"No, it's all good; we're already here." Patrick responded, as he parked his SUV, seemingly a mile from the front entrance.
Now obviously, Patrick didn't want to go shopping, and Joy was entirely aware. However, she was absolutely appreciative that Patrick was sacrificing, and as both were exiting their SUV, Joy shared her feelings.
"Thank you so much Patrick; I realize this is the last place you want to be."
Anticipating you're welcome, Joy heard Patrick shout, "Goddamn it!"
Unaware of Patrick's issue, Joy asked, "What's wrong?"
"Christ all Mighty, I stepped in a shitty diaper!" Patrick answered, as Joy walked around the SUV, witnessing Patrick's stinky situation.
Trying her best to choke down laughter, Joy made eye contact with Patrick, after he wiped his boot onto the pavement. And within seconds, both shared a laugh.
Walking through the parking lot, Patrick turned to Joy, and said, half-seriously, "I should have gone home when I had the chance."
After entering the plaza's main concourse, Patrick immediately paid a visit to the men’s restroom, toilet-papering the rim of his boots. After his boots were clean, Patrick found Joy, who was browsing in the massive department store. Typically, when Patrick accompanies Joy during a shopping trip, he fades in the background, allowing Joy to do her thing. And this trip wasn't any different. Joy's main objective for the trip was to purchase a watch for her mother's birthday. Nevertheless, Joy's modus operandi during shopping trips turns into buying more items than she planned. Patrick followed Joy through multiple sections of the department store, at the same time, repeating through his head was the theme song to Jeopardy. Joy's cart contained several items, when she found her way to the display counter of watches, prompting Patrick to think, yes we're almost done. Patrick's thought was correct. In contrast, I was bored and just getting started.
Joy must have browsed fifteen different watches, asking Patrick's opinion on all of them. Truthfully, all the watches looked the same to Patrick, and he just wanted Joy to decide on one.
Finally deciding on a watch, Joy said to the patient sales-woman, "I'll take that one."
"Beautiful choice," the sales-woman responded, hoping Joy would purchase, so she could receive a commission.
The sales-woman, Cindy, so it read on her name tag, unlocked the case, then handed Joy the watch.
Asking Patrick again, Joy showed him the watch, "What do you think?"
In most cases, Patrick would have quickly responded, with intentions of getting the heck out of dodge, but this time was different. Instead of impulsively answering, Patrick noticed the watch's hands were stuck at two thirty. Thinking, not here, Patrick went against his thought, and said, "Joy, take a closer look at the watch."
Joy saw Patrick's reference, and promptly handed the watch to Cindy like a hot-potato. Cindy, noticing the defect, and aching for a commission, explained, "Oh, the watch is fine; I'll insert a new battery."
Joy, no longer in a good mood, allowed Patrick to handle the situation. Almost amused, Patrick spoke with Cindy, "You know; I've seen this before, and oddly the battery isn't dead."
Without conversation, Joy selected another watch, and headed toward the checkout line with her items.
Waiting their turn in the checkout line, Patrick and Joy didn't say anything to each other. Their date-night started like a house on fire, in a good way, and is on its way of ending like charcoal remains. Although it appears that I'm trying to ruin their relationship, I'm really not. Communicating my needs is a bitch, and once my next stunt is accomplished, Joy will follow suit.
The cashier scanned Joy's items. But, she manually typed in the price for the watch. Patrick, several feet in front of Joy, waited for the transaction to go through. He counted each second until their shopping trip was finished. When the transaction was finalized, Patrick smiled. Notwithstanding, Joy's face was sporting a different expression when she saw the total price of her items.
Openmouthed, Joy transferred the receipt from her hand to Patrick's, and requested, "Look at the price."
Receipt in hand, Patrick brought the tiny print closer to his eyes, and saw a total of $213.21...
"Yeah; you spent too much money." Patrick replied, unmindful of the relevance.
"Look again." Joy prompted, without delay.
"I see it sweetheart." Patrick said, as he gave back the receipt.
"Baby, you're blind; it's the number you wrote on my mirror when I was at my mother's house." Joy explained.
