Shaman - the Awakening

Shaman: The Awakening

V.R. McCoy

Copyright (C) 2014 V.R. McCoy

Layout copyright (C) by Creativia

Published 2014 by Creativia

eBook design by Creativia (www.creativia.org)

Second Edition, Edited by Simone Beaudelaire

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

I would like to dedicate this novel to my mother, Margaret Ann Gibson McCoy. She was and always will be my inspiration, guide and biggest fan. She introduced me to the world of mysticism.

I would like to thank the brothers of Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity, in particular the Xi Chapter of Howard University; Invictus Forever

Thank you to my sister, “Hey Trae, here's another one!”

Thank you to my partner in crime and by the hip brother J. George Mullins. “Yo Nupe; if memories are to be treasured, we have a pirate's chest full of great things! Miss you brother.

I would also like to say thank you to all who supported me throughout this journey; especially the cast of characters for their indulgence in this work of fiction; Dr. Gregory Banks, MD., Ms. Gracie Mullins, Max Maurice, Joaquinna D. Green and my eternal brother and friend Carroll Hughes. I wish we had spent more time horseback riding, my brother, but we will ride again someday (RIP).

The nightmares never cease. Since I was a child I've struggled to deal with them. Every night there is a different horror. I see them taking shape as if I was there. Then I wake up sweating profusely from these horrific dreams. I use to dream of another world in which I was running from the strangest creatures. Creatures that only can exist in nightmares, yet they're all too real to me.

Some nights I dread going to sleep, as if I was in one of those Freddy Krueger films; “A Nightmare on Elm Street,” except I don't bring any of the horrors back with me. For years now I've survived every last encounter. At least those kids finally received some peace or rest from the nightmares.

I was alone at a table in the corner, playing chess in the activities room. The other patients were watching television, playing cards or some other board games. The television seemed to remain on
Law and Order
whenever I was in there. I had learned to block it out. We were all here for multifarious mental disorders or breakdowns and required psychiatric assistance in one form or another. This wasn't an institution for the criminally insane, but for voluntary admissions. It was a privately run institution and their patients were affluent or from affluent families.

This wasn't the first institution in which I had been a patient. When I was a child I had been in and out of these types of facilities. The psychologists and doctors attempted to treat me for my sleep disorder and strange nightmares. I was poked, prodded and placed under the close scrutiny like a lab rat. I was humiliated and treated as subhuman; someone without feelings or a soul. There psychobabble didn't really help much as you can see.

I have this gift or curse, whichever way you want to look at it. It has been in my family for years; trickling down through the generations. My grandmother, a Cherokee Indian, had the gift and her father, a Medicine Man, had it also. He had acquired it from his mother; and so on and so on. My mother didn't have the gift, but her sister, my aunt, acquired it. I consider it a curse, because it has been tormenting me for years. The Cherokee's name for it, translated in English, is `Vision Quest'. It is the ability to have foresight in dreams, but not only to read dreams; to manipulate them. Historians and scholars refer to it as Shamanism.

These dreams were just nightmares I had as a kid. When I became a young adult and learned how to control the nightmares, the dream manipulation became something else. I worked with Dr. Gregory Banks, a renowned Psychologist, for years. He guided me and helped me to focus my nightmares and turn them into positive dreams.

Women who wouldn't ordinarily give me the time of day would show interest in me. If I dreamt of them in certain romantic scenarios, it was like I implanted my dreams or subconscious suggestion inside their heads, but it was much more than that. It was like the actions or scenarios actually took place! I would catch them blushing around me the next day, as if they had experienced the same dream. Of course I couldn't confront them about it, but soon dating became extremely easy! Dr. Banks called it dreamscaping.

It got to a point where I could have any woman I wanted, and I did. I had orgies with two to three women. I even had happily married women leaving their husbands' bedsides at three o'clock in the morning to visit me for sex. Then the nightmares came back! I had grown weary of the sex games because it felt like I was cheating, no; I was cheating! Would these women really be with me if it wasn't for my dream implants?

As soon as I stopped dreaming of the women, my mind went other places at night. Dr. Banks stated that my unusual subconscious mind was stronger than normal. They couldn't find any physiological differences between my brain and others', but I utilized more of my frontal lobe than they did. He also explained that at night, when the rest of my brain is asleep, my frontal lobe goes into overdrive.

