Authors: David Morehouse
Psychic Warrior (34 page)
“I've decided not to present anything in your behalf today,” he said as he shuffled through some papers and crammed them into his briefcase.
“Why not? Wouldn't it be to my advantage to shoot down their case in front of the hearing officer instead of at trial? You have enough to kill at least three quarters of what they're suggesting.”
“I don't want to tip our hand just yet. I think it's wiser to hit them with everything in court, when they don't have any idea what our case will be. I think it will make a bigger impact if we do it that way. Okay?”
“So what do we do, just sit there and let them peel my skin off in front of the investigating officer?”
“I'll have a chance to cross-examine their witnesses. They're calling the woman who claims you had a sexual relationship with her. And the division's systems automation officer, to have him testify that the computer in question was indeed a military computer. By the way, they extracted all the information from the hard drive, even stuff that had been deleted.”
“And?”
“And it's just as you said. Everything was military-related, nothing personal or civilian.” He grinned. “Let's go to court!”
He did a wonderful job on cross-examination and, in my opinion, cast considerable doubt on the prosecution's case. After the meeting, I called Mel. “They're going to court-martial me.”
“Dave, we can quit any time. We don't have to do this.”
“No. We're doing it no matter what! It's destiny, Mel, remember?”
“Be careful, Dave. Sooner or later it will be all right.”
“I think later rather than sooner.”
Three hours later I was on the road to Washington to see Debbie. But the pressure had taken a toll; I fell back into the ether. When I awoke it was to Debbie's comforting voice. She held my hand, her face creased with stress, her eyes wet.
“Where am I?”
“You're home. You're in the front yard, but you're home.”
She tried to help me to my feet, but I staggered and fell to my knees. Finally, together, we walked into the house.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“It's five-thirty.”
“I must have made good time; I think I left at one o'clock.”
“David, everyone has been looking for you for
three days
. This is Tuesday morning; you left Fort Bragg on Friday afternoon. Where have you been?”
three days
. This is Tuesday morning; you left Fort Bragg on Friday afternoon. Where have you been?”
I rubbed my throbbing head. “I don't know. I remember leaving, that's all.”
“David,” she said softly, “this has gone on for too long. You're sick, David. You need medical attention. Please let me get it for you. You can't do this alone anymore. You aren't under the care of the unit, you don't have Levy, or Mel. You're dying, David.”
I looked across the room and saw my image in the mirror. An old man looked back at me. “Okay.”
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The next thing I remember is the smiling face of the orderly who was pulling a blood-pressure cuff from around my arm.
“Major Morehouse? Do you know where you are?”
“Am I in the hospital?” I asked.
“Yes, sir, but do you know which hospital?”
“No I don't.” I felt a hand touch my shoulder, and when I turned toward it Debbie's face came into view.
“You're in Walter Reed, David. You're safe now, and these people will help you. They're not like the others; they care about you.”
“That's right, Major. You look a little rough, and your wife says it's been a while since you ate anything or bathed. How about a shower and some lunch before you see the doctor?”
I nodded.
“Great! That's the spirit.”
I did everything they wanted me to do, and Debbie sat with me while I talked with a young air force medical student. He listened to me and then to Debbie and then to me again. He was taking notes almost faster than we were talking. Debbie chronicled my entire history for him, from Ranger battalion to the present.
“This is a very interesting case,” said the medical student when the attending physician came in. “I'll let them tell it to you themselvesâbut
trust me
, you're in for a wild ride.”
trust me
, you're in for a wild ride.”
The attending physician, whom I'll call Dr. Damioli, was a petite, intense woman, with diverse psychiatric experience in the government. Debbie began with the story of the bullet and the very first visions and nightmares, then described Sun Streak and the conversations with Dr. Barker and with Levy. She spent two hours detailing every event she could recall, and had dug up phone numbers for everyone she had on file. Some were friends. Some were not. But they would all have to confirm what had happened to her husband.
Dr. Damioli called the psychologist associated with the remote-viewing unit while Debbie and I sat in the lounge, then called us back into her office. The medical student was present as well.
“I spoke to the remote-viewing psychologist on the phone. Did you know he's assigned to Fort Bragg now?”
