by BoJenn
“You, Catherine, were supposed to be one of my last missions. I’ve been successful in the past, but you haven’t been as easy as I’d hoped. I take pride, joy, and have great patience with every royal subject I’ve assisted,” Eleanor sighed. “Perhaps you will prove me impatient.” Eleanor paused to take a breath. “I am a great teacher and friend, as well as one of the most chosen guides for the toughest cases, so I’ve been told. Perhaps again, I’m wrong.”
“Am I considered a tough case?” Catherine was curious.
“I didn’t think so, in the beginning; but, now I see why I was asked to come. Tough, yes; but more than tough, you are complicated. Your memories were erased and restoring someone who hasn’t any memories is quite difficult.” Eleanor gave a partial smile.
“Tell me more, please.” Cat, despite herself, looked into her eyes, still looking for any traces of dishonesty.
“I’ve been on Earth since before the birth of Christ. Before that I was assigned to distant places, not of this world, where war and death consumed the dominions. But, that was so long ago. It was a different kind of life. Not at all like the human life. But, that is a different story.” Eleanor paused to see if Catherine was following.
Cat was. She sat on the ottoman, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and the sides of her hands supporting the sides of her face. She was listening intently. “Go on,” she said. “Please. This is fascinating.”
“I guided Rahab the Harlot. Then, I watched over Ishmael in the desert and brought Hagar to water when they were dying of thirst. I oversaw the wife of Pilot by giving her dreams about who Christ was to the world. She listened well. I comforted witches who were being burned at the stake for having extraordinary intuitive senses. And, I was there during the plagues to comfort the dying souls.” Eleanor paused. Looking down, she reflected on her past. “It has been a good journey, but soon my service as a guardian will end.” Then, she ended the synopsis of her experiences with, “I’ve laid next to dying soldiers and comforted them. I never judged them, for right from wrong deeds. That wasn’t my assignment. But, now, I’m tired. I look forward to the next phase of my spiritual journey. Catherine, you were going to be one of my last missions.” Eleanor smiled. The amber light of her aura glowed.
“End? Where will it end? Where will you go? Are you retiring?” Cat was quick to ask. She sat straight up ready to know.
“Well, I will return to Elysium—a place for happy souls—to a sweet and blissful existence.” Radiantly she beamed.
“Won’t that be boring after all that you’ve seen and accomplished?”, Cat asked. “Well, there, I will move into another position and rank,” Eleanor answered.
“But, if I’m a failure to you, what will happen to your retirement? What then?” Cat curiously felt pressure to make it right for Eleanor.
“No, don’t worry. If you fail, and you won’t, then I would still do as I have planned. No worries, dear,” Eleanor reassured her. “Your case is more difficult than planned, though. Perhaps, the emotional trauma you experienced was unlike the dying trauma of others I’ve been with in their final moments, but both situations will prove similar end results. I have fought too many wars, and yours will be one of my final battlefields. Just as the soldiers who lived or died, you will not lose unless you choose loss.” Eleanor threw the cause for the battle to victory back to Catherine. “It is your decision alone. Fight or not. Plain and simple. It’s up to you. We will continue or stop, Catherine?”
“Who are the spirits who want my soul? That are in this house?” Cat begged to know.
“Who are the ones who visit you at night and take you, sexually? Do you think they are good? Do you think they are for you—on your side?” Eleanor gave her something to ponder.
“How do you know about that experience, or them?” Cat was embarrassed, and shocked that Eleanor was privy to her private life.
“Well, you asked. I didn’t want to embarrass you. But, if you believe they want the absolute best for you, they don’t,” Eleanor replied forthrightly. “Do you know who they are and what they are?”
“A figment of my imagination,” Cat responded.
“No. They’re not,” Eleanor emphasized.
Cat was silent as Eleanor’s eyes had said this with such sharpness as to cut through to the barest of her soul. “No?…Then, what?”, she asked.
“Spirits. Not good ones. Have you ever read any legends of people being paralyzed during sleep, and then having such beautifully evil beings overcome their victims, sexually, during dreams? They hold them down, then do sexual acts to them.”
