by Kelly Utt
"I don't know, George," she says. "I don't know what I should be telling you or not telling you right now."
"Wait a minute," Duke says. He sits forward in his chair like Marjorie and I. He seems very interested in this whole thing. "Marjorie, do you actually remember the same thing George does? Because that would be next level."
"You can say that again," my uncle adds.
Marjorie rolls her head around a few times with her eyes still closed. She almost looks like she's meditating. Maybe she's asking for an answer as to whether or not she should tell me what she remembers. The tension in the room escalates until, finally, she decides to speak.
"Alright, George," she says. "I'm going to break my own rule and tell you what I remember in the hopes that it will somehow help us figure out what's going on here. We've got to keep each other safe. So, yes, I remember having lived in Ancient Greece at the same time as you, Ali, and Ethan."
"Holy shit," Duke says, sitting back in his seat now and putting one hand on his forehead.
"I remember the whole thing,” Marjorie begins. "I remember how you and Ali fell in love, but you weren't permitted to be together. Your relationship caused all sorts of havoc and chaos for the two of you and everyone else in the city, really. It was a memorable event. One that defined my lifetime there just as much as it did yours."
"That's right,” I say. "We weren't supposed to be together. I don't fully understand why. Maybe you can help me figure that out."
"I probably can," she replies.
"Do you remember anyone else from our current lifetime who was there back then?” I ask.
"I do," she answers.
"My mom?” I ask.
"Yes, I remember Linette being there."
“Dr. Epstein… I mean, Joe?"
"Yes, I remember him being there, too," Marjorie confirms. "It wasn’t a surprise to learn that they’re dating now in the present."
"Interesting," Liam says.
"Well," I begin. "It was a surprise to me, so you must remember more than I do about that part. I remember them both being there and being on some sort of counsel or decision-making body together, but that's all I know. Were they together romantically in Greece?"
"They were," she replies. "There's a lot more to the story."
"How much do you remember?" I ask.
"A lot," Marjorie replies. "I've returned to that particular lifetime during meditation on numerous occasions. Several notable things happened. There was plenty to go over and over in my mind."
"Do you remember my dad being there?” I ask. "My dad in this lifetime. I mean Alec Hartmann."
"I do," she answers simply.
Liam says it before I have a chance.
"So, Marjorie, that day at Yellow Cob during John Wendell's going-away party, when you talked about feeling like we have all probably known each other at some level, that was more than just hypothetical, wasn’t it?"
"Yeah," I say in agreement with my uncle. "Marjorie, I remember what you said about knowing Dad even though you’d never actually met him in this lifetime. This is what you were talking about, right?"
"That's right,” Marjorie confirms. "I remember Alec having a little cottage outside of the city. I remember him taking Ali and Ethan in and letting them live with him. And I remember him being a medicine man. I knew him quite well, actually."
"Did you know Isabel Madera?" I ask, pointedly.
No good in hiding it. If Marjorie was there, she probably knows. In fact, she probably knows more than I do. Or, at least, she remembers more than I do.
"Yes, I knew her,” Marjorie says without hesitation.
I pause a moment as flashes of Ali, Isabel, and I move across my awareness. Our group lovemaking was incredibly sexy and exciting to remember. If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, I’d like to experience a repeat session in the near future.
"Were you aware that she was, well, friends with me and Ali?"
"George,” Marjorie says. "I’m quite certain everyone knew you were friends."
I'm embarrassed. My face feels flush as the blood rushes to my cheeks. I wonder what happened that led everyone in Ithaki to know about the three of us. Maybe Marjorie doesn't know the whole story and she's referring to something less salacious. Not likely, I realize.
It kind of sounds like we were involved in a full-blown scandal. And scandals have a way of getting out. I can't quite figure what that has to do with people who may be after us now though. I've racked my brain and it just doesn't make sense. I can’t pinpoint anything in my Greece memories that would lead people to want to harm my family thousands of years later.
"Marjorie?” I ask. "You mentioned some legitimate scientific research happening on the topic of past life memories, right?”
“Yes,” she replies.
“I know I'm not exactly in a position to dig into that at the moment, given what my family is currently experiencing, but I want to do so soon. Is there somewhere we can go to learn more? An expert we can consult, maybe?"
“Yes,” she replies affirmatively.
Duke seems genuinely intrigued by our conversation.
“You want to get ahead of this thing, to investigate it on your own terms. Don't you, man?" Duke asks.
"Well, yeah." I say "It seems pretty clear at this point that there’s some kind of connection to Greece which is happening now. I can't ignore it. I mean, I'd like to ignore it. It sounds ridiculous. But if there are answers to be found that will put an end to the nightmare we’re living, then yes. I'm willing to research and learn and to dig into everything I possibly can."
"No offense, Duke," Roddy interjects. "But law-enforcement has been only moderately helpful so far. And if you count the fact that the getaway driver in Ithaca wasn’t found, I’d have to say law enforcement hasn’t really been helpful at all. I agree with George. We need to do whatever we can on our own to figure this thing out."
“Understood,” Duke says. “I won’t stand in your way.”
"Good. Let me be clear,” Roddy continues. "I'm sitting in this room right now because I need to be with my wife, my daughter, and my grandsons. Because they've been through a terrible ordeal. But that doesn't mean I’m taking a backseat in this investigation or in the handling of this entire situation. I intend to use everything at my disposal to hunt down the villains involved in this mess. Every last living person who has had any part in harming my family will pay for what they've done.”
