The Psychic Boy Detective
by
John Paul Carinci
Dedication
To all the great storytellers of the past, who have inspired us to dream big, fantasize much, press on, try the impossible and share our stories with the world.
To my wife, Vera, my ongoing inspiration.
And to my Mother, who first instilled the confidence in me that I can be great.
Chapter One
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A mother’s intuition is a phenomenal thing. Almost like an incoming missile-warning center. Every mother has it built into her the moment she finishes carrying a baby for those nine months. My intuition told me that that something wasn’t quite right with my twelve-year-old son, Sean.
The forecast for that July day called for another impossibly hot and humid twenty-four hours. We had already lived through two solid weeks of higher-than-normal temperatures—this blamed on global warming. Many states in the south were even worse off. There had been numerous power outages throughout the entire New York City area, along with scattered fires from the drought. Staten Island, my borough, had been hit especially hard with some intense brush fires, risking some houses and businesses.
It was already nine-thirty; I had been up for over three hours, the same routine daily. We really are creatures of habit, much like ants working the farm, or bees busily pollinating the flowers each day. Each morning without the help of an alarm clock, I wake suddenly, like I am jolted with an electric current.
I kept reminding myself: Dawn, this is your summer vacation; you’re a teacher and all teachers sleep late on their summer off! But it did no good. Maybe it was from teaching for twelve years. Maybe it was the naturally built-in instinct, knowing that I had to be up before my son and husband of thirteen years, Tom. No matter, by six a.m. I would rise each day, looking like a deer startled by the headlights of a car. But on that Monday morning, I felt uneasy; I felt something unusual was going on. I guess I thrived on the non-stop action of my life. That and the caffeine kept me trim at 115 pounds, and at 5’-2” I never watched my calories.
Tom had left for work at eight o’clock, for his forty-minute commute to the small law firm in the city. Tom was almost a junior partner with Shields and Shields, a hundred-year-old family law firm. But my son Sean was still in his bedroom, door closed and no noise at all coming from his room.
Sean was a natural early bird. He was usually up before eight even on his days off from school. It was very rare that he overslept, unless he was feeling sick. So at nine thirty-five, I hurried to his quiet and dark room.
I listened outside his door and heard some kind of monotonous soft humming coming from my son. Slowly I opened the door, quietly peeking inside. There was Sean, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his eyes wide open and humming nervously.
I backed away, slowly closing the door, wanting my son to hear me approaching his room normally.
“Sean, sweetie, time to rise and shine, dear,” I said as I knocked lightly on his door and opened it wide. He ignored me, with that wide-open stare, seemingly transfixed on an imaginary spot on the ceiling.
“Sean, honey...”
“Leave me alone, Mom…”
I sat down on the right side of his bed and took his hand. As he turned his head and looked into my eyes, I said, “Sean, you look like you haven’t been sleeping. Your eyes have dark circles under them and they’re really red! Are you feeling all right?” I felt his forehead. “Is your throat sore or do you have any pain anywhere else?”
“Mom, I’m fine! I just can’t sleep anymore, all right?”
“But you need your sleep…”
“I’m not sleeping anymore. I don’t want to sleep, and I am not tired anymore! Okay?”
“Sean,” I said as I hugged him to me, “What are you scared of? What are you trying to hide from?”
“Mom, you don’t understand! You can’t!” He had tears in his eyes and his voice trembled, “No one knows what I’ve seen! I’m never sleeping again, ever!”
All of a sudden it made sense. My son was not sick. His skin was actually cool to the touch. For twelve years I’d been worried that something serious could happen to Sean. When he was very young he had had a bout of pneumonia and various childhood sicknesses. A mother never rests easily, forever worrying that her child could be taken from her suddenly by a serious sickness or worse yet a terrible accident. I knew that Sean was merely spooked by a nightmare. I could handle that. A mother is resilient, prepared for almost anything. After all, those nine months of holding a miracle seed that turns into a newborn life slowly instills a love in the mother that prepares her and gives her the strength to be able to handle the most unexpected things that could happen to her child.
“Sean,” I smiled lovingly at my son, “You just had a terrible nightmare. We all get…”
“No! I knew you wouldn’t understand! Mom, what I am seeing is not a dream or a nightmare. I’ve had dreams and frightening nightmares before. They don’t even scare me anymore. These are very different. They are actual visions of people who have been killed!”
“Come on, Sean, these are just dreams.”
“Mom, I’m twelve. Don’t you think I have had many dreams? I know the difference. These are not dreams of trucks, baseball, or someone who wants to beat me up or even kill me. I’ve had all those kinds of dreams before. These are real, one hundred percent factual and accurate. They are visions! Someone is trying to communicate with me from the hereafter! I see the blood, the stabbings, the burying of bodies!”
“Sean, I don’t want to not believe you, really. I want to understand more about what you experienced…”
“Just admit it, you don’t believe me. I actually can understand why you are doubtful. It’s hard to believe that someone who is dead can come back to earth and speak to us. But, Mom, it has happened so many times that I know in my heart that these visions are really from the dead. That’s not so terrible. What is hard to accept are the messages these spirits are sending me. I can’t take the visions of what has happened to most of these people.”
I hugged Sean for what seemed like a long time while we both sobbed quietly. I believed him. I realized that Sean was not exaggerating or just imagining things. I didn’t want to believe that he had a gift that could make him psychic, but in my heart I always believed he was gifted in some special way.
