Heather had been nine years old and her family was visiting their chalet in Vermont. The trip was their parents’
last attempt at reunifying and Heather knew, even at her young age, that it hadn’t been successful. She knew that when they got home, her life would change forever so she hadn’t wanted to leave.
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She just kept playing with her Barbie dolls until her parents insisted she get into the car with them. As they pulled away from the chalet, Heather continued to wave at it the whole way down the gravelly drive. She still remembered the scent of their departure that day. Cedar from the trees surrounding them combined with the fragrance of jasmine to provide her the olfactory strength she would need. When her mother asked who she was waving to, Heather had advised her that she was waving goodbye to herself.
She heard another blast of thunder and walked to her bedroom window. The turquoise curtains had been drawn shut and Heather opened them only wide enough to peek out. She tried to see past the rain and into her dark backyard but she couldn’t make out anything. If she hadn’t been squinting in search of a psychopathic killer, she would have enjoyed the sight of the windy trees and the sound of the thunder much more.
Someone knocked on the bedroom door and Heather jumped. She saw the doorknob start to turn and fl ashed back to the time a man had broken into her house while she was home alone. She inhaled deeply and adopted a defensive stance as the door began to open.
“Mommy?” Jack asked.
Heather jumped at his voice and then felt a stab of guilt when she realized she had almost karate chopped her child.
“What’s up, honey?” she asked, trying to feign a stable voice.
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“Aren’t you gonna cuddle me?” he asked.
Jack looked so cute with his mess of dark curls aimed in every direction.
“Yes, baby. I’ll be there in just a sec,” she answered.
He smiled and closed the door.
Heather thought about taking her anxiety medication.
It would have been completely appropriate under the circumstances but she didn’t want to chance passing out and sleeping through an attack.
After she cuddled with Jack, Heather watched music videos with Tommy. Then she told her boys good night and closed their bedroom doors. She glanced at the clock and felt an involuntary shudder when she saw that it was 11:10.
Deciding a relaxing bath was the next best prescription, Heather headed toward the bathroom and sat on the side of her big garden tub. She twisted the handles inside and water sprang to life, fi lling the tub with vanilla-scented bubbles and lavender-scented oils.
Steam fi lled the bathroom because of the hot temperature and Heather crawled into the tub with her fi rst real smile of the day.
After half an hour, Heather decided she couldn’t get much cleaner and pulled the drain clog before standing up. One leg at a time, she stepped out of the tub and into a fl uffy towel. She sat on the sink counter and started to pluck her eyebrows when a fl ash of Billy whipped through her frontal lobe without warning. She remembered a time not long before when Billy stood in the exact spot she was 244
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in at that moment and shuddered to think what mirrors would say if they could talk.
When her last stray hair had been banished to the sink drain, Heather picked up her toothbrush and brushed her gums until they bled. She gave herself one fi nal look and turned to leave but stopped when she noticed the same thing she’d seen in the bar bathroom.
Heather looked back into the mirror and screamed at the sight of her own refl ection staring back at her.
Her image stood with a hand on one hip and watched her intently. Heather back stepped without looking and fell into the tub. She sat frozen, legs hanging over the side, amid half-spilled bottles of liquid. Shampoo and conditioner and bubble bath had fallen in with her and she hadn’t bothered trying to save them in her terror.
From her place in the tub, she was still able to see the mirror clearly. Though her wayward refl ection had already fl ed, Heather still couldn’t move. She tried to calm down by telling herself she had just fallen asleep and dreamt it all but she refused look away from the mirror and didn’t end up leaving bathroom for a very long time, sitting in the tub for almost an hour.
The moment her own refl ection deceived her, she met a fear she had never known. Stalkers and kidnappers and perverts were nothing compared to whatever had unfolded in her bathroom mirror and Heather was fi lled with a surreal brand of terror.
Heather had no plans on getting out of the tub until a rescue party showed up. She stayed as quiet as a mouse 245
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in a fetal position, never removing her eyes from the offending mirror for a second. She tried to talk herself out of the panic that had taken control of her nervous system.
She wanted to call the police so they could chase away the bad guys and make her safe but the thought of revealing her perpetrator’s identity kept her attached to the cold porcelain. She knew she couldn’t properly defend her sanity when she still questioned it herself.
Heather put her hand to her chest and tapped gently, as though the gesture might restore normal heartbeat.
She thought about what the boys would have to face if they lost their mother and the thought was unacceptable.
It spurred images of her own mother and drew Heather reluctantly into childhood reverie.
She’d always wished for the kind of relationship where she could run to her mom for comfort, regardless of the situation but Heather had come to accept that their relationship required boundaries and a large amount of withholding. It wasn’t that her mother lacked the nurturing gene because she didn’t. She had an endless supply of affection with her daughters and her grandchildren and had never turned them away when a hug was needed.
