by John Nelson
Brenda listened in on the conversation. “Well, I’m going along, even if I have to wait in some reception area.”
“I agree. Harder for them to waylay me, if that’s on their mind.”
We showered separately and got dressed, and while Brenda had a breakfast croissant and coffee in the dining room, I just drank some grape juice. It was sunny but cold and the UV quotient was quite high, so we wore large hats, gloves, scarfs and sunglasses. At the Center, June Caldwell met us in the small lobby. June was small and delicate with clear blue eyes. She was curious about Brenda’s presence but was very accommodating. I introduced her as my companion.
“Well, the interview of course will be private, but since you’re being so wonderful, why don’t we treat Brenda to a therapeutic massage. I could check and see if Claude is available. Best hands in the West.”
“So he’s a massage therapist and not a healer?” Brenda asked.
“Massage can be quite healing, as you no doubt know, but he works strictly with a body modality.”
“Well, that would be just great. Thank you.”
“If you’ll wait here, I’ll set everything up.” We sat on a nearby sofa with a red-and-black striped Native American pattern, while June went over to the receptionist. I instinctively tried to gauge if the sofa, like Klaus’s chairs, had sensors but couldn’t detect anything. Guess my concern was kind of presumptuous. They probably used much more subtle means. June came back and gathered me, telling Brenda that she was scheduled for 11:30, and that Jill, the receptionist, would take her to the massage studio.
June escorted me down a long hallway with offices on either side, with designations like Outreach, Magazine Subscription, Membership, etc. This was a worldwide ministry of sorts, so this made perfect sense. We exited the building through a back door, walked through a clear-plastic connecting tunnel and entered what appeared to be a private residence. We walked through a kitchen and to a living room, similar in some ways to the one in my dream, but definitely not picture perfect—I could easily have seen it in a magazine photo spread, or maybe it was something I dreamed on my own.
Musgrave would say this confirmed his suspicions, but I wondered. What was the same was the spectacular view of the surrounding desert, if from a different perspective. What grabbed my attention, however, was Maria Fria sitting on a futon sofa. Apparently I was right about them arranging a one-on-one between us.
“Oh, Ms. Fria. I wasn’t expecting to … see you. Are you conducting the interview?” I asked rather ingeniously.
“Yes. Please have a seat, Lewis, and call me Maria.” She pointed to a sofa across from hers. “Thank you, June. That will be all.”
June smiled, bowed her head, and hurried out.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Water would be fine.”
Maria pushed a button on her arm console, spoke into a speakerphone, and had two glasses of spring water brought out to us. The server was an Anglo in her late twenties. I could see Fria watching my reaction.
After the woman left, she said, “You didn’t expect an Indian or Mexican servant, I hope.”
“I didn’t expect anybody, least of all you,” I added with a feigned smile.
“Well, your healing was quite curious, and I wanted to conduct this interview myself.”
“How so?”
“You have a neural processor, but the energy just bypassed it. That’s fairly unique in my experience,” she said.
This was of some interest or concern to me as well. “What usually happens?”
She gazed at me and smiled. “It makes adjustments of sorts, since they’re composed of brain cells and are susceptible to … energy, like any organ.”
“‘Adjustments’ covers a lot of possibilities.”
Fria stared at me more intently, and it felt like she was gathering a remote sensor reading, like one of the apparatuses in my world.
“You’re the novelist … Lewis Hargrove?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She smiled. “I always thought it was a pseudonym.”
“Well, it is, but I had introduced myself to Brenda as such and just kept using it … or for now.”
Maria nodded her head. “So, given the messianic focus of your novels, you would have a clinical interest in healing modalities.”
“I do.”
She smiled, and it was like one of Klaus’ Cheshire cat smiles. “Well, I guess an … exchange of information is only fair.” She closed her eyes, as if she were channeling the response, and then opened them. “As you know, neural processors are meant to increase one’s intelligence by the greatly accelerated firing of its neurons, with the help of high levels of neurotransmitters from drug conditioning and the greater plasticity of its synapses. And this can create a mirroring effect in the neocortex and accelerate it for the same heightened results.”
I nodded my head. “Very textbook correct … I would imagine.”
“Well, I did go to college, and this subject was covered, and it is of interest to me,” she said.
“But …”
“But, like the neocortex and its evolution, which supplanted the reptilian brain and modulates some of its impulses, it can suppress other functions, some of which, like intuition, are needed for greater awareness of self and one’s connection to others and to the divine, if that doesn’t offend your sensibilities.”
I shook my head.
“And, of course, the feeling function, which according to Carl Jung allows us to ascertain proper values.”
“And the adjustments?” I asked.
“Well, the energy can slow down the neuron firing or redirect it, or spread out the effect to include other areas of the brain, for instance.”
“And in my case?”
“Well, leaving it alone but affecting other brain centers, could mean that an integrative process had already begun to spread out the effect and accelerate other functions like intuition, which should be more heightened.”
“Which I’ve experienced since the healing.”
“Excellent.” She smiled. “Would you mind if I conduct my own examination?”
