by Jan Kopia
“You’re right,” Rebecca said softly. “It sounds like… death. Maybe… maybe that’s what it is.”
“What do you mean?” Caleb asked.
“If these lights really are souls… then maybe what we’re hearing is… hell?”
Antonia’s phone lit up and she glanced at it. It was the reminder she'd put in days ago: she was supposed to be meeting Patrick today.
“Damn it,” she said, under her breath. “I have to go.”
“Right now?” Caleb asked.
“I’m meeting a friend who might have some information. Something that might help us.”
“Are you going to tell him about this?” Rebecca asked, gesturing toward the headphones.
“I don’t know yet,” said Antonia. “Record the sounds, and write down your findings. We’ll need to have something solid to show the board. Who knows, maybe this'll convince them to increase our funding. We need to follow this wherever it leads.”
“But what do we think this is?” Rebecca asked. “The sounds that seem connected to the souls. What else could it be, if not hell?”
“I don’t know, Rebecca,” Antonia said. “At this moment, I really don’t know. Just record everything we have, and don’t let James anywhere near this building. I’ll be back in the evening.”
Antonia grabbed her coat on the way out and hailed a cab that took her straight to Patrick’s apartment.
The Victorian building was narrow but impressive. After she was buzzed in, she took the elevator up to the fourth floor. When she reached apartment 411, Patrick had the door open before she could even knock.
As her eyes fell on Patrick, Antonia felt her heart skip a beat. They hadn’t seen each other in over ten years. She'd prepared herself to find a changed man; someone she could barely recognize. But it was amazing how little he'd changed in the last decade. He was still disarmingly handsome, with the same dimpled frown and the same restless hair. There was perhaps a little more stubble across his jaw and the first sign of crows’ feet around his eyes, but apart from that, Antonia could see that Patrick had aged well.
“Patrick,” she said.
He gave her a small, sad smile. “Antonia,” he replied. “It’s so good to see you.”
He moved forward and gave her an awkward hug. "Come in," he said, standing aside to let Antonia pass by him.
She walked in, trying not to get caught examining his apartment. There wasn’t much furniture that Antonia could see. The kitchen sat on one side of the apartment, looking clean, neglected and barely used. Then there was a demure brown sofa in the living room, and a huge table rectangular table that seemed to swallow half the space. Antonia could barely see its surface, hidden under stacks of books, files, and papers.
“I never learned to organize my clutter,” Patrick apologized.
“I can be the same way sometimes,” Antonia replied.
“I doubt that very much.”
They fell into silence and Antonia found herself looking down at the polished wooden floors. It was amazing that after all these years Patrick Dane still had such an effect on her.
“I read your article, Patrick,” she said, forcing herself to push past the sudden self-consciousness that gripped her. “I’m so sorry about your daughter.”
Patrick looked out the window. Antonia saw his eyes un-focus for a moment, as though he were remembering something he'd wanted to forget. “Everyone has written her off,” he said, a deep and guttural ache in his words. “Her doctors… even her own mother… but her heart is still beating. She’s strong. She can have a second chance at life. I’m not giving up on her. You don’t have to feel sorry for her or me. I’m going to bring her back.”
Antonia felt that strange tingle in her fingers once more. She wasn’t sure if she believed Patrick. But what she was sure of one thing… she was supposed to be here.
Chapter Four
“I know I sound insane,” Patrick said, trying to decipher what Antonia was really thinking. She'd always had an incredible poker face… among other things.
It was slightly surreal for him to be standing across from Antonia Lark after all these years. He remembered a time in his life when he was sure that they'd walk down the aisle together. Of course, he'd been in his early twenties then, and there'd been a certain naiveté involved.
She was still as beautiful as his memory of her. Her auburn hair was longer now than it had been, and there was a certain self-assurance in her manner.
“You always took a more… fantastical bent when it came to our search for the mystical,” Antonia said. “I take it you believe the Russian doctors’ findings?”
“I do,” Patrick nodded. “I've experienced it. I’ve been on the other side of this. I saw my own soul… and I saw Tess’s soul, too. Or maybe I just felt it. I don’t know. I just know that she’s still out there and, at the moment, she’s not free.”
“I read the article,” she said. “You said you saw a black cloud…”
Patrick stared at Antonia for a long time. Her tone was neutral, but there was something in her eyes that made him take pause. She was standing only a few feet away from him, but the distance between them was huge.
“You don’t believe me,” Patrick said.
“I believe you believe what you’re saying.”
Patrick smiled through the disappointment. “I see…”
“Science will explain what you went through,” she said. “We just don’t have the answers yet.”
“And what have you found?” Patrick challenged. “I take it you’re doing your own research?”
Antonia paused. “I am.”
“And?”
“Nothing definitive yet.”
“I doubt you’ll find anything definitive at all,” Patrick said. “We’re not dealing with anything that science can measure. You can study energy patterns, depleting resources, and erratic weather patterns all you want. But the reasons behind those things are hidden in something greater. Something that's only now making itself known to us.”
