by Eve Gaddy
“Yeah. Unfortunately.” He looked at her, at those beautiful, unusual eyes. One green, one half-green, half-blue. “You have her eyes. Bella’s eyes.”
Claire laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me. I’m kin to the Cantrells. Isabel Cantrell was a cousin of mine. I’ve been told my eyes come from the Cantrell side of the family. My mother still stays in touch with Isabel’s sister, Sophie.”
He didn’t believe in coincidence, yet what was he supposed to think? “Isabel was your cousin, and Calvin Davis was a cousin of mine. A cousin I look like. Exactly like.”
“So you not only look like Elijah, you look like this boy from the sixties. This boy whose life you’re dreaming.”
“Apparently. The other day I was at my mother’s. I found a picture and thought it was me until my mother said it was her cousin Calvin.”
“I have Sarah’s eyes. And Bella’s.”
“Apparently,” he said again.
“What happened to Calvin? I know Bella died young, but I don’t know details. I just know it was a big tragedy and Sophie broke off all contact with her father over it. She left home the minute she turned eighteen, and didn’t come back until after he died.”
“Calvin was murdered. Shot. Supposedly by Bella’s father, Buster Cantrell.”
“Good God,” she said. “Is that what freaked you out so much? Have you dreamed of being shot?”
“No. Not yet.”
“You’re afraid you will.”
He shrugged. “Wouldn’t you be?” He sat on the couch, put his face in his hands. “I must be nuts. Fucking nuts to even consider any of this could have happened. But it did happen. If what my mother has told me is true, I can’t deny that what I’ve been dreaming really did happen.” He dropped his hands and looked at her. “Now you know why I didn’t want to be around you. And why I didn’t know how to tell you, or want to tell you what was going on.”
She sat beside him. Touched his arm, in sympathy? Understanding? “Not really.”
“Jesus, Claire, I’m channeling a kid from 1968. In my dreams. How crazy is that?”
“If you’re crazy, then I am too. That’s exactly what my dreams are like. I’m dreaming as if I’m Sarah. I’m dreaming her life.”
“When you called me Elijah, when you told me his full name, everything came back in a rush. All those dreams unrolled like a movie in my mind. It freaked me out. Up until then I had only remembered bits and pieces. Their names, a few scenes. I could ignore it. And then, boom, there it all was. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I thought I could get a handle on it if I didn’t see you.”
“How’d that work for you?”
“It didn’t. I still don’t believe in this kind of crap, and I still can’t deny my dreams bear at least some relation to the past.”
“Why are you here, Jonas?”
“I told you, I couldn’t stay away.” Maybe she was right. Maybe fate had something to do with it.
Except he didn’t believe in fate.
Their eyes met. Locked. “Why?” she asked again. “Why did you come back?”
“Because I’m in love with you, Claire.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I LOVE YOU,” Jonas repeated. “I want to be with you.”
His words flowed over her, warm, seductive. She wanted to melt, to let herself go along with whatever he said, whatever he pleased. But what she wanted didn’t matter. She needed honesty more.
“When you didn’t call, you hurt me. I thought you’d played me and I’d been a fool and fallen for it. Fallen for you. You seemed so sincere, and then nothing. I thought you didn’t want me because I had too much baggage.”
He smiled. “I’d say we both have baggage. What’s a soon-to-be ex compared to losing your mind?”
“You’re not losing your mind.”
“God, I hope not.” He raised a hand to her face, rubbed his thumb over her lips. “I never meant to hurt you. I was afraid you’d think I was crazy if I told you what was going on. Hell, I think I’m crazy. Why wouldn’t you? So instead of telling you, I tried to avoid it. Avoid everything.”
“I’m hardly one to talk about crazy. With the dreams I’ve been having I feel a little whacked too.”
“Dreams should be explainable. But ours aren’t. We can’t just explain them away.”
She didn’t believe they were only dreams. Neither did Jonas, even though he wouldn’t admit it yet. But they could discuss all that later. Right now she didn’t want to talk. Was she a fool to believe him? To believe he loved her? Perhaps, but even so she wanted him.
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Gently, lightly. He started to speak, but she kissed him again, more deeply this time. Let herself sink into the kiss, into the warm flavors of his mouth, the soft, silky touch of his tongue sliding against hers, his lips rubbing over hers.
She pulled back, began undoing her buttons. He watched her, his eyes a deep golden brown, shot through with a dark chocolate. Intrigued but wary. “Don’t think about anything,” she said as she undid the last button and let her blouse fall to the floor. “Don’t think about anything but us.”
Claire stood, took his hand. Walked with him into the bedroom. Turned the lamp on low. She unbuttoned her jeans, unzipped and pushed them down her legs before stepping out of them. “Think about us. Just us.” She lay back on the bed, drew him down with her as she did. “Make love to me, Jonas,” she said softly.
He cupped her face, kissed her. His tongue swept inside, claimed her. His hands caressed her, helping her strip her remaining clothes and his until they both lay naked on the bed. She put her hand on his chest, so white against the deep, rich brown of his skin.
