Promised Soul

by Sandra J. Jackson

  “Of course, I did. Do you think I want to go?” she asked in disbelief, fighting back the tears, which sat just at the edge or her eyelids and threatened to spill over.

  “It certainly doesn't sound as though you tried very hard to convince them.”

  His words stung her like a thousand bees.

  Thomas turned his back to her; he couldn't bear the look of pain in her eyes. He had no choice. He clenched his teeth and with as much resolve as possible, he faced her again.

  “Don't you believe me?” she yelled at him.

  “If you really tried, you wouldn't be leaving. Maybe the prospect of other men does intrigue you,” Thomas spat, the words were like acid on his tongue.

  Mary couldn't believe what she was hearing. Only moments ago, they were professing how deep their love was for one another, and now they were in the throes of a heated discussion.

  “What are you saying?” Mary cried, her tears escaping their confines.

  Thomas wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, but he couldn't. The only thing he could do was to end their relationship. Perhaps if her parents knew their relationship was over, they wouldn't leave. At the very least, he could hope they would wait until summer when it would be much safer, and by then Mary would be 18 and able to stay behind should she choose.

  Thomas took a breath. “I'm sorry, Mary – this is wrong,” he said calmly.

  Relieved by his words, Mary began to believe that Thomas had changed his mind, had come to realize he'd been too harsh with her – he was apologizing for his actions. She calmed herself and reached out to him, all would be well.

  Thomas stared at Mary, uncertain as to why she was reaching out, and then it occurred to him, she'd misunderstood.

  “No,” he yelled.

  Mary jumped back, startled.

  “WE are wrong!”

  Thomas's words shattered her heart. Mary's hand dropped to her side. She didn't understand, her head swirled as he spoke.

  “I'm sorry, Mary. Your parents are right. We shouldn't be together; I see that now. You're still a child. I'm sure you can see the fairies.” Thomas jutted his chin towards the clover still tucked behind Mary's ear.

  His harsh words struck her with such force that Mary's knees began to buckle and she lowered herself to the ground before him, as though she begged.

  Thomas desired to reach out to her, to pull her up, to hold her – but he resisted every urge.

  “No,” her cries barely audible.

  Thomas turned and began walking away, his tears free to escape the eyes that held them captive.

  “My love for you will transcend death,” Mary screamed after him, and she curled up on the grass and wept, the clover still tucked behind her ear.

  Her agonizing words pierced Thomas's heart like a hot iron through ice.

  “As does mine,” he whispered as he walked away.

  “Thomas, don't leave, Thomas, no…” I sat up in bed and wiped tears from my eyes; my voice calling out for Thomas had awoken me. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light shining in through the window.

  Thomas left her, but he loved her. My mind raced as my thoughts jumped back and forth between my dreams – the past and the present.

  “What the hell is happening to me?” I looked over at the clock; it was three in the morning.

  With great determination, I flung back the light sheet and jumped out of bed. The desire to prove my sanity was strong. More out of habit than cold, I pulled my silk robe down from the hook on the back of the door and left my room crossing the hallway to my office.

  Once seated at my desk, I turned on my computer and patiently waited while it came to life. It was a long wait. Finally, the familiar welcoming sound greeted me, and there I sat with the screen lighting up the room.

  “What am I doing?” I laid my head down on the cool desk.

  Time passed before I finally found the courage to click on the internet. It loomed in front of me as the prompt on the search engine flashed – taunting me.

  “Fine!” I mumbled under my breath, giving in to the relentless flashing. My fingers typed the words – Past lives.

  What emerged was a deluge of websites. From fun little tests, to videos of people undergoing past life regression, to websites promoting those who claim they can help you find out who you once were. It was all very overwhelming and after a few short minutes, I shut the computer down and trudged back to my room – defeated.

  My room was dark and cold. I shivered and pulled my robe tightly around me, exhaled and watched as my breath turned to vapour. I stood in the doorway, afraid to enter, unable to move. The room had changed, and it was no longer mine. In the darkness, nothing looked familiar not even the shadows and yet, it was all too familiar – hauntingly so.