Antonia studied his face a moment, then shook her head and looked down. “Nothing has changed,” she said, with a small smile. “We used to have these arguments back in the day. I was always on the side of science and you… do you remember?”
“Of course I remember,” Patrick said. “I think about you every day.”
Patrick wasn’t sure what made him say it. The words were out of his mouth so fast he couldn’t catch them. Antonia’s piercing blue eyes made him feel like the twenty-year-old boy he used to be.
“I think about you too,” Antonia admitted, much to Patrick’s surprise.
Antonia turned towards Patrick’s huge, chaotic desk as though she wanted to avoid him. Her gaze fell on the framed picture of Tess that stood upright on the corner of the table. She walked over and picked it up.
“She’s beautiful, Patrick. She looks like a happy little girl.”
Patrick felt a rush of gratitude overwhelm him. He hated that everyone spoke about Tess like she was already gone, but Antonia didn't. For that alone, he could have kissed her right where she stood.
“She was happy," he said. "Even when her mother and I were going through the divorce. I tried to make sure none of that unpleasantness ever touched her.”
Antonia nodded. “I’m sorry about your divorce.”
“Don’t be,” Patrick said. “It was the right decision for all of us.” Patrick paused for a moment, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Do you have anyone special in your life?”
One corner of Antonia’s mouth turned up in a smile. “I’m married to my work,” she said. “That’s all I have room for at the moment.”
Patrick nodded. “I published my article because I was hoping someone who could help would contact me,” he explained. “I never thought it would be you.”
“Something is going on, Patrick,” said Antonia. “Of that, we can be certain. You have your beliefs… but I’m not sure where I stand. I want to believe there's a scientific ex
planation for it. But the more I find, the more confused I get.”
“Faith, Antonia,” Patrick said, moving a little closer to her. “Have a little faith.”
She turned her face up to his. “Faith has always been a hard one for me,” she admitted. “But I know you need to hold on to the hope that Tess can be saved. I'm so sorry about what happened to the two of you. The car accident, and now Tess’s coma… I can’t imagine what you must've gone through. When we spoke on the phone, I said I wanted to talk about your article. I made it sound like it was just business, but really… I just wanted to see you. I just wanted to be here for you.”
Without thinking, Patrick reached up and pushed back the lock of hair that had fallen against Antonia’s cheek. It was an old, familiar gesture. One that he used to do when they'd been together; when they'd been cocooned in the security and comfort of their relationship.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words bursting from him as he realized the one thing he'd never told her.
“For what?” Antonia asked.
“For cheating on you.”
She looked shaken; her eyes went wide for a moment. She hadn’t expected that. “I… there’s no… it was a long time ago.”
“It doesn’t matter how long ago it was,” Patrick said. “I was a complete and total asshole for doing that to you and I never apologized properly for it. I should've done this a long time ago. I should've dropped to my knees and begged for your forgiveness. You deserved that.”
Antonia was silent for a long time. “Thank you," she said at last, "for saying that. I didn’t realize until just now how much I needed to hear it.”
“I loved you, Antonia,” Patrick said. “I really, truly, genuinely loved you. I hope you know that.”
Antonia nodded. “I do.”
“I know I have no right to ask, especially after all this time,” said Patrick. “But… will you forgive me?”
“I forgive you,” Antonia said softly. Her blue eyes were bright. “Let’s put it behind us now, okay?”
Patrick nodded and put his hand on hers — a small gesture, a peace offering. But the moment his skin touched hers a bolt of electricity shot through him ,so powerful it pushed him back a little. He stared at his hand for a moment and then looked towards Antonia. She looked just as shocked as he felt.
“What was that?” she gasped.
“You felt it too?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I—"
The papers and books on Patrick’s desk began to move. They leapt off the surface and landed on the floor, as though blown off by a huge and powerful gust of wind. Except that the windows were closed and there wasn’t even a whisper of a breeze in the room.
“What the—"
“Patrick!” said Antonia. “Look!”
Patrick looked where Antonia was pointing, in the middle of the table. Against the dark wood, there lay a key, one that he had never seen before in his life.
“Where did that come from?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“It’s not yours?” Antonia asked.
“It’s definitely not mine,” he said., He reached down and gingerly picked it up.
It was much larger than a normal key, and it seemed to be carved from wood; a type of wood he'd never seen before. There were markings carved into the key, so detailed and intricate that he had to squint to see them.
He could feel energy from the key, flowing into his body. The feeling reminded him of the moments right after the accident, when his soul had dislodged from his body and floated upwards.
“Patrick?”
He looked towards Antonia. “Science only goes so far,” he said, feeling the great power in those words as he said them. “I think we have proof right here.”
“What was that?” she asked. She was staring at the key, like she was afraid and awed by it at the same time.
“I don’t know exactly, but—"
“Did you feel that?” she interrupted.
“Feel what?”
