The Reincarnationist

by M. J. Rose

  After she hung up, she looked more depleted than she had when Josh walked into the house.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “He said the marks are different on these stones. None of them repeat from the first group. It’s going to take him the rest of the night and into the morning to decipher them. If he can do it that fast…” Like so many of her sentences lately, this one didn’t end but just faded out.

  “He’ll get it done, Gabriella.”

  “Will he?” She shook her head vigorously. “You don’t know. Neither of us does. I can’t stand it. Being out of control like this is the worst part. I want to do something…She’s my daughter, and I want to do something to save her…” Gabriella ran her fingers through her hair, which was by now a tangled disarray of curls. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “I want to do something. Anything…”

  “I know. And you have. You found the one person who can help you, and he will. Listen to me…”

  She hadn’t been looking at him, but now she turned and faced him. He’d seen the expression in her eyes when he’d been in the Middle East photographing the mothers of children who had been unwitting victims of terrorist activity. It was a different expression of grief than he beheld in the faces of the mothers whose sons or daughters had been soldiers. In those deaths, the mothers had clung to their children’s heroism with a tenacity that was like the silken threads a spider weaves: so fragile-looking, but so impossibly tensile and strong.

  “Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll make us drinks and something to eat. You haven’t eaten anything since last night on the plane, have you?”

  “You can cook?” She was almost smiling.

  “Surprised?”

  “Yes, for some reason.”

  “Well don’t expect anything Cordon Bleu, but if you have some eggs I can—”

  “You know, I don’t think I can eat anything.”

  “It’s not a choice. You need to eat or you won’t be any good to anyone tomorrow. So point me toward the kitchen.”

  On the way he told her Malachai was going to follow them in his car the next day, in case anything went wrong.

  “What if they have someone watching us? What if they see him?” she asked, her voice tight with new tension.

  “He’ll be very careful. It’s safer this way. What if something were to happen to me? Then you’d be alone with this monster.” He reached out and touched her cheek. “Go ahead. Go upstairs.”

  She didn’t go, not yet. “When this is all over…when Quinn is back home…back with me, I’ll find the words to adequately thank you.”

  The end of this ordeal still seemed far away. Ahead of them was an arduous path through a war zone where, he hoped, at the end was a little girl he’d never seen who would be reunited with her mother.

  While Gabriella showered, Josh poured himself a few inches of Scotch and sipped it as he gathered the ingredients for eggs and toast. Now that he’d delivered the stones and Rollins had started on the translations and he was alone, he felt the full impact of what had happened to him that day. Meeting with Rachel, hypnotizing her, hearing her heart-wrenching rendition of Esme’s past—Esme, Percy’s sister, a woman it seemed he was somehow psychically tied to—lying his way into Harrison Shoals’s gallery, taking apart the painting, finding the Memory Stones and stealing them, only to have a gun pulled on him. At least he’d been able to help Rachel break her ties to Harrison, a man who, if there was such a thing as destiny, was far too dangerous for her to have in her life. But there was still the question of Rachel’s uncle. Was Alex a threat to her? Worse, was he a threat to Gabriella and Quinn? Should he call the police while Gabriella was upstairs and tell them about Alex—

  His cell phone rang. He looked at the readout, saw it was Malachai and answered it.

  “I wanted to check on you both. Is there anything new?”

  “No.”

  “What about the mantra? Will she have the mantra for the stones in time?”

  “I think…listen, Malachai, you should know this—there are twelve stones.”

  “What?”

  “There are twelve Memory Stones, not six.”

  “How do you know that?” His voice was tense.

  “We’ll explain it to you when you get here tomorrow.”

  “No. I don’t think so. Not after everything we’ve been through. I’d like you to explain it now.”

  Josh had never heard that edge in Malachai’s voice, but it didn’t surprise him, so he explained what had happened.

  “When did this happen? I just saw you. Why on earth didn’t you tell me this before? Do you have them, Josh? Are they in your possession?”

  Josh looked into the dining room where the stones were all still laid out on Gabriella’s glass table. Light shone down on them and up through them, illuminating them from within. They glowed like underwater sea creatures, mysterious but alive.

  And then, just as he was going to say yes, he had them, Josh felt a flicker of fear course through him like a current. A warning.

  If he told Malachai the whole truth, would he get in his car and drive up to New Haven right then? And if he did, once he saw them, would Malachai be able to let go of them when he was so desperate for proof that reincarnation existed? When he was convinced that the stones were that substantiation? Could Josh take the chance and put Quinn at greater risk?

  “Not yet. Gabriella will have them by tomorrow.”

  “How did this happen?”

  Behind him, Josh heard Gabriella on the stairs.

  “We’re going to eat something now, Malachai. We’ll tell you tomorrow. I’ll call as soon as we know where and when we’re supposed to make the exchange and pick up Quinn.”

