Beloved Lives

by Evans, Marilyn

  “Nope. I’m all ready to go with dreams or nightmares or whatever. But I really do need to take a shower before I turn in. Is that okay?”

  “Certainly. Whenever you’re ready.”

  April got the sweat washed off, put on her penguin pajamas, and brushed the garlic off her teeth and tongue, then signaled for Darryl to come in and hook her up. He was quick and efficient and even less chatty than last time. April suspected he might be a little scared of her.

  She’d finished her space opera and hadn’t gotten it back to the library yet, so she was without reading material except for a trashy gossip magazine Judith had loaned her. Now she could catch up on who in Hollywood was divorcing and cheating on whom, essential information for carrying on conversations in the hospital cafeteria.

  By the time she got to the fashion-disaster section of the magazine, her eyelids were drooping, and she was ready for what had become her nightly ritual of a psychic goodnight kiss to Winston, Trish, and Mitch. She’d never asked if they'd gotten them, but she liked thinking that it made them feel warm and loved as they were drifting off to sleep.

  She began dreaming immediately, almost before she was fully asleep, as though the dream had been waiting for her impatiently. She was in her rooms in the palace again, a queen who filled her days serving as a priestess to Isis when not waiting for her king to come to her. As patient as a spider, she was a queen who made careful alliances, trying to find a way to discredit or kill her husband’s chief advisor. And she was pregnant, heavily pregnant. Her personal servants in attendance looked worried as they tried to make her comfortable.

  “Please, let me call the king’s physicians,” one of the older maids pleaded.

  “Too many of them are bound to the other wives. I don’t trust any of them,” Nefrumeri replied, shifting and trying to find a position that eased her constant pain. “If you must call someone, call Khaemnun.”

  “But you hate him,” the maid said, her eyes wide. She did not add, and he hates you, but Nefrumeri heard the words as surely as if her maid had spoken them.

  “But he loves the king and will not let a child of the king die. I will rest, and soon, I will be well. There will be no need to call anyone. Now, let me sleep.”

  She lay back on her bed and closed her eyes, but the pain was too severe for her to rest. Her head felt as though her skull were too small. Her feet, hands, and back ached. Flitting from worry to worry, her mind gave her no peace.

  After a short time, she heard her maids shuffling close to her, the eldest apologizing in muttered whispers. This woman had been present at the births of many royal children, and while not a midwife, she knew a great deal. Most importantly, Nefrumeri trusted her.

  “Lady, forgive me, but I am afraid for you and your child. I have summoned Khaemnun. Please, forgive me.” The maid prostrated herself on the floor by the queen’s bed.

  Nefrumeri did not speak. She lay back and closed her eyes. She heard Khaemnun enter her room, felt him touching her, measuring her heartbeat and feeling her belly, examining her feet and hands. He was surprisingly gentle and self-assured. When he withdrew and was no longer touching her, she opened her eyes to meet his. For the first time, she began to fear for herself and her child, not because of what the king’s advisor might do to her but because of the alarm on his face.

  With soft, even kind words, he gave orders to the maids and summoned his assistant to fetch medicines from his quarters. Nefrumeri had heard stories—palace gossip about his abilities, his experiments, and his magic. Rumored to be a healer by some and a poisoner by others, he was both feared and respected. Now, she would find out. He could kill her and blame the pregnancy for going awry, or he could attempt to save her child. All she cared about was her child. Let him do what he will, she thought.

  “Khaemnun,” she whispered.

  He started, as if surprised at the sound of his name coming from her lips, then drew close to her to hear her weakened voice.

  “Khaemnun, if you must kill me, wait until the child is born. If you must choose between the child and me, save my king’s child. If you hate me and will see me removed from…”—she licked her dry lips—“from your life to trouble you no more, spare the innocent.”

  She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she saw that her words must have deeply troubled the advisor. His brow was wrinkled, and his eyes were filled with pain.

