The doctor’s voice was calm. “Richard, if what bothers you is to think that I lied to her, I didn’t. I truly believe that the patients have much more control than we think about when they’re ready to go. I could write a book with stories about patients who decided to postpone death until a milestone was achieved.”
Shaking his head, Richard asked, “How can you do this for a living? Isn’t it depressing to work with people in agony all the time?”
She hesitated. “This is not all I do. I spend more than half of my time in other work activities. But honestly, I feel privileged to do this job. It puts me in touch with the best side of the human being and the wonders love can do.”
Richard stared at her as if she’d spoken in a different language. “In my career as a law enforcer, I’ve always seen the death of the innocent as the worst possible mistake—the definition of failure at my job. I can’t understand how you can make a job out of that.”
“It makes sense to me that you feel that way. In my case, I don’t see death as a failure. I see it as a natural process none of us will be able to evade for long.”
“But premature death is unfair. Why would something as horrible as this happen to wonderful people like Nana?”
Sighing, she replied, “That’s the first question I plan to ask God when I die. In the meantime, I’ll take it one day at a time.” She smiled. “Any other questions?”
He had many, but he feared he’d abused her time already. “No.”
She extended her hand as if she were planning to shake his but then changed her mind and surprised him with a hug.
At first, his body tensed up, but then he relaxed under her soothing touch and hugged her back. Her body was soft and warm, and there was something exquisitely familiar about it, and about her smell. The sensation of her arms around him felt incredibly right.
Sooner than he wanted, she let him go, said goodbye, and walked into the next room. It took him a moment to recover. He saw her close the door behind her, already talking to the next patient, and he experienced a déjà vu.
Remembering he hadn’t come alone, he rushed to catch up with Nana and Kate on their tour.
As Sue guided them around the place, he hardly paid attention. He felt a peace he hadn’t felt in a long time; he couldn’t remember how long. Somehow, Dr. Clayton’s smell had clung to his shirt. It was a soft, sweet smell.
He stopped walking, feeling the sensation that he’d forgotten something, that he’d left something behind. Then he realized what was different.
His headache and his heartburn were gone.
Chapter 3
Richard went to bed early and slept deeply. He had strange dreams mixing his conversations with Ms. Bonas, Nana, and the Hospice House staff. As usual, the minute he opened his eyes, he forgot the details of the dreams. He woke up feeling renewed.
When he arrived at the Masden Medical and Retreat Center, Samuel was already waiting for him at the main entrance and greeted him with a soul shake.
“Feeling better today, man?”
“Much better.”
As they went through the automatic sliding glass doors and walked into the lobby, Samuel said, “I asked you to meet me here to introduce you to Dr. Carl Andrews.”
“That’s Bonas’s guru, right? Why is he in a hospital?”
As Richard spoke, he looked around with surprise. The two-story ceiling in the spacious lobby and the shining, colorful marble on the floor were impressive. Escalators and glass elevators leading to an open, second-floor food court made the place seem more like a fancy mall than a medical center.
Samuel answered his question. “The guy admitted to being the leader of the sect; but unlike Laura Bonas, he didn’t acknowledge any link to the deaths. Belonging to a crazy fraternity wasn’t enough of a charge to arrest him. But since this is a case of national security, we couldn’t let him go. So, his lawyer worked out a deal for domiciliary arrest at a closely monitored recovery center. My suggestion was a mental institution.”
“This doesn’t look like a mental institution. What exactly is this place?”
“It’s the new craze among rich people in town. It’s a mixture of a spa resort and a sub-acute care center. People come here for any medical care except emergency or intensive care. It costs about the same as a five-star hotel, which is still much less than the cost of a hospital stay; but people have better service and feel like royalty.”
“Good idea. I know many people who refuse to pay for health expenses but would gladly pay for luxury.”
“One of the common uses for the center is for discrete, short-term psychiatry hospitalization, and that’s the reason why Andrews agreed to sign in here until we consider his domiciliary arrest over. In exchange for his cooperation, we’ve promised absolute discretion about his name, to avoid affecting his reputation as a life coach.”
They arrived at the desk and spoke to the receptionist. A few minutes later, a lady wearing a tailored gray business suit and stilettos came to greet them, introducing herself as the manager on duty.
“Dr. Andrews will receive you in his suite. We’ll take the B elevators to the sixth floor, Suite 617. Please follow me.”
The two men followed the woman down the spacious lobby that continued into a long, wide hallway. They passed several gift shops that looked like designer boutiques. They reached a set of elevators, and Richard stopped.
The woman shook her head and explained, “Those are the elevators for Tower A, the outpatient area. They’ll take you to the doctors’ offices.”
Richard scanned the long list of names on the directory next to the elevators. His eyes landed on a name: J. Clayton, MD, Medicine-Psychiatry and Pain Management. Center for Mental and Spiritual Healing. CeMeSH.
“Dr. Clayton. Is that the same doctor who leads the Hospice House down on Oak Street?” he asked as they continued walking.
“Yes, that’s her. I can’t understand why she keeps that job when she’s doing quite well here. She has an interest in chronic diseases and the mind/body connection. She and her team of therapists occupy most of the fourth floor.”
