Chapter Five

I shut the curtain and got my notepad and Julie’s copy of the heartbreak book from my bag and settled in to do some research. The front and back flaps contained an impressive array of kudos from bestselling authors. The table of contents alone made me gag. I read sickly sweet chapter titles and bullet points, dripping with sentimentality and religion. The final section of each promised a free worksheet, audio or activity, followed by a section called “Going deeper into healing.”

My roommate was engrossed in a TV program. At a commercial break, I interrupted her.

“Julie, did you go after these worksheets and teachings in the resource area?”

“Some of them.”

“Any good?”

“Helpful.”

Her show won. I’d have to talk with her another time.

I had never seen a book structured like this. Tippin shared a new free gift and a different product in each chapter, plus several ways of taking part in her creepy, by invitation only church. You could watch services online, join virtual study groups, take free Christian living classes, and buy products such as audios, copies of sermons, and videos. Brilliant marketing. Everything about the book urged the reader to get more deeply involved.

I made a fast list of all the resources and product categories. She or someone around her had clearly mastered marketing. I paid attention to the structure of the book as well as the advertising. The first part was all about the pain of a broken heart. Part Two went into the stories of how seven women who worked with Mandy had changed their lives. Part Three revealed next steps for the reader.

All this simply from studying the table of contents. I hadn’t read any of it yet.

“The book really sucks you in, doesn’t it?”

Accustomed to tuning out television and other noise, I was startled. Her show over, she had muted the TV. I pressed the button on my smartpen to start the audio recording.

“Everyone I talked to today has said that. What was it that sucked you in?” Using her words would open her up and give me more data.

“Her style I guess. The writing. She told her own story and came across like a friend. I feel like I know her. I can trust her to help me get through the pain.”

Conversational style built trust. Although I had honed my memory to rapier sharpness, publications demanded proof of sources’ quotes. My trusty smartpen and shorthand came to my aid again as I recorded the conversation and wrote the comment and Julie’s name in a few quick strokes.

I asked her, “Anything else that helped you?”

“I don’t know; I just couldn’t stop reading it.”

The notion of hypnosis came into my mind, so I wrote it down with an R inside a circle as my cue to research hypnotic writing and mind control techniques.

“I hope the book will help you too, Kass. I can only imagine how hard what you went through must be.”

“Thanks.” Would the writing suck me in as well? I had been paying attention to the structure of the chapters and placement of resources and advertising. Next, I would start reading the book for content. Julie flipped channels and unmuted. I turned off the recording and started reading.

The author wrote that she grew up in a loving Christian home but took up with a husband who beat her. The cadence of the writing had a rhythmic swing reminiscent of riding the elevated train between stops. She said she divorced her first husband and that her second, Reverend Jeb Tippin, was the biggest blessing of her life.

I looked up, searching my memory. Reverend Tippin. So familiar, but I couldn’t place why. Sharp as my memory is, a person meets so many folks in passing. I didn’t know any ministers here, and rifling through the ones from childhood, nobody named Tippin served there, as far as I knew. Ah well, another mystery to solve. I made a note to research him.

I turned my attention back to the book. A black web crept from the book’s spine toward my fingers. Oh come on, that’s enough.

Even after I rubbed my eyes, it remained, inching closer and closer.

I snapped the book shut and tossed it beside me. Time to admit it to myself; I wasn’t just overtired. All these signs showed me there’s evil at work. This whole black web thing was new. Nobody else I’d ever heard of saw anything like that, so why me? All this weirdness preyed on my insecurities.

Enough stewing. I took a shower, hoping to scrub away the spookiness that had invaded my life, but it crept through me like rampant kudzu. Plus, I kept thinking about Amber. What if she were a danger to herself? Maybe she wasn’t ill. She could be suicidal. Nothing in her words during the interview suggested it, but the black haze around her definitely did. Or was that because of the demonic presence and not an indication of impending death? Why did this have to be so hard?

Huddling in the big bath towel for warmth, I abandoned the steamy heat of the bathroom for the much colder bedroom. As I jumped into my dark blue sweats, I thought I saw those nasty red eyes between the blinds, observing me. But when I looked directly at them, all I saw was headlights coming down the street.

Okay, now you’re just being paranoid.

I closed the blinds all the way to obliterate the sight. Out, out, bad world.

Settle down. You’re getting ridiculous. I wrapped the towel around my hair and took a cup of hot cocoa into the living room. My cell rang.

