Pick Up the Pieces

by Kelly Utt

  Isabel has her back to me. Her long, dark hair moves with the wind as her toes tickle the sand. It’s the middle of the day and the sun is high above our heads. Birds circle nearby, calling out. It’s a perfect day, as far as Mother Nature is concerned. I’ve already had lunch and am pleasantly satisfied by a good meal. My Greek body doesn’t realize how significantly my life is about to change. Suddenly, a knowing washes over me and I realize that Isobel has called me here to discuss something important. Her mood is strained. I’m nervous. I’m not yet aware of what she wants.

  I press my mind to reveal more. Thankfully, it cooperates. I’ve got to know.

  I quickly remember that Isobel has two older brothers who look after her. A chill runs down my spine. The details are still blurry, but they’re coming into focus. Isobel’s brothers are menacing when they’re angry. I hope I haven’t done anything to upset them. Their gruff faces flash in front of mine. They’re both big guys, and dangerous. They have jet black hair and olive skin, like Isabel’s. I get the impression they do some kind of hard physical work. I think the family owns a farm. I can only recall scant details. It’s strange how this knowing and not knowing seems to work. I can bring some details to the forefront while others allude me. Whatever it is her brothers do, they’re strong. I’m formidable in my Greek form, but I’m not sure I could take on the two of them at once without help. A pang of fear hits me in the gut. It’s a visceral reaction. I must forge on.

  Cautiously, I look around to make sure we’re alone. I don’t want any surprise encounters right now. The only other person I might like to see here is Ali. It feels like she should be involved in this discussion. When you get right down to it, I don’t have a relationship with Isabel without Ali. Not really. The three of us are in this together. I walk towards Isabel, feeling the sand harden beneath my feet as I get closer to the shore. I move my energy towards her and she can sense my presence. She turns her head over one shoulder and her gaze meets mine, her eyes bloodshot and her face wet with tears. She’s upset.

  Oh, no. This can’t be good. My muscles tense as I brace for what’s coming.

  In a flash, I think I know. I look at Isabel, my face a mixture of fear and responsibility. I’ve done the deed and I’ll have to answer for my part in this. She turns her body towards me, her silhouette visible against the bright sun. She smooths the line of her gown against her and it’s plain to see that I was right. A small bulge protrudes from her lower abdomen. Isabel is pregnant.

  I think I’m the father.

  The realization floors me. I don’t want Isabel to be pregnant. Not at all. She’s fun and I care about her, but not like I care about Ali. I don’t want a child with Isobel. If I’m going to be a dad, I want to do it with Ali.

  This isn’t right at all. I can feel my Greek self growing angry. I’m confused about what I’m being shown, because the next thing I know, the scene shifts and I’m with Roddy again. This time, we’re not grooming the horses or conducting a raid. We’re with Isabel at a post on the outskirts of town. It feels foreign. I’m not sure I’ve been here before. Perhaps I’m being shown something that isn’t my memory. I swivel my head and take it in. We’re in a run-down structure that appears to have been a barn or outbuilding on a farm at one point. There are cobwebs in the rafters, and the place has a musty, rotten smell. As far as I can tell, the structure is abandoned now. A thick layer of dust has settled over a wooden table in the center of the space.

  Roddy is at my side. Together, we look on as Isabel clings to her visibly pregnant belly in horror, blood pouring down her legs and staining her white gown. Her pregnancy has progressed since the scene on the beach. Touching on my experience with Ali and our boys, I can tell that Isabel’s pregnancy is at least past the seventh month mark. If she were in modern times and experiencing preterm labor, the baby would most likely survive. Paramedics would whisk her away to a hospital with a neonatal intensive care unit. The odds for both mother and baby would be good. Even in a case of placental abruption, the situation would be critical, but chances the baby could survive would be high. Obstetricians in modern-day America see it every day. But we’re not in modern-day America-- or even modern-day Greece-- right now. I don’t recall details about Ancient Ithaki’s medical capabilities. I can’t imagine that they were very advanced. All of this blood can’t be good. It’s rushing out so fast that I’m beginning to worry about Isabel. She might not survive the blood loss if it continues at this rate much longer.

