Beloved Lives

by Evans, Marilyn

  Just as the last rays of the disk of the sun slipped behind the edge of the world, she saw a man coming toward the cave, up the side of the cliff. He was followed by two donkeys. Even in the fading light, she knew him by the way he moved.

  She prepared to receive him, a great man who had disappeared long ago, a man of legendary learning. She bowed before the man and poked the boy, now awake and whining for his supper, until he also bowed.

  The boy shook his head, seeming to not understand what all the fuss was about. His master had bathed and gotten some new clothes. Shaved, oiled, and perfumed, he looked better, certainly smelled better, but he was surely the same mean, difficult man he had been before.

  They ate the meal the girl had prepared then opened the gifts the master had brought on the donkeys—fine clothes and oils, perfumes and spices, sweets and delicacies. The little cave was becoming a treasury of precious things. By the lamplight, the man opened his trunks and brought out the beautiful objects that had once adorned his home before he fled the world. Carefully, he unwrapped an arm bracelet of shining gold and handed it to the girl. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “I know this,” she whispered.

  “It was yours, Nefrumeri. You gave it to me as a token, before…”

  “Before what?” the girl asked, almost remembering.

  “Before you died,” he answered, first not meeting her eyes but finally staring at her, piercing her to her soul.

  “Yes,” she said, self-knowledge filling her mind. “Yes, but I am no longer her. Call me by another name. Not Beautiful Beloved, who was queen and wife to another. Call me a name of your choosing.”

  “Then you are Meriankhu. Now and forever.”

  Beloved Lives—yes, that was who she was now. His lover in another life, his slave now. His, always his, for all time.

  The former hermit kissed the girl’s hand while the boy looked on amazed, not understanding anything that was happening.

  Chapter 24. Home Again

  April’s phone was ringing. She rubbed her hands across her face and shook her head to get the buzzing out of her ears. She felt dizzy but stood and groped toward the sound, trying to find her purse and the phone.

  “Don’t answer it,” Weston pleaded.

  “I have to. I have to,” she said, not sure why it was so important.

  Finally, she found the little clutch bag, not her usual purse, and dug out the phone. The call was from Trish.

  “Hello,” April said, her mouth dry and her voice choked.

  “Where are you? We’re worried sick. What happened?”

  “Is Mitch with you? I’m okay. I just got dizzy and had another sort of spell. I’m with Dr. Weston. I’ll be coming home soon. Don’t worry. I’m fine.” She hung up without waiting for a response.

  “I have to go home,” she said, not turning to face Weston.

  “Meri, please stay,” he pleaded.

  He stood close behind her, not touching her, but so close she could feel the heat of his body.

  Slowly, she shook her head. “I have to think. I can’t think here so close to you.” She turned to him and put her hand on his chest. “I need time. This is so much.”

  “There’s more. More you need to know.”

  “Yes. But not tonight.”

  She could feel those lives pushing at her, trying to invade her life, trying to make her feel things that weren’t her. They were familiar and strange, comforting and frightening.

  Weston bent down and softly kissed her lips. She put her arms around his neck and felt the warmth of his passion, barely contained, simmering just beneath the surface. She wanted…something. Something, but not this. She wanted Mitch. But here was her lover from so many lives, here and now and hers, always hers, never failing her. Mitch was an unknown, but this was…

  This was wrong. Someone else wanted this man, not her. She pushed away from him and looked down at her feet.

  “I have to think,” April said.

  Weston took a step back. “I’ll take you home.”

  * * *

  They didn’t speak as Weston drove her through the hot, summer night in his silver car. When he pulled up in front of her house, she opened the passenger door before he could get out to help her, but she reached out her hand to him. He squeezed it gently then raised it to his lips. She took it away before he could kiss it.

  “Good night,” she said. “Thank you for dinner and…everything.”

  “Meri, April,” he said.

  “Good night,” she repeated and got out of the car.

