My Life Across the Table (13 page)

They did not share my point of view, but I was adamant about not facing this guy, whether they could see the situation through my eyes or not. They pleaded with me to think about it, so I told them rather halfheartedly that I would. But the answer was still no, and I knew it wouldn’t change. They were very disappointed when they left, asking me to stay in touch.
I tried very hard to put this crazy episode behind me, and go back to my regular grind, but within a few days of their last visit, the strangest set of circumstances started to overtake my very existence.
I was suddenly faced with the kind of terror, I have never known in my life. It began with a restlessness that I couldn’t shake. I was tossing and turning every night. I felt like someone was watching me. I double-locked the front door, and began drawing the drapes. I booked myself from early morning to midnight, just so I wouldn’t be alone. I couldn’t eat, and for me that was a serious sign. I couldn’t sleep, jumping up with a start, out of some unknown fear inside me. I turned on every light in my apartment, and secured every window. I was terrified for my life, and I didn’t know why.
A friend from California called to ask if I was okay. He asked me to analyze a dream that he had the night before. He told me he dreamt of a large brick bar-be-que that had been burnt and charred on the chimney. In the same dream he said he had seen himself with a thin red line around his neck. When the truth was that it was me in his dream, and I had the thin red line around my neck, but he was too afraid to tell me. He thought by calling to say Hi, he could check up on me, without scaring me half to death by telling me the truth.
What he didn’t know was that I was living in grip of unspeakable fear every day. If he had told me the truth, about my presence in his dream, I would have been able to decipher my fear as being very real, and very near. The days and nights began running into one another for me. I was losing weight like crazy, had dark circles under my eyes, and was certain I kept hearing someone walking around in the empty, unfinished apartment above my head, and the worst part of it all was that I was dealing with this invisible horror alone.
I asked my host, for safeties sake, to replace the glass doors to the patio, with bulletproof glass, and to black out all the windows. I wanted to make sure no one could look in to my apartment. I knew that I was being stalked, but because it was me, and not someone else, I couldn’t get a clear handle on it.
I confided my fears to Carol and Lori, who did everything possible to calm me down, short of baby-sitting me twenty-four hours a day. I called my friend Tracy and asked her to come help me in Houston. I flew her down the very next day, but not before I had Lori acquire a .357 Magnum, and a can of mace for me. Her brother was the head of a local police department, so these requests were easily filled. They knew that I was alone, and had been working on this violent murder case, not to mention that I was noticeably freaked out over something they could not begin to understand.
These murders were terrifying the city, and since I was in such close proximity, both physically and psychically, Carol and Lori voiced the fear that maybe, just maybe, the police had let the cat out of the bag. I should have some protection. Whatever this mysterious terror was that had me pacing the floors every night, clutching my prayer book to my chest. With every day that passed, my spiritual protection became my only hope.
Carol and Lori were completely stymied in their efforts to help me. They kept hoping the HPD would pick him up, so I could calm down and get some sleep. I looked like a woman going over the edge.
I remember looking at myself in the mirror one night, knowing so clearly I was going to die soon. Someone or something was trying to kill me. I just couldn’t see what “it” was.
I met my friend, Tracy at the Houston airport. My right hand was plunged inside my purse, clutching the trigger of a gun. My left hand clasped, ready for action, the can of mace. I figured that whatever this was, and if it came toward me, I at least had a chance. I felt like a commando in a jungle of faceless enemies, and one of them had my blood on their hands.
Tracy simply thought I was overworked and suffering from exhaustion. She couldn’t feel the fear, and thought I desperately needed a rest. She, Carol and Lori all felt I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But I knew, I was on the verge of losing my life.
I kept her up playing cards, or watching television with me every night after I finished work. We talked about the most ridiculous things, because I would do almost anything not to be left alone.
Tracy asked me what I was so terrified of. She reasoned that “they,” whoever my imaginary “they” was, could not get through the patio door, couldn’t shoot me while I sat there giving readings, couldn’t see into the apartment from any of the windows, and with three deadbolts on the front door, what in God’s name did I think was going to happen? How did I think they were going to get in here to kill me?