  The second my hand touched the wall in search of the light switch, I pulled it away, shocked by the feel of weathered old boards instead of the smooth, painted surface of drywall. As my fear abated and courage returned, I slowly moved my hand back. My fingers ran up and down frantically searching for a switch that no longer existed, while my eyes darted around in the dark, searching for a familiar object.

  “Ouch!” I cried out, promptly pulled my hand away from the wall, and absently put the tip of my index finger into my mouth. The metallic taste of blood assaulted my taste buds, forcing me to remove it for examination instead. However, the darkness made it impossible to see anything. The distraction brought on by my injury was fleeting, and within seconds fear returned as the transformation of my room became evident.

  Paralyzed by fear, I stood in the doorway searching the darkness with my eyes, waiting for them to adjust. Small shards of light seemed to filter in through what resembled cracks in the walls, casting unfamiliar shadows on objects in the room. I looked in the direction of my bed. The space appeared empty with only a few smaller objects in its place. Carefully stepping forward, the boards beneath my feet creaked unexpectedly, as though they were about to give way, and I jumped back. The room smelled of sweat and panic. Was it me?

  A gust of wind blew in from where the window once was, and it smelled of the sea. A whimper from the far corner of the room made me snap my head in that direction. Again, there was nothing but strange shadows. Intense fear enveloped me – paralyzed me. I shivered again, a cold sweat pooled on my brow. My feet froze, as though I stood in icy, cold water. My head spun.

  “Close your eyes,” a voice whispered.

  Who said that? Did I say that? Of course I had, there was no one else. I closed my eyes.

  “Calm yourself, switch on the light.” There was that whisper again.

  I turned around, opened my eyes again, and faced the doorway. My heart thumped as adrenaline drove my every move. There was nothing left to do but listen to that oddly familiar voice in my head – mine, but not mine. My legs carried me a step forward towards the open door, and my hand reached for the wall; it was like watching someone else's body move. Slowly, my hand moved over the now smooth surface, found the switch, and turned it on. The brightness of the light stung my eyes, and my hands instinctively covered my face to shield them. After a moment, I turned around and faced into the room, slowly removing my hands from my eyes. Everything was where it should be; everything had returned to normal.

  Sleepwalking! I breathed a sigh of relief. That was it. My mother told me I did it all the time as a kid. “That has to be it,” I whispered as if saying it aloud made it true.

  My eyes searched the room, making sure everything was in its place and finally rested on the clock on the nightstand; it was 3:33. I yawned, as a deep need for sleep fell over me; the strange experience had left me completely drained.

  I peeled off my robe, and dropped it to the floor; too tired to hang it back up. Out of habit, I reached up the wall to flick the switch but thought better of it. I switched on the lamp on my nightstand first before switching off the overhead light.

  My sheets were cold as I slipped back into bed, shivers coursed through me as the
cold wrapped around me. I reached over and turned out the light, settling down into bed and pulling the sheets tightly up under my chin for protection. My muscles jumped as my body gave way to exhaustion and sleep overtook me, the night's events slowly faded.

  The songs of birds woke me in the early morning. I laid there enjoying their melodies and hoped they'd sing me back to sleep. Suddenly, the night's events came to mind and the desire to fall back to sleep was no longer a priority. Questions needed answering, and there was only one person who could help me. I grabbed the phone and dialed. The sleepy voice that answered prompted me to look at the clock; it was five thirty in the morning – too late now.

  “Amanda, I need your help.”

  Eleven

  It had been another long week at the office for Aaron. He worried about his mother daily, although he felt satisfied that after spending some time alone with her, she no longer thought that he felt she was a burden. He also promised her that he wouldn't go as long as he had without calling or coming for a visit. In return, Kate promised him that should she feel worse, she would let him know immediately. Still, despite her promise, he couldn't get over the sense that she had indeed weakened in the past three weeks.

