by Eve Gaddy
He tried to get up, tried to say something but couldn’t. Slowly, he crumpled the rest of the way to the floor. He didn’t see Larry leave. He blacked out, came to later with his head in Bella’s lap.
“Calvin! Oh, God, Calvin don’t you die!”
“I . . . I . . . ” He wanted to talk but nothing came out. He knew he was dying. He was cold, so cold. Something . . . important . . . tell . . . Bella. Tell her, before he . . . died.
“The ambulance is coming. Who did this to you? Who shot you? Calvin, you hang on. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you so much.”
“I . . . love . . . you . . . Bella . . . ”
“Don’t leave me, please don’t die.”
Her tears felt like rain on his face. Soft, soothing, warm rain. She was so warm, and he was so, so cold. He felt her love surrounding him. Her beautiful face shimmered, faded as the grayness enveloped him . . .
I love you, Calvin. I’ll always love you.
Chapter Twenty-Four
November Present Day
TWO DAYS LATER, no one had made much progress on the case. With the help of the cold case detectives, Emmitt had tracked down the man who’d given Westbrook his alibi. He was still alive and had agreed to see Emmitt. Emmitt had an appointment to meet the older man that afternoon and had promised to call Jonas as soon as possible after they’d talked, regardless of whether he learned something of importance or not.
Still, Jonas hadn’t expected such a quick response when his cell rang that afternoon.
“Can you meet me at my house?” Emmitt asked. “I’m headed there now.”
“All right. What’s up?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here.”
Emmitt took Jonas into his study. It was a beautiful room with floor to ceiling bookshelves containing every kind of book, including Emmitt’s many research books, all genres of fiction, from classics to science fiction, non-fiction, and the shelf of honor, holding Emmitt’s own published books. Jonas counted twenty-eight.
“I had no idea you’d published so many books,” Jonas said. “I’ve read a few of them but not all by a long shot.”
“Remind me later and I’ll give you some.”
“Wouldn’t you rather I buy them?” Jonas asked.
“Some of them are out of print.” He grinned. “Besides, it’s the least I can do if this story turns into a book. I’ll give you a signed copy of my newest when it comes out and you can let your friends know it’s available, how’s that?”
Against one wall were a couple of overstuffed, dark blue leather chairs arranged in what was clearly a well-used reading spot with a floor lamp and side table between them. Emmitt motioned for him to take one chair, and he sat in the other. The huge desk that dominated an already impressive room was a deep, gorgeous mahogany. What he could see of it, that is. Emmitt’s laptop computer, notes, papers, various books, and an e-book reader were scattered over the surface.
“What did you find out?” Jonas asked Emmitt.
His friend sat forward, eyes sparkling. “You’re not going to believe this. The night watchman recanted his testimony. Westbrook’s alibi was bogus. The man who gave it to him admitted to giving false testimony.”
“He recanted his statement, just like that? Why?”
“Said he’d had a guilty conscience for years, and now that he’s old and in poor health he wants to get it off his chest. My visit and questions apparently convinced him to finally do the right thing.”
“What exactly did he say? And what’s his name? I’d like to call him something besides the night watchman.”
“His name is Henry Young. Buster Cantrell arranged everything. Buster paid for Young’s son’s schooling and gave him a cash infusion on the condition that he give Lawrence Westbrook an unbreakable alibi for the night in question. The guy was struggling, sick wife, medical bills, a young son on a night watchman’s salary, and he couldn’t resist. But he said it always bothered him. Especially when no one was ever brought to trial for the crime.”
“Still, he hasn’t come forward for more than forty years. Why now?”
“He thinks he’s going to die soon and wanted to set the record straight. He said he was going to call the cops and confess. He wants to talk to his son first, but he swore he would contact the police soon.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Yeah, but even if he doesn’t, I think we can convince the cold case detectives to at least question him again.”
“Even so, this still doesn’t mean we can prove Westbrook did it.”
“No, but now he can’t prove he didn’t. Without that alibi his defense is a lot shakier. This is good news, Jonas,” Emmitt added.
“Yes. But it still doesn’t mean the cops can prove Westbrook is responsible for Calvin’s murder.”
“You’re too pessimistic. It’s the first break we’ve had.”
“You haven’t said, are the cold case detectives convinced it was a gang murder, like Dervish was?”
“No. But there’s not a lot of evidence, I gather. Since it’s unsolved, I don’t really know what they have that might affect the case. They would only give me some of the information in the case files. They wouldn’t give me anything they thought might compromise the case, assuming they were ever to find a suspect.”
“There should be a way to convince the cops to look into Westbrook’s alibi, especially with the new testimony. Damn it, I wish we were able to prove he was there.”
“Unless you can come up with an eyewitness, we’re going to have to trust the cops to figure it out.”
An eyewitness. Calvin knew what had happened. And so did Jonas. The dream that had shaken him so much came back to him with a vengeance.
“Jonas?”
Emmitt’s face swam into sight. Jonas blinked, trying to clear his head, more unsettled than he cared to admit.
“What the hell happened, man? I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last two minutes. You just checked out.”
