by Amy Durham
I nodded. It made sense, the powerful need to get closer to each other, to hold on tight. We needed that affirmation of life I supposed.
The difference was, I needed it because I loved him.
“I’m really sorry, Layla,” he repeated. “I shouldn’t have handled you that way.”
Unable to say what was on my mind – that I had been as much, or more, a participant as him – I just shook my head.
“Do you think you could stay down here?” I asked. “Just a little longer?”
And could I have sounded any more desperate?
I hated myself in that moment, but despite the fact that we’d reassured one another we were indeed, very much alive, I still wasn’t quite ready to let him out of my sight.
His answer was to wedge himself against the back of the couch, lying on his side. He lifted his arms in invitation, and I cuddled next to him, my back against his front.
It felt warm and safe and right. And though my insecurities reared their ugly heads, there was no keeping myself from enjoying the feeling of his arms around me.
Even if I had to regret it later.
I was asleep in minutes.
***
This time the dream came peacefully.
We were in the back yard of Emerson House. Or rather, the people we’d once been were. They were older than us, but only slightly, as if they were young adults at the very beginning of their lives together.
It played out in my mind like scenes in a movie. I was aware that what I was seeing was not really happening, and I was free to watch or turn it off at my discretion.
She hung laundry on a line strung between trees. He pretended to help but really only tried to distract her. Hiding behind shirts and pants and blankets, he would peek out and try to startle her. I could tell it didn’t work because all she did was giggle at him.
I was glad to see them happy, playful. Lucas and I had had too little of that. I imagined it was really the two of us... really Lucas and Layla... laughing and carefree.
He jumped out from behind a large blanket or towel and grabbed her by the waist. Though I knew it was a dream, I felt his arm around me, pulling my close to him.
At once I was no longer simply watching, but rather in the dream. I was her, with all her feelings and sensations. I looked through her eyes, felt with her heart. And what was inside her for this man was stronger than I’d ever imagined any feeling could be.
I was comforted by the assurance that being in the dream was my choice, and I could choose to stop at any time.
He kissed her. Well, it actually felt more like Lucas kissing me. I melted into him, letting him press me against him and wrap me in his arms. When the kiss ended and he looked at me, it was with wicked mischief. I chuckled at his expression, even as he grabbed my hand and began running toward the house.
Together we tumbled, laughing, through the back door of our home.
CHAPTER 32
I woke from the dream the same way I’d gone into it. Peaceful and calm. The first threads of daylight spilled through the window of Lucas’s living room, and his arm tightened around me.
Shifting around until I lay on my back, I looked up at him, and found his eyes already open and staring down at me.
The darkness was lifting outside, illuminating the living room a bit, and I found with the promise of daylight, my doubts were somewhat less.
I guess it’s true about things always seeming worse in the middle of the night.
“That was a nice one,” he whispered. “I think they were trying to make up for the last dream.”
“Maybe so.” I smiled up at him. “I think they wanted us to know their life wasn’t always so awful. It was like they wanted to show us they had happy times too.”
“I’m glad they did,” he said. “I like thinking of them that way.”
“Me too.”
“We probably shouldn’t be like this when my mom gets up.” He pushed himself into a sitting position. “She wouldn’t freak out or anything, but I don’t want to give her any reason to think she shouldn’t trust us.”
“Are you going back upstairs?”
He cut his eyes toward the La-Z-Boy. “I think I’ll hang out in the recliner. Mom won’t think anything about that, especially once we tell her about the dream.”
“Will you tell her about both dreams?” I asked, wondering how Luke would feel telling his mom about seeing the two of us happy and in love.
“We can keep the second one to ourselves.” He winked and moved without noise to the recliner. “I think it was their gift to us.”
“Okay.” I snuggled down under the blanket again.
Luke pulled a crocheted afghan from the back of the sofa and settled into the chair. The small afghan barely stretched the long length of his legs, and didn’t even come close to covering his chest. I supposed the Sky Cove Senior High tee shirt kept him warm enough.
“It’s way early, Layla,” he whispered. “May as well get a little more sleep.”
I smiled, closed my eyes, and thought what a wonder it was that even after that terrible dream I could still feel giddy and happy.
With a smidgen of insecurity tossed in.
Uncertainty and reservation hovered in the back of my mind, but I shoved them away. I resolved to enjoy every moment with Luke, even if it meant heartbreak when our journey was over. If Luke’s feelings for me ended once we solved the mystery of our pasts, so be it. I would have these memories to keep with me always.
***
Gwen’s bedroom door creaked open and footsteps started down the hall. Not quite awake enough yet, I kept my eyes closed, thinking to myself if I just laid here a little longer I wouldn’t have to re-live last night’s death dream just yet.
I heard Luke’s slight movements in the recliner next to me. I smiled, from the inside, my heart grinning and warmth spreading through me, at the thought that he’d stayed with me. He hadn’t left me alone, even after we’d been comforted in the second dream.
