I stopped dead in my tracks one day last week…
It was like I couldn’t breathe for what seemed about 10 minutes.
An episode of “Vanished with Beth Holloway” was playing back on my DVR – a harrowing story of a kidnapping that a woman and her sister endured as children.
How did I suppress my own indelibly frightening memory all this time? The story of these 2 sisters activated the latent images into life right before my eyes… just as if they had happened the day before.
It was Valentine’s Day. I was 13. It was special to me, I thought, because now that I was officially a teenager, it would be soon that I would have my own true love for real as a full-grown woman. You know how those thoughts flood a young girl’s heart – sending it racing on certain days where she dreams of her Prince Charming riding in on his white charger to whisk her away to everlasting bliss? Well, this day was special in that way.
I woke up, went to school – excited to pass out my valentine cards to my close friends, while they handed me their V-Day written wishes. Even had my outfit all picked out the night before to feel extra pretty as I walked to my classes. Yes, I was all obsessive-compulsive even at 13 – my outfit & the day were going to be perfect!
(My parents must have been so entertained by me then.)
It was a busy day, and I was in daydream mode for most of it. (I mean – Prince Charming could be the very next boy I passed in the hall, or met in glee practice, or even as I strolled by our high school band room.) This particular afternoon, I did have glee club after school until about 4:30pm when my mother was due to pick me up outside. My high school was located in this small town in central PA, bordered by the Susquehanna River, and nestled within the serene beauty of the Appalachian Mountains.
My mother was sitting in the car outside when I was finished with rehearsal, right on time. I got home, watched some tv, our family had a nice Valentine’s dinner together – ending with my mom’s unbelievable angel food cake, lavished in rich buttercream frosting for dessert (yum!) …
I did my homework, then off to bed for another round of school the next day.
WHAT IS IT?!
My mom was shaking me awake and it was pitch-black, middle-of-the-night outside my bedroom window. There was a strange stillness in the glistening snow that lined the slanted slate roof of our house. Half asleep, not sure if I was still dreaming … my mother could barely get the words out.
She said, “Carla, you have to start praying – RIGHT NOW.”
Two girls from my class (one 13, the other 14) were kidnapped as they walked home from my school – at the very same time I was leaving the building after rehearsal!
This just had never happened before in this small pleasant forested community. No one knew what to do exactly. My mother was overprotective as it was, and now we were all on severe ‘lockdown’ for as long as she could possibly contain me, my brothers and sisters. We weren’t arguing with her on this one – in fact, we were all just too stunned to even say anything. We didn’t know what to say. Or how to deal with the horrifying circumstances made all-too-real that night.
I remember turning on the radio, and listening to any updated news reports – anything I could find out about the 2 girls I knew. But there was nothing. Only my mother urging me to pray hard. (You see, my mother had seen that when I ‘connected’ with my unique energy source or vibrational rate – my ‘Higher Self,’ if you will – that things would all of a sudden resolve, or get better. It was a cross between prayer, and my ‘mini nervous breakdown episodes’ I had spoken of in earlier postings.)
The next morning was so difficult to go to school. No one talked in class. All of us just sat there while announcements would periodically filter in on the loud speaker – letting us know of increased security around the high school, and new instructions for our personal safety on the grounds, and after school hours.
When my mother came to pick us up, we were huddled together closely this day after our classes – inside the school – until we could see her car. She carefully relayed the updated news on the girls’ abduction on the ride home – only the parts suitable for young children’s ears.
Later, when we got home, she sat down with just me to disclose the ‘other’ details surrounding the girls’ kidnapping, as she felt I could somehow handle it. Even at 13.
She had a very difficult time getting this part out to me. I could see she was struggling with how much of these gruesome details she should reveal.
The 2 girls were spotted that morning walking along a rural road, where a trucker picked them up and flagged down state police.
The man who abducted them was immediately taken into custody. He had a history of violent sexual assault, for which he spent several years in prison just prior to this current bout of evilness.
He forced the 2 young girls into his car at gunpoint, drove them to a wooded area, tied their hands and feet, and placed them on the ground in the snow. He then raped both girls repeatedly, and left them tied to a tree naked.
This time, the monstrous, irreparably disturbed individual was sent to prison for a much longer stint. In jail, I heard he kept a journal in which he wrote stories about children being raped; that diary was submitted to authorities as partial basis for a new prison term when his parole was up.
I asked my mother,
“But how did the girls escape? Weren’t they bound to trees?”
She whispered, “They chewed through the ropes with their teeth.”
She asked me not to say anything to anyone about the ‘naked’ details or how they ‘chewed through the ropes to escape’ as the newspapers were not aware. She found out because my father was a doctor at the hospital where the girls were examined after the ordeal. The elements of rape surrounding 13 and 14 year old young girls was not something their families wished to have paraded all over the press at the time.
I understood completely. And just was so sad for them. I knew that their lives with this type of traumatic karma would never – ever – be the same again. Altered in ways they could not fathom, even while traversing the healing phases.
Who would have imagined that I would be exposed to such a horrific crime scene in my early psychic development?
I am certain that this event was my ‘initiation’ into the psychic crime profiling for which I would become famous. This was my assigned destiny role this lifetime.
I believe I got to see the stuff I was made of that day – my immediate ability to ‘assess’ the crime in a surprisingly calm, logical, caring, but somewhat detached manner.
These qualities I exhibited early on made me the perfect candidate for psychic work on
crime scenes, as I discovered I was able to still intuit without losing perspective, or having it impact me in a way to create an imbalance in my energy field. I was still able to discern these circumstances were ‘separate’ from my own, and I was only checking in via the ethereal ‘viewfinder.’
I knew these 2 girls on a personal level, but was hard-wired, it seemed, to function in the other higher dimension. I was immediately in that ‘mode’ from the second my mother entered my bedroom with her shocking news that chilling Valentine’s night.
You never know what day you will be introduced to your destiny.
It is cloaked for a reason.
There are mysteries waiting to unfold before you that are there to enlighten each plateau you reach with your self-discovery. Even for those 2 young girls. This was a karma they both jointly agreed upon prior to this life as ‘task companions’ – a specific genre of soul mate. A most profound one. Some of a soul’s greatest achievements can be attained through this type of coupling.
I went on to actually coin the term ‘psychic profiler’ after seeing the NBC series “Profiler” starring Ally Walker. I said to myself, she’s the “Profiler” .. and I am the “Psychic Profiler.”
And that’s how it came to be I originated the term. No other psychic had used that before me. I was quoted in numerous publications/ news articles using that expression to describe my unique intuitive insights in application to crime scenes, homicides, and missing persons cases.
Unknowingly at the time, I was helping to pioneer the phenomenon known today as ‘psychic detectives.’