"Elizabeth, but her close friends call her Lizzy." I replied, as Patrick jotted in his notebook.
"Thank you, can you tell me the last you saw your sister?"
"Well, let me think, I saw Elizabeth staring back at me in the mirror on the evening I tried killing myself. Then, I saw her at the hospital, after I was revived. And before that, I saw Elizabeth in the upstairs hallway, moments before my heart gave out in the pool."
"Shawn, I respect your courage. Please stay here, while I talk to your mother."
With his hand on the office doorknob, Patrick took another deep breath, and thought, here we go, before entering the room. The look upon Patrick's face explained everything. My mother knew something was wrong, but she didn't know what. Patrick tossed his notebook onto the desk, and then wheeled his chair within a few feet from where my mother was sitting.
"Oh no, what's wrong?" My mother asked, with nervous trembles in her voice.
"This is going to be difficult. Rebecca, when was the last time you saw your daughter, Elizabeth?"
Within a fraction of a second, my mother almost hyperventilated, as her face turned white as snow. Quickly, she darted across the office, and vomited in the trash can.
Waiting until my mother's anxiety attack was finished, Patrick asked, as therapeutically as possible, "Why did you lie? Why did you hide the truth?"
Wiping the barf residue from her face, my mother said, with the best of her ability, "By pretending the trauma never occurred; I felt that Shawn and I would forget it ever happened."
Since my mother was a total train wreck throughout the rest of the session, I'll explain. It's probably better coming from me anyway.
*
About six months before the pool party, something changed, especially within me, but for my entire family as well. That change was sparked when my sister, Elizabeth, died in the car on the way to school. I remember it clearly; it was picture day, and my sister was wearing her most elegant black dress. Half way to school, as my mother drove through an intersection, Elizabeth violently convulsed, and was thrown into a seizure. Witnessing the horrific event, it wasn't long until I saw blood pouring out of Elizabeth's eyes, mouth, and nose. By the time we detoured to the hospital, Elizabeth was already dead. The medical professionals couldn't explain how she died, but they called it a brain aneurysm, despite not finding any indication of one. Elizabeth mysteriously died before her time, kick-starting the entire chain of events, at least to my knowledge.
If we take a moment and go back to my pool party, the day I died, Elizabeth wasn't there in the flesh, because she died six months before. Call it a hallucination. Call it a transgression. Call it whatever the hell you wish, I don't care, because to me, it seems like somebody's dark game.
Before the session was over, Laura escorted me to Patrick's office. When I entered, I saw my mother in tears, but she was stable. Politely interrupting, I looked at Patrick, and said, "I guess this changes the entire ball game."
In response, Patrick smiled, then said with confidence, "No Shawn; the game remains the same, only the players have changed."
Chapter 20
SHUT UP AND KISS ME
There are many men and women in long-term relationships that wake up one day and discover their partner is someone other than they appear on the surface. Whether someone is hiding infidelity, or something much more sinister, it happens, people create facades. So for Joy, it's understandable she packed-up and left Patrick. Although he wasn't unfaithful or abusive, Patrick hid a major piece of himself. To play devil's advocate for Patrick, even if he told Joy everything, she would never comprehend the extent of his ability, nor would anyone else for that matter. On the contrary, I validate Joy's fear. Separated from Patrick for sometime now, Joy's thoughts continued to resonate through her head, for example, she thought, who is Patrick Lucid? What is he actually capable of doing? On the other hand, Joy thought; no one ever treated me better than Patrick. And, no one has perpetually loved me as much as him. Joy's thoughts were a WWE wrestling match, tag-teamed into submission.
At her mother's house, and another night without Patrick; Joy crawled into her lonely childhood bed. Since Joy left Patrick, he hadn't tried contacting her, which actually tore Joy's heart in half, worse than his omission itself. It was Patrick's subjective opinion, Joy left on her own terms, so coming back would have to be as well. I adore Patrick more than anyone, but he was stubborn. For that reason, I disagreed with Patrick, and thought he should have tracked Joy down. On behalf of my generosity, I did Patrick a favor, and lured Joy into his arms.
