Читать книгу Finding X - Laura Laforce - Страница 5

Staring at the endless paperwork heaped on my desk, I sipped on my latte wishing away the mess. There was a column to write. A stack of fan mail sat unanswered. Loose papers needed filing, when a vision of heavy gold handcuffs suddenly appeared. Huge golden links embraced my right wrist. The other cuff remained open, lying on my desk. I couldn’t see myself in trouble. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I sat briefly wondering what this was about.

The energy accompanying these restraints was strangely liberating. It was as if someone was being set free. In the spirit world, gold is always good. Rather than jumping to conclusions, I chose to deal with my paperwork instead.

I grabbed the first piece of fan mail and started my reply. This is when an image of black capital solid letter “B” struck my third eye. This italicized font resembled those which spelled “B” as in Bin Laden in previous news headlines.

Another vision revealed a headless skeleton surrounded in fuchsia pink, indicating fury from the spiritual aspect. A missing skull represents the cause of death. This would mean the person had either been shot through the head or beheaded. I knew for a long time that he was still alive. I knew his death would be a sudden surprise.

I spent a few moments piecing together what I’d seen. I had recently seen a rash of eastern political deaths, including Bin Laden’s, but never entertained them. Obviously this was extremely important, but I couldn’t understand why.

I forced myself back into the reality of my paperwork. Within a couple of hours it was finally complete. I retreated to the living room with my husband TJ and switched on the television for a much needed break.

We were watching TV when the news of Osama Bin Laden’s death hit. A speech from the balcony of the White House was being delivered. My ears started ringing loudly, diverting my attention. I shut my eyes to receive an urgent message coming in from beyond.

In an instant a similar, but much smaller balcony, was revealed. Thick black lines outlined the perimeter, reflecting danger. I opened my eyes and shut them again hoping this would stop. Again the same dire warning played out. This time the drawing included a tall slender tower in the distance. The drawing always started at the bottom left and ended in the upper right hand corner, resembling the old red Etch A Sketch boards with the two white knobs many played with as children.

Afterwards a dark number “6” hung in midair. The number was a time indicator. Did this refer to May sixth, six days, the month of June, six weeks or six months? I wasn’t sure, but this wasn’t good.

Explicit visions warned me of a looming terrorist attack in Washington DC. Visions of threatening drawings reflecting danger were repeatedly sent to me. I knew without a doubt an attack was being planned. Consequences would be deadly if the progression wasn’t stopped. Drawn events can be prevented or altered, but they need to be somehow delivered.

“Spirit,” I uttered in total desperation sitting at my desk. “Please, don’t show me this any more. I don’t want to be involved. I don’t know how to help. Send it to someone more capable.” I closed my eyes again and the drawings immediately stopped.

The drawings resurfaced hours later on the living room wall. This time I spotted these with my open eyes.

“Laura,” interrupted TJ with a concerned tone in his voice. “What’s going on? You seem to be disturbed. You’re looking off in the distance. Aren’t you interested in watching your favourite TV show?” TJ moved closer and sat directly beside me.

“I was trying to watch, but I keep seeing these horrible images being drawn on the wall. A terrorist attack is being planned in Washington DC. Lives will be lost, if this evil attack isn’t stopped.” I spoke in an upsetting tone trying to contain myself.

A wave of chills hit the both of us. Goosebumps and standing hairs plastered our forearms.

“What are you going to do about this?” TJ hesitantly asked, completely ignoring the TV.

“I’m not sure. I’ve contemplated calling the police, but I’m leery of them. The problem is they want concrete facts. I don’t feel I have enough details. Not everyone is receptive to what I do. I don’t know if they’ll listen to some random Canadian.” I sat beside TJ, leaning up against him.

“I sense you’re very uneasy with this situation. I’m sure you’ll find a way to deal with it. Remember when you used to complain about things being too soon and that you weren’t ready yet. Your spirit guides are pushing you in a new direction.” TJ tenderly reached over and squeezed my hand trying to reassure me.

“This one takes the cake, though. If I say something, I risk the chance of getting into lots of trouble. If I keep this to myself, many innocent people will end up dead.” I sat fidgeting, unable to relax.

That night, I lay awake, unable to sleep. The disturbing images I had been shown kept running through my mind. While TJ slept, I sat on the edge of our bed contemplating what to do. An old fashioned black telephone popped before my eyes. Shortly before three o’clock in the morning, I climbed out of bed.

