Methra rushed to help Aldra pick up the files that landed on the floor.

“Incomprehensible!” Methra exclaimed.

“Yes.., Yes…, Yes it is. That’s okay Methra I will pick up this mess. I just need a little time right now. Please close the door on your way out.” Dr. Davis mumbled while she collected the files that had fallen at her feet.

Having retrieved the files, she placed them back into the order of her ascending appointments. Aldra opened the case jacket of the woman who was to be her first appointment of the day. Mona Flores a 19 year old woman of Cuban descent was the only daughter of Manuel and Anna Flores. Nona means nine. Nine conceptions and of the nine only Nona survived the nine months of pregnancy. She was born in the ninth month, on the ninth day in the year 1989.  Aldra pondered the significance of the number nine. She recalled that nine is often associated with both the nine levels of heaven and hell in Dante’s inferno.

     Aldra felt her abdomen tense and the blades of her shoulder ache. She pushed through the pain. Though she was keenly aware that her body was speaking to her of impending doom, she knew she had to unravel the mystery of the seemingly correlational nature of the dream and her deceased client Nona Flores.

     Aldra’s face grew grim as she read the details outlined in Dr. Surberec’s case study. Nona had been his patient for close to a year. She came to his office because of panic attacks. During the course of treatment, Nona revealed that she suffered from acute anxiety which began shortly after her witnessing the murder of her neighbor and her neighbor’s son. Nona was a part time nanny and a college student studying to be an anthropologist.

Every weekday afternoon at 3:00 p.m. she reported to the Sanchez home to care for Miguel while Sonya Sanchez, his mother went to work.

     At 6:00 p.m. daily, Miguel Sr. would report home and relieve Nona of her duties. On a hot and humid Wednesday in late August with the temperature reaching close to 101 degrees, Nona decided to take Miguel to the local neighborhood pool. In an effort to avoid changing clothes at the public pool, Nona slipped her swimsuit on under her blue khaki shorts and white cotton t-shirt. She placed her clothes in her back pack and left them in the downstairs den of the house. Miguel loved going to the pool. His hair was fine and tightly curled with eyes as black as onyx. Nona told the doctor that Miguel was a gifted boy whose spirit was that of a much older person. After a couple of hours of splashing fun, Nona told Miguel it was time to go. Miguel looked at her that day and told her this would be the last time he ever would swim in that pool. Nona was startled by his comment, but passed it off as a three year old not wanting to leave the refreshing, cool waters of an Olympic size pool. Nona arrived at the Sanchez home at 5:50 p.m., dressed Miguel and led him to the play area of the house while she collected her things for her departure. Nona was distracted when her cell phone rang and Mr. Sanchez arrived home at exactly the same time. She finished her call and Mr. Sanchez asked her how the day went. She reported that nothing out of the ordinary occurred except that they went to the local pool. She asked him if he needed anything and when he didn’t, she left. Nona only lived a couple of houses down from the Sanchez family.

     After leaving work, she returned home and watched a little television before nodding off to sleep. When she awoke, she reached for her back pack to begin her homework for her morning classes. At that moment, she remembered she had left the back pack on the sofa of the Sanchez home. She dialed the Sanchez’s number but the line was busy, so since she lived so close she decided to just knock on the door and explain the error, get her things and go.

     She had reached their front door and was about to ring the bell when through the screen door she heard Miguel hollering, “Don’t hurt my mommy.”

     Pulling her hand back from the bell, she tiptoed away. She did not want to intrude on their personal lives or get involved in a domestic dispute. Then she had an afterthought and wondered if someone besides the Sanchez’s were in the home. She quickly moved to the rear side of the house. Two small windows one to the right and one to the left and about 5 feet from the ground gave complete visibility to the entire family room. She stood side ways and peaked through the window. In the same instant, Miguel Sanchez had struck his wife, close fisted in the side of her head and she plummeted to the floor. Miguel, Jr. ran to his mommy and threw his three year old pint size body onto her back and hugged his arms around her neck. Enraged, Miguel Sr. picked the boy up and threw him into a couch whose back was against a solid white wall. The boy’s head bounced against the wall and it left behind a splattered red impression   The boy rolled head first into the cushions of the couch. Miguel Senior ran to his son and turned him over on his back and lifted him towards his mouth. Sonya arose from the ground grabbed a vase and came running from behind him with the vase raised slightly above her head. It was clear she planned to hit him over the head. He dropped the boy on the couch and tried to grab the vase, but her fingers were glued to it and so he clutched her throat and squeezed until the vase fell to the floor and the sound of glass and wood meeting together startled Nona back to motion. She flew faster than her feet could move. Frantically turning the knob to her house she pushed the door open, slammed it shut and locked the door. Her next move was to call 911.

     Nine is the number of personalities in an Enneagram. Aldra wondered if Nona was a nine just by virtue of the odd occurrences surrounding her birth. The nine in an enneagram is a peacemaker.  Nines will go as far as lying to themselves in an effort to keep peace. If Nona was a nine, then perhaps her anxiety was heightened by the severe disturbance of witnessing such a violent act.  

