Spencer West PI Page 3

  “Yeah, the sun, any light, really bothers my eyes. Dr. Acharya said because of the severity of the concussion and possible nerve damage, it might be permanent. We’ll see how it goes.” Spencer made himself comfortable in the chair facing Dr. Galotti across a chrome and glass desk as he always did. “It’s been three months, Doc. Don’t you think it’s time you called me Spencer?”

  “All right,” the doctor said with a rare smile. “Spencer, I have some good news for you.”

  “Great, I can always use good news,” Spencer said, leaning forward.

  “I have reviewed your case file and feel I have helped you all I can. The rest is up to you now. You have progressed faster and responded to therapy better than any patient I’ve ever treated, especially after witnessing the murder of a loved one. Your concussion is another matter, and Dr. Acharya will continue to treat the physical symptoms of that.

  “As far as the out-of-body experience or whatever your preferred term is, that is beyond my scope of expertise. I researched a few cases such as yours some years ago, and I honestly believe that is what you think you experienced. I admit it is a fascinating phenomenon, but just too far afield from my work here at the hospital. There have been some credible laboratory experiments, just not scientifically proven to my satisfaction.”

  The disappointment in Spencer’s face wasn’t lost on Dr. Galotti. He leaned back in his chair, put his hands together under his chin and said, “Astral projection dates back to ancient Egyptian mystics. Even the Apostle Paul wrote about out-of-body experience in the New Testament. All quite interesting, but I’ll leave that to the specialists and researchers of the phenomenon. My primary concern is your emotional stability. You are on solid ground mentally and emotionally. I believe you can handle matters on your own from here on.

  “Before I release you, however, I would like to recommend someone who might be able to help you understand your out-of-body experience, since it is so important to you. He’s a licensed psychiatrist here in Dallas, but the Psychiatric Association of America doesn’t endorse him or his work with paranormal phenomena. We became acquainted during my short inquiry into his work with ESP and other investigations into the paranormal realm. I like him and respect his work ethic, but I can’t endorse the results of his methodology. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful in that regard. You’re unique among my patients. Quite a challenge, I’ll give you that. I feel I have learned much from your condition.”

  Dr. Galotti rose from his chair. “I wish you all the best in your future endeavors.” He wrote the name and phone number of Dr. Jameel Nahadi on the back of his business card, then stepped from behind his desk and handed it to Spencer. They shook hands. “Give him a call. I’ll send him a recommendation on your behalf if you wish. He’s a different sort, but maybe he can answer your OBE questions. Take care of yourself, Spencer. I think you have a bright future ahead of you.”

  “Thanks for all your help, Doc. I really appreciate your patience with me.” Spencer left the office and walked directly to a quiet corner in the lobby of the hospital’s medical office building. He punched Dr. Nahadi’s number into his cell phone. The phone rang six times. He was about to end the call when a soft voice answered.

  “Is this Dr. Jameel Nahadi’s office?” He listened for a moment. “I’m sorry, I can’t understand you. Is there anyone there who speaks English? I’ll wait.”

  Several minutes later, Spencer again poised his index finger above the red cancel button, then heard a gruff voice.

  “This is Dr. Nahadi. Who are you?”

  “Dr. Nahadi, I’m sorry, I couldn’t understand your secretary. I apologize if I was rude. I’m Spencer West, a former patient of Dr. Galotti’s. He recommended I call you.”

  “Yes, I know Dr. Galotti. What do you want? I am very busy,” he said curtly.

  “I would like to make an appointment.”

  “I have a very specialized practice with non-traditional patients,” the Egyptian said with an accent softened by living in England and the United States for more than thirty years.

  “Yes, I know. I have had out-of-body experiences. Can you help me understand and control them?”

  “Perhaps.” Another long silence.

  “Dr. Nahadi, are you there?”

  “Come to my office tomorrow at ten o’clock. Don’t be late. My fee is a hundred dollars for a half hour consultation . . . cash. Goodbye.” The phone went silent.

  “Where is your office?” Spencer said into his dead phone before shoving it into his pocket.

  Chapter 5

  Later that morning

  Spencer related his visit with Dr. Galotti and his short conversation with Dr. Nahadi to Nicole while she served lunch.

  “I was surprised to be released by Dr. Galotti. He said he had done all he could and I was ready to be on my own. I wanted him to delve deeper into my OBE experiences. He admitted it was out of his scope of practice and interest. He didn’t accept it scientifically the way medical science finally has accepted synesthesia, a rare condition in people whose sensory perceptions are linked to other perceptions, such as seeing colors when they hear or read letters, numbers, words or sounds. It’s sometimes, but not always, caused by head trauma, one kind of epilepsy, stroke or a brain tumor. But he recommended Dr. Nahadi, who he thought might help me understand what happened that day.” Spencer hesitated. “I haven’t said anything, but it has happened again—several times.”

  “You’ve had out-of-body experiences again? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I don’t want to worry you and Dad, or have you think I’m crazy. When I shared them with Dr. Galotti, he passed them off as a deep-sleep dream or hallucinations that some people claim they can accomplish with meditation or self-hypnosis.”

