Why had this happened to her?
A familiar whisper: You know.
She slept fitfully, and awoke to a warm pinch on her toe. Albert perched on the foot of her bed. Her heart drained, her eyes slits, she took in his lined face and chocolate eyes. Just like she remembered.
“Still ticklish, wee one?” Althea was five years old again, looking up as he tucked her into bed. She spoke to him though her mouth wasn’t moving.
“Less and less.”
“I can see that from here. From here, when people change, they change color.”
“Have I changed color?”
“Yes. And you will continue.”
“Are you going to take me for a walk?” Albert tossed back his head and laughed, patting her foot.
“You’re on the ground, one-two steps down. No, no,” Albert chuckled. “This time we’re stayin’ right here.”
“I was away and it was okay. Now I’m back and it’s the same. I thought I understood.”
“Where do you feel that understanding, wee one?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean your new understanding. Where does it live? In your body, where does it live?” Althea frowned.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The gap between understanding in your mind and knowing in your heart can feel a million miles wide.”
“Now I don’t know if I understand anything.”
“Okay, let’s say it this way. Close the gap. That’s where you’re walking.”
“How do I do that?”
“Right now, you need to make room. Then you need to look deeper. You’re ready, wee one.”
“How do you know?”
“Your color says so.”
Althea blinked and Albert was gone. Make room. Look deeper. She drifted off, and when the image came, all at once, she couldn’t get out of bed fast enough, as if the thought she had would disappear forever if she didn’t act on it now.
The bottom of her antique chest was lined with dozens of unsent, unopened letters. As she stared at them, she felt an adrenaline rush, her urgency mounting. She placed the letters in a mound on the floor. One at a time, she opened them, her own words of hurt, anger and confusion glaring and raw, just like yesterday. Make room.
In her kitchen, the vent fan over the stove whirred to life. Under-neath the fan, she placed a large metal bowl. One by one, she added the letters to the bowl, using a match to light each corner. The letters burned quickly, flames darting over the bowl’s edge. The heat stung her face. With the fan still running, she dug into her carry-on bag until she found her journal. She flipped through the first couple of pages, ripping them out one at a time and dropping them in the bowl, watching as the flames came to life.
Around and around and around they danced ... she stared at her own handwriting. Her heart flipped, a bashful twinge. She moved to rip the page out, and then hesitated. She closed the journal and put it at the bottom of the chest. Look deeper. The smell of charred and smoldering paper pungent in her nostrils, she rummaged through her suitcase until she found the book she was looking for.
On her knees, she opened it and began to read.
• • •
A WEEK LATER, ALTHEA stood nervously across the road from a house that she knew. A house with stained glass and crescent-shaped windows. The house that had grinned at her. Her heart thumped painfully. She checked the address. It was this house. And it was too big a coincidence to ignore.
Fighting the fear mounting inside, she knocked on the door.
chapter 67
INSECTS GNAWING HER STOMACH, Althea sat uneasily across from a tall woman with coffee-colored skin, long hair and bangs. Dutch, a floppy brindle boxer with a missing front paw, curled up at the woman’s feet. The brightly lit room smelled of potpourri, but softer. Vanilla? It felt suffocating to her.
“What can I do for you?” Ivana asked. Althea’s fear was palpable. She wondered why she had come. She coughed in an attempt to dissolve her panic, and struggled to keep her voice even.
“As I mentioned, I’ve read your book. To be honest, I don’t know if I believe in what you do. But I’m here for some reason.” To look deeper. A tall, bookish man with thinning hair, pewter glasses and a tweed jacket delivered a ceramic pot of jasmine tea and Ivana poured her a cup. The wood floors creaked under his feet as he left. Althea wanted to follow him out.
“You’re right to be skeptical,” Ivana said. “It’s healthy and I can handle it. So what are you interested in today?”
“Career. Relationships. Why things have happened to me.” Her face flushed. If Ivana noticed, she did not show it.
“All the usual suspects. So let’s dive right in. Althea, on a scale of one to ten — how well do you understand your emotional life?”
“I’d say two out of ten. Truthfully, I’m feeling so much right now that I’m scaring the shit out of myself.” Saying the words unearthed a visceral ache, and with it, an unfathomable remorse. She wanted to lay down, curl up. She wanted to get out of there. Ivana’s voice was like a beacon.
“Congratulations,” Ivana said.
“For what?”
“For having the courage to ask. It’s perfect that you’re feeling so much right now. You know why?” Althea sat motionless. She couldn’t speak. How could that be perfect?
“Because that’s why you’re here: to understand the depths of your emotions. What you want to do is figure out how to turn that two — into a ten.” Althea’s own voice sounded like a croak to her.
“My emotions are my moon, right?”
“Let’s back up a bit.” Ivana pulled out a piece of paper, containing a circle divided into twelve. Within the circle, were a number of symbols, representing planets. This was, Althea knew, her astrological chart.
“How much do you know about Taurus and Scorpio,” Ivana asked.
“Taurus is stubborn and boring. Scorpio is obsessed with sex and death.” Ivana laughed and Althea relaxed a bit.
