Bless the Child (39 page)

Maggie started to respond, but Ellie held up a hand to stop her. “I
know
certain things, now, Maggie,” she said with authority. “You have no choice, but to know them, too!”

“Then tell me what they are, dammit!”

“If I tell you, you
will not
believe me—not deep down in your soul, where you must. For your own protection, you must call this number, Maggie. You are caught in a cosmic battle plan—I give you my word of honor, you and Cody cannot survive it if you don’t have every possible weapon at your disposal. Call this doctor, Maggie . . . Amanda’s already told him he’ll hear from you.”

Defeated by Ellie’s determination, and by the harrowing vision of Cody’s desperate face, Maggie agreed to call the number.

D
r. Heinrich Strater was Viennese, a fact for which Maggie felt mildly grateful, as she sat in his office, nervously wondering what regressive hypnosis would feel like. At least he looked the way psychiatrists were supposed to; bearded, middle-aged, round glasses on a fine Semitic nose. She found that a comforting spar in a sea of uncertainty.

“As I told you on the phone, Maggie,” he was saying deliberately, “hypnosis is not a parlor game. It is an accepted medical tool, with which one can plumb the psyche, with a degree of clarity that is nearly impossible in ordinary consciousness.”

“Why is that so, Doctor?”

“Because hypnosis accesses the part of the subconscious that is the ‘tape recorder.’ Everything you’ve ever seen, thought, spoken, heard, is recorded there indelibly. Sometimes, the material is quite linear and recognizable, sometimes it’s couched in symbols—the mind speaking the mind’s special language, you might say. But however it chooses to display itself to us, in regressive hypnosis, the mind permits us to ‘rewind’ to the experiences of other time slots, and replay their story—replete with sights, sounds, emotions—even memories as elusive as smell or taste.”

“Have you ever attempted to regress anyone into a past life, Doctor?” Maggie asked earnestly. “Amanda has told me that’s the request she made of you.”

He chuckled. “I have not attempted to do so, because I do not have any knowledge that such lives exist! I have, of course, regressed people back to as far as the womb, and occasionally their experiences during gestation are quite outstanding in their clarity. But beyond that . . .” He shrugged expressively.

“When Amanda told me of your desire to regress into a past life, Maggie, I explained that I thought this an unlikely goal. She is, however, most persuasive, as I expect you know, and she assured me you would be willing to simply regress back as far as we can go.” He paused. “It would be helpful if you were to tell me why you find this journey such an urgent need.”

“Dr. Strater,” Maggie answered, liking his forthrightness, but not wanting to give him too much leading information, “I’ve been having a series of progressively more vivid dreams, all of which seem to take place in Ancient Egypt. They appear to be attempting to tell me a story that’s of great consequences to my life, but, they can’t quite break through whatever barriers exist within me. At least that’s how it feels to me. There are hundreds of fragments of these dreams running around inside me, now; but they’re elusive, just beyond my grasp. I wake up filled with anxiety . . . frightened, sad . . . reaching for something . . .” She stopped for breath.

“A friend of mine who’s involved in various occult disciplines suggested I go to a past-life reader, but frankly, that made me very wary. I don’t want anyone who may be a charlatan, planting specious notions in my head about what these fragments mean. If they’re
real,
and indicative of some ancient experience I’ve been through, I need to know that. But I don’t want any New Age mumbo jumbo imposed on whatever I learn.” She looked to him to see if he understood. “Does that make any sense to you, Doctor?”

“Indeed it does,” he responded, obviously amused by her candor. “so you decided to try a legitimate psychiatric source, in hopes that whatever comes of it will, at least, be credible. Yes?”

“Exactly.”

“Good. Then we are of like mind, here. So we will tape-record our sessions if you wish, that we may discuss whatever comes of our efforts, later in detail. Is this agreeable?” Maggie nodded.

“I find it best if you lie down on my couch, Maggie,” he said, moving to the window to draw the blinds. “Hypnosis requires a profound state of relaxation to be reached, which permits the access we spoke of earlier.”

Maggie lay down on the couch; it was surprisingly comfortable, but she still felt inept and nervous. Dr. Strater sat down next to her and switched on the tape recorder.

“There are many methods of induction into the trance state that we call being hypnotized, Maggie. My preference is to guide you there with the sound of my voice. I will ask you to relax by taking several deep breaths, and then simply listening to my words, without demanding anything further of yourself.”

Strater’s voice was deep, kind, resonant—Maggie felt herself reluctantly letting go of her distrust, as he led her through a series of breathing exercises and step-by-step relaxation techniques, not unlike the ones she used in Yoga and martial arts.

Suddenly, she realized she was in a dual level of consciousness. She still knew exactly where she was, could sense the room around her, could feel the doctor’s presence very clearly, yet as the voice directed her inward, she became cognizant of a second level of awareness—as if she had emerged into a profoundly tranquil landscape within herself. She heard the voice direct her to focus on an event that had happened in her life a year ago, and was surprised to find it recalled instantly, sharply delineated.

“We are moving backward in time now, Maggie,” the voice was saying. “We are flowing with the river of your memories, drifting back, gently back in time. There is a lovely sailboat on the river—you are sailing peacefully, back to the long ago. You are five years old, Maggie; tell me, what do you see?”

“I’m at my birthday party,” she answered in a small voice. “My mommy baked a cake with a clown on it. When everybody goes home, I can have the clown part.”

“That’s very nice, Maggie,” the voice congratulated. “Happy Birthday! How do you feel today?”

“I feel very nice,” she answered. “I got a dolly with red hair from my mommy, and a kitten from my daddy.”