  They ate in the kitchen. Josh watched her mechanically pick up the fork, bring it to her mouth, chew the food, repeat the pattern. He knew she wasn’t tasting a thing, but that didn’t matter. She needed the energy. When they finished, they took mugs of steaming, milk-laced coffee into the dining room and looked down at the emeralds, sapphires and ruby, watching them as if they might at any moment take flight. Except they weren’t alive. They were useless chunks of rock dug from the earth, somehow transformed into treasure responsible for at least seven deaths that he knew of.

  “I heard you on the phone when I came downstairs,” she said. “Why did you lie to Malachai?”

  “I was afraid that if he knew we had them he’d drive up here tonight to see them—and then, once he did, I’m not sure he’d ever let them go.”

  “You want these as much as he does, don’t you?”

  Josh nodded.

  “But you’re not taking them.”

  “Quinn’s your child.”

  “But I remember what you told me before Quinn was taken. You said all you wanted was some way to prove that reincarnation exists. You’re the one who thinks he’s going crazy, who’s been obsessed for so long. Whose life has fallen apart. How can you let them go?”

  Josh stared at the stones and considered how he’d found out about them. How Rachel had remembered something she hadn’t been aware she’d ever known. And how the fabric of their pasts had been woven together in a way that defied logic. Shouldn’t the way he found the stones—indeed, the very fact of these stones’ existence—prove it for him once and for all? There were so many incidents and revelations in the past four months that should have been proof enough for him. Why weren’t they?

  For the same reason that interviewing three thousand children still hadn’t been enough for Malachai or Beryl.

  “You know,” Josh said, taking his eyes off of the glittering gems and turning to Gabriella, “tomorrow night at this time, you’ll be here with Quinn.”

  She closed her eyes as if in silent prayer. When she opened them, she looked down at the stones, too.

  “I can’t imagine what it was like, what you did today, taking these. You were almost killed in Rome, and yet you put yourself back in danger today.”

  “We’re way past that.”

>   She turned and stared at him for a long minute. Then she leaned in, very quickly, put her mouth on his and kissed him. It was intimate but asexual. An expression of gratitude. “I take it back,” she said. “What I said before. There’s no way I’ll ever figure out how to say thank you.”

  “I don’t expect you to. This has to do with so many things that I don’t quite understand—karmic debts that need to be paid, plans that have to be lived out, despite our conscious wishes or wants. You and Quinn are part of it, but not the way I thought. I’m not making sense, am I?” He was embarrassed. It all sounded like sentimental lunacy when he talked about it out loud.

  “Josh, do you think you and I are connected?”

  “In some past-life way?”

  “Yes.”

  “I desperately wanted to believe we were. But no. Even when I’m with you, I can still feel her presence—she’s still pulling at me.”

  He stood up, walked the length of the room, got as far away from Gabriella as he could, but it didn’t matter, he could still see her luminous golden eyes looking at him. Right then, more than he’d ever wanted to tell anyone anything, he wanted to tell her that whatever had happened in the past didn’t matter. That he could live without knowing how Julius’s story with Sabina ended. That he could forget the nameless, faceless woman he thought was waiting for him. That he didn’t need to keep finding proof or discover a method of photographing auras. That he didn’t have to turn all these theories into irrefutable, black-and-white realities.

  But he knew better.

  Yesterday, he might have been able to walk away from his search.

  Yesterday, Rachel hadn’t yet reached into her unconscious and told him a story about a painting and a frame.

  Yesterday, that same painting and frame hadn’t yet offered up a treasure that they had been hiding for more than a hundred years.

  Yesterday, he might have been able to walk away from the idea that some destiny was waiting for him.

  One day had irrevocably doomed him to remain faithful to his past.

  “Oh, God…” The words ended in a cry, as if she’d been pierced and was in pain.

  “What?”

  “Josh, we don’t really know there aren’t more of these, do we? What if there are? What if we give all twelve to this monster, and they don’t work because—”

  “No, that’s not going to happen. He’s not going to make you wait while he tries them out before he turns Quinn over.”

  “But what if there are fourteen stones? Sixteen stones?”

  “There were twelve.” He heard his own voice from a great distance, as if he were standing at one end of a long tunnel and someone at the other end had just said it.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  She stared at him. “Wait…you know…I think you might be right.” She stood up and walked quickly out of the room.

  Josh followed her into the library, where she was pulling books off of the shelves, dropping them to the floor when they weren’t the ones she wanted.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I think I remember something—I’m not sure. There may be some kind of proof.” She pulled another book off the shelf and flipped through the pages. “Yes…here it is. Here, come look.”

  It was a drawing of a peacock, feathers splayed.

  “What is that? Why is that significant?”

  “This is a copy of a drawing found in a tomb in ancient Egypt. Ancient writings described it as a golden breastplate from India that would assist the wearer in reaching his next incarnation. In each of the peacock’s feathers was a precious stone. Josh, there were twelve feathers in the peacock’s tail. Twelve exactly. The peacock was an ancient symbol of rebirth. Reincarnation. The stones have ancient writing on them that we know is Indus. Maybe this was where the stones were originally from.”

  “You can give him that, give it to him along with everything else as some kind of proof.”