I rushed down the dark hallway into my cold office and flipped on the lights. Switching on the computer, I hunkered down in my squeaky leather chair. I ambitiously searched the web for law enforcement agencies in Washington DC. I needed to figure out which party to call. I’d never dealt with terrorism before. Three choices with numbers were displayed on my screen. These were: the Washington Police Department, FBI or the White House Police. “Spirit, help me,” I begged. The curser instantly moved by itself, lighting up the number that I needed to call. I quickly picked up the phone and dialled the number before I lost the courage.

“Washington Command Post,” a tired male’s soft voice answered.

“Is this the Washington Police Department?” I expected a high pitched rushed telephone operator, not a relaxed gentleman on the other end of the line.

“You’ve reached the command post. I’m the commander, what can I help you with?”

“I’m a psychic medium calling from Canada. I’m calling to warn you of a terrorist attack being planned in Washington DC.” I paused, allowing the officer time to digest what I had said.

“What do you know about an upcoming terrorist attack?” The commander asked.

“I’ve been shown, through progressive drawings, the back balcony of the White House. There is a tall skinny tower about a football field away factored into the scene. Number six keeps being revealed after every frame.” I tried desperately to catch my winded shaking breath.

“What importance does the number have?” The commander inquired, trying to piece together what I had told him.

“Six is a time line. This attack could happen on May sixth, but it could also happen in six weeks, the month of June or six months from now.” I tried to help him understand by pointing out the other possibilities.

“You’re saying this could happen four days from now? Is this correct?” The commander tried to search for confirmation.

“Yes, it could, but timelines are hard to figure out. All I know is when I see things they happen, unless they are stopped.” I seriously hoped he’d be able to handle things himself after receiving this tip.

“Do you know who’s behind this?” the pleasant commander asked.

“No, I haven’t seen faces or names of those involved.” I sat there hoping we were almost off the phone. I felt like I was in over my head.

“What about the method of attack?”

“A bull’s eye appears in the centre of the White House’s back yard. I would assume a bomb.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Not right now.” Feeling under pressure, I was relieved that I hadn’t been shown anything else.

“What do you mean by not right now?”

“Sometimes it takes days for visions to completely manifest. I often receive messages in segments instead of everything at once.” I hoped he understood that I wasn’t withholding anything.

“I understand some people have special gifts. I’ve rarely had an opportunity to speak with someone like you. Thank you for calling in. I’ll pass this information along to the proper division.”

Returning to bed, I accidentally woke up TJ. “How come you’re up? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is taken care of. Let’s go to sleep.” I gently slid into bed beside him.

“What were you doing up?” TJ asked, rolling over in a daze.

“I was disturbed after seeing the terrorist attack, so I called the Washington Police,” I briefly explained while pulling up my covers.

“You did what?” My loving husband was now fully awake. “You called Washington DC?” TJ’s tone became excited and loud.

“Yes, I did.”

“How did they react?” He lay beside me trying to cope with what I had just said. “I hope you didn’t leave your name or number.”

“It’s a little too late, I already did.”

“Oh my God,” he freaked in total shock. “I don’t know you. If this place is crawling with cops in the morning, I’ll tell them I’ve never seen you before. I wished you’d just let things be. This isn’t a minor crime you reported. You called in a national threat. You put Washington on alert. You put us at risk behaving this way.”

“Life is full of risks. Living can be dangerous.” I lay there silently regretting opening my big mouth.

“What are the neighbours going to think if our house is surrounded by the police cars?” TJ started squishing up his pillow. I lay there hoping he’d settle and go back to sleep.

“I guess that would be up to them. I haven’t committed a crime. I’m trying to save lives of the innocent. Can’t we just go to sleep?”

“I’m sorry Laura. I didn’t expect you to call the police. I guess Spirit shows you these things, because you’re not afraid to speak up.”

TJ reached over and kissed me goodnight. I was on the verge of falling asleep when another image appeared. This time, a large elongated object moved in the dark. It moved very slowly and steadily around a curve. It appeared to be without wheels. The movement was unusual; almost vessel-like. This seemed to be only a short distance from the White House. I tried figure out what would move like that. It was too smooth for a limo and way too small for a cart. None of these seemed to fit. I couldn’t see a street, but a dark open void, which usually indicates water. Out of exhaustion, I eventually fell asleep.

Morning came early. Being tired, I lazed around in bed while TJ got ready for work. This is when a black and white map lingered in front of my third eye. The map was drawn and labelled with abbreviations. The White House was labelled with a bull’s eye. A solid black oval bomb resembling a grenade was displayed with a wick hanging out of the top. Several Capital “W’s” were placed on various areas of the map. A couple of capital letters “M” and “J” were strategically placed.” A street name was abbreviated “CN”. Number “41” appeared at the very top. I grabbed a pen and paper and wrote everything down. This was going to be a challenge to decipher. I didn’t know Washington. I had never been there.

