Fletcher Dale

Psychopathy is a personality disorder signified by a pattern of lying, exploitiveness, heedlessness, arrogance, sexual promiscuity, low self-control, and lack of empathy and remorse. Those who are affected may appear normal thus increasing their ability to effectively prey on others.

People severely affected with psychopathy have a false belief in their own superiority, a sense of entitlement and a complete disregard for social norms. They therefore leave a long trail of victims and survivors over the course of living their lives. Their victims include strangers, friends, lovers, co-workers and family members.

Unable to love, feel remorse or show any trace of guilt, they survive by charming, conning and manipulating others. Because they are impulsive and do things that hurt other people, psychopathic individuals are also called "antisocial" by mental health professionals.

Recovery is lost when we continue to see the pathological as having had any “humane” or “human” hearted qualities that involve anything more than what a predator is or does, throughout the relationship. Please pay attention to this:

He/she was, is and forever WILL BE incapable of loving you. Whatever you shared between you WAS NOT REAL. What you felt was real, whatever he/she told you, did, said, was, WAS ALL A LIE, A FACADE, A MANIPULATION, A MIND FUCK. In order to heal, you MUST understand this with your ENTIRE BEING. You MUST find a way to accept this and write it ALL OVER THE CORNERS OF YOUR MIND AND YOUR SOUL. If it was anything you perceived as sincere or kind, that was MANIPULATION. If you perceived their blame, projection, abuse as having ANYTHING AT ALL TO DO WITH ANYTHING YOU SAID OR DID, IT IS A LIE. This IS what they want you to do. THEY WANT YOU TO ACCEPT SHAME AND BLAME. ANd it’s so much easier to do that, than it is to accept that this “person” FAKED an entire relationship with you to get what they wanted out of you. THAT IS ALL. NOTHING MORE.  Ixchel

Chapter One

1 February

FEBRUARY 15th 1998

He stood by watching, saying nothing, appearing completely undisturbed while excruciating spasms curled around my womb and squeezed brutally. Four babies had not prepared me for this sort of pain. Moaning in agony I begged for heat, but he spread his hands helplessly and shrugged. Wrenched apart in agony I had to think for myself, crying for a hot water bottle. Slowly the heat eased my hell-fired belly yet I moaned softly throughout the night, nursing a bruised and hurting womb while he held me in his arms. How does a man feel when his penis brings a woman to writhe not in pleasure but in tortured agony? The blood is pouring from my body today. I feel so bruised and sore it hurts to walk.

Tomorrow I have Mercury to Pluto, a pathway to the Akashic records.

               Hearing Monica's voice reach into her mind from far away, Fletcher felt her body respond to the invitation to relax, to go deeper, deeper, and deeper still until she lost connection to the chair, to the room, to Monica herself. Lying back effortlessly in a large comfortable recliner, she quickly drifted into that exquisite space of a deep meditation, somewhere between life and beyond. 

Monica's voice was leading her back down the pathway of her life, through time and space, before birth.  Drawn back through the mists of time, they headed for the lifetime associated with the pain.

"Go back to the pain, Fletcher. Go back to the time and place where this began. Go back, go back."

The muffled trembling rumbled in the pit of her belly, moving slowly up through her body, firing her stomach it heaved like a live thing gradually coming to life. For one who did not cry easily or freely she was suddenly possessed by a strange emotional force causing tears to spring from her eyes of their own accord. Drained of colour, large beads of sweat broke out on her face to run freely, joining the tears that overflowed slowly down her cheeks.

Part of her mind was intrigued at the power of what was moving her to feel so intensely but any thoughts were quickly swallowed by unrecognised emotions surging violently into life and the tears became a living river, freely flowing with the hammering pain inside. Somewhere behind the consuming emotional and physical hurt Monica's voice called urgently.

"Tell me where you are. Tell me why you are crying.”

Fletcher opened her mouth to speak but choked on the sobs rising from the bottom of her soul.

“Who are you?” Monica’s quiet insistent voice pushed for a response. “Who are you? What is your name?"

Bathed in sweat Fletcher trembled violently, crying as tears of blood and she could not speak.

“Who are you? What is your name?" Monica pushed through the blur.

"Maria." A small voice, barely audible spoke as the flood of tears flowed furiously.

"Maria, Maria.” Monica called again. "How old are you Maria?"

"Seventeen," her voice came gentle and husky through the tears, "I am seventeen."

"What year is it Maria? What year is it?"

Overwhelmed by emotions Maria searched into the unknown until finally a figure jumped into her mind. "1942."

"Where are you Maria, tell me where you are."

