by Fiona Quinn
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I was the only one in the ranch house. The general and Herman Trudy were back over at the office. Last night they’d each done two remote viewing tasks.
This morning they planned to switch and see how their answers compared. One thing I knew was that Herman when tasked for “How do I best help the woman?” came back with the conclusion: “You should go looking for Trouble.”
Trouble in my mind was Kaylie; that was her childhood nickname. I saw on the paper Herman had written it with a capital T, a proper noun. I also had the knowing telling me that I was to go on a hazardous journey.
An American woman in Iraq and possibly into Syrian ISIS territory? I imagined that fit the bill for hazard.
Of course, now I’d have to convince General Elliot to let me go.
It was interesting to me that the Kaylie task was the only task conclusion they’d let me read.
“Give it time,” General Coleridge had said.
No clue what that meant, or if it meant anything. I was getting paranoid.
I hoped they could come up with something because even if Father Julio waved the incense and sprinkled the holy water, these last two nights my nightmares were off the charts bad.
Mrs. Coleridge had sat with me while we ate our breakfast porridge. After I helped her wash the bowls, she’d checked the clock then went off to check on one of their cows.
It had seemed like a subterfuge when she left. Now, with the doorbell ringing, I was convinced they’d left me here alone for a reason.
The Coleridges lived in the middle of freaking nowhere. A chance visitor was almost an impossibility.
I pulled open the door to find a woman of about the general’s age. Her features were masculine and angular. She stood a head taller than me, and I imagined, in her prime, she had been a formidably sized woman.
“Hi, Lexi. My name is Dr. Martha Granger.” She pulled a hand from her parka pockets for a shake. “They call me Doc.” She was wearing a pair of too big bib overalls and a buffalo plaid flannel shirt under her unzipped jacket. Her white hair was cropped short, and windblown. Her cheeks were ruddy under laughter-filled blue eyes.
I both liked and trusted her immediately.
Stepping back, I held the door wide to let her in.
She hovered over the plastic mat in the entryway where outdoor shoes were lined up in a neat row like soldiers on a parade field. Reaching down, Doc yanked off her muck boots. “This morning, General Elliot called over and asked me to swing by and have a talk with you.” She curved lower to rearrange her pants legs. “I was actually already heading this way to chat with you. Crazy how the universe works.”
“General Elliot told me about–”
“Elliot wants us to do a regular check in. I told him I’d see if we meshed. I think we’re meshing fine.” She waggled her hand between us. “There’s an affinity. Didn’t know that last night though when I got the midnight call from Coleridge. That man doesn’t have the good sense God gave him to wait until the morning and a body was awake and ready to listen.”
Doc put her hand under my elbow and made her way into the den, guiding me in front of her.
“Coleridge wanted me to look at the tasking report that Herman did for you.” She pointed toward the back of the house. “I went around to his office earlier and took a look at the picture he drew. Wanted my opinion. My opinion was that I didn’t have enough information but for sure it was weird.”
Weird to someone connected with Galaxy? That didn’t bode well. I grimaced.
“My background,” she said, dropping her hand once I was in front of a chair then moved to one beside it and plopped down. “I have undergraduate degrees in religion and sociology. I joined the military to pay for my medical school, surgical. I ended up with psychiatry as well because I was doing research into the effects of war—the mind body connection, and the effect of spiritual intervention on surgical outcome.” She tapped her head then swept her hand down to take in her body parts. “Sit,” she said.
I realized I was standing there, staring at her. I picked up the decorative pillow and sat in the chair near hers. We were almost knee to knee.
“I worked a lot with our elite teams—SEALs, Green Berets, Delta and so on—studying their well-being, looking at metrics of the physical, mental, and spiritual bodies. Fascinating stuff. It was good work.” She sent me a wink. “Probably would have been great work being around all those hyper-fit bodies if I were interested in males, but I’ve found they’re not my type.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ve travelled around the world talking to, studying, and practicing with spiritual leaders, ranging from small indigenous tribes to the Dali Lama. Then Galaxy operatives started having issues. ‘Ether sickness,’ I call it. Their issues were and still are unique. Bottom line, I’m a psychic physician.”
“That’s…amazing. How did you get involved with Galaxy?”
“The first case, I got called in because I had served with General Elliot, and we’d had many a fine discussion about his experiences in Vietnam. We kicked around ideas of spirituality and the things I’d learned travelling the world. One night, Elliot called me up. He wanted to pick my brain when one of the Galaxy operatives became exhausted. This poor fellow could barely get out of bed to crawl to the bathroom. He’d urinate then have to lie on the bathroom floor and take a nap to have the energy to crawl back to bed. He couldn’t chew. It took too much energy, so he was living on protein shakes.”
“Wow. That sounds awful.”
“The western doctors tested him for everything they could think of. They decided it was a psychological condition, and I had the great privilege of being called in to work with him. The Army asked me to help him get his head screwed on right. He was doing primo work for the project up until that point, his specialty was pinpointing locations. They needed him back functioning. How do you know Elliot?”