This sounded particularly dicey given my mission, but I did need to engage her. “Another healing or strictly an examination?”
Maria sat back in her chair and stared at me with a kind of eerie focus that made me feel … exposed. “Why all the suspicion?”
I tried to settle down my overreaction. “Well, I’m a little paranoid, which infuses my fiction but does complicate personal relationships.”
“I can assure you my intent is totally benign. I only wish to help you with your … adjustment, but I can only do as much as you allow.”
“So, it will further adjust me?” I asked.
“Given that this energy has its own … mind, as we say. I only intend to examine you, but adjustments might be made.”
“Okay. I trust you, Maria.”
Fria stood up, walked over and around to the back of my chair. She placed her hands over the top of my head, and I could feel a less-pervasive energy move through my cranial cavity and this time spread through my neocortex. It was a pleasant sensation, and then I passed out.
23.
I must have quickly dropped down to the REM state, because I had an instantaneous dream. I had walked to the edge of the Cleopatra Plateau and jumped off, but instead of falling I spread my arms and flew out across the desert like a hawk on the wind streams. It was quite exhilarating. I then turned back, saw Maria standing on the edge of the cliff and glided back and landed next to her. I woke up. I wasn’t groggy at all, and looked across from me to see Maria sitting on the sofa.
“That was interesting,” she said.
“What happened?” I asked, trying not to sound too suspicious.
“I just laid my hands over your head to read the energy flow within the brain cavity and you just … well, you didn’t pass out as much as altered your state of consciousness.”
“I had a dream,” I said,
which probably broke protocol, but I wanted to understand what had just transpired. She gave me a questioning look, and I told her the dream.
“Well, I don’t think it was a dream, but an astral projection.”
I just stared at her; I knew what they were, but for me to have one would be strange, even alarming. “And it wasn’t anything you did?”
“No, Lewis. I just added a bit more energy to the mix, and you did the rest.”
I was dumbfounded, to say the least.
“I assume nothing like this has happened to you before?” she asked.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember anything similar. “The morning after the healing, I woke up and … engaged in something, and found myself watching me doing it, as if from a distance.”
“You were making love?.”
I stared at her, wondering if this was an inappropriate inquiry.
“Lewis, do you want to get to the bottom of this, or not?”
“Yes, in the shower.”
“I asked because a split perspective, or what we call the ‘watcher,’ is a 6th chakra occurrence, as is astral projection, and can be triggered by an upsurge of Kundalini energy.”
“Well, I’m not really into mysticism, so it’s all techno-speak to me.” I also had to wonder if her presence behind me hadn’t “triggered” this incident.
“Your mind or ego may not be, but you’re so much more than that, Lewis. And you just got your wake-up call.”
I didn’t like where this conversation was headed. “Is there anything else we need to talk about?” I asked.
“No. I wanted to see how fast this integration was happening, and I got my answer.”
“Well, I’m not sure I’m at all pleased with this development.”
Maria stood up. “Nobody ever is, Lewis. I certainly wasn’t, but then I was much younger and less fixed than you at the time.”
June appeared at the door seemingly without a summons. “So, if the interview is over, I’ll take you back to the lobby. I believe Brenda has finished up by now,” June said.
“Thanks.” I turned back to Maria who remained on her side of the sofa ensemble. I wasn’t really up for a hug. “It’s been interesting, Ms. Fria. I hope we stay around a little longer and can catch another service.”
“I look forward to it, Lewis.” She paused, and then with a mischievous smile, added, “Happy flying.”
I didn’t reply and couldn’t wait to get out of there. I wasn’t sure what had actually happened: her story of my astral projection, or if it was a dream implant, but I needed to get outside this vortex—to borrow a term from the Sedona bornies. I found a rosy-cheek Brenda in the lobby, and before June could bid us goodbye, I grabbed her by the arm and hurried us both out of the building.
As we walked up the street, Brenda pulled her arm free. “You’re hurting me, Lewis.”
“Sorry. I just needed to get out of there.”
She glanced over at me as we walked along. “Can’t wait to hear about it.”
“Well, let’s get off this … rock, and take a spin, so I can get some perspective,” I said.
“Lewis, you’re in an absolute panic. I don’t think you should drive in this state.”
“Okay. Then you drive.”
“You really do have a death wish.” Brenda grabbed my arm and sidled up against me. “I bet I know what would calm you down.”
I had to laugh. “I bet. But, I need to get out on the land, as they say, and ground myself.”
We got back to the Sliding Sands and packed a few things in case our outing became an overnighter. Brenda drove and I sat back and just enjoyed the landscape. Once we were down the hill and heading west toward Prescott, I felt a lot better. I pulled up a territorial map on my portable and decided we should drive southwest, maybe as far as Yuma, a town whose old West heritage had always intrigued me.
“Well, okay, but we can’t cross over into Mexico. Musgrave would have a fit,” Brenda said.
I nodded my head.
“Anyway, he’ll probably get pissed off about you not updating him immediately.” She paused. “And what exactly did happen, if I may ask?”
