Seven-X (13 page)

“You’ve never done anything with your life”. “It’s one failure after another.” 

“Your life means nothing.”

“You’re better off dead!” 

That’s the last thing I remember before passing out. I woke up starving, so I’ll head to the nuthouse for breakfast, then I’m off to my first meeting with Haworth and Billings, while I try to figure this all out.

AUDIO LOG/ JOURNAL ENTRY: 

MONDAY DECEMBER 13, 2010 – 10:00 AM

Breakfast was interesting. I ran into Gloria, who seemed to be in a more stable mindset. She smiled and was quite talkative, rambling on about the weather and how she loves the snow. The purity, the comfort, the way every snowflake is different and how they can be shaped together to form so many different things. She wanted me to take her outside, so she could make a snow angel. They made her feel safe she told me.

“Safe from what?” I asked. 

“The devil,” she said, solemnly.  “He killed my mother. And he wants to kill me.”

 From what I gathered, Gloria’s father was abusive. He constantly beat her as a child and when her mother tried to intervene, she was beaten worse.  When Gloria was thirteen, her father came home in a drunken rage, discovering her mother planned to leave him. Gloria’s father suspected she was cheating and beat her badly, before throwing her out the front door. She fell awkwardly off the porch step, cracked her head open on a rock and died. 

Gloria hid inside a snow bank, burying herself there for the night. The next morning she ran away, and she’s been on her own ever since. Dr. Haworth found her wandering the streets of Dell City about six years ago and brought her here to live. 

When I asked Gloria how she learned Greek, she told me she was one hundred percent Irish and proud of it. I asked her why she had spoken to me in Greek the other day. All she could say was, “You silly bastard!”

After that, I headed over to Haworth’s office and was introduced to Dr. Mark Preston over a cup of coffee. He’s a good-looking guy in his late forties with a strong medical background. He gave me his credentials, which included work as a surgeon at the UCLA Medical Center and staff doctor at the Dallas VA Medical Center. We hit it off as former Bruins. He’s an avid sports fan, UCLA basketball, of course, and a musician. I actually really liked the guy, and felt very comfortable being around him. It was nice to have a conversation where someone wasn’t crazy or analyzing my every word and move.

He met Reverend Billings in Dallas when they worked at the hospital together. Apparently Billings was a psychiatrist, before becoming an ordained minister. In fact, the three of them had been digesting similar theories in various aspects of the medical field and decided to work together, while maintaining their separate practices. Preston was telling me about the VA Hospital, when Billings re-entered.

Billings told us Dr. Haworth was with Annie, preparing her for our meeting, while I was to be prepped here. So I set up my microphone to record the proceedings.

“This is Eddie Hansen. It is Monday, December thirteenth, correct?

“Yes,” they both replied.

“Monday December thirteenth, ten AM, and I am at the Uphir Behavioral Center with Dr. Mark Preston and Reverend William Billings. And I have permission to record this meeting.”

“Yes.” “Yes,” they answered one after the other.

Dr. Preston exclaimed, “Eddie, before we begin this session, we’d like you to see some video from Annie’s exorcism yesterday.”

Dr. Preston turned on the tape and there was Annette Dobson. This was the Annette I remembered. The murderer. Her eyes were black and glazed. She looked more evil than in her last television interview, before she was sentenced to death. Her lips were tightly closed, and her glare was venomous. Her face seemed taut and smooth. She was restrained in her chair, but not struggling to move. To her, it seemed, that she was in the position of power. 

I could hear Dr. Haworth speaking with her as I watched the screen. 

Dr. Haworth: (on tape)  “Show yourself, Keron. You’re lie has been exposed.” 

Then Dr. Haworth addressed Dobson in a gentler voice, “Annette, I know he told you that your children would be like you. They’d hear the voice of hell call them home if you didn’t help them get to heaven. You were afraid. I understand. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore. Let go, Annette. I demand to speak with Keron Ken-Ken!”

Dobson began sneering, waving her head like a snake and humming in these pained, psychotic tones, half-laughing, half-snickering. She’s playing with him and it shows in Haworth’s voice as he yelled! “Speak to me Keron! I know who you are and you must address me.”

She just spit on him, yelling in a crazy voice
. 
“Mind fucker! I drink her tears! Watch me drink her tears.” 

