Chapter 2

While I waited for my father to work out who else he wanted me to work on, I tried to work out how to make myself taller. I had been born in the 3rd percentile for length and I never really caught up. My younger brother was both taller and more heavily set compared to me. I had been a sickly child and Mum was always telling me that she didn't think I would survive to reach 5. At one point, I was examined by a paediatric doctor who did some measurements and told me that my eventual height would probably be just under five feet.

I was a bit conflicted about trying to speed up my growth. I liked sleeping with my sisters and didn't want to end up back with my brothers and I was worried about messing with my growth. I thought the most sensible thing to do was wait until I had my full growth and then try and increase it. It would mean that I would have to suffer the taunts from my brothers for some time to come. Then again, my brothers had been teasing me and putting me down my whole life and I suspected they would never change. I decided not to try to change myself unless I felt it was really necessary.

Father returned from work and then left to talk to someone about me and what I could do. He sat me down and told me that the person I was going to be working on was an employee of a very important man. I needed to be respectful and do what I was told. If I succeeded we would be paid and I would get a reward. When my father was talking to me there was such a serious expression on his face that he made me afraid. He had never spoken to me like this or looked at me that way before.

When he came back, he brought this man for me to treat. The guy was dressed in a suit and yet had all sorts of tattoos. He was a man in his thirties without an ounce of fat on him. He was taller than my father, so probably a couple of inches above six foot. His face was expressionless which I think was scarier than a negative look.

My job was to remove a tattoo from his right hand. Mum was going to take pictures so that we had more evidence, but the man just looked at my father who stopped Mum and told her, no photos.

Although my father was away most days this man, who never identified himself, returned every day for me to work on him. The only thing I ever heard him say was 'finished?' when he could see me relax from focussing on his hand. Then he would nod his head and leave. Within two weeks you could see the tattoo fading and it was completely gone after four.

The man stopped coming round after that. The next time my father came home I woke up in the night hearing my parents argue in their bedroom and that morning Mum started crying whenever she looked at me. I was kept home from school so I was alone in the house with Mum. She wouldn't answer any of my worried questions but gave me lots of hugs. I did hear an occasional 'sorry' muttered from her lips.

For a special treat, she made me some hot chocolate. It did taste a bit funny, but we have it so rarely that I wasn't sure if it was just my imagination. Then we cuddled on the sofa watching TV. I couldn't keep my eyes open and Mum stroking my hair didn't help. I let myself fall asleep, knowing I was safe in my Mum's arms.

Looking back on it, it is hard to believe how innocent I was. All the signs were there if I had looked for them. I was only 9 and at the time I was confident in the love of my parents. I forgave myself my foolishness and carried the lessons I learned for the rest of my life.

I woke up groggy and confused. Nothing made sense. I wasn't in my bed, I wasn't at my house and there was no one around. When you are part of a large family you are never alone. It turned out I wasn't even in the same country. It wasn't long before my carers introduced themselves and explained my situation. I don't want to dwell on that part of my life because, to be frank, I spent the first few weeks terrified.

Apparently, what I was able to do was not unique. There were practitioners in China who used the same method to help heal people. The big difference was that I kept treating someone repeatedly until my focussed image matched their real one and, mainly due to ignorance, I didn't have any preconceived notions of what was possible. Using this idea they wanted to stretch what I was able to achieve.

I spent the next three years as a pampered prisoner for a criminal organisation. I don't think it was one particular flavour, rather a neutral party that all could visit. I was informed that my family would get a percentage of all my earnings. I was offered the opportunity to keep in touch with them, but in my anger over their actions, I decided that I wanted nothing to do with them. I still cried myself to sleep wanting my Mum. As I got a bit wiser I realised that it was better if they didn't think I had any feelings for my family otherwise they might use them as leverage over me. The money that my family received was part of the deal my father came up with when he sold me to them. They told me that if I did my job honestly and fairly then I would be treated respectfully, but if I gave them cause, I would be beaten and certain privileges removed. Not that I had many privileges.

I intended to never give them cause, although it did happen once. A man touched me inappropriately. I threatened him with causing his manhood to fall off and he left me alone after that. I have no idea what he told my carers, but I was given the cane after he left. I suspect he just asked for his money back and that was enough cause.

I didn't mind the job itself too much. I mean I loved the idea of helping people, but I hated my loss of freedom. My carers tried to be friendly towards me, and I tried to show the same attitude back, at least superficially. I never forgot that they were my jailers which was reinforced whenever I asked for some freedom that was universally denied.

They did push me to increase the range of what I could treat. I explained my process and what I did and they used that to work out ways to help me perform better. I had a fancy computer that could allow me to digitally alter someone's face or body to help me create an image that I could work with. It also showed me pictures of healthy tissue to help me visualise. I needed it less and less as constant use of my imagination and focus enabled me to develop something close to a photographic memory. I needed it more to help my customers show me what they wanted.

I was taught English language and comprehension and then I was trained by a tutor in human anatomy, Russian, Italian and Spanish. The anatomy was to help with my mental images and the languages were to help communicate with my patients. All other forms of education were denied me as they didn't want to pollute my mind in any way. If I had a question that they couldn't answer they would look it up and explain it to me the next time they visited. Later they added drawing and painting as they wanted to occupy me and also give me something that might help with my visualisations.

I studied hard, but still spent a lot of time bored. I racked my brain to find something that they would let me do and eventually came up with learning a musical instrument. So I managed to wheedle piano lessons out of them.

The range of conditions that they asked me to treat was very varied. Sometimes I was asked to alter a persons face so that they were not recognisable, or given other non-serious conditions to treat. I even worked on one young girl to restore her hymen. Those sessions were extremely uncomfortable for both of us. I was also used to treat people with gunshot wounds and other injuries. However, the majority of the patients were in a very ill state. I think my services were offered to those who would pay the most.

Most people got better under my care, but not all. I couldn't treat cancer, or more accurately I couldn't cure cancer. I could restore damaged or dysfunctioning organs, but the cancer itself would still return. Regardless of what I was treating, it still took me a month of constant daily visits to achieve my imagined outcome. I didn't have to diagnose their conditions either. There was usually a doctor who was with me on the initial consultation who would tell me what I needed to work on.

Most came daily, but a few took up one of the multiple beds that were available for long-stay patients and it was one of these patients who helped me to escape.