I sensed the moment Gwen stepped into the room.
“Luke.” Her voice was a whisper.
Luke shifted in the chair, and I heard the footrest descend softly.
“Morning,” he said, his voice hushed, as if he didn’t want to wake me. “I fell asleep down here.”
“Another dream?” Gwen’s intuitive streak was tremendous.
Luke must’ve nodded, because Gwen went on.
“A bad one?” she asked.
“Very.” Luke’s feet hit the floor with a quiet thud as he stood. “The worst one yet.”
Why I continued to feign sleep I didn’t know. Perhaps it had to do with my weird interest in hearing his exchange with his mother.
And from behind my eyelids, my doubts didn’t seem so huge.
“I just didn’t feel like I could leave her down here by herself afterward,” he whispered. “Plus, I just kind of like being in the room with her.”
Oh good grief. My heart turned over in my chest.
“We’ll talk about it after breakfast,” Gwen said. I could hear the smile in her voice. “Come help me get it started.”
***
“I’ve been researching,” Gwen said, as soon as I stepped into the kitchen.
She and Luke were making French toast and refused to let me help. Instead, I’d taken a quick shower, twisted my damp hair into a clip, and dressed again in the sweats Luke had loaned me.
I pulled the drawstring tight and rolled the waistband over four times to keep the bottoms from dragging the floor.
“I told her about the dream,” Luke said. “And about meeting Patsy Emerson last night.” He sat a bottle of syrup and a bowl of powdered sugar on the table and turned back to the cabinet to retrieve glasses. “What’ve you been researching?”
“About reincarnation.” She motioned to a stack of books on the countertop across the room.
It was stacked with a dozen or so books. Scanning the spines, I read titles such as “The Other Me”, “When Today Isn’t
Enough”, and “Capture Your Past”. I couldn’t imagine where she’d come up with twelve books about reincarnation.
Luke must’ve had the same thought. “Bet you got some crazy looks at the library.”
“I ordered them off the internet, silly,” Gwen laughed.
Of course. You could find anything on the Internet.
And after the death dream, Lucas and I were willing to try most anything to uncover the truth and hopefully stop the frightening visions.
Luke pulled a chair out for me then retrieved a pitcher of juice from the fridge. He grabbed the platter stacked high with French toast just as Gwen turned off the stove and moved to the table. As soon as he dropped into the seat next to me, Gwen let loose with what she’d discovered.
“Theories on reincarnation are varied and widespread,” she began, passing the food my direction. “But I’ve noticed some common threads among the different ideas. A lot of what’s in these books is all the same thing, just with different syntax. Past-selves, reincarnate personas, mutual souls, that sort of thing.”
Perhaps I’d been naïve for the last sixteen years, but it astounded me that so much had been written and so much thought had been put into theories of reincarnation. Of course, I’d never believed such a thing existed until a few weeks ago, so maybe I’d just been in the dark all my life.
“The overlap I found really interesting has to do with events that bring about reincarnation or spur resurgences of circumstances, such as what has happened to the two of you.”
A resurgence of circumstances. What an interesting way to put it.
I passed the platter to Lucas, and once his plate was filled we both dug in.
Gwen was a great cook. Almost as good as my mom. The golden crispy toast combined with the sugary syrup did a great deal to sooth.
“Most reincarnation experts believe that there has to be an impetus for reincarnated souls to show themselves or to begin to act in ways similar to their past selves.” Gwen took a book and opened it to a page she’d marked. “This book talks about intersecting events. These things can be anything really. Locations, objects, other people, and so on and so on. But this particular author believes there must be two intersecting events in order for people to begin to see or experience events from the past.”
“How does that explain the fact that I was aware of my past life for years before this summer?” Luke asked.
“You were aware, but you knew nothing specific.” Gwen pointed to a specific passage on the page and scooted the book across the table toward us. “This author would argue that at some point this summer, two intersecting events caused you to begin to see specifics, like Layla’s face or actual events from their lives.”
I touched Luke on the arm. “Like me coming here for the first time on July fourth.”
“Exactly,” Gwen said.
“But what’s the second event?” Luke questioned.
“I think that’s the million dollar question.” Gwen leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
“It probably has something to do with how I’m related to the man in the visions,” Luke suggested.
“The connections you and Layla have to the people in your visions may well be part of what brought all this to the surface,” Gwen agreed. “Not all reincarnations are passed down through bloodlines. Some are random. But from what I’ve been reading, the ones that involve a blood connection are much stronger and much more intense.”
Luke rubbed his temples. I reached back and put my hand on his neck, rubbing light circles on the muscles. Beneath the table, he put his hand on my knee and gave a gentle squeeze.
“Intense is an understatement.” His words could not have been more true.
“I guess we’re back to the courthouse, Layla.”
Another trip to the courthouse might not be necessary, given what we’d learned from Patsy Emerson last night. And what I’d discovered during my conversation with my mom.
“I asked my parents about my adoption.”
“You did?” Luke paused, fork halfway to his mouth.