“The first time I saw you I wondered what you’d look like without your shirt. Such lovely muscles,” she murmured, stroking her hand over him. “I couldn’t believe I was thinking that about someone I didn’t even know. I’d never had a reaction like that, not to anyone.”
He laughed. “The first time I saw you I thought you were trouble. And that was before you spilled coffee on me.”
She paused, her hands on his arms. “Have you changed your mind?”
He trailed kisses down her throat, took her breast in his mouth. “No. I like trouble,” he said against her skin. He drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked. “I like it a lot.”
Claire groaned, slid her hand down and wrapped it around him. Stroked as she felt him grow harder, bigger. His fingers played over her, sliding, teasing, exciting. “Jonas,” she sighed, gasping as he slipped a finger inside her, mimicking the motions with his tongue sweeping her mouth.
He moved between her thighs and looked down at her, kissed her mouth deeply. “Tell me again,” she said. “While you’re inside me.”
He slipped inside her, stroked gently at first, then more urgently. “I love you, Claire.”
She kissed his mouth, wrapped her arms and legs around him, opened to him, loving the feel of him. Loving him.
He pushed her to the brink as he thrust into her again and again. All the sensations coalesced into a sunburst as she spiraled out of control, her climax shattering as he drove into her a final time, spilling inside her endlessly.
JONAS ROLLED TO the side, still holding her close.
She sighed. “We should talk about it. About our dreams and what it all means.”
“We have. What else is there to say?”
A lot. And she was betting he didn’t want to hear any of it. “You said you loved me. You haven’t asked me if I love you.”
He rose on his elbow and looked down at her. “I assumed you’d tell me if and when you were ready.”
“I do love you, Jonas.” She put her palm to his cheek and looked into his eyes. The eyes that looked so much like the ones she saw in her dreams. Unusual eyes. They weren’t simply brown. They were a hu
ndred shades, ranging from deep gold to flecks of mahogany, to every shade in between. He was a beautiful man, though he’d probably laugh to hear himself described that way.
Beautiful, just as Elijah had been.
“I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you.” She paused and added deliberately, “Over a hundred and fifty years ago.”
He went from relaxed to tense in a heartbeat. He got up and pulled on his pants with his back to her. When he turned around the look on his face was clearly readable. Shut down, shut out. His words bore it out. “Claire, don’t go there. You know it’s impossible.”
“I’ll admit it’s improbable. But—” Jonas snorted derisively and left the room before she could finish. She got up and reached for his shirt since she couldn’t find her own. She didn’t intend to have this conversation naked. She already felt as if she were revealing too much.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked, following him back into the other room. “A coke or something? I don’t have any beer.” Come to think of it, a nice stiff drink would be appropriate for what they were going to talk about.
Because she intended to discuss it, whether Jonas wanted to or not.
“Water would be nice.”
She grabbed a bottle out of the refrigerator and tossed it to him. He caught it and twisted the top off, drank deeply.
“Past lives,” she said. “We’ve both been dreaming about a past life. Lives that are intertwined. What other explanation is there?”
He paused in mid-sip and glared at her. “Plenty. We’re both crazy.”
Reincarnation. She didn’t know about Jonas, but she’d been thinking about it for some time. Now that he’d told her of his dreams, it made even more sense.
God, reincarnation made sense?
“So you don’t believe in people having past lives?” She knew the answer. Until recently, she’d thought it was hokum too. Like her, Jonas was a doctor. A scientist. He wanted everything proved to him. Facts, not fantasy. And he would certainly consider past lives a fantasy of someone’s imagination. He wasn’t likely to believe in something so controversial, so unlikely, as reincarnation. In fact, she was far from certain what she thought about it all, but she couldn’t totally deny the possibility anymore as she had in the past.
“I think it’s bullshit.”
A nice, unequivocal answer. “Do you really? Still? Even after what’s happened to us?”
He paced away, turned, and walked back to her, his expression grim. “Yes, really. Past lives? The whole concept of someone having lived before—not just once but twice—is ridiculous bullshit.” He took her hand. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into it. Because of some crazy dreams we’ve both been having? Come on, Claire, get real.”
“A few months ago, I would have agreed with you. But ever since I started having the dreams, ever since I met you—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, releasing her hand to wave his in the air. “We know each other, we’re fated to be together. Whatever.”
He sounded so disgusted she’d have laughed, except it wasn’t funny. She tried again. “Okay, let’s look at this logically.”
Jonas snorted and took another sip of water. “Yeah, logical. Because there’s something supremely logical about being reincarnated.”
Claire ignored that and continued. “I’ve been having these dreams of another life. It feels as if I’m there, as if it’s my own life I’m dreaming about. It isn’t just Sarah’s life, it’s mine. The emotions, the feelings are real. Very real. They’re my emotions and feelings. And I didn’t start having them until I found Rachel’s journal. Until I met you.”
“Logic would dictate that if you stop reading the stupid journal you’ll stop having the dreams. Maybe you just have a good imagination.”
