Chapter 5

The birds aren’t singing this morning as I wake. A sharp pain shoots through my abdomen as I roll to my side to see the clock. My breathing is shallow. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’d rather die than endure this pain. My hands tremble uncontrollably. Damn! I can’t believe I became too focused on the demon and didn’t keep an eye on the shadows. Sloppy!

This wound is too deep to ignore and too suspicious for any self-respecting doctor to overlook, either. This time, I must do something I’ve never done before—confide in someone. It’s the only way to protect myself. But who could I trust?

There’s Sarah. I’ve known her for several years now. Can’t even remember how long it’s been. And, to my knowledge, she’s never revealed anything personal about me to anyone else. As if there was ever anything personal shared between us. But, there are my scars. Come to think of it, why doesn’t she ever discuss me with her friends? Am I that boring to her? Sigh, I’m getting off track. And the bleeding isn’t subsiding. Being insecure won’t close this damned wound.

So what about Sarah? Could I trust her with this? Nah. She would never understand what I’m trying to say. After our conversation yesterday, there’s no doubt in my mind I’d end up having to save her life more than once because she was too foolish to purge me from her mind before falling asleep. Sarah is definitely out. So, who else?

The doctor. The one I saw yesterday. I remembered him from my past. Who was he to me? I wasn’t able to see too deep into his eyes. Would’ve been great if I could read his past. Then, I would know for sure if he’s the one. But, he never stared into mine long enough. So how do I know? And how do I know him? I dig deep into memories locked away for too long. The sound of his soul, so familiar…

Oh, my God. That’s it. Doctor Stanton was my captain in the great war, in the pre-existence. My captain! God sent him to watch over me and help protect me when I needed him most. But, he doesn’t seem to remember me. It’s often that way with memories of the pre-existence. And it would be best not to flood him with information until he’s ready to hear it. Just telling him who I am could force him to deny everything he feels to be true and have me committed. I need to find a way to convince him without alarming him. Obviously, he was sent down without a memory of me for a reason.

Reaching into a drawer, I remove the video camera. I think I may be able to find an ally in him. But I have to be careful how much I let on about who he really is and what he once meant to me. Best to let him pull the information from me. His mind will accept it more easily and not block the truth if he’s the one searching for it.

Slipping the device into the large compartment of my purse, I limp to the door and head to the car. On my cell, I’m explaining to Sarah I’ll have to skip work again and the event at the gallery. Relapse of a vicious stomach flu. She cries and pleads with me. Why didn’t I anticipate her emotional reaction? So glad I didn’t decide to make her my confident for my true identity. What would she do with that nugget of information? She’s still rambling. Should’ve sent a text.

“Please, please, puleeasse… Rest until evening. You’ll be fine once you get out of the house.”

“We’ll discuss it after I see the doc. Oh, and before I forget, I need you to set up a grant for a Julia Lyster. She’ll be in today to sign the paperwork. The grant amount is $750,000. Take it from my CD that matured last week.”

“Who do I say sponsored the grant?”

“Tell her the bank has a Healing Angels Fund and the donations are anonymous. Okay? Thanks.”

Something in her voice sounds tired. I wonder if I’ve put too much work on her over the past couple days. A twinge of guilt bites at my conscience. I’ll figure it out later, though, once I’ve seen the doc.

Fortunately, they are able to fit me in between appointments. Waiting in the patient room, I’m feeling anything but patient. My shoulders are hunched in pain and I can barely breathe. After what seems like an eternity, the doctor comes into the room. When he sees me, he sighs deeply, closes his eyes and shakes his head.

Remembering who he is, my heart leaps with joy for a moment. If I can convince him of who I am, I’ll have an ally. God, I’d love to have him as my ally. But I have to play it cool. Lose the smile and turn on my disaffected with society charm.

“Jaime Connor.”

“Dr. Stanton, please…don’t assume.”

Reading my chart on the computer, he eventually turns to me and sighs again. “When did this start happening to you, these accidents?” He accents the word as if it’s a fallacy. Well, in a way it is.

“I’ll explain it all to you. I need you to tell me you can open your mind and keep it open to what I have to say.”

Part of him should be open, because of who he is, or was. I just hope it’s a big enough part not to send me packing to the padded room.

