Warrior by Way of Night

TW: Mental illness, religion, gore, war, PTSD, CSA, violence

I've always known I was different. There was just something I couldn’t quite put my finger on as a child. As I got older, I felt no closeness to any of my family members; I didn’t fit in with other kids; things seemed foreign. It was almost as though I was an alien. I knew that was ridiculous, of course. But I was weary. I was anxious. I felt strongly that I was years older than they all told me I was. Even my parents would laugh to their friends during dinner parties about “what an old soul Melanie Ann is” as a young child.

I didn’t understand what the phrase meant at five years old. All I knew was that at night, once all were asleep, I would enter into a battle I was seemingly never prepared for. In those nightmares, I was blinded when trying to see behind the lines to know who we were fighting against. Men were constantly screaming unintelligible words in my face as gunfire erupted thus deafening me as well. As I got older, the dreams would progress further gradually into this unidentified war. But as the enemy fighters began to take shape, the detail that terrorized me and stayed burned in my psyche was the image of monsters with their half-melted faces as they snarled and taunted me.

I was in my twenties before the more vivid memories of a past life began to surface. I caught glimpses during times of utter darkness of a life that had encompassed me so long ago. Long before my memories were formed, my identity was solidified, and my soul decided where it was to settle, I was a warrior embroiled in another life of yesteryear’s past. A life where there weren’t such things as joy or comfort. A life in which it was kill or be killed. And a life where the most primitive teachings of fight or flight were formed without the luxury of a developed language, the way we now know.

Throughout my childhood, even in the light of day, I would have flashes of bloodbaths and be able to hear the screams. I couldn’t understand or even know what was happening. There was just no way to process images of an adult war with only a child’s very limited knowledge of life itself. I just knew it was terrifying, confusing, and overwhelming. As I began to get older, the images would blur but the auditory flashes would still occur with ferocity and vivid dreams became the norm. And the knowledge, missions, and codes I held were still buried deep within me in unretrievable caves. My soul had seen and done things that were unfathomable…and I knew this to be true despite what was drilled into me of possible vs. impossible.

At 15, it began to drive me mad, and I turned to my parents for answers. A staunch woman of the Lord, my mother told me that I only needed to ask Jesus to carry me through. The bad dreams I was having were the result of sins I was committing or thinking about committing. The very idea of otherworldly things such as past lives, aliens, or even mental illness were fictive and frivolous concepts to my mother. My father, on the other hand, simply poured himself another drink, told me monsters weren’t real, and instructed me to move from in front of the television.

Eventually, I learned that if I were to figure out my past, I would be on my own. But how do you find out about a life that no longer exists? I only had minimal information after all. I knew I was from another world but didn’t know where. I knew that the people around me were not actually family to me. I knew that monsters were real. I knew that, in another reality, I was an unrecognizable stranger. At night, I was having vivid dreams of a black and white time and watched myself engaged in repulsive battles. It felt so real that upon waking, I would always be disoriented and confused as to why I was in a quiet bedroom rather than still on a battlefield. Then my scar began to ache.

“What scar is that?”

I was shaken from my reverie. “I’m sorry?”

Starr patiently repeated the question. “What scar is it that you’re referring to?”

“Oh,” I lifted my shirt slightly to reveal an old surgery scar. “This one.”

“Was that scar always there?”

I laughed despite myself. “Yes. It’s from a surgery I had as a child. It didn’t just appear. However, it’s been so long that it’s almost less visible now than my stretch marks. That was why it was strange.”

“Did something different happen in the dream this time?”

“Yes.” I paused. “I was in the same battle as always except this time, instead of being shot, I’m being stabbed repeatedly with a sword. I can the excruciatingly slow pace of my death. When I woke up, I still felt the pain of the wound in my stomach. I put my hand on the spot instinctively and noticed it was covering my surgery scar.”

Starr took a breath to remain professional. “And when you’re shot, you don’t die?”

“No. I’m either shot by an arrow or by a silver gun. In those, I would try to pull the arrow out but was never able or I would watch the blood pour from the bullet holes but not feel anything.”

Starr crossed her legs underneath her flowing Bohemian dress and sat forward, her bracelets clanging. “How do you appear in the dream? Like can you see yourself?”

I paused for a second, glancing up to see my reflection in the gold-cracked mirror behind her. Flecks of silver were beginning their journey into my short black hair. “No, but I know it’s me if that makes any sense. Sometimes it’s like I’m the guy on the battlefield firing from the front lines or a commanding officer barking orders. Other times, I’m the kid who ran and hid in a foxhole. Also, I’ve had it where it was as though I'm just an observer.”

