A Spirited Emergence Episode 17: Pain in the neck by D.L. Copyright  © 2010 D.L. All Rights Reserved. I can’t resist repeating the classic movie quote, "Infamy! Infamy! They've all got it in for me!"

I am shocked for a second wondering where the knife embedded in my neck came from, and why there is no blood. After a few moments, I realise that there should be blood, and immediately dark red creeps down my arm, soaking my clothes. As I am currently projecting, the wound is fake, as is the rest of me. I can't be harmed while outside my body, at least not as far as I am aware. The worst-case scenario is that I am simply forced to end my projection.

Not sure what to do next, and slightly shocked by the turn of events, I fall to my knees, then over onto my left side.

I carefully analyse the situation. At any time I can choose to vanish, however that is going to be hard to explain later. Looking at the wound, I conclude it should be fatal. I could make a recovery, however explaining a lucky escape would be as bad as disappearing. I decide it's safest to play dead for the moment.

I survey the scene remotely. Alison is to my right, crouched in the shadows, her arm outstretched as if she has just thrown something. Britney screams and Cherry turns and throws up in a nearby bush. Sirens can be heard in the distance, slowly getting louder. Mike and Terry decide to leg it. Ben jumps on Alison and pins her to the ground.

The sirens stop and I hear people running. Two police officers appear on the scene. One immediately arrests Allison and handcuffs her, while instructing the others to stay put.

The other comes over and examines me. My projection is now hardly breathing, and has blood coming out of its mouth.

With my dying breath, I can’t resist repeating the classic movie quote, "Infamy! Infamy! They've all got it in for me!"

A paramedic arrives and pronounces me dead at the scene. The police now seal the area off. I maintain the projection of a dead body, and watch the activities remotely from overhead.

Another police car and van arrive. Alison is escorted to one car and driven away. Britney, Ben, and Stephanie are loaded into the van, which then drives off. Cherry is taken away by ambulance, her hand no doubt broken from hitting me.

A photographer comes and records the scene from all angles. The police spend nearly half an hour measuring and recording the area. The coroner comes and places me in a body bag. I am loaded into the back of a van. I realise that this could be a major problem. I don't know how far away I am from the morgue. It might be out of projection range. I also have the problem of the post mortem.

I focus all my energy on maintaining the projection. I notice that the blood on the ground beneath where I have been laying doesn't disappear when the body is removed. This is a new development. Normally, anything that is created as part of a projection disappears after leaving contact with my projected form. Somehow, I’m effectively projecting in two places, a pool of blood and a corpse. My head is starting to pound from the effort of maintaining the scene.

Luckily, it starts to rain, washing the blood on the ground away so that I no longer have to keep it projected in place.

Eventually my body is taken away in the van. I follow the vehicle from above with my remote vision as I continue to project the corpse into the back. Within a few minutes, I am driven into the morgue at the local hospital. I'm not sure how I’m maintaining this projection. I am at least five miles away from where I left my body. This should be out of range.

I try not to reason how, but instead maintain my concentration on keeping the projection going. The knife is removed from my neck, placed in an evidence bag, and taken away. The blood on it doesn't disappear. I am covered by a sheet and wheeled into another room. Unlike the morgue, this is less sterile looking. The morgue is all stainless steel and white tiled walls. This room has soft furnishings and fake flowers on a table nearby. I assume that this must be some sort of chapel of rest.

My father is led into the room, accompanied by a police officer.

“Yes, that is my son David,” he says, almost on the point of tears. “May I have a few minutes alone with him?”

The other people disappear from the room. However, I note that there is a CCTV camera in the room. I therefore can’t communicate with my father. Having also noticed the camera, he is careful when addressing me.

“Jenny, I hope you can hear me,” he whispers softly. “Your body is in a nearby ward. You seem to have gone into a coma with the effort of keeping your projection going. You only need to keep this up for a short while, hang in there.”