After riding the B elevators, they soon arrived at Suite 617. The manager knocked on the door and announced them.
A man’s voice called from the inside, “You may come in.”
Samuel and Richard walked in. The room was bright, with all the blinds up. Through the window, there was a great view of the city and the Indian River. The ocean could be seen in the distance. Richard paid attention to the man in front of them wearing a silk robe over fine pajamas. According to the report he’d read, Carl Andrews was in his sixties, but this man looked much younger, displaying a tall and fit figure and showing few wrinkles on his face. The only hint of his age was his silver hair that brought out grayish tones in his blue eyes.
“Dr. Andrews, remember me? I’m Senior Special Agent Samuel Elliott, and this is Agent Richard Fields.”
The man shook their hands and gestured for them to take a seat in two chairs while he reclined in a large armchair that reminded Richard of a throne.
“How may I help you today?” His voice was calm.
“My partner, Fields, will be taking over the Florida division of Governor Adams’s murder investigation. I wanted to introduce you to each other today. Agent Fields will be asking you some questions as he gets familiar with the case.”
Andrews turned to Richard, and his gesture was all poise. Richard decided he was a far cry from his friend Bonas.
“Go ahead, Mr. Fields.”
Richard cleared his throat and asked, “Can you please tell me exactly what your relationship with Laura Bonas was?”
“If you need a name for it, she used to be my disciple.”
“So, your student. What exactly were you teaching her?”
“I wasn’t teaching her anything. I was helping her to remember what she knew for eternities and forgot at birth.”
Richard raised his eyebrows. There went his theory that this guy wasn’t that crazy.
“And what were you helping her remember?”
“Do you have a year?”
“Just give me an example.”
“Co-creation.”
Naughtiness edged in Richard’s voice. “Did you say procreation?”
Andrews gave him a stern look. “No, co-creation.”
Richard nodded, repressing a smile. “What’s that?”
“It’s to exercise your birthright to transform your own reality. It’s to uncover the ancient truth that you’re not a helpless being going through the motions of your life, but you’re the creator of it. You have the inherent power to produce miracles out of thin air.”
He’s starting to sound like Bonas. Richard made an effort not to roll his eyes. “Is that what you promote in your cult?”
“We’re not a cult.”
Samuel intervened. “Laura Bonas maintains that she killed Governor Adams by exercising some sort of mental powers that were taught to her by you. Can you explain that?”
Smiling, Andrews answered, “As much as I appreciate Laura, I admit that she can get carried away. Sometimes she doesn’t do our cause any favors.”
“You agree, then, that all she says is bullshit, right?” Richard said.
The man shrugged. “Why do you need my opinion if you’ve already made your call?”
“You seem like a more reasonable and sane person than she does.”
“Should I say thank you?” Andrews’s voice sounded more amused than sarcastic.
“You could thank me by translating all her jargon into plain English.”
Erasing the smile from his face, Andrews replied, “Mr. Fields, I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. I don’t share knowledge with people who haven’t asked for it with concrete questions.”
“What do you mean? That you’re not planning to cooperate with us?”
“No. I’m saying I won’t share information with you that you’re obviously not ready to handle. Especially if that means I may be directing your attention onto the wrong path.”
“Andrews, we’re not the enemy. We’re more interested than you in getting to the bottom of this. And you could help us by filling us in, in detail, on what the principles of your group are.”
“What do you want to know? Concrete questions only.”
Richard thought for a moment. “Let’s start by finding out what your name is.”
“Our name? I’m not sure we have one.”
“What do you write in your appointment book to remind yourself of a meeting?”
“Oh, I write down ‘Co-creation session.’ I guess some people have called us that, ‘the Co-creators.’”
“What are the ideas and principles that are promoted among the Co-creators?”
“Why do you want to know? Do you want to become my disciple?”
Richard sighed in exasperation. “Are you trying to be disrespectful to authority?”
“No. That question was honest.”
Richard appraised the man in front of him. His look was candid. Is this man serious? “Why don’t you answer my question?”
“Because it’s too open-ended. I told you to ask only concrete questions.”
Losing his patience, Richard pulled a folder from his laptop carrier. From it, he removed some notes from his interview with Laura Bonas. “Bonas said, ‘Our goal is to encourage each other to find our true divine origin again. To apply our amazing power into making this earthy experience as rich and fulfilling as possible.’ Can you elaborate more about that ‘amazing power’?”
“What can I say? Our natural state is that of a miracle-worker, but we’ve been hypnotized to forget it. When I say hypnotized, I refer to the distorted consensus reality we live in, the trance state of the masses. We have much more control than we’re made to believe. Control over our destinies, our lives . . . even the automatic functioning of our bodies, our cellular functions—”
“The time we’re going to die?” Richard interrupted. He was thinking of Nana. The topic was becoming more of personal interest than work related.
“Yes, a human being can decide to postpone death. A person can also decide to let go, accelerating the process of death.”