*
2:30 a.m…
Joy was several sleep cycles in when I possessed her body. Unaware of her behavior, Joy carefully slid off her covers. Slowly, Joy stood up, as I walked her around the bed, and guided her hand into the nightstand. In the nightstand, Joy pulled out a fresh tube of red lipstick. Circling the bed once more, until she was standing in front of the large wall mirror, Joy meticulously uncapped the lipstick and gave it a little twist, then wrote, I LOVE YOU, in all caps on the mirror. Directly under I LOVE YOU, again in all caps, Joy wrote, I NEED YOU. Last but not least, I had one more message to convey. Underneath, I NEED YOU, Joy wrote the number 21321. When I was finished communicating, Joy placed the lid on the tube of the lipstick, then was guided to the nightstand, putting the lipstick away. Calmly and carefully, I placed Joy into her bed, where she fell asleep instantaneously.
After a solid night's sleep, Joy woke, mid-morning, slid herself into a pair of sweat pants, then brushed her teeth. The bathroom was to the left of her bed; therefore, Joy didn't notice the messages. After brushing her teeth, Joy covered her white tank-top with a hoodie, which she scooped up from the floor. Zipping the hoodie and walking toward the door, Joy's peripheral vision, caught by her left eye, saw the writing on the mirror and shocked her like a stun gun. Quick as a jackrabbit in heat, Joy realized right away she had been possessed. She thought; Patrick visited me last night. You would think; Joy would've crumbled in fear, but ironically, the concept that frightened her to death brought Joy comfort. For the first time in weeks, Joy observed her reflection smiling back at her in the mirror. Thinking, Patrick lowered his stubbornness; although it was by astral projection, he came to get me back; Joy's rainy day feeling vanished into thin air. My plan was working for everyone. Before cleaning my messages off the mirror with a wet towel, Joy wrote the number 21321 on a post-it note, because she hadn't a clue what it meant.
Walking downstairs into the kitchen and trying to hide the spiritual evidence, including the emotion that came with it, Joy wasn't successful. Sitting at the table eating her cereal was Joy's mother, Janet.
"Good morning sunshine. You have an extra glow today; it's great to see a smile."
Janet was sixty-two years old, and lived alone. Unfortunately, her husband, Joy's father, passed away years ago. So despite the circumstances of why Joy was staying with her, Janet loved the company.
In response, Joy said, as another smile dawned upon her face, "Yeah, I feel pretty good today."
Joining her mother at the table for breakfast, Joy poured cereal into a bowl, and began to eat. Zoning in and out of small talk, Joy went through durations of silence, brooding on everything that has happened. Janet, who knows Joy better than anyone, placed her spoon onto a napkin, and asked, "Joy, why are you doing this to yourself?"
Unsure how to answer, Joy responded with a question, "What do you mean?"
"What do I mean? Sweetheart, you have a boyfriend who loves you dearly, why aren't you with him?"
"Mom, I already told you, Patrick hid something from me."
"Yeah, you told me that, but you never explained what it was."
Putting her spoon down, because the conversation was getting more detailed than she anticipated, Joy said with certainty, "Mom, you wouldn't understand, trust me."
"Well, maybe not, but try me."
"Alright, but you're going to think I'm insane." Joy said to her mother, indirectly preparing her
for the conversation to come.
Responding sarcastically, in mother-like-fashion, Janet said, "Joy, I already think you're crazy."
After Joy's short-lived laugh at her mother's comment, Joy conjured up enough courage to ask, "Have you heard of astral projection?"
Janet didn't respond right away, and quite frankly; her physical reaction was flat.
Due to the silent gap, Joy blurted, "I told you, you wouldn't understand."
"No Joy, I do understand. I know about astral projection."
Adrenaline at one hundred miles per hour, Joy raced to say, as she pushed back her chair and stood up, "You're an astral projector too, what the hell is this?"
"Joy, calm down and have a seat, and no, I'm not an astral projector." Janet replied, shifting Joy into second gear.
After sighing, and feeling like an idiot, Joy had a seat.
Once Joy was parked with neutral emotion, Janet asked, mysteriously already knowing the answer, "Patrick's an astral projector, isn't he?"
Lost at sea, Joy thought, there's a conspiracy against me, and everyone I love is involved. Dumbfounded, mouth wiped open, Joy asked, "I don't understand. How did you know?”
"Oh sweetheart, please don't get mad, but I’ve known for a long time."
Again, Joy didn't know what to say. She placed her head into her hands, and began to cry.