“Let me see, first…” He nods toward me.

I lift my shirt and show him the dark bruising across my torso. He palpates the skin next to the slice on my abdomen and shakes his head. “You need stitches. You know I have to report this.”

“Please… hear me out first.”

“I can’t let—”

Abruptly slipping off the table, I start for the door.

“Wait.”

Stopping in place for a moment, I listen to him with my hand still on the knob.

“If you stay…” he hesitates briefly before speaking again. “I’ll do my best to keep an open mind.”

I turn back to him, holding the video camera in hand. “Watch this and I’ll explain.” I open the view-screen and push play. “I sat a camera up in my room to capture this in the event I’d need to convince someone someday that I’m not crazy. I guess this is someday.”

He watches hesitantly and within moments, his eyes grow large as he shifts his attention from the screen to my face then back to the video. “What is this, some sort of stigmata?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand. Seems like you’re being attacked by some…invisible…what is it? Ghosts?”

“Not that either. Please, let me explain.” Taking a deep breath, I take a moment to collect my thoughts before beginning again. “Everyone has a conscience. Some are tuned for kindness. Others are weak or fearful. But there are some who are pure evil.”

“So you’re saying evil spirits attack you at night?” His voice shows disbelief, almost sarcasm.

“Sort of, but not really. This’ll sound cracked, but hear me out before signing the papers to send me off.” I try to think of the perfect wording, but none will come to me. I have no choice but to jump in anyway.

“I’m one of very few who come to earth with a unique purpose. I’m called a dark angel.” Pausing for a bit, I give him time, allowing my words to sink in. He stares back at me with his eyes narrowed and a raised brow. I can see part of him is trying to believe me, another is contemplating his safety in the room alone with me. “Basically, we’re sent here to fight demons who hunt in the night, in their dreams. You must’ve heard about an elderly woman who was attacked in her sleep a couple weeks ago.” He slowly nods so I go on. “What no one reported, what they didn’t know, was that her attacker was also asleep when he murdered her. That’s why there was no forced-entry into her home, no fingerprints left behind, no murder weapon, nothing stolen. She was killed only because she was vulnerable and he wanted blood. The one way for me to find them and stop them is through my dreams. I’m led to killers and they fight me to the death. Well, so far, to their death.”

He’s shaking his head and I’m worried he won’t believe anything I’m saying. “You can’t prove anything you said. It’s too ludicrous to—”

“Look at the video again. That isn’t some scene in a movie. That’s me. Unedited, unscripted. If you took this to a professional, they’d tell you it’s authentic. But then, there would be too many questions that I can’t answer and the world is unprepared to hear. In this segment I’m fighting her killer. He was found in his bed, his throat slit. Police called it a drug deal gone wrong. Only thing is, at this crime scene there were, also, no fingerprints, no forced entry, no murder weapon.” I point to the screen again. “See that, he cut my arm. No one around me and suddenly I’m bleeding. How can that be? And here, I take away his knife. Watch…right…there. I’ve just finished him off.” I slip the shirt over my shoulder to show him my scar.

“You’re what, a dream vigilante?” He looks at me with accusing eyes.

“No. I’m a mediator. I intercede to stop another killing, sometimes deter a first kill.”

“But you do more than mediate, you kill them.”

“I have no choice. If I don’t, they’ll get rid of me. They kill in the night, in their sleep, and because there’s no evidence of their crime, they’ll continue to kill. I’m the sole intervention to save others from becoming their victims.”

His eyes grow wider with recognition, not of me, but of the idea that I may be telling the truth. My heart wants to dance, but it’s too premature for that. I don’t have him fully hooked yet.

“How do I know you didn’t see the news—”

“Today they’ll find the body of a former murder suspect, acquitted on a technicality, dead from a deep wound in his chest. The murder weapon, his knife, will never be found because it happened in his mind, in his sleep. The knife doesn’t exist except in REM, but the wound still remains. If they were capable of finding the weapon they’d also find my blood on it.” I lift my shirt high enough to show him the deep slash again. “When you listen to the news tonight, you still won’t know for sure if I’m telling you the truth, or if I’m insane. You may always wonder if you’re doctoring up a lunatic or someone with abilities you don’t understand. But at least you’ll be doctoring me up.”