He leaves the room after a few minutes and I am wheeled back to the morgue. The coroner then proceeds to start a post mortem on me. I have seen a documentary on TV last year of an actual post mortem being carried out, so I know what the inside of a body looks like. It takes all my energy, but I am able to make it through the ordeal. The coroner seems happy with what he sees.

There’s not much he needs to examine, as it’s obvious that the knife wound is the cause of death. It has nicked one of my arteries and cut several veins. Blood has leaked into my windpipe and down into my lungs. I have effectively drowned in my own blood.

During the procedure, my clothes are removed and placed in evidence bags. The steel plated body armour comes as a surprise. Again, they don't immediately disappear when they leave contact with my body. As I watch them being taken away I feel myself go dizzy, and I start to feel faint.

After closing me up, I am wheeled into a storage locker. I watch the coroner pack up his things and head home. Finally, I can relax and return to my body. I let the exhaustion overcome me and I feel myself falling into a deep sleep.

I am woken up by the sound of a door being opened. I realise I haven’t returned to my body, and I am still in the morgue, looking down from the ceiling.

My dead projected corpse is wheeled out and transported away by an undertaker. I am again placed in storage and I fall back asleep.

The next time I wake, I am in the undertakers. They place me in a yellow summer dress, polish my nails and do my makeup. They place a jewelled choker around my neck to hide the stab wound, and place me in a maple wood coffin.

I recognise the name of the undertakers. It is only a couple of blocks away from the hospital. My father must be trying to keep my projected form within range of my body.

I am wheeled into the chapel of rest. An hour later, my family comes to pay their last respects. Uncle Richard, Aunt Janice, Susan and my father surround the coffin and look at me. The undertakers leave the room.

“Jenny, can you hear me?” My father whispers to me softly.

“CCTV in operation,” I whisper back, “I will take care of the tape later, nobody is watching the monitor, I checked.”

“Thank god you seem to be all right,” my father says in hushed tones. “We were getting seriously worried that something had happened. You are still lying in a coma at the hospital.”

“I guess I am pushing beyond my limits to make sure the projection doesn't disappear. I will need to keep this going until after the funeral,” I reply quietly.

“No you don't,” my uncle replies, pulling a lump of metal out from under his jacket. “We each have lead weights. We figure that if your projection disappears then the coffin becomes lighter. This should solve the problem. We just need to hide them somewhere.”

I think for a moment before smiling, “The clothes aren't part of this projection, so I need to maintain their position, but the rest of my body doesn’t need to remain solid. Stick the weights in my legs, body, and head. When I make the rest of my body solid again, they will be inside of me.”

The plan is quickly executed. Soon I am lying peacefully in the coffin and there is no evidence of the added mass.

“Where exactly is my body?” I ask them, “I seem to have lost track of it. I know I'm in a coma in the hospital, but where?”

“Ward 10, Bay 3, second bed on the left,” Susan replies.

“Thanks, I will meet you there later. I need to make sure this coffin is sealed before I leave,” I state.

My family departs and my father instructs the undertaker to seal the coffin, which they do later that afternoon.

I end the projection and remotely view the hospital. Following the signs, I float through the halls and find my body. Using all my willpower, I push myself back inside.

I suddenly wake and take a deep breath. The monitors attached to me give some loud bleeps and an alarm goes off. I try to get up, but I am too weak. A nurse comes running in and presses a few buttons on the machines.

“Welcome back, you had us worried there,” she says.

“I feel like I’ve run a marathon,” I reply.

I am subjected to a number of tests and examined by the doctor.

I don't like being in hospital. I have been fitted with a drip and a catheter, both of which are uncomfortable. I'm informed it will be several days before I will be released, as they still haven't worked out what is wrong with me.

My father and Susan come to visit that evening. Only two people are allowed to visit at any one time.

“It's Tuesday,” my father tells me, carefully wording his statements in case we are overheard by the hospital staff. “David was stabbed last Friday. He was released to the undertakers yesterday. I was at the office when the police informed me that my son had been killed. I went with them to identify the body while Gloria went home to check on you. She got Susan and Janice to meet her there. They found you on the bed sweating and hardly breathing. Your condition seemed to be getting worse so they called an ambulance. You were brought here to the hospital where you were found to be in a hypoglycaemic coma. Your body was almost devoid of sugar. You have been on a drip since then. The doctors can't work out why your blood sugar levels keep dropping.”