I felt so broken looking at my sister. I started to cry and told her “They are going to come right through the front door.”
She asked me why she couldn’t feel the threat. I told her that they didn’t want her. They wanted to kill me. I was the one who had received so much publicity through the newspaper and television. I was highly visible, and had become the “Toast of Houston.” She was not the target…I was. I had been working with the police to catch people that committed horrible crimes. I clearly was the one being stalked, not her. She was safe. “They” would not touch her. Of this I was certain.
With every passing day, I was becoming more hysterical inside. I knew that if I stayed in Houston, I wouldn’t be alive much longer. Texas would become my grave, if I didn’t leave and go home.
How painfully aware I became of my dedication to my work. I could not reconcile my imminent death, with abandoning all the people I had set appointments with. I couldn’t seem to make the decision to leave them high and dry, and there were far too many appointments to call and cancel.
Since it looked like I wouldn’t live to leave Texas, I really didn’t know what to do. I asked God for the answer. It came to me very clearly, in a dream at the end of October. I lay down on my bed with almost every light in the apartment on, and my ever-present prayer book clutched firmly to my chest.
I rested just long enough to stop pacing the two-bedroom apartment for the millionth time, to give my weary, sleep-deprived body a break. I dozed off. In an instant there appeared a deeply treasured gift from my mother, a very unusual Lapis Lazuli watch, floating in space. The hands clearly said 11:10. The dream then flipped to a telephone number with an area code of “5-4-0,” that I had never heard of, and my original phone number, from the first apartment I occupied in Texas. The phone number kept going around in the dream, to make certain I imprinted it on my subconscious.
I awoke with a start, ran into Tracy’s darkened bedroom, sat down on the edge of her bed and quietly awakened her from much needed sleep. I recounted my dream to her and started to cry, begging her to find out where the area code belonged, if there was such an area code in existence.
She called information and was told it belonged to a place called “Burnt Chimney, Virginia.” I knew in my soul that this was the answer, but the answer to what, I didn’t know. I didn’t know anyone from Burnt Chimney, Virginia, and couldn’t figure out why the time 11:10 was so important.
I asked Tracy to take me home, because if I didn’t leave Houston I was going to die soon. In her exhausted stupor she tried to reason with me, saying I was just tired, and that she couldn’t take me home, because I was booked for six months solid, and had commitments to keep. She was sure it was just my lack of sleep talking.
As I sat there looking at her trying to reassure me, my shoulders slumped forward, I mumbled that I was going to die, closed my eyes and floated out of my body. I was hovering about six inches to the left of where my body sat.
She completely freaked out, jumping up from the bed and violently shaking my arm to bring me back. Nervously she said, “Okay, okay, when do you want to leave?”
Very quietly, I said, “Now.”
She shrieked at me that it was three o’clock in the morning! How was she supposed to get us out of there now? Finally relenting, by telling me she would see what she could arrange.
What I needed to live another day was the first plane out of Houston. There was so much confusion from that moment on. Tracy made phone calls fast and furious, trying to get us on almost any non-stop Houston/L.A. flight that even came near the Houston airport.
I called Carol and Lori and informed them that we were leaving, asking them for a ride to the airport, and to please come and help. They said they were on their way.
Mr. Lee had told them about having some very disturbing dreams about me, and he finally told them that he felt I was in danger, even though he didn’t know from what. He told them about all of the dreams, from the beginning. Being a very superstitious man, he was gravely concerned when his dreams involved my soul floating down the street after emerging from a sewer drainpipe. This was the dream that finally scared him into picking up the phone.
Tracy found us a flight leaving at 11:30 a.m. I pre-paid the tickets so there would be no fuss, or wasted time at the airport.
I silently prayed we could just get on the plane, and leave this Godforsaken place. We began running around, throwing things into bags from every room, leaving about half of my things for the killer. I didn’t care, I just wanted out of this Hell.
Carol and Lori came rushing into the apartment. If I were not so hysterical at the time, I probably would have fallen on the floor laughing at this ridiculous scene. They dragged in a huge shopping bag and started pulling things out that resembled crosses and crucifixes, of every conceivable shape and size.