  “Lady,” he said, “I have no such malice toward you. We have sparred at a game of competing affections for one we both love, but I would never see you or your child harmed.”

  He took up a damp cloth and held it to her lips to moisten them.

  In the next hours, he examined her again and again, tracking something Nefrumeri could not understand. Finally, he called for the most experienced midwives and others he trusted. His assistant handed him a cup.

  “You must drink this if you want to live and for your child to live,” Khaemnun said to her.

  “What is it?” Nefrumeri asked.

  Khaemnun looked around the room and ordered everyone out. In a moment only the two of them remained, although the maids hovered close by the doorway.

  He bent close to her ear and whispered, “The king has ordered me to save your life at all costs, even if it means losing the child. You have asked me to save the child at all costs.”

  Nefrumeri looked steadily at him. She knew she had no power here. “And what will you do, Khaemnun?” she asked.

  “I intend to lose neither of you. Horus guides me in all things, and He loves life and not death. He will not allow you or your child to die. So, drink this quickly before the Gods of Death have such a hold on you that I cannot bring you back.”

  She hesitated only for a moment before willingly swallowing the potion. At first, it gave her some relief from the pain in her head, then she experienced an even greater pain. But this new pain was labor and nothing she could not bear. The midwives and maids hurried back into the room at Khaemnun’s signal. He and the assistant stepped aside to let the women do as they knew best.

  The labor did not last long. The child was early and small but a beautiful girl. Nefrumeri laughed to see her and happily gave her breast for the child to suckle. Glistening with sweat, weak from exhaustion, but filled with joy and gratitude, she looked with kindness on Khaemnun. And he looked upon her with naked tenderness. In that moment, she felt a thrill of fear and excitement.

  She had been wrong. She saw now that his animosity was a disguise to mask his attraction to her. The tension between them had nothing to do with hatred. She understood, at last, that whatever had come before, whatever would come after, at this moment he loved her, and without question or doubt, she realized she loved him.

  Chapter 31. Discovered

  April drifted up out of sleep, tears drying on her cheeks. She opened her eyes and looked at the camera in the room.

  “Anything interesting happen?” she asked it.

  Dr. Horner popped his head into the room. “Seemed like normal dreaming with that sort of memory signature we’ve seen before. There was one point when you seemed to be in some discomfort but nothing like the previous distress, so we waited to see where it went. Then it calmed back down again.”

  “I was dreaming I was in labor.”

  “Interesting. And you’ve never been pregnant, isn't that right?”

  “No. Never pregnant.”

  “Interesting,” Dr. Horner said again. “Well, it’s only 1:00 a.m. Please continue as usual.”

  April asked to be disconnected and got up to use the restroom. After they made sure all her leads were re-attached, she drifted off to sleep, wondering what her baby’s name had been.

  * * *

  Nefrumeri was in front of her bronze mirror again, happy and excited. Today, Pharaoh was leaving on a hunting trip. The event would begin with a great procession, the kind she had loved as a child, out of the city and into the countryside. With chariots and hounds, bows and spears, the company could slaughter game during t
he day, then sleep and feast at night until they rose the next day to do it again. Hunting was a man’s pleasure, though some women would on occasion accompany them, but never the queens. Sometimes, when they were young and spoiled, daughters would come along, but when they became women who should be respected, most gave up the hunt.

  Khaemnun would not hunt this year. Someone had to see to the business of the kingdom. Then Nefrumeri would have him to herself.

  As she looked at her image in the mirror, she marveled at how her opinion of her husband had changed. Where once he had seemed godlike, he now appeared to be weak and human. Where once he seemed wise, she now understood he was merely educated, and there were men far more learned than he was. How could she have believed Pharaoh was all things beautiful when she had seen Khaemnun lying in her bed with the glow of love-making upon him? She did not hate her husband, felt only pity for him. He did not see his own weakness, so she and Khaemnun protected him. Their love was good for him, kept him safe from his own foolishness.

