“You remind me of one of many patients who’ve suffered a grave trauma. They spend all their waking hours trying to suppress the memory of that event rather than living daily life. In essence, that’s what you’ve done. You’ve tried so hard to deny this version of your ability that you’ve cut yourself off from everything else in life that used to be important to you.” Nelson stopped there and shook his head again.
It was difficult to take, but I knew Nelson was right about almost everything he’d said. I’d been living life by routine and the joy had slipped away. I didn’t want to keep living like that, and that’s the reason I’d sought therapy with him in the first place. I wanted his help and for things to change, but I didn’t know where to begin.
“So, what do I have to do, Nelson?” I finally asked.
“Just be willing to work with me, Mike. Let me teach you the techniques of watching or observing the images from a passive position. That’s where we need to begin,” he answered.
“But that means you’re going to record the sessions. That means there’ll be evidence, recorded testimony, that I see the future. I’ve tried to hide that information,” I protested, panicked by the prospect.
“I know, Mike. I do understand your concerns, but you trust me or you wouldn’t be here. So, trust me to keep what we record safe,” Nelson sincerely said as he stood and offered his hand in a solemn promise. We shook hands. If nothing else, a gentleman’s agreement bound us. I promised to think about his suggestion. Thinking about it was all I could do. I tried to brush off the optimistic proposal, but it nagged at me off and on for the rest of the day.
Chapter Ten
Since I was a young child, I’d used a pros and cons list for important decisions. It was a tool my parents taught me, and I used it whenever faced with a difficult choice. I made such a list now. After an hour of writing, I was done.
The summation of pros for letting Nelson record the visions was documentation of the finer points in the images. I had no doubt that Nelson would ask relevant questions forcing me to see beyond the horrifying and into details. The summary of cons was similar but more austere… it would leave actual documentation of the visions, a record that I had this ability. In the wrong hands, that could be lethal. This bothered me more than anything else did and I couldn’t deny it, especially after finding the listening device.
If the information found its way into the wrong hands, would I lose more than my freedom? Liberty was very important to me. It always had been. I liked to blame it on the job and the visions, but fear for loss of freedom was the primary reason I couldn’t settle down or commit to marriage and a family. I couldn’t abide the possibility of being trapped—caged might be a more accurate word. I’d taken enough psychology classes to know that this fear stemmed from a traumatic experience I had in elementary school.
I’d once been a small boy, smaller than the other children in class. When I was in third grade, a few fifth graders locked me in a storage closet under the stairway of the gym. They punched and kicked me, knocking out my breath; they taunted mercilessly and assured me that I’d never be found until it was too late. Then they slammed the door and locked it from the outside. I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve their harsh treatment. I didn’t even know their names.
Surrounded in darkness and physically battered, no one could hear my cries for help. I was prisoner of that closet for hours. The bell rang and everyone went home for the day. I was stifling tears when finally, early that evening, the janitor heard something in the closet and unlocked the door. He was kind enough to walk me home and promised that he’d always check the closet first thing on his cleaning rounds so that no other child would be left there again. He shook his head and clucked his tongue at how cruel children could be, but even his compassion didn’t ease the pain of the experience.
Nothing has ever truly erased that painful memory.
Thinking about the experience now and the ensuing fear of entrapment, I wondered if it was reasonable. Had the childhood memory clouded my judgment? Has this one traumatic event affected everything in my life? Did the experience prevent me from getting the help needed from a trusted friend? Does it all come down to fear? Can I live with knowing that this emotion drives my reactions to life, to this gift, to love, to friendships?
I have to let this go. Maybe Nelson can help.
“Nelson, it’s Mike; I’ve been thinking about our conversation all afternoon. I’m willing to work with you on this, and I’m willing for you to begin recording our sessions,” I began when he answered the phone. But then, I abruptly came to a complete stop.
“What is it?” Nelson asked after several moments of silence.
“Well, before we begin that, I’d appreciate it if we worked on something else first, something a little more personal from childhood.” This was more difficult than I’d first thought. Letting Nelson in was like trying to breathe underwater.
“That’s not a problem, Mike,” he replied with confidence. “In fact, I have an opening Thursday at two o’clock. We can work on it then, ok?”
I paced back and forth for some time after the call ended. It seemed that the further I went with Nelson, the farther I had to go. Pandora’s Box was open—bad stuff kept spewing out of it. I’d also noticed that the more I journaled, the more discoveries I made about my life and past. Did I really want to delve into these things? Did I really want change this badly?
Change is painful and scary as hell; it’s often likened to the birth and death experiences. The infant cries hysterically when separated from the womb while even the oldest dying man or woman fights tooth-and-nail to ward off leaving the body.
Am I infantile or elderly in my resistance?
Chapter Eleven
There hadn’t been any word from Casey since Sunday night when she slipped into my bed sometime after midnight. I didn’t like the absences or silence—it made me feel abandoned and vulnerable. It caused me to feel emotions that I’d never felt and opened an entirely new world of emotional suffering. I hated that the worst.