“Yes, but I don’t. I never have. And I’m not sure I would stop having the dreams anyway. I told you, now I seem to have them regardless of whether I read the journal. The journal might have been the instigation, but the dreams have taken on a life of their own. A will of their own. That life—the one that took place in 1859—has become even more realistic. Besides, how do you explain our connection if we weren’t connected in the past? You’ve felt it, just as I have. You know you felt as if you knew me from the moment we met. You admitted as much when we went to breakfast that first time.”
“No, I didn’t. I said you were familiar, like we’d met before. Thinking you’ve met someone and believing in past lives are two entirely different things.” He set his water down and put his hands on her arms, looking down at her. “I’m in love with you now. I don’t need to talk about a past connection to know that. Do you?”
“Of course not. But I’m not denying the connection is there, like you are. I have Sarah’s eyes. And Bella’s,” she reminded him. “I’m related to both of them. The woman in my dreams and the girl in yours. We all have the same strange eyes. They’re my kinfolk.”
He released her, made an impatient gesture. “So what? You’re dreaming about a time in the eighteen fifties. And I’m dreaming about a completely different time. As to whether the people in those two time periods are connected, possibly. But past lives? Jesus.”
“What would you call it, then? What’s happening to us?”
He gave her a dirty look. “I call it crazy-ass shit.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, Jonas, I know it seems insane.”
“Ya think? It’s not funny, either. Calvin Davis, my cousin, was murdered. The killer was never caught.”
“I know it’s not funny,” she said, sobering. “I’ve dreamed about a lynching, remember? And Sarah, my ancestor, she loved him. She loved the man who died so terribly. It’s horrible. Inconceivable.”
“Not so inconceivable. Especially not in the South in that time period. A black slave involved with a white woman? I’m surprised they didn’t do worse than lynch him. And in the sixties, around here and throughout the South, there was still a huge amount of prejudice about mixed relationships. Just ask my mother or any of her generation. I guess Calvin was lucky to be shot and not lynched.”
But there had to be a reason they were seeing these things. “Have you asked yourself why this is happening to us?”
“I’ve wondered if I have a brain tumor, yeah.”
“That’s not it. Unless I have one too, and that’s too coincidental.”
He stared at her as if she were nuts. “For God’s sake, Claire, we’re talking about reincarnation, yet you draw the line at coincidence?”
“I do in this instance. I don’t believe we both have a brain tumor. Or that even if we did it would make us both dream of a past life. Do you honestly think you have a brain tumor?”
Their eyes met. “No. I don’t have any symptoms. I don’t think crazy dreams are a symptom of a brain tumor. Now mental illness? Maybe.”
He walked into the living area and sat on the couch. She followed him and sat beside him. “I don’t think mental illness is your problem. Do you?”
“No, but neither do most people who have a problem. Denial is a classic issue in many cases.”
“You’d rather think you’re mentally ill than admit the possibility of reincarnation? Seriously?”
He jaw tightened. “That’s not what I said. I can’t deny I’ve worried about it, though. For God’s sake, I’m channeling a kid who died in 1968. Who wouldn’t think they were crazy?”
“But you’ve talked to me. You’ve seen how we’re connected, how your visions and my dreams connect us. How do you explain that?”
“I can’t. But I know I don’t believe in this shit. And this crap we’re talking about is the epitome of woo-woo bullshit. Can you see me trying to explain this to someone else? I’m channeling a kid from the nineteen sixties. Not to worry, though. This dude just happens to be one of my past lives.”
“What if it’s not bullshit? What if it’s really happening to us? What if you really were Elijah and Calvin, and I really was Sarah and Bella? What if we’re together now for a reason?”
“If you follow through with that analogy, that means we’re both fated to die. Too young and tragically.”
Damn. She hadn’t quite gotten that far, but Jonas was right.
Chapter Twenty
JONAS SAID, “I can’t accept that you and I are fated to die because we’re involved with each other.” Couldn’t believe it yet, he didn’t add, but the addendum was implied. He couldn’t believe he was even considering that they’d lived before as a viable theory, but now that he remembered the dreams, now that he connected his dreams to hers, he felt forced to consider the possibility. But Goddamn it, that made him feel like a whack job.
“Even if we’re not fated to die, and God knows, I hope we aren’t, there has to be a reason for the dreams,” Claire said.
“You’d think so.” He scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “I dreamed about Calvin and Bella last night. I knew what I’d dreamed when I woke up. Bella told him she was pregnant. They talked about getting married, even though they knew there would be problems. They weren’t sure if they could legally marry in Texas. And he was worried her old man would kill him if they managed it.” He shrugged. “Which is apparently what happened.”
“What if her father didn’t kill him? Why are you so convinced he did?”
“I’m not convinced. My mother is. She believes the old man bought off the cops. She says the crime was never investigated properly, but most people believe Buster Cantrell killed Calvin Davis. My mother is convinced Buster paid the cops to look the other way, that even if they had found proof of who committed the crime, they buried it.” He shrugged. “It’s not unheard of. It was 1968. Buster Cantrell was powerful, rich. White. Calvin was a poor black kid. A nobody. She could be right.”
“Maybe Buster didn’t kill him, though. Maybe we’re meant to find out what really happened. Who really killed him. And what happened to Bella’s baby? I know Bella died, but what about her child?”