“Lovely presents, Maggie lovely,” the voice said encouragingly. “You must be a very good little girl. Now I’d like you to go back to the river with me and board the pretty boat again. You are drifting backward in time, and feeling very, very safe. You are two years old now, Maggie. Can you tell me where you are?”

“I’m in the kitchen,” she replied with a childish lisp. “The sink is high up, I want some water, but I can’t climb up.”

“Why not?”

“Not allowed. Mommy says I could hurt myself.”

“That’s true, Maggie. Your mommy is taking good care of you. Let’s drift some more now, shall we? Let’s go back to the day you were born and see how that feels, shall we?”

Dr. Strater watched the adult body on the couch curl up into a fetal position, twisting and turning as if in pain . . . Maggie’s face screwed up suddenly and she started to cry like a newborn, tiny mewling sounds. The doctor hesitated for a moment, then plunged ahead. “It’s all right, Maggie,” he said gently. “Everything is just fine, now. We are going back to the river—we are going drifting again, and that will soothe your discomfort. This time we’re looking for something very special, so you must help me. I want you to follow the river as far as you need to, until you can find the time most relevant to your current issues, Maggie. You may sail along very comfortably . . . and you may take as long as you need to find the time that keeps coming up in your dreams.”

Maggie had ceased to cry and was lying very, very still now.

“Where are you, Maggie? Can you tell me where you are?”

“I’m in the temple.” Her voice was clear and vibrantly youthful.

“What temple, Maggie?”

“The Temple of the Great Mother, of course. I am training to be her priestess.”

Strater frowned and made a note on his pad.

“What have you learned in your training, Maggie?”

“Why do you call me by that name?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My name is Mim. Why do you call me by another?”

Dr. Strater pursed his lips and jotted something hastily in his notebook.

“Forgive my error, Mim. I will call you by your proper name. I would like to learn of your training.”

“Much is forbidden to a man. Of the Mother’s Mysteries I may not speak.”

“No, of course not. Is there anything you may tell me?”

“I have been a
Looking Girl.
That is not forbidden to reveal.”

“A Looking Girl? What is a Looking Girl?”

“We are the scryers. We read events in the mirror pool, or in the crystal. I have been trained to Turn the Sands, as well.”

“To turn the sands? What is that?”

Maggie’s eyes narrowed, although they were shut.

“Are you a foreigner? You seem to know little of our ways.”

Strater smiled. “I am a traveler, Mim. But I wish to understand your customs. Can you tell me of Turning the Sands?”

“I am not permitted to tell you the process, merely that I can read the past and future, when I take my insect form.”

“I see. Do you have other special gifts as well?”

“I am trained as a healer . . . I know the means of leading the Ka from the body during surgery, so there is no pain. Many people say this is a good gift.”

“I should say it is,” Strater responded genuinely. “Can you tell me how you do this?”

“Have you the Fourth Degree?”

“What is the Fourth Degree?”

“I must not speak of the process, unless you have been tested.”

“I see. I see. Perhaps, it would be best if we speak of something else, then, Mim. My degrees are a bit different from yours, I believe.”

She nodded approvingly, then brightened as if remembering something she could discuss.

“I am trained to walk the Astral and the Underworld,” she offered. “To accompany the newly dead through their transformation. It is said that I have a special talent and that Anubis approves my efforts. But I must be careful to avoid pride. Mother Isis would be offended were I to boast to you.”

“Mim, I have journeyed far to reach you here at the temple. I believe I have been brought here for a special purpose. Can you tell me what that purpose is?”

A look of confusion transformed Maggie’s face. “I know not the purpose,” she said hesitantly.

“Is it possible you could look into the mirrored pool and find out?”

“I will try,” she answered and a great stillness suffused the body on the couch. Maggie lay breathing deeply and evenly, as if entranced, for nearly four minutes by the clock. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open in an expression of absolute terror. Maggie opened her mouth and screamed; there was despair and anguish in the sound. Her body trembled so violently she nearly fell from the couch.

Dr. Strater reached over and grasped Maggie’s wrist firmly for a moment, taking her pulse. His brows furrowed at the distress he read there. He leaned very close and spoke to her.

“Mim dear, do not be afraid,”
he instructed with laser concentration. “I will help you. You are safe.” The screams quieted to sobs. “You will be returning to me and to Maggie now, please.” He waited a moment, watching her features rearrange themselves, then said, “Maggie, I want you to go back to the river, immediately. You will be safe there. When you reach the river, you will signal me by raising your right hand.”

Maggie’s hand began to elevate.

“Thank you, my dear. That’s very good. You may lower your hand. You are now stepping onto your beautiful, swift sailboat and beginning to float toward me, on the river of time. You will follow it back toward where you began today’s journey. You may take as long as you wish to return to the present day . . . my voice will guide you on the river, so you needn’t worry about finding your way.”

Maggie’s body had begun to tremble violently again and Strater sat forward, a look of real concern on his face, as he took her hand in his own again “Tell me what is happening now, Maggie. Where are you?” His voice was authoritative.

“Convent,” she gasped. “They’re coming for me. I have been denounced by the Dominicans. They will take me to the Inquisitor.”

“What year is it, now, Maggie?”

“Fourteen eighty-three!”

“Maggie, go to the river,
immediately!
You must do exactly as I say. Run swiftly to the river of time, and sail toward the sound of my voice. The Dominicans cannot touch you on the river.” He waited a moment, watching her closely. “I am waiting for you in the year 1993, Maggie. You are coming closer now . . . you are very near me on the river. You are absolutely safe in the sound of my voice!”