The Resurrectionist Read online

  “Excuse me? Are you saying I’m a cow?”

  “No. No, I actually, I’m not sure why I said that,” hoping my honesty would soften the blow.

  “You better not be making fun of me for spending all day neck deep in turkey crap and then covering the second shift at my aunt's cafe. I might smell like today’s meatloaf special but what gives you the right?"

  “No ma’am. I was just, um, you work where?”

  “Who the hell is this guy?” Monika asked, turning to see Corbin’s jaw stuck wide open.

  “Oh hey Monika, let me introduce to you to Will. He is our newest member, I guess.”

  Corbin made a weak attempt to introduce us. Monika shook her head, wanting nothing to do with me. Like the new kid at school, I kept my distance. Despite her apparent hatred of everything about me, I wanted to know everything about her.

  Long blonde hair flowed just past her shoulders. She exuded a slim waist and perfect chest that any woman would be jealous of. Deep blue eyes pierced my soul on the rare occasion I had enough courage to gaze into them. This girl would be a handful, but worth every effort to get to know. I wonder if she will ever feel the same about me.

  “What? Are you just gonna to stand around?” Monika waved Justin along.

  “I’ll get the table and candles prepared,” Justin said.

  “Corbin, can you please shut these damn lights and beepers off! They're driving me nuts!” Monika said. “I’m going to prepare.”

  It didn’t take a genius to see the pattern. Monika had a bossy, take charge and gives orders personality. The kind I hate. I don’t have a problem taking orders from a female; it’s not that. It’s the way people like her go about it that gets under my skin.

  “Yeah Will,” Corbin said. “You just seem to get used to it after a while. She doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s just her way.”

  “Oh really, thanks for letting me know,” I said. She’ll quickly change her way. I don’t deal with those types.

  How did Corbin seem to know what I was thinking, it’s not like I told him I didn’t like the way Monika barged in here and took control.

  “Ok, I think everything is set. We’re ready to roll. Hey Will, can you hit the light switch on the wall there?” Justin said. The noise and lights stopped, there was calm.

  “Um, sure,” I replied, blindly doing what I was told.

  Justin and Corbin lit two-dozen white long stemmed candles and placed them at various spots around the room. Corbin looked towards me, “the candles create a warm, inviting atmosphere.” I nodded in agreement to avoid awkward disagreement. The side door flung open and Monika walked in. She wasn’t the same person I met earlier. She failed to make eye contact with any of us. Her mind crossed into a different reality from our own.

  “Are you ready Monika?” Justin asked. Monika starred forward. “Alright then, everyone form a circle and hold hands. Clear your minds and focus on the computer image.”

  The symbols drawn on the basement wall flashed through my mind sending warning signals to my brain. “Wait!” I said. “I know what this is. You guys are trying to channel the spirit of that crazy old doctor, Sunny Miller. I want no part of it. Let me out of here!”

  Justin sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous Will. We’re not naive brainless Outsiders. We're here to help people. Please, humor us for a minute.”

  “No, I don’t do magic or séances or whatever this is. It isn’t right.”

  Corbin looked at Justin. “Told you he wouldn’t go for it. Too afraid of God’s wrath.”

  "Tell ya what. If I pass out or get struck by lightning during this you can have all the computers in this lab." Justin said.

  "Some wager, they're all mine anyway." Corbin laughed.

  "Come on Will, I'm only joking. Nothing bad's gonna happen. Maybe you're more like the Puritans than I thought."

  Justin's arrogance struck a nerve. Against the advice of the angel on my shoulder I decided to play along. I wasn't a religious extremist like the Puritan preachers in town. Justin and Corbin weren’t going to make me look like a fool in front of Monika. I took Corbin’s right hand and Justin’s left as we formed a triangle with Monika in the middle. She sat on top of the table with her legs crossed, palms turned outward, and eyes closed. Monika’s breathing started to slow and deepen. She hummed a weird chant that I was unable to make sense of. We waited fifteen minutes, with sweaty palms and tired hands. The whole thing felt pointless.

