Dreams Unleashed

by Linda Hawley

  Pulling a Taser from my purse, I looped the strap around my wrist and armed it.

  I remembered the Gastown steam clock and how the crowd suddenly gathered; I looked at my watch. Two minutes till the hour. Turning the corner, I sprinted toward the clock as fast as my runner’s body would take me. As I did so, I turned to see if they were pursuing me; I saw one man run toward me, while the other ran back to the SUV.

  Reaching the steam clock, I saw the crowd gathered. I stooped down lower than the height of the crowd, hiding, then quickly made my way through the crowd, hunched over as the steam erupted.

  Once on the other side of the crowd, I took off running as fast I could on Cambie Street, heading toward the Vancouver harbor as I heard the whistles signaling the end of the clock’s display. I knew that direction was my only choice if I was going to lose my pursuers. As Cambie Street ended, I turned east, sprinting behind the shops that lined Water Street. Looking back, I didn’t see any agents. I figured that I had about a mile or so to run before I reached the cutoff toward the waterfront, which would take me to Portside Park. I knew that I could run in an all-out sprint for that distance.

  I reached Carall Street and ran smack into one of the agents. He grabbed me by the wrist that my Taser hung from, pulling the Taser loose.

  “You’re quite the runner, Ann,” he snarled, painfully twisting my wrist.

  He knows my name.

  I did the only thing I could. I put him down like the CIA trained me to. With my right wrist that he held with his right hand facing me, I turned so that my left side was toward his front, picked up my left leg and stomped down on his right knee as hard as I could.

  He screamed in agony and bent forward, spontaneously letting go of my wrist, freeing me. I immediately stepped away, turned a full 180 degrees so that I was facing the other direction, leaned at an angle, lifted my right leg, and delivered a lean away sidekick to his face as he was bent over. He face-planted into the ground with a grunt.

  “Betcha didn’t think I could do that,” I exclaimed.

  I looked around for witnesses and to see if his buddy had arrived. It was all clear.

  The man was unconscious. With my adrenaline in overdrive, I quickly picked up my purse and Taser. I ran full-on toward Portside Park. When I reached the cutoff road leading to the waterfront, a black SUV slammed on its brakes to cut me off, nearly running me over in the process. Out of reflex, I braced myself against the hood to absorb the shock, jamming my wrist in the process, but I still stood. As fast as I could, I flipped the Taser on.

  “Get in,” a man demanded from the driver’s seat.

  I turned to run away.

  “Ann, it is Chow. Get in.”

  I looked at him in shock.

  “Ann, they are going to be here very soon. Get in the car so I can get you to safety,” he urged.

  “How do I know you’re not with them?” I spat out. And how is it that you’re here, in front of me, when the only other time I’ve seen you was in a dream?

  “In our dream, you stayed in the Bund Hotel, room ‘Love 9,’” Chow offered.

  My mind was reeling. Was it him that I saw at the Pan Pacific, getting out of the elevator? “Tell me what I did the first morning I was there,” I demanded, trying to confirm it was really Chow Lai.

  “The tai chi class,” he answered impatiently, his voice sharp.

  I got in the SUV.

  “How are you here now?” I asked.

  “We cannot talk here.”

  I sat quietly as Chow sped away, my mind turning over the possibilities. After turning off the Taser, I put it back in my purse, thinking all the while. How is he here now? I looked over at him as he drove; it was definitely Chow. We drove for a few minutes, heading back toward my hotel, then he spoke.

  “I will park in the hotel’s garage, then get your things from the room and bring them down. While I am gone, use a safe phone from the glove compartment to call the valet and tell him to bring your car to the entrance of the garage. Tell him you are meeting a friend there. Wait a couple of minutes, then call the front desk and check out of your room. That will give me enough time to get in your room while the key works. We need to get you out of here tonight.”

  “My room number is…”

  “I know what room it is,” Chow interrupted.

  You do?