“Hey Kass, it’s Russ. How about you come with me to Sunday dinner downstairs, at Agent Bentley’s place?”

He blurted it out like he might lose his nerve if he didn’t talk fast enough.

“Sure.”

“I guess I should ask if you had other plans.”

“Not until now.”

“When his wife. Claire. found out I had met up with an old friend, she told me I better invite you or she’d raise my rent.”

“Strong woman. I like her already.” I remembered one of his favorite desserts from back home. “Want me to make cherry cobbler?”

“Really? Yum. You remember how much I love it. Oh, wait. I better ask.” He made his enquiry.

Claire told him, “Now Russell, don’t put her to any trouble. She doesn’t need to bring a thing but herself.”

When he put the phone back to his ear, I told him, “Russ, tell her it’s my pleasure. I love to bake.”

He told her, “She makes great desserts. She worked in the bakery during high school.”

“I’m trying to lose some weight before the holidays.”

I had to keep myself from laughing out loud. “Russ, put her on for a minute, please.”

“Claire, Kass wants to talk to you.” He handed over the phone.

“Miss Claire, ma’am, cooking relaxes me, and it’s been a busy week. I’d be delighted to fix dessert. And it’s Russ’ favorite. We knew each other as kids.”

“Baking is such a chore. It’s too much.”

“Not for me, Ma’am. I used to cook for a family of farmers and usually a couple extra folk back home nearly every day.”

A pause. She laughed. “It’s hard to resist homemade treats, but you’re our guest.”

“You don’t want to make Russ unhappy now that I’ve offered it, do you?”

“I suppose not.”

“And it’s really no trouble. I love to cook.”

“You love cooking? Don’t say that or I may never let you go home.”

“Russ will be unhappy if you don’t let me do this for y’all. Besides, cobbler’s just fruit with a little topping.”

She sighed. “Oh all right, I surrender. Fruit with a little topping. You can bring it under one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Stop calling me ‘ma’am.’”

“I can’t help how I was raised. Once I know you better, I’ll stop.”

She handed Russ’ phone back to him.

“I haven’t had good cobbler since I left home. Thanks.”

I doubted it, but since Aunt Beck and more recently, Olivia, advised when you get a compliment, just say “thank you.” That’s exactly what I did.

We settled the details and I tossed my phone onto the table.

Julie beamed at me. “Y’all?”

“You know I’m a country girl.”

“Your day is getting better and better, isn’t it? I want pictures.”

“You want me to invade Sunday dinner with a camera?”

“Yep.”

“Were you a yenta in another life?”

“Yenta?”

“Jewish word for matchmaker.”

“No, but I love bagels.”

“Why is everyone obsessed with pictures of what their friends are eating?”

“Vicarious living.” She looked at me for a long moment, which was Julie code that she wanted a big favor.

“Okay, Jules, spill. What do you want from me, but are afraid to ask?”

“If I make a pan of brownies, would you let me use your computer?”

“Ooh, bribery. It must be something really big.”

“I got a postcard today. They’re inviting one person in the audience to experience the Releasing Ritual live at the event.”

“And you want it.”

“And I have to go online to fill out a form that they said would take about fifteen minutes, plus I have to write why they should choose me. I hate to go to the library for something like that, but I will if I need to.”

“You can borrow it.”

“Oh thank you.” She squashed me in a hug and went to the kitchen to get us each some hot cocoa.

While she was getting our drinks, I opened the laptop and typed in the website from her postcard. This would provide more good material, so I sat beside her while she typed. “If I’m being too nosy, just tell me to butt out.”

She looked up. “You want to know what I’m filling out, right?”

“Of course. I am writing articles about this, you know.”

She partially closed the lid to keep the site a secret. “Only if you show me your notebook.”

“Fair enough.” I scooted it across the table, knowing she couldn’t read my notes and glad of it.

She squinted at the writing and playfully turned the notebook in several directions, including upside down. “You write in code.”

“Yes I do.”

“How do you expect me to read it if it’s in code?” she asked playfully.

“Just make something up.”

“Are you trying to keep me from snooping?” She slid the computer over to me to see.

“Oh yes, you bet. I would never want to tell you a thing.”

“What is that chicken scratch called, anyway?”

“Shorthand.”

“You mean that ancient code secretaries used way before we were born?”

“The same.”

“And you understand it?”