“Did you learn anything that might be helpful?” Gwen asked.
“Maybe.” I took a deep breath and turned toward Luke. “Last night Patsy Emerson told us that Amelia’s great-granddaughter Brooke works in Boston as a childbirth nurse.”
“Right.” He narrowed his eyes.
“My mother told me yesterday that I was born in Boston.”
***
My room felt familiar, yet lonely, as I sat on my bed later that night, flipping through the pages of the book I’d borrowed form Gwen.
Sometime after lunch the water level had receded enough that road crews could cross White Bridge and remove the tree that had fallen, and Luke had driven me home.
He’d seemed distant as he drove. I hated that. Hated feeling disconnected from him. My mind swam with possible reasons he’d want to distance himself from me, none of them good.
I decided to attribute it to the intensity of what we’d experienced. I figured talking about it anymore would’ve bordered on morbid.
I finished my homework before dinner, and after enjoying Mom’s creamy beef and mushroom stroganoff and answering a bazillion questions about my date with Lucas, I’d gone to my room to read.
Just to make my reasoning seem more legitimate, I’d read fifteen or so pages of the Tolstoy story we’d been assigned in literature class.
And now the reincarnation book lay open in front of me.
First I scanned the pages Gwen had marked and the passages she’d highlighted. Most of the information outlined what she’d discussed with us over breakfast. With no idea what direction to go next, I began turning to random pages
A heading at the top of one chapter caught my eye.
The Gifting.
Propping myself with pillows against the headboard of my bed, I began to read.
It is not uncommon for those experiencing particularly strong or volatile reincarnation episodes to develop an ability that eventually proves useful. This phenomenon is referred to as The Gifting.
Research has documented such supernatural abilities as telekinesis, clairvoyance, mind-reading, and other physical abilities such as superior strength and speed. In most instances, The Gifting is temporary, and serves as a means to some end. If a reincarnated soul is in danger or having trouble achieving a necessary goal, The Gifting will provide the necessary skill to neutralize the danger or create success.
At first it sounded like mumbo-jumbo, but as I read it a second time it began to make sense. Danger or difficulty could be eliminated by “gifting” the reincarnate with some supernatural ability. Like mind-reading.
And then it clicked.
The words and phrases that had fallen into my mind. Not my own thoughts, but as if from the mind of another person. The person who was most likely targeting me, with the goal of destroying Lucas.
The person who was most likely the present-day version of the one who had led the mob to kill Lucas’s past-self in the dream.
As realization dawned, the significance of the words I’d seen began to sink in.
I won’t lose. Not this time.
No matter what I have to do.
It won’t be long now, my love.
Even if I have to kill him.
Reaching for my backpack, I grabbed my notebook and began furiously recording the words that had bounced into my consciousness. I tried to describe everything about the situations. The way I felt alone and overwhelmed the first day of school. The happiness that bubbled inside me at The Pizza Place after the football game. The misery and anger that coursed through me that day in the cafeteria when I saw the pictures of Luke with Kara.
All three had been significant days, even before I picked up on the thoughts. That couldn’t be an accident.
Putting words on paper as fast as they entered my mind, I hoped desperately that giving context to the episodes of random thoughts might give me some clue as to whose thoughts I’d heard.
&nb
sp; CHAPTER 33
The next several days came and went without dreams or visions. Nothing whatsoever was out of the ordinary, except that Lucas maintained a distance I could not explain. He didn’t act different. We sat next to each other in literature. He walked me to my next class. He met me in the parking lot and walked with me to my car before heading off to cross country practice.
But something was off. Maybe he didn’t look at me as often. Maybe he didn’t walk quite as close.
He withheld himself from me, in a way I couldn’t describe or put my finger on, but weighed on my heart nonetheless.
Our reactions to the last dreams could not have been more different. I wanted nothing more than to be closer to him after watching him die and seeing my own death. I supposed for Lucas, the opposite was true. He was pulling away.
As if I needed another reason to wonder if what he felt for me was real or just leftover from the past.
For lack of anything better to do in the afternoon hours – and to make myself think about anything but Luke and our dilemma – I finished reading the Tolstoy story. And when homework couldn’t keep my mind off things, random playlists turned way up on my iPod helped drown it all out.
I was actually happy about the amount of chemistry homework Mr. Hartley assigned on Friday, and forced myself to think about that, rather than about Luke, as I walked in to Lit class.
“Leo Emerson was married to a woman named Lillian Bostridge,” Luke whispered just as Mrs. Chadwick stood up to start literature class.
Way to drop a bomb. He’d been back to the courthouse, I assumed. Or at least done some research that lead him to Leo and his wife.
And he’d done it alone. Without me. And waited until I couldn’t respond before telling me.
Suffering through the class discussion on Ivan Ilyich was torture. I had so many questions and no way to ask them. Part of me wanted to be angry that he’d excluded me, but the bigger part of me felt I had no right to expect to be included in his family research.