“You’re not wrong and there’s more to it than that. They are opposite sides of the same coin and in your chart, they represent your soul’s path over lifetimes. In simplest terms, your karma is Taurus, which is a practical earth sign, and your purpose is to become more like Scorpio, which is an emotional water sign. So your soul’s journey is to move from lifetimes of Taurus, where you’ve trusted your senses, to Scorpio, where you trust your instincts. In past lifetimes, you’ve been good at making money and building security. In this lifetime, you’re learning how to dig deep inside yourself, and leave everything and everyone that doesn’t work for you behind.”
“New beginnings. Like the Death card in the tarot.”
“Exactly. Your moon in mystical Pisces is your emotional core, a part of your personality which will assist you. Now describe your experiences at work for me.”
“My work life has been a nightmare.” Althea briefly recounted her experiences at Continuum and her dismissal from Bering and Associates. She didn’t mention Daniel.
“Well, think of it this way. Making money is a skill you have — but it isn’t why you’re here. Your soul path is Scorpio in your sixth house of work, so work definitely plays a role in your life — it’s just a different type of work than you’ve been used to. So now tell me this. What is your passion?” Althea didn’t hesitate. She had known all along.
“It’s writing.”
“Good. Gemini the writer is in your second house of earned income. What do you write about?” Althea thought about her letter to Daniel, and those that she had destroyed the week before. Around and round and round they spun ...
“Nothing right now.”
“If you wanted to, you could make a living writing. Why did you stop?”
“I don’t know.” Yes you do. Knows me. Althea’s body went rigid.
“I think you do,” Ivana echoed, and Althea felt the emotion rising up again, opening her, tears stinging, her heart raw. Guilt, shame, something else. Ivana passed her a tissue. Hal
tingly, she told Ivana about Kevin and Tori.
“Althea, how many times have you been betrayed in love?”
Althea was silent.
“What if I told you that your soul likely created the experience of betrayal for you, so that you’d more deeply connect with your emotions.” Althea’s mind was blank.
“I don’t know what I think about that.”
“I think that it’s true. I also think that your soul created these experiences so that you’d start asking bigger questions about life. Questions that have nothing to do with your senses, and have everything to do with what you believe and what you feel.”
“Scorpio again.”
“Right. Have you thought about what your soul contract was between you and Kevin? How you knew each other in a past life?” Althea’s fear spiked, the room quaked, and it was as if the floor opened, exposing a gaping maw that was hungry for her. She dug her nails into her palms, her fists locked on the arms of her chair. She wasn’t ready. Albert was wrong. She wasn’t ready.
His voice: I’m here to help you remember.
A sheath of grey mist unraveled around her, and Ivana dissolved into a fugue. Her dancers stood at attention, their backs to the wall which breathed and glowed. Hidden behind the curtain of daylight, the moon whispered: show yourself.
His arms encircled her body, kissing her cheeks, her eyes, once again her protector, and Althea let go, allowing herself to descend further inside herself than she’d ever gone before, exploring the mirrors of her mind, the murky recesses of her soul, seeking memory buried but not forgotten, memory wanting to breathe. Guilt, shame, something else.
“What did you do?” Ivana said, her disembodied voice echoing. For a flicker in time, Althea was sitting in Ivana’s chair again, absorbed within the belly of the house that had grinned at her.
“Don’t think about it. Trust your instincts,” Ivana said. “In a past life, what happened between you, Tori and Kevin. Your unconscious knows.” Show me. Show yourself. Althea’s eyes twitched, rolled up, and her jaw fell slack. With a moan, she lost her balance, falling on her side until she was
standing in a room with curved pearl walls, soft light and trickling water. He stood next to her, holding her hand, and they rotated counter-clockwise on a grand stage. A curtain of burgundy gauze opened slowly to reveal a pulsating screen, stretched and lucent like newborn skin.
Are you ready? Here, she knew.
Yes, Althea said. I’m ready.
chapter 68
The present
AT THE AIRPORT, CELIA emerged from behind the sliding glass doors. Her eyes widened as she saw Althea waiting for her. She let go of her bag and they hugged.
“Hey. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I have today off.” They walked toward the parking garage.
“How’s Sophie doing?”
“On morphine, it’s not good. I go to see her every day, but she doesn’t always know I’m there.”
“I’m so sorry, I know it’s tough.”
“Thanks. It’s hard, but it’s okay. When she got sick, we began talking on a different level, you know? She became more open, about herself, about her past. Since she’s been sick, she’s had to let others do things for her and let go of all that control she’s into. She struggled at first. I mean, she really struggled, so that was a lot harder for me.” Why do you think you created a heavy-Scorpio mother, Michelle once asked her. Althea had replied: so that I could learn how not to do Scorpio?
They approached Althea’s car, a Volkswagen Golf, and loaded Celia’s luggage. Althea’s heart pounded, she felt nervous, on pins and needles. She was really going to do this.
“Listen, I know you’re tired and jet-lagged, but I need to ask you something, and it’s okay if you can’t, but I didn’t want to ask on email.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, but it’s a biggy.” Althea exhaled, and handed Celia the newspaper clipping. Celia read it, and her head slumped.