How was he supposed to explain what was happening to Emmitt? Dreams. Channeling a past life. Jesus. Emmitt would think Jonas was a nut job.
But maybe he should talk to Emmitt. His friend wasn’t involved, as both Jonas and Claire were. Maybe he could look at the situation more logically, give Jonas a reasonable explanation for these damned dreams. It would be a relief to come up with something, anything, besides Claire’s theory that they were reliving past lives. And apparently, doomed to repeat it until they “got it right.”
“If I tell you, you’ll think I’m crazy. Hell, I think I’m losing it. I’m sure you will too.”
“Try me.”
Since he couldn’t think of a way to ease into it, he just came right out with it. “Ever since I met Claire, I’ve been having strange dreams.”
“Okay. And why is that a problem?”
“They aren’t normal dreams. I dream about the past. About Calvin Davis’s life. And it’s as if I’m there, in the dream, only it isn’t a dream. I think it’s what really happened. In 1968.”
Emmitt blinked. “You see Calvin Davis’s life.”
“Yes. And in the dream I had last night, I saw Calvin die. I saw his killer.” Not something he’d ever wanted to experience.
“You saw your dead cousin’s murder. In a dream. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes. And everything that led up to it. I saw Lawrence Westbrook shoot him.” I saw him shoot me.
Emmitt didn’t say anything. He simply stared at him.
“I told you it sounded insane.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Emmitt grimaced. “Not exactly insane. Weird. It’s certainly plausible that Westbrook killed Calvin Davis, but dreams about the murder?” He shook his head. “That’s a lot to swallow. Why are you having these dreams? Because Ca
lvin was your cousin?”
He wished. “Possibly. But . . . this part’s even weirder. Claire thinks—we think—I might be—” He stopped. Accepting reincarnation himself was hard enough, but Jesus, to say it out loud. “We believe I’m Calvin reincarnated. And Claire is Bella.”
Behind the lenses of his glasses, Emmitt’s eyes widened. “Let me get this straight. You and Claire believe that the two of you are reliving past lives. Specifically the lives of two lovers who died forty-something years ago.” He stared at him a moment. “Holy shit, Jonas, that’s crazy.”
“I know.” He didn’t see the need to get into Claire’s dreams and her belief that they were also Sarah and Elijah. One past life was hard enough to accept.
“I’ve seen a lot of strange things during my investigations. Some of them with no reasonable explanation. But I have to admit that someone reliving a past life has never been on my radar. Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m not sure,” Jonas said, frustration edging his voice. “It’s insanity to even think about something like reliving past lives. But the fact is, I’ve been having these dreams. The fact is, I know all about Cal and Bella. The fact is, I knew the kid named Larry was in love with Bella. Until you told us, and until I had the dream, I didn’t know his last name was Westbrook. I know things I should have no way of knowing. But I’ve talked to my mother—who knew Calvin and Bella and the whole situation—and the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve dreamed about—they’re accurate.”
“So you think your dream about the murder is accurate too.”
“Yeah, I do. But since I can’t tell the cops any of this, we have to prove it another way. Maybe breaking Westbrook’s alibi will give the cops enough to go on to find out what really happened.”
“I think there’s a real good chance.” He hesitated, then said, “You said you talked to your mother. Maybe all this is simply memories from your childhood. You’re remembering what your mother talked about years ago. And you’re dreaming about those memories for some reason.”
“I’ve seen Calvin and Bella when no one else was around. Things Naomi would have no way of knowing.” Seen them making love, and now, he’d seen them when Calvin died. “I saw Calvin die. I experienced his death. I died, Emmitt, more than forty years ago. My mother couldn’t have known all of the things I’ve seen.”
Emmitt looked doubtful, but he didn’t argue further. “I’ll work on my notes tonight. Kendra and the kids are gone for the evening, so I should be able to get them in order. If Young doesn’t call the cops in the next day or two, I’ll tell them what I learned and ask that they question him again.”
“Let’s hope he calls them and comes clean. What are you going to do with all your notes?”
“Write a book, eventually. What else?” He flashed Jonas a grin. “I’ll probably leave out the reincarnation part, though.”
“Good.” He shifted uneasily. “I’m not sure why I even told you.” He was already regretting it.
“I’m a journalist, Jonas. My sources are confidential. Just as you’d never break doctor-patient confidentiality, I won’t break your confidences either.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you. Obviously, I do, or I’d never have told you. But bad things seem to happen to people who know too much about this case. I’d hate for you to be drawn into something dangerous. After all, we’re talking about murder, and a man who’s gotten away with it for more than forty years.”
“If your dream is right.”
“So far they have been. I see no reason why this one, the most important one, would be wrong. Assuming you believe in this sort of woo-woo crap,” he added with a bit of disgust.
Emmitt laughed. “I have to say, you’re about the last person I’d suspect of believing in something like reincarnation.”
“Don’t I know it.”
CLAIRE ANSWERED her cell phone when she heard Jonas’s ringtone. “Hi. I thought you were working?”
“I am but I wanted to talk to you. I have a lot to tell you, but I can’t right now. Can we discuss it when I’m not on call?”