     Methra interrupted Aldra’s thoughts with the buzzing of the inner office phone. ‘Your 9:30 appointment is here.”

“Okay. Thank you.”Aldra responded. Aldra straightened out her files, shut Nona’s case and quickly reviewed the chart of her next client. She opened her office door and stepped into the lobby, looked at the only woman on the couch and said, “Deborah.”

“Yes.” The young woman replied.

“I am Dr. Davis. Would you come with me please?” The two walked into Aldra’s office.

     Ten clients later Nona was finished for the day. She finished her case notes and glanced at her desk top. Nona’s file with her picture on the front was staring up at her.

Nona’s hair was thick, long and brown-blackish. Her eyes were wide and set far apart. . Her lips were full, dark and a plum color. Around her neck was a charm necklace. Two gold charms hung from the 18 inch chain. One was a golden key and the other was a golden dove. Aldra stared at the picture hoping somehow the woman it portrayed would come to life and tell her the mystery of who would commit such a heinous crime. “Talk to me Nora.” Aldra’s heat and eyes were poised for a response.

     Not getting what she wanted, Aldra scooped up the file, slid it into her briefcase and set out for home. She pulled in the driveway, collected her mail, and entered the house. While flipping through the mostly spam mail, she hit the button on her answering machine. “You have no messages.” The answering machine echoed back to her.  She poured herself a glass of Merlot and turned on the television. Her feet were raised on the ataman and she leaned her body back into the velveteen couch.

     “Dr. Davis, can you see me?” The voice whispered.

Unaware of where which direction the voices came from, Aldra called back, “Where are you.”

“Over here. Follow the scent of the eucalyptus.”  A garbled voice requested.

Oddly enough she was able to follow the scent. Aldra found herself in a house made of wood with one floor and several smaller rooms. In the kitchen, a young boy of eight or nine was peeling a basket of potatoes. His face was pained, his hair disheveled and his clothes were unkempt. The room held no affection. The cabinets were wood, the counters were wood, the table was wood and the couch was a wooden frame with square cushions arranged as seats. The walls were bare except for a large wooden crucifix. The fireplace was covered in soot and above it laid the bible on a wooden mantel. No pictures or artifacts that reflected the personality of the homemaker were visible. The boy pushed the tears from his eyes off to the side of his face. A man walked out of a back room and looked at him. “Have you finished?” He demanded.

“Are those tears, I see.” He threw a look of disdain to him.

 His body stood behind his and he pulled the gnarled, wooly hair into one large clump and yanked it back from her head. “Didn’t I tell you to have this done?” he raged.

     He whimpered and let go a gasp of breath. He fought the tears, but like a crock pot under extreme pressure they exploded down his face.

     He yanked him from the seat by the scoop of hair entangled in his hands. He dragged him before the crucifix. “Recite them now.” He scowled as he thrust the boy to his knees. The boy looked up to the cross and began the ritual that was imprinted on his soul.

“I shall love the Lord, my God with my whole heart and soul.  Thoult shall have no other Gods beside me. Thoult shall not take the name of thy Lord, God in vain. Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy. Honor thy father and mother….” The boy humbly recited the ritual.

     “Have you honored your father today?” He demeaningly glared at that boy.

     “No Sir. I have failed to honor my father as a young boy should. I must learn to complete tasks in the time allotted by the one the Lord has ordained as my earthly father. I am to be seen and not heard.” The boy glanced into the man’s eyes for some type of repentance.

     “Remove the shirt.” He ordered.

The boy dropped his face into his knees and curled into an upright fetal position. The man grabbed a chunk of hair and pulled him back to his knees. The young man pleaded for forgiveness, but the man refused to relent. He unbuckled his belt and slid it out of the nooses that secured it to his pants. “Take it like a man. The bible says if you “spare the rod, you spoil the child.”

    With that he connected the thin razor strap to the bare flesh of the boy. The boy’s eyes flinched and his body convulsed in agony. “For every tear you cry, I shall add another lash. “The man diabolically directed.

     I had seen enough and I hollered to the man. “Stop this at once. You sick and twisted bastard.”

     The man did not stop. He did not look. The boy did not look.

“Stop it now. Do you hear me? Stop it right this instance!” I screamed but no one even so much as glanced in my direction. I wanted to rush to the boy’s aide and pull him from this insidious man, but was unable to penetrate any sort of movement. I needed to go forward, wring my hands, throw something, but despite my mind’s ability to visualize such movements, my body had quit as if paralysis had settled in. Frustrated and piqued with emotion and no outlet available. I watched the scene unravel.

     As the man was about to descend the second stripe to the boy’s flesh, a dark and ghastly figure appeared above the boy’s head. The body of the figure was that of a dog, but he had three separate heads. His eyes pierced the soul of the boy whose body he overtook.

     I knew this figure. “Wait” I pleaded and one of the heads turned in my direction. Our eyes connected and my soul squirmed beneath my skin.