The Bovine Connection

THE BOVINE CONNECTION

A NOVEL

KIMBERLY THOMAS

This book is a work of fiction.  While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experiences, all names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2014 by Kimberly Thomas

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1503102170

ISBN-10: 1503102173

Cover design by Patrick Blaine

For my mother…

"Can you bind the beautiful Pleiades?

Can you loose the cords of Orion?”

Job 38:31

             
S
omewhere within her mind were the dark spaces holding the suppressed memories her subconscious was not yet ready to reveal. Angelica lay uncomfortably in a dimly lit room with her eyes tightly shut on a tan leather sofa. This was her fourth visit, and Angelica was certain this time he would be able to help her. The memories were painful and deeply hidden. Her mind was a locked vault and she had forgotten the combination. If only she could remember and purge the darkness out of her. She would be healed. She would feel whole. But the shadow memories had faded over time and would break the surface only on occasion, and then retreat in a mist of confusion.

“You must concentrate on clearing your mind,” he said softly. “Go deeper inside where your true self resides. You are not relaxed, Angelica! You must relax!” He spoke low and firmly sending a chill up her spine.

“Dr. White, I am trying,” she nearly yelled. “I do everything you ask of me! I’m tired today! I just don’t think I can.” Angelica released her breath in frustration. Suddenly she heard the chair squeak as he lifted from it.

“What is he doing?
” she wondered. Angelica cupped her hands together across her belly as if they were a shield for protection.

“I would like to help you relax,” Dr. White whispered.

Angelica wasn’t sure she was comfortable with him so close. She took a deep breath. The air felt thick. She had a restricted space. Angelica opened her eyes as he approached her. “
How did he get from the chair to the sofa so quickly?
” she wondered. He was now in her guarded space, and she felt uneasy.

“Close your eyes,” he said softly as he placed his hand over her palm. She was reluctant, blinking a few times before finally relenting and doing as he said.

“Now you are letting go… relax and listen to only my voice. I am going to count from ten to one, and when I get to one you will be so relaxed, so relaxed that you will only want to do as I say.”

Angelica squirmed on the sofa. “Do as he says? What is he going to ask me to do?
Why did I even come here?”
she wondered. His words raced through her mind. Her hands started to tremble. She clutched them tighter.

He glared at her face as her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. She was so delicate and fragile, so innocent, he thought.

“Ten… nine.”

The smell of the old musky building was distracting her, she couldn’t relax. It smelled faintly of mildew, and soot from the old fireplace. But no fire burned that day. The heavy drapery kept the light out. Large Persian rugs covered the worn wooden floor.

“Six… five.”

Angelica wanted to trust him, but knew very little about him, in fact, nothing at all. Although he spoke a great deal, the conversations never revealed personal details about him. He had a way of using words, almost playing with them. He was older and distinguished, father-like. When she found him on the internet and called, he said he was confident he could help her. She had to trust him, and Angelica never trusted anyone.

“One… you are now in a deep relaxed state. So deeply relaxed that you will do exactly as I say. Take a deep breath and then release it. Good, and another, good… you are so very relaxed now,” he said softly. So relaxed that you are focused on your breath… In and out. Good. Now, I want you to focus on releasing the tension in your neck, in your chest, in your arms, your abdomen, down to your thighs, down to you calves, and to your feet. Feel now as all tension has now been released, and you are so very relaxed.

Now, I would like you to focus on a time in your life when you were truly happy. I want you to pull that image in and hold it. Can you do that?”

“Yes, I have it,” she smiled and whispered softly.

“Good… what do you see?”

“I see my grandmother’s house. I am playing in the tall grass, looking up at the house.”

“Go on…”

“I see my grandmother walking along the old porch. She is smiling and holding fresh cut flowers. She is humming. I think it is a hymn,” Angelica smiled.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel happy,” she spoke softly in a little girl’s voice.”

“Good… Now I want you to take a deep breath… and hold it… Now release. Take another deep breath… and hold it… and now release… Feeling so very relaxed… I want you to focus on a time when you were not so happy, in fact when you felt the most afraid. Remember, you are safe in this room with me. Do you understand that this is just a memory?”

“Okay, I understand,” Angelica said as she released an anxious breath.

“It is okay to re-enter this memory. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Good… go there now.”

Angelica was still for a moment and then suddenly she squeezed her closed eyes tight, causing her forehead to wrinkle. Her breathing sped up and became heavy, almost panting. Angelica started to shake her head slowly from side to side against the sofa pillow.

“Where are you?”

“I am at my grandmother’s house,” she spoke nervously, and as a little girl.

“What do you see?”

“No, I can’t.”

“You must,” he said sternly. “We must go further.”

Angelica shook her head rapidly. “It’s dark. I am outside of the house.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes, I think so. I don’t see anyone else.”

“Go on.”

“I’m walking in the pasture, but they are gone. I do not see them tonight.”

“Who is gone?”

“The cattle! No! No! I’m afraid,” she cried out.

“What is it? What do you see?”

“I see them!” Angelica’s voice trembled. “I see them,” she repeated in a whisper.

“Who do you see?” Dr. White asked curiously.

“They are standing around it. Oh,” she gasped, “Now they are looking at me. Their eyes are so large and dark. I am afraid.” Angelica’s voice shook. Suddenly she screamed, frightening Dr. White, causing him to go rigid.

“No! Please don’t take me! No! Please!” she screamed.

“Angelica…” he spoke quickly. “I am going to count to five, and when I am finished you will be out of trance and safe here in this room with me. One, two, three, four, five! Angelica, open your eyes!”

Angelica’s jaw was trembling as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She lay on the sofa staring blankly at the dingy, water-stained ceiling. The doctor stood up from his chair beside the sofa and moved toward her. He placed his hand back over her palm causing her to flinch and pull it away.