I nodded. “Use it every day.”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it before. I think my grandmother used it when she was a secretary, decades ago.” She closed the notebook and handed it back.

“It’s a lost art. And it saves me a lot of paper.”

“Don’t you use a digital recorder?”

“Yes, but they, the ‘Almighty Editors,’ still want notes, and it’s easier to write from those and use the audio as a backup.” I scanned the onscreen form and handed back the computer. “I can’t believe how much they’re asking you.” I wrote down some of the more interesting questions. Julie had gotten as far as her contact information, where and when she got the book, whether she had read it all, and whether she had joined the online community. There was a check box so that someone could receive an email invitation. More clever marketing. And the next check box was to ask for more information to be sent through the mail along with a free CD called “Let Jesus Mend Your Wounded Heart” from the Tippin Heart of Christ Ministries. I watched from the side, trying not to be obvious. Julie hesitated but then decided she wanted to know more about the ministry.

Oh my.

How many people would fill out the whole long form and submit it? A line with a check box beside it right after the introductory section read:

If you would like to be considered for a live session with Mandy Tippin at the televised event, please check this box, initial it, and type your full name beneath the disclaimer below, then go on to part 2. If you would like to register for a free private session courtesy of Mandy Tippin and the Tippin Heart of Christ Ministries, please fill out the private session information form completely.

The disclaimer contained a complete liability message and a notice that nothing in the session should be construed as therapeutic. A person who signed it could claim no harm from the meeting, the Releasing Ritual, or other procedures or activities that would occur during or after the session.

“Do you really want to do that in front of a crowd, on air?” I already knew the answer. I hoped I didn’t let my dread show in my posture or tone, but a chill crept up my spine.

“Oh yeah for sure, I would love it. Not that I’ll be chosen, but it would be great. I bet dozens of women will be in the drawing. Maybe even hundreds.”

“Stranger things have happened, right?” Please don’t pick her, or something awful will happen. I just know it.

“I have to write a couple paragraphs about why I should be chosen.”

Please, God, or the Universe, or whoever might be listening, don’t let her ask me to help write it, because I don’t want to have to say no.

“Will you help me with it? You’re the writer.”

Oh yeah. God’s on permanent vacation where I’m concerned. How could I forget? Think fast.

I shook my head. “Just write from your heart, Julie. You don’t need me to do that. You know your reasons much better than I ever will. If it’s meant to happen, it will.” Good answer. Would she buy it?

“You’re right, of course.”

Whew. Dodged a bullet. The depth of this form intrigued me. They asked for so much data. The usual demographics and book questions, the disclaimer section, and then the fun really began. They must be using the information for prescreening. I hoped to be able to look at Julie’s completed form before she hit the submit button. As snoopy as that sounded, my rising suspicion was what prompted this borderline unethical desire. I wanted to bring up my concerns but not come across as smothering. Julie was, after all, an adult, free to make her own choices and live with the consequences.

Besides, how could I express my concerns in any sane manner? Hey Julie, I think you’re being misled. Or, hey Julie, I think you have an evil force trying to attach itself to you. Or, hey Julie, I think your guru is working for the dark side. None of those options would be wise.

“Before you start answering, I’m going to jot down some of these questions. They might be useful for the article. Is that okay with you?”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

The more I thought about all that data, the more uneasy I became.

1. What has been your biggest relationship challenge?

2. What hurt the most about your heartbreaking situation?

3. How long ago did your relationship end?

4. The relationship ended because:

_ I left

_ partner left

_ death

5. What chapter of the book helped you the most, and why?

6. Do you have a support community to help you through this difficult time?

7. If so, which group?

Then came a whole section about the online forum, along with another opportunity to get emails. Very clever. Even if you said no the first time, these questions were designed to lead you to see that the community was valuable so that you might change your mind and ask for information. The first several had boxes beneath them with the various features and categories of discussions and other tools.

1. Which aspects are most valuable to you?

2. Which discussions do you participate in most often?

3. What do you love best about the community?

4. What features would you like to see that we are not currently offering?

Then short answer fill-in questions about involvement. Next came a short section asking,

1. If you are not involved in the community, why not?

2. What would we need to offer to make you interested?

Relentless.

The final section in the live televised event portion of this horrendous questionnaire asked about specific activities listed in the book. The applicant had to swear she had completed them to continue.

Next, and I couldn’t believe there was yet more, she had to answer some specific queries regarding the results of these activities and her progress through the series of steps outlined in the book.