  “When I return, I will see you to your car. Head for the Peace Arch crossing back into the States. Go the speed limit, but get there as quickly as you can. You need to get over the border now. And leave the Taser in my car–I don’t want you going through border patrol with weapons.”

  I nodded. “I have questions Chow.”

  “I know. But not now–another time,” he said gently, promise in his voice as he looked over at me.

  I needed my questions answered and didn’t want to wait, but I could see the situation was precarious.

  A minute later, Chow pulled into the hotel’s parking garage. I immediately pulled a phone out of the glove compartment and started to assemble it. Chow got out of the car as soon as he had stopped; he left the engine running. I made the calls and destroyed the phone. I then put both of my Tasers on the driver’s seat. I carefully looked at my wrist to see if I had broken any bones when I jammed it on the car hood.

  As I felt the bones intact, my watch alarm went off, reminding me to call GOG. I turned it off and as I looked up, I saw that a black SUV had blocked me in from behind.

  Oh no.

  I tried to open my door to escape, but instead, my second pursuer yanked the door open for me.

  You’re new.

  With my left hand, I quickly reached over and grabbed a Taser while arming it. I shoved it into the curve of the suit’s neck. He crumpled to the ground beside my open door.

  One down.

  By then my previous assailant was opening the driver’s side door, and he grabbed my other Taser before I could. He lunged at me with the Taser over the driver’s seat, but I was able to jump out my open door and over the new agent’s limp body before he could try to zap me. I sprinted away from the SUV, my pursuer just behind me.

  Chow suddenly appeared, charging from the other direction, and landed a three-hundred-sixty-degree jumping spinning back kick into my pursuer’s face. The agent was down for the count before he hit the pavement.

  The suit had two face-plants in one day. I didn’t feel a bit sorry for him.

  “What was that?” I hollered at Chow in awe.

  “Soo Bahk Do,” he confidently replied.

  “Incredible,” I responded with an adrenaline-charged smile.

  I had only seen that move a few times before, from my CIA hand-to-hand combat instructor, but I hadn’t seen it since. It was a remarkable maneuver.

  “We must get you on your way, Ann,” he said matter of fact.

  From the driver’s side, Chow reached over into the glove compartment and handed me a plastic bag with another safe phone enclosed.

  “Just in case,” he cautioned.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’d better get going,” he said, walking to where he had dumped my overnight bag, then handing it to me.

  “I see my car.”

  “Then it is time for us to part ways.”

  I stopped and faced him, so many unasked questions on my lips.

  “We will meet again, Ann, and next time I will answer your questions,” he said, looking intensely into my eyes.

  “I look forward to it,” I answered directly.

  Chow turned back to deal with the agents.

  I tipped the valet and got in the car. I didn’t have any difficulty crossing back over the border into America. Apparently the Canadian and U.S. borders weren’t sharing computer notes.

  In my drive through the dark Bellingham night, I thought about Chow. He was real. And not only was he real, but he was GOG. I wondered what else from my dream was real.

  I walked to the front door of my house and sighed a huge breath of relief to be in my safe home.
I took a late bath, so I could calm myself for sleep.

  Chapter 8

  SHANGHAI, CHINA

  The Year 2015

  I showered at the Bund hotel and was meeting Chow in the lobby, to be driven to the Yuyuan Garden, three kilometers from the hotel. On my first full day in China, I was excited to see the four-hundred-year-old classical Chinese gardens in Old Town Shanghai.

  We arrived at the garden just as it opened. Chow led me to the gate and paid for our entry. We approached the glorious Eden, restored to its original splendor only two years before, after having been neglected for many years. The name of the garden meant garden of peace and comfort, a fitting sentiment from what I observed from the exterior.

  Mr. Pan Yunduan started designing the garden in 1559 and continued constructing it for twenty years. He built it to impress his father, who was a high-ranking officer at the end of the Ming Dynasty. The outer and inner garden covered five acres; within these were six distinct rooms. The fact that the garden was far older than many structures in America excited me. We started out walking slowly in a clockwise direction and came upon the Sansui Tang, which meant three ears of corn hall.

