An excerpt from “The Source“

By Marisa Serbinov-Anderson

Copyright 2007

 

Chapter 4

“Death, By Draconian Means”-

This was, a true cold- file homicide Case. After my assistance, it went to prosecution.

White Plains, New York was this poor souls last stop. He had an angel’s name, but this was no angel. And while he lived, he was known as Michael. His last name is unimportant. His journey in life was to come to an end with his last days as a vagrant. How he started his life in this world is anyone’s guess, but how it ended, became my business.

As with life, there are irony’s, that are never justified. Michael would receive more attention is his time here, with his death, than he ever would have, in life.

Michael was brought into the city of White Plains to his death by the will of his killer. It would be the Mayor and the city police department that would pull me in to seek out both. By the grace of my sixth sense, it was the hope of the police department, that I would be their, and Michael’s “eyewitness“ to what had happened to him, and then, his vindicator. He was a victim, in this case, because of lack of his own care, and his naiveté.

As his last hours wound down before becoming a homicide victim, Michael, would have never imagined that in another year and a half, a psychic would come to know him and the sequence of events, that would lead up to what would be his last agonizing moments of life leading to his death. All for the purpose of assisting the Homicide Department toward solving his death, and their cold file case. There, in the city, off Mamaroneck Avenue , on a hillside across from a supermarket, he would be found lying motionless, as I would walk toward him in a visual seasons later, and lay down in his exact spot, depicting his body position and all of the items strewn all around him, to the stunned police officers standing over me. A back pack, a leather jacket, a liquor bottle, and the officers shocked pale faces looking down upon me as I lay in the same position Michael depicted when his body released all life within him, the way the police first saw him, their expressions told me I was precisely correct. And the sense and smell of energy left there, was a sorrowful longing in the emotions for a resolve for the balanced scales that had not yet, taken place for Michael.

But before you hear the rest of the story, you need to understand how this can happen, a psychic and crimes, seeing scenes, numbers, and even receiving smells, and why I can and will do this gruesome and grueling work. And I’m not just discussing the homicides! Sometimes, it’s just dealing with people and issues. So let me explain the how and maybe the why, of what has led me into this “business” of case crimes in the first place. One of the why’s, is because I am told I am the only one who can do this, in the way that I do, receiving, perceiving information that cannot be collected otherwise. An area I no longer call dwelling in the impossible universe, as new physics has explained much of what I do, is theoretically possible in terms of quantum and the unified field theory and general relativity. T.S. Eliot prevailed in truth when he noted “Human kind cannot bear very much reality.” (Four Quartets, Burnt Norton 1935) My reality, is telling people there own, so that they can bear it and deal with it. But the other work, is dealing with things and information, not known, or yet found. Usually of interest to aid one problem or another. I am told, I am in a percentile of rare if not extraordinary (not normal) abilities that are extra sensitivities, for perceiving what is impossible to see or know. There are exceptions, as I am not all knowing all seeing. If I were, I would be up their directing this play. Trust me, it would be all a very different outcome for many. The future, or something like it (information that exists elsewhere, found later) is something most can’t see. And people all tell me, I do know it. I am a psychic, and I work as a psychic consultant. My clients vary in every way shape and form that you could think of, and what you could not…from veterinarians and psychiatrists, to physics researchers, crime investigators to Houdini society examiners, documented case haunting “clients“ to brokerage firms on wall street. Other clients, well let’s just say, they are classified.

What I do from my area, is not so strange. Think about it. Whether it is for research, or crimes. Or just simple life turns. It is another indicator in which people find a need for answers or for a resolve. We go to the weather reports to listen to a meteorologist, make our weeks plans better. We seek out financial “experts” for future benefits, we seek our predictors, of all types. We need a better plan, or just the information itself. We change and events change, lives change. We are all taking risks. We want to take less risks, so we seek out someone who has an advantage for less risk taking. I happen to tell people literally, exactly where they will be, within a framework of time. I

knew my own law case that way, with my attorney saying he wished he could

do all of his law cases that way, knowing each step of the way what would

occur. My own case for divorce was probably one for the books in “bizarre“, but I knew what would happen each way, and when, with twists and turns that seemed impossible in all probabilities, to yet happen. These things, I don’t have to prove, they become facts with time, after life happens. My honorable attorney, a compassionate man with a sense of justice, yes, that still remains in him from his youth, a young man that made a choice toward a concept to first, and utmost, make things right, and I know, I know….he is an attorney! He has said, he will retire, and reopen a case of an innocent man in jail. He had asked for my help for this wrongful conviction of murder. And with earnest hope, this will happen. That is how I get involved. If I am fortunate, for these elements to come my way, it is a feeling of balances tipped, the other way. Injustices and egregious acts, cannot be undone, but they can be resolved, in a different way in time, and space, a balancing of scales if you will. For me, it just happens!