The last questions in this section read:

1. Why do you want to have a live on-air Releasing Ritual?

2. What do you hope to gain?

3. Why should we select you?

Julie commented, “I never thought you’d be so interested in the application form.”

I leaned back from the screen. “Neither did I, but I’m interviewing a lot of women and I’ll be spending time in the forum. It’s all very interesting. I even have an idea for a marketing article based on their methods.”

Whitish blob was back. Not a floater. Great. This time, streaks of blue and yellow swirled. Didn’t look menacing, but I wasn’t about to trust an energy ball at this point. Was that my imagination? Probably the whole seeing colors thing was my mind’s way of making sense of the experience. No tingling palms. Whew.

My guess, if this was an evil influence, it had not taken hold and Julie had not specifically opened the door to it. Not yet. Would she unknowingly invite evil? She had a loving heart, but anybody could be deceived or corrupted. My father was not always hateful. I remembered being very close to him during my early years, but something happened when I was about five that changed him.

I predicted another disturbing night.

****

Exhausted as I was, it should have been easy to get to sleep, but no. Visions, memories and worries tumbled like clothes in the dryer. I read until I could barely see straight, then finally dropped off into restless dozing.

I awoke groggy. Baking dessert meant a Sunday morning trip to the market. Food shopping normally helped me clear my mind and provided another opportunity for people watching. No such luck today. A new colored aura. Yay. One guy acted like he wanted to slam someone. His angry red rim crackling like fire matched his mood. Nobody had the death haze. Whew. Maybe eventually I would adapt to this, but it all still felt new and disturbing.

As a kid, I remember I got the colors only in extreme situations, like rage or imminent death. Would I ever learn to switch the ability on and off, or at least shift focus to real world or supernaturally enhanced view? I couldn’t back then.

And I was hoping for no critters, but no such luck there either. A well-muscled woman had a creature that looked like tar with eyes and a pincer where a mouth might be hovering over her shoulder. Great. Thankfully, only she had a creepy creature attached to her. So far. It wasn’t bothered by me and I decided to live and let live.

What good could come of this? Who could I talk to about it? Pa had called me a demon child and kicked me out when I confided in him. No, everyone would not react as he did, but this disturbing “gift” of mine was definitively not normal. It was a curse, whether it came from God or elsewhere.

I needed to learn how to adapt.

Cooking relaxed me, and I sure needed a good distraction. Once I had Russ’s favorite dessert in the oven, I threw together a pot of Busy Day Chicken Soup for Julie and me to eat during the coming week.

After all that cooking, my mind was in the right space for research.

I thought about my conversation with Amber and how she started looking off into space and acting as if she were in a trance. The nagging thought that she might be under some sort of compulsion kept nibbling at me. Was it possible to hypnotize through writing? If so, was it conceivable to get someone to act against their nature? I suspected the former was possible but that the latter wasn’t likely. Time for research.

The notion that Mandy Tippin might be subverting readers with her writing turned out to be a gold mine. I discovered that there were books and articles about hypnotic writing, and even products like DVDs for sale. I devoured everything I could get hold of for free online. There was some controversy about whether hypnotic writing was ethical, but I thought for a moment about how we all persuade each other.

That form of writing was nothing more than conscious persuasion. I didn’t believe this in and of itself was deceitful or immoral. The best written novels had a hypnotic effect because they drew you into another world. Good movies did the same thing. The whole world would fall away because the work pulled you into its realm. Likewise, a knife could be used to cut meat, but it could be used for harm, to cut a person. Not the tool, but the intent made the difference.

Same thing here. Intention determined whether any work was spiritually “clean.” Most of what I read on the topic didn’t have a residue of malice or deceit. But each time I picked up Mandy Tippin’s book and read parts of it, I saw that murky black mesh that told me it had some unwholesome spiritual power attached to it. In places it was more than a wispy web. Would I see the enmeshing webs if someone else read it? Another experiment.

One minute I was all mad about seeing bad critters again, and the next, wondering if reading a book would change someone’s colors. My curiosity kept digging me in deeper and deeper.

I grabbed my computer and typed in the URL of the Healing Your Broken Heart Online website where the various worksheets and other bonus gifts were located. Another clever piece of marketing greeted me. The page listed all the wonderful free gifts with a paragraph or two about how they would change your life, but in order to download them, you had to give your name and email. The more information you got from someone, the more you could track their activities.