  Oh, no. Isabel is looking at me like I’ve done something to her. She’s furious, and heartbroken. I think she’s losing the baby. Or at least, she thinks she’s losing the baby. I recognize the desperation in her eyes.

  It’s the same desperation I felt in my memory when Ancient Greek Ethan went missing and later turned up dead. It’s also the same desperation I felt the night of the break-in at our New York house when the intruder had Ethan and was making a break for the getaway van parked on the road. I could feel my child slipping away from me. I nearly lost him for a second time. I felt it again when my family was missing in Lake Tahoe. Even now, the ache gnaws at me since hearing how Ethan was snatched away from Roddy. There’s no deeper pain. The worst part is that I’m helpless to do anything about it.

  As I watch her in front of me, it’s obvious that Isabel feels the same way-- utterly and tragically helpless. Her movements are frantic as she blots at the area between her legs, her efforts futile. She’s alone here, and she can’t stop the bleeding. The setting of this dilapidated building seems to mirror her torment. She’s terrified, down to her core. Yet she has the energy of a mama bear, ready to fight fiercely to protect her cub. She’d do anything to protect it. She loves and wants this baby. As if things couldn’t get worse, I can tell that Isabel thinks it’s my fault. Is it my fault? I’m not sure how it could be, but I honestly don’t know. My head swims as I try to sort it out. My heart hurts for Isabel, and for her unborn baby. A little boy, I come to realize in another morsel of knowing. I squint my eyes, wishing I didn’t have to be involved with this at all. Though I am involved. I can’t escape it.

  I turn to Roddy, hoping for answers. He looks cold and unmoved. His face shows no emotion. He has the same expression he did the day he put an end to the intruder in the front yard of our Ithaca house. The man had nearly gotten away with Ethan. He needed to be stopped, at all costs. But Roddy showed no remorse for taking the man’s life. I’m certain I would have reacted differently. In fact, I did react differently. I was perched above the intruder, ready to end him. But I hesitated. Part of that was because I didn’t want to go to prison and leave my family alone without me. There was more to it. I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to end a man’s life. At least, not up close and personal.

  I lean harder with my energy, trying to tap into Roddy’s feelings. He’s a good man. I know he is. One of the best. I can’t imagine that he’d do something cruel to Isabel and her baby. Surely, he didn’t cause this. I can’t figure it out though. Why is he here? Is he just a guide who is showing me what happened? Or was he actually involved?

  I push my mind to reveal the answers, but something is stuck, just like it is when I try to find out about my parents. I’m hitting another block. For some reason, I can’t access more details of Isobel’s situation. I’m left with threads that don’t meet in the middle. Frustrated, I turn to face Roddy. His huge body towers over me as his chest heaves with each slow breath. I’m overwhelmed by the urge to hug him. At the same time though, I’m leery. I hate this, knowing yet not knowing. I squint my eyes again, as if I can somehow squeeze bits of data from my brain with the motion. Nothing comes.

  I close my eyes, thinking about what to do. I can tell there is much more to learn here. It doesn’t feel right to leave. Acting on impulse, I move towards Isabel. If Roddy won’t show me, maybe she will. Even if she’s angry with me, we’re in this together. She might be willing to share. I walk towards her in a smooth motion that feels more like a glide. She looks up at me as I brush a f
ew strands of her dark hair behind one of her ears and then wipe the tears from her cheeks. I want to kiss her, but I don’t. I feel a little like I’m cheating on Ali, being here with Isabel and our baby like this. I don’t like it. I’d never purposely hurt Ali. Not in a million lifetimes or a million years. I keep my composure and my distance.

  Using my mind, I ask Isabel what is happening. Words aren’t needed here. These past life experiences transcend spoken language. She wraps her arms around me tightly and leans her head on my chest as if it’s too complicated to explain. Her sobs echo through the abandoned building. Her tears soak her hair nearly as fast as her blood soaks her gown.