She finally called Wednesday afternoon to invite me to join her for dinner. We were to meet at La Palucci’s around eight. I had many questions about Casey’s involvement and thinking about confronting her caused my stomach to knot. I didn’t really want to rock the boat—I liked Casey too much. Still, I needed answers for several reasons. Even if she isn’t the one targeting me, someone has her in the crosshairs. My suspicions about who planted the device still rolled back onto her pretty shoulders. I had to know who was behind it.
I dressed carefully for the dinner date, choosing to wear dress slacks, shirt and tie, and a dinner jacket. Afterwards, I walked down the street to the bodega to buy a pack of cigarettes. I’d planned to catch a cab from there, but when I came out of the market, two men grabbed me from behind. A dark-colored van squealed out from around the corner, screeching to a halt in front of us. The men tried to force me into the van, but I kicked and punched my way clear of them. I used a heady rush of adrenaline and the moves learned from many years of sparring with Troy. It was the only training I had.
I heard bones crunch as my elbow connected with a nose. That man turned loose quickly enough and I focused on the other one. The man attempted a chokehold. I kicked hard, plowing my heel into the leg directly behind me. I’m certain I dislocated his patella. Both assailants cursed loudly and moaned. They were useless after that and I quickly took off towards home while the men dragged themselves into the van. It sped away in the opposite direction. When I got to the stoop of the brownstone, I was dazed. A myriad of questions rolled around my skull.
How the hell did that happen?
It had to be the bug Maria found. The men were connected to the listening device. That had to be it! They were the ones listening. But, what did they want? Had removing the bug ensured this desperate attempted abduction?
Dazed, I stumbled through the front door. The alarm sounded noisily, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. I quickly closed
the door to silence it and then went upstairs to the bathroom. My heart beat wildly. I couldn’t tell if I was hurt or not—I didn’t feel anything except a wild and crazy flood of adrenaline. One look in the mirror let me know I was fine. The dinner jacket lapel was torn, my tie was askew, and there was a little discoloration on my left cheek. It was similar to a rug burn and caused by an elbow during the scuffle. I didn’t have any real pain and I didn’t see any blood. I was lucky this time.
Will there be a next time?
Of course, there will be a next time! Somebody had been listening. Someone was following. Someone wanted me and the information in the visions. It was exactly as I’d feared. It was why I’d never told a soul. Some secret or governmental agency found out about the visions—and they wouldn’t stop until they got what they wanted.
Me!
I changed jackets, straightened the tie, put a little antiseptic on my cheek and then went to La Palucci’s to meet Casey. It wasn’t her fault and I wouldn’t keep her waiting longer than necessary. When I got there, she wasn’t there and didn’t show. She didn’t answer her phone either. I sat at the bar and sipped a scotch neat for over an hour, waiting. I only drank the one scotch, although I ordered two to keep the bartender happy.
I fidgeted and worried over what I knew and what I didn’t know. I considered that maybe the listening device was about Casey. Maybe the two men were sent by an angry jilted lover. Maybe Casey really did feel the same connection I felt towards her. Maybe everything that had happened could be easily explained. Casey had simply found a key in the kitchen drawer while making coffee and decided to use it to surprise me. Maybe—and maybe I just wanted to believe those things.
Is she in danger?
Did the men intend to seize both of us? Did they already have Casey? Is that why she didn’t show for dinner? Should I call the police or Joe?
The answers eluded me and the questions drove me crazy. It didn’t help that her phone went straight to voicemail. I wasn’t aware that I’d previously blocked the sixth sense long before Adom tapped me on the forehead. I didn’t know that the consequence of that action limited my ability to grasp and understand serious personal matters. For a man with an above average intelligence, I often found myself going round and round looking for a solution that would’ve seemed obvious to anyone else. It was the price paid for my rash, youthful decision. I was like a rat in a maze, running, running, and never finding a way out.
Finally, realizing there weren’t any answers sitting at the bar, I went home. It was too early for bed, so I paced back and forth. I sat in the dining room and then in the living room, moving from room to room like a lion pacing his cage, a stranger in my own home. When my eyelids closed from exhaustion while sitting, the kaleidoscope visions shocked me upright again and I resumed pacing. I needed to figure this out, but everything took me in circles without any answers or an end in sight. I thought it should be morning, but it was only a little after midnight. I continued to pace until two the next morning.
The doorbell chimed and I checked the security monitor before answering it. It was Casey. She appeared to be tipsy, swaying slightly as she looked expectantly at the camera above the doorway. Then, she smiled alluringly as if she could see me watching her. When I answered the door, she laughingly fell into my arms.
“I’m so sorry, darling. I got tied up at the parents’ dinner party. They have these awful occasions a couple of times a month and always insist I attend them. Even though I tried, I simply couldn’t get away. Silly me left my phone off which is something mother always demands at her dinners and I didn’t get any of your calls until just an hour ago,” Casey gushed.
I didn’t say anything.