I didn’t know how much I wanted to share with Brenda, not only about my astral projection experience, if that’s what it was, but my sense that Maria Fria really didn’t know me and had not remote-viewed us and knew nothing of my real identity and our intention. This suggested a scenario of my being setup by Musgrave and the FBI, Klaus and whoever else was in on this sting operation, including Ms. Jean Whatley.
“You were saying,” Brenda said, as we drove into Prescott and stopped at a diner for lunch.
“I’m not holding back, but need to let it all settle in before I can get a handle on what transpired and how to tell you about it.”
As we walked into the diner, she nodded her head. “Well, maybe a good meal will help.”
Well, the meal wasn’t that good, but again Brenda again seemed to like the blander Mexican food here but that was the least of my concerns. “What do I tell Brenda” was first on my list? Finally, I decided to give her a sanitized version of what occurred. I told her that I allowed Maria Fria to examine me and that I blacked out for a few minutes and had a weird dream.
“And you don’t think you should update Musgrave and his team now?” she asked.
“Of course, but I don’t want to get pulled in before I figure this out, and maybe initiate more contact.”
Brenda just stared at me. “I guess if I insisted, or pulled rank, you wouldn’t go along with me anyway.”
I smiled. “Trust me on this, Brenda. I don’t need more readings; I need to monitor my reaction over a period of time, and if anything weird starts to happen, I’ll call it in.” I started to eat again.
“Well, this contingency was covered, whether you know it or not.” She paused while I put down my burrito. “Musgrave told me in Phoenix to cut you some slack and let you play out your contact with Fria, and not run to Mama at every turn.”
“Nice of them to inform me.”
“I think this goes beyond that, but unless you get really weird, I’ll go along … for now.”
“Great. Let’s hit the road.”
Clearing the air with Brenda was a great relief and driving through the desert and its arid brown landscape really renewed my spirit, in a manner of speaking. After a while, I web-searched the city of Yuma and discovered that the Colorado River ran through on its way into Mexico, and it was still one of the few remaining big rivers in the country, along with the Mississippi. This did it for me; I wanted to be around water and the ocean was too far away, so I convinced Brenda to drive us there.
It took us another four hours, and we pulled into the city just after sunset. I had booked a room at a hotel in the historic district, a beautiful two-story pink adobe structure. Even though it was winter, it was quite warm, somewhere in the mid-80s. Brenda complained, but I told her average daytime temperatures were 120 degrees in the summer. This put it into perspective for her. We checked in, dumped our overnight bags and ate a really good Mexican dinner in the hotel cantina, as they called it. By the time we finished, it was night and we could walk out from under the UV screens, and strolled around the historic district for a while and did the river walk. This really seemed to settle me down. But, when we got back to our hotel room, my portable rang.
“What the hell are you doing in Yuma, Arizona?” asked Musgrave, more bemused than angry.
“Well, how the hell did you spot us? Are we being sattracked?”
He explained that, given Yuma’s proximity to Mexico, the FBI had license plate scanners at all major roads into and out of the city from the north and south. And we just happened to be on their list.
“Look. We’re tired. Let’s take this up tomorrow.”
Musgrave laughed. “Well, this better be good.” I assured him that it would be.
24.
That night, while Brenda slept, I tried to figure out just how much I could tell Musgrave, given my
new suspicions, but also knowing that I had already confided in Brenda about the blackout and the dream, which would be shared with him. I just couldn’t get a handle on it all, still very confused by my session with Fria and tired from the long drive. I decided to get a goodnight’s sleep and figure this out in the morning. Of course, Musgrave called me at 5:00 a.m. to throw me off balance. I answered my portable before it woke up Brenda, and took it into the bathroom.
“So we’re going to do this now before I’m fully awake.”
“Best time for a debriefing, and you know that.”
Yeah, if the subject was under suspicion. He did allow me to put some clothes on and get a bottle of water.
“First of all, why didn’t you contact us immediately?”
“We decided on no electronic communication on the hill.”
“I mean, once you got on the road.”
“It was all a little confusing, and I wanted to get a handle on it before I called it in,” I said, stalling for time.
“So, I assume you have a handle on it, so read me in,” Musgrave said in an even tone.
I told him about them wanting to interview me about my healing experience, and that Maria Fria had conducted the interview, but didn’t disclose all the conversation and made it sound more pedestrian than it was. Musgrave must’ve of sensed that or had the conversation screened for voice stress patterns.
“What are you holding back?” he asked cuttingly.
I decided to reveal a little more. “I haven’t gotten there yet,” I said. “So, after the preamble, she tells me that I was called in because the energy she directed at me bypassed my neural processor, which was fairly unique in her experience.”
There was a pause at the other end. “Now that’s interesting, so she wanted to check you out?”
“Exactly. I allowed her, and I blacked out and had a dream of me flying across the desert like a hawk, and then I woke up.”
“That’s great. Just what we wanted. I’ll pass this along to Klaus.” He paused again. “So, how did you leave it?”
“Well, I was a little freaked out and couldn’t get out of there fast enough, and so I just left it open: maybe we’d come to another service, if we stayed.”