  When April opened the door to her house and switched on the light, Winston charged toward her, meowing in distress. She sank to the floor, wrapped him in her arms, and buried her face in his fur. She felt as though she were being torn apart. He rubbed against her face and walked in her lap, treading and purring, trying to be as close to her as possible.

  The doorbell rang, followed by Trish’s unmistakable knocking. April stood up, Winston still rubbing her legs through her evening gown, and opened the door. Trish and Mitch were both there.

  “I’m fine,” she told them. “I just need to sleep. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, okay?”

  “You’re sure? We’ve been looking everywhere. We were so worried,” Trish said. “I was afraid he’d kidnapped you or something.”

  April laughed, hoping it didn't sound shaky.

  “Sorry I messed up our dates,” she said, squeezing Trish’s hand.

  April stepped over to Mitch. She had seen that he was hanging back and watching her closely. She took his face in her hands and kissed him gently, lightly on the lips.

  “I’ll explain everything I can, but not tonight. Let’s all have dinner tomorrow before class. Okay?”

  Trish sighed. “If you’re thinking about food, you’ve got to be okay.”

  “All right,” said Mitch, placing his hand on her cheek and never taking his eyes from hers.

  He can tell something has changed, April thought. She wasn't sure herself what it was, but their relationship had just gotten more complicated.

  “If you’re sure,” he said.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be fine. I just have a lot to think about.” She kissed him again then hugged Trish and opened the door for them.

  After Trish and Mitch left, April wearily prepared for bed, Winston never leaving her side. He curled around her shoulder and wrapped his foreleg across her neck, butting his head against her cheek. Just as she was falling into sleep, April realized in a vague and distant way she had not taken her dream-suppressing pill.

  Chapter 25. Full Disclosure

  April’s dream was the same as always, and even Winston could not wake her, not until she had screamed her throat raw, not until the false waking when she saw the haggard man standing over her. But this time, when she finally woke, she knew who he was. She understood now there was more to learn from Weston, but not yet. She had to get her feet back under her, get back to herself.

  She texted both Mitch and Trish, telling them dinner was at her house and what time to be there. Trish had tried to call, but April didn't answer. She didn't want to talk until she was ready. Trish settled for sending a text that said WTF? April offering to cook was something of an anomaly. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to cook. She just didn’t do it very often. But tonight April didn’t want any distractions when she told Trish and Mitch what had happened the night before. Up until now, April had not told Mitch about her dreams. That needed to change. Honesty and full disclosure were long overdue.

  She tried to call her parents, both to give Father’s Day greetings and because she felt talking with her dad would somehow anchor her. While he was almost as communicative as a rock, he also had a rock’s strength and constancy. When she couldn’t reach them, she figured they were probably at the boat show. Somehow, that made her feel better, imagining her dad happy and having a good time, and her mom enjoying herself in spite of herself, as she so often did when she gave in to Dad’s wishes.
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  * * *

  Trish and Mitch arrived at four, so they could talk and eat well before class started at six. April was glad to be able to cook while she talked and avoid having to look at them both. She began with appetizers and the history of her dreams in this life, beginning with their onset at menarche.

  “She was a real riot at slumber parties,” Trish said, helping to fill in the details. “Scared the crap out of us. We thought she was faking it since we’d been telling ghost stories before we went to sleep.”

  “I passed it off as nightmares brought on by the stories, but Trish eventually knew the truth. Needless to say, I didn’t go to a lot of slumber parties.”

  April confessed the history of Sam and how the nightmares ended with her marriage to him, then how they had returned a few months after the divorce.

  By the time they were on to the main course, courtesy of April’s mother’s famous jambalaya recipe, she had filled them in on the sleep lab, Weston’s behavior, and the visions she’d had. Again, Trish helped with some of the details.