I was always a bit of a scopophiliac. I would rather observe than participate; not like a peeping tom, but more of a voyeur with permission. So, of course I watched a lot of television news. It let me into the lives of others. This is what really began my quest into what landed me here in the loony bin.

I began to dream of these cases of people getting murdered. Unlike my previous nightmares as a kid, now I had actual faces and events I could put together in a dream. I could focus as Dr. Banks taught me. I attempted to notify the police on these cases to assist them and ended up their prime suspect, until they caught the actual killers or perpetrators with my assistance.

Once again I was poked, prodded and placed under the bright lights of their endless deprivation interrogating techniques, or `interviews', as they would call it. It was a mild form of torture. They were no better than the childhood psychologists who did the same thing when I was younger. I felt like I was at Abu Ghraib, when all I was attempting to do was help. Still, to this day, there are some who think I'm a cohort in some of the crimes. They can't wrap their minds around the fact that someone has the abilities I do.

This gift that I have has been around for years in different cultures and forms. The Native American Medicine Man, the Celtic Shamans – druids, witches and others throughout history have displayed this ability, but modern man views this as a threat. Most can't even believe in a higher power than themselves, and consider anyone with advanced abilities as a threat; thus the witch burnings throughout history.

Once my assistance was beginning to prove valuable to the local authorities, the FBI became interested in my abilities as well. I was hired as a consultant with the FBI's National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime in Quantico, Virginia. There are several departments that fall under the NCAVC. The particular section I was associated with was a Special Task Force called the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program (ViCAP) which was under the auspices of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Our task was to solve the unsolvable when it came to kidnappings, abductions and serial killings.

In the beginning, I didn't know if they wanted to study me or just keep their eye on me. I thought perhaps their intent was to prevent me from being involved in any further high profile cases. There were still those out there who wanted me locked away somewhere with the key destroyed instead of being thrown away. I was an anomaly that a lot of authorities and people in general weren't ready to accept. Therefore the FBI kept my abilities under cover.

The FBI placed me in a section of ViCAP with others who had special gifts. Most of the Bureau referred to us as the X Files and the rest just called us the Freak Show. It truly was a circus of characters. Say what you want about the Freak Show, but our section had one of the best case closing records of the entire Bureau. We weren't celebrated or paraded around due to our unorthodox methods, but numbers don't lie. We were invaluable consultants and the textbooks were thrown out the window when it came to our section.

The teams were assembled with one special ability consultant. There were usually five to six person teams including a consultant and a SAC (Special Agent in Charge). The SAC for our team was Steven Weiss. He was a very cerebral, calculating and analytical agent. He was a born multi-tasker. As a child he was a chess prodigy and graduated from Stanford University at the age of 15, when most kids are going to high school. The FBI was lucky to acquire him.

Agent Weiss' parents were murdered when he was a youngster and the killer was never found. It was their deaths that brought him to the FBI. Perhaps it was a personal crusade, but he was still one of their best and brightest. The other agents comprising the team were Dianna Samboro, Amber Carson, Max Maurice, Paul Woodward and me, the special abilities consultant; Christian Sands.

Agent Dianna Samboro was an Italian American and former Olympic archer. She graduated from American University in Washington, D.C. with a B.S. in Psychology and remained in D.C. after graduating. Born and raised in Sacramento, California, her family was originally from Sicily. She was a marksman with firearms.

Agent Max Maurice was a star Linebacker for LSU, until he tore his ACL. He graduated from LSU with a double degree in Psychology and Social Studies. After college he enlisted as an officer in the Marine Corps before joining the FBI. His family was originally from New Orleans, Louisiana.

Agent Paul Woodward graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in Criminal Justice and a post Jurisprudence. Being from an affluent family in Houston, Texas, his parents didn't condone his career choice. He was supposed to become a lawyer and work in the family business. Paul was married, with five kids and a beautiful wife.

Ms. Amber Carson had graduated from Howard University School of Law and had a license to practice law in D.C., Maryland and Virginia, but chose to walk in the footsteps of her father, who died in the line of duty as an FBI agent. She also had an undergrad degree in Psychology. Her family was from Washington, D.C. She was a divorcée with one young son, who was born before she attended college.

Then there was me; I had a musical degree from the University of North Carolina. My family was originally from Clinton, North Carolina, and I just happened to be paired with these psychoanalytic experts. As much as I had been examined and prodded by psych experts, I guess I had a long range of experience in psychoanalytic techniques as well.