It happened years ago when Sean was only four. He awoke one morning at three a.m. He was screaming hysterically. When we ran to his bedroom, he yelled, “Ma! Grandma! Grandma is dead.” Tom and I calmed him down after about twenty minutes. We let Sean sleep in our bed with us for the rest of the night. He was shaking but finally fell off to a sound sleep. But at seven o’clock that morning came word that Tom’s mother, Sean’s grandmother, had died that night in her sleep. Sean had been right. But we didn’t think too much about it at that time. It was a traumatic time for all of us.
Then at age six, Sean awoke from a nightmare he had about a school bus that he saw flip over and over. In his dream, there were children screaming and flying out of the bus windows. It was about six o’clock that cold January morning. We later learned that a bus loaded with school children in San Diego had slipped off a wet roadway and careened down a hillside. Two children were killed and many had been hurt. We were all shocked back then, wondering if it were true that Sean had a special gift. But over the next six years we heard nothing from Sean again about unusual dreams until his latest vision.
Sean explained to me more calmly this time how he had been having regular visions for the last few weeks. He said that at first they seemed like just more intense dreams, almost as if he were slowly being tested, being conditioned to accept such visions that soon would intensify into disturbing scenes of kidnapping, torture and death. The dead people who were communicating with him through these dreams were very intent on having their messages passed on to their loved ones who were still living. There was one such message that Sean envisioned that, as he explained, was “quite funny!” It was from a golden retriever named Bones. In Sean’s vision the dog would be wagging its tail, and Sean would be able to sense what Bones was thinking. It appeared that Bones had been killed by a car when was only three years old. His owners had left the front door open by mistake and Bones ran into the street. Bones wanted everyone to know that there is an afterlife—even for animals—and that he was happy.
I looked into Sean’s eyes. As a mother, I felt the pain he felt. The pain showed through his eyes. I knew only a small portion of what he was feeling at the moment, but it broke my heart. Still, I had to be strong. I had to try to minimize it all. But how could I tell him to avoid those visions? I understood that once in the actual visions dream state, it wouldn’t end until the deceased person sending the message allowed it to end!
The real problem was that I knew exactly what Sean was experiencing because I had similar visions when I was a child. When I was eight years old, for a period of about a month, I had such intense visions. I also knew they were not just dreams. But I wouldn’t tell anyone for fear they wouldn’t believe me. My dream-visions were varied, but mostly they were happy dreams. I had three visions of a Guardian Angel named Sarah who convinced me that she was real when she predicted things that would happen at school later that day.
There were visions of deceased family members like Grandpa, who told me things about my father that no one else ever knew: how my father got a scar on his face above his right eye, now almost unnoticeable. The scar was there—it checked out! Another vision was from a deceased neighbor down the street, Filomena Garcia, who told me how her husband used to beat her after he drank too much. Years later, I found out that the vision was true. Filomena’s daughter, Rosaria, disclosed how her father would beat all the children and especially her mother, who eventually died of a heart attack at the young age of forty-two. Rosaria’s father ended up dead from a car accident in which he was involved; he had been drinking at a bar and tried to drive home, but ran into a large oak tree near his house. He was killed instantly. I had had other frightening visions as well.
So I knew what Sean was going through: that inability to sleep, except when you were so exhausted that you fell into a coma-like state for a few minutes, before your inner mind abruptly wakes you up to remind you why you can’t stay asleep. I knew it all, but still had I had to lie to Sean for his own good, convincing him how the visions would go away, how they weren’t that bad, and how he could handle it all. It is not easy to lie to your own child. You do it, though, to protect him, to help him hold on to his sanity, to keep that bubble-like shelter safely around your child.
The intense visions of the deceased and their messages were like a visit to hell. They scare you silly. You try to wake, but you know you can’t till the vision is over. You vow never to willingly close your eyes again. Sean was going through it now. I had to do something to kill the pain, the emotional torture, but what?
It was eleven o’clock when I placed a call to Sean's pediatrician, Dr. Cheryl LoPrani. After explaining Sean's sleeplessness, his anxiety, and the vision nightmares, Dr. LoPrani asked me if he was depressed. I told her I believed he was, and that I was scared that he might do something rash to ease his pain. The doctor quickly referred me to a psychologist in Brooklyn. She assured me that Sean would be fine, and that children go through phases in their pre-teen years. I knew she was right. I knew children went through cycles of emotions. But I also knew Sean was very special, unusually gifted. And most of all, I knew he was psychic.
The psychiatrist, Dr. Simmons, was nice enough to squeeze us in for an hour-long appointment that afternoon. Maybe it was the special referral our pediatrician faxed over, or maybe Dr. LoPrani had explained the symptoms in advance to Dr. Simmons. I was happy to get to see the doctor instead of having to think and stew about it all day. My stomach was in knots as I told Sean we were going to see a psychiatrist. I didn’t know what to expect, though I had faith that the Brooklyn doctor could help Sean.
Dr. Simmons’ office was located right over the Verrazano Bridge from Staten Island. It was in an old brick building that stood about twelve stories high and had to be from the 1930’s, but in pristine condition. Dr. simmons’ office was located on the third floor. The office was elegant looking and calming to the eye. There were no patients in the waiting area and only one receptionist. It was a far cry from the usual doctor’s office we were used to, full of lots of noisy sick children.
I was called in to meet with the doctor alone, while Sean was told to wait in a children’s playroom. Sean was not very enthusiastic about seeing a psychiatrist, so I had bribed him, as many other parents do when they try to get their kids to do what they refuse to do. I promised him a new pair of Nike-brand sneakers, the expensive ones. Sean had never owned a pair of Nikes, so he was very eager to get to the mall to get his first genuine pair.
