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PATRICK HEAR VOICES BY KATHY VIK CHAPTERS 5 – 8, 11-12-13

CHAPTER FIVE

The holidays passed quietly through the Benz household. Judy went to Vegas and Laughlin with a group of older women she'd befriended in yoga class. Bill and Ellie spent a quiet season cobbling together new traditions, as this was the first year that none of their kids were going to come home to celebrate. Each had compelling reasons, exciting reasons, for staying away, and neither of them could do anything but feel more and more pride, as one by one their kids checked in to tell them of all the new, budding projects each were engaged in.

Ellie was glad for the first day back to school. She liked the structure, having somewhere to report, every now and then. Her office was cold, and the coffee pot moldy, that first morning.

At the sink, scraping out huge mold flaps from her Proctor Silex, she heard a knock at her door. She turned to see Patrick's hulk standing awkwardly, leaning into the office ever so slightly, clearly, it seemed to Ellie, vigilant against the slightest sense of not being welcome.

Ellie smiled broadly, and, wiping her hands on her black jeans, she walked over to Patrick and patted him on his arm. Patrick smiled, and asked, “How are you, Mrs. Benz?”

“I am very well, Patrick,” Ellie said, “I was hoping I'd be seeing you after the holidays. Do you want a seat?”

Patrick made his way to the chair he sat in the first time they'd met. She relaxed into her chair, and asked him what was on his mind.

“Well,” Patrick began, “I think I need a little bit of help with this, Mrs. Benz. I really want to feel that good again, as good as I felt when I was standing at my locker that one time, but,” he bit his lip and looked away, “I just don't know how to get there.”

He looked out the window absently, and Ellie let him settle, finish, quiet.

He said, “Really, ever since I had that happen, I've been feeling so homesick. I wish I could tell you what for. I wish I understood any of this.”

“I'll bet you feel mighty lonely sometimes, huh?” asked Ellie.

“Gosh, Mrs. Benz,” Patrick said quietly, looking at his hands, “I know I have no right to, but I've always felt lonely. It's just that it's worse now.”

Ellie studied this big kid, sitting in a tremendous heap in her chair, and felt such absolute excitement. She knew she would have to work to get him to see this in a different light, so she got up and went to her bookcase as she talked, “There's a hypnotherapist based in Arkansas whose work you may be unfamiliar with, but I think she has something for you.”

She returned to her seat and handed Patrick a fat softcover book. This lady has helped more people than she could ever have imagined she would, people like me, and people, I think, just like you. May I tell you a story, Patrick?”

Patrick nodded.

“Have you heard about folks who are convinced they've been abducted by something, a liens, something, but they just don't know? They have missing time, weird memories that won't resolve, odd dreams. Have you heard of this phenomenon?”

Patrick said, “My dad watches Ancient Aliens. Is that what you're talking about?”

“Well, sort of,” Eillie continued. “Dolores began working with people who had seen other hypnotherapists about missing time and what not, and she developed a system to go really really deep into the subconscious. Lots of these people recovered their memories, but Dolores' work began to change, the more contact she had with these people.

She discovered that many of the people coming to her, particularly in the last couple of decades, were able to go to places while in hypnosis that had never been charted before. And what is amazing is, when in their deepest states, it's really as if there is just this one mind that does the answering. It's odd. There is a consistency with people’s experience.

Anyway, her work progressed and she has placed her findings in a book called “The Three Waves of Volunteers.” That's her book on it.” Ellie pointed to the book sitting on top of Patrick's backpack.

“I have an idea, young man,” Ellie announced. “It is highly irregular, and not in keeping with established therapeutic protocol, so you can, of course, say no, but, I would very much like to ask you to our house for dinner tonight.”

Patrick looked up, trying to shift gears as quickly as Ellie seemed to be able to.

“My kid sister and brother will be there, and Judy, our house guest, so they’ll be plenty to do. No one will make you talk if you don't want to. Wednesdays are Italian Feast days, and we wanted to really celebrate the first day back at school, so my husband is making a couple of fancy pizzas from scratch. God love him,” Ellie said, shaking her head, “The man just loves to cook. We have a dog and a cat, a back yard and lots to look at. It might be fun. And we can talk more about this stuff, it you want.”

Patrick had never been asked over to a teacher's house for supper, but his dad was working until nine, and all he had to look forward to in the fridge was leftover meatloaf. Patrick agreed, and went back to class with Ellie's big book stuffed inside his already jammed backpack.

CHAPTER SIX

Judy parked her Prius in her alley spot, and took off her boots in the mud room. She could hear voices through the old misaligned door leading to the cavernous kitchen. She did not like what she heard.

Judy only then remembered that it was Wednesday. She prepared herself, and walked into the warmth of the kitchen she most enjoyed alone, in the wee hours.