His face was soft and his tone gentle. “You are making such progress,” he said. “It will take some time but I believe I can help you. You were able to move beyond the house this time. You did very well.”

Angelica turned and looked into his sincere, dark blue eyes. She believed him. “Thank you,” she said, as her wet eyes probed his face. “I’m sorry I could not do what you asked.”

Dr. White wanted to help her. He gazed at her frightened pale face and light blue eyes. He knew he needed to be careful not to push her too hard, too quickly. Dr. White also knew he could become lost in her. She was as fascinating as she was beautiful. The doctor quickly turned his head and shook off the provocative thought.

Angelica sat up and adjusted her blouse, straightened her skirt, and then attempted to smooth the wrinkles out. “When should I come back to see you?”

Dr. White walked over to his desk. “In two weeks unless you would like to start coming once a week.”

Angelica glanced down and then back up to meet his eyes. “No, two weeks.” The emotional toll of the sessions had started to drain her. She felt as if she were unravelling.

“Okay then, I will see you the Thursday after next. Is the same time--eight o’clock in the morning--still good for you?” he asked.

Angelica stood up and walked over to get her purse on the wooden coat rack. “Yes, that works fine.”

“Perfect.” He smiled as he peered up from his schedule book. He stood dumbstruck at the sight of her soft, innocent posture. Then he straightened his glasses and cleared his throat.

“Yes, Thursday… we will continue to make progress. I will walk you out.”

Angelica was petite and appeared more fragile after the session. She moved in almost a floating fashion across the room. He noticed a light reflection as it bounced off a diamond pendant around her neck.

Dr. White opened the door and stepped aside so Angelica could pass through. He pulled the door closed and locked it before starting down the creaky staircase of the old building. Angelica followed quietly beside him, looking down at her feet with each step.

“I do feel better,” she said as she glanced back up and met his eyes. He nodded and quickly turned his attention to the door. As he pushed the old, heavy wooden door open, the rays of sunlight lit the lobby.

“Well hello!” a woman’s voice appeared suddenly.

“Hello Sarah, dear,” Dr. White replied.

Sarah looked oddly at Angelica. Her eyes shifted and moved down to Angelica’s expensive nude heels and gradually to her slightly unbuttoned blouse. Sarah’s mouth cracked open, hesitating before she spoke. Her cheeks pink, from the heat, against her olive skin.

“This is my wife, Sarah?” Dr. White stated in a warm tone. Sarah looked at Angelica and smiled. Angelica sensed Sarah’s smile was not sincere.

Sarah tilted her head to the side. “Aren’t you just lovely, like a delicate flower,” she said in a patronizing tone and smiled. 

Dr. White shifted timidly and stepped away from Angelica, closer to Sarah. “We just finished up… Perhaps we should be going or we’ll be late.” Dr. White took Sarah’s hand and tugged gently for her to follow his lead. Sarah remained still; she did not budge as she continued to observe Angelica.

“Yes, I must get to work,” Angelica said as she glanced away feeling uncomfortable.

Sarah softly pulled her hand from Arie’s grip. Angelica didn’t notice. She was looking downward. Her shoulders were slouched; she was distracted, still recalling the traumatic details from the session.

Angelica glanced back up blankly. “Thank you, Dr. White. I will see you again on Thursday. Nice to meet you, Sarah.”

Dr. White nodded his head and maintained a straight lip. “Yes, see you Thursday, Ms. Bradley.”

Sarah watched as Angelica rushed across the street. “Well, she’s quite lovely, wouldn’t you say, Arie?” Sarah observed Arie’s face.

“She’s a troubled young lady, Sarah.” Arie knew Sarah had a tendency to be jealous, and after the run-in, he had been hoping to avoid, he knew Sarah would inquire about Angelica the entire day.

             
A
nother unusually hot summer day in Washington, D.C. was beginning to take its toll. The thick heat was like a cosmic equalizer. Senators grabbed at their collars and loosened their ties while sweat soaked t-shirts stuck to the bodies of young men who expressed their artistic ability in the form of graffiti.

At the headquarters of the
Liberator Magazine
, it was no different. The heat of the day was symbolic of the truth. The magazine’s universal mantra was that the truth would always come out exposing itself to the light of day, if given the opportunity. Much like the constant fusion of the sun, it would painfully enlighten all that were in its presence… whether they liked it or not.

Her head pounded from the lack of sleep from the night before and the intense hypnosis session that morning with her psychiatrist, Dr. Arie White.

She sat at her desk, staring into the distance, unconsciously twirling a strand of her hair with one hand while her index finger of the other glided softly up and down a clear glass mug of coffee, once hot then turned cold.

Her uniform for the day consisted of a short cream tweed skirt, black silk blouse with the first two buttons undone, exposing perfect alabaster skin against her light blonde shoulder length hair that framed her light blue almond shaped eyes and high cheekbones. She wore red lip color and nude peep-toe heels. It was a devilish combination underpinned with the looks of an angel.

Office attire had obviously changed since the days of the turbulent 1950’s, in the aftermath of World War II, an era where woman would be considered scandalous for wearing anything other than scarce nylon stockings and knee-length skirts. Not only had journalism’s dress code changed, so had its culture, and women now dominated the field.

The décor at
the
Liberator’s Magazine
headquarters was modern and minimalist: dark brown glazed concrete floors and white painted brick walls that stood strong and confident between the panes of glass.

Amongst the mixtures of dark and light furniture, art throughout the building was comprised of vibrant abstracts with hues of blue, grey, and brown. The new building proved “
The Liberator Magazine
” was ready for the leap into the new millennium. It was a true sign of the times.