Chapter Two
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Dr. Benjamin Simmons was a large man, around 45 years old, well over six feet tall, and about three hundred pounds. He was bald, but had dark hair on the sides and back of his head, with a close-cropped beard. He wore glasses that were almost invisible on his round, chubby face, which matched his friendly soft-spoken voice. Gracing his desk was a large framed picture of three chubby children and a pretty wife.
As soon as he introduced himself, I sensed a very compassionate, likeable man. I felt very at ease with him and we spoke for a few minutes as I told him about my Sean, his sleeplessness, his visions, his fears, and my concerns. He seemed to put himself in my place as a parent, as if it were his child who had envisioned such horrific scenes in his sleep. He wrote while I spoke, assuring me with nods, and “I sees” along the way.
When I had finished speaking, there seemed to be a very long silence before he spoke. “I understand, Mrs. Reilly. With your permission, I would like to try to get inside Sean's head, really get to know what he experiences, and what he truly feels about these dreams…”
“Visions…”
“Yes, his dream-visions. And the most effective way to enter into Sean's thoughts and emotions is through hypnosis.”
“Hypnosis?” I asked, somewhat shocked.
“Yes! Quite certainly, Mrs. Reilly. You see, the subconscious mind, our inner mind, stores many of our hidden emotions, fears and worries. It is that subconscious part of the brain with which I want to communicate. You see, Mrs. Reilly, the patient, under hypnosis, is not shy or even hesitant about sharing his inner emotions. He just speaks plainly about them, much like the conversation you and I are having right now.”
“Okay.” I said, trying to absorb the hypnosis idea. “Hypnosis can extract more information, doctor?”
“Yes, precisely. We want Sean to open up and disclose all the hidden facets of his dream-visions, the parts his conscious mind has already forgotten. Our inner mind stores extra data we are unaware of and hypnosis will allow that information to come to the forefront.”
The doctor explained that Sean would be in a hypnotic state for no more than twenty minutes and that he would not have any recollection of being “under.” Also, Sean would awake fully relaxed and stress free, and should be able to sleep soundly that night. I was anxious to have Dr. Simmons begin his session with Sean, anything to help relieve my son’s inner torment.
By the time Sean was introduced into Dr. Simmons’ office, I had already been instructed to merely observe and listen. Sean was to communicate with the doctor directly. I was to be the fly on the wall. I thought about the doctor, about how comfortable he had made me feel, of how his office was relaxing to the eyes with soft colors and plush textures—all carefully designed to comfort and reassure a patient.
Still, I was concerned for my son. Would he be nervous? Would he fight the doctor and not cooperate? I was a bundle of nerves. But I so wanted the doctor to help my son, to give him some kind of peace, to help Sean accept his psychic abilities as a blessing rather than a punishment or curse or some kind.
Sean looked around the doctor’s office. Hesitantly, Sean inched closer to the chair in front of the doctor’s desk. Dr. Simmons quickly rose, smiled, and motioned toward the chair. “I have heard so much about you, Sean. I’m so glad to finally meet you!”
Sean shook the doctor’s hand weakly, timidly sat down and replied politely, “Nice to meet you, too, Doctor.”
The doctor made small talk with Sean, trying to put him at ease. It appeared to be working. The doctor had a friendly, easy-going manner that, I imagined, helped him achieve results.
It’s really amazing how a person becomes hypnotized. In reality, we actually put ourselves in a hypnotic state. The doctor merely is the conduit into our own mind. Dr. Simmons spoke to Sean, asking him to visualize certain things to calm his mind down and help him to relax. In only about thirty seconds, Sean was in a state in which Dr. Simmons was able to give him commands and ask questions.
“Sean, you are feeling completely relaxed and comfortable,” he began. “You feel good, not scared. You are reflecting on the dreams.”
I understood from Dr. Simmons that a person cannot be hypnotized against his will, and that no one in a hypnotic state would ever do anything against his moral beliefs. As the doctor instructed Sean, I, too, felt relaxed, but in no way did I feel close to being hypnotized. Maybe this was due in part to my burning desire to see Sean finally experience some relief from this distress about which he felt so helpless. What could the doctor possibly say to convince my son that it was a good thing to see visions of people reliving their last moments of life before their tragic deaths?
Sean was an average twelve-year old. He was never really in any kind of trouble, for which I thanked God every day. If anything, Sean was a little on the shy side, not what one would consider overly outgoing. So I was concerned whether Sean would clam up when the doctor questioned him. Maybe he would refuse to share any details and not let the doctor into the inner emotions and feelings he was keeping hidden.
Boy, was I wrong!
It was as if someone plugged one of those Energizer brand batteries into my son; he talked and talked. I was shocked, but I realized that hypnotism was a science, a way into the deepest recesses of the human brain. I was suddenly very thankful that Tom and I never had abused Sean, that we never hit our son and never did anything immoral in our household. I had no idea what would come out of Sean's mouth. I was soon amazed, shocked and troubled!
The look on a person’s face who is in a hypnotic state is a distant look. He is aware of everything that is said, but is in another world. I was amazed at how easily the doctor was able to put Sean in that state. I studied my son’s face; he looked more relaxed than I had seen him in a very long time. I had to admit that I was wrong in my belief that hypnosis was merely a hoax, perpetrated by people just out to make a dollar. No, this was in fact real. I witnessed something spectacular that day.
Dr. Simmons gave Sean a few more instructions, preparing him and calming his mind down. Sean looked calm and patient, convincing me that the doctor was in full control of where Sean was going to go in his own mind.
The doctor asked Sean to recount in detail what transpired the night before. Sean was almost robot-like as he began.