I looked at Debbie, furious. He must have told all of themâthe prosecutors, my superiors, everyone else involvedâeverything: what would set me off, how to get to me, how to get me to shut up.
“Well,” Dr. Damioli continued, “he confirmed the existence of Sun Streak. He also told me that he hospitalized another officer back in 1985 or '86 for symptoms similar to yours. But then he suggested that your problem stemmed from a pending court-martial. He feels that you are probably malingering.”
“That's ridiculous!” Debbie shouted. “He's the man who got David involved with this in the first place. Now he wants to bail out on him.” She looked at me, her eyes aflame. “What kind of people did you call your friends? You used to call this man your friend, and he just politely stuck a knife in your back!”
The doctor leaned over and took Debbie's hand. “Mrs. Morehouse, please! Just relax.” Her voice calmed Debbie. “I don't care what he suggests. He's only a psychologist,
not a medical doctor. It was clear to me that he was anxious about something, and his comment about malingering only served to settle that thought for me. If what you're saying is trueâand I believe it isâthen we have a unique situation on our hands.” She paused to look at me. “Why are you crying, David?”
not a medical doctor. It was clear to me that he was anxious about something, and his comment about malingering only served to settle that thought for me. If what you're saying is trueâand I believe it isâthen we have a unique situation on our hands.” She paused to look at me. “Why are you crying, David?”
I reached for my face, as surprised as I could be. “I don't know. I didn't realize I was.” My face was wet with tears.
“You've obviously been through a great deal. I want to keep you here indefinitely for now, to explore this issue further. Mrs. Morehouse, do you understand that?”
“I do. I've been trying to get David in here for nearly seven years.”
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. And Dr. Damioli not only understood what
had
happened, she knew what was happening within me now. Despite the counsel of her colleagues, she refused to medicate me, insisting that what I saw was explainable apart from biological problems. She was a hero. I paid little if any attention to what was going on at Fort Braggâit didn't matter to me anymore; what mattered was understanding the meaning of the angel and of the importance of the gift. For the first time in seven years I could speak freely and openly about what I saw and felt and heard. I didn't have to worry about frightening family members, or making my peers shrink from me, or losing the respect of my superiors. Even at Sun Streak, I hadn't been able to share everything, except with Mel. Here there was help, and partial answers. I was encouraged to sketch and to discuss what I saw in the ether. I became the subject of much controversy over whether drugs or even shock therapy was more in order than the counseling and reading assignments Dr. Damioli prescribed.
had
happened, she knew what was happening within me now. Despite the counsel of her colleagues, she refused to medicate me, insisting that what I saw was explainable apart from biological problems. She was a hero. I paid little if any attention to what was going on at Fort Braggâit didn't matter to me anymore; what mattered was understanding the meaning of the angel and of the importance of the gift. For the first time in seven years I could speak freely and openly about what I saw and felt and heard. I didn't have to worry about frightening family members, or making my peers shrink from me, or losing the respect of my superiors. Even at Sun Streak, I hadn't been able to share everything, except with Mel. Here there was help, and partial answers. I was encouraged to sketch and to discuss what I saw in the ether. I became the subject of much controversy over whether drugs or even shock therapy was more in order than the counseling and reading assignments Dr. Damioli prescribed.
I was brought before the directors of Walter Reed's psychiatry department. Eventually it was decided that I would be medically retired, as no longer being fit to do what I had been trained to do. They told me that I was too emotionally unstable to go on wearing a uniform.
The retirement process began. I filled out papers and endured
more tests, but also enjoyed time with Debbie and the children, who came by every day. We were sitting in the hall one day in early June, when a familiar face appeared. It was a major from Sun Streak.
more tests, but also enjoyed time with Debbie and the children, who came by every day. We were sitting in the hall one day in early June, when a familiar face appeared. It was a major from Sun Streak.
“Hello, David, Debbie. I was wondering if we could talk alone for a minute.”
I looked around at the children and Debbie. “I don't think that's such a good idea. I'll send the kids to get a soda, but Debbie is going to stay right here with me.”
“I wanted to talk to you about why you're in here.”
“Are you still with Sun Streak?”