“Oh fuck. And you want to —”
“Yes. I want to, and I’m scared and I also think it’s really important.”
“You don’t need to explain. I’ll go with you.”
“I’ve been a mess ever since I found out. When it was the same day you were arriving, I couldn’t believe it.”
“Coincidence.”
“No such thing.”
chapter 69
Three years before
AS ALTHEA TURNED COUNTER-clockwise on her ethereal stage, the burgundy gauze lifted, inching its way closer to show time. The skin-screen surrounded them, pulsing and radiant. A likeness emerged as if shot from a roaming camera. Watching the images unfold before her, Althea was transfixed, immersed in an otherworldly virtual reality — one in which she knew that she was more than a witness.
Framed on the curved screen was a tall man with lustrous black hair and a well-trimmed beard, sitting astride a galloping horse in a rainstorm. He wore a loose, embroidered tunic and tights and Althea could feel the dampness of his clothing, his burning thighs, and could smell the horse’s sweat. Within his thoughts, she deciphered a name: Amadora.
As the man rode through the countryside, lightning pierced the black sky. Two medieval towers grew slowly, like sentinels on the horizon. Inside the castle’s stone walls, the man dismounted, disappearing through an arched doorway. Inside, his voice echoed in the cavernous and dimly lit rooms, which were deserted and opulent with carved wood and golden furniture, tapestries and portraits.
In the castle’s small chapel, a woman prayed by candlelight, a red hood covering her face, and an ornate crucifix around her neck. At the man’s abrupt entrance, the woman screamed. Althea could feel the woman’s heart, which was filled with panic and defiance. The man argued with her, and at first, the woman argued back, her eyes flashing, her hands expressive. As the man hit the woman across the face, Althea cringed, feeling the searing sting of the blow, and an explosion of pain in her hip as the woman fell to the floor, one arm up, the other shielding her body.
Horrified, Althea watched felt as the man straddled her, Althea’s screams of anger transformed into terror, and as Althea fought the crushing pressure on her chest, the scene opened up, and Althea was no longer an empathic witness, but a full player in the drama that was unfolding.
Hands hit the side of Althea’s head, and her shoulder ground painfully against the stone floor. She felt hot breath on her neck, fingers like claws in her face, and her own muscles straining with the deafening screams. All she wanted was for the screams to stop, and as the woman’s body writhed underneath her, her rage ruptured and a circular pool of red and thrashing silver grew —
cold steel in her palm
the splinter of bone under her fist
flesh giving way like butter
then silence
blood, sticky and metallic, pooling under her knees
Althea plunged the knife into the woman again and again, long after she stopped screaming, the knife she held buried to the hilt in the softness of the woman’s generous white belly.
Like the porcelain skin of Amadora.
In Ivana’s living room, Althea screamed, her voice spiraling into the howling wail of a wild animal. The memory exploded in her mind’s eye, the memory that she had buried in her unconscious for lifetimes.
His voice: My love. Now you know.
Slowly, she became aware of Ivana’s hand on her shoulder, and her own voice, incoherent. Tremors wracked her body. Gingerly, Ivana helped her sit up. Still convulsing, Althea struggled to hold her knees to her chest, gulping air. How long had she been lying on Ivana’s polished oak floor?
“Whenever you’re ready,” Ivana said. “Take your time.” The man that had delivered them tea handed Althea a cool cloth, and Ivana motioned for him to stay. Minutes passed. Slowly, Althea returned to her body. When she spoke, her voice was small and hoarse. Now she knew.
“I killed her.”
“Who?” Althea remembered the screaming argument,
the feel of the woman’s body under her. Amadora. She didn’t know for sure until she said it.
“Kevin. The woman was Kevin. Kevin was ... my wife. I was a man, a horrible man. I had a knife. There was so much blood.” Now that she knew, it was so obvious to her. Gently, Ivana continued.
“Where was Tori?”
“Tori was ...” Althea stopped until the truth came clearly into her mind. “Tori was my mistress. Her name was Amadora. I wanted to leave my wife for her.”
“What else,” Ivana said. What else, he whispered. The final realization entered her consciousness and her stomach turned to stone. How could she ...
“She was p- pregnant. Seven months.”
“Who?”
“My wife. Kevin. She didn’t want me to leave. I k- killed my wife and unborn child.” Althea’s teeth began to chatter. Ivana wrapped a blanket around her. The Queen of Cups is you.
“Do you know the child?” Ivana asked. Althea shook her head. She didn’t know the child.
Althea looked up through her tears, and Ivana was smiling at her. She had just confessed to murdering someone, and Ivana was smiling. It didn’t make sense.
“This was a long time coming for you, wasn’t it? You were so ready. What if I told you there was a way to let this go for good, would you want that?”
“Yes.”
Althea sat quietly, allowing the horrifying memory to fade, allowing herself to be where she was now, who she was now, no longer a man who would murder someone, but here in Ivana’s study, hurting so terribly, and wanting to understand her life. Her heart was drained, her mind was blank, there was so much to absorb. She didn’t know what lay ahead for her. But for the first time she could remember, she felt hope.
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