by Ronnie Allen
“Yes, you do know him personally. You look down to your left when you lie.”
“I’ll just have to change that, won’t I? Okay, so I know him, but he’s still a creep.”
“How do you know him?”
“None of your business.”
“Really? Come on here. You’re in a mess. Do you realize that? You’re not letting me help you at all.”
“You really piss me off. Do you realize that? I met him for drinks once. He creeped me out.”
He was pleased he had that effect on her. He was forcing her to be more cunning and deceitful. Deceitful people took careless actions. The more careless she was, the faster he’d catch her.
“What about him creeped you out?”
“He just wasn’t my type.”
Do you even have a type?
“Well, he is dangerous. What time do you get home from school?”
“About three-thirty. Why?”
“The timer on the amateur bomb he made was set for that time. Right in your living room. The room you first enter and, by the way, it was the only room damaged.”
“Everything is replaceable.”
“That’s exactly what I thought. Interesting that you had the same bland reaction to your own personal belongings being destroyed. And you didn’t ask how we know he was the one to set it. Interesting. So you already knew it was him.”
She closed her eyes.
What does she think she is? An ostrich? Closing her eyes so I’ll disappear?
“Actually, you just confirmed it. I really didn’t know.”
So Clancy is her partner.
“I can’t talk to you. I feel everything I say is being analyzed.”
“That’s correct. And, I would add, everything you don’t say, as well.”
“So every conversation has a hidden agenda?”
He shrugged with an affirmative smile.
“So what happens now?”
“Good question. I’ll get back to you. First thing tomorrow morning.” He stood up, exhaled out of frustration, and exited the room, invoking Max as he crossed the threshold of the door.
***
In his office, after taking off his jacket and tie, and hanging both on his coat rack, John sat behind his desk, placed his feet flat on the floor, and breathed deeply to ground himself. Then he called his secretary through the intercom. “Marissa, please hold all phone calls and visitors for at least twenty minutes.”
“Yes, Dr. Trenton.”
He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling ten times, and crossed his feet at the ankles to prevent negative energy from penetrating his energy field from the floor. Next, he visualized a golden sun centered above his head, his crown chakra. He drew down, concentrating intently, the warm energy of the sun’s rays all around him--a foot and a half in front of him, a foot and a half behind him, a foot and a half on top of his head, and a foot and a half underneath him. He visualized bright golden rays of the sun encapsulating his aura so Max could enter a purified, cleansed, and whole energy field. No doubt, Barbara’s toxic energy from her sick behavior had put unhealthy debris into his auric field and he had to get rid of any toxic residue for Max to consider coming to him when summoned.
Then using his psychic vision, he created a smooth golden chord, about three inches in diameter, extending out from between his eyes, his psychic center or third eye, and pushed it out the window of the room, penetrating the glass without cracking it, through the sky, and up to the universe. John concentrated to increase the length of the chord, to reach out to Max, all the while maintaining diaphragmatic breathing. Oxygen penetrated deep into his gut and his stomach extended in and out in a consistent rhythm.
Max, grab onto your home base.
That was the other end of the chord. John talked to him in thought language. Max, who had been with him since he was three, was called by his parents, “the imaginary friend.” John didn’t know if Max was his real name or not, but John’s little buddy got a puppy and named him Max. John’s parents said “No” to a dog, but John wanted a Max, too. So Max it was.
Max always wore clothing and styles depicting what John’s interests were. When John commenced Tae Kwon Do, Max wore a dobok, the typical white uniform with the white belt. As John progressed in rank and wore different colored belts, so did Max. Now Max wore the dobok with a black belt, knowing John was past his third.
If Max didn’t enter John’s energy field on his own, to confirm when John’s intuitions were correct, John could invoke him when he needed the help. Max had been with him through every exam from kindergarten through medical school, through every hostage situation, work related crisis, and through every turbulent part of his life.
John experienced a tug, and psychically using his hands, he pulled the chord toward him, one hand after the other in a concentrated slow movement until Max was in view and right in front of his third eye. Max hadn’t come voluntarily. What was up with that?
Max. I need your help on this one. I see you. I know you’re there. What’s the Gemini obsession about? What’s Paul’s relationship to Reynolds? What’s going on here, Max? Am I right about Barbara murdering?
John received affirmation on the last question. Max sent chills through John body, on his right side, from head to toes.
Okay. Good, Max. Thanks.
Confirmations were always of a physical nature for John. He either experienced a change in his body or saw a change in his environment. When John was studying late and his parents were about to enter his room to tell him to go to bed, Max would flash the light on his lamp on his desk to forewarn him Mom or Dad was on the approach.
What can you tell me to put all of this together?
He kept his body still with his mind blank. No thoughts about patients, dinner, doing laundry, nothing--a blank slate.
The only message that transpired was Castor and Pollux. Max broke the contact. The golden chord evaporated.