"What?" Patrick asked, confused as all hell.
Patrick's bafflement registered the accuracy of what happened that night, early morning, at Joy's mothers. Joy's unhurried walk through the plaza came to a screeching halt, and once again; Patrick's dishonest omission was thrown under the bus. Not wanting to make a scene, standing in the middle of the plaza's walking-aisle, Joy asked Patrick, whispering, "It wasn't you who visited me that night, was it?"
Not wanting to draw attention, Patrick was quiet, but he shook his head, no.
Upset, pissed-off, disappointed, whatever Joy felt, with fury she paced through the plaza and directly to the SUV. Following a few steps behind, Patrick crawled into the SUV, and pleaded, "Let me explain."
Joy, sitting passenger-side with her arms folded, was pouting like a child while playing the silent-game.
Patrick, irritated by Joy's lack of communication, fired another shot, "Goddamn it Joy, allow me explain!"
Unfolding her arms, Joy spun to the left and faced Patrick, "I'm sick and tired of this, not to mention, being lied to."
"Who's lying?" Patrick asked. "If you remember correctly, I wanted to talk, but you were the one who chose not to hear it, and told me to shut up and kiss you."
Joy was placid and didn't respond, because she knew Patrick was right. I'm not defending Patrick, because he should have told her, but he did have a point. Nonetheless, the shopping trip was over. Patrick started the SUV, lit a cigarette, and drove home.
When the cumbersome drive was over, Patrick and Joy didn't get out of the SUV. Mute, both were waiting for each other to speak. Reaching across the middle console of the SUV, Patrick placed his hand on Joy's leg.
In a collective manner, Patrick spoke first, "I don't want to fight, and as hard as this is to understand, the spiritual energy doesn't want us to either."
Placing her hand on top of Patrick's, Joy replied, "I just want this nightmare to end."
"I know you do; that's why you have to tell me what happened at your mothers." Patrick explained.
Joy took a deep breath before answering.
"I'm guessing it was two-thirty in the morning when something possessed me, but I don't remember. However, in the morning, I woke up and saw messages written on the bedroom mirror."
"Okay and what were the messages?" Patrick asked.
"In my hand writing, I saw, I LOVE YOU, I NEED YOU, and 21321." Joy answered, shining light on the significance of the receipt.
Patrick, having an idea what 21321 meant, silently removed his hand from Joy's leg, and placed it on his temple.
"What is it?" Joy asked.
Not wanting to omit anymore information from Joy, Patrick said, as he took his hand off of his head, "To be honest, I know what 21321 means, but if it's okay with you, I'd rather not say. But, I promise you aren't in any danger."
Now, rubbing her own temple, Joy took another deep breath, and replied, with utmost urgency, "Please, please, just end this!”
Before entering the house, Patrick said, "If you want this to be done, I'm going to need quiet, and time to myself in the basement."
Taking several steps into their home, Joy replied, "Do what you need to do, just end this!"
*
Moments later after taking off her coat, Joy went upstairs, puttered, and then began reading a novel. Patrick, with mountains of notes, reports and what-not, proceeded into the basement, where he could brood and solve the puzzle. Situating everything he had, Patrick aligned his material on the basement floor. Covering
a large portion of the basement, it appeared as if a massive snowstorm of documents ripped through, and blanketed the entire floor. Chronologically, Patrick positioned his work, starting with notes that contained information before the death of Elizabeth. Engaged in a psychoanalytic investigation that intertwined both worlds, Patrick was at the climax of what he considered entertainment.
Suspended in the air, hovering over the man, I chose to balance my disorganized past; I smiled. I smiled because I observed understanding and determination at its finest. Independently, Patrick would have solved the riddle regardless. However, since my tenure in the darkness was moments away from concluding, I figured I would give one last clue. Patrick, sensing my illuminated energy, knew I was directly behind him. Nonetheless, Patrick was in full thought when I swiftly moved a single paper off the floor, sending it several inches into the air, landing on Patrick's foot. Patrick, startled slightly, but not really, picked up the paper. When in his hands, Patrick studied the picture that my body drew at Mountain Springs of Elizabeth bloodied-up in the front seat of a red car. At the same time, flipping through his notes, Patrick discovered a major discrepancy between the verbal account of Elizabeth's death, and the drawing in-hand.
