Love on the Edge of Time

by Julie A. Richman

  “Right.” He looked astounded. “I’m so glad you get this because I feel like I’m a multiple personality or something.” Picking up his large glass of iced green tea, a holdover from his time in the Caribbean rehab, he took a sip and was silent for a moment before he went on. “I was a soldier, born into a well-to-do family. This woman, Julia, was her name; we kind of had this Romeo and Juliet thing happening. Bad blood between the families. Her father marrying her off to others as a pawn for political favor.”

  “What happened to her?” Kylie leaned closer, elbows on the table.

  “In the end, I couldn’t protect her. I tried. I spent my life trying. Her stepmother had a maid spying on us and she’d overheard plans we had and they ended up trying us for treason. I was forced to commit suicide, in front of her.”

  The moment the words were out of his mouth, Kylie was fighting back the tears, crossing her arms over her chest to protect her heart and stop the cold chill wracking her body. Oh, God. No!

  With eyes tightly shut, his handsome face contorted in pain, he continued after missing just a beat, “And she was forced to marry her sadistic, son-of-a-bitch stepbrother who was sending her off into exile where I’m sure she starved to death. People rarely made it back.” He was shaking his head. Disturbed.

  Had he not been deep inside the detailed vision in his own head, Jesse would have noticed Kylie’s body stiffening at his final words, as the tiny hairs along her hairline quivered. She hadn’t yet had the opportunity to tell him all the details of Geneviève and her fate, and now he was telling her about a woman he knew, and loved, who had also starved. And she knew. She knew exactly what that felt like.

  “Poor Julia,” she whispered, her face a portrait in pain. “So, she lost you and then was condemned?”

  “Yes. Basically, to a volcanic rock sticking out of the ocean.

  Another shiver wracked her body, her shoulders visibly twitching as the cellphone photo of the island Jesse had sent from Antigua flashed across her eyes. Lone and desolate. A volcanic rock sticking out of the ocean. Kylie could just imagine her, this woman dealing, with her grief and isolation. And starving. The pain and weakness as it all begins to slip away.

  Noting her physical reaction. “You’re cold,” he took her hands in his and began rubbing them to warm her up.

  Leaving her cradled in his warmth, where they made her heart feel good, she said, “I never got to tell you all the details about my Paris regression.”

  “Right, that was that the day we were discovered and then at L9 you just told me about how you died and that you’d lived with your brother.”

  Nodding, Kylie enjoyed that she and Jesse had clearly begun to make their own set of memories. Then, she began. “I was a little girl, a twelve-year-old, named Geneviève, and I can feel for Julia having starved to death, too. Knowing that pain.”

  The empathy in Jesse’s eyes affirmed his own heartbreak, as he squeezed her hands tighter.

  “It’s so horrible and I lived it. Or, at least I feel like I lived it.” She continued, “So, my heart hurt for Julia when you were telling me that, and all that she went through. And, on top of that, after having to endure watching your death, someone she loved so deeply. I totally get that. I had to live through my whole family’s deaths, but my brother’s death in that life was like ripping my heart in two,” her voice trailed off.

  “Getting out of my relationship with Claudine, where I was at the point where I felt nothing, I was really questioning my capacity to feel. And now, post this regression, I know this is going to sound strange, but the depth of my love and devotion to this woman, I feel like I know I can love. It was that real, Toots.”

  “I know. Jessie, I have missed him, my brother, so intensely since that regression. A person from over two hundred and fifty years ago, who I don’t even know. And I haven’t felt whole since that day.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s it, Toots.” He threaded his fingers through hers. “That is exactly it. And what I want, I want what I felt. I want that and now that I’ve experienced it, I know that I can’t settle for anything less.”

  Nodding, “Mon moitié,” she mumbled.

  Without understanding why, Jesse brought Kylie’s hands, still wrapped in his own, to his chest. Placing them over his heart, giving them a final squeeze before letting them go. “I guess we should take a look at this menu.” He gave her a lopsided grin.