“I went into my room at nine o’clock. My bed is nice and neat as usual. My room is clean, no mess on the floor. I need my light to stay on. I don’t like the dark, not any more. I’m afraid of all the visions, there’s too many. I don’t want to see the spirits of the dead people any more. The other side scares me; I don’t want to see. I need the light…”
“All right, Sean. Take me to the time when you are trying to fall asleep. Tell me what is going through your mind as you are lying there.”
Sean's face took on a troubled look as spoke. “I’m thinking I don’t want to sleep. I can’t, not again. I’m lying in bed, but I can’t fall asleep. It’s like my legs have electricity running through them; they are jumpy. My arms and legs won’t relax. It’s like they have the same energy in them that I feel when I’m running in the street, like they want to vibrate. It won’t let me sleep. I wait, maybe fifteen minutes, but I still can’t sleep. The light is still on but I don’t want to shut it off. I’m scared. But suddenly I feel someone hugging me while I lay there. ‘It can’t be,’ I tell myself. I try to ignore it.
“I’m lying on my right side. I like my right side; it’s the way I usually fall asleep. I can see myself lying in the bed. I know no one is there with me because the light is on, but I still feel a hugging sensation.”
“Sean, what kind of hug? Is it a hard squeeze?”
“No. It’s a little squeeze, but only on my left shoulder and side, and on my neck.”
“Son, what are you thinking at that time? Are you scared?”
“I am scared because I don’t know who or what is hugging me.”
“And then…” the doctor prompted.
“And then I suddenly feel at peace, calm. I feel it is the Blessed Mother who is hugging me. And then I feel very sorry for all the bad things I have ever done. I feel that I have to be a better person, that I must be nicer to people.”
“How long are you hugged, Sean?” the doctor questioned as he looked at me with a somewhat astonished look on his face. I then realized that, unknowingly, my mouth hung open. I quickly shut my mouth but knew my mind was stunned and hanging on Sean's every word. Sean's face was controlled, at peace; and he appeared to be able to talk for a long time, allowing us to penetrate the innermost depths of his mind, somewhere no one else has ever delved into before.
“I am being hugged for almost ten minutes, until I am calmed down. At first I felt like jumping out of my bed and running down the block faster than I’ve ever run before. But I can’t move, so after a little while, I stop trying. A warm feeling covers my entire body. It feels good. I start to feel calm. I’m not scared now. I sense a feeling inside me that there is nothing to worry about.”
“Sean, do you hear anything? Any voices?”
“No. It is quiet. No voices. Nothing to scare me.”
“You are feeling good, then?”
“I am feeling very good, comfortable. I feel loved, very loved. A feeling like I had never felt before. I don’t want this feeling to end.”
“Okay. You are calm now, at peace, not scared. Sean, tell me what happens next.”
“I feel strange, light. I feel myself leaving my body, very slowly. I am rising out of my body very slowly at first. It’s a weird sensation. I am suddenly very scared and I feel myself stop rising out of my body.”
“Sean, you can see yourself lying on the bed, on your right side. You can feel and see yourself coming out of your body, slowly, and then stopping. Now, tell me, Sean, how far have you risen out of your body at this point?”
“I am stopped about six inches above my body but I am still lying on my side on the bed. I can look down and see my body there and I’m scared, so I’m stuck there six inches above…”
“What is happening now?”
“After a couple of minutes I’m not as scared. I can feel myself rising faster, straight up, two feet, five feet, then more.”
“What does it feel like now?” the doctor was more interested than before.
“It feels like I am flying, like I am gliding. Where all I have to do is think and I suddenly glide in that exact direction. It’s fun. I like it as I glide left, then right. I’m hovering now at the ceiling. I see everything in my room.”
“What do you do then, Sean?”
I looked on in disbelief, wishing I had a video camera for this amazing revelation into Sean's psyche. The doctor’s voice is now suddenly animated, as he is clearly interested in the direction Sean's vision has taken us.
Sean continues, “I look down from where I am hovering over my body, at the rug, at the color of the wood grain in my dresser. I slowly glide over to the wall. I think about what is on the other side of the wall and suddenly I pass right through the wall into the hallway. I can see the hall, the window in the hallway. I can see out of the hallway window. It’s funny, I’m thinking, as I slowly glide and travel on.”
“Where do you go then?”
“I now realize for sure that I am no longer a body. I think for a while about what I am and realize that I am just like a beam of light, moving just as easily, without any real effort. I continue to the stairway and onto the window at the top of the stairway, right outside Mom’s room…”
“Okay, Sean, take us on your journey,” the doctor urged softly. “Where are you going now?”
“I travel right up against the ceiling and follow it to the large round window over the main stairway that goes up the three floors of the house. I look out of the window and I see colors, people, a room…”
“Sean, isn’t it dark out?”
“No, that’s what scares me. I know it should be dark outside, but I see people all around tables in some kind of restaurant somewhere. I notice all the colors of their clothes and now I feel very scared. I don’t like it any more. I want it all to end now!”
“Why, Sean? What scares you about the people? And do you know these people?”
“No, I don’t recognize any of the people. I don’t know the restaurant, the people look mean, and I don’t trust them. I don’t want to stay there because I feel I won’t be able to go home ever again. I’m scared I am going to die if I don’t go back right away!”
“So what are you doing now?”
“I think that I want to be back in my bed, back inside my body. And in a split second, I am suddenly back inside my body on bed, lying on my right side, just like before. But I am scared now. I won’t close my eyes and it takes a long time before I finally fall asleep. I don’t need to sleep any more. I can stay awake and think about baseball games; I replay them over and over in my mind and this way I won’t have to sleep.”