Janet reached across the table, and placed her hand on Joy's arm for comfort, and said, "Sweetheart, don't cry, please allow me to explain."
Joy exposed her teary face, looked at her mother, and was all ears.
"I was hoping you'd figure this out on your own and you sort of did, but there's more." Janet said, hoping Joy would accept the information.
Joy used one of the napkins on the kitchen table to dry her face, and said, "Alright, let's hear how my world is going to change again.”
"Well, I'll start with my experience. How does that sound?"
"Sure," Joy said, feeling sorry for herself.
“A very long time ago, I believe you were five years old. I had a spiritual visitor possess me." Janet confessed, trying to remember the hands of time.
"Did you tell dad?"
"No, your father was on a business trip at the time, and I didn't know how to breech the topic when he returned." Janet answered, providing Joy with the realization of what Patrick went through.
"Yeah, I'm starting to understand it's not the easiest thing to talk about." Joy said, as she began to feel guilty for leaving Patrick.
"Anyway, you must hear the rest of my story," Janet replied, as she was eager to finish, because Joy's vision of the darkness was about to change.
"As I was saying, you were five years old; I believe, when my visitor came."
Silent and allowing her mother to speak, Joy was in store for an unworldly acknowledgment. After taking a sip from her coffee, Janet continued, "Well, I didn't know I was possessed throughout the night, but I put it together in the morning."
"What happened in the morning?" Joy asked, on pins and needles, thinking of her experience just an hour prior.
"That morning, I got out of bed, and saw the letters PL written in lipstick all over my mirror. At first, I didn't know how it got there, but it was in my handwriting."
"Well, what did you do?" Joy asked, barely being able to speak.
"I had faith sweetheart; I had faith that whoever entered me, was communicating something for my best interest." Janet responded, like a good ole conservative Christian.
"Were you scared?"
"Maybe a little, but we can't allow the unknown to detour our love." Janet answered, philosophically.
Janet wasn't finished, because Joy needed to see the big picture.
"For years, I wondered who visited me on that night, and what those crazy numbers meant."
"There were numbers?" Joy asked, interrupting her mother's story.
"Oh yeah, there were five of them, I had no clue what they meant." Janet confessed. "But anyway, years went by, and you introduced me to Patrick. And when he shook my hand, his energy radiated through me, giving me a flashback of the night I was possessed."
After another sip of coffee, Janet tied the loose ends together. "When you started dating Patrick and told me his last name, I knew for sure it was he who visited me.”
Instantaneously, Joy developed a speech impediment, "But, but Patrick would've been, like, five months old."
"No kidding, sweetheart." Janet responded. "How many women can say their man hand picked them at five months old?"
"You're telling me, Patrick projected his spirit when he was five months old to give you a sneak peak of your daughter's boyfriend?"
"Kind of," Janet replied. “However, Patrick gave me a sneak peak of your future husband, not your boyfriend. Patrick has a gift, and it's beautiful if used properly. Don't be scared, Patrick would protect you through anything.” Janet said, as Joy thought of her next question.
"So, what do I do now?" Joy asked her mother, seeking relationship advice.
"What do you mean, what do I do now?" Janet asked, reflecting her daughter's question
"For the love of God mom, is Patrick even human?" Joy asked, under a state of confusion.
"Of course he's human, silly. Patrick bleeds just like the rest of us."
"Astral projecting your spirit, and finding your future wife at five months old, doesn't sound human to me."
"You're never going to know everything Patrick has done sweetheart, but the question you have to ask yourself, do you love him?"
"Yes, more than anything in the world."
"Then don't crucify Patrick because he has an ability that you don't understand."
Joy sat quietly, picked up her spoon, and had a few more bites of cereal, when Janet said with excitement, "Well, what are you waiting for, go see your man!"
Joy spent the next hour packing her belongings, and repeatedly thanking her mother. Before Joy left her mother’s house, she had one more question, “What were the five numbers that Patrick wrote on your mirror?”
“You have to find that answer on your own.” Janet replied.
*
Patrick was in the basement writing reports when Joy entered the house. Patrick heard the front door open, and thought; Joy must be gathering more of her clothing. However, Patrick was proven wrong when Joy walked down the basement stairs. Seeing each other for the first time since Joy left, both were quiet.