Max? Castor and Pollux? Can you tell me more?
No Max.
He wants me to do this alone. Why? Is he pissed off at me for letting Vicki go? I’m pissed off at myself. Don’t need him to tell me that. Damn! Castor and Pollux. I will make sense of this, and then I’ll throw it all in Carlson’s face.
John recorded the message in caps on a pad so he didn’t forget it. Channeled information was not meant to be remembered and he couldn’t afford to forget this one.
CASTOR AND POLLUX
CHAPTER 27
Three Years Earlier:
John stared wide-eyed as the sheriff detonated. “When are you going back to New York?”
The sheriff was as vicious as a lion protecting his young and no one would survive taking advantage of Vicki. The roar of fresh water pumped into the pool that began at this instant, matched his intensity and it resembled a warning from the universe, which this New Yorker should heed.
“Next Monday. Why?”
“Maybe a few days in the slammer will do you some good.”
“Daddy!”
John snuggled her head close to him. Her messed up hair covered her tears. “Ssh, let me handle it. Why?”
“Lewd and indecent exposure in a public place. I believe this qualifies.”
“Come on. There’s no one here. We were under wraps. And its pitch black now.”
“I saw enough of you bobbing up and down. You, young lady, get up and go onto a lounge over there.” He pointed to a lounge at the far end of the pool.
“She can’t get up right now. How did you find us?”
“GPS on her phone.”
“What’s with all the invasion of privacy?”
“Let Vicki tell you about that. But bottom line, I don’t trust you.”
Looking at John’s expression, Vicki didn’t have to be a shrink to know what he expected. “I’ll tell you later. I promise.”
John wanted to respond, but the ring from Vicki’s cell interrupted them. “You might as well answer it.”
Her bare arm extended from under
the towel trying not to expose herself in front of her father. “Hello.”
“Vicki, it’s me. Is John close by?”
John heard the question and hoisted the phone from her grip. “Yes, Mark. I’m very close by.”
Vicki hid her head in his chest.
Mark hesitated for a moment. “Oh crap. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Your father beat you to it.”
Mark cracked up, laughing. “What?”
Holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, John managed to hook Vicki’s top. “What’s going on?” Then he resumed holding the phone in his hand.
She murmured in his ear. “Where are my bottoms?”
Mark heard anyway. “Thanks, pal. You’re getting me into deeper shit with my wife. Remember the Dunn boy from the ER?”
John laughed. And first, to answer Vicki, he said, “I don’t know.” He looked around and saw her bottoms on the ground. He snatched them up under the stares of death from her father and assisted Vicki in getting her feet into them under the towel while talking to Mark. The two of them moved and coordinated their efforts. Their arms entangled and John felt Vicki’s knees plunge into his abs. “Ow! Of course.”
The sheriff looked baffled.
“His father took him, the mother and her parents hostage. And he’s demanding to see the doc that made his girlfriend leave him.”
“Damn! I’ll be there. Where?”
“Trailer park in Coconut Crossing. Down the main road outside Bueno Terrace. About eight miles. Go to very end and make a right for a mile. You’ll see us.”
“You put them on backward,” she whispered, again in John’s ear.
Mark couldn’t control his laughing. John’s frustration rose like lava from a volcano. “Thanks, Mark. You’re not helping. Vicki will--”
“Oh no, she won’t,” the sheriff bellowed. “She’s not going in there, That’s a crack area. I’ll take you.”
“I’ll be there ASAP. Sheriff, why don’t you go elsewhere, so we can get ourselves together?”
“Where are you?” Mark wasn’t making heads or tails of this.
“At the pool.”
“At--the--pool? Don’t you believe in a bedroom, like most normal people?”
“Bor--ing. Now if your father would give us some space.”
“All right, I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
***
“You go home and I’ll call you.”
“Let me go, please. I can help with Ricky.”
“No!” her father and John yelled in unison.
“I’ll drive,” John said. “I can get there faster.”
“I have a siren on the police car.”
“As do I.” John secured the red-cupped siren from his back seat, that his intuition had told him to bring from New York, and attached it to the roof. “Get in.”
He wasn’t happy with her father at all. And that was mutual. This was going to be a battle of the egos--two very strong, unbending, uncompromising egos.
John intended to win.
Driving out and getting to the main road--a three-lane highway bordered by trees and more trees--the tension inside the SUV mounted. They were driving deeper into the woods and stuck with each other.
“What are your intentions with my daughter?”
John retorted as if there wasn’t any other option and the decision had been made. “I’m going to marry your daughter.”
The sheriff did a quick double take. “Oh no, you’re not.”
“Why not?”
“I googled you. You’re a player. New York’s most eligible bachelor? Come on. I saw pictures of you with at least twenty different women. All blondes. You’re not for my daughter. She’s not in your league. She’s a cracker.”
“She’s a what?”