“He’s my commander at Iniquus.”
She leaned her head against the chair back and looked at the ceiling. “Ah, okay this is making more sense to me now.”
“What was wrong with the Galaxy operative?”
She lowered her gaze to mine. “Healing sickness. He was using white light, which is something people should never do. It’s much too high a frequency for the human body.” She popped her eyebrows making sure I got her point: Don’t play with white light. “When the remote viewers went on a task, they saw terrible things. This particular fellow wanted to make things better so he would spend extra time on task, trying to heal the situation. The goal in healing is to run etheric energy through you.” She lifted her hand toward me like she was warming herself over a fire. “It feels to me like you know this, you were trained in Reiki?”
“I was. And I was taught never to use my own energy.”
“Who was your Reiki Master Teacher?”
“Miriam Laugherty.”
“All right. Good. I’ve met her. She’s very solid in her abilities. More important, she knows her limits and stays within the bounds of her capabilities.” Doc crossed her legs, resting her ankle on her thigh. Her socks were black with silver ghosts. “You’d be surprised how rare that is. Everyone wants to push the envelope and gain more dexterity. Sometimes enough is enough. Like this fellow I was talking about. He couldn’t stand the suffering he saw. Even though he was trained in the scientific methodology, he figured it couldn’t hurt if he projected healing energy into the situations. Did it without telling anyone. And little by little he depleted himself of his life force. It was a great learning experience though. Everyone could plainly see what had happened to their colleague. Everyone was afraid that it might happen to them. When I started training this to the group, about the importance of observation only, that became part of the protocol. I think it was an important thing to learn.”
“Absolutely. I’m very curious about why General Coleridge wanted you to look at the tasking conclusions.”
“He saw something he didn’t u
nderstand. Coleridge suggested that it might necessitate some research in the Akashic Records. A peek at some of the contracts and agreements you’ve made for this lifetime.” There was a pause. “Coleridge assured me you were okay talking about what he terms the ‘woo-woo stuff.’”
“Yes, it’s fine.” I offered up a smile. “I’ve travelled behind the Veil, and I’ve been studying the woo-woo language for a while now, not to say that I’m fluent. I can find my way to a bathroom and can order off a menu.”
She laughed. “Okay then, so the tasking question was, ‘How do I find peace?’ It’s a wonderful question in general. We’re all seeking peace, but there is something specific that you want to find peace from, not make peace with. That’s my impression.”
I nodded.
“The picture that Herman drew in his conclusions looked to me like cell division in the telophase stage. Each cell had everything it needs to survive on its own, the DNA was replicated. The cell was finalizing its division. It’s almost there but not quite.”
“Huh.”
“Yep, very interesting.”
“Off the top of your head what would you guess that meant?” I asked.
She slapped her hands onto her knees. “That’s not how we do things.”
“Granted. But a scientist would form a hypothesis.”
She swizzled her lips around like a man gathering spit from his chewing tobacco. “I’m not approaching this as a scientist but as an investigator. I’m here to get your permission to go on a research trip.”
“Okay.” I paused to let what she said sit for a moment so my mind could process it a bit. “I’ll ask you what that means in a second, but I’m going to push you here. Just looking at the picture, just applying your understanding of biology, what would you hypothesize? When you go on your research trip, you have to be looking for something in particular.”
“Fine.” She tipped her head and brought it up, like she was being forced to do something against her will, or best judgement. “I’m wondering if you were a twin in utero, the twin failed to develop, and you absorbed those cells.”
“I’ve heard of that. People have operations on what they think are tumors, and they end up having hair and teeth.” My body convulsed. Was I carrying around my absorbed twin with me? How gross was that? “I’m forming some pretty disturbing pictures.” I tried to laugh it off. “Let’s say that’s what happened. Why would that be a problem?”
“Again, just throwing spaghetti at the wall to see if it sticks. This is one of the things I want to study. If there was a design for you to be a twin, and there was a change of plans. Something happened—”
“Something did happen. When my mother was pregnant, she was attacked. I don’t know the circumstances, and I don’t know how she was hurt, but she almost lost the pregnancy. I was told she was on bed rest, and my father refused to leave her side.”
“That makes this more possible. But let’s not set it in stone.” Her hands wrapped the ends of the chair arms. “The idea would be that something thwarted that soul’s journey. That soul’s cells were absorbed into your body, and the soul decided to come along for the ride instead of just letting the opportunity go.”
“Living through me vicariously?”
“Or maybe not so vicariously. I could imagine that another soul might have their own agenda and try to manipulate the energy to get their life’s goals accomplished.”
“Whoa. I…back up. Where are you researching this?”
“When I was an undergrad and one of my religious classes was on the Old and New testaments. In both, the “Book of Life” was referenced. Many, including the Christian Psychic Physician, Edgar Casey, believed that the Book of Life was another way of saying the Akashic Records. In fact, these records are mentioned in many religions. Most religions. I like to think of it as the computer over at the NSA.”