As a tool, I am used, and abused. Everyone, that is a professional, uses a tool to do what they do better, or faster. And why I do the crime cases, well, there are no limits to the bizarre tendencies of rage, when it comes to humans. On to “Neuroscience 101“. To give you the research out there, within the grim area of the Human model, specifically the Male, high in testosterone, the hormone that fuels this endless predisposition to violence, and psychopathic tendencies. These violent, abusive actions, are strictly limited to the Human animal. Human kind, is not kind. We see this. Without discretion our species prevails to have a propensity toward cruelty and violence, and without contradiction, it spawns the sociopath more often than people care to know. It is a trait, strictly withheld to the human consiousness, one that is rare to non-existent in the female and one that will keep all of us, in the business of criminal responsiveness, very busy perhaps, until we finally destroy ourselves. The planet almost appears to be, naturally, trying to shake off the infestation that is destroying it. To update your biological sciences more, the human brain houses the organ area known as the amygdale, a brain structure that governs emotions, delivered for processing to action by the frontal cortex. That processing link has been found to be the differential switching that alters between a woman’s brain and their tough guy counterparts. Women’s brains have a significantly higher volume of orbital frontal cortex in proportion to amygdala volume than the brains of the men.

For the males, this means an inability to deal with emotions without aggression, and a predisposition to violence. It is this physical organ, that will be placing all of us, in consistent jeopardy. This has enabled the rest of us, to understand that we will be trying to solve endless problems for harm prevention, for a long time.

Now, this is the trickle down cause and affect and why this has become the bulk of my work, and my world. Not just the criminal aspects, but the emotional and the mental. The emotions or in sociopaths, the lack of, are

what starts all of this. My work, deals with human abnormalities, frailties and failures, the other percentage of casework, is relevant to the paranormal. Even though it is normal, and part of our astounding universe of what exists and is already known and understood in science, made sensible by mathematics and physics. Within that area, is where ghosts and haunting occur, an area where energy transmutations and manifestations coexist within our dimension, scientifically known as anomolis phenomena. As a child, my world was the real “sixth sense” movie. I was not allowed to sleep until I finally responded to what I heard and then helped to send them to the light. I knew this place, for I was there. Anyway, that was the beginning of some sleep, but also a different beginning for me for all of the endeavors, yet to be, and a true understanding that life is energy, frequency and vibration, and all of this, does not die. As a small girl, I drowned, and died. There on the beach in Maine , I came back to a breath, experienced an immeasurable agonizing pain in my chest, coughing up water from my lungs. I had been resuscitated after I had been rescued from an undertow that took me out far from the beach. I could no longer treed water, and began to drown, when my adrenaline exhausted my body, I heard information to “Just let go…you will be alright”, I listened, more upon this insistent assuring message, as struggling had brought me to a complete exhaustion of oxygen to my muscles from panic. I let go with a peace, dropping to the bottom, my little legs felt the soft seaweed below and then a knowing was present. An awareness of others around me, in some way, corralling around me, I was held there until I was brought back. Inspiring, yet startling, that no one was in the water, nor coming to get to me. To this day, I do not know how the young lifeguard found me. He had to have had been led there by some thing, and someone.

When I was little, even before nursery school, my mother was the culprit that precipitated this sight and vision to flow. She noted what I said, and then she would find it would happen. She would acknowledge it to me afterwards, that I had “seen” this before it happened. Whether it was my Aunt Nina that we would no longer drive to see in the city on Sunday’s any more, within just weeks, it became true, and within months, she would pass. My beloved Nanny Mrs. Rice that had taken care of me as a toddler, indications from her body made me know what I felt would happen. In sobbing screams I let my mother know, she would not come back to us. Her assurances were for naught. Indeed that was the last Friday we saw her. She very quickly, shocked everyone, by passing away from cancer that season.