Early that afternoon, I picked up my ringing phone.

“Hi, I’m an officer with the Washington Police Department,” an authoritative voice boomed. “May I speak with Laura Laforce?”

“Speaking.”

“I’ve been asked to touch base with you. I have a couple of questions to ask.” Before he could continue my other line started to ring. It was another call from Washington. I let it ring through to my voicemail. Instantly I felt unsettled and tense. I kept my wits about me by reminding myself that these people were thousands of miles away and harmless. “I understand you called Washington Police Department in the middle of the night. Is that correct?” “Yes.”

“You spoke of being a psychic medium and of seeing a terrorist attack. You probably heard the news like the rest of the word that Osama Bin Laden is dead. Events like this tend to bring people like you out of the woodwork with illegitimate claims. They waste our time and dollars over their fantasies. I’ve never seen your name in our system before; perhaps you’re legitimate. Past experience with crackpots tells me otherwise. Who did you get this information from?”

“I received the information from my spirit guides.”

“How do I know you’re not attached to the terrorists?”

“I’m not. I don’t know who’s involved. All I know is what I see.”

“Which police department do you currently work for?”

“None, I’m not paid by any police department. I usually work through the victims, and on occasion I’ll call the crime tips line.”

Anxiety set in and my body started to tremble. I found this officer abrasive in the manner he was interrogating me. His attitude towards me was appallingly rude.

“Have you solved any cases?”

“Several.”

“Who are your official police references? I want names and numbers,” he demanded.

“I’m on the road right now, but if you call me back in half an hour, I’ll have some numbers for you.”

“Police references?”

“No, personal references from prominent citizens.”

“Why don’t you have police references?”

“I’ve never required any in the past. Officers I know personally would want to protect their interests.” A severe tension headache started to intensely throb.

“Somebody else will be in contact with you shortly. Perhaps I’ll contact you at some point later on. Good-bye.”

I was relieved to hear his phone line disconnect. When I arrived home, I checked my voice mail. Another cop from the Suspicious Crimes Unit in Washington was waiting for me to return his call. I called TJ at work first, hoping to catch him at his desk. The first time around I was lucky.

“Guess what, TJ?”

“Are the cops buzzing around you?”

“No, but they’ve been on the phone. I regret calling the police last night. I just got off the phone with an abrasive, miserable, nasty cop who’d rather put me through the mill. He was sceptical and treated me like a bloody convict. If there’s ever another time, I’ll keep it to myself. He’s upset me to the point that my head and stomach hurt. Another cop from the Suspicious Crimes Unit is waiting for me to return his call. It’s hard to believe that helping can lead to being ridiculed. I feel like I’m in over my head.”

“You need to talk to that other officer. Don’t think about them all being bad. Perhaps they’re playing good cop, bad cop with you. Sorry dear, but I’ve just been paged, I have to go.”

I needed solid advice from someone in the industry. I called an acquaintance of mine, who happened to be an officer. I told him what was going on.

“Oh Laura, that’s national security. They don’t tread lightly on stuff like this. This is why these guys are behaving like brutes. Don’t supply anyone’s name for a reference. Act tough like me. Tell them they can take the information for what it is or leave it. I can’t believe you informed them. Would it matter if a couple of hundred Americans lose their lives?” He addressed me in a condescending manner.

“Yes, it would.” I couldn’t comprehend why he’d ask such a question.

“Well, it shouldn’t matter to you. Do you ever see anyone trying to save the Arabs? People are going to die. Whites and coloured are sacrificed daily around the world. Governments randomly dispose of people like chess pawns.”

“I don’t agree with you. These innocent people are individuals with souls. I wasn’t referring to skin tones and ethnic groups. Perhaps you need to look deeper.” I excused myself before gently hanging up the phone.

I made myself a cup of tea. Before returning the call I allowed my nerves to settle. I closed my eyes for a few minutes and connected with my guides. “Why is it that you guys give me the harder jobs? Wasn’t there someone more capable of handling this than me?” A shining beam of light entered my line of vision; right away, I understood things would be all right. I grabbed the phone and called the officer who was patiently waiting.

“Hi, this is Laura Laforce. I’m returning your call.”

“Hi Laura, I appreciate you calling me back.” His tone was genuine and his energy was upbeat. “I understand you’re gifted and that you’ve seen a terrorist attack?”

“Yes, I saw a terrorist attack drawn out.”

“I understand you’re a psychic. My roommate in college was that way. I envy people like you; unfortunately not all my colleagues feel the same.”