  Nefrumeri saw a movement behind her, reflected in the mirror, and turned in hopes of seeing her beloved. Instead, her husband stood there. She could not stop the disappointment from showing on her face. She could see by his expression, he saw and knew.

  “I am not such a fool that I have not suspected, but I see now that I was right. Who do you dress yourself for as I prepare to leave the city? Who will enjoy my gifts of perfume and oil? Who is your lover, my favorite wife?” His voice was cold as metal, as harsh as blowing sand.

  He doesn’t know, she thought. My beloved is safe.

  “I don’t understand you,” she said and turned back to the mirror, but she knew any lie was past being believed.

  He gripped her arm, hurting her, and turned her back to face him. “Who is he? I will have his name, and I will have his life. And yours.”

  He slapped her, cracking her lip. She could taste the blood in her mouth and smiled at him.

  “You will never know,” she said, and for the first time, she lost all the love she had ever felt for him. Perhaps he is wiser than I imagined, she thought, because he can see the contempt on my face and knows what I feel.

  Enraged, the king gripped her throat and shook her, as a hound shakes its prey. Nefurmeri did not struggle, in spite of the pain in her neck and in her lungs that struggled for air. Still smiling in contempt, she saw black spots dancing before her eyes then only darkness.

  All was silence, undisturbed. The waves gently rocked her as she drifted in the lazy, sweet river, the warm water cradle-like, carrying her along on a slow current. Distant shores became visible in the slowly dawning light, rising on either side, barely above the level of the water where she drifted, the barest of currents moving her along as she floated on her back, her head downriver, her feet toward the source.

  As she drifted more quickly, the shorelines began to rise higher and draw nearer. She could hear the faintest of sounds, distant rapids or a waterfall. She wanted to see where she was going, but she could not move.

  The current was becoming swifter, the rushing sound louder. She moved toward a lighter sky overhead, narrowly seen between the ever closer, more tightly wrapped canyon walls. She heard a strange, low whine, growing louder and louder, becoming a distant and finally nearer keen. Then the pain seared through her, crushed her, igniting every nerve in her body. She knew the sound was her own screaming. Until her eyes opened and she saw him, Khaemnun, unshaved, haggard, wild-eyed. And terrified.

  Chapter 32. What Friends Are For

  “Miss Robins, wake up.”

  Dr. Horner was shaking her vigorously. He looked a lot like Darryl had when he woke her that first time in the sleep lab. He looked a little like Khaemnun had in the dream.

  Without being asked, Darryl handed her the glass of water with the bendy straw. She sipped to soothe her throat.

  “You were screaming,” Dr. Horner said.

  “Yes, I do that. I said,” she croaked and sipped again.

  “Most people only make a little sound when they sleep. There is a kind of sleep paralysis… Well, never mind. It’s extremely unusual to actually…” His voice faded out.

  Apparently, he wasn’t kidding when he'd said he'd never seen anything like it before.

  “What time is it?” April asked.

  “Five twenty-seven,” Dr. Horner said, looking at his wrist.

  “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep anymore, so what say we call it a night. Okay?” She was already disconnecting the leads from her body.

  “Do you want to make another appointment?” Darryl asked.

  “No, I think I know what I need to do next,” she said firmly.

  They looked as if they might argue with her, but the steel in her voice seemed to convince them to back away and retreat to their data. She hadn’t meant to scare them, but she was determined to move forward with resolving this problem.

  April changed into her jeans and T-shirt, packed up her gear, and headed home. This time, when she came through the door, Winston was on deck and ready, rubbing close on and between her legs, causing her difficulty in staying upright. Giving in to love, she sat on the floor and rubbed and scratched and cuddled him until he was ready for breakfast.

  She tried to be quiet because it was so early, and Trish didn’t appear to be awake yet. April made coffee after giving Winston his kitty cookies, debating the whole while whether to try to run or not before the summer heat took over the day.