Samuel intervened. “We’re getting off topic. Andrews, can you tell us about the moral principles promoted by your group?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“We’re looking for potential motives for why one of your followers could have felt strongly enough against someone’s ideas to resort to murder.”
Andrews’s voice was calm. “Here we go again. That’s another vague question.”
Richard’s patience had reached its limit. He then remembered something he’d read in the report. “Dr. Andrews, I understand that you’re the owner of a publishing house that specializes in esoteric books.”
“New Age books.”
“Whatever. I understand that you’ve authored many psychology books, but the book that’s been eagerly awaited and has never been released is your own book about spiritual teachings. A book you’d promised your readers.”
Andrews hesitated. “Years ago, I wrote a book collecting the teachings I used to share with my disciples, but I decided not to publish it.”
“Why?”
“For personal reasons.”
“Can we have access to it?”
“No. This isn’t knowledge that can be read by just anybody.”
Richard raised his eyebrows. He didn’t enjoy being called “just anybody.”
“How about if I get a police order for you to give it to us?”
“I’m sorry. I destroyed the only printed copy I had and deleted the files from my computer.”
Richard nodded, but he intuited that the man was lying.
“Any chance that you’d consider sharing some of those teachings with us?”
Andrews studied Richard and smiled. “You know what, Mr. Fields? I sense a positive energy around you. I think you have potential. If you ever decide to take my work seriously, come by and visit me. Maybe I’ll consider spoon-feeding you some teachings.”
Richard was surprised. Andrews concluded, “Now, if you’ll excuse me gentlemen, according to my medical file, I’m not allowed long visits. It may be upsetting for my fragile stability.”
Samuel and Richard left the room. Richard was puzzled by the man. He seemed too sane for the things that were coming out of his mouth, too peaceful for the stressful situation in which he was.
But his gut feeling told him that he and his book held important information on the case. He was definitely planning to come back.
* * *
It was Friday night. Richard couldn’t believe he survived the exhausting week of trying to bring himself up to speed with the case.
He stood in front of his ex-wife’s house, waiting for his son, Ray, to come out. Richard had just had a horrible fight with Sandy, his ex. He’d shown up to get Ray; and when nobody answered the door, he entered and found her knocked down on pain meds and sleeping pills with no idea where their son was. The argument escalated to yelling, and Ray had caught them in the middle of it. It enraged him that the woman could still make him lose his temper.
Ray came out of the house, carrying his backpack over one shoulder.
Richard looked at his son, an image of himself at thirteen. He could swear he’d grown at least one more inch in the two weeks since he’d last seen him. He looked thinner too, as if he were being stretched more than growing.
Richard walked toward him. “Ray, you knew I was coming. Why did you leave the house?”
Ray put his backpack on the ground with an indifferent gesture. “You were supposed to be here at five. I assumed you’d decided not to come again.”
Richard raised his voice. “I told you both that last week was a mistake. I told your mother weeks before that I had plans that weekend and would not be picking you up. She forgot about it.” Richard stopped, trying to regain his composure. Those two years he was working undercover with the Dark
Angels gang and was rarely able to orchestrate a visit to see him had taken a toll on his relationship with Ray. And now that he was hoping to get transferred out of Fort Sunshine and would see him even less, he was in a hurry to recapture their bond. “Please, get in the car, and let’s get out of here.”
Ray picked up his backpack with an annoyed gesture. He dragged his feet and slouched as he followed Richard to his SUV.
Chapter 4
On Monday, Richard woke up to the annoying sound of the alarm on his phone. After clumsily shutting it off, he sat on the bed with a sigh and rubbed his eyes. As the memories of his painful weekend with his son climbed back into his awareness, the little peace that sleep had brought him dissipated. How could it be that the person he loved the most in the world, that boy, was also the person who brought him the most pain?
Feeling exhausted, he practically had to crawl out of bed. The woman next to him was so deep in sleep she didn’t notice him leave the bed. Hailey came to his rescue the night before when the scene of dropping Ray back at his mother’s house invariably brought back his melancholy. Hailey’s concept of rescue usually implied alcohol.
Richard looked at her, her long, wavy red hair spread over the pillows in a mess. She was beautiful, no doubt about it. She was fun to be around and a passionate lover. Why was it that when looking at her he couldn’t feel anything at all? It had been a long time since he felt much for something or someone except his son.
There was one time in his life, a long time ago, when he was able to feel passion, enthusiasm. Now it was all gone. All that was left was the emptiness he tried to fill by desperately pursuing pleasure, but he could only soothe it for short periods of time.
Brushing away his thoughts, he got in the shower.
An hour later, he and Samuel sat across from each other in the interrogation room at the Fort Sunshine Police Station. Samuel explained, “Today we’ll be interviewing relatives and co-workers of Congressman Michael O’Hara. We’ll explore what projects he may have been involved in which could justify him as a target for murder.
“While I’ve delegated most of the interviews, we’ll be in charge of the key people, including his widow, Mrs. Joy O’Hara; his long-term friend, Charles Clark; his campaign manager, Stephen Fox; and his PR representative, Samantha McKinney.”
Beyond Physical Page 3