  “Ann, you can see the wood beam carvings of rice, millet, wheat, and fruit here. They are all emblems of a plentiful harvest,” Chow explained.

  “Beautiful,” I whispered.

  “This building was used to proclaim royal announcements centuries ago.”

  I smiled at Chow, imagining such an event.

  We walked on slowly.

  We lingered a while in the Da Jia Shan, where two thousand tons of rare yellow stones had been dramatically sculpted into natural shapes by the famous garden artist of the Ming Dynasty, Zhang Nanyang. Using rice glue, he created mountain-like sculptures, which simulated views of peaks, ravines, caves, and ridges. The sculptures were surrounded by ponds and streams, which contained carp and goldfish. The streams journeyed from one room to the next, connecting the garden. Walking through it was like a journey of time filled with energy.

  Chow delicately interrupted what had been a long silence as we walked. “Ann, we are entering the Pavilion of Ten Thousand Flowers. You may wish to know that contained within this courtyard is a ginkgo tree that was planted four centuries ago.” He gestured to the tree.

  I looked at Chow and sat down on the large carved bench near the magnificent ancient tree. He stood next to me, sensing my reverence. I felt physically drawn to this extraordinary tree.

  Four centuries old, I thought. It must be more than one hundred feet high.

  “The ginkgo tree is one of the oldest living species on the earth,” he explained.

  “I love old trees. They are the true survivors and witnesses of history.”

  Chow looked at me suddenly and nodded. He seemed surprised by my comment.

  “This tree offers life-giving leaves that increase blood flow to the brain through the drinking of its tea.”

  “And it’s fitting that the leaves are yellow,” I said, “corresponding with the third energy chakra of the body, where intuition, instinct and personal power are born. It’s not just a tall tree, it’s a power station for the rhythm of life,” I responded passionately.

  Startled, Chow answered, “Yes. You are correct.” He then smiled at me.

  I continued to admire the old tree, feeling a reverence in its presence. Suddenly I felt overcome with emotion that I didn’t understand. It was then that I noticed something shining into my eyes from the ground. It was sparkling, as if beckoning me. I bent down to discover the source and picked up a natural crystal. It was three inches, point to point, and sparkling clear to the eye.

  “It can’t be,” I whispered suddenly while standing.

  Realizing that I had spoken out loud, I censored my spoken voice.

  Could it be, after all this time? Here, in this place?

  Chow watched me curiously.

  “When I was a small child, my dad taught me about the earth. We went rock hounding, looking for unique rocks and minerals. He taught me about their healing properties and their influence on the chakras of the body,” I explained, still examining the crystal. I looked at Chow.

  He nodded. “Chakras. They are connected to physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual health. The Chinese have been using minerals to balance the chakras of the body for thousands of years.”

  I nodded. “One summer, when I was seven years old, my father took me on a trip to upstate New York, where we went rock hounding at a place called Little Falls. We were there to find Herkimer Diamonds, which is a special kind of quartz crystal found there. They have six sides, eighteen facets, and two pointy ends called double-terminations–instead of one flat end and one pointed end.” I paused, recalling what my father had told me. Chow listened intently, watching me with the stone.

  “They were believed to have been formed five hundred million years ago,” I continued reverently. “They developed beneath the sea as deposits, free-floating in pockets of clay, rather than on the side of a stone, allowing for energy to flow through the crystals in both directions. In the clay they were aligned perfectly with the earth’s magnetic field. My dad told me that Herkimer diamonds are used to open the crown chakra, which is the key to one’s soul. The Herkimer will clear blockages in the other six chakras, and it can raise a person’s spiritual energy level. My dad explained that this particular crystal will allow a person to discover their higher purpose.”

  “I think that to find this crystal today is good luck for you.”