Immediately I trusted this officer. I could share important information without it being censored. This person was capable of understanding and was willing to work with me.

“What did you see? Please take your time. Try to recall as much as possible.”

“I received visions of an attack being planned in Washington. The small balcony on the back of the White House was repeatedly drawn out in black. This sketch includes a tall narrow tower off in the distance. The yard seems to be either a landmark or an area of intended target. To the west, a smooth vehicle sails through. I find this odd because it doesn’t drive like a car or a truck. The number “41” is shown at the top of the map. The initials “CN” are possibly a nearby street. Five letter “W’s” are displayed, representing names of buildings or objects. Two are straight west, another southwest, another appears at the very top of the map, probably representing Washington. One is laying sideways a couple of blocks northeast. A letter “J” is marked slightly above the west “W”.

“How is the attack carried out?”

“Officer, I don’t want to get into trouble using certain words, but may I, just this once?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“I see a……bomb.” I’ve always been taught to never use that word, especially around an airport or a cop.

“Thank you for sharing these details with me. I’m going to let you go. I need to go check out the areas and see what matches up. You mentioned it could happen in four days. I feel we should take time zones into consideration. What time is it where you are?

“Ten o’clock. Good, I’ll be watching both time zones. Timing could be crucial. I’ll call you back tomorrow morning.”

Waking in the middle of the night, I saw the lit up vehicle previously revealed for a second time. This time it seemed to be floating around a bend. A building close by was labelled with the letter “J”. The words OCCULTS DIFFUSED appeared in midair stacked on top of each other in white, puffy, large printing. Who were the occults? What did diffused mean? In the spiritual realm, white is a positive good colour, but it was the message that I couldn’t understand.

I went into the office and started up my computer, looking for possible definitions. In the quiet of the early morning hours, I could hear our bedroom door open, followed by the sound of TJ’s footsteps.

“Good morning, my dear. I’m glad to see you’re not calling Washington. May I ask what you’re doing up in the middle of the night?”

“I’m trying to figure out the possible meaning of OCCULTS DIFFUSED, which Spirit spelled out to me in midair.”

“Was it encrypted in black?”

“No, it was unusual. I’ve never seen a display like that in my entire life. The words were white, puffy and huge, which is a good sign, but I don’t understand the meaning behind this.”

“Do you need to understand everything you see?”

“It sure makes things easier to handle.”

“Why don’t you come back to bed and sleep on it. Remember you have an important call in the morning and you need to be alert.” TJ ushered me back to bed, knowing that I needed my rest.

In the morning, the constable called to touch base with me. “Hi Laura, you’ve totally blown me away. You’re amazing; the things you mentioned completely match up. Constitution Avenue is the name of a nearby street. The alphabetical letters can be linked to buildings and restaurants. Did you see anything else?”

“I was shown the words OCCULTS DIFFUSED in white printing in midair, stacked on top of each other. I’ve never seen a presentation like this. I don’t understand the meaning. In the dictionary, occults refer to some sort of eastern cells, and diffused means scattered. Obviously these two words hold major significance.”

“Is there anything else?”

“My husband TJ has been searching the internet trying to match up things I’ve been shown, because we’re unfamiliar with Washington. He found a ferry in the area. It resembles what I’d seen when it’s lit up at night. This ferry travels around a bend; its movement is identical to what I’d seen in the vision of an unusual vessel. The JFK Building sits close to the shore.”

“This makes sense. Remember, you couldn’t understand what would move that way,” the officer replied.

“My husband TJ mentioned to me earlier that the National Christmas Tree is in the back yard of the White House. There is an online photo of an interesting shadow generated on the ground from the peak of the tree, which resembles a bomb. Even though it looks similar, I still recalled seeing a bomb. Is this tree accessible to the public?”

“No, it’s secured by a sixteen foot fence surrounding it.”

“Are you absolutely sure nobody can get in or throw something over?”

“The area is fenced and guarded. Nobody is able to get in. I sure hope I’m on duty if something bad goes down.”

I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. To me this man was amazing and selfless. He’d give his life to protect the citizens. I’ve never seen dedication like this in an officer.

“Can’t you close off the area to the public?”

“No, we’re not allowed to. This is a busy area, it would be impossible to shut down. Plus reacting like that would create public fear. We are watching and aware of the situation. We’re doing our best to protect the people.”

“Officer, please be careful. I wouldn’t want you harmed.”

“Laura, I want to be of service. I’m here for the people.” Silence aired on both sides of the phone. I felt like crying. I didn’t want this lovely man to put his life on the line, but this was his choice, not mine.