  When Aaron and Peter had returned to London, the first thing Aaron did was call Doc Brown, who assured him her condition had not progressed. The reassurance was welcoming, so Aaron sunk himself into his work for the remainder of the week. By the time Saturday had come around, he was glad he had another free weekend. He needed the next couple of days to regroup for his next tours. Now that they were heading into the second week of July, they were getting busy.

  Aaron threw a few things into his rucksack for the weekend and soon he was on his way to Tockington. He was more than happy to be going alone; he wanted to spend some quality time with his mother.

  The day was beautiful and the sun shone as he made his way to the village of his youth. It seemed like no time at all when he pulled into the drive and parked behind a familiar vehicle. Immediately upon seeing the car, Aaron's heart began to race. It was Doc Brown's, and it was unusual for him to be making house calls on a Saturday. Aaron climbed out of the car and hurried to the front door, but before he could grab the handle the door swung open, causing Aaron to jump back.

  “Aaron! Ye gave me a bit of a fright; I wasn't expecting ye, but I'm glad ye're here,” Doc Brown said as he pulled the door closed behind him. “Come, let's take a seat.” He waved his hand toward a stone bench that sat in a small garden under the trees.

  “What's the matter, Doc?” Aaron asked. He couldn't hide the worry in his voice as he followed Doc Brown over to the bench and took a seat beside him.

  Doc Brown got right to the point, knowing Aaron well enough not to stall. “I'm afraid your ma has gotten a wee bit weaker.”

  Aaron put his head in his hands and pressed the heels into his forehead, the pressure briefly numbing the dread, which instantly fell upon him. “How long?” he asked afraid of the answer he might hear.

  “It's difficult to say; maybe weeks; days. I've had patients hang on for months.” He looked up at the second floor window of Kate's bedroom; it was obvious he couldn't look at Aaron at that moment.

  Aaron nodded, unable to speak, his head still resting in his hands. After a moment of silence, Aaron removed his hands and placed them on his knees. He looked down at the grass in front of him, leaned over, and plucked an ordinary clover.

  “I found one once, almost in this exact spot, when I was young.” Aaron's voice was barely audible as he twirled the clover between his fingers.

  Doc Brown, bewildered by Aaron's statement, looked at him. “Found what?”

  “A four-leaf clover; right here.” Aaron twirled the clover between his fingers. His voice becoming distant, like it wasn't his. “I found another one too, long before, in another place.” The words came from his lips, but it wasn't Aaron's voice, it had changed somehow. “I gave it away, but it turned out not to be very lucky.” Aaron's voice trailed off to a low whisper.

  Some time passed before Aaron spoke again, more coherently, more like himself. “The one I found here, I pressed in a book until it was dry, and then I gave it to Mum for her birthday. She said she'd save it for when she really needed it.” Aaron looked up towards his mother's bedroom window; he turned toward Doc Brown, his eyes brimming with tears. “Do you suppose she still has it?” he asked as the tears spilled from his eyes.

  Doc Brown gently put an arm around the shoulders of the young man who suddenly was the charming boy he had met all those years before. They sat there quietly for a while, both scanning the ground.

  “Do you think…” Aaron hesitated.

  Doc Brown waited patiently for him to finish.

  Aaron started again, trying to maintain his composure. “Do you think she'll make it to her birthday?”

  It was a moment before Doc Brown answered the question, and Aaron suspected it was because he truly didn't know. His mother's birthday was in the first week of August, and right now that seemed so very far away.

  Before Doc Brown could answer, Aaron spoke again. “Never mind; we'll take it day by day.” Aaron stood up, mindlessly twirling the clover between his fingers. Doc Brown rose to his feet as well and faced Aaron.

  “Are you on your way then?” Aaron asked.

  “Aye, there's not much more I can do. She's comfortable enough for now, and your aunt has everything under control.”

  Aaron nodded and looked back toward the house. “I guess… I guess, I'll go see her.” Aaron wanted to head towards the house but his legs held him glued in place – frozen.

