, demon and chosen destiny scenario to block underlying emotional, sexual and life troubles and torments by picking out from the depths of your mind fantasies constructed from the fabric of the interest you have in occult, metaphysical and esoteric ideas, philosophies and notions. Does that sound clear?”
“Perfectly,” Paul agreed. “I was thinking along similar lines myself. It’s just that the quality of the contact just seems so unquestionable. It seems to boil down to just knowing these angelic contacts are just what they say they are. I mean, I question it in the manner you describe while it is taking place telling myself it’s all in my mind and trying to unearth any subterranean mental conditions that would give rise to it. And I can’t.”
“That’s where hypnosis might help,” explained Romy. “Unless we start a programme of therapy to try and discover if you are happy and content with your marriage, for instance, or whether your relationships with your mother, with other women, with men, with organizations, employers and with your own feeling of self-worth are stable then we are unlikely to arrive at a diagnosis for what has been troubling you. And, it appears from what you say, that this is on top of you now and that there isn’t time to spend in long sessions of analysis. Would you let me hypnotize you and maybe see if we can uncover or even release whatever energy blockage is causing these phenomena?”
“Yes, I would,” said Paul.
“Good. Depending on results, I may recommend chakra cleansing and spirit channelling to try and clean your psyche of unwanted mental constructs. You notice I have avoided discussing what is real or unreal in this situation?” Romy stood up and beckoned him to her consulting room. As Paul followed, he found himself distracted by the sight of Romy’s body moving languidly beneath her thin tracksuit. A s
mall voice from somewhere was already describing vivid images in his mind of Romy undressing him while he lay in an indefensible hypnotic trance and running a commentary describing graphically what she was going to do to him while he was under. He shook his head free of the erotic vision and slipped his hand inside his pocket to grasp his little bag of crystals.
The consulting room was decorated in neutral but relaxing colours. Paul sat in a deep chair and Romy sat beside him, close enough for him to inhale her musky scent. She had drawn the blinds and switched on a small tape recorder. She had also switched on a discreet lamp on a side table to enable her to make notes. On the desk in front of her was one of those executive toys that swung to and fro in perpetual motion.
“You can’t be hypnotized against your will, Paul,” she explained. “Just give yourself fully to the process. When I start the metals balls swinging just listen to your inner voice as they tap on either side.” She leaned forward and started the balls moving. “Just let yourself relax and welcome the onset of a deep sleep. But you will only hear my voice. My voice will be all that you wish to hear. Just keep watching the balls swinging to and fro, to and fro. Soon I will count down from ten. When I reach one you will be asleep. Ten, nine, eight…”
Paul was aware of his surroundings yet he seemed to be in a dark place. He recognized it as being his mind. He could hear Romy talking but nothing else. She asked him about his relationship with Kate and his relationship with women. She asked him about his father and about being an only child having no brothers or sisters.
Romy watched Paul lying back in his chair. She liked him. From all accounts he was happily married but as she questioned him, deep-seated fears and resentments began to surface, particularly concerning the notion that Kate had been unfaithful. Romy decided she would like to develop their relationship on a more personal and even intimate level. This was unprofessional, she chided herself, but, hell, he wasn’t officially a patient. This was a free session. She began to regress Paul back to his birth and beyond.
An Angel on My Shoulder Page 15