Billings paused the tape. The way Dobson venomously exhaled those last words, brought me face to face with a horror I’ve never seen captured. The words were deliberate, poisonous and spoken with a certainty of truth. That some evil power inside Annette Dobson could devour her very tears. Suck them up from the inside out. 

It was a horrible thought, but a sight that I was drawn into, noticing one of Dobson’s eyes seemed dry as the desert, while the other eye seemed wet on the frozen image of her on screen.

It took Billings words and tap on the shoulder to draw me out of this sight as he said, “The expulsion of demons is not science or a routine ritual confined to Catholicism. Exorcism is spiritual warfare, Eddie. We are removing an unwanted predator from a host body. A demon is a parasite that takes hold inside the soul of a person.”

“How?” I asked, unable to take my eyes off the frozen image of Dobson’s deranged face.

Billings continued, “I believe, first through our thoughts. As thoughts become accepted as truth in the mind, they are allowed to take root inside a person’s soul, much like a seed, which grows as we allow it.”

Dr. Preston then interjected with his assessment. “Cognitive Behavioral Modification was part of her therapy, but we still needed to define the source input for her thoughts.”

“Why a demon?” I asked them. “That’s iatrogenic. That’s not science. You’re making the suggestion of a demonic presence to your patient, and they accept it as truth.”

Dr. Preston responded, “We never suggest demonic influence to a patient, it’s always revealed through psychotherapy. I’m glad you’ve done your research Eddie. It will help you come to your own conclusion regarding our discoveries.”

Billings continued, “A demon will lie dormant using its power to become an ingrained part of the victim’s personality. We call this part of its existence, “a pretense.” In this stage, the demon or demons, hide their true identity. Since they have assumed control of their victim and have a home, there is no need to identify themselves for fear that they might be sent back to their place of origin, or fail in their assignment. If you were assigned to an undercover investigation, would you reveal yourself to the source you were investigating?”

“No, of course not,” I said, before suddenly coming to the stark realization, that is exactly what I did, to gain access to this place. 

“Of course, you shouldn’t,” Billings added. “Our job at this stage, is to break this pretense, and find out whom the demon is? Then separate the demon, from the victim.”

Dr. Preston added, “This is the stage that Dr. Haworth is at here. It took a few weeks of psychotherapy and hypnosis for Annette to unveil his presence.” 

Then Billings continued to explain, “Keron came out as Annette’s childhood friend. A make-believe friend Annette had long forgotten about. But his thoughts and intentions were consistently manifest in Annette’s personality, even in her voice at times.”

“How do you even know it’s a demon?” I asked thumbing through some pictures of Dobson, from the file left on the table in front of me.

“You sense its presence,” Reverend Billings explained. “The same way you felt it in the room with me the other day. Eddie, It’s undeniable.”

“Okay, I felt something. Doesn’t mean it’s a demon. People can give you a vibe. They have an energy, you pick up on it. Some people are just crazy.”

Dr. Preston sided with me, “That’s true Eddie, which is why I conduct a series of medical tests, to make sure that there are no abnormalities, lesions or tumors in the brain that could cause behavioral problems. We also check for diseases, STD’s, viruses, even some unknown bacteria or chemical reaction that may be responsible for the victim’s behavior, emotional health, or identity disorder. This is followed by Dr. Haworth’s thorough psychiatric evaluation and testing. We want to absolutely rule out all mental illness as a root cause for these behavioral disturbances.”

“How can you be sure that it’s not?” I asked, with my eyes still locked on to these violent images of Annette Dobson and her dead infant children.

“Medical science is never perfect, Eddie. But victims of possession will often transgress through boundaries of mental illness, with symptoms and behavior that are not characteristic with their disease. Even supernatural signs that defy natural law, as well as our own logic.”

“What if it’s caused by a strain of a virus?” I asked them. “Aren’t there strains of mental illness, strains of chemicals and biological disease, that can cause brain damage? Even off sets of things we’re still discovering can affect mental health.”

 “Excellent point, Eddie,” Reverend Billings said.  “The success of science always comes from asking ourselves, “what if?” So I asked myself, ‘What if demonic influence is a root in mental disorder? What if demons can cause biological and physical changes in the human body? Watch this and give us your honest opinion.”