  “Tell us what's troubling you? Why are you attempting to contact us?” Monika said. A few minutes of silence passed. “Tell me what your pain is.”

  "Escape." Voices made themselves known but weren’t from human vocal cords.

  “Can you give us your name?” Monika asked. “Why do you keep repeating the word ESCAPE?” My body fell weightless, my mind turned off all thought, attention focused inward to the bodiless voices. “Who are you?” She asked again. The voices whirled around us, sounding from all sides.

  “Names are unimportant.”

  “Why do you need us?” Monika said.

  “For the rescue mission. We've never been this close, to finally have the key amongst us. We're going to-"

  “Are you in pain?” Monika asked again.

  “What are you doing? You just cut them off.” I said.

  “What do you mean I just cut them off,” Monika replied. “Now we’ve lost them, thanks a lot!”

  “Why in the world are you blaming me?” My neck was on fire, boiling blood pounding against the vessels. “You’ve got some nerve.”

  “You should talk,” Monika growled.

  “Me. You’re the one that screwed it up!”

  My grip tightened around Corbin’s hand. “Dammit Will!” He shouted.

  “Alright you two, enough,” Justin spoke softly. “We need to focus on finding out who these voices belong to and see if we can get them back.”

  I took a few steps back and arched my spine. Monika’s icy gaze sent a clear message. She was uneasy about having this new guy being let in on the group’s secrets.

  Justin asserted himself as all leaders do. “Alright, we can’t do anything more tonight. It’s past midnight and I think we all should get some rest. We need to prepare for what’s to come.” Nobody said a word. Corbin and Monika packed their belongings and left.

  “I know you have a lot of questions, Will, but put them aside for now. I’ll fill you in as we go. We're doing an investigation this weekend. There’s a house in a small town north of here. I’d like you to come. Just watch, see what we're about, what we do. Don’t worry about the others. They're just highly dedicated to the work we do. It’s not easy for them to trust.” Justin said as I drove us both home.

  “How do you know it’s haunted?” I asked.

  “There have been five owners in the past three years. That’s a major red flag.”

  “Sounds like termites?” I smirked.

  “Just try and get some rest.” Justin didn’t fist bump as he normally did when I dropped him off. I had a million questions that I wanted answered now, but I was exhausted.

  “Ok Justin, see ya at school tomorrow.”

  Chapter 3

  "Hi Will," her voice was exceptionally bubbly.

  "Oh, Hi Allison." My face lit up along with every blood vessel in it. I dove into my locker, pretending to search for a lost book.

  There's a cruel phenomenon within all of us. It teases us, misleads us, lies to us. It tells us we are the one, the next big thing, the only one holding the million dollar ticket. That's how it was with Allison Channing. I knew this adversary well, I believed anyway.

  "So, you going to the Lodge next weekend?"

  "Oh, is there a party?" I asked. Questions divert attention away from yourself yielding a slight calming effect.

  "Yeah, after the game. I really hope you guys win." Allison said.

  The Lodge is the nickname of the party house kids at my school go to on the weekends. It's just an old cabin in the woods, once
quite elaborate though."

  "Hey, hey, hey, my two favorite people." Justin came running up, putting his arm around Allison as if they were best friends."

  "Hi Justin. How's life treatin' ya." Allison said.

  "Oh you know. I've got the looks of an Abercrombie model and the soul of Ghandi, can't complain."

  Allison laughed. I was annoyed.

  “Hey Will,” Justin said. “What class ya heading to?”

  “I gotta get to math.”

  “Let’s meet up afterward.”

  “Whatever."

  "You're such a charmer, Will. How do you do it?"

  I gave Justin a scowl as he turned his back.

  "My lady." Justin held out his arm, gesturing to escort Allison to her next class.

  "Oh wait, today’s Friday.” I called out.

  “Yeah, so what.” Justin said.