He told me he’d keep me in the loop, before hanging up our phones. “Spirit, if things get ugly over there, please spare this man.”

Four days passed and nothing happened. I left a message on his phone: “Hi. It’s Laura Laforce from Canada. Please keep watching these areas, I still sense danger. Things can still happen weeks and months later. Please be careful. Call me if you need anything.”

Six good weeks were followed by an eventless June. The sensation of looming danger never ceased even though the drawings and messages did.

In late summer, a man did leap over the inaccessible sixteen foot fence that secures the White House. The man was taken into custody and later released. TJ and I wondered if this was a sequence of events before something major happened. We questioned if this was a setup by the terrorists to check out access to the yard. The media reported this man as being a protester. Was this trespasser a pawn used to measure response time?

Six months later, arrests were made in October. Breaking news hit of a foiled terrorist attack in Washington DC. Two arrests were made and many lives saved. The attack would have compromised structures, including a local popular restaurant. I was unaware of a plot to assassinate an embassy leader. There was also a plot to kill diners. This was the reason I kept picking up on the loss of many lives. The actual plans involved shooting or bombing those in the dining room within close proximity to the White House.

According to news stories, this terrorist attack lead was supplied to American officials in early May. I contacted police on May 2nd. I spent a couple of days speaking with officers over the phone. I don’t know if my lead started things or if it confirmed other knowledge they already had. Authorities publicly claimed to have used intelligence agencies.

Points of interest were accurately flagged with appropriate capital letters. Areas involved were lit up and revealed. Letters and numbers were coordinates confirming targeted areas. The number “41” is a major route. A bomb was included in the attack on the restaurant. Occults referred to eastern descent. Diffused meant scattered local and abroad. The embassy building is close to the JFK building.

This whole situation brought back memories from the previous summer. I had had a reading booth at the local summer exposition. One evening, TJ and I strolled away from my booth for supper. We purchased a bucket of wings and found a picnic table to eat at. I sat enjoying the meal with TJ, until I became bombarded with visions of bloody violence.

This upheaval involved the people sitting at the table next to ours. The energy from these people was dark and terrifying. Most of them were well over six feet tall. They were loud, obnoxious and very crude. I overheard the ringleader utter “To death.” Immediately I felt panicked. I needed to leave the table with TJ without them being aware.

I gently tapped TJ’s toes under the table to get his attention. “I’m having a problem. The heat is bothering me. I need to get out of the sun now.” I got up and started walking away. Instinctively TJ followed.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen something horrific,” TJ piped up, trying to figure out what was going on.

“I need to find a cop right now. Those people who sat beside us are gangsters. There’s a gang fight going down immediately, inside the fairgrounds,” we spotted an officer ahead. I picked up my pace and end up walking beside him.

“Excuse me, Officer.”

“I’m busy with a situation. Look for someone else.” He was definitely on the same mission I was. He was desperately scanning the crowd as he walked. Only the party he was searching for was a quarter of a block behind him. I didn’t need the bad guys see me talking to him either.

“Don’t look at me.” I kept pace with the officer and I looked straight ahead. “The seven black gang members are about a quarter of a block behind you near the corn shack. There’s going to be a bloody gang fight with weapons and pepper spray. They’ll be by a chain link fence. The leader is six foot five. He’s wearing a bright pink T-shirt and black pants. There are five guys and two females back there at the green picnic tables.”

“Thank you,” the cop responded. He quickly turned into the cotton candy stand and then headed back in their direction.

TJ finally caught up to me. “I’m sorry I rushed ahead.”

“He sure turned around in a hurry after you spoke to him. Did he say anything?”

“He thanked me.”

A bloody brawl between two gangs erupted shortly after, outside the chain link fence of the festival grounds. Several blaring sirens could be heard racing to the scene.

I heard through the grapevine that it took eight cop cars and five ambulances to clean up afterwards. The gangsters were either pepper sprayed or lacerated, if not both. One of the suspects was rendered unconscious.

I often receive unsolicited visions of upcoming situations. Exposure to terrorism is a newer level of intensity for me. Over five years ago, I warned a friend’s father who was visiting Canada of a violent outburst that would happen in his community. He lived in the previously peaceful town of Maghar, Israel, beside the Sea of Galilee. Three weeks later the situation unfolded around him exactly as I had described. He and his wife fled to safety with only the clothes on their backs.

Spirit has shown me numerous murder cases. Important details are shown in black and white. I’m spared from having to see grotesque presentations. On occasion, I can actually hear the sounds and voices of what has or is about to go down. The killers are always shown to me in full color, as if they are standing directly in front of me.