Faith in ourselves? It can be difficult to accept that we are doing something that is worthy. Not only for us but for others too, and this is what the following story is about. It’s more than a strange visitation, it gave me the impetus to stand up and speak about something quite intangible. All I will say about the identity of this woman is, her initials were J.G and she went missing in Queensland in, August 1990.
Life goes on, the activity around the house ebbs and flows: moving shadows, strange sounds at night, a huge increase in OOBE’s, welcome to my life. At this stage I was still with my first wife, we were driving home from town one afternoon and passed the property where J.G had lived. I said, “I wonder whatever happened to her?” – “Who knows.” I concentrated on the road and thought nothing more about J.G. My bladder alarm went off at 2 a.m. and I made sure the seat was up and did what I had to, before going out to the kitchen. I rinsed my glass off, after I saw a mouse leap off the sink and had my drink. Well if that’s the only visitor for the night then I’m happy. I made it halfway to the bedroom when the icy chill on my back began. I stopped and turned. A naked woman stood about six feet away. This was no image on the screen of the mind, no wafty hologram hovering there. I know a naked woman when I see one. My living room disappeared behind her and turned into an area I knew quite well, a local river crossing/picnic area. Her face, which I recognised from the newspaper, went from a worried, pleading look to one of pain and terror as a small red hole appeared in the centre of her chest. She fell and the scene vanished.
Righty ho, back to bed Laurie. With the speed of a startled gazelle I found myself under the doona. No I didn’t hide my head. The woman appeared again by my bed, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. I could feel the pebbles on the river bank digging into the soles of my bare feet, as I stood watching a scene of abject horror unfold. A 4WD utility (pickup), with a trailer hooked to it was parked off the track leading from the road. Behind it a small campfire glowed and I could make out two men, one tall, the other shorter, both with strong builds. Their faces were indistinct, although I could see they both had long, fair hair. They reminded me of men who spent time surfing. One held the woman down while the other raped her, then swapped over. This seemed to go on and on. They eventually left her lying there, moved to the fire and began drinking stubbies of beer. They thought her to be unconscious, she wasn’t. J.G made it to the southern end of the old wooden bridge when the men started yelling. I found myself in front of her again, heard the pop of a .22 and watched as a bullet exited her chest. The scene froze and I saw she had two distinct moles near her left breast. The scene continued and she fell to the ground, dead.
I must have woke for a moment, she still stood by my bed, the vision continued. These men were handymen/gardeners, their vehicle bristled with garden tools, a mower, and a large mulcher, the type used for shredding small branches etc. What followed still makes me want to vomit. After retrieving her body, both were in a panicked state, they dragged her back to the river bank. I’ll only say that they disposed of her remains via this device. I know I can write this kind of thing in a novel and have done but I don’t want to expand on it in this forum. Suffice to say she will never be found. I was shown one thing that they missed, a thin banded, gold ring, set with a small green stone.
I must have ended up in a deeper sleep, the next thing I knew it was time to get up and go to work. For the next five nights the vision returned, after I left the kitchen. She never said a word to me, nor did she impress any on my mind, only the imagery. She still appeared naked, seeing that she passed in that condition I can only imagine it was to show me what had happened. With every night the vision became clearer and more details were revealed. Yet, I never saw the faces of the men. I was shown them standing in broad daylight next to their vehicle and trailer, parked outside a pub in Ipswich. They stood side by side on the roadway facing the pub, away from me. This gave me a great view of their hair and build and also the name of the pub. It got to the stage at night where I didn’t want to get up but hey, a man has to go to the loo. There she was in the hallway, waiting for me and then it started again. It seemed that she wanted me to remember every tiny detail, yet the most important things, faces and registration numbers were lacking.