  “Um, I have to meet with Mr. Johnson after class to go over some homework. I meet with him most Friday’s.”

  "You’re such a brownnoser.” Justin's eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "Let us depart my lady." Allison locked arms with Justin and both went skipping down the hallway. I wanted to shoot him.

  I didn’t like lying but it was better than the alternative. I had been meeting with Dr. Z on Friday’s for about a month now. I was reluctant at first but my parents insisted after they learned I was having difficulty paying attention in class. The school social worker had me tested for ADHD. Not the squirrely, can’t stay in your seat type, but the absent minded, can’t hold a thought in your head type. The tests came back negative and I didn’t meet criteria for an ADHD diagnosis, but the social worker thought I could benefit from meeting with Dr. Z. She said it would help me to "better connect with my peers,” whatever that meant.

  Some of the kids criticized me for being aloof. It wasn’t that. I just had secrets. Secrets that were killing me, but I would rather die than have them exposed. So I remained distant, stayed guarded, and stayed safe. I wanted desperately to connect with them, to be part of their group, to fit in. It just wasn’t in the cards. I was different from them. Maybe they were different from me. It didn’t matter. Difference creates fear. Fear leads to anger. The anger that I masked and kept hidden was born from frustration, from not being understood. I stuffed it down, buried it deep.

  Despite my initial reluctance I found the meetings with Dr. Z helpful. Dr. Z. was an old soul with boyish features, soft green eyes, and a kind smile. Despite his youthful appearance he often joked that he was, "pushing 70." Dr. Z. was confined to a wheelchair. He never talked about it and I never asked. He had a background in Theology, but was different from the crazy preachers in town. He never forced his beliefs on you. Dr. Z. allowed you to have your own mind without condemning you to hell for it. A lot of what he talked about made sense. He helped me recognize how my thoughts made me anxious and distracted, especially around others. He never officially diagnosed me. He said that he didn’t believe in labels. Best I could tell from self-diagnosing Internet searches was that I suffered symptoms related to generalized and social anxiety.

  “Willy, come on in.” Dr. Z greeted me in his office.

  “You’re the only other person who calls me Willy, well, other than my grandfather who’s been dead for five years.” I said.

  “Does it bother you? Please tell me if it does.”

  “No, it’s nice actually. We were close. You kind of remind me a little of him, at least your personalities.” I said.

  “Well, I'm going to leave that memory for your Grandfather. It's Will from here on out. Tell me, how has your anxiety been?” I wiped the moisture from my hands onto the legs of my pants. The anticipation of having to speak honestly about my feelings was more alarming to my body than someone sneaking up behind me with a blow horn. My eyes darted around the room. The plant on his desk. The ugly yellow shades on his window. "Who’s that?" I gestured toward a painting on the wall.

  "You're not answering the question, Will."

  “Oh, um, I feel more panicky in the morning. It’s hard to get going and feel motivated. I just get so nervous before school. My stomach hurts a lot.”

  “Is there anything that triggers your anxiety in the morning?” Dr. Z. asked.

  “Not that I can think of."

  “Try to recall the thoughts you have in the morning before school.”

  “I don’t know. I always feel like I’m being judged by others. Like if they really knew how messed up I was they would be appalled. I don’t want them to think I’m a loser or see me as weak. I guess the thoughts make me anxious and then the stomachache comes which intensifies everything. Thinking about panic makes me panic. If I could just forget.”

  Dr. Z. leaned forward is his chair. “Do you see the loop? Think about a digital media player and how it plays songs over and over again. It does this because the minicomputer inside tells it to. Your brain is that minicomputer. The more you focus on something the more intense it will become. Distraction. Distraction. Distraction. It's the only way to break the cycle. Tell me Will, what else helps you manage the symptoms?"

  "I pray, a lot, but I don't think it helps."

  "Why not?"

  "It helps for a little bit, then I start thinking about having a panic attack and it comes back."

  "What do you do then?"

  "Start over."

  "Say more."