She nodded slowly processing the information. “For how long now?”

“As long as I can remember.”

“That’s a lot of detail to attempt to pull from during this. Is there anything you need before we begin?"

I took a deep breath. “No. I’m just ready to get this over with honestly.”

“We’re going to figure this out one way or another,” Starr said, patting my leg. “Now then, Melanie, do you understand that engaging in past life hypnosis can reveal things that you may not be ready to know?” She lowered her paper and met my eyes. “For example, if you’ve experienced this heinous battle from several angles, it may be possible that there is a hidden angle that you don’t want to know about. Doing this could answer questions you hadn’t even asked yet.”

“I understand.”

She nodded. “And you are ready and open to receiving the results?”

“Yes.”

“And finally, have you come here today with positive and loving energy in order to seek out the truths you are desiring?”

“I have.”

“Okay, then, Melanie. Let’s begin by counting backwards from 5…4…”

******

“…to open your eyes when I reach 1. You’re going to feel refreshed, calm, and safe…3…2…1…”

I was pulled from the abyss back into the present timeline. I could recall nothing about the session but felt physically exhausted. I looked over at Starr. She was no longer sitting in her chair, but near me now on the geometric sofa. “Did it work?”

“Yes,” she responded quietly. “It worked.”

“Is it bad?” I asked. “Be honest, Starr. We’ve known each other a long time.”

She didn’t respond immediately, weighing each individual letter of her next words carefully. “Mel, it’s not good. I need you to hear me before I give you this information.”

My heart was reverberating in my ears. I nodded.

She took my hands in hers. “We all live many lives while we’re here. No one’s past defines them whether in this realm or another. When our eyes and hearts are opened to hearing truths, change is imminent. The visions and dreams you’ve experienced were valid; you were indeed a warrior from the front lines of a grisly and horrific battle. The horrors you continue to see were real. The enemy was indeed powerful until he ultimately succeeded in elimination. That unresolved death seems to be trapped within the confines of your soul’s spiritual system. Sadly that soul was never set free before being displaced into another home continuing to travel from life to life. The death needs resolution and justice.”

Tears began to fall. “How? No one sees this but me and no one believes me. I feel like I’m going crazy all the time. How do I free my soul from something so deeply embedded in the past in order to live and not just succumb to it as well?”

“Hear me. I believe you,” she said, hugging me. “A soul that is trapped needs to be released. The war that took your life still rages on inside. Your soul is essentially still at war. It’s time to end the war and declare peace within your spiritual realm.”

“How do I do that?”

“By facing and finishing the enemy behind those lines.”

“Starr, please stop speaking in riddles and just tell me what I need to do.”

She chuckled. “I’m not speaking in riddles.” She handed me a manila envelope. “I can’t tell you what to do, my love. But this is the information I have from you… about you.”

I accepted the envelope and held it in my hands. “What do I do with this?”

“Read it. Process it. Sit with it. And then face and finish it.”

With that, she stood up prompting me to do the same. She walked me to the door and opened it for the windchimes to welcome me out. “I love you, Mel. Please be gentle with yourself.” We embraced and I walked out to the car, setting the paperwork on the passenger seat. I only drove down the tree-lined path a few miles before the suspense got the better of me. I pulled over and opened the metal clasp. A second, smaller envelope fell out alongside a piece of folded notebook paper. Opening it, I noticed Starr’s handwriting immediately.

Lt. John Paul Jackson

19809 Pinnacle Way

Desoto, MO

You fought in the same war with this man, but not on the same side. He can answer questions for you that no one else can. Please tread lightly and understand that his soul has not since left here as yours has. Protect your lovely spirit and end your war. The envelope contains the transcript from our session and details you may find hard to process or comprehend. Please make sure you’re ready to know the truth.

Lightness and Love,

Starr Angel Victory

I read and reread the note. My hands shook too badly to open the sealed envelope, yet before I knew it, I was programming the address into my GPS. The name wasn’t even remotely familiar to me as I searched the deepest confines of my mind. I couldn’t wrap my brain around there being a human alive on the earth who fought in the same war that I, myself, fought in during another life. My GPS led me down a dilapidated side street. Mangy, feral cats roamed the once active neighborhood looking for an overturned garbage can, and cars stayed up on blocks. A tattered sign let me know that I was driving towards a dead end. I began feeling apprehensive, wondering what I was getting myself into really. I was a 34-year-old woman. Who was this random man at this random address I was going to surprise? I knew nothing else about him except his name, address, and military ranking. Common sense took hold and as I attempted to turn around, the GPS informed me that I had reached my destination. A covert escape was no longer possible.