  Finally, in time for a dessert of fruit and cheese, she told them about what happened at the ballet and afterward. Telling them about the hermit wasn’t so hard, but she felt it necessary to gloss over the part about Weston kissing her and her reaction to it. She still didn’t know how she felt about that. She wasn’t quite ready for that much honesty.

  Mitch had been quiet throughout most of the recitation, only asking questions from time to time for clarification. At last, April told them about the dream she had the previous night, about the false waking and seeing the man over her as she screamed.

  “It was the hermit, younger, but definitely him. He was there when the dreams began. Weston told me he knew why I had the dreams because he was there when they began.”

  Mitch was quiet for a long time. Finally, he asked, “What do you need to do?”

  April looked at the clock on the dining room wall. “I think first we need to get you to class. We can talk more afterward. If you want to.”

  Mitch nodded and stood up from the table. He kissed April lightly on the cheek and headed off to prepare for that evening's lecture. Trish and April took the dishes to the kitchen and put away leftovers, then hustled out the door to class.

  “Trish?” April said, as they were driving to the university. “I’m sorry if I messed up your chance to get to know Dr. Weston. I sort of hoped he’d taken to you.”

  “Not your fault if the guy is crazed. Might not even be his fault. Kind of sounds like destiny. Maybe I’ll get a mad, obsessive lover someday,” Trish said, as she pulled into a parking spot.

  “I hope it’s someone who acts a little less weird than Weston.”

  “Amen to that, sister.”

  The mood in the classroom was more somber than usual, the students seeming to sense something different from their teacher.

  Mitch began. “Tonight, we’re going to talk about divination and the nature of fate.

  “Is our future fixed, or can we change it? Do the tools of divination tell us what will occur, or do they present a possibility, a warning or an encouragement that can be altered by our actions, by our choices?”

  “Divination is a means for determining the will of God or the Gods, depending on who you are and what you believe. Every culture throughout history has had some method for asking for guidance from the Divine. In the Old Testament, these included the Urim and Thummin, visions and sayings of prophets, and temple sleep—that is to say, dreaming used as divination. Other cultures have omens, such as signs seen in the flight of birds or lightning flashes, reading the entrails of animals for signs…”

  This was met with “ews” and “icks” from the class.

  “And by other means,” Mitch said. “There are those who insist that divination is only a tool to advise, showing us what might be. If we know what will happen, one possible future, can we change it by taking an alternate path?”

  Mitch described ancient beliefs about divination, modern attempts to use and study it, even by spy agencies, and the tools used for divination. He had examples of various tools, explaining that some took years, even decades to master. After demonstrating a few, he encouraged people in the class to try their hands at Ouija boards, pendulums, dousing rods, rune stones, and tarot cards.

  One of the girls in the class had studied palmistry and was reading the lines and mounds in the hands of some of her classmates. Others tried the different tools, in some cases frequently consulting the books that accompanied them.

  Mitch was busy helping to decipher the mysteries of the divine so had little time to talk with Trish and April. April asked the palm reader to look at her hand.

  “You have a really strong fate line, as though you are a pawn for the universe to push around. But look here.” She pointed to a break in the line. “This is your chance to take control.” She looked at the side of April’s hand. “You’ll have two children. You’re good at defending the innocent and helpless, and you have a scientific mind. Also, you have the ability to be a priestess.”

  April laughed. She wasn't sure how much she believed any of this, but lately, her life hadn't been devoid of unexplainable things.

  “What does mine say,” asked Trish.

  April played with the pendulum, asking yes and no questions as it swung over a mat that had written on its quadrants Yes, No, Maybe, and Ask Later. After asking each question, she watched the weight on the chain begin to slowly circle then swing in the direction of the answer. Yes, she should get Winston to the vet for his latest round of shots. No, she shouldn’t become a vegetarian. Yes, she should meet with Weston, and get to the bottom of this whole dream thing. When, on a whim, she asked Weston or Mitch, picking Maybe for Weston and Ask Later for Mitch, the pendulum became completely immobile and did not move at all. Even when she tried to set it in motion, swinging it intentionally one way or the other, it quickly froze to a standstill. Does that mean it's still undecided, she wondered.