  "I start my ritual over. Get on my knees, pray, stand up, get back down, pray, touch my heart seven times, make sure I didn't mess up the rug on the bathroom floor, and then touch the doorknob with three taps before leaving."

  "Yes Will, I'm quite familiar with your routine. The reason your prayers don't work is because they come from a place of desperation. Tell me about this feeling of messing up?”

  “So God won’t be angry.” The words were out before I realized that I had spoken them.

  “You’re afraid God will punish you if you don’t pray the way he wants you to?” Dr. Z. raised his brow. I thought about Justin and Corbin’s comments last night, that I was afraid of God. Were they right? If so, how could they see it and not me?

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you been practicing your coping skills, breathing and distraction exercises when you feel compelled to start a ritual?" Dr. Z. asked.

  “I have. They help a little.”

  “Good Will, keep practicing. The more you practice staying with the moment and accepting your feelings, the more your brain will rewire itself. Over time your anxiety will weaken. Each time you engage in a ritual you are avoiding anxiety. Avoidance keeps you trapped.”

  “I get that. I just wish it didn’t take so long. I wish it wasn’t so hard. I feel so alone sometimes, so isolated. I can't tell my friends, they wouldn't get it.”

  “It is a learning process Will. Compulsions are acts of desperation. Acute anxiety is devastating. People who haven't experienced it don't understand the pain it causes. It's only natural to want to fight it but it takes time. Your brain needs practice and repetition to learn a new skill. You've been thinking anxious thoughts for so long your brain doesn’t know any better. Would you expect to lose one hundred pounds in one week if you were obese?”

  “No."

  “Well, psychological disorders work the same way,” he said. “Give yourself a lot of credit. You have to deal with all of the same things that kids without mental health concerns have to deal with. It’s a heavy challenge, but I have no doubt you are the person to take it on."

  "It feels like a curse.” I said.

  "You don't have to fight this alone. You said you couldn't tell your friends. Maybe in time you can. They may not truly understand, nobody can understand your experience but you, that doesn't mean they won't support you. What about Allison?”

  “Oh God, are you kidding?”

  “By the way you describe her she sounds like the right person, warm, caring, compassionate.” Dr. Z. said.

  “She is.”

  “Do you still carry the heart?” He asked.
<
br />   I reached in my pocket and pulled out the charm.

  “Why not tell her then?”

  I had known Allison since elementary school. She meant everything to me but didn’t know it because I could never bring myself to tell her.

  “Do you enjoy torturing people for a living?” I asked. “You put on this front that you’re this spiritual person, but I think there’s more. There’s a darkness in you.”

  Dr. Z. gave a hearty laugh and I couldn’t help but crack a smile as he reached out and gave my knee a playful slap.

  “Just be open to the possibility. You never know if the opportunity will arise. You’re on the verge of a great awakening. You have an opportunity to experience how these disorders affect your life.” Dr. Z. said.

  “Why would I want to experience that?”

  “There’s reason and purpose for everything. Experiences develop character. Challenges in life awaken the spirit. Be careful. With any great gift comes tremendous responsibility. Because of the difficult nature of psychological disorders it can be easy to slip off the path and lose your way.”

  “Slip off the path?”

  “Some people turn to drugs, alcohol, sex, extremes of all kinds. They wind up in a hell of their own creation.” Dr. Z. said.

  “I assure you, I’m not headed down that path."

  “Nobody purposely heads down that path. Always, it sneaks up. People don’t realize it until they spiral down, out of control. That’s when they cry out for help.” I sat back in my chair. “Now tell me Will, how’s your anger?”

  My chest tightened. “I’m not angry. I keep telling you that but you don’t listen. To be honest it’s frustrating.”

  “Ok, Will, you’re not ready to talk and that’s fine.” Dr. Z said. I remained silent. Anger was the one thing we didn’t see eye-to-eye about. Dr. Z said anger was the one chain that could prove most difficult for me to break. I wasn’t convinced. He called it denial.