My Mother often, saw that I knew things, no one else could nor did know. Since my Mother questioned me after every test we had for the alphabet or

simple math, my expectation of her knowing all of the answers to the

alphabet, or number plays, made me assume these other questions she had for me, were also answers she knew. “Don’t you know too“? She told me no, I was the only one, and after many more visionary experiences came true she was certain that I “could see”. Her brother who was thought dead was not only alive, but would come home to see his Mother, My Grandmother, still living in southern Russia . I resolved this for her three years before it happened. She was instrumental in her notation and acknowledgment of these facts to me afterwards, and I strongly believe it was also a facilitation of these early beginnings I was predisposed to have, that helped make them stronger. She did, fan those early embers. She knew, and it was a Russian belief system of the paranormal, that some people can have a different sensitivity and brain function that makes this happen. There is an understanding, by some , still it is a theory, that there is a genetic predisposition to the gift of insight. Some physicists and parapsychologists agree. Dr. Alex Imich, was one such scientist, that has carried on telekinetic tests not just with me. He feels genes, have a lot to do with psychic phenomena, and telekinetic (movement of mind over matter) traits. He had felt, I was a “strong psychic”, especially with telekinetic traits, and the tests carried on for more than six months, made him agree with this assessment. I was flattered, but in our reality, truthfully, I thought, what would I do with such an ability. Perhaps I could “train” and get good at moving the marble on the roulette wheel. Or train so well, I could manifest spilling a drink on someone, like in
“Bewitched”. But that’s my cartoon mind at work. A perfect working camera photographing the event, kept shutting down without being touched. Imich’s own computer crashed after we argued (where grant money was coming from) just feet away from it. He left me a message begging me “You crashed the computer, it was psychic energy, and only psychic energy could restore it“, he said; “The the shop said the crash and loss was not possible, it could not crash all by itself!” The next day, while the computer was still at the shop, miles away, I called Dr. Imich to call the shop to turn it on. He argued with me, I told him to do it, and it would be on. Minutes later, he called him back, and then he called me, and said that it was on, and that, again they said, that was impossible. With no damage to it, the computers files where whole.

Animals, have extra sensory perceptions. It is quite radical and special. They migrate, find their “home” base without prior knowledge when people move

and leave them behind, or know of coming hurricanes and earthquakes. Marine mammals move away before, a hurricane comes. They “hear” and “feel” frequencies, which are also, vibrations. The “change” in atmosphere, is what they are sensitive to. But they also communicate with key vibrations, and hear phenomena and vibrations we cannot. They, are sensitive.

Now look deeper, and smaller. Look into particle physics. If a photon can communicate to another photon when they are deliberately split in an experiment, to come out to the end of a maze that has been changed with each retest, it is proof, that something quite magical is happening. These particles, cut from each other, deliberately separated, are communicating on a sub atomic level to meet together, at the end of the maze. This test, was repeated until it was doubtless, that some sort of ESP communication does exist, even on a sub atomic particle level! How fabulous the universe is. Now that, is quantum science.

Now, fast forward to 1993, where I began my work with some physics researchers and parapsychologists gaining credit within psi and alternating field research and varying anomalies in physics. At the same time, I had my start with police work, with many people, one such, had been recommended via Unsolved Mysteries. I also, came to meet Ed Miller, the anchor, and his wife, later. The rest of my work, was by word of mouth.

I came to meet Captain of Homicide in 1993, when he was Chief of Traffic in the Police Department. My need was to help a friend over what he felt was a wrongful traffic ticket given while he was driving a handicapped bus for wheel chair patrons, that needed transport. Anyway, it was something that was not like me, yet I was impelled to do this for him. Nothing happens by coincidence, nor by accident. I just knew, I needed to follow my feeling to pursue this for him. Something in his voice, made me realize, I was destined to see him personally to do this. I did know something was important of this meeting, for a later time. At the department I poked my head into his dark corner office, he was quiet and listening to someone on the phone, as he waved me in. I sat down in a large hard arm chair that sat in front of his huge desk. He was still on the phone. Looking a bit uncomfortable he looked at me then said he had to go, someone had just come in. There was no conversation from his end, that I ever heard. I gave him my hand, and introduced myself. I told him I knew he was talking with someone named S_____. He looked at me and said “How did you know that…I never said her name.” I said, “I just knew.” He looked at me. “Just as I know, that you will date her, and the boys will like her”. He twisted in his chair, then shifted, and added, very softly, that he might want to speak to me sometime about all of that.

