Investigative Medium - the Awakening

Excerpt

 

Chapter One: THE AWAKENING

I took one step before the world as I knew it swirled clockwise and away, and I was left standing off-balance while looking through the eyes of someone I didn’t know. I tried to escape the sound of my television as I rose from bed, my usual place of comfort and solace, but on this day, I couldn’t move fast enough.  

 

I don’t want to be sad today. Not today, I thought. The shaky male voice coming from the television was faint now, and it said, "I ask you to please help me find my daughter and bring her home." I couldn’t digest those words at that moment because I was somewhere far away, in a very dark place.  

 

Oh God, I am scared. Fear swallowed me and held me completely immobile. What is happening? Where am I?

 

Lying in darkness, my head is tilted up slightly and I could see my toes if only there was light. The familiar feeling of an asthma attack is coming on and I gasp for air, but instantly I realize I am suffocating and no air is to be found.

 

 Somehow I see, or feel, or know things, and I’m not exactly sure how because it is all happening so fast. My left arm is the small, soft beautiful arm of a little girl. I am startled with this knowledge, but at the same time I struggle because I can’t get air and I can’t breathe. I feel the grit of sand. Is it in my lungs? I am saturated with fear, but like a game of Sardines, more pushes into me when there is no room left.  

 

Help me God, show me where I am! I can’t breathe!

 

Faster than the speed of light, I am no longer looking through the same eyes, but I am in the same space next to a little girl. I am so close, it’s almost as if I’m an overlay, a varnish on a picture. Not part of it anymore, but every bit as close to the experience. There is a sudden peacefulness I feel from the girl, although my fear is escalating.

 

I am pulled backward, up through the shallow dirt and into the bright sunny sky. I can see the green grass and the tree line, and a small one story home comes into view. As I travel higher, I see people milling around with sticks and long-sleeve light-colored shirts. Some have baseball caps and are calling out. They are searching all around the area, but not where I am. They are so close, so very close but too far. Suddenly, a still photo of a man flashes in front of me. I see his full body from the side, as he is walking. He is shorter than I am, with leathery skin, and evil is the purest part of his nature. Another image flashes on the movie screen in my head, and the man is facing me, very close, with vague eyes, the grin of a wolf, and the overwhelming smell of alcohol around him.

 

I was returned as fast as I left, and I quickly sat back down on the bed. I was stunned with an overload of information in a period of time that doesn’t correlate with this dimension, and I was searching to line it up and figure it out. Then it came, as if someone stuck a flash drive in me and booted me up.

 

In that very instant I also realized my husband Chris was beside me trying to understand what was happening, and all I could say was, “She’s buried alive! They don’t know! She is still alive and nobody knows! She’s right there! Right there!” I trembled as I stood, stomping my foot, trying to regain contact with reality. “They are starting their search back too far. I can hear them and they are so close but back too far. She is alive and they don’t know it. Oh my God. OH MY GOD! WHAT DO I DO! SHE IS ALIVE!”

 

My hysterical screaming became unrecognizable through my tears as Chris held me in his arms. It was February 26, 2005, and I had just become an Investigative Medium. 

 

Chapter Two: PRECIOUS SOULS

Jessica Marie Lunsford was a beautiful nine-year-old girl, who like most girls her age, enjoyed swimming, singing, riding bikes, and her dog Corky. She especially loved her Grandma Ruth and those shopping trips together to Walmart in Homasassa, Florida. Jessica was going to be a fashion designer when she grew up, and she practiced by making doll clothes and modeling white capri pants and a sassy little raincoat in her church’s fashion show. Jessica was all girl, a true princess, a precious soul. On February 23, 2005, Jessica was raped and murdered by 47-year-old John Couey.

 

I had never experienced anything similar, and I knew what I had seen was profound. I picked up the phone several times and asked my husband, “Who do I call? The FBI? The local authorities in Homasassa?”

 

 Chris just shook his head back and forth. “Honey,” he said, “they’ll never believe you, even if you could get through to them on the phone.”

 

 “Maybe I could fax them a map!”

 

“You don’t understand. At best they will ignore you, and at worst, they’ll investigate you and think you had something to do with it.”

 

I was haunted by my experience, but I managed to put it out of my mind. Self-doubt helps us sometimes that way. On March 19, while standing by my bed again, I heard on the television that Jessica Marie Lunsford’s remains had been found buried only 150 yards from her back door. Forensics indicated that Jessica had been buried alive.

 

My life has never since been the same.

 

I have two precious little souls, my children, Annie and Caleb. Annie loves swimming and dress-up and singing Disney princess songs while riding her bike alongside her dog Steve. I still have my treasured children, and I thank God for that every day. But, I also have to live with my decision not to call the police. As a result, another family does not get ten hugs a day, a serenade of Hanna Montana songs, and smiles and giggles for the rest of their lives. Dear Lord, please forgive me. 

 

Now I work on missing persons’ cases with police and families, mostly taking my orders from the other side. I also work with authors, historians, and archaeologists to determine what happened long ago in specific locations.

 

Through the clairvoyant, clairaudient, and clairsentient abilities I have been given, I am an instrument to help the other side connect to this world. These are not abilities I asked for or even knew I had, but having become aware of them, I have chosen to use them in the best way I can. It is important to understand I am only a mouthpiece—a channel, a medium—not really much different from a telephone or radio. As I experience information, I do the best I can to make sense of it, define it, and pass it on.

 

I like to think that when I was buried with Jessica, my presence eased her pain. The calm I felt was not from her death, for I would have made that distinction and found a way to live with myself. I believe she felt me somehow, and it brought her peace—the momentary calmness I sensed before I was pulled away. Perhaps by being there, I took away some of her fear and experienced it myself. At least I hope being a physical empath has these advantages.

 

I am not an angel or a saint, a demon or a witch. I’m just a mom who goes to church, volunteers at her children’s elementary school, and regularly burns pizza. I am completely ordinary. I am an Investigative Medium and this is my story.