“See? You don’t even speak our language. She’s a country girl, through and through. Never lived any place other than here. Except when she went to that high-fallutin’ school in Gainesville. Fifth generation Sun County. I won’t allow my daughter to be added to your trophy list.”
“Any more derogatory comments?”
“Plenty. I’m just getting started. And don’t think I’m not doing a full investigation of you already, doctor hot shot.”
“I’ll save you the trouble. I’m a medical doctor with a Ph.D., three residencies, a fellowship in forensics, and enough degrees, certifications, and affiliations to make your head spin. So what’s wrong with that?”
“That’s not what concerns me. Your accomplishments don’t define who you are. Not to me anyway. Nor to my daughter.”
John’s train of thought halted dead in its tracks. His accomplishments defined him, his entire life. It was how his parents defined him. And his colleagues. And his past women. Everyone in his sphere of influence, and anyone who wanted to be included within it, envied his power and prestige.
He began to realize there were different values down here. Now he had to be different. His point of view about himself would have to change. His belief system about what made him a worthy man would have to change. He’d have to look deeper within himself for the answers. “Then what?”
“You’re too experienced for her.”
“Experienced?” John knew what he meant but he was going to make him sweat. “I see that as a good thing.”
“She leads a very simple lifestyle down here, nothing fancy.”
“What? I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.”
“Yes, we are, and you’re too non-traditional for her. That can lead to other things. Now what’s your three--”
“No, I’m not letting you off the hook. What do you mean?” Silence. “Have difficulty talking about sex?”
“When it’s about my daughter, yes.”
“We’re not talking about Vicki. We’re talking about me. Now what do you mean?”
“Just drive, hot shot.”
“Uh-uh, finish what you started. What do you mean? Because I don’t want you hanging onto any thoughts that aren’t valid.”
“Do you always play shrink?” The sheriff received the signature look. “The New York swinger type stuff.”
“Go on.”
“Ah, come on!”
“No you have to say it. Or has Vicki made some poor choices?”
“Do you realize who you’re talking to?” the sheriff thundered.
John accepted the reprimand. “Yes, I do. I don’t mean any disrespect, Sheriff, but I want you to feel secure about me being with your daughter, so explain what you mean and tell me what you’re afraid of that she’ll do. Then maybe the surveillance will stop.”
“The kinky alternative lifestyle stuff.”
“No, I’m straight.”
“That’s not what I meant. Damn, you’re difficult. You know. The kind of...where you...inflict pain on each other. There, I said it. Happy?”
“Yes. S and M?”
The sheriff shuddered in the seat.
John acknowledged his discomfort. “That will never happen. It’s not my style. I’ll never do anything to inflict pain on Vicki, ever. Okay? Now what did she become involved in? No. Don’t answer that. That’s something she has to tell me.”
“That’s right. So end of discussion. Three residencies? In what?”
“Psychiatry, gynecology, and orgonomy.”
“Gynecology?”
“Yes.”
“Ever deliver a baby?”
“Several. My mother is an OBGYN. I worked in her office for a while.”
“And how many little John babies are there running around in New York?”
“I’m assuming you mean personal ones?” John asked with a snide look.
The sheriff stared at him, wide-eyed.
“None, I’m careful.”
“So when did you finish school? Last week? You sound like a student lifer.”
John smiled at the analogy. “I loved being in school. I loved learning. When did I finish forma
lly? About seven years ago.”
“Hospital or private practice?”
“Hospital for now. Maximum security psychiatric center. Criminals only.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. Young adult psychopaths and schizophrenics are my specialty.”
“So you always put yourself in harm’s way?”
“Not deliberately. But I don’t back down either. Look, I’m with you now.”
“Very funny. A comedian, too. Do you realize what you’re getting yourself into now? Ever work with the police?”
“Yes, I do. And all the time. Consulting.”
“Doing what?”
“Profiling, assessing whether perps are mentally fit to stand trial, crime scene investigations, court appearances. Hostage negotiations when I can get there faster than the precincts.”
“What do you mean, precincts? Here we have SWAT and the CNT--Crisis Negotiation Team--for hostage negotiations.”
“In New York City, SWAT is called ESU. They encompass all the rescue situations, criminal or not. Hostage negotiators come out of the precincts. They send two to the various situations, depending upon who’s closest in the boroughs.”
“New York City’s a big place. So your SWAT--ESU--don’t know the negotiators?”
“Exactly. And there are battles of the egos to boot.”
“Not here. Small team. They all know each other. Success is built on cooperation. My son Mark--”
“I met him.”
“You know he’s the Commander of the SWAT?”
“He made it clear.”
“Glad he did, hot shot. He’ll be called in by the negotiators or vice versa, but it’s his call what happens and how long he’ll let them negotiate. And mind you, he won’t let a New Yorker get in his way.”
“Hey, he called me.”
“You’re the negotiating leverage. That’s it.”