The house was small and nondescript. Dirty beige shutters were broken or missing, and several windows had thick back tape keeping loose air from entering. No vehicle to speak of could be found in the driveway and I wasn’t even sure anyone lived there. The note said we fought on opposite sides. I was truly treading on enemy territory as I sat parked in front of this house. Maybe it was enough knowing that he existed to not have to speak to him and find out. But of course, I knew that wasn’t going to be enough. Not now. Not after all these years. Good or bad, I had to know what he knew about my past life. And in order to do that, I was going to need to see the transcript of the session. I had to know what my name was, or some kind of information, when we crossed paths in order for him to know I was legitimate. I hesitantly opened the sealed envelope and skimmed through her putting me under and asking me the basic questions.

Can you tell me what today is?

August 3

State your name.

Melanie Ann Carmichael

How old are you?

34.

The questions became deeper until I was providing details I had never known of this independent war. I stated my name was Hickory and that I would eliminate the threat, Lt. Jackson, as God was my witness before I left the earth. I spoke using words and terms I didn’t even know the meaning of upon hearing them. We had been enemies for an eternity it would seem. As the session went on, the atrocities were outlined and described with heartbreaking resolute.

The words on the page began to move and dance together. I couldn’t focus on what I was reading any longer until another paragraph caught my eye and my next breath.

Your accent seems to have changed, Hickory.

I’m not Hickory.

No? Is this Melanie?

No. It’s just me, Chloe. I was hiding but now I’m not.

Oh? Where were you hiding?

Just in the hidey hole with Lanie.

Oh? How come?

Because she makes us go there when Jackie comes.

Who does?

Lady

After some time, Chloe went on to talk about the things that someone named Jackie had done to her and Lanie and why she feared him. She described witnessing Jackie kill a little girl named Annie because they couldn’t get her to the hole fast enough. After that, they weren’t allowed to leave the hole and she was breaking a lot of rules by leaving it now. Within a few minutes, the transcript revealed a change in speaker once again, identifying only as “Lady”. She stated that they would be providing no further information. She also said that she would not be made a mockery of and demanded the session to end. After some passage of time, I returned as Melanie with no recollection of any of the preceding events.

I sat there overwhelmed and baffled by what I had just read. Nothing made sense. I didn’t know any of those names or anything they were describing but I did feel the familiar intense pressure in the back of my head. It was as though a dam was about to burst. I had to get out of there and make my way back home. I didn’t want any more information, I didn’t want to ask any more questions, and I wanted to return to ignorance. I popped a couple of ibuprofen closing my eyes like I used to with these migraines until I felt myself begin to slip away.

“Is there something I can help you with, young lady?”

Suddenly, he was right outside my car, but shock overcame me and I stared at him for a few minutes before I heard words come out of my mouth.

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Oh? Maybe I can help. Who ya looking for, kiddo?” He had to be nearly 85 years old with dull eyes crinkling from the scalding sun above. He shielded half his face, leaning closer to hear me. I could see the stains on his misbuttoned shirt and smell the whiskey with each word he spoke.

The words tumbled out fearlessly. “Lt. John Paul Jackson.”

He laughed leading to an immediate coughing fit. He pulled up his oxygen mask, taking a few breaths. “Goddamn lungs turned on me,” he wheezed. “I apologize for the reaction. You took me by surprise. No one has called me in that in years. It’s so formal, especially for a pretty girl like you. Please, call me Jackie, sweetheart.”

I watched myself step outside of the car. “Jackie?”

“That’s right. Don’t let this walker and mask fool you. I got a lot left in the old tank. What can I do for you?”

When I didn’t respond immediately, he squinted for several seconds before a slow smile crept out. “Well, I’ll be damned. If it isn’t my favorite niece. How ya doing, Annie girl?” He licked his lips and cleared his throat. “It’s been too long. Far too long, I’d say. If you can excuse a mess, I’ll invite you in to catch up.”

He could sense the hesitation and saw the look on my face. “Aw, my scar doesn’t still scare you, does it? Don’t let it. I learned an important lesson about combustible materials overseas.” He touched the burn graft as his laugh echoed clear down to the dead end.

Hickory slowly smiled with a nod. “I think I can excuse the mess, Jackie. It’s been far too long indeed.”