Concentrating hard she answered, "In Germany.” And her tears continued to fall feverishly.

"Maria why are you crying?” But Maria was too consumed to hear or respond, drawing herself up as the smell of smoke pricked her nostrils she shuddered violently as the smell of her own burning flesh filled the room. Monica’s voice rose to force it’s way inside her hell. “Are you a Jew, Maria?" 

"Yes.” The word choked from her throat with a sharp whistling intake of breath as a lacerating pain like a tongue of a flame shot through her belly. Overwhelmed by emotions surging violently with the pain, the intense pressure threatened to burst the banks of her body.

"What are they doing to you Maria?”

Monica’s words reached past the pain, and dragging her mind together in search of reason, from a distance Fletcher heard her own muffled voice respond. "He's cutting me again!"

A high-pitched cry suddenly pierced the air of Monica’s office as Fletcher’s hands grasped convulsively at her belly.

"Who is cutting you, Maria?" Monica’s voice forced itself to be heard, but again Fletcher gasped and cried aloud as the scorching heat burned through her womb, an agonising hurt ripping her insides deeper still. Clutching desperately, trying to tear out the pain, her hands tried to contain the savage agony raging in her abdomen.

“Who is doing this to you?" Monica persisted but only Fletcher’s cries echoed through the room.

"Who is cutting you Maria?" Monica called loudly.

But Maria did not hear. Caught within the hell of what was being done to her body she cried and moaned, twisting and squirming on the chair. Feeling her belly and genitals mutilated by a brutal torture, a thing, hot and horrid, thrust brutally into her flesh and she sensed her consciousness slowly slipping away from the horror. Fighting for breath, feeling weak with nauseous disgust, she choked as her cries rose and died within her throat.

"Look at the person doing this to you. Maria, look into his eyes. Who is doing this to you?"

Fletcher tried to squirm away, but with limbs tied to her fate she cried again and Monica called forcefully. “Who is doing this to you Maria? Look into his eyes. "

Fletcher heard, shaking herself out of her private hell, she willed herself back from the horror consuming her body and soul as she struggled to focus on who this person was.

“Look at who is doing this to you Maria.” Monica persisted loudly.

Concentrating hard still there was nothing to see, everything was black, blacker than the darkest night, no light flickered, no glimmer, nothing but darkness.

"I can’t see! Everything is black.” Crying out again another searing pain shredded into her flesh as a raging fire burnt deep within her womb.

"Try to see who is doing this to you.” Monica's voice urged its way through the agony as Fletcher searched through black with blinded eyes. "I can’t see, I can’t see anything. He hurt my eyes!"

Somewhere in her mind she felt this violence had gone on before, unable to see, still she had felt this horrendous pain before. Hot and searing, cold and cutting, enormous pressure and force had torn her body apart before. Groaning as another pain ripped forcibly up through the middle of her body, she squirmed in the chair.

"Did you die here Maria? What year did you die?" Monica's determined voice pushed on.

"In '42, I died in '42.” As she spoke, she knew she was dying now; yet, from the corner of her minds eye the image of an old woman suddenly appeared.

"No! No! I’m an old lady. I died when I was an old lady.” She spoke eagerly. Monica came back loud and firm. "You said you died when you were seventeen. Who is the old lady Maria?"

Confused, believing this to be an aspect of herself; with fierce concentration she focused on the old woman. The smile overflowed from her face like a bouquet of flowers, the warm blanket of love enveloped her and an overwhelming joy replaced the agony of her body and heart, vanishing back to from wherever it had come.

"Who is the old lady Maria?” Monica's voice pushed again. 

"It's my grandmother!” Her breath came in short excited bursts. “This is my grandmother!"

"When did your grandmother die, Maria?” Monica persisted.

"At the beginning of the war."

Monica turned her questions to the grandmother. "Are you Maria's grandmother?"

"Ya!" Fletcher heard a strange voice, rasping in her throat.

"Did you return from spirit to help Maria at that time?"

"Ya!” She heard again that strange abrasive sound as this unknown voice spoke. Like a spectator her mind wished to hear more, wanted to experience this strange voice, a part of her was fascinated.

"Have you returned to this life now with Fletcher to seek revenge on this man?" 

"Ya!" The strange voice spat out again. Say more, Fletcher thought to herself, say more, disappointed when the voice was silent. Still, she felt the love and heard the old lady’s mind reaching into her own, knowing the old lady was here to take her home.

