Chapter 1: The Vision
May 5, 2002.
Up until this spring, I had never flown back through time and space in some sort of dream
machine to catch a glimpse of this woman. I was convinced that I did not know her, in her lifetime,
and our paths had never crossed. You see, I am fairly certain this woman was dead, and I had been
transported to the year 1983.
Like an old fashioned movie projector this dream began to flash picture after picture moving through
my mind like black and white blurbs at first, until the pictures gradually began to slow down to make
sense of them.
In the darkness, I could barely see his shadow etched in the purple and black sky, but I could
see that he was naked. I could also see the outline of a woman, and she was running away from this
naked man. Telepathically, when I looked into her eyes she told me to pay attention to what she was
showing me in the dream. It’s more than a vision, it was a glimpse into her life. I’m so scared, and I
wanted to help her, but I can’t. I knew that this was not a dream of the future, but one of the past,
and I watched helpless as the dream unfolded.
“Bitch, you can’t hide from me in these woods, you know that, right?” He screamed out into
the open air. “I know every nook and cranny of this property, and you’re a dead woman.”
I watched on as the half clothed woman ran past one tree, and then another. Except he
wasn’t far behind. I could see that he was gaining ground on her with his two steps to her single
strides. It was so dark and sinister within this dream, that even I with my cat eyes, and night vision
found it difficult to see the trees surrounding this woman. As a lucid dreamer myself, I’m often able
to control my dreams, but not this one. This had already happened.
The darkness was everywhere in this vision, it was above her, beside her, and below her.
This woman weaving in and out of the trees frantically trying to escape this madman wasn’t wearing
any shoes, but then again, she was barely even dressed. She wore an oversized black and blue
checked flannel shirt, unbuttoned so that I could see her silk cream colored underpants with delicate
lace embroidered over the elastic. I thought it might be his flannel shirt, which made me think that
they could be lovers. From time to time, I like to wear my husband’s clothing, because it reminded
me of how strong he is. I get the over-all sense she felt betrayed tonight. Adrenaline raced through
her veins, and the fear of being caught by him consumed her every thought. She knew that she must
get away. This fear was her drive to stay alive. She could not see one step in front of her as she
continued to stumble onward.
She wondered how this could have happened. She knew that he intended to kill her, but she
didn’t know why he wanted her dead. This would make two of us. I watched on, but I still had no
idea why his revenge and mission seem fixated on harming her. But I believed he would carry out the
unthinkable. He frightened me. I heard his voice nearing as he screamed out into the darkness of the
night. I could smell his stench, too, even as a spectator of this dream. If only I could warn her, or take
her far away from this dream that she called her reality, except that I couldn’t do that. She didn’t
have a chance in hell this night of catching any lucky breaks, or angels coming to her rescue. For the
first time in her life, she realized how much he loathed her. There was a thin line between love and
hate, and she knew that he had reached this line. Tears swelled-up in her eyes, partly from fear, and
partly for the loss of true love, or what she dreamed true love should be. She cringed not
understanding why she never sensed this before tonight, but now she heard his disgust and utter
disregard for her during his rants of terror.
“Help me. Somebody help me.”
No one heard her except for him, her lover, and the horses in the nearby pasture where the
barn stood. I, too, heard her cries, and I watched on, as the dream continued to whisper her story
through my subconscious mind. There’s a fine line between love and hate, and she was reminded
that the line had been drawn.
His hand grabbed for her hair. He missed. She knew that he was nearing. She kept running,
fast, then faster. I watched helplessly. I wanted her to call out to God for help, but she told me, no.
I’m saddened by her thought that God had forsaken her, when I knew this was not the case. She felt
unclean. Unworthy. A tramp. A drug addict. A bad mother. A drunk. A disappointment. I knew that
God saw her differently then she saw herself. I wished she would cry out to God for help, but she
does not.