Dr. Simmons woke my son out of his hypnotic state, but first gave Sean a series of instructions: “Sean, at the count of five you will wake up and feel fine. You will feel fully refreshed, as if you had had a good night’s sleep. Sean, you will be calm, you will not be frightened at night, and you will sleep each night as you always did before. When you awake, you will not remember being hypnotized. You will only remember having a pleasant conversation about baseball. One, two, three, four five.”
When Sean opened his eyes he looked calm, happy and energetic. He didn’t remember being hypnotized and was smiling. The doctor asked Sean to wait in the children’s waiting room. I found out that the room was special because it entertained the children with its video games, DVD movies and lots of toys. It was meant to take the fear of facing the doctor away by keeping the children’s minds occupied.
Dr. Simmons and I spoke while Sean played video games in the waiting room. The doctor had a somewhat surprised look on his face. I didn’t know whether this was good or bad but knew my son had some special kind of gift that most people will never enjoy.
“Dr. Simmons, do you think Sean will be all right?”
He looked at me for two full seconds as he pondered my question. “I’m not too sure. Oh, he will be fine, at least until he has another intense dream. It is quite clear that the young man has a very vivid and wild imagination.
“Mrs. Reilly, I’m going to give you a prescription for Sean, a mild sedative…”
“I don’t want to…”
“I can understand your concerns; but Mrs. Reilly, you will use this only if you feel he is slipping back into that dark, frightening mode again. It’s called Xanax. It will calm Sean down, give him a restful sleep.”
“I don’t know.”
The doctor smiled with a twinkle in his eyes, “Fill it and keep it. Think of it as a safety net,” he said softly. The doctor was compassionate, but did he truly understand what Sean experienced? Or did he treat it like a run-of-the mill case? I wondered to myself as I tried to smile back at him.
Sean and I left the doctor’s office, and as promised, we went shopping at the Staten Island Mall near the former Staten Island landfill, the dumping ground for which Staten Island became famous, and which later became the final resting place for the rubble and body parts of the victims killed by the terrorists on that fateful September 11, 2001, at the World Trade Center.
I agreed to buy Sean some baseball cards and the Nike brand sneakers I had promised in return for his agreeing to see Dr. Simmons. I wanted to make Sean as happy as possible, to make him forget his visions and nightmares. I knew Tom would agree with me after filling him in about our visit to Dr. Simmons’ office.
As soon as Sean put his new sneakers on, he was so proud; he had a newfound confidence. He said it made him feel like basketball legend Michael Jordan. It’s amazing how a status symbol such as a pair of sneakers can increase someone’s sense of self-worth. Sean was happier than I had remembered him being in a long time. I was beginning to believe more and more in Dr. Simmons’ hypnosis session. I kept the prescription he gave me for Sean inside my pocketbook. I had no intention of filling it and didn’t believe I would ever have to.
I remembered that Monday so well because that night was like an all-out celebration of sorts. Sean, Tom and I watched a Chevy Chase comedy video, had popcorn and laughed a lot. We were all so happy that Sean was feeling himself again. Everything was back to normal. Sean went to sleep at ten pm.
Tom and I spoke later that evening. “So what do you think about this psychiatrist; is he any good?” he asked.
“Dr. Simmons is very good, a great listener. He doesn’t talk down to Sean or me. He allows as many questions as we need to ask. You would be amazed at the hypnotism, Tom. You can’t believe how powerful a technique it is in helping patients to help themselves.”
“Do you really believe in it? Was Sean really under some spell or just faking it?”
“Tom, Sean was definitely under a hypnotic state. I saw the entire session. There’s no way our son knows how to put on an act like that. The facial expressions alone were incredible. No. This Dr. Simmons is the real McCoy.”
“So you think he cured Sean from these terrible visions he’s been having?” Tom asked.
“I pray, dear. I pray!” I stared into Tom’s eyes.
“Dawn, what exactly did this Dr. Simmons get out of our son? Was it gory?”
“No. Actually, it was real calm stuff. The doctor explained that he didn’t want the really traumatic memories to come crashing to the forefront too soon. He wants to see him again in a week. At that time he will no doubt delve deeper into his memories.”
“That’s good, honey. I don’t want Sean suffering while under a spell…”
“No, it’s not like that. It’s very controlled and relaxed. But, dear…”
“Yes?”
“Yesterday Sean had talked to me about some pretty disturbing scenes from his visions.”
“Such as?”
“Well, missing or dead children that were abused before they were killed.”
“And you believe these so-called visions are not just our twelve-year-old’s vivid imagination?”
“I do! Our son has proven in the past that he has, at times, had visions…”
“Oh yeah, the bus accident!” he said.
“Yes, and Tom?”
“Yes?”
“I have to tell you something…”
“What is it, honey?”
“Well, I never revealed this to anyone before. I like to keep it to myself. But Sean's visions at nighttime may be in his genes.”
“I don’t understand, honey.” Tom said.
“Tom, I had such intense visions as a child, too. I know exactly what Sean is going through: the torture of not wanting to go to sleep, the reluctance to speak to the people in the visions he sees when he finally does fall off to sleep, and the constant fear as you try to fight off the visions.
“Dawn, I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” Tom said wide-eyed. “How come you never told me about these past visions?”
“That time period of my life is very painful. I was about seven years old and totally unprepared and unaware of what I was going through. I was afraid of telling anyone about the visions for fear of ridicule or being put into psychiatric treatment…”
“Like what we are putting Sean through.”
“No! I mean, yes. But now I realize that professional counseling can help greatly. Sean needs to know that he is not crazy. And he needs to know that he was blessed with a special gift. I wish I had had someone to help me understand this when I was seven.”