"You came back to help Maria, but that lifetime is over.” Monica spoke gently. “Now, its time for you both to return to the light. Maria! Your grandmother has come for you. That lifetime is over. It is time for you both to return to the light.” Monica talked on softly. "Your grandmother is with you in spirit Maria, she came back to be with you through this ordeal. There are tunnels of light above you both, see this light and feel it come down over you. Feel yourself rising into the light, you are floating upward, you will now close this lifetime, and you will feel the pain no more. The pain is over now, rise up, and leave this past behind. Maria. You will no longer feel the pain. You will not experience the pain again. It belongs in the past. You will now be free of the pain. You and your grandmother will return to spirit and be released. Breathe deeply now.”

Fletcher felt the light about her, felt her body rising, warm and easy. The pain completely vanished as Monica continued to lead the way into the light.

“At the count of three you will come back to this room.” Monica spoke softly. “One, two, three!” 

Disoriented as she returned to reality, feeling clouded and fogged for a few moments, Fletcher sat quietly before her head began to clear. 

“Boy, oh boy!” Taking a huge breath, she rubbed her hands over her eyes and spoke quietly. “I had no idea I would meet such a horror story. It felt so real, like watching a movie, yet I was in it! At the same time part of my mind was standing apart, like an uninvolved spectator, detached and watching. What a strange experience.”

“Who do you think was doing that to you?” 

“I couldn’t see anything! There was just one man who poured acid in my eyes when he first took me to that place. It was a wine cellar I had been locked in for sometime. He began  torturing me, mildly at first but it just got worse.”

“Were you raped?”

“Raped! The word does not describe that horror! Try mutilated! Do you know I just witnessed my own death in that lifetime! How strange to experience your own death.”

“And you have no idea who the man was?” 

“I couldn’t see anything but there’s Peter’s dream four months after we met.  I’ve never suffered pain during sex with any other man. Peter even looks Germanic! This whole thing is so bizarre!”

“Well, let’s hope this will end the pain. By reliving and releasing that lifetime you shouldn’t suffer the pain any more.”

“Imagine, doctors want to cut me open to find what’s wrong with my body and I find out I suffer the pain because someone cut me up in another lifetime.” She shook her head, trying to free the fog.

“Well, it also explains the furious anger you have felt toward Peter. Releasing this should help release the anger that stems from that life. It’s understandable you would be carrying a lot of rage being subject to such torture. People don’t realise how much is carried in their cellular memory over lifetimes. Was there anything else you could relate to?”

“No, not really but rape scenes in movies always give me the horrors. My blood runs cold and I have to leave the room. Obviously it was too close to my own story. I won’t watch anything that has abuse of women in it. And the dark! I get unreasonably angry when I’m caught in the dark, if someone turns a light off, or I have to fumble in the dark for any reason. This could explain why. Imagine he blinded me then and he’s still trying to blind me now.  Peter has kept me in the dark for our entire relationship. Mr Mystery Man!  I’m sure he gets some twisted pleasure from seeing me so confused and uncertain. I can understand why I get so blood curdling mad with him if he did that to me in another life, but he’s still trying to torture me mentally and emotionally now. I’ve always felt like he was raping my psyche in some strange way. Yet, the hands of fate bought us together.”

“Souls coming together to resolve unfinished business!” Monica agreed. “You’re obviously being asked to make peace with your past and with Peter. At this time many people are in relationships that calls on every reserve they have. This is a time in the evolution of the human race when the worst aspects in man are being bought like scum to the surface in order to remove it. We’re all being drawn into karmic relationships to resolve the past before the earth moves into the new world.”

“How could I be walking around in life believing I’m normal when I’ve been carrying such a brutal history inside me?”

“Do you feel you can forgive him for that lifetime?” 

“I’ve been forgiving him his torture since we first met!” Fletcher exploded quietly.

“Maria. Do you relate to that name?”

“Maria. Maria.” The name meant nothing to her.

Standing under the shower, willing her body purified, the water flowed with her tears, quenching the fire in her head, it streaming over her naked body, cleansing inside and out. Drying off she buried her face in the towel, how did one cleanse such filth from your soul?

With a bruised and hurting belly, her mind spinning still, Fletcher sat on the balcony that evening staring down on the river lying like a black snake across the land. Dark and menacing clouds wafted past, threatening to drown the night in a downfall of rain. Wanting to outrun this horror, the aching wound spread up from the base of her being, filling her body and soul. It hardly seemed real, yet this dull and heavy hurt in her belly was real, the pain experienced in that chair today had been real, and the pain she suffered during sex with Peter was real.

