”Maybe he didn’t know any better,” Craig said.
“Whatever. Just another reason to be glad he’s out of my life. You’re who I want to be with.” Long fingers stroked the side of his face, then trailed gently across his lips. She kissed him softly on the mouth and sighed. He slipped an arm around her, pulling her to him. She snuggled close, resting her head on his shoulder, utterly at peace.
“So, what’s with this scary dream? Got anything to do with those visions you have when you’re jumping Injun?”
“How did you know that?” She trembled at the memory.
“Because you were babbling in French, like when you’re jumping a course.”
“God, I love a clever guy. But, they’re not dreams, really.”
“What, then?”
“Sort of memories. I’ve always had this strange fear of sex, like something bad was going to happen. With Keith, or anybody else, whenever I got close to making love. As far back as high school.”
“Like afraid of getting pregnant?”
“No. More like afraid of getting killed. I… I felt it with you, when I first realized we were becoming more than just good friends.”
“Wow!” How interesting. His new anxiety started at the same time.
“Yeah. Anyway, that’s why I decided to see a therapist. See if we could figure out the problem.”
He chuckled, shaking his head in wonder. She pulled abruptly away, slipping off the bed.
“I don’t see anything funny about it.” She was obviously hurt.
“Hey. I didn’t mean it that way. I’ve been in analysis, off and on, for years. It’s just a funny coincidence that I’ve gone back to my guy, trying to resolve a few of my own new, and very strange emotions.”
“Having any luck?” Grinning now, she began dressing.
“Can’t you tell?” They laughed. “But it’s been kinda weird.”
“Hmmm. Mine too. I told you we did some regression under hypnotism. I know what scares me now. We just don’t know where it came from. I’ve been reluctant to discuss it with anybody, it’s so eerie.”
“Jeez. Me, too. Hypno-regression and everything. Mine was kinda wonderful.”
“How interesting. We’ll have to trade stories. Can’t do it now, though. It’s too late to shop for a new saddle. The kids are already home from school. Gotta run, lover.”
She was tucking her silk blouse into her designer jeans while slipping into her loafers. Looking up from stuffing her horsy duds into the canvas duffle, a delicious little pout pursed her lips.
“Can’t see you tomorrow, darling. Got too many errands to run. Wednesday?”
“Afraid not. Got appointments all day. I’ve gotta show my face at the office occasionally.”
“Thursday, then? I’ve got to get some practice in before the Bolingbrook show.”
“Right. We’ll shop for your new saddle first. We can break it in that afternoon, if we find something you like, then send the horses up that evening.”
“Swell. Call tomorrow evening, once you know your schedule.” She dropped her bag at the front door, turning to him.
Taking her in his arms, he nuzzled her hair.
“Ashley, it’s a three-day show. Should we get a hotel room up there?”
“One room? Together?”
“Yeah. A mini-suite, with a king-size bed. What d’ya think?”
“I can hardly wait.” She squeezed him possessively.
“Me, too. Might be hard to keep our minds on show jumping.”
She looked up, chuckling softly, and found his lips. Their kiss was slow and gentle, yet filled with wondrous passion.
He stared at the door long after she’d left, already missing her.
~~*~~*~~*~~
Ashley threw her bag into the passenger seat of her Lexus SUV. She had followed Craig in her car from the stables, never noticing the white Jeep Cherokee that trailed her there, now parked fifty feet down the street. Hooded eyes of its solitary occupant followed her departure.
The bitch! He blames his failed marriage on his wife, but that whore’s the real problem. She’s put two marriages on the rocks and she’s fucking everybody, one way or another. Something needs to be done before it’s too late.
Well, it’ll probably be up to me. No one else has the guts.
If I can’t get help from the one person I should be able to count on, I may have to manage it alone.
Something I’ll enjoy all the more!
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
His heart still racing, the soft, hypnotic music filled Bruce Feldman’s head as he steered his course back to consciousness, eyes opening warily when his mental count reaches “one.” Awake, he lies very still, searching the shadows of his office.
Nothing threatening lurking there.
He punches the “Off” button on the tape player resting on the small table beside his chair, bringing silence into the shadow shrouded room.
He’s used self-hypnosis tapes to achieve relaxation, but today was different. This one, provided by an associate of Anton Krause, was designed to aid in self-hypnotic regression, especially Past Life regression.
That it worked exceedingly well was no longer any surprise. He’s done a 180 on the subject, now believing people are reborn, time after time. He’s living proof.
Sighing, Feldman stretches, easing tension born from three hundred years of time travel, trying to fathom his role in two heinous double murders. Did he really learn anything new… who he was with, and why these two lovers died… twice?
Finding those answers might be paramount in saving them in this life… unless it was he who had killed them!
What an exhausting journey! He had intended to separate himself from the action this time, floating above, free from the heat and anger inundating him during those terrible, deadly minutes in each lifetime.
It didn’t work.
Each time, he was sucked down a vortex of maniacal fury. His struggle to see his mysterious companion more clearly was largely thwarted by a fuzzy picture of the events unfolding around him.