“I just… I had this strange feeling. Like we were surrounded by energy for a moment.”
Patrick’s eyes went wide. “You felt it too?”
“Patrick,” Antonia said in a hushed voice. “What does this mean?”
“I don’t know yet. But I think there's a way to find out what we’re dealing with,” he said.
“How?”
“The reason I published my article online was because I wanted someone who recognized and believed my story to reach out to me,” he explained. "You weren't the only one who contacted me."
“Some else did?”
“Her name is Diane Bronco,” Patrick explained, as he opened his laptop and found the email he had received. “Here… read this.”
Patrick watched as Antonia read the email; it was only three words long.
“'I believe you',” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“And there’s an address, a date and a time,” Antonia said, glancing back at the bright screen. “The seventh of March… that’s today.”
“And the meeting time is an hour from now,” Patrick said.
“This can’t be a coincidence.”
“No, I don’t think it is either,” Patrick nodded. “We’re all connected somehow… why else would you be here when this happened? Why else would you contact me moments after I received this email from Diane?”
“I’m coming with you,” said Antonia.
Patrick nodded. “Let’s get going then.”
Chapter Five
Diane felt as though the ground was shaking beneath her feet. Something had shifted. Something had changed. Change was necessary, but it could also be dangerous. She walked out of her bathroom and felt a chill, as though some dark spirit had just passed through.
Stopping at her dressing table, she picked out one of her strongest protective amulets. The jade green stone was dull, weakened by years of wear, but she still felt better wearing it. She slipped it around her neck, then pulled her favorite mauve and red kaftan around her shoulders. When the lights of her bedroom flickered, Diane uttered a small, furtive prayer under her breath.
She tottered out of her room, lighting incense as she went. Its lavender scent wafted through the house in tiny plumes that dissipated as they rose. Vibrations were rising off the ground but Diane ignored them. That had been happening for months now; she'd grown used to the teasing tremor.
It was nearly four o’clock when Diane slipped into her living room. She expected him to show up earlier than the time in the email she'd sent him, but she was still nervous he wouldn’t come at all. Age had weakened her abilities and, in the last year in particular, her visions hadn't always been accurate.
Diane moved slowly towards her window and drew open the blinds. The sun was high in the sky but its light was weak, waning even as she stared up at it.
“I beseech you my Lord Helios,” Diane whispered under her breath. “Do not turn away from us now. Some of us have stayed faithful. Some of us still remember. Please—”
Diane gasped as her doorbell cut through the silence. She felt her heartbeat settle into an excited rhythm. He had come after all.
She opened the door to find that he hadn't come alone. The woman standing next to him was tall, her statuesque body hidden underneath a black blazer. Her auburn hair was tied back and the glasses she wore dulled her powder blue eyes. Her energy was practically bursting out — Diane could sense her nerves, her excitement — all mixed in with a touch of fear.
And the man — Patrick — his energy was powerful too, though not as potent. His aura was heavy, weighed down by grief and uncertainty. Large coils of doubt had wrapped themselves around his throat and eyes, making it hard for him to know the way forward. Diane could sense the energy between them. There was history there, but it had been buried underneath years of silence and suppressed longing.
“Are you Diane Bronco?” Patrick asked, eyeing her with reluctant hope.
“I am,” Diane nodded. “You are Patrick Dane.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “And this is my, uh, friend. Antonia Lark.”
“Please,” Diane said, moving aside and opening the door wider for them. “Come in.”
They walked in together, cautious and extremely watchful. Diane didn’t blame them. It was a strange situation, stranger still because she didn't have all the information. She was merely a messenger, who had only half the story.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Patrick said, turning to me. “But why am I here? Your email didn’t say much.”
“It said that I believed you,” Diane pointed out. “I would say that’s rather a lot.”
“Who are you?” Antonia asked.
She was direct; Diane appreciated that. “Please,” she said. “Why don’t the two of you sit down?”
Diane’s only table was a small, circular one where she did most of her readings. She had cleared it for today’s meeting, knowing in her heart of hearts that Patrick would come. However, she hadn't seen this Antonia in her visions. That made her nervous. What else had she missed? What else was she reading wrong?
She pulled another chair so that they could all sit down at the table. Diane kept getting distracted by the surging power she sensed in their presence. Where was it coming from: him, or her?
“I saw you in a vision,” Diane said.
She saw Patrick’s face grow slack with shock at the exact same time that Antonia’s eyebrows caved in with skepticism. So she wasn't a believer… but he certainly was. Or at least he wanted to be.
“What do you mean?” Antonia asked.
“There are some of us who possess certain gifts,” Diane tried to explain. She felt like she was walking a tightrope. “I myself am a shaman, but from time to time I have visions too.”
“Are you trying to tell me — tell us — that you talk to ghosts?” Antonia asked dubiously.
“Shamanism is about helping people connect with their spiritual selves. Sometimes it means helping them reaching places their physical bodies cannot go.”