Their silent rules allowed Heather to always seek her mom out in times of trouble but not necessarily disclose the situation that troubled her. Heather used to feel cheated because she couldn’t talk to her mom about everything but had gradually come to understand the reasons behind it.
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As her own children grew older, Heather realized their pain didn’t belong to only them. Each of their troubles infected her the same as it would if the problem had been her own. When they suffered, Heather’s heart broke for them and she subconsciously allowed herself to store their every agony in her own emotive capsule.
Heather knew that Laurie had suffered along with her during the rough moments as well. The difference between them as mothers was that Heather wanted to hear the problem’s origin while Laurie wasn’t interested in reasons. Instead of forcing a relationship that would never be, Heather had come to accept both her mother’s love as well as her need to remain unaware of disturbing details.
The past year had seen a great change in their mother/
daughter relationship. As Heather began to accept the things she could not change, the bond between her and Laurie had begun to fl ourish again.
Heather snapped herself out her trance and looked over at the mirror. When Bloody Mary made no reappearance, she jumped out of the tub, threw a towel around herself, and ran to her bedroom. She hid beneath her covers as she had when she was young and prayed to God for strength and courage. As she lay in bed with a pillow securely over head, Heather decided which answers she would seek out the following day.
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Chapter 19
Again
’What do you know about reincarnation?” Heather asked, addressing a frail guy in his mid-twenties who, until her intrusion, had been busy putting up library books. He seemed scattered and distracted and wouldn’t be accused of being a pretty boy anytime soon but the librarian’s assistant exuded confi dence. He was kind and he had an air of humility that most people lacked. It was Heather who hid b
ehind her hair while they spoke.
He laughed in response to her question and nodded her in the direction of a quiet table. It was his invitation to sit down and talk and she accepted by sitting in the chair.
Heather smiled but didn’t waste time with introductions or pleasantries.
“So, tell me what you know,” she said.
She offered the only smile she had left and tried hard to remember if she had showered that morning.
Remembering she hadn’t, Heather backed her chair up a little and considered offering an apology.
“Working on a paper?” he asked sitting down.
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“Something like that,” she answered.
“Well, literally speaking, reincarnation’s defi ned as being made fl esh again. It’s the idea that our soul survives death by being reborn in another body.”
“Yes, I know what it means,” she rushed. “Where do scientists and philosophers stand on it?”
“Well,” he started slowly. “Voltaire said, “It is not more surprising to be born twice than it is to be born once.”
“I have to agree with him on that one,” Heather said.
He introduced himself as Rodney and adjusted the glasses that fell halfway down his nose.
“Oh, I agree too,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“We’re not the same self every lifetime, right? I mean, there are changes?” she asked.
“Yes, it’s said that we develop a new personality each lifetime but that the spirit remains constant.”
“Defi
nitely not something subscribed to by Christians,” Heather offered.
“No, not the Christians,” he laughed. “They think that by believing we continue to come back to life, we are lying to ourselves for the sake of comfort.”
It was Heather’s turn to laugh.
“Yeah, sure,” she said bitterly. “Christians would never lie to themselves for the sake of comfort, huh?
I mean, spending eternity in heaven is much more believable, right?
“Yeah,” Rodney agreed. “It’s interesting, actually, when you look at the ways different religions view 249
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the theory. Reincarnation originated within Indian traditions.”
“Like the Hindus?” Heather asked.
“Yes,” he answered. “And some Greek philosophers believed the teachings and then others followed. Pagans and New Age religions and of course, Buddhists believe but with some variations. Even some Jews believe in reincarnation.”
“What do they say about it?” Heather asked.
“They believe it’s directly related to karma,” said Rodney. “One life dictates the next by our actions.”
“When do they believe reincarnation started?”
“Well, if we’re talking about souls and we’re talking about one life leading to the next all the way down the line, I guess it would have started at the very beginning.”
“When is it supposed to end? I mean, how long do we keep being reborn?”
Rodney pulled a notebook from the pile of books he had been gathering. He laid it on the table and pulled a pencil out from behind his ear. Heather thought he was going to draw a picture for her but instead he just started doodling while he explained what he knew.
“The Hindus teach that worldly pleasures can never bring deep, lasting happiness or peace and that the world as we understand it is fl eeting and illusory. They say we’re trapped in the world because we’re ignorant of our true nature. Supposedly, after many births, we become dissatisfi ed with the limited happiness the world can bring and we seek out higher forms of happiness, which 250
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we can only get through spiritual experiences. When we realize our ‘true self’ is really the immortal soul and not the body we’re living in, all desire for the pleasures of the world are supposed to vanish because they will never compare to the joy we know we’re capable of. That’s when the rebirth is supposed to stop.”