Apparently each subject glimpses these regressions with different levels of clarity. To Ashley Easton, it was like watching a big screen movie in a darkened theater, with full surround sound. Craig Thornton saw things nearly as clearly. For him, it was like looking through turbid water… plainly visible, but lacking sharp detail.
Nevertheless, he managed to learn his companion was hideously ugly. A shiny, grotesque face, with a huge, snarling mouth and fathomless, black eyes.
A mask!
Of course! A mask, or possibly an armored helmet. An ancient battle mask, perhaps? Like the suit of 16th Century chain mail armor, standing in his Loop office, with its horned and beaked helmet and weapons… a broad sword, a long knife and a chained mace. He’d been virtually compelled to bid at that auction, four years before. Now maybe he understood why.
How had the same, or similar thing come into their hands in Philadelphia, 150 years later? Another mystery.
What else? He tried to free himself enough from his swirling emotions to evaluate his own physical activities. It wasn’t easy, but he had no sense of expending the necessary effort to wield the heavy weapon, whatever it was, that dealt such horrific death. Maybe that was good.
But, why then was he covered with so much blood and tatters of flesh each time? Was it just splatter from being close by? He didn’t know.
Rubbing his temples, Bruce Feldman stood, looking for pain-killers. Visiting the past gave him a terrible headache. His stomach heaved and roiled, bringing the taste of bile to the base of his throat. Seeing and smelling such butchery…
God! That’s right! He smelled it, too. The thick, cloying odor of blood, then vile putrid stench of innards, torn asunder. He retched at that memory, rushing to his bathroom, slipping, falling to his knees as he reached the toilet just in time to safely discharge his very expensive lunch. Several more contractions emptied whatever was left. He wriggled to a sit position on the floor, slumpe
d over, back to the sink, face flushed and damp, trying to catch his breath.
Head in his hands, tears gushed unabated, sobbing and struggling for breath. He hadn’t done that in… well, not for a very long time. He couldn’t remember when. He didn’t care. A good bawling was often an excellent catharsis.
Ten minutes later, he had managed to pull himself together. Straightening his tie, he turned to the sink to wash his face. The visage staring back from the mirror was almost unrecognizable. Dark, haunting rings surrounded the soft brown eyes. His face, red and blotchy, was cratered and seamed from strain.
Five minutes of cold compresses and a comb through his hair wrought reasonable repair. Thankfully, there was only one more patient that day. He would finish his docket for tomorrow, but maybe he should cancel appointments for next week. Even the next two weeks.
Gotta tough it out. Uncover what really happened, so long ago. All the facts, however painful. His only punishment now for atrocities inflicted 300 years ago would be self-imposed.
And who was his companion? Was it he, rather than Feldman, who did the actual killing? He was sure it was the same person in both “lives.” It seemed imperative to discover that identity, in case he was here, again ready to commit mayhem.
There were several likely candidates: Ashley’s husband, Keith, probably bitter at being cut off from her wealth; Craig’s vixen wife, who’s ego probably wouldn’t stand for rejection; and brothers from both families who had investments in the marriages. And maybe persons unknown at this time? And maybe Feldman, himself, who had been party top both past atrocities.
But, he was a different person in this century, not only in body but in mind. Bruce Feldman could never have committed those crimes. Still, he wondered at the anger… the frightening, intense fury that flooded him.
It was madness. A killer’s madness!
What was his stake in such maniacal savagery?
Could that virulence still lurk deep inside his subconscious, waiting for the moment to strike out?
He was scared… of himself, and of what it seemed he may have once (or twice!) been.
A murderer!
This will require more research. He trembled, vaguely aware of a need to hurry.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
“It’s time to journey back. Back to the garden. Back to this time. Flowing back… back… back. Back to the beautiful garden, where you see yourself lying peacefully on that bench.”
Dr. Caslow moved her slowly, giving her patient time to gather herself before returning to this world. And then she was awake.
“So, Ashley, how do you feel, having revisited these two events?”
Ashley Easton sat surrounded by the folds of the huge, soft easy chair, dabbing the remnants of tears in her gray eyes.
She shuddered slightly and sighed, unconsciously shaking her head, her swirling hair giving the momentary impression of a burnished copper halo.
“I… I don’t know. I can’t get used to seeing my murder… twice.”
“I can certainly understand that. But this time, we insulated you from the actual terror and pain, didn’t we? You were more of an observer.”
“Yes, I guess so. But I still felt so sad. I cry at the movies, you know. Sometimes even a good commercial. You can imagine how this hits me.” A small, self-deprecating smile crept across her face.
“Me, too,” Rachel grinned. “That’s a womans job… to feel things the men are afraid of. It’s okay. You’re a sensitive, intelligent lady.”
“Craig’s not afraid.”
“Craig? Oh, the new love in your life.”
“Yes, but he feels more like an old, comfortable love.”
No surprise. You may have known him for 300 years.
“What about him?” she asked.
“He cries at a sad movie, too.”
“Sounds like a very special guy.”
“Oh, he is. He definitely is.” The luminous smile told all.
“That’s wonderful. But, now let’s talk about today’s session.”
“Okay.” Happiness melted from her face, the tissue in her fingers twisted into a ball.