Since this was a freelance project, I used my Gmail research account. Once I got to the “thank you” page, a sales letter offered me a one-time only deal on a package. Sales letters were becoming my new fascination, but right now I needed to stay on task, so I pasted the URL into a document for later study. Tippin definitely had a marketing genius in her court.

I quickly read through the letter, writing down anything that caught my attention. This was an education in sales and marketing beyond the scope of my intended article. Naturally, as a freelancer, I constantly needed to promote myself to earn money. The more I learned to write persuasively, I reasoned, the better chance I had for an editor to hire me, or at least request more information.

Hypnosis plus writing turned out to be a gold mine, more common than I would have thought. The list of hypnotic phrases from one of the websites would definitely prove useful in my own query letters and work. It would be interesting to discover how learning some of the techniques would change my results. I planned to go to the library and check out Joe Vitale’s book Hypnotic Writing.

Several trails: smiling after violent death, hypnosis, demons. Just another day in a writer’s life.

Now, another question came into my mind. If the author was employing nasty supernatural help with her marketing, how would I prove it? Should I try? If Tippin had demonic help, would I be able to stop her? What could I possibly do? Seeing a nasty spirit attachment on someone was one thing, but this could only be the work of a far more sentient creature. One that could plan and scheme and create a bigger impact.

Images of Princess Olivia’s sister Shondra and the face of the dead woman in the river emerged in my mind. They had both died smiling. Had river woman read the book? Most likely I would never know. What if there were others? I had to do something, though I had no idea where to start. Oh, I could research, but if I found a connection, how could I possibly prove it?

You can’t just go into a police station and say, “Officer, I’ve discovered that a demon is murdering women and I need you to help me stop it.”

Well, no matter what else happened, it would start with research. Maybe other women who read the book had died smiling. I logged into my special Tribune account and snooped around for articles about young single women dying under unusual circumstances. When one came up with the location of Lampe, Missouri, naturally I read it immediately. That was my old stomping grounds before Pa kicked me out of my life and I went to Arkansas to live with Beck and Walter.

Woman Drives off Highway 13 in Lampe, Dies

John Clinton, Staff Writer

Jessica Lambert, 28, of Tallahassee, Florida, died Tuesday when her car went over a steep embankment on Highway 13, just within the boundaries of Lampe. Her car went between the trees before rolling to the bottom of the 300-foot drop. Lambert was not wearing a seat belt. The Coroner’s report stated that she was neither intoxicated nor high on drugs.

The impact threw her through the windshield and she landed on her neck, snapping it. She also suffered numerous cuts and broken bones, according to the Stone County Coroner. There were no witnesses, and the cause of the accident remains unknown.

“It wasn’t raining or foggy. Could be that a deer hit the car and she went over the cliff trying to avoid it. But we just don’t know at this point,” admitted Sheriff Blair. “If you have any information, please contact the Sheriff’s office.

Dick Foote of Kimberling City, who discovered her dead at the scene said, “She was smiling like this was the happiest day of her life. It spooked me. I’ve never seen anything like it, but I guess she died happy. That’s more than a lot of people can say. I just don’t know how you could drive off a cliff and still be smiling.”

According to Officer David Rusk of the Stone County Police Department, Lambert reportedly had no family or friends in southwest Missouri. He found a duffel in the back seat and a map of the Branson area. “She had three places on the map highlighted in yellow. This where she died was one of them. The others were both winding roads without any important landmarks.”

The significance of the map remains a mystery. The Coroner’s Office and Police Departments have found no evidence of foul play.

I remembered Dick Foote. I was pretty sure I knew where it happened too, because I know those winding roads. That woman died smiling. I looked up Dick’s number and planned to give him a call.

Another woman from California was found dead at the bottom of a cliff, smiling. After a fatal drop? It didn’t make sense. These had to be connected. Okay, no, they did not have to be. Looking at the facts, there could be another possibility, I supposed. But…

The number of newspaper articles about women who had died smiling after a nasty death depressed me, and I honestly didn’t know how I could possibly prove a link. I decided to bookmark them and change topics for a while. I really wanted to know what people did in Miss Lonely Hearts’ online forum.

I discovered even more clever marketing. There were two member levels, one free and one paid. Tippin Ministries offered two branches of their forum to join. One was free and related specifically to the ministry. It had Bible studies and prayer circles and free sermon snippets. The heartbreak part of the site required a $4.95 per month membership and allowed you to receive even more bonus materials and to network with other women and men who were recovering from their pain. You could try this for a month free, but then your card was automatically charged. Extremely clever. It would be so easy to forget to cancel.