“Oh! Look! Judy went shopping!” a booming voice said, feeling a little overwhelmed by all the commotion. Judy immediately braced herself for the bear hug she expected, and got.

Bernie was Ellie's sister, a frequent guest at the house, and someone Judy just couldn't fully understand.

Bernie was just five feet high, built like a terrier, solid and muscular, with only one or two places on her that seemed soft. Her hair was a tangle of dreads, and her clothes almost mannish. Today she was sporting a tie dye t shirt and ripped jeans, Birkenstocks and white socks. Seemingly unable to read social cues, Bernie barreled over to Judy and gave her a tight hug, while saying softly to Judy, “I hope it's going well for you today, sister.”

Cutting vegetables on the kitchen;s marble island was Kevin, Ellie's other sibling. He was quiet, so much so that it was others who told her how to deal with him. “Don't sweat it if he doesn't talk,” Judy had been told, “He means no harm. He's just quiet,” was what Judy had been told when she moved in, happy to discover this huge gentle man lugging in her boxes at twice the clip of anyone else.

“Oh, I'm good,” Judy said, politely extricating herself from Bernie’s hug.

“You really don't cotton to me, do ya, friend?” Bernie said.

And that is why she did not like Bernie. No filter, that woman has no filter.

“I like you just fine, Bernie,” Judy said, straightening out her shirt. “I'm just more sedate than you, that's all.”

“Ellie invited a guest tonight, Judy. A kid from school, Patrick. Have you heard about him?”

Judy said she hadn't, and started for the door, wanting to put away her purchases before lending a hand with supper.

“Oh, please, don't leave without letting me see what you got!” Ellie said, “I see 'Coach' on one of those shopping bags. You know I'm a big softie for purses!”

Judy was sheepish about these latest purchases. She knew she was going just a little nuts with her money, but didn't feel a need to change her ways until her divorce was final.

She reluctantly showed her friends what she'd picked up at the Outlet mall in Castle Rock that day. She had Kevin go out to her car and bring in two pieces of ceramic ovenware she'd found for bill and Ellie. Once all the purchases were “Ooh's and ahh's over,” as Ellie called it, Judy was released from this crush of attention, and spent a few minutes alone, readying for the evening.

“I like Judy,” Bernie said to no one in particular. “She's fussy, in a good way. She is a real lady, you know?”

Ellie poured her sister another cocoa, put on the radio to KBCO, and then excused herself for the bathroom. In her absence, Bill told Bernie where the schnapps was. “You OK with MC Yogi?” Bernie asked the boys. Bill told her to put on what she wanted, and started loading his pizza with the goodies Kevin had been cutting up.

“So, what more do you know about this Patrick fellow,bill? Bernie asked.

“All I know is that he's a kid who had an experience at school that Ellie thinks is really special. She tells me he is just awakening, and needs some instruction. It doesn't surprise me that you're here for his dinner with us.” He smiled at Bernie, and tossed her a fat slice of Portabello mushroom.

“Yeah, well, always the explorer, right?” Bernie answered lightly.

“What is that cat doing on the counter, Bill?” Kevin asked.

“Spaz is allowed anywhere we are allowed, Kevin, but, yeah, it's sort of gross at dinner time. Shoo!” Bill responded.

“SO,” Bill said, “all I really know is that Ellie thinks this Patrick had an even like all of us have had, you know, the lights sort of going on,” and with that each of then smiled quiet, knowing smiles. “She doesn't know what sort of support he has, what sort of teachers he has had before now, and she just really wants to help him.”

“All right,” said Bernie. “I'll tone it down for our new friend.”

Bill slid two huge pizzas into the oven, and came up saying, “i know you get in Judy's face because you see her as fussy. I know you're a gentle one, Bernie. You can't fool me.”

Kevin wiped his hands on his embroidered apron and went over to Bernie, then, and gave her a big bear hug.

CHAPTER SIX

Ellie found herself in her meditation chair, in her beloved bedroom, before dinner. With all the bustle below, it seemed, perhaps, counterintuitive to meditate, but she'd long ago stopped arguing with this urge.

Living in the attic afforded her silence, no matter what was happening in the house. Although she could feel, as if they were points of tremendous light or power, the other souls in her home, up in her attic, all of it went to a dull throb, a throb of pleasure, really, knowing her home was alive again with others, but here, here she knew peace.

With a breath and a smile, a settling occurred. She asked to feel loved,to feel embraced, and she asked her family to come and sit with her.

She saw her dining room table ringed with glowing beings, each with a different scent. This was new, and she enjoyed inhabiting the scents of her guests. Patchouli, Jasmine, Pine, Sage, these smells crescendoed and became a singular note of rose, and then something happened.