The pictures popping into my mind move from the woods into the bedroom showing me
what happened before running out of the house into the dark of night. She’s telling me that her
memory was foggy from downing half a bottle of whiskey. She thinks they had sex. It was their
normal routine when they got loaded. And because minutes ago they were naked under the covers,
so she assumed they did it. She admits that she was slightly too thin from all the drugs, but she
teased her man with her beauty baring it all. This wasn’t the first time that she’s lost her memory
receiving only bits and pieces of what she’s done. The blackouts were becoming more frequent
lately. She’s telling me that her routine with the booze and drugs had become predictable waking up,
passing out, and doing it all again. There was no longer any joy in her life; it was merely a drug
induced existence. Because her life was dark, boring, and taken for granted she was okay with
blacking it out. Forgetting about the mundane existence.
At least, that’s how she thought she felt. It’s true she felt empty and dead inside. Something
or someone had killed off her spirit. Something had wounded her so badly that she tried to numb the
pain, the boredom, loneliness, and misery with so much booze and drugs. She’s telling me this
something was her man who verbally abused her on a daily basis. The belittling. The condescending
remarks were constant. There were many days she wanted to die because of his words. The venom
and pain from them stung her soul.
Except now that her life flashed in front of her, and she realized she’ll die, she now wanted
to live. Yes, she wanted to stay alive even if her life was messed up, and even if she had messed it up,
which she had enormously. Grasping for straws, she wanted me to know if she can hang onto this
moment, even if it meant clinging to terror, if she could hang onto it, then she can hang onto her life.
I understood. The tears streamed down the woman's face; she wanted to live. The tears streamed
down my face while I slept. I wanted her to live. I felt for her, but I knew I couldn’t help her when this
was a dream of the past. Cry out to God was all I could think for her to do, but she did not do this.
I continued to watch the dream, as she showed me how much she’d miss her parents. Deep
down she’s always loved them, except recently she didn’t show it extremely well. They were lovely
people that didn’t deserve the crap that she gave them. Heartache weighed down their once
carefree spirits consuming them with fear. Fear that her life would come to an abrupt end from an
overdose of drugs, or that she would choke on her own vomit during one of her drunken episodes.
Even worse yet, or the actual terror he would hurt her. Her parents tried to talk her out of marrying
this man, the monster hunting her down. He was five years older than she was, but it wasn’t the gap
in age that worried her mom. It was her mother who sensed from the get-go that someday he just
might kill her. The madman and the woman of my dreams had just laughed behind her parents back
at this absurd
notion. Now, how true these words scoffed by them actually were, and she understood her mother’s
intuition.
Cursing and spitting behind their backs, she couldn’t have been anymore rude to her parents as they
drove off for the holiday weekend. She was delighted to see the lights of the car leave the gravel driveway
zooming onto the county highway off to New York City. Now, she and her lover had the house to enjoy
together, except for their toddler son who lay in the next room asleep.
She tells me they had no significant plans for the lake or any picnic’s this Memorial weekend. They
didn’t want to visit relatives in New York City, even though they had been invited to go with her parents. She
was certain there would be parades, picnics, and lots of time to sightsee in the Big Apple, but she wanted to
stay home with her man to get loaded. The last time she saw her extended family from New York they had
come to visit her, when she was thirteen or fourteen.
She wanted me to know how relieved she was to have her man to herself. It was difficult to live
under one roof with her parents, and drug addicted husband. She wanted me to know that they lived with
her parents while building their dream home across the stream. She couldn’t wait to have a place of their
own. Right now, their son sleeps on a small mattress next to their queen sized bed which both lay on the
floor, but he’ll have his own room after the house was built. Tonight, they will put their son in her parent’s
room, so they can be by themselves. This weekend was all about getting lost in each other’s arms while
getting high. This weekend was all about indulgence without explaining why they did the drugs, and liked it.
She told me in the dream that it was gratifying to get high and steal sips of liquor while her parents are away
for the weekend. She was a grown woman, but her parents were religious and did not approve of drinking,
even socially. Taking drugs was dangerous by itself, except her parents also believed they were sinful in the
eyes of God. I don’t share the same sentiment that they’re sinful. Maybe this was one of the reasons this
woman was exposing her soul to me. Perhaps, she knew that I would be forgiving, and look the other way. No
judgement. Perhaps, she knew that I could see that deep down past the layers of her tainted life that she
was indeed a good person. Or maybe she used to be that lovely person.