“Yes. I’ve read about them. Succubus and Incubus?” Are you referring to them?” Cat was terribly frightened.
“Yes. Those are the ones,” Eleanor answered.
“And, they come to me?” Cat was truly weary and unnerved by what Eleanor’s answer would be.
“Yes.” Eleanor stopped.
Cat became defensive. “I didn’t ask them to come! I never would do that!”
“Settle down. You didn’t send a cordial invitation, or even say their names; however, because of your loneliness and your isolation, those entities seemed better company than none at all. Catherine, I’m not judging you. I’m telling you how they came. That’s all. The door was opened, but it took a long time before they were allowed inside. Certainly all humans who are left alone for years are in need of company? They saw the opportunity and made themselves at home.” Eleanor seemed to give her an out.
“You’re making an excuse for me?” Though ashamed, Cat needed no one to give excuses for her to be a victim.
“I’m not. I’m telling you how and why they came. They came because you were lonely. They took advantage of your condition. They are parasitic, and gluttonously self-serving. They were not about helping you. They were about feeding themselves with your humanness. That’s how they live and have a life. They want to thrive as much as any energy force. They seek and devour whomever they can.” Eleanor tried to explain in human verbiage so Catherine could understand energy and forces behind all energy.
Cat thought about the nights she entertained them, or rather, how they entertained her. She was mortified that Eleanor knew. “Who else knows about them?”
“No one who judges you. Those who know are only saddened by knowing the demons fed from your soul. They are not angry or judgmental of you. The only energies who are judgmental and condescending of you are not on your side. They are the ones who point their fingers and accuse you. They are the accusers of the lambs. They are not welcome in Elysium. In Elysium, we see only goodness. Humans—those of the flesh—are controlled by gravity, ions, neutrons, protons, and negative and positive forces. Without help, it is almost impossible to win the war waged against all life by the negative forces. Animals are affected, too, but they have a soul that is less vulnerable to negative energy, unless they have come into contact with violence and abuse.”
“Eleanor, I’m curious,” Cat paused.
“Yes. About what?” Eleanor waited.
“Why? Why did you come to me so magically, and under the pretense that you had a horrible accident? Why didn’t you just come and knock on my door? What purpose did the accident have— the magical tote bag, the twinkling in your eyes and the oddities that surrounded your introduction into my life?” Cat put her on the spot again. But, the question had to be answered.
Eleanor said, simply, “If I came to you any other way, you would have shut the door on me. I had to appeal to your inner child. That child believed in magic. It was the little girl within you who trusted that I should be allowed into your home. The adult Catherine would have called the police. You followed your innocence; and that is a good thing. Never forget the innocent faith that children have and should have. Remember: ‘Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of God.’” Eleanor made Catherine see.
“Oh. That makes some sense,” Cat agreed, smiling.
The light in the room was radiating
a warm, golden hue as if candles were illuminating everything, but there were no candles lit. There was only silence and peace.
“So what must I do?” Cat wanted to know. I’m ready, now.
“Choose to win over your traumas. Fight by standing up to all the despair and trauma. Open the door of your past, so you can shut it forever and begin to live a life filled with love and laughter, once again. Embrace the little girl who you once were. Forgive yourself, and let go of “The Tormentors”. Let them fall off you forever.” Eleanor rested her instructions. Then, she looked straight into Cat’s steely-blue eyes.
Catherine hesitated. “Alright. I’m ready this time for real. I want to go into a deep hypnotic sleep, okay?”, she asked humbly.
Eleanor didn’t jump on Catherine’s suggestion. She knew Catherine could turn from nice to mean in a second less than a moment. So, she waited before responding. It wasn’t time, anymore, to be like Catherine’s personal cheerleader.
“Well? Will you?”, Catherine asked. “Please, I want to.”
“Alright. But, at any time, if you start to bite or fight, I will stop; and that will be the end of Eleanor trying to help you. Do you understand? You must really and truly want to let go?”