Reverend Billings then proceeded to show me another clip of Dr. Haworth’s pre-exorcism psychotherapy session with Dobson.  

“It’s not your fault Annie. Right? Someone helped you? That’s why you’re still alive. That’s why you weren’t executed. Because you are innocent. It’s why you’re here with us. So we can find the real killer. Do you want to find the real killer?”

“Yes,” Dobson said sobbing, completely drained, not restrained like before. 

That’s weird. Jesus Christ!  That’s freaky! Tears keep coming down only one side of her face. I see it clearly now on the monitor. Her left eye is dry as a bone.  It looks like the liquid is evaporating inside her eye as Dr. Haworth probes her deeper asking, “Was it Kevin?”

“No,” Dobson muttered, sounding like a little girl in trouble.

“Was it someone you know?” Haworth continued.

“Yes. Yes.”

“It’s okay,” Haworth said, holding her hand. “You can be honest with me here Annie. No one can hurt you. I promise.”

“Promise,” she begged, looking for relief from her torment. 

Dobson then shifted in her seat, blinking her eyes, shrugging as if she was a horse, trying to shoo off a fly that was molesting her. You could tell something was deeply bothering her, but the animal was unable to express words, as she tried to regain control over her bodily functions. After a moment, Dobson was able to respond again.

“Okay. I want to tell you,” she said in her childish voice.

“You can tell me,” assured Haworth. “Was it a friend?”

“Yes,” she groaned, forcing out her words as if some force within her was trying to hold her back.  “He taught me how to do it,” she cried out.

“Who did?” asked Haworth. 

Dobson paused again, ready to speak, but she needed to muster up energy to force the answer through. With a child-like moan she uttered, “Keron,” and fell back in her chair.

“Who’s Keron?” Haworth inquired.

“My friend. Keron Ken-ken.”

“How long have you known Keron?”

The fight within Dobson began again. Tears welled up in only her right eye, leaving her left eye dry and red, almost bloody. Her left eye then fluttered. She blinked, then rubbed it as if that eye was causing her great pain. She kept crying from one eye, while the other looked like it was bleeding. 

Dr. Haworth handed Annie a tissue, saying  “We can stop here. If this is too much, let me know Annie?”

“No! No!” she cried, with child-like innocence. “I need to tell. I have to!” She forced herself up saying,  “When I was little, we had tea. He came when I was sad. We played hide and seek. Now he wants to hide.” 

“Where?” asked Haworth. “Where is Keron hiding?” 

“I can’t tell,” Dobson moaned, changing rapidly into her adult voice, fully aware of her surroundings and sensing grave danger inside her. She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, digging her nails into the armrest.

“You mean he’s here,” Haworth enquired.

Annette’s eyes shifted again, her left eye pulsating as she shrunk deeper into her chair, like a child, before squealing with pain, “Umm hmmm.”

Haworth then leaned in to her, very confrontational and asked, “Why doesn’t Keron want me to see him?”

“I can’t say,” Dobson cried, clutching the chair tighter. 

“Are you afraid?”

She shook her head “yes,” taking solace in her childish persona. “You can’t tattle tale on your friends. That’s a no-no.”

“You’re not tattling honey,” Haworth told her, reaching out cautiously toward Annette’s arm. “You’re letting me help Keron. Don’t you want to help him?”

“Yes,” she cowered.

“Good Annie,” said Haworth, moving closer. “Can you tell me where Keron is?”

She’s afraid to speak so she pointed to her chest. Haworth is trying to touch her, but Dobson is afraid. He tells her,  “Okay, It’s okay. I’d like to speak with Keron.”

“Keron Ken-ken!” Annette screamed in a voice that was neither hers nor her alter ego of that innocent child, as she lunged toward Haworth. The restraints held her down as she screamed, “Address me by my proper name, mind fucker!” 

This was the vicious Annette Dobson I remembered. The ruthless, savage killer. The one who took the stand in court and confessed to her crimes. Her face seemed aged. It showed no innocence and no remorse. It was ice cold and her eyes beamed with disgust and hate as she bellowed, “If you want to know what she did, ask!”

“Okay Keron,” said Haworth, now proceeding with a warranted caution.