I have been wondering how I managed to keep the projection going. I guess that my body must have been taken to the hospital at a similar time to the projection being moved to the Morgue. With both in the same building it minimised the distance. I was also hooked up to a drip to restore my blood sugar levels. This explains how I was able to carry on projecting way beyond my normal limits.

Trying to sleep in a noisy hospital is virtually impossible. I take advantage of being awake at one in the morning to pay my coffin a visit. I am concerned that the weights might shift about when the coffin is moved. I also have a CCTV tape to erase.

I deal with the recording first. Having found the equipment, I make sure it is all switched off. The footage is being recorded onto video tape. Each tape appears to last 24 hours, by only taking a still image every few seconds. Looking at the labelling it appears that the tapes are changed over each morning. The current tape in the machine is the recording I need. Not only will I be erasing the video of the weights being put in the coffin, I will also be hiding my current activities.

I eject the tape from the machine. I pull the entire length of tape out of the cassette and hold it up to the TV being used with the system. It is an older CRT model rather than a flat LCD model. It has a degauss button on the front, which I press a few times while holding the tape against the screen. I can feel the static electricity across the surface, hopefully erasing the tape in the process.

I wind the tape back into its cassette and return it to the recorder. I rewind the tape to the beginning then press play. I remove the solidness from my finger and push in into the machine. Making the tip of it solid again, I press on the spool that the tape is being wound on, slowing it down. The tape is now being drawn through the play heads faster than it is being collected. The net result is that the recorder is soon filling up with tape. Pressing fast forward causes the tape to stream out into the machine. It soon becomes wrapped round the wheels and the whole knotted mess comes to a sudden stop.

Satisfied with my sabotage, I head into the workshop and find the tools I need for my next task. The lid to the coffin has been screwed shut, so taking a screwdriver I remove the lid. Inside I find the lumps of metal covered by the yellow sundress. I need to keep the weights in place and stop them sliding around.

I find up some PVA wood glue, some strips of material, and some nails. I paint the bottom of the coffin with the glue. I doubt the glue will adhere to the metal very well, but I can tape it down using the material. I soak the dress and some strips of material in the PVA and press them down over the weights, sandwiching them in place. I then take some nails and proceed to nail the material to the bottom of the coffin. Once dry, this should hold everything in place without slipping.

I make sure that the coffin is sealed and that there is no sign of tampering, before returning everything to where I have found it. I'm satisfied that nobody will discover that the coffin is empty and that my death has been faked.

I end the projection, returning to the hospital, but I can't get to sleep. The ward isn't exactly quiet at night and I'm not very comfortable. I have also spent several days effectively asleep, so now I'm not tired. It’s boring in the ward, so I start exploring the hospital with my remote vision.

I soon find something interesting. The hospital has a gym and it isn't being used. I decide to project myself inside. I find the light switch and then proceed to expend my frustrations on a punch bag. That makes me feel much better. After an hour's work out, I am able to return to my body and get a few hours of sleep before being woken up again at six in the morning.

Wednesday morning comes and I’m not in a good mood. I am confined to the bed by the drip, catheter, and various monitoring equipment to which I am hooked up.

I am also feeling bloated and have stomach cramps. I complain to the nurses. Susan has warned them that I am getting close to my time of the month. I hadn't realised that that delight has snuck up on me already. It partially explains why I'm not very comfortable, although the tubes going in and out are making things worse.

The nurse gives me some tablets to help with the menstrual symptoms. I swallow them and proceed to drink the entire five-pint jug of water they have left on the bedside cabinet. If they insist on having this catheter stuck in me then I'm going to make sure they have to change the bag as often as possible. This doesn’t please the nurses, especially when the bag overflows all over the floor.

My father comes to see me at breakfast time. He has been given bereavement leave from his employers.