  “I don’t know, Spencer. This is all so new to me. I’m not sure pursuing this with someone like Dr. Nahadi is a good idea. Is he a reputable doctor? I think you should discuss it with your dad first. I would like to hear more about your other experiences.”

  “They were mostly connected with the drug bust. When Harper came by to update me on the case, I gave her a description of the car and license number. I couldn’t help with identifying the shooter and driver, except they were Hispanic. I did identify the gang symbol and MGD initials tattooed below a five-point crown on the top of his right hand. I also gave her details of things that went down in the warehouse she didn’t know about. I’m not sure I would call it an out-of-body experience. It was like watching game film in high school football. Coach would run film of our last game, stop, back it up to point out things to the team, then forward again. I was able to do that with the scene of the drug takedown too. It was like I was this invisible cameraman walking around recording the scene. It’s scary because I don’t know how I do it. It just happens. I hope Dr. Nahadi can teach me how to use it. It could be an amazing tool in my police work. I’ve checked him out on the Internet. The opinions vary pretty widely on whether he is a genius or a fraud,” he said. “If developing this skill will help me find Elaine’s killer, I want to know all there is to know about it.”

  Spencer finished off his tuna salad with a side of fresh melon and two glasses of ginseng tea. He was still a shadow of his pre-shooting athletic build: six-foot-two, two-hundred and twenty pounds. Nicole managed his diet, careful to put only healthy pounds back on his still-healing body during the months of inactivity.

  “I don’t know anything about out-of-body experience,” Nicole said. “Right now, I’m more concerned about you getting your life back on track. When do you think you will be ready to rejoin the force?”

  Spencer pushed back from the table, “I’m so ready to get back to work. The sooner I’m back on the job, the sooner I get back to tracking down a killer. I really need to get back before they catch that bastard. I want first crack at him. I have an appointment with Captain McMillan Friday. In
spite of police protocol on this type of injury in the line of duty, I have to convince him I’m ready to come back to work.”

  Chapter 6

  Understanding his condition

  The hip surgery hadn’t produced the results Spencer had hoped. The muscle damage from the bullet lodged in his hip was greater than the MRI showed. Physical therapy had helped him discard his wheelchair, crutches, and his cane. He still walked with a slight limp, occasionally resorting to his cane.

  Depression was a constant reminder that he was permanently damaged. He knew he needed to begin working with Dr. Nahadi to unlock his doubts and concerns about the change he had experienced. He wasn’t sure Dr. Nahadi would accept him after his no-show following the abrupt phone conversation. Spencer finally got up the nerve, found Dr. Nahadi’s office, and decided to apologize and beg for another chance.

  He found himself knocking on the door of a nondescript building crammed between two larger warehouses in South Dallas. Not the best location for a medical practice, he thought. A petite olive-skinned young woman with raven hair wearing a Dallas Cowboy jersey and sweat pants answered the door. “I’m Spencer West. Are you the person I spoke to on the phone last week?”

  “Yes, Mr. West,” she answered in a more understandable voice than he remembered on the phone. Maybe it was just his nerves. “Dr. Nahadi was most upset when you didn’t keep your appointment. His time is very valuable.”

  “So he told me,” Spencer said. “I apologize. I was really nervous about our meeting and didn’t even know where his office was. Do you think he will give me another chance? I really need his help.”

  “He doesn’t see patients without appointments.”

  “Would you please ask him if he would give me another appointment? I’ll meet with him any time at his convenience. Please, would you do that for me? I’ll wait here.”

  “Come inside, Mr. West.”

  “Spencer. Please, call me Spencer. Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Salma. Come in and have a seat. I’ll speak to Dr. Nahadi.”

  She excused herself and left the room, a plain and uninviting place for the work being done there, he thought. The converted building had few amenities but was not too bad for research that depended on the generosity of wealthy benefactors.

  Salma returned. “You are very fortunate. The doctor has agreed to speak to you. Follow me.” She led him down a short hall with an office on either side and double doors at the end. She opened the door to the office on their right. “The doctor will see you soon, please have a seat.” She quietly closed the door, leaving him alone.

  Spencer walked around the confined office: bookshelves filled with what looked like medical encyclopedias, papers on the desk, an old push-button desk phone, pads full of scribbled notes. Some pads contained sketches or diagrams. Dusty, framed degrees hung on the wall from some of the top psychiatric institutions in Europe and England. The rattle of the door opening behind him startled Spencer. He turned to see the wiry balding doctor, just over five feet tall, enter the room. A gray beard covered most of his face, matching the color of a shoulder-length ring of hair covering the collar of his lab coat—a perfect match to the stereotypical mad-scientist image he had pictured in his mind.

  “Sit,” Dr. Nahadi commanded. He circled behind his cluttered desk, opened a drawer and pulled out another yellow pad. “Sit, sit, I don’t have all day. What do you want from me?”

  Spencer quickly took a seat. “I want to learn about my out-of-body experiences and learn to control them. Dr. Galotti said you might be able to help me.”

  “Perhaps. I am seeing you only because of my respect for his recommendation of the potential you may possess for my research. I don’t have time to waste on curiosity-seekers. I have thirty minutes if we begin now. Follow me,” he said without ever sitting down.