His face pales. He closes his eyes and waves away the camera. “I can’t watch this anymore. It’s too gruesome.”

Noticing the scene displayed on the camera, I press the pause button. “Uh, sorry, that one was, um, pretty brutal. Should’ve seen the other guy.” I close the viewer and slip the camera into my purse.

He hesitates, pondering what he’s heard. “He did this to you? The one they’ll find today?”

I stare him straight in the eyes. “If he hadn’t, there’d be a report of another woman found dead this morning. At least I’m still alive.”

“You call this being alive? How can anyone live doing something like this? I don’t know what I can do for you. How do I even begin to help with…with this?”

“Fix me when I’m broken. Understand I have no way to stop it. I have to sleep and I’ll always dream. When I dream, there will always be someone there. I have no choice but to kill before they kill me. That’s my life. I’ve come to terms with it. I need you to patch me when the fight’s over. When the killer is done with me. When I’m done with him.”

He stares at me from beneath furrowed brows, but I can see his eyes beginning to soften. “I’ll do what I can.” His hands shake as he reaches for a post-it on a nearby counter. “I’m giving you my cell number. Call me any time of day, weekends, whenever.” Then he mutters under his breath, “Sure hope you’re not crazy.”

I smile at him. “Watch the news tonight. You’ll see. No forced entry, no fingerprints.”

He shakes his head. “You’ll need stitches.” He lifts my shirt and touches the bruising on my side, making me wince in pain. “And x-rays.”

“I have a hot date tonight, Doc. Any chance you can have me patched up by then?”

His expression changes to incredulity. “Not a chance. You need rest.”

Attempting a flirtatious smile, I tell him, “You know what they say about the wicked.”

“Not in this case, young lady. No outings for you. If what you’re saying is true, you have another dream to prepare for. You can’t fight killers in this condition.”

“You’d be astonished at how fast I heal.”

He raises his eyebrows at me. “What did I say?”

“All right. All right. I’ll stay home. Hope Sarah will understand.”

“She your date?”

“Yeah.” I said it without considering his insinuation. When I see the smile cross his lips, I realize he thinks Sarah is my hot date. “No, not that kind of date. She’s a friend, sort of, not really. A friend, but,” Sigh. “I’m not real good at friendships.”

“Can’t imagine why. Well, if she doesn’t understand, she isn’t much of a friend.”

“Yeah. Could be I’m not much of a friend to her.” Hesitating on this thought, I wonder if I should end our friendship. The danger to Sarah might be greater than she deserves. “Dr. Stanton…”

He smiles at me like a father to a young girl. I find it almost patronizing, but I know he means well. “Call me Rick.”

Rick, his earth name. I feel the smile on my lips. I can’t believe I’m together with my captain once again. But I need to remain cool. He doesn’t know me, I mean, really know me, from our distant past.

“Okay…Rick, it might be best if you didn’t share this. I mean, I don’t know how safe it is for anyone who knows about me and, well, you know. I can’t promise anything. And whatever you do, don’t dream about what I’ve told you. Do everything you can to put it out of your mind well before you go to sleep, all right?” Felt it best not to share the night Sarah entered one of my dreams. No reason to frighten him, yet.

“How do I do that, keep from dreaming about you?” He looks concerned, like he just learned he was the personal doctor to a serial killer. In a way, he is. And, in a matter of moments I changed his life from secure to treacherously unpredictable.

“Watch an engaging movie before going to bed, especially the first few days. After a while, I’ll fade in importance in your memory.” Not very comforting, but it’s all I have.

He nods, but doesn’t say a word. The rest of the visit is mostly silence. I’ve put a heavy weight on his shoulders. Wasn’t fair. Unavoidable though.

X-rays show two broken ribs. Thirty-seven stitches and a brace for my ribcage, more painkillers and I’m on my way. As I leave the doctor’s office I shove the slip of paper with his phone number and the prescription into my purse, this time feeling more confident about my future. Now I have an ally I didn’t have before. One I knew and adored in a previous world. And I won’t have to worry about his safety as long as he doesn’t dream about my dilemma. Last thing I need is my doctor caught in the middle of a fight.