Even if she didn’t have an ounce of goodness left in her soul, she still does not deserve to be
murdered by the hands of her lover, husband, and the father of her child. If only she would cry out to God,
but she remained silent.
The woman continued to show me glimpses of her life. She showed me that the two of them
stripped down to their underwear and began to party with shots of whiskey. For the first four or five hours
teasing her man sexually was fun for the two of them, while they got loaded. She wanted me to know that
she abused her body, not just today, but most of the time. The alcohol had begun to take its toll for the day
around 5:00 p.m., when she blacked out. When she finally woke-up around 7:00 p.m., she poured herself
another drink before grabbing her son out of her parent’s bed. She didn’t want to deal with her son who was
crying hysterically, partly from hunger pains and because his pull-ups needed changed. He was what woke
her up out of her alcohol induced coma, but she could only think about tooting a line of cocaine to wake her
up out of this fog, and to wash it down with a stiff drink. Naturally, she didn’t need another one. She was
wasted, and sloppy drunk from the first round before she blacked out. I’m sadden how alone her son was
tonight. He’s practically invisible to them. I wanted to walk inside the bedroom and hold him tight, and
whisper into his ear that everything would be okay, except deep down I knew this would be a lie. Nothing
would be okay from here on out. Nothing would be the same from this day going forward.
Once again, I wished this woman would cry out to God for help, but she does not. The woman
blackouts again. The moving picture of my dream stopped for a moment, so that I could see this woman lying
on her bed passed out cold. It was midnight. If I hadn’t already known that she would be running for her life
later on in the woods, than I would have thought that she was already dead, she was lifeless. What also
caught me by surprise was this man’s relentless attempt to satisfy his lustful needs fondling her breasts and
licking her crotch. She knew he was doing this to her, as she moved in and out of being a wake and asleep.
She lay there passed out like a rag doll, but he didn’t care that her body was listless. He didn’t care as long as
he could ejaculate. But he couldn’t. He was having trouble. The drugs might have stolen the firmness, but the
drugs were also fueling the anger.
The crazy man got off the woman, and paced back and forth ranting like a lunatic. His angry tone
was what startled her, waking her out of her booze induced coma. His words were hurtful pieces of glass
cutting into her heart. He scared her. He was also scaring me as someone from the outside looking into this
dream. Although his body was physically there, his mind was blown sky high. He was jabbering in some sort
of foreign tongue. His eyes zoomed past her as though she was not even in the room with him, he was gone.
Sweat bubbled on his forehead, neck, and chest. It was the cocaine heating up his blood turning him into the
monster.
Although he was physically in the room with her just a few feet away, she felt all alone. For the first
time as a grown woman, she wished her parents had not gone away for the weekend, but had remained
home to protect her from him. He was strung out from doing too many lines. He was a creep, and I hated this
madman. She knew that I would feel this way about him. I was certain she understood that I would look on
with an open heart and understanding about her life. I did. He’s a pusher, a user, and abuser. She showed
me her wounds from his tongue. Somehow she always forgave him, and the horrible things he said to her,
but he blamed her for this too. The dream told me this monster’s biggest fear was that if she ever realized
her true talents, then she would leave him. I was beginning to understand why she was loaded all of the
time. It was the only way to get through the constant pain he pounded on her daily with his words. No
wonder she had no limits. The only limit was when she finally passed out cold, it was then she could be free
from him.
His loud furious call snapped her back into reality away from reflecting on what she had done to
make him turn into this monster, and she realized she wasn’t in the bedroom anymore.
He’s trying to be savvy by playing, ‘hide and seek’ looking for her behind every other tree screaming
out obscenities.
Slowly, she stands up from the tree holding her breath, so he could not hear her panting like an
injured feline trying to muster up enough determination to run as fast as she could. She knows he was just a
few trees away, but she wanted to live now, and more than ever. Making the mad dash from behind the tree,
she cuts through the path heading towards the fence away from the monster. Her adrenaline explodes from
the fear leaping from her brain to her feet, and it zapped her senses back into being sober. Except being
sober didn’t protect her from being disoriented on the property and running in the wrong direction. The
fence was on the other side of the thick dense woods she stumbled through, and she knows it’s there, but
she can’t see it with little light from the moon or stars peering through the tree tops. She was all alone, even
while I looked on, but I could not help her.
