Seven-X (24 page)
What if that enemy was me?
Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap.
My pulse is slowing down.
Tap. Tap.
My eyes close again from the weight of my thoughts.
Tap.
Tap.
I’m fading into nothing. A new journey begins as I depart from my body and drift into the dark sky. I’m floating inside a vast empty space, without sound or light.
There is absolutely nothing here. No clouds or skies. No stars. No sun. No moon. No grass or trees or water or plants or animals or people. I am terrified by lack of any substance. The absence of noise. There is no time here. I feel no sense of the past, present or future. No memory of life.
But I am still here. Still alive. I still exist in some form, which I cannot see or feel. I can’t touch my limbs or smell anymore. I am absent from my body and there is neither pleasure, nor pain to be felt. Or for that matter, reason. There is no reason for this existence.
There is no creation. No thought of mass or substance or density. No design for life. But yet my cognitive process remains active. I can receive and process thought, but can not put it into action.
If I think of a tree or water, it does not appear in thought or reality. I can’t concentrate or remember events of my life, where I was, where I am now or where I am going?
It is just this repetitious cycle of reasoning without matter. A vast and endless region of emptiness. And it goes on and on and on. And I am here, trapped!
Help me… Please… HELP! …Somebody help me… PLEASE!
HELP ME!!!
At the very moment my mind spoke, the darkness began to divide and in the distance was an incredible light, straight ahead of me burning bright and straight behind me was the piercing blackness.
As I moved toward the light, I could see shapes inside it. The shapes were my life. My happiest moments in flashes of substance, suspended in time.
I see myself as a baby in my Father’s hands. And in my hand, I see my daughter Kennedy at birth. And in her tiny hand, I see her daughter. I don’t know why, but I knew that was my granddaughter. I just innately knew as I glimpsed into this future window of eternity.
And a feeling of contentment and wonder covered me, and I was filled with pure love.
Then suddenly I began to drift away and everything spun one hundred and eighty degrees as I was pulled toward the blackness.
As my girls disappeared, I slid through that empty cavern again, knowing and feeling nothing. And then another light appeared in the distance. As I got closer, I could see it was a fire burning. Flames engulfed this region and my senses were tricked by the fact that I had feeling, but it was getting colder as I drew closer.
Ice-cold fire was not even fathomable to me, but it appeared as my reality as I journeyed inside. In the fire I could see a different me.
I was old and battered. Bruises covered my body and lesions crowned my skin. I was festering with blisters and pain. But I was writing.
Writing about things I hated to think of. My fingers were typing so fast that my fingernails wore off. The tips were bloody and calloused, but I could not stop writing. I was screaming and writhing in pain, shouting with words someone needed to hear.
But it was silent and I was alone. My pain was for nothing. So I stopped typing and looked down at the keyboard, realizing it was made of broken glass that kept wedging itself deeper into me. I cried out for help and in an instant, I was pulled out by a large hand. My eyes snapped open realizing I was back inside the lab, out of the serpents belly and staring at the warm face of Nurse Evans.
It took me a moment to adjust to the light of the room and step back down on the cold, hard floor. My bare feet absorbed the chill, and it sent a wave through my body, reminding me of my journey. Caught between both worlds, I must now head to my therapy session.
JOURNAL ENTRY:
TUESDAY DECEMBER 21, 2010 – 11:15 AM
Reverend Billings gave me time to write down my thoughts to begin this therapy session. We are having an open forum to express ourselves on paper first. We begin with non-verbal communication, then share what we had written.
I didn’t write anything about my vision, or the five days I spent in Ward D. I just expressed what I was feeling inside at the moment.
I feel betrayed. Rules changed and were broken on both sides, yet I’m the one who was punished. You have home court advantage and are using it to cheat me out of information. I’m the one whose rights have been violated and whose freedoms have been taken away. I’m the one without my possessions, my home, my car, my life.
I gave up those rights to get this story on the condition that I would have unlimited access to this facility, and privileges to record information and interviews, as I needed. I’m infuriated with these policy changes and the way I’ve been treated.
Billings simply wrote;
“I will ask the Father and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever — the Spirit of truth.
”
We just looked at each other’s writing for a moment, before I began, “
Truth, now we’re getting somewhere. A spirit of truth. If you have that, please share?” I asked.
“Ask me anything you want,” Billings said calmly.
“What happened to Annette Dobson’s baby, Kevin?”
Instead of a straight answer, Billings excused himself, leaving me with my laptop and suspicions. I’ve been sitting here five minutes waiting patiently, knowing that cameras are recording me, but I can’t record what I need.
The paradox of it all infuriates me, but I need to play it cool. Here he comes. Let’s see what my answer is. To my shock, the Reverend brought me batteries for my recorder and he’s allowing me to tape our discussion.
AUDIO LOG,
TUESDAY DECEMBER 21, 2010 – 11:32 AM
I finally had my recorder back, and a sense of hope. Billings waited patiently for me to put the batteries in and turn it on. Now it was time to get answers.
“I’m a man of my word, Eddie,” Billings said, sitting across from me. “I’ll do everything I can to help you. But please, record only when authorized by Dr. Haworth. Am I clear? I’m putting myself on the line for you too.”
“Thanks,” I said graciously accepting his gift.
“You wanted to know about Kevin?”
“I do,” I said.