“Well, Dawn, maybe you can explain to me what it feels like, what Sean is experiencing. Is it like a dream? How do you know it is special?” Tom had moved to the edge of his chair as he gazed deeper into my eyes.
“All I can tell you is my memories from some thirty years ago. You just know that it is different from any dream or nightmare you’ve ever had. It is so crystal clear, like high-definition television. It seems as if you are transported to the other place instantly. And the colors are so bright, unlike any dream. Then the people in the visions convince you that it is not any kind of dream. They show you and tell you things that make you believe that it is real. Some of the visions are really pleasant. Maybe you’ll see heaven or angels. You’ll feel the love. Then, the spirits in the vision might pull you into their own agenda.”
“What could they possibly want with us?”
“You’d be surprised. They want to send messages through us to their loved ones. Maybe to tell them that they are fine in the afterlife, or maybe to warn their loved ones about possible danger, or perhaps to locate something lost. One elderly woman wanted me to tell her family about $6,000 she had hidden in her home before she passed on, and no one had ever found it. I could see her showing me a white heat register in a home. The register used to come out of the wall easily, making a great hiding place where the woman usually hid things. It was so good that no one could ever locate the money that they were sure she had before she died.”
“Did you tell the family?”
“No. I wasn’t able to maintain communication long enough to find out her identity and who her family was. I was so scared. It was shortly thereafter that my visions ended.”
“How long did they last?” Tom asked.
“Long enough for another old woman to try to convince me to relay to her family that she was fine in the afterlife.”
“Oh, that’s actually sweet,” Tom smiled.
“Yes, normally it would be. But this woman wanted to show me everything. So my visions included seeing her dead in her nightgown. And then a visit to the funeral home where she wanted me to see her in her lavender dress in the casket.”
“What?”
“Yes, she took me on a tour, hovering over her mahogany casket while reviewing the people at her wake who stared at her lifeless body. And then we viewed the casket being lowered into the ground. You see, Tom, I know what Sean is going through because with these powerful visions the spirits are in full control. They won’t let go of your attention. You can’t look away and you can’t shut out the “video action” of the vision, not until they are ready to release you back to your won mental consciousness.”
“I see.” Tom said as he stared off in thought. He returned his gaze to my eyes, “I had no idea. It sounds absolutely terrifying. I can imagine why someone wouldn’t be willing to close his eyes ever again.”
“Precisely! That’s why, against my better judgment, I’m holding on to the doctor’s prescription for a sedative for Sean.”
“Oh, I don’t know if…”
“Tom, that’s why I didn’t fill it yet. These drugs can turn people into zombies! And I don’t want Sean like that.”
Chapter Three
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The next day, Tuesday, was uneventful. Sean slept well and wanted to play outside almost the entire day in his new Nikes. He and his friend, Alan Wall, who lived next door at 91 Featherly Place, played basketball at Alan’s house. Alan was thirteen years old. He was tall and slender with longish dirty blond hair. Alan wore wire-rimmed glasses and was a good boy. Sean and he were best friends. Tom and I trusted Alan.
Alan’s parents, Jill and Tony, were great neighbors and we always got along with them. We would invite their family to our home for barbecues all the time. Jill and Tony were in their mid-thirties and had lived next to us for three years. They had purchased the home from an elderly widow who had lost her husband less than a year earlier. Sean was ecstatic when Alan had moved in next door. Like Alan, Sean also was an only child. Sean and Alan both attended the same school, Junior High School 28, where Alan was a year ahead of Sean.
I kept an eye on Sean throughout the day. Tuesdays and Fridays are laundry days in our home. It takes up a good part of the day. So I try to cook something special on Tuesdays. That day I had a huge pot of split pea soup simmering with many vegetables in it. Split pea soup is one of Tom and Sean's favorite dishes.
After supper, Tom and I decided to skip intelligent television for another evening so we could let Sean laugh and “chill out.” It was a fun evening and we were in stitches watching Big Momma’s House. We were all happy that night, munching on nachos and guacamole dip.
The night was quiet. We all slept like babies that night, although I must have slept with one eye open, expecting the worst to happen again. It didn’t. A mother really never sleeps that deeply anyway. No matter how soundly it may seem, a mother is like a fireman, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. Sean was “out like a light,” as Tom told me in the morning. Tom had checked on Sean twice that night.
We were all up bright and early Wednesday morning, Tom to go to work and I to cook breakfast for us all. I wanted to cook pancakes and sausage links for Sean, just an added touch of tender loving attention that I felt he needed. Half of the morning I was silently praying my heart out to God, asking for His help in keeping the visions away from Sean. I knew it was selfish of me to ask for any special consideration from God, when there were so many starving babies and AIDS-wracked bodies all over the world. But I felt I had to resort to praying, begging, anything that would work, especially knowing from personal experience the brutal mental torture Sean was enduring through these visions that I also had experienced when I was a child. Tom knew Sean was in a bad place and he understood Sean's pain through my insight into my own experiences. But I knew first-hand just how painful it was to close my eyes, when I had received the messages myself many years ago. The urge to do anything to stop the inner pain is so great to the person fighting off the visions that this was the thing I feared most for my son. Children can do real harm to themselves sometimes because they can’t handle the stress in their lives. I was worried my son could resort to drastic measures to escape.
Tom worked late that Tuesday, and he had told me earlier not to cook that night, that he would bring the Colonel home with him. Of course, that meant he was buying us Kentucky Fried Chicken for supper. It was seven forty-five that evening when we were all eating the chicken. Both Tom and Sean appeared tired; Sean's eyes were red. Maybe we kept him up too late? But we all agreed that this night we would all turn in early. I said a silent prayer that Sean would sleep soundly that night.