She saw an old one standing by the table, casting into the space a certain sense of calm. She found herself then standing next to the ancient one, and asked him questions. Of course, nothing was said aloud. She stayed with this vision until she felt complete. Then she got up, changed her clothes into her off-duty uniform of jeans and an oxford shirt, and padded downstairs.

On the second floor landing she heard MC Yogi rapping “Ganesh is Fresh!” and heard her loved ones rapping back. The house smelled of garlic and curry and cucumbers.

She got to setting the table, and Judy joined her. Judy knew about presentation, and Ellie watched Judy transform the table into a space fit for a king's feast. A bit of cloth, some candles, proper placement of things just so, oh! She loved to watch Judy work. They finished and took to what Ellie called “The cabin,' a little sun room off the front room constructed with whole logs, and huge panels of glass. Ellie fetched some wine for the two of them, and they watched the traffic stream past them. Neither talked, and neither felt alone.

The dog was at the door before the bell rang. Buttercup was an old Golden Retriever, nearly blind, older than dirt. Patrick was here.

CHAPTER SEVEN

After school had let out, Patrick had spent the intervening time at Tattered Cover on Colfax. He lived in Aurora, and didn't like traffic. He'd been reading the book Mrs. Benz had given him, and had nearly been late for dinner, so engrossed had be become.

On the short drive to the Benz house, Patrick formulated his questions. He figured Mrs. Benz knew more than she was saying about all of this, and he felt surprise and delight, the closer he got to her house.

The house was built up on the side of a hill, as many old Victorians were in this neighborhood. The stone steps leading up the her house were shallow and poorly lit. He'd looked up bounding up the stairs and saw Mrs. Benz and an older woman sitting in wing back chairs in a room overlooking the house. He waved, but they'd not seen him.

He was welcomed in to a house that was at least a hundred years old, he reckoned. It was in good repair, and had a lived in feel. It was a whole lot bigger from the inside than from the outside, and it smelled like heaven.

A dog slobbered on his hand, a cat bumped his legs and meowed, and he was greeted by four adults, all smiling at him and happy to see him. Curious.

They led him into the kitchen, and Ellie gave him a tour of the goodies they were going to eat. Pizza, some curry dish with rice, a fruit salad, a vegetable plate, all prepared like he expected a fancy restaurant would do it. He felt uncomfortable when he realized this spread was to celebrate his presence there.

He responded the only way he knew how, he got quiet, shy, and let the loud ones take the lead. They started their meal almost immediately upon his arrival, and for that he was grateful. Ellie seemed to look out for him, as each of the grown ups introduced themselves, and then became increasingly interested in discussing the politics of the day.

What Patrick noticed was these people didn't so much argue as build on the points the others were making. He'd never seen adults be quite so collaborative. They asked him about school, about his family, and he offered a few stories, but a rather incomplete version of his life so far.

The mood continued to be light and fun, all through the meal, and he noticed that none of them drank more than their first glass of wine. He kept waiting for them to get weird, but they didn't.

He liked Bernie. He sat between Bernie and Mrs. Benz, Ellie, he was told to call her outside of school. Bernie had so many stories. She'd been everywhere, it seemed to Patrick, listening to her tales of traveling and discovery. He didn't believe half of what she said she'd done, but that was only because he'd never met anyone quite so colorful.

“So, me and Graham camped right outside of the Zone of Silence, you know?” Bernie was saying, over fruit and ice cream. “I wasn't convinced it was such a good idea, but he couldn't be argued with. I think it messed with his head a little, being there.”

The group was silent, now, listening to Bernie's story.

“Graham knocked out right away, but I had a hard time getting to sleep that night. Finally, after midnight, I drifted off.

The next thing I knew, I found myself on a bluff overlooking the Zone. Graham was still in the tent, I saw, and then, the most amazing thing happened. I saw this big fire ball come down from the sky, and it sat there on the desert floor, burning and crackling. Just this big orange ball of light. It sort of looked like fire, through, you know?”

Bernie took the last gulp of her wine and continued, “Then these little balls of orange light emerged from the big ball, and they floated up to the bluff I was on. I felt more and more excited and happy as they came up, and by the time they were right next to me, I felt this incredible bliss.”

She sighed, her eyes glazed, and she sat there, quietly, reliving the thing.

“Then they turned into whales, for some reason, which made no sense to me, so I asked them if we could go get in the water. The next thing I knew, were were under the sea, and they'd called to them this big delegation of their fellow beings. But then the scene morphed, and we all were human again, and in an underwater cave where we could breathe air. It was a classroom, actually, part of a big university, they told me. I don't remember much after that, but, the next day, I felt different. We left the Zone after a week, and every night these orange beings came to me in my dreams. The bliss was so intoxicating.”

By this time Krishna Das was on the stereo, singing God is Real, the last cut on a pretty album Patrick had decided to download when he got home.