  I looked away from the crystal in my hands and into Chow’s eyes. “Chow,” I quietly explained, “my father and I only uncovered two Herkimer Diamonds during our visit. The two that we found were very special; they were both phantom Herkimer Diamonds.” I held my hand open to show him. “The phantom is shaped when one crystal is formed, and then another is formed around it, to create a mirror image.”

  Pausing, I watched for Chow’s understanding. He nodded.

  “It’s extremely rare to find one, yet that day we found two, and they were exactly alike, both three inches long. My dad kept one, and I kept the other. We wore them around our necks. Exactly a year later, I lost mine and never found it again.”

  I breathed deeply, remembering the details of my childhood trip and of the waterfalls near where we found the Herkimer crystals. I looked again at the crystal in my hand, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a man standing to the right of me, about fifty feet away. I turned to look more closely at him, but when I looked up, he had vanished. It was the oddest feeling. I looked down at the Herkimer again.

  “My father wore his crystal until he died, and he was buried with it around his neck. Chow, I know this is the phantom that I lost when I was eight. I know this crystal. I spent hours staring at it. I know its peculiar markings. It’s like a part of my soul. It feels the same, and I am transported back to that day with my dad. I feel the same pure spiritual energy that I did that day when I found it.”

  Chow was silent for a moment, and then he nodded, “Ann, I think you were meant to find this today, next to this four-hundred-year-old tree. That is good fortune.”

  “Chow, I believe you’re right,” I replied, smiling with gratitude that he understood.

  Here, in this place, Dad. I felt like he was very close. I found it. I actually found it.

  My mind went back to those days with my father.

  When I was little, I always wanted to be with my dad. It didn’t matter to me what he was doing; I just wanted to go along. He once built a television set from parts in our garage, and I was right beside him, watching and learning, handing him tools. Watching him melt the solder was like magic to me. It fascinated me how he could connect wires together in a puddle of melted silver. Each time, the hot soldering iron melted the flux of the wires in a puff of smoke. It was a clear scent–chemical and sharp–but somehow still comforting because I was with my dad. He liked teaching me; it gave him pride to know that his daughter wanted to learn from him, especially since
none of my sisters wanted to get their hands dirty or do boy things.

  As I stood there, I pondered my relationship with him. He was an important part of who I’d become.

  My dad taught me how to tie flies and then how to fly fish in the streams of Washington State. Sometimes on Saturdays in summer, we would wake up at three AM, and while I packed the car with fishing gear, my dad would brew coffee to fill his thermos and make me a thermos of hot chocolate. Together, we carried out this ritual, driving three hours just to fish for salmon in the Toutle River. We would drive the first hour in complete silence, waking up slowly. Then dad would start talking about fly fishing, revealing his deep love for the art of it. He told me about how he made his first fly-fishing pole, after his own father explained it to him. He talked about the balance of the pole and how it was an extension of your own arm, and he explained how fly-fishing in the middle of a river was spiritual. On those trips, he taught me about listening to my intuition and to the signs that nature itself presented to me. He was not a religious man, but he honored nature. Dad believed in the power of the universe, Chi–the life force, and that one person could change the world.

  When we would finally arrive at our self-made parking space in the forest, I would put on my fishing vest while dad put on his hip-high wading boots. I had saved up money from walking the neighbor’s dog to buy my fishing vest. I’d tie my own flies and attach them to the vest. I always had a Jon-E hand warmer in one pocket.

  After he geared up, Dad would lock up our 1962 Dodge van, look me in the eyes, and say, “Are you ready?”

  I would reply with a smile, “Ready, Dad.”

  From then on, we wouldn’t speak again until our lunch break. He led the way through the brush to the river’s edge. I then set out on my own to find a good fishing spot, and Dad would wade into the stream. As we breathed in the crisp, fresh mountain air, we would listen to the soft gurgling sounds of the stream. The stream would talk to us as we cleared our minds. We felt at one with nature. It was our mutual goal to find our Chi within the roar of the Toutle River, and we often did. Those were perfect childhood moments.