“Is this about your meeting with Emmitt?”
“Yes. Among other things. I’ll fill you in later, but Emmitt saw Henry Young, the night watchman, and the man recanted his testimony. I’ll give you all the details later.”
“So Lawrence will no longer have an alibi. That’s huge, Jonas.”
“Yeah. I have to go, Claire, but I’ll call you in the morning. You’re working tomorrow?”
“No, I’m off the next two days. I’m going to my lawyer’s tomorrow morning. To sign the final divorce papers.”
He was quiet a moment, then said, “Good. We can talk after you see the lawyer and I get home.”
“All right. Call me in the morning when you’re off work.”
“Other things,” Jonas had said. She wondered exactly what that meant. She’d worked all night, and even though she’d had some sleep since coming home, she still felt sleep deprived. She lay down on the couch thinking she’d just close her eyes for a minute.
Could she and Jonas really be reliving past lives? Or was she simply looking for an answer to the unanswerable? She fell asleep thinking about it.
July 1859
SARAH LAY WITH Elijah, replete, and wondered how she’d ever stood for her husband to touch her. Victor had never shown her a tenth the kindness, or the care, that Elijah did in simply looking at her. If this was wrong, loving this man, lying with him, then she was damned for a sinner because she would not give him up. Especially not now. Even though it was dangerous for both of them, she’d needed to talk to Elijah. And once they’d found themselves alone, they hadn’t been able to resist each other, knowing what they’d had.
“Elijah?”
He rose on his elbow and smiled down at her. His chest was beautiful. Ripples of muscle in dark shades of mahogany. Unmarked, until he turned and she saw his back and the crisscross of scars marking it. And was reminded of what had been done to him. She couldn’t bear to think of it, of the lash of the whip marking that beautiful flesh. All because some men thought they should own others.
“I’m leaving Victor. I can’t stay. Even if he never finds out about us, I cannot live with him anymore.”
“How you gonna leave? Ain’t like you can walk out with nowhere to go.”
Impatiently, she brushed aside his questions. “Victor doesn’t love me. He feels he owns me, just as he believes it’s right to own you, and the others.”
“Iffen you could,” Elijah said slowly, “where you gonna go?”
“Mexico,” she breathed. “And you’re going with me.”
He’d risen by now and pulled on his clothes. At this he swore. “No, Sarah, I won’t. Anybody find out you helpin’ fugitive slaves, they kill you.”
“So you think I should stay, loving you, you loving me, and the two of us never being able to take more than a moment together? A brief moment of happiness that could be snatched from us in an instant?”
“It don’t matter, Sarah. The both of us, we cain’t be together.” The look he gave her was kind, and despairing. “No place for folks like us. I be a slave. You the master’s wife. Ain’t nowheres we can live.”
“Yes, there is. I told you, Mexico. You know that’s where most of the people who pass through here are going. We could be together there. We would be free, both of us. They don’t allow slavery in Mexico.”
“Mebbe. So they say. That don’t mean a black slave and a white woman can live together there.” He shook his head in disgust. “Some places they shoot me on sight. And you—Lord knows what they do to you.”
Ignoring his protests, she went on. “I’ll dress as a man. I’ve talked to Rachel and she’ll help us. She’s going to procure the garments for me. You’ll go as my personal servant. My slave. No one will question us.”
“Sarah, all this talk, it be madness.”
“No, it’s madness to stay. We’ll have to leave soon, while Victor is away on one of his trips. But that shouldn’t be hard. By the time he returns, we’ll be long gone. Think of it, Elijah. We can be together in Mexico. Live as husband and wife.” Though they could never be husband and wife. Victor would never divorce her, and besides, it would be better if she were simply to disappear with no further word.
“If your husband and his men catch us, we both be dead. You too.”
“We have to go, Elijah. The sooner the better.”
He returned to the rough bed and sat beside her. “Why now, Sarah? Why you takin’ on so now?”
“Because I’m with child. And it’s yours.” She hadn’t meant to tell him this way, but now that she had, she was glad. It had happened the first and only time they were together. Until now.
“A babe?” He shook his head, but she saw hope flare briefly before pain took its place. “The babe be the master’s?”
“No.” She put her hand on her stomach. “The babe is yours.”
“Mine. You sure?”
“Almost certain. My husband can’t father children. He never has, not once with all his women. I haven’t spoken of it for fear he’d kill me if I implied such a thing.” She didn’t add that it was urgent she leave before she began to show. Elijah knew as well as she what would happen if Victor found out. That she’d lain with another man would be crime enough. That she’d fallen in love with a slave and was having his child was a hanging offense.
“I’m not sorry,” she said, watching him. “I’m glad I’m having your child. To have a babe out of love—that is everything, Elijah. But we have to leave.”
DISTURBED BY HER latest dream, Claire woke. She knew it would be hard, if not impossible, to go back to sleep. Sighing, she reached for the journal.
Rachel’s Journal—July 26, 1859
Sarah grows more desperate by the day. She was afraid to tell me, but finally I wore her down. She has consummated her love for another man. She and Elijah have lain together. I did not ask how she managed, but she swears she loves him and means to have him.