“It's probably a good thing Judy wasn't here for that,” Bernie concluded. “She doesn't strike me as someone who appreciates this sort of thing. How about you, Patrick? What do you think?”

“Well, I don't really know Judy...” Pa\trick trailed off.

“Actually,” Ellie said, “Judy is a very fine woman with traditional belief structures, but, you know, Bernie, not everyone has to believe this stuff. You and I have always gone round and round on that point.”

Bernie's smile was misshapen by the huge wad of bread she'd just put in there. “I know,” she answered with a full mouth. “I don't really care how people get there, anymore, though, sis. I have loosened my expectations. You know I think it's unfair that those death cults focus on that one bad day of his, instead of all the teaching Jesus did, but I know my take isn't compulsory.”

Patrick watched these women banter, volleying big ideas back and forth. He'd never had so much variety in a dinner conversation, and he was enjoying watching it all unfold. He was not convinced he had an opinion on any of it quite yet.

“Say, Patrick,” Bill asked, “You wanna watch the game? Broncos versus Cowboys tonight. Set to start in a few minutes.”

“Actually,” Patrick said, while checking his phone for messages and the time, “I still have a couple things to do tonight, but I play for East High. I'd love to watch the next one with you, if that's alright.”

They nodded to each other, smiling, and the table got quiet, a natural lull in conversation.

Ellie decided to bring up the book she'd given Patrick, “You haven't had a chance to look at that Dolores Cannon book yet, have you, Patrick?”

“Oh my God! Grandma Cannon!” Bernie declared. “I went to her training. She's amazing.” Bernie turned to Ellie and asked, “Which one did you give him? Convoluted Universe Three?”

“No,” Ellie said, “The Three Waves of Volunteers.”

“Good call,” Bernie said, while she lighted a smoke.

Kevin said, “You're supposed to go out back with that, Bernie. I'll go with you.” He fished an unfiltered Camel from his shirt pocket, got up and followed Bernie through the kitchen. Patrick followed them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The evening had wound down, Bill was watching the first quarter of the Bronco's game, and Patrick began to feel restless. He had somewhere else he wanted to be.

He'd been relieved that no more was said about Dolores Cannon's work. He liked what she was writing about, and wanted to have the book come alive for himself, didn't want anyone's interpretation or spin on this. They'd stayed light the remainder of their time together, and had excused himself once the idea of charades had come up.

At the door, Ellie and Bernie stood, making sure he was zipped up and his keys were out. He liked being mothered, and let them fuss, until he'd thrown his huge backpack over his shoulder.

In the car, he turned the radio to the game, and drove twenty miles in the opposite direction of the house he and his dad shared out on Tower Road. At a light, Patrick texted his dad, telling him he'd be home after school tomorrow, and then called ahead, asking if his cot could be made up.

He was parked outside the hospice before bedtime meds, and for this he was grateful. When he made unplanned nighttime visits, if he arrived too late, he had to wait until the deep hours before his mom stirred.

He stood outside her room, 223, and looked at her, quietly breathing, more skeletal that a month ago, impossibly alive, after everything she'd been through.

She and her dad divorced before he'd reached preschool, but had become friends, as he grew up. He'd never known the details over why they split, but trusted them both when they both told him they'd simply come to the end of their path together.

As he made his way to his cot under the window, he noticed the room smelled sickly sweet, but not in a flowery way, more of in a body way, a smell that did not sit right to him but he didn't know how to discuss politely.

He was as quiet as he could be, and slipped into his bed still dressed. He fished his transistor radio out of his backpack, and placed it on his pillow, once he'd found the game.

He layed on his cot, thinking about his odd new friends. He rubbed his belly and scooted his hips over, his frame overfilling the thin bed frame. Without wanting to, he let a tremendous, billowing fart.

From his mom's bed, he heard a reedy voice, “Good one.” he looked over, and saw that his mom's eyes were shining in the moonlight. A few tufts of her red hair stuck out of her pink turban. She was smiling.

So was he.

“I thought you were sleeping,” Patrick said quietly.

“Oh, I was, I think,” Lucy answered. “The radio is nice.”

She held out her hand. He reached over and held it, until Judy, her usual evening nurse, came in with bedtime meds.

Lucy reluctantly took them, crushed and bitter as they were, knowing oblivion would soon overtake her. For some reason, the whole thing made her sad just then. The illness, that her son had to sleep this night on a little aluminum cot, that little rectangle she'd come to know as home, and quietly, she cried, trying to hide it from her son.

He'd gone to the restroom, and found her dabbing her eyes.

He asked, “Mom, is it OK?”

She answered, “Yes, my dear, please.”

She shifted her spent body just enough, and Patrick, her baby, her big man, crawled into her bed, covering her like a living shroud, and she drifted off.