If Elizabeth died in the back seat of her mother's car, then why was she drawn in the front seat?
At last, Patrick had his answer.
When you leave someone, do you say goodbye, or see you later? Patrick was aware of my presence in the basement, but he also knew I was leaving. Throughout my haunting, I've caused Patrick and Joy some heartache. Though, like I said, Patrick grew fond of me. Because I was leaving soon, and taking a picture wasn't an option, Patrick wanted something to remember me by, a keep-sake. Unzipping the small pocket of his work bag, Patrick pulled out his digital voice recorder.
With mixed feelings, Patrick said to me, "You had one hell of a purpose, a perfectly executed game plan."
The compliment felt like cinnamon coffee on Christmas morning, prompting me to say, "You did great Patrick."
Although Patrick didn't hear me, he understood I appreciated everything. As my final minutes ticked off the clock, Patrick pressed the record button on the voice recorder, and asked me, "For future use, can you please tell Joy what you wanted?"
Waiting several seconds, Patrick asked me another question.
"Can you please tell Joy who you are?"
Patrick saved my answers, and played them. Hearing my voice, want I wanted, and who I was, sent shivers down Patrick's spine. After placing the digital voice recorder in his work bag, Patrick's work in the basement was finished.
*
With unworldly knowledge, Patrick thought, do I tell Joy now, or wait? In Patrick-like-fashion, he waited. Patrick opened the door to the bedroom, as Joy placed her novel onto the nightstand.
Sitting in bed nice and tall, Joy asked, "Well?"
Adrenaline rushing through his veins, Patrick contained his emotion to the best of his ability. Smiling, because of reasons Joy didn't know, Patrick expressed, "It's over, it's all over."
Joy's sigh of relief could be felt for miles, when she said, with exuberance, "Thank God!"
"Yep, I finally helped him." Patrick replied, sending Joy into confusion.
"Help him? I thought you were supposed to help her?"
"Sweetheart, I've been helping her the entire time. Misdirection, it's a walking contradiction." Patrick explained, as he snuggled Joy.
For the first time in many moons, Patrick and Joy were alone. Reaching onto the nightstand, Patrick turned off the lamp.
In the dark, Patrick and Joy made love, at the same time; I was ironically leaving the darkness and beginning another journey.
Chapter 23
ALTERNATE PERCEPTION
A very long time ago when Patrick worked at Children's Haven Hospital with Doctor Bricker, a particular co-worker said, "Perception is reality." Although Patrick despised this person, the grumpy middle-aged prick was correct, because our perception is how we view the world. And when we see the world a certain way it’s truth to us.
Why do people perceive the world differently?
In this life, compared to the spiritual realm, people see what they want to see, and ignore the truth. What I want you to do, before reading the rest of this chapter, place yourself in a time and place when your perception changed. For example, you're a woman who perceived that your husband or boyfriend was loyal and loved you dearly. However, your vision-less perspective of him changed when you caught him in bed with a younger vixen. Looking back you're able to distinguish the truth, and identify the obvious red flags you missed when your perception was different. Don't beat yourself up if you can relate to my example, because it happens frequently. It's not your fault you were duped, but if it happens twice, you're to blame because you didn't learn. If you're wondering why I had you participate in the example, I have great reason. Think of it as a warm up. At the end of the chapter, you will need to be able to send yourself back to the beginning of the story, reflect on what you read, and decipher what you heard, versus, what you wanted to hear.
What was Patrick's perception of me, and did it ever change? I may never know, but you'll soon understand how he saw me. As we're on the topic of perception, you'll finally hear my mother's take on the entire nightmare, in-which she called her life.
*
It was late, shortly after 9:00 p.m.., when Patrick conducted a session with my mother at Mountain Springs. The time wasn't ideal, but it was the only time Patrick's and my mother's schedule solidified. As I tucked myself into the covers, ready for sleep, my mother arrived at Patrick's office.
