Hangar 13. Lindsay McKenna
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because it ensures protection for the client for forty-eight hours afterward.”
Ellie finished and sat down opposite Mac. She held the rattle gently in her hands. “Blowing a piece of someone’s spirit back into them is like major surgery,” she said. “The gold light put into place around you is like a dressing or bandage over the parts of you that experienced it, namely your heart and head.”
Mac nodded. “This is pretty strange, Ellie.”
Sadly, she nodded. “I know it is. The world I live in probably seems like another planet compared to yours.”
“Yes,” he admitted with a chuckle, “it does.” And then his smile disappeared, because he saw the sadness in Ellie’s eyes. “Your ex-husband didn’t buy this,” he said, gesturing around the room.
“No, and he knew what I did long before we married.” She handled the rattle as if it were a child, slowly turning it between her hands. “I was young then. And idealistic. I thought love could conquer all.” Glancing up at Mac, she saw the compassionate expression on his face. “I was wrong. My mother tried to warn me…but I wouldn’t listen. I thought I knew better.”
“Head over heels in love?”
“Yes.” Ellie fought the sudden tears and blinked them away.
Mac didn’t miss the luminous look in her eyes. “If he didn’t accept your beliefs, why did he marry you?”
“That,” Ellie sighed, “is a long story.”
And one she obviously didn’t wish to share with him. Mac could understand that. After all, he was a stranger who had walked into her life only a couple of hours ago. The funny thing about it was, Ellie didn’t seem to be a stranger to him. He liked her. A lot. Silly beliefs or not, she was obviously a well-grounded, practical woman. Mac cast about for a safe topic.
“My marriage wasn’t much better. Johanna met me here at Luke when I’d graduated from flight training. I think she was in love with the fighter-pilot image, not the man.”
Ellie nodded. Mac was an attractive man, not pretty-boy handsome, but he had a strong face, projected immense confidence, and she could see how a woman could be swayed by such a combination. “How long were you married?”
“Six years.”
“Me, too.”
Mac wanted to ask if there was anyone in her life presently. But he knew that was none of his business. Forcing a smile, he said, “So tell me, what happens after one of these healings?”
Relieved to be off a highly sensitive topic, Ellie said, “When I come back from a journey, I write down what I found. I turn off the drumming tape and we sit here talking. I told Susan what I saw, for example. She didn’t relate to it nor did she remember being sexually molested.”
“Did Susan believe what you saw?”
Ellie shrugged. “It’s not the shaman’s responsibility to prove anything, Mac. I told her that now this piece of her had been returned, she would begin to integrate it back into her consciousness, and memories or dreams might occur. In the meantime, I suggested that she find a woman therapist to help her uncover her past.”
Mac just sat there, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. It’s just such a farfetched concept.”
“It’s strange, I know that.”
Mac shrugged. “I feel like I’m in an alien world.”
“That’s okay. So, let’s get back to your problem in Hangar 13.”
“Do you think it may be a lost piece of someone?” Mac ventured, trying to see through her framework of reality.
“I don’t know. It’s possible, Mac. But it could be what we call a discarnate soul, the spirit of someone who has died but is refusing to leave to go to ‘heaven,’ and is staying around for a particular reason.”
“How can you tell?”
“I can’t. Maybe if I go over to the hangar, I might be able to pick up on the energy. Maybe not. I can’t ‘see’ particularly well when I’m not in that altered state.” She touched her hair. “When I’m not journeying, I’m pretty much left brain, like you. So I’m ‘blind’ to the more-subtle vibrations of the fourth dimension that surround us.”
“I’ve heard some people can see spirits or ghosts, though.”
“Some can. I don’t have that skill.”
“But if you were in that altered state, you could ‘see’?”
“That’s right.”
Mac nodded. “So you need to go to the hangar?”
“Yes, and we’ll take the drum along.”
He grimaced. “If my people heard a drum being beaten, they’d think I was crazy.”
Ellie said nothing and watched the play of emotions on Mac’s face. His large eyes reminded her of an eagle’s piercing look. “I imagine you took a real chance just coming over to talk to me about it,” she guessed wryly. “The metaphysical and military worlds don’t usually have any common ground to walk upon.”
“You’ve got that right,” Mac muttered, bowing his head, his mind racing with possibilities.
“Is the hangar always in use?”
“Usually.”
“We could go over when no one is there. That would save you the embarrassment of being ‘found out.”’
Mac saw that her eyes were dancing with amusement. “I’m going up for early lieutenant colonel and the last thing I want is someone besides my master sergeant knowing that I’ve come to consult a psychic.”
“A shamaness.”
“Yes, whatever. If my superiors got wind of this, they’d send me to the nearest military hospital to check out my mental stability. But I’ve got to put an end to those wrenches flying around. I’ve got an IG—an inspector general’s inspection—coming up in two months and I can’t afford any problems. The hangar is empty right now. Could you come over with me and check it out?”
“You mean, feel my way through the hangar?”
“Yes. Maybe you’ll get an impression or something.”
Ellie hesitated and then nodded. “I’ll try, but no promises. I’m blind as a bat when I’m not in an altered state to receive impressions.”
“I’ll take that risk.” Rising from the robe, Mac held out his hand to Ellie. Her fingers wrapped firmly around his and he gently pulled her to her feet. The simple touch of her hand sent warmth racing up his arm. He tried to ignore the sensation. Releasing her hand, he said, “Thanks for taking the time with me. I appreciate it.”
Ellie’s hand tingled where Mac had held it. “You’re welcome.”
“What is your charge for doing a journey?”
“Whenever I do a journey for someone, I leave it up to them to give me what they can afford. It’s on a donation basis only, Mac.”
“But—”
“Healers operate from a very different perspective,” Ellie interrupted, walking out of the room with him. “Unlike medical doctors, who expect financial compensation for their services, we often get other things in return.”
“What do you mean?” Mac asked as he followed Ellie back into the living room.
“Well, a lot of my clients are either elderly or are single working mothers with children. Both are on very tight, fixed incomes.” Ellie gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen. She opened the door to her pantry. “You see that row of canned fruit?”
Mac peered into the gloomy depths