  Nodding, she looked down at the menu’s typeface swimming before her eyes, suddenly not hungry.

  After dinner they walked, block after block, the conversation still focused on the details they shared from these other worlds they had visited.

  As they turned from Park Avenue onto E. 37th Street, nearing Kylie’s apartment, Jesse dropped a bombshell. “You know, Toots, I’ve been thinking about this.”

  “What?” She looked up at him.

  With a grin, he nonchalantly slung an arm around Kylie’s shoulder, and just as effortlessly and naturally, her arm encircled his waist.

  “Us,” his voice was gruff and low.

  “Us?” Kylie stopped dead in her tracks, facing him in the quiet of the night-shadowed sidewalk.

  “Yeah, how we met. How easy it’s been.” He reached out for a lock of her hair, letting it slowly slide through his fingers before speaking again. “Do you ever think that my walking into the waiting room that morning was supposed to happen? That we were supposed to meet and to be able to experience all of this together and to share everything we do.”

  “Share what?” Her spine lengthened an inch as it straightened and stiffened.

  “Our stories.” Looking down, Jesse began kicking at something on the sidewalk only visible to him. “Maybe more.”

  “What are you saying, Jesse?”

  “I’m saying there’s this thing between us, Toots. I know you feel it, too. It’s been there since the moment we met. It was undeniable then. And now, it’s like almost out of control.”

  Dropping the strands of her hair, he pulled her into his arms, rocking slowly from side to side, until he felt her relaxing body melt into his. As she filled the empty nuances he’d just recently discovered, he went out on a limb, speaking from his heart and not overthinking the words he spoke. “You’re a gift, Kylie. Like an angel who came into my life. I’d be a fool not to see that. And I’m not sure I deserve you, but I’ll be damned if I let go.”

  Burying her face into the now familiar, and comforting, scent of his worn leather jacket, Kylie said nothing. He felt so right. They felt so right. But this was Jesse Fucking Winslow. And the price was steep. Somewhere deep in her psyche, Kylie knew there was no way the final chapter of this one wasn’t already written.

  Looking up to meet his eyes, Jesse’s guard was down; he wasn’t hiding behind sunglasses or a drug-induced veil, or a well-crafted rock-star persona. Holding her was a man fighting like a warrior to slay his demons and reach a potential he knew was just out of grasp–he was ready to realize his ability personally and as a musician.

  With a heart beating so fast, as her own realizations could no longer be repressed, Kylie leaned in, softly grazing Jesse’s full lips with her own, in what he would remember as the sweetest kiss of his lifetime.

  And then she was gone, entering her building, with a quick turnaround and a secret smile to the man standing under the streetlamp wearing his very own secret smile.

  ••••••

  Her routine was the same every night. Slip into silky lingerie and take a seat on her antique boudoir vanity chair where she would gaze into the mirror. Pulling her hair from her forehead and cheeks with a wide headband, she would wash the day’s grime and her patients’ angst from her face, gently patting dry with a soft, microfiber towel. Next, she’d begin applying layer after layer of expensive product, allowing time for her skin to absorb each lotion before applying the next layer.

  When she was done, she’d stay seated for a few minutes in the beautiful, wrought-iron chair, just staring at her image, fixated on the gradient
of blue in her eyes. This process of getting lost in her own eyes had become a relaxation technique that she had been using for years. By the time she got under the covers for an enjoyable read of either fiction or a magazine on decorating, Claire Stoddard had fully let go of the stresses of the day and rid herself of any lingering energy of her clients, clearing the cache of her consciousness before sleep, which generally came within moments.

  As much as I hate to admit it, she’s really quite beautiful. Regal. Sitting and waiting for an audience with her father, servants stopping in to lovingly greet her. She responds in kind with such warmth.

  Entering the chamber, we exchange greetings as I sit down next to her.

  “Your father is currently engaged with members of the Senate. Is there something with which I can help you?”

  She eyes me cautiously, “No. This is a matter between us.”

  “Oh, really.” I smooth out the fine silk of my stola.