  I hold Isabel and try to comfort her, but I can’t stop thinking about Ali. I wonder if Ancient Greek Ali knows that Isabel and I conceived a baby. I wonder if she was jealous. I hope she didn’t feel betrayed. I feel certain that Isabel and I were never together without Ali. The conception of this baby happened while Ali was present, moving and climaxing along with us. With a pang of my own jealousy, I’m reminded of the relationship between Ali and Clive. I still don’t know what transpired between them. I know they were acquainted in Ancient Greece and that they were lovers during that lifetime, but that’s all the deeper my understanding goes. I also know they spent a night together in modern times when I was away with the Air Force in Korea. I could drive myself mad if I thought too long or hard about it. Ali is my girl. My one and only. I don’t like the thought of her with another man. Not to mention, Clive’s claims about him being Ethan’s father in modern times leave me wounded in a way I can’t adequately describe. Ethan is my boy. That’s all there is to it. I’ve tried to put it out of my mind since finding out, but it’s all swirling ominously now. Ali hasn’t been awake for me to ask. We have a DNA sample from Clive if we want to use it. I’m not sure what to do about any of that.

  I tell myself to focus. I figure I can’t get answers to all of my questions at once, but maybe I can get answers to a few of them if I zero in. Fine.

  I look hard at Isabel and send my question. I ask her why she’s bleeding. She looks up at me, her big brown eyes full of woe. To my surprise, she communicates back. She tells me that someone made her bleed because they didn’t want her to have this baby. I ask who. It’s the obvious inquiry. She shakes her head, denying me. I apparently can’t know who hurt her. I try again, asking her why. This, she answers. She sends me a package of information that I receive and unwrap energetically. As I peel back the layers, I realize she was right. It does seem complicated. But I get my answer. This baby has become a pawn in a political struggle between feuding members of our city’s governing council.

  I truly don’t understand why they cared. It isn’t like I was the son of a prominent ruler, as far as I know. I thought I was a lowly soldier, not good enough for Ali. I can’t imagine why the council was so concerned about my offspring, to the point that they sent Ali out of the city when she became pregnant with Ethan. And now, what? Have they forced Isabel to miscarry my child, too? That seems unreasonable. And extreme.

  I feel a warm hand on my back. It’s Ancient Greek Roddy. He’s beside me again, this time to offer me comfort. He looks at me sympathetically, glancing down at Isabel. He sends a package of information that enters my mind with a jolt. It confirms what Isabel communicated. This baby was fought over. Someone ended the pregnancy forcefully. My baby died at the instruction of city officials who refused to allow the baby life outside of Isabel’s womb.

  Suddenly, in a flash, I see a gut wrenching image of the baby, stillborn in Isabel’s arms. Somehow, seeing his closed eyes and his angelic little face provides me the recognition I was looking for. It’s Will. I realize that this baby-- Isabel’s lifeless baby in Ancient Greece-- is our very own little Will, born to Ali and me in modern-day New York. I know it, for sure. He’s my boy, then and now. The implications are staggering. My mind reels as I work to connect the dots. It must not have been an accident that Isabel came into our modern lives when Ali was nearly ready to deliver little Will. Maybe Isabel was drawn to him. Maybe they have a connection that rivals the one we have with him. Maybe both transcend time and space. The revelation makes me feel happy and sad all at once. I’m powerless to stop deep connections across lifetimes. I want Will to be loved and cherished by as many people as possible. But I’m also protective of him. He’s my boy. It feels like he shouldn’t be anyone else’s.

  I back my energy away from the scene. It’s too overwhelming for me to stay close right now. I need to process. I retreat, zooming into the air high above Ithaki, the blue water becoming darker the further I go. I’m sucked back to my hospital bed in Afghanistan with a whoosh, tumbling until I find my consciousness hovering above my body. It’s still there, knocked out, resting.

  I contemplate staying there in mid-air for a while. It feels safe. I need time to think, and this seems as good a place as any. But I hear someone outside my room. Colonel Becker’s booming voice is instantly recognizable. The authority he exudes compels me to respond. He is my commanding officer, after all. I move close and lean into my body, relaxing into my familiar form as I sink down low. Once I’m firmly settled in my skin, I force myself to wake up and open my eyes. The sedative must be wearing off because it doesn’t take much effort. I’m there, wide awake and alert.

  “Major Hartmann?” Colonel Becker asks as he steps through the door, a roll of blueprints under one arm. “I hope you’re rested up because it’s time. Your country needs you. You have an urgent mission to complete.”