We watched the New York Yankees on television play a blowout game, where the Yanks were down 10 to 1 in the fifth inning. We then decided to watch the ten o’clock news instead so we could turn in early. With the temperature at an all-time high, it made us all the more tired. We had been keeping the air conditioner at a high temperature setting, conserving electricity due to the recent blackouts we had been experiencing in our state. Everyone blamed the heat on global warming. I just believed it was just the latest cycle that changes every hundred years or so.
The ten o’clock news was full of even worse news than usual on that hot Tuesday evening. Sean, Tom and I watched, almost sorry we turned it on. There were reports of a rape of a female jogger in Central Park. There was a gang shooting which left a young child in a coma when a stray bullet hit him while he had been sitting quietly in his family’s apartment. And then there was a report of a missing person, a twenty-two year old woman. A young, single woman from Brooklyn named Andrea Lystar was possibly kidnapped. Her late-model car had been found abandoned two earlier outside the front of a church in Brooklyn. As we listened intently, shaking our heads ‘No,’ the police spokesperson stated that the girl’s car had fresh damage to the rear bumper and trunk. Her ATM card had been used to the max; and as much as the spokesperson didn’t want to admit it, it looked like a classic kidnapping where the car is deliberately bumped from behind and the driver kidnapped when she gets out of the car to inspect the damage.
We quickly changed the channel for five minutes to the middle of a sitcom, but it was too late. Sean was affected by what we had witnessed. At three o’clock in the morning we heard a commotion coming from Sean's room. Tom and I both ran to him.
Sean had tears in his eyes and he was screaming, “No! No! No more! Not again!”
We knew Sean had just experienced another troubling vision. He clearly didn’t want us there comforting him or talking to him. He didn’t know what he wanted except that he wanted it all to end. He screamed, “I want to die, just leave me alone!”
There was no way we were leaving Sean's room, no matter how much he screamed. Tom and I said nothing for what seemed like hours, but was really only a minute. We waited for Sean to try to control himself. His voice came down to less than a scream, but still he said loudly, “Mom, I can’t do this! Why are they choosing me? I don’t ask for these visions. Why me?”
We waited some more. The silence was needed to allow reality to set in for Sean. We wanted him to feel that he was safe with his family.
“Sean, I know it is torture, but trust me, trust Mommy, it will go away. You are here and you’re safe. No one can hurt you in your home…”
“Son,” Tom said, “We will never leave you alone. We will always be seconds away from you and your room.”
“Dad, I love you and Mom, but you just don’t understand what I go through. I can’t sleep like you do. It’s like the worst horror movie right in your face, up close and loud, and you can’t turn away, you can’t turn it off. I can’t stand it!”
“Son, you are a young man now. You’re no longer a little boy. You’ll be thirteen in a few months. I know it’s difficult but you’ll be fine. Sean, we’re right here for you. This bad thing that tortures you will pass, and you’ll grow up to be a strong man with your own family one day. Just don’t ever forget that. We’ll do whatever we need to do to help you get through this.”
“Yes, Sean. We even have an appointment with Fr. John from our church. You know how much Fr. John likes you?”
“Yes, but he always smells like incense!”
“Sean, Fr. John can help us, you’ll see.”
Sean's eyes welled up as his face showed more strain. “Mom, they killed her, all right!” I saw it! I saw it all! They shot her and she died. I saw the blood, okay?”
I couldn’t control the tears streaming down my face. I understood his vision all too well. Like the jaws of a vicious pit bull, it wouldn’t let go, not until the message is received and fully understood.
I hugged Sean, who usually doesn’t like ‘mushiness’, as he puts it. He hugged back. Even Tom's eyes were moist as he tried in vain to blink away his tears. I wondered who Sean had a vision of this time, although it didn’t really matter. It was just another in a growing number of deaths of young people in a world where increasingly the resolution to a problem or argument is violence. I wondered whatever happened to the old punch-in-the-nose and black-eye days.
As Sean went on to recount his vision to us, it felt like I had a rock in my stomach by the time he had finished. To my dismay, I found out that the girl in Sean's vision was the same missing twenty-two year old, Andrea Lystar, who had been featured on the news program that very evening.
Tom was too stunned to respond. It finally sank in with Tom just what kind of visions Sean was experiencing at night. While other boys were dreaming of cars and their favorite baseball teams, Sean was held captive by such despicable visions that no person should ever have to see.
Sean told us all the details we dreaded to hear, “They shot her over and over. Andrea didn’t die right away. She lingered and they let her die slowly. I saw it all. I know what they did with her.”
“Sean, you saw all of this?”
“Dad, I saw all the vivid details. I saw the guys that killed this woman, their faces and more!”
“Sean, dear, you don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to.”
“Mom, I have to. Don’t you understand? If I don’t get the message out, the visions will only come back worse. They will never leave me alone!”
“Okay, sweetie, as long as you’re all right with it.”
“Dad, after they killed the woman, they stuffed her body under an overpass near the expressway in Staten Island!”
All Tom did was shake his head no, while staring into Sean's eyes.
Sean continued, “It was the overpass near the Victory Blvd. exit. I saw the body there.”
With tears still in my eyes, I asked, “Sean, are you sure?”
“Mom, in the vision, Andrea wants me to see these things. She is standing next to the dead body and looking at me, until she is sure I understand what she is showing me.”
“Who did this terrible thing?” Tom asked.