I am fed up and make it clear that I'm leaving this hospital this morning, whether the hospital staff agree or not. If I haven't been discharged by noon, I am going to walk out, and nobody is going to stop me, even if that means I have to remove the catheter and drip myself.

My father goes to have a word with the senior nurse, explaining my intention.

The doctor comes round at half past nine, giving me a thorough examination, and checks my charts. As I have started to bleed, I am given a full gynaecological exam as well, to check that the blood is menstrual and not from an infection. He instructs that the catheter and drip be removed and that I be given suitable materials. I am relieved to have the catheter disconnected, and although I now have a tampon inserted, it's still more comfortable than before.

The doctor tells me that if there are no more fluctuations in my sugar levels I can be discharged on Friday. They may not know what is causing the symptoms, but I certainly do. I have already looked at the charts and figured that the lows corresponded to when my projection was being worked on, although I’m not going to be explaining this to the doctors.

“I am leaving at noon today,” I tell him. He isn't happy and instructs me to remain here until Friday, as they are concerned I might have a relapse. They still haven't figured out what is causing the problem, and I’ve been given a preliminary diagnosis of diabetes pending further tests.

I’m currently wearing a hospital-provided gown. I have already checked and some of my clothes are in a locker by the bed. I have the shoes, skirt and blouse in which I arrived. I am already wearing clean panties under the hospital gown, although my bra and socks are missing.

I can do without those if necessary. With a puzzle book brought by my father, I am allowed to sit in the chair by my bed and do crosswords. The nurses keep an eye on me to make sure I'm not about to carry out my threats of leaving.

I have a plan for how to get out. I wait until mid-morning and take the opportunity when it arises. I have been keeping an eye on the nurses with my remote vision. They are all now occupied with other patients and there is nobody between the door and me. I have already snuck my clothes into a bag. I put down my puzzle book and creep out of the door. Having scouted the whole hospital with my remote vision, I head to a disabled loo with an out of order sign on it, and sneak inside. The toilet bowl has a large crack in it, leaking water over the floor. I guess that they are waiting for a replacement, and there is a chance it won't be today.

I make myself comfortable on a dry bit of floor, and project back into the ward. I smile at the nurses as I come out of one of the patient toilets and return to my seat. They look relieved, having not seen where I had disappeared to.

At three minutes to noon, I again go into the patient toilet on the ward, being closely watched by the nurses. As soon as I am locked in the room, I end my projection. I quickly get dressed, and after checking the coast is clear, leave my hiding place and proceed to walk out of the hospital. I cross through the front doors and out into the car park at exactly twelve o'clock.

I have been keeping a remote eye on the ward. It takes them several minutes to realise I'm not coming back out of the bathroom, after which they decide to unlock the door and check on me. They are very surprised to find the room empty, considering that the senior nurse has been observing me for the past half an hour. She watched the door since I entered, and can't understand how I cannot be inside.

They call security to look for me. However, I have already left the hospital grounds. My father arrives on the ward a few minutes later and asks them where I am. When told that I'm missing, he bursts out laughing.

“This is a very serious matter, Mr Palmer,” the senior nurse tells him.

“What were you expecting to happen?” my father asks. “Jenny had made it perfectly clear that she would be leaving at noon, and it looks to me that she has done exactly that. It's now nearly ten past twelve. Given her usual walking pace, I expect she is at least a half mile away by now, possibly more if she was jogging. Now, is there any discharge paperwork to be signed?”

Twenty minutes later my father leaves the hospital after signing several forms to indicate that I have discharged myself against medical advice.

It takes me two hours to walk home, and my father is waiting for me when I arrive.

“Do I take it that they saw a projection walking into the toilet and you were already elsewhere?” he asks me.

“I snuck out an hour before, and was projecting from an out of order disabled loo,” I tell him. “I made it perfectly clear I wasn't going to remain there after noon. Besides, we both know the reason for my coma. I was projecting too hard. The only chance of it happening again is if I choose to make it occur.”

After a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee, I go upstairs and have a good long soak in the bath. That makes me feel a lot better.