  4

  Journey

  It’s raining outside. I hear water pounding on the roof of the building. The sensory stimulation is nice. Even though I can’t see or smell the rain right now, knowing it’s out there makes me feel alive. It’s good to be back in my modern body. This one feels most like home. I guess that makes sense. It should.

  The news isn’t all good though. I get the sense that this rainstorm is foreboding. A bad omen. If I were a superstitious man, I’d be concerned. Maybe I should be concerned. I intentionally push the thought away as fast as it arrives. I’m not in any position to worry right now. I’ve got to find Liam. Colonel Becker is right. It’s time. Long past time, if you ask me. I have to rescue my uncle and then get home to help Roddy find Ethan. I must forge on in spite of bad omens. My family is depending on me. Of course, I care deeply about the safety of my fellow Americans, too. I want to do my part to thwart the terrorists and prevent an attack on U.S. soil.

  It’s overwhelming when I think about how many people are counting on me.

  I remind myself that I only need to tackle one thing at a time. I’m just glad the Colonel has cleared me for the mission. Apparently, Adam and Barney aren’t here. Maybe Becker told them to back off. I don’t much care what happened to them, as long as they don’t try to hold me back again. The more strength I gain, the more I’ll be able to fend for myself and resist their attempts to sedate me. They ought to be glad my shoulder hurt as badly as it did when they came at me with the syringe. I can tell the injury is feeling better already. It’s still sore, but the pain doesn’t have the same edge to it. Adam and Barney won’t be able to take me down like that again. Not if I can help it.

  “On your feet, soldier,” Colonel Beckett says.

  He’s alone. I wonder where Colonel Winton is, but I don’t dare ask. I just want to get moving before anyone interferes. I leap out of bed, pleased with my newfound level of energy. I wonder how long I was out. I’m a little woozy, but I feel much better than I did earlier.

  “Yes, sir,” I reply, standing up and at attention. “I’m ready for duty, sir.”

  The Colonel nods. “At ease,” he says. “Sit back down. Save your strength.”

  I do as he says and plop back onto the bed. My injured arm is in a sling. I wonder if I can take the sling off for the mission. Since I haven’t spoken with a medical doctor yet, I have no idea. It’s probably better not to ask. Once I’m out in the field, I’ll do with the arm as I see fit.

 
; “Yes, sir,” I repeat.

  “Major Hartmann,” Colonel Becker begins. “I trust you know what’s at stake.”

  “Yes, I do, sir,” I confirm. I repeat what I know to prove to the Colonel that I’m lucid. “The terrorist cell we’re tracking has our microdrone technology, and it appears they also have the ability to weaponize it. I recall the first raid clearly. The terrorists are planning to drop chemical weapons over five major U.S. cities if we don’t stop them.”

  I’m somewhat surprised that my head is on straight right now. I’ve been such a mess-- in and out of consciousness. Not to mention, my awareness has been as far as Ancient Greece while my body has been resting. I wasn’t sure I’d rebound this quickly. It gives me confidence in myself. It gives me courage.

  “Good man,” Colonel Beckett says. “Are you sure you’re up for this? I don’t want to send you out there if you can’t see the mission through. Success is critical. It’s imperative. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I do,” I reply. “I get it, sir. Millions of lives are on the line.”

  “That’s right. They are.”

  “Liam and I created the microdrone technology. We have a responsibility to see that it’s used only for good. I could never live with myself if the technology I helped create was used to harm innocent civilians and to weaken the country I love so dearly. Liam would feel the same...”

  My voice breaks before I can finish my sentence. The Colonel appears sympathetic. He takes a slow breath and leans toward me.

  “I’m sorry about your uncle,” he says. “Liam was a fine soldier. And a remarkable human being. He was one of the best I’ve ever known.”

  His words mean a lot to me. I nearly lose my composure. It hurts to hear him talk about Liam in the past tense. I’m still not convinced my uncle is gone. I think he’s out there somewhere, behind enemy lines. And I intend to find him. I’m tempted to tell Colonel Becker my plan. There’s a chance he’d be willing to divert our team after the mission is complete. If I can make a compelling argument, he might approve a search and rescue operation. On the other hand though, I don’t want to tip him off to a plan he won’t support. He might put stops in place that would prevent me from going after Liam. I can’t let that happen.