“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