Just the thought of them bringing in these huge crosses, and not to forget the crucifix that Carol’s mother had given to her for me, was the funniest thing I could possibly imagine. I just stopped, and stood there staring at the two of them running through the apartment, propping these crosses against anything that would hold them, in every room, including the bathroom.
I started yelling, “What the Hell are you doing? I’m not being stalked by a Vampire!” But to no avail. Carol kept pulling crosses out of the bag. I had to stop this right now! I was leaving Texas now, and no amount of crosses in the world, were going to stop me.
To this day, I wonder where they got so many of them, on such short notice, along with all the other strange and bizarre things they pulled out of that bag.
If I didn’t have a deep and abiding faith in God as the foundation of my life, I would have been dead a long time ago, but the crosses they were so intent on surrounding me with, were clearly not what I had in mind. I was much more concerned with not wasting any more precious time getting to the airport. I returned the gun and mace to Carol, lugged the bags out to the car, and off we went.
We arrived in plenty of time, but with that kind of energy operating in a person’s life, there will be obstacles placed in front of them at every turn. I got in line to pick up our pre-paid tickets, but without giving any reason at all, the clerk refused to issue them to me. She made us wait three and a half hours for the next flight to L.A.
Sitting in the coffee shop, Tracy asked me if I felt any better. I told her not until my feet were on the ground in L.A, would I be okay. She told me I needed a long rest, and spoke to me like I was being taken away to a sanitarium.
I was very nervous sitting in the airport, and kept looking over my shoulder. I wouldn’t even go to the bathroom, for fear of not coming out again.
When we finally boarded the plane, I prayed for takeoff. I looked sick and exhausted, like I was slipping over the edge. The desperation to save my life, had finally reached its last steps.
I slumped into a nervous dozing, only to be startled awake by the pattern of the airplanes engines. I was so tight with fear from all of the weird events over the past two months. I finally caved in to the internal silence, saying quiet prayers of protection to get us home unharmed.
I wanted to see my mother’s face, and share a cup of coffee with her in my big, yellow country kitchen. I desperately needed to feel safe. It had been a long time since I felt warm and whole. I wasn’t used to terror. It was a remote and unfamiliar emotion for me, touching the depths of my soul.
How do you explain something that you can’t understand yourself? You search your memories for hidden enemies, but draw a blank. You reason with life, and come to truly know the foundations of your faith. You test the monuments to immortality that we, as human beings, secretly arm ourselves with everyday. How painfully aware I became of life’s fragile nature. How precious time became. My priorities came sharply into focus, there was no time to waste. It was too precious, and too much joy was being ripped from the fibers of my fragile soul. How fervently I prayed for time.
When we finally arrived home, I was so exhausted that all I could be was quiet and grateful.
On this Wednesday evening, I wanted to look into my mother’s eyes, and just feel safe. To be surrounded by what was familiar, and welcome. I listened for the quiet to return to my soul, but it was a very long time in coming.
I had put the Houston case in some dark corner of my mind. I quietly promised myself that if I ever again worked with any police department, anywhere, I would be placed in a more protected set of circumstances. Not just cast aside. If in fact this was what had set me up for the kill, I vowed never to allow myself to be treated like a handi-wipe again. The price was too high. I was not willing to sacrifice my life, and all of my dreams, to be stalked by some crazed lunatic with an obsession to take up carving.
The next couple of days were, thankfully uneventful. I stuck close to home, and when the phone rang on Friday night, with Carol’s voice on the other end, I was grateful again, to be home in L.A.
She asked me how I was, but sounded a little strained when asking if I finally felt safe. She told me that she finally understood everything now. Warily she proceeded to ask me the name of the town represented by the “5-4-0” area code in my dream. I told her it was, “Burnt Chimney, Virginia. Why?”
She said a rather odd thing occurred on the day I left Houston. She and Lori had gone back to clean up my apartment, but before going into mine, they decided to check the apartment upstairs from me. What they found, freaked both of them out, and now they knew that I was not crazy. Someone had been spending a lot of time in that empty unit. They found old candy wrappers, cigarette butts everywhere, and most frightening of all, numerous newspaper clippings of me scattered about the floor, and taped in a cross pattern on the wall.