In the beginning, it all seemed so surreal for to us. Most of the teams took our team for a joke. I was nicknamed Freddie Krueger behind my back, but as the results of my consulting began paying off, they began to take me more seriously. As the caseloads increased and the criminal profiles became more vicious and violent, my dreams became the same. That's when things really became creepy and weird.

At first I was just an omniscient observer in these reenactment dreams, but eventually I began communicating with the killers and seeing things that could only be described as supernatural. Even my team looked at me like I was crazy and in need of medical care. I was officially considered weird and insane at that point. The FBI abandoned me after that last uncanny job and placed me in here to receive psychiatric treatment, but I wasn't insane and they knew it. They just couldn't accept the facts of what happened. Hell, even I must admit looking back that the events which occurred would seem a bit strange and unbelievable, if it hadn't happened to me.

It was the beginning of winter in D.C. The snow and the cold came early this year. The talk in the city was that Global Warming had everything screwed up. Apparently Washingtonians had become accustomed to mild winters lately, and the inclement winter weather didn't really appear until the middle of January, or even late February. That year the cold weather started in early November, and there was snow on the ground by Thanksgiving.

There was even a nor'easter dumping its bitter snows on the city and the rest of the Northeast in early December. This weather was actually average for this time of year in this region. If anything, we should have been happy it wasn't warm! That's the true sign of Global Warming and the melting of the Polar Caps.

I owned a nice condo in Foggy Bottom, just west of Georgetown. It was an old apartment building which had been renovated. I had two floors, a fireplace and a balcony. I had to have a fireplace and hardwood floors wherever I lived. I enjoyed everything about a nice fireplace; the warmth, the crackling sound, the smell and the look of a fire burning, just as much as I enjoyed winter.

I didn't have a lot of furniture in my place, but I did have several instruments. I had a baby grand piano in the living room, a guitar, a stand up acoustic bass and a cello. I used to teach music before I became involved with law enforcement. The piano was in the middle of the hardwood floor and the acoustic bass with the bow beside it was standing up in the corner of the living room under a track light. The cello, which I loved and played often, was in the middle of the wall with its track light pointed at it. Then there was my vintage Les Paul guitar, which accented the other corner of my music wall, standing up within the glow of its lighting. The living room almost looked like a museum. I had spent a lot of money on my instruments. They were original works of art in themselves.

The rest of the living room consisted of one leather sofa, an accompanying leather chair, and a coffee table on a circular rug in front of the fireplace. I had a bookcase to the right of the mantle with several books. The stereo case was opposite the music wall. It contained a Bose stereo surround sound system with a CD player and a turntable for the vintage vinyl records I collected.

I didn't have any paintings or sculptures. I loved art and visiting the museums, but I could never decide on what artist, period or genre to place on the wall. I liked so many different styles of art, but I did lean towards Impressionism with its abstract and indistinct lines. All of my doctors agreed it was my subconscious mind that influenced this. I almost felt like Jekyll and Hyde the way they spoke of my dream state or subconscious, as if it were completely separate from me.

I loved the solace of winter. There were fewer people on the streets and fewer crimes committed. The snow was serine and pure. Snow could make any hellhole or ghetto appear pure, even the hardened streets of D.C. It covered up a lot of deficiencies and made the city look better, at least for a little while. Everything seemed so peaceful in the winter.

Perhaps my introverted personality also played a small part in my outlook when it came to winter. I really had become a bit of a recluse - always felt self-conscious, like I was being judged. Besides, the less contact I had with people the fewer dreams I had to worry about or manage. Sometimes my dream focus would stray if I became extremely tired. I was getting at least four solid hours of sleep per night, when I wasn't working complex cases. I shut myself off from the external world during that time.

I didn't watch any television or listen to talk radio. I preferred to listen to my jazz records, play chess, read poetry and play the piano or the cello. The music helped me to relax. Whenever I worked cases, I would go for days without proper sleep. You would think my dream state would be considered resting, but it wasn't. A part of my brain was working overtime while my physiology, nervous system and muscles, reacted to everything my mind was experiencing. It's like when you kick, punch or talk in your sleep, but more intense.

When I was younger, I used to sleepwalk while in these dream trances. My mother had to use double key-locked doors to prevent me from leaving while I slept. I've learned to control all that now.