"I'm so glad you could make it." Patrick said, greeting my mother at the office door.
Patrick's manners prevailed, as he allowed my mother to enter the office first.
Sliding off her jacket, my mother responded, as Patrick closed the office door, "It's not a problem, I'm glad to be here.” Before Patrick had a chance to wheel his chair closer to my mother, she said, while sitting down, "Again, I'm very sorry for lying about Elizabeth's death."
Patrick, situating his chair, now directly in front of my mother, had a seat before replying.
"Rebecca, you did make a mistake, and there's no changing that. However, in your defense, you lied with good intentions."
Patrick's affirmation made my mother feel better, but as her emotions got worked-up, tears formed. Reaching onto the table, my mother pulled a tissue from the box, and dabbed her eyes. In between tears, my mother confessed, as Patrick listened sympathetically, "I wish; I wish things would have been different."
Reflecting on my mother's words in a realistic manner, Patrick replied, "It's easy looking back through a set of different eyes, and question what could have been, instead of using your new perspective, and say what's going to be."
Nodding her head, my mother knew Patrick was right. With tears trickling, my mother forenamed, "Things are never going to be the same."
"You're correct; things will never be the same.” Patrick confessed. "Rebecca, in the healthiest way possible, you must learn to adapt to the life in front of you. Yet, to be able to do so, you must find inner-healing from the life you need to leave behind."
Leaning down, my mother reached into her purse, and pulled out her wallet. Opening her wallet, my mother said to Patrick, "I want to show you something."
Remaining seated, Patrick pushed his chair, and wheeled himself closer to my mother, as she handed him two pictures. Patrick looked at the first picture. An older picture, it was Elizabeth playing basketball. The still frame shutter caught Elizabeth shooting a foul shot. Observing the picture, Patrick discovered a remarkable trait, which he didn't share with my mother. Per contra, my mother indirectly noticed it regardless. Giving the picture back, Patrick asked, "Rebecca, when you look at this picture, what emotions do you feel?"
"Well, I feel many." My mother replied, as she required coaching to express herself.
"Okay, can you go into detail?" Patrick asked, hoping Re
becca would utilize the therapy.
With a brief smile on her face, my mother said, "At first, I feel happy. Elizabeth wasn't any good at basketball, but this was her moment in the sun, because she won the game with that foul shot."
"That's incredible." Patrick replied with his own smile.
Remembering the game clearly, my mother ran with it, "All Elizabeth's friends called her super south pawl for weeks. She was a temporary hero."
Creating small talk, because my mother showed a glimpse of happiness, and Patrick wanted to point out important data in a roundabout way, he said, "Yeah, those left-handed shooters can be tough to guard on the hardwood."
Shifting the mood from glad to sad, Patrick asked, "Now, why does this picture upset you?"
A distinction in my mother's body language was witnessed by Patrick, when she replied, "This picture makes me think of Elizabeth’s father, and that's never a good thing."
"Why isn't that a good thing?" Patrick asked quickly, to make sure my mother would abreact her thoughts.
"First of all, Elizabeth's father practically forced her to play basketball, understanding she wasn't any good; he didn't care."
"Unfortunately, that happens too often." Patrick replied, validating my mother's opinion.
Since my mother was opening up, Patrick saw it as a golden opportunity to guide her through some healing. Fleetly, hoping my mother would stay on track; Patrick asked, "How was Elizabeth's relationship with her father?"
"Well, to be honest, it wasn't too bad until he cheated on me. After that, Elizabeth lost respect for him, and it wasn't long until he started being abusive."
"I'm terribly sorry." Patrick replied, commiserating with the amount of pain she felt. Quickly, and sharply, Patrick asked the toughest of all questions, "Did he ever abuse Elizabeth?"
"A matter of fact, no, no he didn't, he never laid a hand on her." My mother responded truthfully. As the levee of emotion broke, and flooded the city with tears, my mother confessed, "That goddamn son of a bitch beat the shit out of me and Shawn."
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