  “Ye'll be alright, Aaron.” Doc Brown laid a reassuring hand on Aaron's shoulder. “She'll be happy to see ye.” Aaron looked away from the house and back at Doc Brown. “Thanks, Doc.”

  “I only wish there was more I could do, Aaron. Let me ken if she gets worse. I'll come straight away.”

  “Thanks.”

  The two men stood there for another few seconds, Aaron still apprehensive.

  “It's alright, Aaron, go ahead,” Doc Brown said encouragingly.

  Aaron turned and headed towards the house, feeling Doc Brown's eyes on him as he walked away. Aaron reached the front step, placed his left hand on the handle, and looked back at Doc Brown, who nodded at him encouragingly. He took a deep, steadying breath and turned the handle. Before he stepped across the threshold, he closed his right hand into a fist and opened it again. The crushed clover fell to the ground.

  Twelve

  I pulled into the cul-de-sac and circled around until I found the correct address. The house wasn't as foreboding as my mind led me to believe it would be, in fact it looked similar to the ones on either side. Before me stood a grey, two story, stone home that couldn't be much more than ten years old, complete with the proverbial white picket fence. My imagination seemed to have gotten the best of me again, and I half laughed at myself, shaking my head.

  After apologizing profusely for calling Amanda so early on a Saturday morning, I explained everything and Amanda was eager to help. Never before had I ever even contemplated the notion of visiting such a place, but there I was.

  Slowly, and with just a hint of unease, I emerged from the car and made my way to the front door. The small gardens on either side of the walkway comforted me with their normalcy. Just as my foot landed on the step of the small porch, a cat leapt from the rocking chair it had been occupying and ran down the steps. The sudden movement startled me, but I quickly recovered and reached out to press the doorbell. The door opened before my finger could connect.

  “Hello! Please come in.” A well-dressed woman, around the age of my mother, stood in the doorway and ushered me inside. Her piercing blue eyes met my gaze as I stepped over the threshold.

  “Welcome! It's always so nice to meet new people,” the woman said smiling eagerly at me and shaking my hand as we stood in the foyer. “Please, follow me.” She turned away and headed down the hall. I was about to kick off my sandals when she c
alled back to me. “Don't worry about your shoes, you can leave them on.”

  I did as I was told and followed her into the bright and welcoming kitchen. From the entrance, everything looked normal. The woman headed toward her cabinets and took down a couple of teacups. She turned and faced me, smiling.

  “I'm sorry; I don't often have new clients. Please take a seat at the table.” She pointed towards the round table, covered with a white lace tablecloth, which sat nestled in the breakfast nook surrounded on one side by windows.

  I walked towards the table and stood there, undecided where to sit.

  “Any seat is fine,” she said.

  I watched the woman who busied herself pouring two cups of tea, and I finally chose a seat that allowed me to look out the windows.

  “Your gardens are absolutely beautiful,” I said turning my attention back to the woman. My voice sounded funny in my ears, and I hoped she wouldn't think it strange.

  “Thank you. It's my greatest passion.”

  The woman brought over a plate of cookies and set them down on the table. She turned away and headed back to the counter for the tray, which held the full teacups, cream and sugar, and a small pot with the remaining tea. She brought this over and unloaded it onto the table, setting the tray down on the floor.

  “I hope you don't mind tea,” she said. “I know it's a little presumptuous of me to fill your cup.” The woman pulled out a chair and sat across from me.

  “So, do you read tea leaves?” I asked with a little more enthusiasm than I had intended.

  “Goodness no; I use tea bags.”

  Warmth rose up my neck and settled in my ears. “Tea is fine, thank you.” I said quietly.

  “Good.” The woman smiled and reached across the table and patted my hand. “Don't worry, dear, a lot of my new clients are nervous at first, but they soon realize they have nothing to fear.” The woman picked up her teacup and took a sip.

  “Um… I thought you said you didn't get many new clients.”

  “What I meant was that I don't usually get new clients here by themselves. They usually come with my regulars for their first experience. It's not every day a client is willing to give up their regularly scheduled appointment for someone else.”