I didn't have any friends; just associates from work, the team. I liked it that way because it was less complicated and weird. The team members would call and check up on me now and then. Sometimes the SAC (Special Agent in Charge), Steven Weiss, would visit the condo. I also heard from Dianna Samboro often. She liked me more than the other team members. Under different circumstances I could have seen us having a relationship, but it would have been too awkward while working together and her knowing what she does about me. She didn't seem to mind or treat me as though I were weird; neither was she indifferent to me, but you never know what lies beneath a person's psyche until you really dig deep. You don't need special abilities to figure that one out!

I was spending a normal evening at home, cooking and listening to jazz, when the telephone rang. I was expecting Weiss to be calling me in, since I really didn't have any friends. It was Dianna on the phone.

“Hello, Chris, are you busy?” she asked

“No, just cooking dinner,” I replied.

“Hey, I was in the neighborhood and wondered if I could stop by?”

“Yeah, sure. Come on over,” I urged.

She arrived about 15 minutes later.

“You really were in the hood,” I stated when I opened the door.

“Yeah, I was doing some last minute shopping in Georgetown. Did you complete your shopping already?” she inquired.

“Yes, what little I had.”

“Well, I'm a simple girl. I hope you didn't get me anything too expensive,” she replied with a smile as I took her black pea coat.

“Wow, you look totally different without your Clark Kent glasses on, Chris. You should show those beautiful green eyes of yours more often from,” she said, staring me in the eyes. I hadn't really thought about it, but she was used to seeing me with my black rimmed glasses on while at work. I hardly ever wore them when I'm at home.

“So, I'm in time for dinner,” she further stated, engaging me with a smile. Dianna was very forthcoming and out front. She wasn't shy at all.

“Yes. I'm cooking some pasta with lobster and sauce.”

“Can I help,” she inquired with excitedly? “Sure,” I replied.

I had a huge, modern kitchen, with an island range and hood. The kitchen was large enough to eat in. I had two bar stools and a small, upright table that I usually ate on. I didn't really have guests over for dinner, so it was all I needed.

“What a coincidence? You're fixing Italian cuisine and having an Italian girl over for dinner,” she said, laughing, as I escorted her to the kitchen.

Dianna was a beautiful and vibrant woman. She had killer curves and a dynamite smile. Her hair was shoulder length and curly, like a lot of women of Italian descent. She was of darker complexion like the Sicilians. As she was a comfortable 5'7 and weighed about 140 pounds, she was in perfect shape. She had on jeans which appeared like a second skin, the way they hugged and accentuated her curvy, voluptuous body, and a white blouse buttoned down to the point where I could see just enough cleavage; not slutty, but sexy. There is a fine line between the two. She had on the sexiest black boots that came almost up to her knees. Dianna was fine from head to toe, with or without clothes.

She assisted me in the kitchen. She turned it into a sensual experience. There were several moments shared in the kitchen when we were close. She was flirting the whole time and I was enjoying every minute of it! She was fun to be around. We opened a bottle of wine and enjoyed our dinner with light conversation. She was like a schoolgirl, asking questions about me and my abilities.

“So, what if someone was dreaming about you; could you tell,” she inquired? I started to smile. “Are you laughing at me,” she asked with a small giggle? “No, it's just refreshing. Most people feel uncomfortable talking about it with me.”

“Oh, so you're the boogey man now, huh?” she said, teasing me and smiling.

“No, from what I hear, I'm Freddy Krueger,” I replied while making a gesture with both my fork and pasta spoon. We both had a good laugh at that one.

“But really, can you tell if someone dreams about you?” she insisted at last.

“No. It would have to be what the doctors and I call `Invasive Dreamscape'. That person would have to have the ability also,” I replied.

“So you can invade others' dreams without them invading yours?” she asked.

“No. When I'm in Dreamscape, I share the dream with them. They know and experience everything I do, but to really answer the question; I don't know. If I feel a strong enough connection with the person, I guess anything is possible. I mean, who would've thought any of this is possible,” I replied.

She smiled and continued eating.

I wondered if she had been dreaming about me, or was going to dream about me. I never really gave it much thought since we worked together. I promised Steve that I would never invade the dreams of team members unless it was under critical circumstances and their life was in jeopardy. Thus far I had kept my promise and respected the boundaries and privacy of my team on a professional level. Perhaps Dianna was just testing me to see if I was invading her dreams, or those of the other team members.