That, was the catalyst. It wouldn’t be for another three years, until 1995 that I would receive a phone call from, now, Captain of Homicide in White Plains Police Department, P.V. The same gent that was head of Traffic when we met. This intervention was a request of help. All I knew, is that is was a cold case. Protocol was enacted, and a acknowledgement for my service was agreed upon by authorization. The Mayor at that time, gave the green light.

On the phone with Detective P.V. he asked me if I could help him on this, and another cold file case that happened almost two years prior. “We are frustrated, and have no leads. The cases, are both cold“. From this very call I knew not only the crime, the criminals name, but the victims name. “His name is Michael isn’t it. His body was on a hillside, beneath an apartment building, and across the street from a supermarket“. Pete remained silent. “The Killer randomly drove south bound on the Bronx River Parkway just north of the Scarsdale exit, and saw the victim. He stopped to pick him up, then proceeded to White Plains, across from the supermarket there on Mamaroneck Avenue“.” There is another case, he said, another victim, “yes, I said, a black female, another crime, a black male killer“. “Her body is dressed in an dowdy dress and an apron, laying in a pool of her own blood, in the kitchen steps away from a counter“. He added, that was correct, almost irritatingly, mundanely. “Back to the other case, the perpetrator is named Ed something with last name L…..“ ? The short pause followed with a timely contented laugh, he said “Yes….His name is Edmond L_____“. We believe, he is the offender and did the killing. We have no proof.” P.V. again, became quiet, I then said “the victim is Michael”. “Yes”! Then he added, “that’s really good“! With good cheer, he heartily said “You’re better than Dorothy Allison”! P.V. already knew Allison’s work. I knew her reputation with the police. She had worked many cases with law enforcement specifically in cases that involve children”. She was no longer doing them. Many departments, have kindly awarded her with plaques for her help. I’ve never made distinctions on alienating any cases, or whether it is a homicide, or a abduction. And they don’t give out plaques any longer. They will not discuss it, if there is a civilian questioning. I know, I’ve given up a lot of programming attempts because they become shy when it comes to media attention about it.

Where I had the Detective was when I defined more about Edmond and more on the victim Michael. I knew that Michael, was a vagrant, who was picked up by Edmond, who drove a burgundy car. I was still on the phone with P.V. He seemed impressed, and asked if I could be on location with some officers, and we would probably start and meet at the station, and go from there in police cars. I was not reluctant, and said I could, but we would have to leave that location at 4pm or before, as a blizzard would begin on that day he would choose, so we needed enough time to be out of there by 4, as I would not want to be outside during the storm if we could avoid doing so. Some weeks went by, it was November now, and I received that call, and the day was set.

Walking away from the four police cars that would accompany and also bring all of us, I followed Michael’s trail without assistance or direction given. Initiating the direction they all followed me, quietly walking behind me. As though I was following a “hot scent” as soon as I left the car, I walked briskly. I came upon a field, crossed that, then a parking area, crossed that, then another field and up a hillside. Just minutes later, I came to rest on what I call the “hot spot” where something is, in this case, where the body was originally found. Picking up Michael’s “signal energy“, I walked over it stood briefly over it, then dropped to the ground, the same ground the killer, had led Michael. They had a large scuffle, he did not want to do what Edmond wanted, the struggle escalated. Articles were spilled all around them. This was where Michael’s body came down and dropped, lethally cut, and suffocating with blood filling his lungs, dying. I said nothing. Still laying down, I had laid placed my body in the same pattern I felt, my limbs and legs in the same way Michael was found. I and Michael were one, as I felt through Michael, he looked up at the sky, and as I looked up, I saw five huge officers standing over me. They were big people anyway, but now they seemed as big as Elm trees! The looks on their faces told me I had it exactly right. I ignored them and looked away as Michael had turned his head again, I was looking at what Michael had seen in his last moments as his life was slipping away from him. He was helpless as his head turned to watch the killer, Edmond L., walking away, his burgundy car was parked at the meter. Edmonds scent still in my nostrils, I smelled the putrid intensity of musky engine oil, and nose

biting gasoline fumes. My memory was Michael’s, as we both watched the killer move behind and around to the drivers side, he was a distance now, yet I could still see the license plate number as he got into the car. The car trunk, I knew, whether that was through Michael or me, was filled with books, books, and more books, scattered all the way to the top of the trunk. I

watched him, as he backed up and drove away.

