Failing Upward

Chapter 4 (part 4): Hidden Hills

"Lie back on the chair. Close your eyes. Tense your whole body. Now slowly relax every part of you. Start at the top of your head and move down...slowly... relax. Now you feel very light. Pretend you are weightless. Floating. Slowly lifting to the ceiling..."

At this point, I really did feel light headed. He lifted my arm.

"... you are walking through a garden. It is the most beautiful garden you've ever seen...you hear water gently flowing in a stream... you feel at peace... ahead you see a beautiful sunset... you walk toward it... one...two... three steps you take... with each step you take, you are more and more relaxed... four...five...six, the sunset is getting closer...seven... eight..."

"John? John?" I heard in a fog. I wasn't clear at first where I was. Then I remembered and looked at the clock-- 6:34. I think it was Sherlock and Dr. Peter Deal calling me, but my vision was a bit blurry.

"What did I say? Did I tell you what the card said?" I asked.

"No, you didn't," said Sherlock.

"What about Lestrade? What did he say to me?"

"You couldn't remember anything about that either," Sherlock said.

"Then what the hell did I talk about for over two hours?" I asked, frowning at the clock on the wall.

They looked at each other.

"Hmm, where to start? Do you want to take this one Sherlock?"

I stared at them.

"You have a really excellent imagination," Sherlock said. "I always knew that, but now I have proof positive. I'm glad you recorded him," he turned to the doctor. "He has a thing about recording sessions. He doesn't do video, but he has audio. I took notes too. Not that I could ever forget a word." He leafed through the yellow memo pad now filled with his notes.

"Well?" I said, trying to glimpse what was on the pad. I didn't like this. What could I possibly have said that could fill that many pages?

"You could be the next Taylor Caldwell," Dr. Deal said as he sat forward in his seat. "You recalled a past life. You were this school teacher..."

"What the hell? How did this happen?" I said to the good doctor. "I thought you said this type of thing doesn't happen. Spontaneous..."

The doctor held up his hand. "This wasn't spontaneous...exactly..."

"Then what exactly was it?" I asked, angrily.

"Exactly?" the doctor said. "When I got nowhere with the questions, Sherlock mentioned that you said you wanted to stop licking your lips, but he really didn't want you to stop. And on an aside we talked about the discussion you had on the way here about past lives. I never suggested it."

"Don't blame Deal. It was my fault. He's worried about malpractice. All I said was regress ," Sherlock said. "And Bang--you started talking about your life as a school teacher named Daniel Camden in the year 1870 living in Freeport, Michigan. You think you're having a bad time in this life! What's happened to you in the past weeks is nothing compared to what that school teacher went through."

It was one of those times that I felt like punching him.

"That," said Deal, sensing my heat, "is exactly the point. A way for your psyche to heal. Telling yourself...life could be worse. Very constructive actually."

I wondered if he was trying to justify letting Sherlock "suggest" a past life to me. Didn't strike me as very professional. But look where he practices. I searched at the walls for his diploma. What University did he hail from anyway--the Pillsbury Doughboy School of Psychology?