After dinner we took our glasses and the bottle of wine into the living room. She viewed the books of poetry I had on the mantle and requested a reading. I just knew she was going to ask me to play something on the piano or one of my stringed instruments, but once again, she proved herself unpredictable. I read Poe to her in front of the fireplace. Since the theme of our evening conversation was centered on my Dreamscape, I followed in kind by reading her “A Dream,” “A Dream within a Dream” and my favorite, “Dreams”. She stated that she understood and could see why “Dreams” was my favorite.

She asked that I read more of my favorites, which I obliged until she fell asleep. It was a hypnotic trick I learned from Dr. Banks; how to set external moods. I wasn't trying to manipulate her, but I could tell she needed the sleep. It was obvious by the way she nestled in the glow and warmth of the fireplace. I let her rest on the sofa and placed a blanket over her. I sat on the floor beside her, thinking about what to do with my newly acquired friend.

Dianna was vibrant and full of life. She was an extrovert, the complete opposite of me. She had lots of friends and stayed active. That's why it wasn't really a stretch of the imagination to find her in the neighborhood. Although sometimes she over-exerted herself, being so active. This was one of those times. It was the holiday season and she had been out all day, visiting and shopping. I still didn't understand her interest in me. Although she had made it quite clear that she was attracted to me. She was a flirt at heart and a very attractive woman, but there was no mistaking her attraction towards me for mere teasing friendliness.

I fell asleep on the floor beside Dianna, and when I woke up she was gone. There was a note on the sofa which read, “
Hey Chris; thanks for a lovely evening. Next time it's on me. See you in my dreams. Dianna.”
She had left the door open for another dinner date, although this one had been spur of the moment. Or had it?

It was midnight when I woke up. The stereo was still playing jazz and the fire in the hearth had subsided to barely glowing embers. I poked them and placed some more wood on top. I wasn't sleepy, so I cleaned the kitchen and washed the dishes. While cleaning, I thought about her note, especially the last part of it. I wondered if she was making a joke, or if she was soliciting an audition for a demonstration. I dismissed such thoughts and went back to the living room. It wouldn't be appropriate to engage in such activities with a colleague.

The next day I went for an early run through Rock Creek Park. It was a crisp, cold morning, but I had dressed well for it. I enjoyed jogging in the park and swimming at the YMCA, because they were solitary sports which didn't require team effort. I could be left alone to my thoughts. After the run I went directly home for a shower, breakfast and a cafè mocha latte. I wanted to use the Christmas gift I got for myself; a Geneva Gourmet Coffee Maker. It was an expensive machine I had been observing for the longest time, but it had just gone on sale for the holidays. I didn't particularly care for the season; it always made me depressed, but I did enjoy the sales. I also enjoyed the Christmas spirit: what it meant and what was brought with it.
`Good Will To Men'.

After breakfast I was attempting to enjoy my cafè mocha latte when the telephone rang. I was an old fashioned guy who still had a home telephone. It was of the antique black stand up variety, with the horn-type listening device. I was a bit agitated when I answered, because I was looking forward to enjoying my cup of coffee in peace.

“Hello,” I answered in a perturbed voice.

“I'm sorry for disturbing you, Chris,” Dianna said, clearly having noted to the tension in my voice, “But did I lose my flash drive over there? I usually keep it on my keychain, but I couldn't find it this morning.”

“I didn't see it, but I'll look for it,” I replied.

“Ok, call me if you find it. And by the way, thanks again for a lovely evening.”

“It was my pleasure,” I replied. “I mean it; the next time it's my treat. We can either go out to eat or I can prepare dinner for us at my place,” she said.

“Sure, thanks,” I replied.

“So which will it be,” she asked?

“Whatever you prefer,” I replied.

“Oh, you're easy, huh? Ok; I'll cook dinner for us at my place. What are you doing for Christmas Eve?”

“Nothing special,” I replied.

“Ok then, you can come over to my place and we'll have dinner together.”

“Alright,” I responded.

“I'll talk to you later,” she said before hanging up the phone. Now I was certain she was interested in me.
I need to see if the Bureau has a fraternizing policy
.

I hung the telephone up and went back to enjoying my gourmet cup of coffee. I looked for her flash drive afterwards and discovered it between the cushions on the sofa. I called Dianna to notify her of my discovery. She inquired if I would be in later this afternoon, so she could pick it up. I informed her that I had a doctor's appointment at 2:00 pm. She asked if she could pick it up later in the evening, to which I agreed. My new doctor was Joaquinna D. Green, M.D. Dr. Banks felt it was time for me to move on and continue my therapy sessions with a fresher perspective, since I was in control of my dreams and doing well.