  She was already ripping the pages out in a frenzy of activity and manic energy that he found heartbreaking. And then she laid her head down on her arms and wept. Josh watched, helplessly. No matter what he said to her, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Nothing would, except getting her daughter back.

  “I think you should try to get some sleep. I know it’s going to be hard, but you need the rest. You won’t help Quinn if you’re this exhausted tomorrow.”

  She nodded.

  “Come on.” He helped her up. “I’m going to take you upstairs.”

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” she said in a shaky voice. The tears were still coming.

  “No. I’m going to stay here. Sleep on the couch. I don’t want you to be alone, not tonight.”

  As they walked up the stairs, she leaned on him, and he could feel how cold her skin was through her shirt. In her bedroom she lay down, too tired to get undressed, so he pulled a quilt up over her. Now that she was in bed, her sobs intensified, filling the room with her grief and her fear. He sat down beside her, bent over and put his arms around her, and they stayed like that for what seemed a long time. Suddenly she lifted her face to his, leaned in and kissed him. The anger and fury in the pressure of her lips on his surprised him. He didn’t understand, but that didn’t matter now; there would be time later to consider how impossible their being together was.

  “I just want to get out of my head for a while. Is that okay?” she whispered.

  “Yes, Gabriella. It’s fine.”

  She wasn’t gentle or patient as she took more than she gave. She ripped at his shirt and pants, pulling his clothes off him, not giving him a chance to do the same to her. He was instantly hard as he watched her undress quickly. He was barely able to glimpse her long legs, full hips and breasts because she was too fast for him. One minute she was pulling off her clothes, the next she was climbing on top of him, almost as if she was possessed.

  And then she stared down at him with blazing eyes that never closed, that dripped endless tears on his chest as she tried to ride out her fear and her pain. Josh felt himself disappear into her, amazed at the heat that surrounded him. He couldn’t catch her rhythm; she was too frenetic, moving in an almost trancelike craze, so he stopped trying to, instead letting her set the pace. She kept changing her speed, keeping him on the edge, slowing down, barely moving, then riding him as if there was a race she needed to win, and just when he’d feel the pressure building, she would stop, idle for a minute, not moving her hips or legs or torso but only flexing her muscles, then rushing off again.

  Gabriella was raw and open and rough, and Josh wasn’t sure she knew who he was anymore other than a release and a reprieve from her terrors. But even knowing that, her pressure and pulsing and pushing moved him deeply. She was surviving the only way she could, and he was determined to help her through it.

  Finally she threw back her head and gripped his shoulders so tightly he felt real pain. The low moan started deep where the two of them met and meshed. It rose up, increasing in intensity, becoming louder and primitive, sounding the way he felt, as if the world was exploding and imploding at the same time, and years of grief and passion and helplessness came together and escalated into a howl that filled the room and made him turn his head aside, and this time, he wept with her.

  * * *

  Josh woke up alone in the bed, naked, under the covers, remembering the night before. Not so much their violent coming together as what had happened afterward. How Gabriella had fallen asleep, exhausted and spent, nestled in the crook of his arm. And how he had stayed awake, watching her, wishing that the stones were already gone and Quinn was back and this was his life.

  Gabriella was in the kitchen, drinking coffee, dressed, her hair still damp and curled around her face when he went downstairs. She looked up at him and tried to smile. It was an intimate glance that reached out across the room and embraced him.

  “Did you hear from Rollins?” he said, asking her the one thing that mattered.

  She nodded. “He�
��s almost done, thank God.”

  “Any other calls?” he asked.

  “No. I’m going crazy.”

  “They’ll call, Gabriella. They will.”

  She nodded. “Do you want coffee?” She started to get up.

  “I’ll get it.”

  “No. Let me. It will give me something to do. I need something to do.”

  After pouring it, she put a mug down in front of him and then sat down opposite him. “I can’t believe what I did last night.”

  “You’d be surprised what grief does to people.”

  She looked down into her mug as if she’d find an answer there. “But…it was…I was…”

  “You were reaching out, you wanted relief. Don’t do this. You’re under more stress than you’ve ever experienced in your whole life. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  “It’s just that…” She finally looked up at him. There was sorrow and confusion in her eyes. “I didn’t use you, Josh.”

  “There’s a Buddhist koan,” he said. “A series of candles are set up on a table. The one on the right is lit, those to the left aren’t. As each lit candle burns out, just before it expires, a monk uses its flame to light the candle beside it. And when that candle is about to burn out, the monk uses it to light the next candle in the row. The question is, is the flame that burns on that last candle the same flame as the one that burned on the first? The second?”

  “It’s the same. What do you think?”

  “Not the same, but not different, either. Without the first flame none of the other candles could have been lit.”

  Gabriella nodded.

  He went on. “We shared something. It didn’t mean the same thing for both of us, but we ignited for a time and shared a burning. And we’re both different for it this morning. It might never be repeated, but it won’t ever disappear, either.”

  She bowed her head just enough for it to be a movement, as if what he’d said was a benediction, and just then, the phone rang.

  Chapter 68

  Friday, 10:48 a.m.

  “I told you to shut her up!”