This woman of my vision, I got the sense she could have gone places, real places like movie stars go.
Not only was she beautiful but she was also a gifted artist. Drugs were to blame, spiraling her life downward
and she didn’t know how to stop it. If only she had not met him, this man, this monster, her husband. Now
time was running out, and she wouldn’t get a second chance to fix her jacked-up life. She wouldn’t get the
opportunity to make it into the kind of life that would make her parents proud. There would not be a doover after tonight.
Most of all she wanted to be proud of herself, but she wasn’t. She knew this was the end, her end.
She had to keep fighting for her life, for whatever life she had left, even if it was messed up, and it was. Her
life was about to end from his hands, and I am on the receiving end of all her memories flooding one by one
into my brain. From the time she was a little girl sitting on her daddy’s knee, he loved her so pure and
deeply. When she got her first period in the fifth grade while she and her mom shopped at the mall popped
into my head. She show’s me how scared a sheltered little girl from the country felt from this discovery. The
memories of her mother felt nurturing. She fondly showed me how much fun the two of them had throwing
flour at one another when they baked cookies. She beamed from ear to ear remembering when her son was
born. It was a time before the drugs and booze had taken over her life. He was beautiful, and she truly sees
this now. She giggled for a moment basking in the happy times. When she laughed it melted my heart, and I
sensed the goodness of her soul. Yes, maybe she had ruined her life, but she did not deserve this. She did not
deserve to be killed at the hands of anyone, above all, not from the hands of her lover, and the father of her
son.
Everyone knew this monster would bring nothing but trouble into her life. Equally, no one had
expected the little blessing birthed from this toxic relationship. Together they had a son, the best part of
them, and maybe the only decent part of her lover of four years. Their son was back inside the house sound
asleep, as he should be. His mother and father roamed the forest outside of his bedroom window. He was
too young to know what was going on outside, too young to know that his mom was about to leave this
world, and too young to know why his daddy had snapped and taken her from them. The fact he did not
understand was the blessing of it all. He would not have to feel the pain, like everyone else would soon feel.
Like a flash of lightning, abruptly, without any warning it bolted from the heavens, and the treasured
memories she showed me did not last. One by one her thoughts marched into my subconscious, and she told
me about all of her regrets in life. There were so many regrets, and I felt the heaviness from her sorrow.
Tears began to fall on this woman’s face, and I felt her pain spill into my stomach. Her sadness was so
intense, I felt I could barf. She regretted not taking the art scholarship. This held her back from becoming
more than a kitchen artist who sat at the window painting wildlife with oils. She always thought she’d go
somewhere with her artistic talent, and so did everyone else. Above everything that had happened in her life,
she truly regretted meeting him, and how much she allowed him to change her. She also regretted that she’s
treated her family poorly. She’s become such a disappointment to them, and to herself. She knew that she
did not deserve her son, but thankfully her mom watched him while she was loaded. Unfortunately, this was
most of the time. The booze and drugs were the obvious regrets, except regretting was not enough to stop
using or abusing them.
The woman had reached the end of the line, the fence. The naked madman had also reached the end
of the line, the fence. She stood with her back against him looking up into the heavens. She doesn’t want to
die. Turning to look back at her husband hoping he’ll stop what she knows he’s about to do, she reached
towards him. His eyes, glazed over, he doesn’t even see her, not really see her for what she was, his wife, the
mother of their son, and his drug companion. He was blinded.
But as a spectator of the vision I felt his rage.
Stretching her arms up over her head to guard them over her youthful face as the words, “No, please
don’t!” This phrase ran across my mind in black bold lettering, as if I was reading the headline right out of the
newspaper. At that very moment the name “Ann Marie” rolled into my subconscious. She must have sensed
that I would listen to her story.