Patrick closed his notebook and placed his pen on the desk, because he didn't want to be distracted when he broke the silence, "Joy, I'm so sorry."
Patrick could barely conclude his five word sentence when Joy demanded, "Don't say a word. I'm not here to force you into a guilt laden apology."
"Then why are you here?" Patrick asked.
"I'm here because I love you; regardless of the spiritual, crazy-ass voodoo shit that you do."
Joy’s comment brought the two of them together for a well overdue embrace.
During the embrace, Joy whispered into Patrick's ear, and said, playfully, "In a weird way, I thought it was a romantic gesture when you possessed me last night. It was actually kind of hot."
For Patrick, the warm and fuzzy feeling of reunification slipped, because he knew damn well that he didn't possess Joy. This time, trying to be honest, Patrick said, "Baby we need to talk about that."
Joy, who already came to terms, didn't want to discuss Patrick's spiritual adventures; therefore, she placed her pointer finger on Patrick's lips, and said, insinuating make-up sex, "Just shut up and kiss me."
Before kissing her, Patrick thought, what Joy doesn't know, won't kill her.
Chapter 21
WHAT'S THE PURPOSE?
My thoughts ran rapid after Patrick realized Elizabeth was dead. The reality set-in, and metaphorically, I took several steps backwards and assessed my life. I was thirteen years of age but felt a few years older, and could barely recognize myself in the mirror. I already killed three different people, and lived in a psychiatric hosp
ital. The more I thought about the sequence of events, starting with Elizabeth's death, the more confused I became. My confusion spun itself around a thousand times, circling around the same question, why? The lack of understanding a situation, event or person, leads one not to have closure. And its closure, I didn't have. Thinking back on my young life, there was so much I didn't understand that I wanted answered. I didn't have the answers; therefore, I didn't have closure, which seriously made me question, why was I even born? Why am I here? And, what the hell is my purpose? Patrick spoke a lot about purpose, or someone’s role within the realm of life. Patrick believes everyone has a purpose, designed specifically for their inner being. However, he also thinks that most people, unfortunately, become lost and never find their role, thus adapting to something they're not supposed to do.
At this juncture in the story, I believe we can all agree there's a third party involved. Although I didn't connect with my purpose, I believed the third party understood exactly what their role was. In my opinion, the third party manifested a plan. I didn't know much about the plan of the third party, or even who the third party was, but it certainly seemed I was the beneficiary, given the fact that Patrick was lured into my life to save me. If I'm right, and the third party had a purpose, once again, my confusion was an incline slope in someone's story. Because, if the third party understood their role and was controlling the game, what did that make Patrick? It made Patrick a pawn or a player in the game, and for Patrick, allowing himself to be controlled like a puppet is extremely hard to believe. Either way, Patrick was brought to me for a purpose, and that purpose, was to unshackle my chains and set me free, so I could venture through life and find my own purpose.
While we're talking about purpose, what was Patrick's plan to help me find mine? This is a great question, and I hope my explanation finds its way into the hands of everyone, including therapists. Too many times, whether it's a parent, teacher, or therapist, they unknowingly steer a child down the wrong path. For example, when I was younger, much younger, my father practically forced me to play basketball. I remember him saying, "You're taller than most children your age; it was meant for you to succeed on the hard-wood." First of all, not a single person, including a parent, can identify the purpose of another individual. As people, our purpose or role in life is self-fulfilling. My father, dazed and confused, didn't understand his life. Therefore, he compensated, and superficially placed me in a role to fulfill his own perceived needs. Another example, let's examine Doctor Sholvin. Doctor Sholvin didn't have a game-plan for her patients, and it was evident she was searching for herself, not the best interest of her clientele. Every session, Sholvin's go-to saying, you need to make better choices, stupefied logic every time it flew out from her mouth. Sarcastically, one shouldn't have to exhaust much effort in understanding why Sholvin consistently used that comment as her catch phrase, but I'll say it anyway. Doctor Sholvin was incapable of making good choices, even if they were shoved down her throat, and yes, pun was intended. Doctor Sholvin emphasized choice, knowing her patients would make poor decisions, and when they did, she herself found healing from their failure. Unfortunately, the mental health system is swamped with people similar to Sholvin. And just think you're paying money to fail, while the professional who is receiving the money, is finding their own healing. Enough said!
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