Now I started saying all of this aloud, I noted a fervor of note taking. For all of the details expressed, they had continuously been jotting down everything I said, as I said it. I stood up. “The trunk” I said, “is full of books, books all the way to the top“. “The killers clothes reeked of gas and oil. He worked at a service station, he would go to the south now, to a state with an “A”, Alabama, Yes, crossing the Mississippi, as you will go down there“, I looked at Detective Dennis as I told him the rest. Dennis, the youngest yet seasoned senior lead Detective, would cross that bridge a few times a day, trying to find Barbara, Lowell’s girlfriend, living in a small house down there. “You will find her, and she will tell you, he is in a Motel, and it is located in front of a horse stable, right off of route 116, and he will be in a room with the number 22 on it. He has done this before, in Pennsylvania, and Massachusetts“. I was later told that was true, and police were calling back with details of the crime scene there. Detective Dennis came over to me and waited till the officers moved away, and told me that one of the officers had been ridiculed as he was questioning me as though I was an eye witness to the case. “But I was“, I told Dennis. I was getting very cold now. “You will be given a blue car, that car, will stop, as it has malfunctioned right on the bridge. Don’t take the blue car Dennis“. Clearly, he was a little spooked, and walked quietly away. Later, in a few months yet, he would go to Alabama, and yes, take the blue car. When he came back, he couldn’t wait to inform me, that he tried to take another, there was no other vehicle available! He jokingly asked, “did I hear him screaming my name, when he got stuck on the bridge“? Actually, yes, but before it took place, when I warned him!

I looked around me, in the now, present time, this was a different season, and all looked different. He was led to this spot by his killer it was so clear to me to depict him by laying on the exact spot, that spot finalized him in his death. Turning about again, looking down around Michael, on the slope, his body lay there, I could still see the evidence that was found around him.

He had come to stay, and not in the way he had intended. Michael was just one person invisible to all but him. This is why he picked him. This one , this sociopath, was looking for someone like Michael, because he would use him

then throw him away. His twisted rage, found a target. His demented thoughts were obsessive, if he couldn‘t get from him what he wanted, he didn‘t need him any longer. He would and could get away with it. He would now hit the road. To travel south.

I indicated and pointed to the objects that had been found, a back pack here, a bottle, a leather jacket, etc, pointing to each spot where objects had been strewn about, and then found. I looked at another detective named Bob, gosh, they were all so big around me, and I looked at Detective Dennis. I was distracted again, by thoughts, and said that I could answer those questions they had, just not now, and not to think about that right, now. I told Detective Bob I would answer questions about his wife “H____” later. They stopped like a remote had clicked them to “stop”. Clearly stunned, they backed away apologizing, and separated from the circle of officers that had collected about me. Bob shyly and in private, approached me later about his wife H____ and her issues. He later updated me, that what I had told him, was fact. At present, he has been out of the department for some time, and he is very happy, I am sure. Detective Dennis, a “wild and crazy guy” who seemed to be reliving his teenage years, made an unsettling and bizarre stop at my apartment then located in Scarsdale, for an unprecedented request to “just talk”. There were some personality issues and character flaws within, that, frankly, I could not help. An exorcist, well, perhaps!