Interesting that she’d bring up the supercomputer at the NSA, since that was the AI system that put us back on the trail toward Kaylie Street.
“The Akashic Records is a system for storing all of the information about every single person who has ever lived on the Earth. Every word, deed, feeling, thought, and more importantly intent.”
That intent part was important to me. It was why I didn’t think that I would go to Hell, even if I killed five people. My intent had been pure. It was also why I didn’t think that Angel could really imagine himself going to Hell, even if he thought he needed to be absolved of his sins by a priest. I didn’t see them as sins, his intent was pure—to save innocent lives and protect the defenseless.
“The interesting part to me,” Doc said, “and one of the things I wanted to look at is the circle of souls that you’re training with. In my understanding of the universe, everyone has a study group they work with life after life.”
“That’s what I think.”
And Indigo did too. He said that Angel was part of my warrior study group.
Doc shuffled around until her head was cradled in the corner where the wing and the back of her chair came together. “In each life, the individual soul will take on different roles in order to learn new things. General Coleridge mentioned that you’re having trouble moving on from the loss of your first husband, and this is affecting your relationship with the man you’re engaged to. The decisions you made in your planning group before entering this lifetime will have an enormous impact on your everyday life, your feelings, relationships, and even your belief systems. That we’re even having this conversation tells me that you decided on a spiritual level to allow me to come and chat with you. You decided to allow me to say these things. And you can imagine or even believe that what I’m saying is correct. To others, it would be blasphemous. But then again, there are many belief systems that are unimaginable to me, as well.”
I heard the words, but they slid around like bumper cars at the fair, banging and jostling each other. “Sorry, I tuned out that last bit. I got stuck on what you were saying about my first husband affecting my ability to move on. The general said that to you?” I hadn’t said that to the general.
“Not in words. I picked up the clairvoyant pictures during my conversation with him. In the Akashic Records, I’ll look at the contracts you’ve signed. And we can come up with a plan.”
“Okay, I’m with you so far. And I’ve studied Edgar Casey, so I have an image of what is possible in the realm of a psychic physician, I guess.” I felt my nostrils widening, trying to suck up oxygen to fuel my brain and grasp the ramifications of this conversation. “By going to look at the records, are you gathering information so I can better understand and align myself with some inevitability? Is that what you’re saying to me?”
“They’ll help me understand what draws you closer, what repels you. It will help me to see what molds and shapes your consciousness. It isn’t predictive of the future, however. The decisions and agreements we’ve made, the contracts we’ve signed, they help to guide us toward where we need to be educated.”
My brows drew in tightly.
“Our lives are supposed to transform us,” she said. “We’re supposed to work to be the very best we can be. This isn’t a play where the lines are written and the movements are blocked by a director. Our futures are fluid with an array of potentialities as we interact and experience and make body-level decisions. We are always at choice.” She held up her index finger then lowered her hand back to her lap. “The choices we imagine presented to us might seem limited. But truly our choices are vast. When I look at the tasking sheet and compare that information to your record, I’m simply going to come up with some ideas on what can be done and how I can help as a psychic physician. Like my first Galaxy patient with the healing sickness. He was being poisoned by the energy of all the white light he had used to tried to revitalize himself once he’d started depleting his natural resources by healing others. I simply popped the bubble and drained the white light out like a huge boil.”
“Gross.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “It
actually was.”
“All right, for clarity’s sake, you plan to go and look through my record. Will that effect anything? Can you mess anything up? Move anything around?”
“I can’t without your express permission. Or let me put it this way, I wouldn’t do anything to someone else’s life story out of fear of what would happen to my own soul.”
I’d heard of people doing this. I’d met some. Though they were well-meaning. Talking to them I felt like a grown-up playing tea party with the kids. Doc? She was the real deal. I felt it even before she told me her connection to General Elliot, General Coleridge, and Galaxy.
“How does this work?”
“The records search I do in advance. When I do my work as a psychic doc, I don’t like the person I’m working with in the same room with me. I prefer to get them on the phone as we hook up in the ether. This lets me speak to both their physical body and their spiritual body. I give them information, and options, they tell me what they want to do about it.”
“And General Coleridge saw the tasking sheet and thought I needed a psychic doctor?”
“He said he saw something that has him flummoxed and to be honest a little alarmed.”
“Wow, this feels like I’m at the doctor’s office, and they’ve just told me they found a concerning lump that needs to be biopsied.”
“Is that the metaphor that came to you? That’s interesting.” She sat very still. This was what Miriam did when she was seeing things clairvoyantly.
I shifted back and forth on my thighs, wondering what she was reading in the ether.
“I guess where we are right now,” Doc said, “is this question—should I open the file and do the research?”
“Yes. Thank you. I don’t know when you’d have time to do it. But I’m leaving here in just a bit to fly to D.C. From there, I’ll be heading down range as soon as I possibly can. I’ll have a satellite connection. I’d like to get answers as soon as you’re able.”