  She decided it would be too hard to get her running shoes without waking Trish. Instead, she went onto the front porch and sipped her coffee, watching the neighborhood wake up. Eventually, Mrs. Milliflor stepped out her front door to get her morning paper, so April waved.

  “Not running this morning?” the old woman yelled, as deaf people sometimes do.

  “Not this morning. Maybe later if it doesn’t get too hot,” April yelled back, facing the woman in case she needed to read her lips.

  “Tell your cat hello for me,” she yelled and shuffled back into her house.

  April finished her coffee and went back into her own house.

  “Winston, you have a fan club,” she told her cat, who had finished his breakfast and was bathing himself.

  Trish was finally stirring. April brought her coffee in bed.

  “To what do I attribute this largesse,” Trish asked, sitting up and accepting the cup.

  April sat on the side of the bed.

  “I know what I need to do next.” She told Trish about the dream she’d had and how it had morphed into the terrible dream. “So many pieces are fitting together, but there are parts that only Weston can fill in. I’ve got to talk with him and get the last bits. Then I’ll know what I have to do. I’ll have some kind of idea how to make all this go away.”

  Trish’s stomach rumbled, making them both laugh.

  “What do you want for breakfast?” April asked.

  “Huevos rancheros.”

  “Mine aren’t much good. I guess we’re going out. Do you think you can get dressed in less than an hour?”

  “I can but try. No promises.”

  Trish was ready in under an hour, as not promised. They decided to try looking for huevos down among the River Market eateries. While they were there, they could check out the fresh fruits and vegetables at the farmer’s market.

  As Trish navigated her way through downtown and toward the riverfront, she asked, “What’s the plan for confronting Weston?”

  “I guess I’ll just call him up and make an appointment.”

  “Where? Your place or his?”

  Trish drove down the ramp toward the market. She started looking for a parking place. Even though it was early, the market was crowded.

  “I’m thinking neutral ground might be safer. There’s one.” April pointed to a spot near the Steam Boat Arabia Museum.

  Trish wheeled her little car into the spot.

  Breakfast was the first order of business, but afterward, they found some local honey, fre
sh vegetables at great prices, and some beautiful berries.

  “You know, I can’t remember the last time I made strawberry shortcake,” April said, weighing the fruit in her hand.

  “What’s with all this domesticity all of a sudden?” Trish asked.

  “Mitch said I was an amazing cook.”

  “Aha. Way to a man’s heart and all that. Better get the berries if this is going to be a serious relationship.”

  “Uh, oh.”

  “What?”

  “The last time we talked, Mitch and I didn’t set up a date for tonight. We were kind of distracted by the past-life regression.” April stared at the berries without seeing them. “You don’t suppose this whole thing with Weston has scared him off? I wouldn’t really blame him. Or maybe he's trying to give me some space?”

  April had begun to pace in little circles. “What should I do? Call him? Wait for him to call me?”

  Trish had whipped out her cellphone.

  “What are you doing?” April asked, stopping in mid-pace.

  Trish punched in numbers without answering.

  “Hi, Mitch. It’s me, Trish. I was wondering if you and April had already made plans for tonight, because I thought I might have you both over for drinks this evening—you know, before you head off on your madcap adventures.

  “Sorry for the short notice, but it just occurred to me. She hasn’t been to my place in a coon’s age, and I mooch off her all the time. Figured it was payback time.”

  There was a short pause. Trish’s face betrayed nothing. April was cringing.

  “Sure. Call me back at this number. Bye.”

  Almost immediately, April’s cell rang. She put it to her ear and said, “Hello?”

  “April, it's Mitch. I maybe should have called sooner, but I wanted to give you some breathing room. I know you've had a lot on your plate lately.”

  “That's really nice of you. Actually, I probably should have called you.” April made a I knew I should have called him face at Trish.