“Yes, I do understand,” Cat said with such conviction. “I want to live the life I’ve been given. I want a good life. Please, help me. Please?”
“Fine, then,” Eleanor began. “You will place the mugwort bag under your pillow? It will ease the mind into a dream-like state. Perhaps you will find Thomas in your dreams,” Eleanor suggested, knowing that it would help Cat remember her dream. “Take a nap. You need your rest. Warriors need to rest before the war begins, and there will be a war.”
Cat agreed without a fight, “Okay.” But, a war? Cat felt apprehensive as she imagined what the war might look like. Soon she felt so comfortable, thanks to her special pillow. To Cat’s surprise, even Eleanor fell so deeply asleep that she began snoring loudly. Cat gave her a glance that said, “Really? With a war coming on?”
Despite the cacophony of Eleanor’s snores, Cat slept soundly for her afternoon nap, too. There was absolutely no interference of supernatural forces…so, she thought. The quiet before the storm was taking place, just as Eleanor suggested. There was nothing to fear right now. In sleep, she acknowledged the ability to totally feel safe because of Eleanor wisdom and guidance.
In her dream, Cat began to see Eleanor’s stairs in front of her as she entered the REM state. She saw herself in a long red dress, standing at the top of the stairs and holding a candelabrum with six glowing candles; she looked like herself then—as an adult. Her black hair, cut razor-sharp to her chin, her body was attractively voluptuous; her lips of crimson and her long fingers gripped the candelabra as she looked in the mirror placed at the top of the downward staircase. It was a spiral staircase. The steps looked dark; and leading down, down, down, in a circular direction, they were both inviting and chilling.
She decided to go it alone, without anyone’s help or supervision. Cat was compelled to do this without Eleanor. The bottom step was not visible, but without hesitation, Cat started forward to go down. From step twenty, to nineteen, eighteen and onward she proceeded, around and around the staircase, one step at a time faster than before.
By the time she reached the fifteenth step, she saw, in another mirror that was before her, that she looked to be about 15-years-old. Her hair was long and honey colored. She looked innocent and hopeful. A memory of Daniel caught her unaware, and, for a brief moment, she thought she saw his reflection, but the image was unexplainable. Then, without another thought about it, she proceeded to the bottom step, and once again became “Little Catherine Dubois.”
With blonde, curly hair and dressed in summer seaside attire, Cat’s surroundings changed. The voices of children, and the sound and smell of the sea were almost unmistakably real. “It is warm like summer!”, Cat thought. The seagulls squawked, and her feet were warmed by white sand. Sand dunes were visible in the distance, and long grasses grew out of the mounds. The breeze was gentle and embracing. Surreal and tranquil, everything was as it was long ago.
Cat looked around. She heard talking. The adults there, sitting nearby, spoke French. She knew she was in a foreign place, though it surely seemed familiar. “Déjà vu,” she explained to herself, from the perspective as the onlooker of this experience. She looked further in the distance, at the people strolling along the beach. The clothing was not American; and it wasn’t 1999. One woman wore a red one-piece swimsuit with ruffled pantaloons; she had blonde hair, bleached almost white, in a ponytail, and short bangs that were cut straight across. The men were wearing long plaid trunks. They sat on the beach playing cards while the women sunbathed. The aroma of food lingered. Even it smelled familiar. Then, the nannies yelled from the beachouse, “Enfants, sortez de l'eau. La marée haute arrive. [Come away from the water, children! It’s high tide.]” The boy, about seven years of age, called out to his sister. “Come Elizabeth, let’s go play on the dunes.”
“Thomas? Is that Thomas?”, Cat whispered to herself. “The boy in the locket, Thomas?” She had to be certain. “Yes, that’s him. There is no question,” she affirmed. His hair was sun-bleached. His smile—how could she have ever forgotten him! It is Thomas; and he is my older brother.
“Thomas!” He looked at her and smiled warmly, signaling for her to come.
“Come on! There are lots of shells up here!”, Thomas yelled Cat’s way. “This way, slow poke!”