“It was two guys, young, early twenties. One guy had a fake eye and the other was very heavy with a fat round face. They had been driving an SUV with Virginia license plates. A partial number from the plate is 8471. Andrea was sure to tell me how the two men killed her and stole her ATM and credit cards. She had pleaded with them but they didn’t care. She said they didn’t want her to be able to go to the police and that’s why they killed her. She knows that these two men could continue their killing spree to feed their drug habits. Life means nothing to these men, according to Andrea. She wants them caught and sent to prison for the rest of their lives!”
“Sean, baby, I know how difficult this is for you, but you realize we must go to the police. You must tell them everything you know. Andrea trusted you completely with her story so that you could help the authorities. We are going to see Fr. John later today. We will tell him what we know and then go to the police precinct house afterward,” I said, as I looked at Sean, then at Tom, who nodded in agreement.
“Mom, I can’t go to sleep any more! I don’t want to see death. It’s too real, not like on TV. I can’t see these people get killed again. I saw it played out like in a movie how Andrea gets shot over and over. I saw all the blood. She was begging for her life. The two men didn’t care. They watched her slowly die. Mom, the screaming, I can’t do it!”
All I could say over and over was “I know! I know!” I couldn’t stop crying.
Tom said, “Sean, buddy, it’s all over. You don’t have to see that vision ever again. But now you have it in your power to lock up these two dirt bags! You alone have the information to prove that these guys did this terrible crime. You owe it to this girl, to her family to make sure these two never hurt anyone ever again.”
I added, “Sean, take your mind off it. I used to get some of these visions when I was very young, and what worked for me was concentrating on something different like a movie. So try thinking about that Harry Potter movie. Think about the magic stick he rides and the cloak that helps him disappear.”
Sean didn’t answer. I hugged him harder, longer. “It will get better, trust me! Let’s have a cup of tea; it will make us all feel better.
Ten minutes later we were all sipping tea and eating Oreo cookies. Sean was twisting the cookies apart one by one and lining them all up, about ten of them. Then he proceeded to lick off the icing in the center of each one. It quickly dawned on me that my boy was very organized. He clearly took after his mother, efficient and diligent. Tom, on the other hand, was the complete opposite, with an easy-going, fly-by-the-seat-of-the-pants kind of attitude. And a pack rat. Even in his toolbox he kept broken pieces of plastic because, as he put it, “You never know when you might need it.”
We never filled the prescription Dr. Simmons had given me for Sean. Xanax, the sedative was supposed to keep him calm, make him sleep more peacefully, and hopefully help with the visions. I hated drugs, but realized now that this was one drug that was important to keep on hand, since Sean was so tormented by the recent visions.
We were set to see Dr. Simmons on Friday for an emergency visit. I hoped our upcoming visit with Fr. John would be helpful to Sean. Fr. John, a friend of the family for thirty-five years, served out of the rectory of St. Ann’s Church in Brooklyn. I prayed a special prayer to the Virgin Mary that she would intercede on our behalf with God, and that Sean would be convinced that the visions he was having were not something bad. And that Sean, if he were exposed to newer visions, would not be scared, but rather understand that he was chosen specially for the task of passing on these messages from the beyond.
It was four a.m. by the time we all were calm enough to give sleeping another try. Sean's face showed his total exhaustion. I was all cried out and drained from the stress of it all. I kept thinking of Andrea. Tom, I could tell, was still in shock. I was sure that our son, who hadn’t yet reached his teens, had a phenomenal gift. I cringed at the thoughts that brought me back in time to those younger days when I, too, was tortured with visions that were forced onto my young, impressionable mind. But, still, I wished it were I again instead of Sean who was suffering so.
We were lucky. Sean slept through the night with no further disruptions until ten the next morning. Tom got up and went to work without even having breakfast. I didn’t hear Tom because I slept through till nine o’clock. Stress can make some people sleep where they don’t’ want to wake up, to stay in their own world, isolated from the pressures of the real world. I was feeling beaten down more that I had in some time, and hoped I wasn’t sliding into depression myself.
It was after ten o’clock when I woke Sean for his breakfast. We didn’t speak about the visions or how he had slept that night. Instead, we spoke about what he wanted to do that day. I suggested that he could hang out with his friend Alan. He said he wanted to play basketball with him. Sean was anxious to use his new Nike sneakers. I reminded Sean that at three o’clock we had to see Fr. John. Sean was in good spirits, almost as if the visions he had had that very night had actually appeared long ago. Maybe he was in denial, or maybe this was an internal reflex to protect him from the stress. Maybe the body has a way of protecting itself in times of trauma.
Sean was very agreeable about seeing Fr. John. So I promised him his favorite take-out food for dinner: pepperoni deep-dish pizza from Pizza Hut. We try to have pizza about once every two weeks. But in light of the recent stress Sean had been through, I would do anything to make my son feel better. I also understood that exercise was important for beating stress and that playing basketball with Alan would be a welcome diversion. I almost put on a pair of sweats and joined them myself. My stress level was at an all-time high.
Chapter Four
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It was almost three o’clock as Sean and I slowly walked down Fort Hamilton Parkway in Brooklyn toward the rectory of St. Ann’s Church in our old Brooklyn neighborhood to see Fr. John. Sean was calm but I wasn’t, at least on the inside. I knew we were going to rehash the visions again. It was necessary, but bringing those visions to the forefront so quickly once again was too painful. We would be meeting with Dr. Simmons again the next afternoon, but I was more concerned with the vision Sean had told us about at three this morning. I knew we had to go to the police with the information, but I felt more comfortable having Sean speak with Fr. John first. I was hoping Fr. John would help ease Sean's mind first before we met with the authorities. I wasn’t sure if Sean was sold on disclosing everything to the police, and reliving the visions in full gory detail.