Doctors had poked, probed, prodded, pushed, scraped, and drawn blood, taken fluid, scanned, and x-rayed from every angle, only to keep coming back with the same result, there were no abnormalities in her body. Their only other recourse was an explorative operation, yet Fletcher’s awareness of other possibilities had led her to Monica’s office. Expecting at most a rape scene, the appalling, brutal mutilation encountered this day had sent her mind sprawling.

Two years before she had seen Peter’s birth chart showed  the possibility of him abusing sex in another lifetime. She had joked with him about being in love with a mad rapist, yet over time the joke paled as the pain during sex became extreme and Peter’s brutal verbal abuse dragged her through the pits of hell. The idea of a longer past between them had become less and less far-fetched. 

How could she love someone who had sadistically murdered her in another life? A moan rumbled deep in her throat, perfectly timed with the low rumble of thunder across the heavens as she realised the past life was not past, but still being lived out in her life today.

Recalling the many times making love with Peter when her body writhed in agony, scrunched into a ball from the hell fire burning inside her, it began soon after they became lovers. Slight at first but worsening over time, there was always some pain, often leaving her deeply bruised and tender the next day. And regularly there was blood, sometimes a trickle, sometimes a gush of dirty, brown, unclean flood, lasting days.

There had been no hiding this from Peter; they were both very aware their lovemaking may end up with her feeling torn apart by his probing penis.

Mr Moraliser himself, prudish, clean-cut, supposedly so wholesome, hiding such a guilty secret! Today gave some explanation of Peter’s twisted inner world.

Fascinated and repulsed at the same time by a man so grossly disturbed, her time with Peter had stripped her back to the bone. Aware from the beginning the gods had ordained this journey into Hades realm, she had fought with all her will against becoming his victim, yet she was his victim still!

Knowing sleep impossible with these thoughts whirling through her mind, she walked gingerly to the kitchen to make a coffee, returning to watch the black and ominous clouds close in on the sleeping river; like the clouds that had closed about her life these past two years. She searched for the moon, but it had disappeared, hidden by the threatening deluge. Not enjoying life so far off the ground, four floors up was four too many, when the lease expired she was moving back to earth. Only the balcony with it’s wonderful views of the river made it bearable.

Peter fitted the part of the cruel torturer so well, a ferociously private person, viscous, paranoid and unstable, going berserk anytime he imagined he was being 'spied' upon. She had always found this incredibly bizarre, not being accustomed to the idea of people 'spying' on each other.

In dumb astonishment, bewildered by his warped mind, she had long ago reconciled herself to the fact that he had an extremely evil aspect to his nature. Neither co-operating with it, nor condoning it, she had mastered the art of non-resistance. Detaching from all he delivered, since the gods had thrown her into this fire, she had used the relationship to empower herself. Well she had thought that; now she must reconsider.

The cigarette flared in the darkness as smoke billowed out in a cloud, like the clouds hiding the dark secret in her soul. No wonder Peter fascinated her so, and that he was so twisted, both having carried this darkness unbeknown inside! After today’s dramatic encounter the past two years at last began to make real sense. A giant puzzle, the pieces slowly coming together, would she ever place that final piece and escape this living hell?

A light suddenly shone on Peter’s balcony across the way and her heart turned, it always did over this man. She hugged herself back into the shadow but the light quickly went out again, like the mystery surrounding him, the light was ceaselessly swamped by this man’s darkness.

Knowing astrology showed only probabilities and possibilities, in her twelve years as an astrologer, Fletcher had never personally experienced the literal evidence of a past life in a birth chart. Yet, here she was living out this reality. No wonder she had not been able to escape Peter’s clutches. By resolving this would she finally be released from a much longer past?

Aside from her experience with the hypnotherapy, with no actual proof that Peter was responsible for the violence done to her, having lived through the past two years left no room for doubt. His own dream of being a Nazi a few months after they met backed up today’s experience, and the past life reading more than a year ago, hearing how Peter had sexually abused her for lifetimes. There was his total paranoia about her Jewish lover from years before, and his constant screaming abuse about the Jews. There was just too much evidence!

Still, having a healthy scepticism, she would not blandly accept this experience as truth. Having seen too many fools misled and too many fanciful explanations washed away by common sense, she needed more substantial proof. The most significant and real thing was the feeling ever since they met that Peter was raping her soul. His cruel mind games and strangely disturbed behaviour had dragged her into the pits, like nothing she imagined could exist. Was it possible things were now coming to light?

As the fat rain drops splattered coldly on her skin, taking one last look into the black gloomy heaven, Fletcher went inside and headed straight to the book shelf,  pulling out her dairy from two years ago…………