Less than two hours had transpired in total at the location off of Mamaroneck Avenue. It was bitterly cold now. All the details I expressed continued to be transcribed. There was a knife, but Edmond had retrieved it and he was bold enough, to come back to the scene later, to get it. My indication of the storm, was not in the weather reports for that day in November. When I am in another “view” , I am in that space and incongruent to the reality around me. Unbeknownst to me and beginning to look like a living cartoon, only evident by all of the officers watching their wrists, I didn’t get it until after, they had been looking at their watches for the time and waiting for the first flakes of snow to start. All that time I thought, are they late to something, or am I just taking too long? “You are one minute off for the start of the blizzard“, Dennis laughed. As we walked away I was asked about a weapon. I shook my head, disgusted, but proceeded to search for a few minutes anyway where I knew it was originally tossed. He was mercilessly killed with impunity, and rage. It was very bloody, and violent. The scene, would have looked that way. A gaping hole in his neck, like he had been a worthless

carcass just tossed away.

Cold to the bone feeling I was still centering on Michael, getting back in the police car, I was ready for my cappuccino which I previously declined. I turned around to look at the rookie officer who had originally requested if I wanted one. He was silent, and weird looking, and actually was sickly looking. For a moment, I almost saw what looked like anger as well. I was confused. For a moment I looked at P.V, at the wheel, then back at the rookie in the back seat who looked honestly white, and sick. I turned to P.V., and asked “is he alright“? He bluntly said “no“. “You blew away his foundation of belief, he is not Ok“. The rookie, remained silent. And oddly, he was the spooky one. He made me feel weird, sitting behind me, I felt his confusion, and anger. And all the way back to the station, he was clearly, not alright.

Back at the police station, I was given some objects to hold, to see if any other detail might be noted. Sitting comfortably in the warm office that was Pete’s, his smile was gone now with the dark night now visible beyond his windows. Standing up he reached across his large desk to hand me a worn and smelly cap that was Edmond’s, found in what had been his little hotel room, an old efficiency apartment. Holding it was disgusting. I could see everything else in his little hell hole space. He was a slob. I asked, where is the watch? He looked at me and smirked, then reached into his drawer for it. All was clear about Edmond L. He has done this before, in other states. He has now moved down to the Alabama, as indicated to Dennis, and I looked at Dennis, I could see Edmond L. He has also, tried to kill someone else, but she survived. She was in another state, Pennsylvania. P.V. looked at Dennis, and they called in another detective. They went outside for a bit, then came in to ask me if I would go to another part of the building, they have some more items they wanted me to look at. They walked me to the elevator, and brought me to an eerie old portion of the building. They sat me in a chair, then walked out. I got cold again. There was a weird blue light that emanated from the wall in front of me, I didn’t know what it was, but it was some sort of interrogation room. It was very weird looking, and nothing like it was comparable. It almost looked like the inside of a space ship, but it was old. Trying not to feel weird there, as some other images filtered in, scary stuff from other items, cases, and evidence brought in to interrogate others in there, I closed my eyes to focus away from there. I reopened them to see one detective bring me a small lilac garment. It was a small bikini underpant. Receiving information through the touch of an object, is called psychometry. I opened my hand to take it, and I was then feeling a girl in Pennsylvania, that had survived a beating. She survived, because she was left for dead. I think

she was a prostitute, and she knew she was lucky to survive. Edmond walked away and left her for dead. She survived her intense beating and told the police about what had happened, naming Edmond L. They had just received this information, so it was new, after checking other departments nationwide. I added he did the same thing, in Massachusetts, but she didn’t survive. They did get that information as well. So they knew.

Meeting P.V., was never a coincidence. It was meant for all the purposes of worth and value. It added also, to enrich my life for the strengths I learned I had, and as I learned, this was help for my own practice to profile that much, for the better, and to hone my abilities, to a fine tuning. The time I spent with those good guys, was a wonderful kinship I wouldn’t have missed. They are special people, and I was honored, to know them all. P.V. I hope is happy, within his own practice now, after retiring from the “job” some years back.

This homicide, of Michael, which was, a cold file case, came to trial and all of the work provided by me, and the detectives and all others that helped, would lead to prosecution and imprisonment of Edmond L. After the prosecution of Edmond, I returned to see if Michael’s energy had left the space on the hill in White Plains where his body died, and his life here came to a brutal cold end. It was clear, no residual energy remained. Michael, was able to leave, his energy went “home”.

The other cold crime of the black female found laying in a massive pool of blood in her kitchen, was never forthcoming. I would like to think, that at some point, they found the killer, probably, from evidence found on yet another crime that the offender committed.

                                                       -30-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marisa Anderson Copyright 2007