This vision told me nothing else, but I knew the woman was dead by the hands of her lover, husband,
and father of her one and only child. I got the sense he wept for her like a baby. But he remembered only bits
and pieces from the night that would forever change his life, and the life of their son. He remembered only
the anger and betrayal he felt at the time he was coked-up. He remembered only the pain and humiliation he
felt when he could not get it on with her, and she was to drunk and passed out to care. He remembered
sobbing on the floor like a baby with his knees tucked into his chest in the fetal position. He remembered
that above everything else, but he does not remember the blow to her face knocking her down onto the
ground.
Abruptly, I woke up from this vision at 3:33 a.m. The room was black, except for the balls of white
lights. There were many. There was also one rose colored, and one soft blue ball of light which swirled above
my bed and danced around the room like fireflies. My gown was drenched from sweat, and I’m not sure
exactly what just happened, but I knew that my mind was in a funk sorting through this vision. Daniel, my
husband of twelve years was stretched out across the bed, snoring. With the exception of his snoring he was
typically quiet and reserved, but lately since we’ve moved into this house he had become more verbal. I’m
not sure why, but I’ve noticed the difference. He didn’t use to say things that made me go hide in the
bathroom and cry it off, but he does now. He doesn’t dream either, not at all. I dream all of the time. My
name is Abigail Morrison, but most everyone calls me Abbey. I’m a dreamer. I’m intuitive.
“Daniel!” I gasped leaving the dream.
“What’s wrong? Is something on fire?” He asked as the two of us sat up in bed starring at one another.
“No, I had a nightmare. Well, it wasn’t actually a nightmare,” I said, “I think it’s a spirit trying to tell me how
she was murdered.”
“What? What do you mean someone was murdered? Has any of the other spirits you’ve met ever been
murdered?”
“No, I don’t think so. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever met any spirits who had been murdered, at least not
until tonight.”
“You said she, do you think she could be an old classmate or friend?” Daniel rubbed his eyes still sleepy from
the night.
“No, I don’t know her at all, but for some reason I sense that she was supposed to move into this house.”
“She should have moved into our house?”
“Yes, she should have moved into this house, but she didn’t. Remember about eight months ago, while you
were raking the leaves, I told you that I had a premonition that someone had been murdered here on this
property?”
“Yes, I remember now that you bring it up, but truthfully I didn’t think much about it when you mentioned it
the first time.”
“I believe the woman in the vision was the woman who belonged to that premonition I had last fall.”
“Oh my.”
“Didn’t you tell me that the woman on the hill had a daughter who died?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s the woman. She said they divided off two of the four acres as a wedding present to her daughter
and son-in-law, and yes, I did think it was odd that she proceeded to tell me that her daughter was no longer
living. But she wasn’t murdered, she was struck by a moving train,” replied Daniel.
“What do you mean struck by a train? I didn’t see any train or tracks in my dream. The dream showed me the
woods, and the darkness of night as she held up her arms to protect herself from his blow. She showed me
her triumphs and her failures. She was an addict, too. She didn’t deserve it,” I said shaking my head with
disbelief.
“What do you mean she was an addict? Ronnie never mentioned that about her deceased daughter.”
“Yes, I’m sure she didn’t mention that about her daughter. That was the part she wanted to erase, because it
was the part which stole her real daughter from her. Besides, what kind of person says this sort of thing
during their first encounter with a new neighbor?”
“The same person that told me that their daughter had died. That same person.”
“Well, she didn’t tell me that part about her, but I’m relatively sure someone was murdered here,
somewhere on the four acres.”
“I wonder who it could be that murdered her. The spouse is always the first person to look at. Do you think it
was her husband who killed her?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. She held up her hands to cover her face from the wrath of his fist.”
“Oh my,” Daniel said, “Wow this was some dream, and you think Ann Marie could be Ronnie’s daughter?”
“Yes, yes, I do. I just feel it for some reason. I know it could be any spirit who needed my help, but this one
belongs to this land. She’s trapped here.”
“Your dream sounds intense.”
“It was extremely intense, but more importantly, something wasn’t right, or she wouldn’t have had the need
to show me her hands up in the air blocking his blow to her face. Especially, if you’re telling me she was hit by
a moving train. Something wasn’t adding up, and this was why she needs my help.”
“Please, just be careful, something is off about this one,” Daniel said, “Even though I don’t dream or help
spirits, even I can sense something smells foul.”