Page 17 of A Stop in Time

“This meditation will help you to overcome subconscious blockages.”

“Try to relax as much as possible…”

“…as you draw in deep and steady breaths…”

I focus on the geometric designs on the screen while listening to the narrator’s voice commands.

“You’ll feel a tingle of energy shift deeper through you…”

“…let it cleanse and clear every avenue of your being…”

“You are clearing the pathways through your being, opening up…”

My peripheral vision narrows until it’s completely gone, and while I’m aware of my physical body, my mind feels like it’s off searching for something.

With even, normal breaths and my heart rate relaxed and steady, a low hum of noise resonates intermittently beneath the background music while the narrator speaks.

“…sink deeper into your subconscious and seek out what you’re looking for…”

It’s as though something clicks in my brain, and a door swings open, allowing me to explore a hidden section of memories. It starts off with little flashes of memories, similar to a movie reel, with brief clips.

In one, I’m a little girl, playing with the first doll I was given at Christmas. I’m practicing braiding her hair when Sophie Ray, the orphanage bully, grabs it and tears off the doll’s head.

That was the first and last time I’d ever played with a doll.

In another clip, I’m in elementary school, sitting on the playground swings with a book while the other kids play tag.

I never fit in with the others, so I chose to lose myself in books, getting swept away in stories or learning new things.

Another image flashes, and it’s when I’m in my early twenties as I walk through my kitchen in my current home.

Opening up the pantry, I reach toward the far rear where I keep canisters of flour and sugar. I don’t know why I have them when I don’t bake, but I do.

I extend my hand to the one filled with flour only to stop mid-reach. The eerie sensation has plummeted over me, and I know I have no choice.

I press my thumb and forefinger together, waiting until I hear everything go silent. The wall clock ceases ticking, and the air-conditioning stops pumping out cool air through the vents.

I exhale a slow, steady breath, but a tremor of unease rolls through my body as I reach for the flour canister.

Releasing the clasp on the air-tight lid, I flip it open and drop the small sticky note inside. “You need to remember this.” My barely audible hiss seems to echo in the silence.

The instant I press the air-tight lid closed on the canister, trapping the note inside, I’m violently yanked from that memory and into one that consumes me. I’m no longer observing what takes place but thrust directly into it, experiencing everything on a visceral level.

A flash of blinding light assaults me, and I squint before realizing it’s from an explosion. Trapped by the seat belt that won’t release, panic threatens to suffocate me.

Flames engulf the front of the car, and even though I call out for help, no one responds.

Fiery flames spread within the small space, rapidly sweeping over the cloth seats and climbing up my pants and shirt sleeve. I can’t release the seat belt buckle—it’s stuck—and the fire scorches my flesh, the scent stinging my nostrils. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.

I force myself to struggle, to figure out how to escape the seat belt trapping me in my seat.

That memory rapidly bleeds into another, but this time, I’m rendered sightless. Excruciating pain sears through every inch of my body, and the man’s voice reverberates in my mind.

“I hate having to punish you, but it’s for your own good.” His voice is smooth and calculated, not the least bit bothered when I cry out as agony strikes again with a vengeance. It’s as though fire penetrates past my skin and deep into the marrow of my bones, the pain horrific.

The man coos affectionately, but it does nothing to assuage my hatred of him. It burns deep inside me, strong and searing, like the pain he inflicts. “You must remember, I have your best interest at heart. I’m the only one you can trust.”

His voice grows softer yet it’s laced with an ominous threat. “You’re all mine, Mackenzie. All mine.”