“No, I'm in a section of DIA headquarters that has limited oversight responsibility for it.”
“In other words, you've been moved up to the head shed to oversee some of the operations. Is that it?”
“Yes, and I've been asked to find out exactly what you're telling them here in the hospital.”
“I see.” I was getting upset but didn't want to show it. “I'm in here because something happened to me a long time ago that I should have taken care of. Instead, I played good soldier and did what I was asked to do. I tried to protect my career and be the best remote viewer I could; and now I'm here.” I smiled at him. “And yes, I'm telling them everything I can about the unit.”
He cleared his throat and crossed his legs, folding his hands in front of his knees. His thick glasses dwarfed his face and magnified his eyes. “I, uh, see. Then, I want you to know that I will do whatever is necessary to protect the unit. We can't let you destroy it.”
Debbie jumped up from her chair and stood between Pratt and me. “What kind of human being are you? David's not trying to do anything to your precious unit; he's not here because of that. He's here because the unit made what was already wrong with him worse.”
“Frankly, Debbie, I just don't see how that could happen.”
“Don't you? Did you and the rest of your cronies become medical doctors since I last saw you? Where do you
get off coming to a conclusion like thatâbecause you didn't have any problems? You and the handful of psychics you're here to protect didn't have any problems, so nobody else can, is that it?”
get off coming to a conclusion like thatâbecause you didn't have any problems? You and the handful of psychics you're here to protect didn't have any problems, so nobody else can, is that it?”
“I can see you're upset.” He stood. “I'll do what I can; but my original statement stands; we won't let you destroy the unit with any claims, regardless of what they are.” He nodded to Debbie. “Good day.”
“You can tell your friends at DIA that I won't stand for any more shenanigans with my family,” I called as he walked away.
He stopped dead in his tracks and looked back over his shoulder. “What are you talking about?”
“Just what I said. First your boys broke into my house and ransacked my office; then they tried to kill me and my family. I won't let that happen again, I might just have to put some of my old Ranger training to use. You know what I mean ⦠old buddy?”
“I have no idea what you're talking about; that sounds like something you and Mel would cook up.”
“You get the hell out of here and don't come back. I thought you were a friend, but you're nothing but a weasel with an opinion. I thought I was part of a profession, but apparently I joined a fraternity, full of secret little clubs with special handshakes. Step out of line and your brothers pull a bag over your head and beat you to death. Well, you go ahead and swing away, but remember this: the bag is off and I can see who's swinging the clubs.”
He looked at Debbie and me from over the tops of his glasses and smiled. “Oh, you have no idea who's swinging, my friend. You really don't have any idea at all. And you remember this: in this world, even when you can see who's swinging, you'll never see the one that gets you.” He winked, turned, and walked away.
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A few days after that encounter, I had a relapse, falling back into the ether. The ceiling above me dissolved away in a blue-and-white swirl until a large oddly shaped hole
appeared. In it I saw the darkness of the evil place I feared so much. I trembled violently and cried out for help. The darkness widened above me, and the phantoms of that dimension slithered out of the hole and across the ceiling to the walls; several dropped into the bed where I lay. I kicked and screamed to get them off me, yelling at the top of my lungs; I struck out at them, but my hands passed through their vaporous forms. They scratched at me, calling me by name and screeching to me that I was nothing in this form. They slashed at me over and over until I closed my eyes from the pain; at last the room grew quiet once again. I lay there quivering, waiting for the next blow.
appeared. In it I saw the darkness of the evil place I feared so much. I trembled violently and cried out for help. The darkness widened above me, and the phantoms of that dimension slithered out of the hole and across the ceiling to the walls; several dropped into the bed where I lay. I kicked and screamed to get them off me, yelling at the top of my lungs; I struck out at them, but my hands passed through their vaporous forms. They scratched at me, calling me by name and screeching to me that I was nothing in this form. They slashed at me over and over until I closed my eyes from the pain; at last the room grew quiet once again. I lay there quivering, waiting for the next blow.
“Oh, my God! I need some help in here! Somebody! I need some help!”
I opened my eyes to see the medical student screaming over his shoulder, his face pale, his eyes wide.
“Oh, my God, Daveâwhat happened? What happened?”
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