  “All matters of the state and family are of interest to me. Everything about your life, Julia, is of interest to me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you are your father’s blood, dear.”

  Julia regards me with open contempt. “Because that is a bloodline you would like to see severed so that you may insert your own.” Her eyes have narrowed into slits. “He will never betray me for you, no matter how you poison him.”

  “Poison him? Interesting choice of words. Isn’t that exactly your plan? To poison your father before you are betrothed to my son and control comes to me.”

  “You’re crazy. I love my father.”

  I am enjoying Julia’s agitation as I lean in close and whisper, “Marry my son, without incident, and I will let your handsome lover live, so that he can be mine when you kill your father, Kylie.”

  “Kylie?” Julia’s eyes are wide, her pupils dilated. “So, it is Jesse you want. Oh, what a drama this is turning out to be.”

  Gasping as she reached for her nightstand light, Claire sat for a moment with her head in her hands taking deep breaths, before opening a drawer and removing her journal and a pen. Wanting to record every detail of her dream, before it was lost, she knew that this very vivid reverie was one that she needed to share with Marshall.

  It’s just that Jesse’s regression was on my mind, she told herself. But the chamber in which she had sat, with its crimson walls and gold leaf paint, the feel of the silk of her stola, Julia’s saffron-colored curls, the details were all so crisp, too crisp for it to feel dream-like.

  Taking a sip of water, Claire sat back against her cream-colored, padded headboard and wondered how Kylie Martin had worked her way into that dream, a dream stimulated by Jesse’s regression. Finally, she surmised it must have been the red hair, although her patient’s hair was a deeper, more auburn shade of red than the beautiful girl she had just seen in her dream.

  ••••••

  Claire hadn’t yet had the opportunity to relate her dream to Marshall as they’d spent the better part of their hour talking about Jesse’s regression to 1st century Rome. Checking her notes again, she wanted to make sure that she hadn’t left out any important details.

  “You do know who they were planning to kill, don’t you?”

  “Her father.” Claire’s response came quick.

  Pushing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, “They were planning to kill, Augustus, Claire.”

  “Augustus Caesar?” Claire’s voice rose an octave.

  “Yes, the Emperor Augustus.”

  Picking up a glass of water to quench her suddenly dry mouth, “Are you sure, Marshall? I researched Gaius Alexander Antonius and found nothing.”

  Scrolling through his computer screen, Marshall began to spew facts. “Augustus had only one natural heir to his bloodline, his daughter, Julia the Elder. Married three times, second husband, much older, named Agrippa.” Claire could feel the blood drain from her face as she listened to the historical facts Marshall was sharing. “Her third husband was her stepbrother, Tiberius, who treated her poorly. Her father was influenced heavily by his wife, Tiberius’s mother, Livia.”

  “But there was no Gaius Alexander Antonius,” she repeated. “He didn’t exist. I can’t corroborate this, Marshall.”

  “Wikipedia is the answer to all the lessons we’ve forgotten,” the older psychiatrist laughed. “Well, it appears Julia did have an affair with a member of the Antonius family, Mark Antony’s son, Iullus. That would corroborate relationships between the children of the two families.”

  Claire shook her head, “He clearly identified himself as Gaius Alexander Antonius.”

  “Iullus was forced to commit suicide because of his affair with Julia and as a member of the Antony family, they would have known each other their entire lives.”

  Continuing to shake her head as she ran her fingers along the shiny leaf of a potted plant, Claire’s head snapped up and she reached for her purse, extracting a small journal. “I had a dream I need to tell you about,” and she recounted the very vivid and disturbing dream.

  Marshall wrote feverishly, making low “hmm” sounds. “That’s very interesting,” he said when she ended. “You dreamed of yourself in the Livia role. Willing to sacrifice your husband for power and for Gaius/Jesse.”

  Marshall sat back in his chair, tapping his lips with his forefinger as he stared at the ceiling. “We’ve talked about your predilection for this patient. Could it be possible the root of that is because this lifetime is not the first time you’ve met?”

  Claire’s heart jumped at Marshall’s verbalization.