“Then what?” she asked.
“Theories differ. Some believe we spent eternity absorbed in the peace and happiness because of the truth we fi nally allowed ourselves.”
“Whoa,” Heather said.
“Others believe more in a heaven where we spend eternity with a Supreme Being.”
“Jesus,” Heather said. “Isn’t there anyone who hasn’t made up an entire story and can just admit to not knowing?”
“No,” Rodney answered quickly. “Human beings aren’t designed to stop there. We’re given the curiosity to want to know more and we have the motivation to go looking for it.”
Heather got an idea and changed tactics a little bit.
“I know this will sound stupid,” she started, “but have you ever heard anything about 11:11?”
“What, like the time?” he asked.
“Well, yeah but not just the time. I mean, do the actual numbers have any kind of signifi cance?” She felt the heat rush to her cheeks as she realized he had probably just deemed her insane. But he only smiled.
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“I understand 11:11,” he said softly.
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” he stammered. “Do you notice the number more now than you used to?”
“Yes,” she answered. “What’s it supposed to mean?
“In my experience, it means something different to a lot of people. Some think it’s the moment when a wish should be made. Others believe it’s a sign or a warning from God. There are some who even believe it’s a message from Satan.”
Heather felt cold all of a sudden. The last one was a theory she had never considered.
“What do you mean a message from Satan?” she asked.
“You know, numerology and devil worship and all of that crap. There are cults of religion that believe 11:11
is a predictor of the end and a warning to repent. Some Christians even believe there are 11:11 signs in the portrait of The Last Supper.”
Rodney rolled his eyes to say he was not one of them.
“What about 11:11 on the clock though?” Heather asked. “I mean, was there something signifi cant that happened at that time or on date?”
“I honestly don’t know that one,” Rodney answered.
He jumped up and walked quickly down one of the thin aisles that shelved thousands of books. When he returned, Rodney was carrying a stack of thick books, all related to the Mayans.
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He glossed quickly through a few pages and then shoved his glasses back into their rightful spot on his face.
He seemed excited and Heather wondered when he last spoke to a real person.
“Look here,” he said eagerly. “The Mayans believed 11:11 to be signifi cantly related to the end of their calendar.
The 2012 Mayan year end is timed at 11:11 Universal time.
Look at this, it’s exactly a hundred years since the Titanic sank too!’
Heather pulled the book toward her and read from the page that had gotten the assistant so excited.
“Is this true?” she asked. “Was the World War I armistice really signed at 11:11 on November 11, 1918?”
“I guess so,” he laughed as he opened another book.
“This one says that at 11:11 a.m. on 2012, the world will experience a change in our nature of consciousness.
They say the sun will be aligned with the center of the Milky Way for the fi rst time in about 26,000 years.”
Noticing Heather’s confusion, Rodney added his own bit of knowledge.
“They’re saying that whatever energy that has streamed to Earth from the center of the Milky Way will be disrupted. And they’re saying it’s gonna happen at 11:11 a.m., on the last day in calendar time.”
Heather waited a moment before a burst of fearful energy caused her to almost scream her next words.
“Then what?
” she yelled. The loud question in the quiet confi nes of the library caused Rodney to jump and the librarian to give her the shush fi nger.
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“I don’t know,” he whispered. “The answer’s probably in the lost books.”
“What lost books?” she asked, trying to calm her voice down a bit.
“During the Battle of Maya a lot of their important writings were destroyed.”
“Why?” Heather yelled again.
“Because that’s what happens in war. Things get destroyed,” he answered.
“How did the Mayans know all this stuff anyway?”
Heather asked.
“That’s a whole other set of books. Let’s just say there are a lot of differing theories on that one too. Theories that include alien communications and supernatural infl uences.”
They talked for awhile long and by the time Heather left, she and Rodney had moved from an awkward handshake to a sincere hug. He held the door open for her and said goodbye as she walked out with an armful of books on Mayan civilizations.
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Chapter 20
I’ve Never Been to Me
“Do you know when you’re dreaming?”
Heather asked the question from the same spot she had been confessing from for almost eleven years. As usual, she had the leather pillow pulled up to her chest as she tentatively eyed the box of tissue on its usual stand.
She maintained unwavering eye contact with her doctor and had no intention of continuing the conversation until he answered her question. She felt frustration simmering inside of her but she couldn’t identify its roots.
“Do you mean me personally, or people in general?”
Dr. Angel asked as he shifted from one position to another.
“You, me, everyone,” Heather answered. “I mean, are we supposed to be aware of our dreams while we’re having them?”
She didn’t realize how much she wanted his response until she’d asked the question. Never one to commit to an answer until Heather gave a valid reason for asking it, her doctor defl ected the question back to her.
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