She wore a long, slinky cream-colored cocktail number that clung to every tantalizing curve of her body. Who dresses that way for a family dinner party? If she’d been a smoker, I could easily image a long, black-tipped cigarette holder in her manicured hand. And where were the elbow-length gloves that would complete the outfit? My mind was spinning from one inconsequential thought to the next, but I couldn’t seem to stop.
“I came as quickly as I could, darling,” Casey continued sheepishly, “and you’ve gone and changed your locks. Were you trying to keep me from slipping into bed with you? I thought you liked the surprise visits, dear,” she accusingly crooned. She looked up at me with gorgeous blue eyes, coyly batting her lashes a few times. “You know, I found an extra key in the kitchen and took it. I suppose that was naughty of me, but I didn’t think you’d mind when you saw how beneficial those little midnight surprises could be. Sometimes, it’s the only way we can find time to be together,” she cooed.
I still didn’t say anything, but my silence spoke volumes. I hadn’t said anything because I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. Lyrics played in my head blotting out all reasonable conversation... “You spin me right round, baby…right round like a record, baby…right round… round… round.”
“You aren’t mad at me are you, darling?” she asked again. When I still didn’t answer, Casey switched to indignant and then demanding, “Mike?”
It was the first time she’d used my given name since we met at Cavenders. It felt out of character now. She commonly used an innocuous but endearing term like ‘darling’ or ‘dear.’ I found myself in a conundrum. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe it was coincidence that we met after I told Nelson about the kaleidoscope images. I wanted to believe that the covert listening device was some sinister plot against her…that she had nothing to do with it…that she was a victim. I wanted to believe that she felt the same connection I felt—that this could be the beginning of a lovely relationship. I wanted to find love and have a family and I wasn’t ready to see that hope crumble and fall apart. I wanted many things but maybe I couldn’t have that life with Casey. Nothing added up to her innocence.
Lyrics still ran through my mind… “You spin me right round, baby…right round like a record, baby…right round…round… round.”
Casey reached up and wrapped her hands around my neck, locking her fingers. She pulled my head down towards hers. The kiss was lingering and passionate, insistent. She tasted faintly of brandy and key lime pie, a combination that was a favorite menu item at her mother’s dinner parties. She told me about that the first day they met, and she’d mentioned her mother’s hard-and-fast rule that everyone shuts off their cell phones before sitting at the dining table. I broke free from the passionate kiss and tilted my head back to look at her.
“Why’d you want to have dinner at La Palucci’s tonight if you were already going to the family dinner?”
“I thought I could get away, darling. I’d already been to two of those boring occasions this month and I honestly thought I could slip out unnoticed. I intended to stay for only a few minutes of the cocktail hour and leave without anyone being the wiser, but father caught me at the door and drew me back in. He had several guests he wanted me to meet. Business is all he thinks about these days, really. After a few before dinner drinks and several during, I lost track of time,” Casey gushed her explanation. She paused for a moment while I tried to process what she said. It was a lot to consider. “I’m sorry, Mike.”
There it was again; she was using my first name. It didn’t feel right, none of it did, but she felt right in my arms. After the last few days, I needed something to feel right. I threw caution to the wind. I couldn’t help it; I tightened my arms around her and drew her closer, kissing her passionately and without reservations this time.
Yeah, this feels right, baby…You spin me right round, baby…right round like a record, baby…right round…round…round.
I pushed better judgment aside and lifted her effortlessly in my arms. I took the stairs two at a time as I carried her up to the bedroom. Casey giggled and kicked off three-inch heels before we got there. The slinky dress slipped to the floor and my worries fled with it—at least for now.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, we had coffee on the
deck, sipping the hot brew in quiet. It was relaxing and reminded me of weekends as a child when my parents had done the same thing. My father read the paper while mother worked the New York Times crossword.
The idea that Casey might be involved in the insane drama that had transpired over the last several days still niggled at me, and although I tried to force it to the back corner of my mind, it refused to go. I wanted to enjoy the moment, but I needed a few answers before that was possible. I’d already decided not to share any information about the listening device Maria found or the two men from last evening. I wasn’t ready to find out if she was involved with those incidents. Still, I needed answers. To get those answers required asking Casey about recent and past lovers, something that’s often taboo in any relationship.
“Was your husband very upset after the divorce?” I began.
“I think it was a pretty much a mutual split, dear. To be honest, we were both relieved when it was out in the open that our marriage wasn’t working,” Casey replied without guise.
“So, there weren’t any hard feelings between the two of you?” I probed.
“No, I think the only ones who had any hard feelings were my parents. You see, they’ve been married for over forty years and divorce isn’t in their vocabulary. They took it pretty hard. They’d wanted their only child to live happily ever after with her prince charming and to give them many fat grandchildren,” Casey answered and then laughed, but there was a bitterness that couldn’t be disguised. “After eight years,” she continued, “the children never came, and it’s a blessing to be sure, because during those long years my husband and I grew apart. If we’d had children to tie us together, I’m sure we’d have both died of boredom at a very early age.”
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