  Spencer hurried after him. They went through the double doors at the end of the hall into the bright but cramped laboratory that filled the rest of the small building. Workstations were arranged in each corner of the room, each organized and appointed with minimal equipment for its specific task, not unlike his spartan office. They entered the first cubicle. A recliner chair, a straight chair, bare walls, a table with some unidentifiable objects on it, and a small desk were stuffed in that corner.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” the doctor said, pointing to the recliner as he dimmed the lights. “Close your eyes and clear your mind.” The push of a button flooded the room with white noise that insulated them in a peaceful silence. “Listen to my voice,” said Dr. Nahadi in progressively softer tones, leading Spencer into a deep state of relaxation.

  The half hour evaluation went smoothly. Dr. Nahadi was able to explore Spencer’s capabilities as a remote viewer, the more modern term for out-of-body experiences, and astral projection. Dr. Nahadi had researched the phenomenon for many years and had successfully demonstrated remote viewing in his laboratory, but his achievements were not accepted by the scientific community. Because it defied the laws of physics and could not be quantified by mathematical formulas, it was labeled pseudoscience. To be accepted as true science, the phenomenon had to be successfully repeated in an environmentally controlled laboratory experiment by his peers. Frauds and charlatans made it impossible for the foremost successful researcher in the field to convince his peers that it was extremely rare, but possible. His research conclusion for the doubting scientists: “Just because you can’t understand it doesn’t mean it does not exist”—was dismissed as voodoo science.

  Spencer proved to be the best subject Dr. Nahadi had ever tested. “I would like you to come into my laboratory and be a part of my work. You have an extraordinary capability I haven’t seen in many years,” Dr. Nahadi told him.

  Overwhelmed at the suggestion, Spencer found himself momentarily speechless. “What would I do? What would be the purpose of the work?”

  “With your ability, we could prove to the science community that remote viewing does exist without all their restrictive protocols to quantify the source of the phenomenon or how it actually works. They would have to accept on faith that it is possible without knowing how it is possible.” He paused. “That would be a frightening admission for scientists who are bound by the laws of quantum physics.”

  “I’m not sure I understand all of what you just said. But if I can help you achieve that, I will be glad to help, but with conditions.”

  “And what would those conditions be?”

  Spencer sat the recliner upright and took a deep breath before he answered. “I have to be anonymous. Only you and I and my family are to know. I don’t want any publicity. I don’t intend to become another Uri Geller, understood?”

  “You are asking me to work, as you Americans say, with my hands tied behind me to prove my theory to the world of science. Very difficult.”

  “Sorry, that’s the way it has to be. I want to help you accomplish your life’s work, but I want to have a life of my own out of the spotlight. I have my reasons.”

  “What are your reasons? What is your work?”

  “I am a detective for the Dallas Police Department. Remote viewing would be invaluable in finding the murderer of my fiancée and solving crimes that defy standard police investigative procedures.”

  “Very well. We can help each other. You will become my Project Detective. Your name will be John Doe—another favorite American custom—in all my reports to protect your anonymity.” He laughed. “You Americans.”

  A handshake sealed the agreement and Spencer looked forward every week to being Dr. Nahadi’s lab rat. He learned to place himself into a deep somnambulist state quickly using self-hypnosis and could focus on objects at great distances from the laboratory recliner. When directed to a specific street location, he observed a jaywalker that was nearly hit by an oncoming car. Other tests were met easily and successfully.
He was a natural, even better than Uri Geller, the celebrated international face of ESP and psycho-kinesis—the bending of metal spoons with mental concentration.

  Dr. Nahadi developed his laboratory using custom-built computer equipment and programs he’d designed and written specifically for his research in remote viewing. It was one of a kind, not available anywhere else in the world. His genius in the paranormal phenomena was closely rivaled by his computer technology skills. The two disciplines were a perfect marriage of scientifically opposing disciplines. It was just a matter of developing hardware and programming that could interact with man’s computer: the human brain. He had broken through that barrier with his new protégé.

  Chapter 7

  Back at work

  Six months later, Spencer was cleared by his surgeon and physical therapist to return to work. It wasn’t the homecoming he had anticipated. He limped and his captain scoffed at the idea of his remote-viewing capability. His demonstration to the Captain was considered a fluke and hocus-pocus, relegated to trick TV performers. He was assigned a desk job assembling case files for the department detectives while they tried to figure out what to do with him because of their perception of his disability. He had no hope of getting back into the field or transferring to the crime lab as he had requested. Months went by slowly with no change in his assignment or responsibilities. His colleagues in the department teased him about wearing sunglasses all the time and made jokes about chasing criminals pushing a walker and subduing a criminal with a walking cane.

  Harper was the only detective still working on Elaine’s murder investigation when she could squeeze it in with her other cases. It had basically stalled and was added to the department’s unsolved cold case list. The burned-out hulk of the stolen vehicle driven by the shooter was found in a vacant lot in South Dallas. The license plate number matched, but the vehicle was totally destroyed along with any clues it might have held. That only added to the frustration of dealing with Spencer’s work environment.