  “Sorry, guys, time’s up. We can continue at the coffeehouse if you want,” Mitch said, gathering up his tools.

  * * *

  At the coffeehouse, Mitch and April finally got to talk.

  “What do you need to do?” he asked her again.

  “I think I need to get to the root of this dream. I need to find out why this keeps happening to me, has been happening to me, for, well, apparently, forever. I’m sick of it. I want to know, and I want it to end.”

  “I understand that.” Mitch was quiet, then he said, “Can I help?”

  April thought a moment. “Weston seems to be able to make me regress at the drop of a hat. More like at the drop of an April, actually. I keep passing out, and that is just getting old.

  “Do you think you could help me go into a deep trance, so I can get as far back as the beginning of this whole mess? Honestly, I trust you a lot more than I trust him.”

  Mitch smiled. “I will gladly help you. Anything you need. When, where?”

  April took Mitch’s hands in hers. “Wednesday, my place. I’ll even feed you.”

  “That will be wonderful. You’re an amazing cook.”

  “Almost never, but for you, I make an exception.”

  Chapter 26. Mitch Helps

  April found herself slinking around, trying to avoid Weston as she made her way through her day at the hospital. She knew he was trying to track her down because she kept staying one jump ahead of him, sliding into the ladies' room when she spotted him in the distance, getting an early warning from Gabby or Judith, who didn’t know what was going on but were happy to be involved in an intrigue. Fortunately, the man had actual work to do, so that kept him from being too annoying.

  April didn’t want to talk with Weston again until she had more information about herself, her past lives, and her relationship with whomever Weston had been. She hoped to have that information by Wednesday with Mitch’s help.

  April was still taking her medication to avoid the dreams, but lack of dream sleep was be
ginning to have consequences. She never felt completely rested and had begun to feel irritable and impatient with everyone. Even Winston stayed out of her way when she was most touchy and kept close when she was depressed, sad, or otherwise non-hostile.

  By Wednesday, April had the house somewhat clean and had prepared a supper that was somewhat palatable, but she couldn’t be bothered to dress as if she were on a date. Mitch would have to learn to love her in jeans and a T-shirt—Run for the Sumatran Tiger this time. She wasn’t wearing shoes or makeup, and her hair wasn't neatly coiffed. She was done with dishonesty, and this was her, honestly. He could love her or leave her.

  But April didn't want him to leave her. She went into the bathroom and ran a brush through her hair, then put on a little lipstick and blush. Her bad humor wasn't Mitch's fault. She could at least make an effort to be presentable.

  * * *

  Mitch arrived on time, carrying a back pack. As he unpacked a metronome and a light that he set on the coffee table, he explained. “The light pulses at a variable rate and will help induce a deeper trance. The metronome can be coordinated to the light, so you have both visual and aural stimuli. These should make the regression a little easier. I also have some soundtracks, but you might find those distracting. We can experiment with what works best for you.”

  When he had finished setting up his equipment, he asked, “Food first or work first?”

  “I’d rather get to it. We can always eat later, unless you’re starving.”

  “I’m fine. Let’s begin then. Bed or sofa?”

  “It doesn’t seem to matter. Let’s try the sofa first.” April reclined into a comfortable position.

  Mitch turned on the pulsing light and started the metronome. Winston interrupted his napping to watch the metronome pendulum swinging back and forth but resisted the temptation to swipe at it.

  After a few adjustments, Mitch had the two instruments synchronized to a rate that seemed right to April. She shifted from position to position, trying to get comfortable, not able to focus until the tick-tock of the metronome and the pulse of the light were adjusted again, slowed a little to match her heartbeat. Finally, Mitch began the mantra of the past-life regression, asking her to remember her birthdays, her infancy, her birth, the life before, and before that.