I decided to take the free one-month trial for research purposes. Not wanting this little venture to bang my credit card next month, I put a note into my Google Calendar to cancel before the first charge would appear. I used my research Gmail account so everything about the Tippin Heart of Christ Ministries would go to one place.

A list of today’s top twenty posters told me who spent a lot of time on the boards. Some members had only a handful of entries, others had hundreds, even though the site was only a few months old.

“Some people have way too much time on their hands.” Yeah, I said it aloud to nobody. Julie wasn’t home and neither of us owns a cat.

A thread for those preparing to take their Freedom Journey caught my attention. It had special rules and prohibited the uninitiated from snooping. I was not allowed to read the posts. A full page of admonitions and rules popped up when I clicked the link. It said that members had to be active participants for at least two months before entering the Freedom Journey Preparation Forum. It also advised that there was an application process and that each candidate must be approved by a forum administrator to assure their readiness to consider taking this important step in their healing.

I even had to mark a box that said I had read and understood these rules and criteria. It would not let me escape out of that dialog box and come back another time without clicking to signify my understanding. Got it. Loud and clear.

Probably someone would be alerted that a new member had tried to enter the inner sanctum. My palms itched and burned. Since I couldn’t close the pop-up without checking and submitting, I went ahead and agreed. “Watch them flag my account.”

Okay, I couldn’t read the holy of holies, but I could do a forum search. What would happen when I put “Freedom Journey” into the search box? Nothing. No special pop-up boxes. No bells and whistles. No screaming sirens. No forceful knocking at my door. So I started reading through the places where people had mentioned it. Any time someone wrote that they thought they were about ready to make this big step, I checked out their user profile.

Nan37’s last entry was Saturday morning. I read her post #313, in which Nan said she was ready to take her trip and would no longer be participating in the forums:

“I am finally at peace. I’m about to make my Freedom Journey, so this is my last post ever. Soon I will put my broken heart experience behind me and be healed.’

Nan wished everyone well and told them she knew that if they followed Mandy Tippin’s program, they would find wholeness. That certainly made it sound final. Why did the Tippin Ministries set it up so that anyone who joined one special community could no longer do anything else in the heartbreak forum? Could journeyers still post in the ministry section? This profile gave me a sick feeling in my gut.

Nan37

Age: 37

State: Minnesota

Member since: August 3, 2015

Number of posts: 313

Memberships: Ministry, Healing Your Broken Heart

Membership closed Friday, November 7, 2015

Other posts that mentioned the big FJ differed somewhat, but there were patterns. The ones that had definite plans were like Nan37’s. The accounts all closed the same day as the final post. Others that asked how you know when you’re ready, or had other posts all ended within two weeks.

Why would you financially cut off your profits at a critical moment in someone’s healing? Wouldn’t you want them to participate in your business by continuing to spread the word about you? Everything else made marketing sense, but this did not. Maybe there was some other member level, but no mention of it anywhere on the site.

If this ritual was such a big deal, why didn’t those who had made it come back and teach or share their experiences? None of the written sales materials about the audios, special reports, videos or other bonus material mentioned case studies or success stories of those who had been through the big event and come back, ready to love again. They had testimonials, but none about the journey. All were about the book, Mandy, the Releasing Ritual, the Tippin Ministries, and so forth.

That got me thinking. Wouldn’t those people make the best teachers or guides for the lovesick ones coming through the program?

I realized I was rubbing my red, itchy palms against my sweats, as if that would stop the warning sign. Another thing I noticed is that the same words were used on the last post. I counted twenty-three profiles that all had the same verbiage about the journey:

“I am finally at peace. I’m about to make my Freedom Journey, so this is my last post ever. Soon I will put my broken heart experience behind me and be healed.’

A brand new entry by LadyLinChgo popped up, freshly posted one second ago. I clicked on it, but before I could start reading, my cell phone alarm went off. I yelped and just about put a hole in the ceiling. Good thing I had set it to alert me ten minutes before time to leave for dinner, or I would never have made it. Typical me. So involved in research I lost all sense of time.

Unfortunately, I forgot to give myself a few minutes to get ready when I set up the calendar alert. I jumped into a pair of blue jeans and my sweatshirt, grabbed my purse and the dessert, and bolted to the train.