Coincidences are funny things, six days after the dreams began I had to nip into town and who should I bump into? An old colleague from my time in the police, he starred in the second post of my police blog. I pulled him away from the crowd of shoppers and told him about the visions. Now Blue wasn’t bashful and said, “Gee Smithy, what’re you doing, hitting the bottle?” After describing what I saw of the men, their vehicle and the pub he said, “Hmm, that’s the so and so brothers, yeah they’re mad surfers and a real pair of bastards.” – “Good, so you’ll mention it to CIB?” – “What do you think I am, stupid?” That would have been the reaction if I went in myself. The only good thing that came of the conversation – the visions ceased. Nothing, zilch, nada. I can only imagine that whoever pulls the strings in spirit had decided to give me a test. If that case was meant to be solved, then I would have been shown their faces at least. The test could also have been to see if I could handle images of harsh brutality and death. Who knows, what I do know is I finally had some faith in my burgeoning abilities.
I know that in general police departments don’t use anything from psychics. I’m also aware that there are people who waste a lot of police time coming forward with fanciful claims, that quite often lead nowhere. Even now I have a quick vision when I hear about a murder or disappearance on TV. I’ll tell my wife, Lorelle and leave it at that. Why don’t I come forward and report it? Besides the obvious reaction from the police, there is the process of karma to take into account, the laws of cause and affect. A person vanishes and families grieve. Is the karma concerned with the missing person or the grief loved ones go through? An Ipswich man killed his wife and disposed of her body about nine years ago. Using a pendulum I located a spot on a map showing it to be sixteen kilometres from his house, in a particular direction. Out of curiosity we drove along the bush track and stopped, on a beautiful open piece of ground at the stated distance. Yet I felt pulled to keep going and I finally drove out and ended up going around in circles. The husband gave up the location of the body a few days later. Guess where it was? Yes, over the fence and into the paddock near where we’d stopped. I believe he was meant to give up the location as part of the process. If she had been found earlier, on the word of a third party doubt may have been cast on the police case. Who knows? One thing I do know is I felt sorry for a psychic living in California. He lived a few houses away from where a murder had been committed, after approaching police and telling them what he saw in a vision they arrested him. He served ten years before the killer was apprehended. It makes you wonder.
I want to illustrate how time and distance don’t hamper the work of a medium, and that if the police ask, well I’ll have a look then. I have a relative living in San Antonio, Texas. She rang me one day and asked if I could help her friend, a local police chief in regards to a murder. He contacted me via email and gave me the name of a club where the murder occurred, and that he needed to find the murder weapon. I was able to give a full description of the club, the vehicle the victim was found in, and the alley where the vehicle stood. I told him the weapon would be found in a nearby lake. Unfortunately the lake was situated on a nearby military camp. he stated that nobody could get on there unless they were military. Fair enough but the possibility of an accomplice wasn’t looked at. The intriguing thing was, I saw another murder inside the club, that of a young black woman, however that one had taken place years previously. Although I couldn’t advance his investigations, he seemed quite impressed by the description of the crime scene.
There is a post script to this story. A couple of years ago I parked in the main street of a local small town. Lorelle nipped to the shops and I wound the window down and started reading a magazine. I had noticed a large 4WD utility with a trailer hooked on when I parked and gave it no further thought. You know that prickly feeling you get when there is danger or someone is looking at you? Well, it made me look up. Standing next to the trailer I saw a tall, solid built man with short, grey-blond hair. The vehicle and trailer had a business name emblazoned on the side and for the life of me I cannot remember what it said. Something about this man made me stare, not furtive glances but a bold accusing stare. The visions about J.G came straight into my mind and I leaned out of the window and eyeballed him. I don’t know about you, if somebody stared at me like that I would have to go over to say something. Lorelle came back to the car and stood there watching the interaction. This bloke stared back, he fidgeted, scratched at himself, looked around and climbed into his ute. All I could think was, it’s you, it’s bloody well you, you bastard. He must’ve picked up on it, because he glared at me and sped off. Can you imagine if I’d wandered into speak with the local Constabulary? “Excuse me, I think I saw someone from a vision I had, who killed this woman and……” I’d be in a small room eating my porridge with a rubber spoon.
Next week: The Death of a child is always tragic.