  He went on. “Perhaps it is no coincidence that he ended up as your patient, Claire.” He paused and nodded his head. “Or that Kylie did.”

  The two remained silent, until Claire finally spoke. “It was not anything I’d ever considered before.”

  “Hmm.” Remaining silent for a few minutes, he looked at Claire pointedly. “Maybe we should think about scheduling a regression for you.”

  Chapter 10

  Hey Toots, heading out to LA for a few days to meet with the band and figure out the future. Wanna come? Was his text message to her early the next week.

  When are you going?

  Couple of hours.

  LOL…not much prep time, eh. I’ve got a photoshoot this week down by the Brooklyn Bridge.

  Okay, maybe another time. Stay out of trouble.

  Me? Trouble? No way. You on the other hand…have a safe flight.

  I’ll call you, Toots.

  Good luck with the band.

  ••••••

  “So, is this officially a thing with you and Jesse?” Hayley was in New York for a photoshoot.

  “I don’t know that you could call it a thing.” Kylie picked at her spinach salad. All the bacon pieces were gone and now she dug for the last chunk of hard-boiled egg.

  “Are you fucking him?” Miss Mississippi asked in the sweetest tone as if she were asking Kylie if she would like more sweet tea as they sat on her Gran’s weathered porch.

  “Actually, no. I haven’t even kissed him yet. Well, not really kissed.” Kylie smiled at the memory of planting a soft one on him on the sidewalk outside her building. “We’ve mostly been talking by text for the last week. He’s been in the studio recording new solo material here in the city and then he just flew out to LA to do a sit-down with members of his band.”

  “Are they breaking up?” Hayley knew she was on the leading edge to news.

  Kylie’s voice was barely a whisper. “He doesn’t want to. He’s out there to talk about what’s next.”

  “They need him.” Hayley shrugged it off.

  “They do. He’s the draw, hands down, as well as being the group’s creative center. But from what he’s told me, he really wants to make it right with them and show them that they can depend on him, that he can truly lead the band. He has really worked hard on getting his shit together. And you know what, Sip, he needs them. They are his village.”

  “I
t sounds like the two of you have had some pretty heavy conversations.”

  Smiling, Kylie shook her head. “You can’t imagine the half of it.”

  “So, why are you not fucking him?” Hayley turned to eye a passing waitress, giving her an I’m going to eat you smile. “Mmm, dessert,” she purred.

  “Because the time isn’t right. We’re not there.”

  “Kylie, I hate to break this to you but Jesse Winslow is there in three seconds flat with every woman on the planet. So, don’t treat him like you’ve got a platinum pussy and he needs to earn access.”

  “So, let him fuck around with every bimbo who throws herself at him.”

  “You’d be devastated. Don’t lie.”

  Sitting back in her chair, Kylie took a moment, then sighed. How could she tell Hayley without telling Hayley? Finally, she shared, if only a little. “What Jesse and I have is different.” Realizing the minute it was out of her mouth how pathetic that first line sounded. “We have become one another’s confidantes. And if anyone ever heard our conversations, they’d think we were batshit crazy.”

  “So, he’s friend-zoned you?” Hayley was trying hard to understand.

  “It’s really complicated.” Damn, I’m just spitting out the clichés, aren’t I. She laughed to herself. “I don’t think I’m in the friend-zone, but I think we each realize how broken we are, so we’re not jumping into anything. And honestly, I haven’t really thought about him with another woman. I don’t know how I’d feel. I really don’t. I guess with someone like Jesse you kinda just expect it. They go backstage from a gig and there’s a different chick attached to his dick each night. And the crazy thing is, he doesn’t see that as cheating because he’s not emotionally involved. We have actually had that conversation.”

  “You’d better protect yourself, Gracie. This is not going to end well. He’s not John and you’re not Yoko.” Hayley pointed a fork at her.

  “Yeah, well, that one didn’t end so great either.”

  ••••••

  An email from Blaise Collins was in Kylie’s inbox a moment after she and Hayley stepped out of the restaurant.