“Kevin slept through the night, every night since his birth. He hasn’t cried. He’s been perfectly healthy. We’ve kept him with Annie. There had been no incidences until last night. Around three am, Kevin woke up crying loudly. A few moments later, he was gasping for air. His face turned purple. He stopped breathing. Annette was sleeping so deeply she didn’t hear anything. The monitor went off alerting Nurse Regan, who immediately entered and performed CPR on Kevin. As she was resuscitating him, Annie rushed out of bed screaming, thinking Nurse Regan was trying to hurt her baby. Annie hit her several times. Security had to restrain her. When they returned to check the room, one of our guards discovered a sheet of plastic wrap in the baby’s bed. Annie says she knew nothing about it.”
“Did she try to kill him?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. Annie knows nothing about her past. But she confessed to me in therapy, that she had a nightmare where she strangled Kevin. She was so distraught by it, she had to be taken to the infirmary.”
“Where’s Kevin now?”
“With Annie. We can’t let her feel that she’s done anything wrong, but she’s under observation.”
“Prayer warriors. What’s that?” I asked, continuing my assault of questions.
“They’re part of our prayer team at church, whose job is to intercede for others, in prayer.”
“Praaayyyyer Warriors! Come out and praaaaayyyy!” I said, humoring myself at Billings’ expense. I just wanted to see his reaction before I said, “You really think a bunch of people praying is going to stop a serial murderer from repeating her crimes.”
“I do,” Billings told me sincerely. Then he got up and moved toward me saying, “I’d like to pray for you right now, if you want?”
“I’m good.”
“Eddie, are you alright?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you in pain?”
“I’m fine,” I told him, feeling a weird energy hit me as he moved closer. “I haven’t eaten. I got my blood sucked out again and I’m trying to comprehend how a bunch of church groupies think they can pray away the inevitable actions of a psychotic, serial killer who thinks she’s the virgin, fucking Mary.”
“Let me show you.” Billings said, placing his hand on my head. “Father God, I ask in the name of Jesus that you bring Eddie…”
“Stop!”
“…peace. May your blessed Holy Spirit fill his mind…”
“Stop!” I said to Billings, feeling pressure build behind my eyeballs, but he continued. “…fill his heart with your love Lord Jesus.”
“Don’t mention that fucking name!” I screamed as I lunged in rage. I don’t know why, but my body exploded with energy. My head was pounding. Billings backed off carefully, saying, “I’m sorry.”
“I got a serious migraine!” I told him as the lights in the room seared into my skull. I curled up over the desk with my head under my hands. I heard him ask, “Would you like me to get you aspirin?”
“Aspirin?” I answered, peeking my head back up, annoyed. “Or Yopo snuff. Anderthera, whatever that plant is,” I said, awakening to the facts of my investigation.
“What do you mean,” he asked, playing dumb.
“The drugs from the greenhouse,” I told him, trying to muster the energy to get up.
“What greenhouse?”
“What do you mean, what greenhouse?” I snapped, feeling the surge of energy return to my body. ” A mile east at the end of the river. Right at the edge of the mountain, there’s a greenhouse.”
“Not that I know of?” Billings said innocently.
“Don’t bullshit me!” I screamed, getting up. “I heard the whole thing in Ward D. I spent days listening to Tyler and some guy rant about hallucinogenic plants grown at that greenhouse. They put them in our food and water.”
“I’ve never heard this.” Billings responded.
“Don’t patronize me! I’m being filled with increasing amounts of Tryptamine, Methylone and other trace hallucinogens in my bloodstream. That’s why I’m seeing things!”
“You never mentioned this, Eddie,” Billings said concerned. “What are you seeing?
“What the fuck does it matter what I’m seeing! What matters is we’re being poisoned against our will and you need to do something!
“If anything illegal is going on, I’ll report it. I’m on your side. Trust me.”
“Can I?” I said, sitting back down.
“My word is my bond.”
“How do I know that?” I asked, feeling the energy, once again seep out of me.
“The spirit of truth. Ask and you shall receive.”
“Ask what?”
“Come to service at seven. You’ll see. You’ll find your answers,” Billings said. “Now go get some rest”
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I told him. “Sorry I snapped. I don’t know what came over me. The pain was excruciating. There was so much pressure in my head. It flipped me out. I don’t even remember what I said… So sorry.”
“No problem Eddie. I’ll see you tonight.”
JOURNAL ENTRY:
TUESDAY DECEMBER 21, 2010 5:15 PM
So much for that much needed rest! I spent my day playing lab rat again. Before I could make it back to my room, I was accosted by Nurse Regan and brought to the lab to undergo a series of ridiculous tests.
First there was this Myers-Brigg Personality Test, then a Rorschach Ink Blot, then screening tests for depression, mania, bi-polar, OCD, PTSD, and finally an IQ Test. It was exhausting.
Question #1:
Do I feel like punching Nurse Regan in the face?
*N
ot at all
*Just a little
*Somewhat
*Moderately
*Quite a lot
*Very much
Every dumb ass question was skewed to provoke a reaction from me, to determine my mental illness? How unstable am I? Am I a threat to myself?
I must be a threat to you Dr. Haworth, because I have information that is detrimental to your health. Maybe you should be taking this. You’re the sadistic madman playing God with criminal outcasts and death row murderers.
These tests were bullshit. I barely read the questions.
I used my time to get information, absorb my surroundings and see what resources were at my disposal, in case of emergency, or my inevitable escape from here.