She ran as fast as her little legs could carry a three-year-old in the white, hot, shifting sand. The ocean roared in the distant back ground. The tide was still out to sea…for now. Little Catherine ran up to the dunes, where Thomas was gathering shells from the dryer, harder sand. “Look at this one! Look at this one!”, he exclaimed. So excited, the two youngsters shared their ocean treasures on a summer’s afternoon, on a beach somewhere in France.
Later that afternoon, Catherine was sitting on the shore when a cottage up beyond the dunes caught her eye. She knew the place. It held something of her there. She would never have remembered the little beach house if it wasn’t right in front of her—there, in her subconscious vision. Or, was it an illusion? She struggled in her sleep to look closer at the structure of it—the soft blue of the shutters, the pitch of the roof. “So, why is this house so familiar? Is it real?”, she thought, and decided to include Thomas in her questioning. “Are you real? Are we dreaming?”
“Yes, of course we’re real. I’m real; you’re real; and we are children, and I am your brother, and you are my little sister.”
Clowning around like he used to do, jumping around in the sand, Thomas says excitedly— “Elizabeth Catherine, ma soeur, je suis Thomas. J'ai attendu le long temps de vous embrasser. Puis je?”
I replied, “In English, please, Thomas,” reminding him that I was “visiting”, and had forgotten my French.
Thomas giggled hilariously at himself.
“I know what you said, anyway,” Catherine teased back. “You said, ‘Elizabeth Catherine, my sister, I am Thomas. I've waited along time to hug you. May I?’”
“Oui Oui!” Catherine grinned and giggled. Thomas hugged her and Cat held on to him as tightly as she could. The dream was just like it use to be at the beach. The nannies were there, and the cottage they grew up in. It was just as she remembered it…now. “Yes, I do remember!”, elatedly she exclaimed.
In and out, softly the tide came as they had watched for it to do every summer’s day. All the tourists were keen to know when the sun set, and when it rose, just like knowing the tides would come.
The nannies would let the two children go down the deep, narrow steps and walkway to the sandy beach when the tide was low. They watched from the bay window of the cottage as the children played, while they polished silver tea sets. Smiling at the children, wishing they too were young again, playing at the water’s edge, gathering sand dollars along the beach. The maids made conch salad and chowder, and the
n threw the shells back into the sea. The children would find them and hold them to their ears. The sound of the ocean rolled in and out of the magical, spiral shells. “A whole world is inside those shells,” the children imagined.
The two siblings returned to the house for lunch, after being summoned by the cooks. They sat down at the table that overlooked the sea on the veranda outside. Little Catherine asked Thomas a question. She picked up the conch shell sitting in the center of the table, “How did God do this? Why did he make the conch have the sound of the ocean in it?”
Thomas smiled at his little sister. “I don't know, but He did. That's all I know. You ask big questions for a three-year-old, smarty-pants.”
“I am not a smarty pants!”, she screamed, as if it were a bad thing.
Thomas watched over Cat in the afternoons. They loved playing and entertaining themselves with all the wonder and not a care in the world. No whines. Just being simple children who loved summer days at the beach.
Catherine made faces as she awakened, leaving that place of the summer sun with her brother, the wind in their hair, the magnificent ocean, and being a child again. “Pleasant faces,” Eleanor noted. Catherine smiled right up until her dream state diminished and she awakened.
Eleanor sat there, waiting, as Cat squirmed and stretched and yawned, and opened her eyes. She had regressed herself, unaided by Eleanor, and was quite pleased with her accomplishment.
There was enough time left in the day for the two women to take a walk in the snow with Lovey. They put their snow gear on, and headed out the back door. Eleanor said she wanted to explore the woods behind the manor, so they headed out in that direction. They meandered to the woods, taking their time. The snow was deep in some parts of the field before the tree line. Lovey had to be carried some of the way. Once at the tree line, he could walk without being swallowed by the snow. The sun was out that afternoon, but the weather was brisk and clean.
“Let’s go this way.” Cat said, pointing up a slight elevation.