“I know this isn’t pleasant, but it is important. It’s important because you faced these two visions more dispassionately. Not without pain or sadness, but at a greater emotional distance. Isn’t that true?”
“I guess. It wasn’t so… so devastating this time.”
“Wonderful! That’s exactly why we went there again. To build some separation. You see, it’s not important if these so-called memories are real or imagined. There are many theories, but nothing anyone can prove, one way or the other.”
Until now! The doctor hitched around in her chair, folding her hand in front of her.
“Real or imagined, the fear… understandable fear… from these vignettes is what has crippled you sexually. Who could make love while subconsciously worrying they were about to be slaughtered?”
“It seems so real. That ugly war mask, horned and a blood-red beak! Even that seems familiar.” She shudders. The tissue is in tatters in her hands.
“I see things coming out of the shadows… terrible things, when I should be in ecstasy. It’s like I’m Victoria, talking French and everything.”
“Exactly! Having sex… making love, actually… triggers these visions of violent death. But, that’s all they are… visions… memories or not, despite how vivid they seem. You understand this now, and that truth will help defuse the terror.”
“So, I won’t have these hallucinations anymore?”
“It’s not that easy. They may still pop up, but you’ll know what’s really happening. You’ll be more able to control your fear.”
“You really think so?”
“Yes, but it may take some time. You may have to pause in the middle of things… take a breath or two, before starting again. That may not be easy at first, but you can learn to do it.”
“Jesus, you’re kidding! How do you do that?”
“I said it wouldn’t be easy. It’ll be sort of like getting anesthetized. You’ll have to be patient, but it’ll get better. You’ll see.”
“God, I hope so. This has been so… so paralyzing. I want to move on with my life. My life with Craig, I hope. How could I do it, this way?”
“Well, now you can. It’ll take some work on both your parts, but you can do it.”
Ashley sighed, smiling doubtfully. She was staring at the tiny white bits of paper scattered on her lap. Gathering the scraps and rolling them into a small ball, she looked up.
“I sure hope so. I suspect we’ll get a real test this week-end.”
Dr. Caslow nodded. “You’re planning a week-end together?”
“Yeah. A big three-day horse show. You think that’s okay?”
“Of course. It should give you a real chance to prove to yourself you can handle this.” Glancing at her watch, she continued.
“Our time is up for today. I’m sure you’ll be fine, but I’ll be interested in hearing how things went.” They stood.
“Me, too,” Ashley said, turning to leave.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
“She’s unbelievable,” Craig said, as he pulled the magnetic keycard from the slot and pushed open the door, holding it for her.
“It’s been two, sometimes three calls a day… either Toni or her lunatic brother. Ranting, raving, even threats. Screaming that I can’t do this to her. That she’s an innocent victim. Can you imagine that? Toni, innocent about anything?” His laugh was without humor. Picking up their bags, he entered behind her.
“How can you stand it? Can’t you monitor the calls, somehow?” Ashley’s coppery tresses swirled in a way that made his heart beat faster.
“Yeah. Well, my secretary recognizes their voices. Tells ‘em I’m busy, or out of the office. They started giving her an earful, so I’ve told her to just cut ‘em off. I use the answering machine to monitor the phone at home, and I have caller I.D. So, I’ll know if it’s you, you won’t have to wait fo
r the machine.”
He placed her overnight bag on the king-sized bed and dropped his atop the dresser. He glanced around at their spacious suite.
“I think I’d better get that, too.” She perched on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly to get a feel of the mattress. Craig opened the suitcase stand, moving his small leather case onto it, then settled next to her.
“Keith giving you trouble?”
“Yeah. Same as you… angry phone calls from both him and his brother. They act as if I did something to him, conveniently forgetting it was he having the affair.”
“Sure, they’re accusing us of already being lovers before we caught ‘em in the act.”
“It’s so ridiculous. We didn’t even discover we were in love until after our marriages were already in the toilet.” Her chuckle was humorless.
“Marvelous, isn’t it?” His hand traced the line of her cheekbone, sliding across her mouth, cruising over her chin and down her neck. She smiled, her eyes finding his.
“What? Being in love? Yeah. Loving you is a wonder beyond my wildest fantasies.”
“Me, too.” He drew her to him. They kissed, softly at first, but with a quickly growing ardor. Her hands were entwined in his hair as she pulled him down across the bed.
Nestling close, she felt his heat. Wooded glades danced in her head, and the air filled with the smell of the forest.
No! This is reality. Not that dream. Stay in the present. The vision faded.
She opened her eyes, glancing furtively around the darkened room.
There are no monsters here. It’s only a dream, and…
Oh, shit! It’s coming again!
A dark figure moved quickly across the room. She sucked in a frightened gulp of air, her back going stiff. The apparition evaporated, only to be followed by another, and another.
Oh, God! There’s more than two this time. So many, coming from nowhere. Coming to kill us. Why can’t they leave us alone? Why can’t they…
Oh, you ninny! She swallowed her heart back where it belonged, and took several slow breaths. Her attackers were only shadows on the ceiling, caused by the headlights of passing cars.
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