Roddy grits his teeth as he speaks.
“And George,” he says sharply. “I expect that you'll be with me."
I nod my agreement. Of course I’ll be with him.
"Me, too. I’m with you. One hundred percent," Liam adds.
My uncle is ever the faithful supporter.
Suddenly, Clara knocks on the door and our conversation comes to an end. There’s no time to tell the rest of what I remember about Ancient Greece. And no time to describe how Dad may have saved Ali’s life. All of that will have to wait.
Clara ushers in a middle-aged Asian doctor we haven't met before, then excuses herself and leaves the room.
The doctor has kind eyes and a friendly face. The name Wong is embroidered on his white lab coat.
God, I hope he has good news.
2
A Beating Heart
I've tried to imagine what it’s like to die. Apparently, I did die, at least once before, in Ancient Greece. Yet, I somehow made it here into this body and lifetime okay. I want to know more about the logistics.
John Wendell’s spirit seemed to be pushed out of his body in a burst. Then, I saw my grandfather looking happy and well in another place. At the same time, I felt like his spirit was hovering just above his body, around the midsection.
Once, when I was immersed in a past life memory from Ancient Greece, I remember floating away almost like a balloon up, up, into the air higher and higher. But I'm not sure if that’s what it felt like to die. Maybe that's just what it felt like to remember and to move into and
out of these distant memories.
I imagine it's different depending on how you die. When it happens fast and sudden, such as in a car accident, it must be a shock to the entire system. In those situations, I envision spirits leaping out of their bodies with the same bursts as John Wendell’s, only they're probably not smiling and happily trotting off to a better place like he was. At least, not right away. More likely, I suspect, it takes some time to process what happened.
We've all heard ghost stories of spirits who don't realize they’re dead. In those stories, the spirits are called ghosts. Many people think ghosts go on to hunt those of us still living, for a variety of reasons. Maybe they're angry because we're living in their homes. Or because the places they knew and loved have changed somehow, whether due to remodeling or natural disasters or just being torn down. I don't know what I think about all of that. It seems plausible that a spirit would be confused in cases of sudden, unexpected death. Yet, I don't feel like my dad stuck around confused and his death was certainly unexpected. At least it seemed that way from the outside.
The famous Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung says an organism knows when it's going to die I wonder if that's always true.
I'll never forget how strange it was when Grandma died and I found my favorite frosted-flake cereal in her kitchen. I was away at college then and she lived at home in Ithaca. She had been in and out of the hospital for a while, so it wasn't completely unexpected when she passed away. But then again, her prognosis was good and no one thought she was at death’s door. She had gone grocery shopping a few days prior to entering the hospital for the last time. I didn’t have plans to return home from college, so it wasn't like she bought the cereal for me to eat because I was coming to visit. She had no idea I'd be coming back into town because I had no idea I'd be coming back into town. I only did so for her funeral. But something bigger may have been at work.
After Grandma died, I arrived at my grandparents’ house to find my favorite cereal in the kitchen cupboard. John Wendell had been too harried by his wife being sick to even notice. He was just as taken aback as I was when I pointed it out. I wonder if grandma knew, on some level, that was she was going to pass away. If so, maybe she knew there was going to be a funeral and that I was going to come back into town for her funeral. And that I'd like to eat my favorite cereal.
I can certainly look back at things John Wendell did before he passed away which make it seem like he knew his death was imminent. They’re obvious, in retrospect. He knew he was ready to leave this life and he waited for me to move home to Ithaca in order to do it. His goodbye party, as we call it now, was well orchestrated by that sweet old man. He wanted one last hurrah with the family before moving on.
Over the course of the past few days, I’ve found myself scouring my memory for things Ali may have done in preparation for moving on from this lifetime. I keep hoping I won't find anything that could fall into this category. So far, so good. But one could argue I'm doing my best to ignore any evidence which might suggest she'll be anything other than okay.
If my wife is going to die, I want to know what she's feeling.
When I really think about dying, my best guess is that it feels like being very tired and not able to keep your eyes open. We all know what that feels like. Maybe we want to keep our eyes open. Maybe there's a good show on television. Or a movie ready to be streamed. Or an interesting novel waiting to be read. But, despite our best efforts to remain conscious, the physical imperative takes over. Our eyelids become heavy like curtains that insist on being closed. Whether we like it or not, everything becomes dark. If we're lucky, we fall asleep with a sense of loved ones being around us. Maybe they're sleeping, too. Or maybe they're awake, bustling around the house. Maybe our companions are humans or maybe they’re pets. Perhaps a beloved dog or cat is curled up by our legs, providing physical assurance that we're not alone.
I think these are the best case scenarios for a beautiful death. Eyelids heavy such that you just can't stay awake, yet your loved ones are nearby, giving you comfort and letting you know you're worth sharing time and space with.
I wonder if Ali can feel us nearby. I'm beginning to wonder if seeing her in my dream means she was having some sort of out-of-body experience or near-death experience which allowed her consciousness to expand beyond its normal containment. I wonder what that means about what she's experiencing right now. If I can't be with her in the treatment room, I suppose the next best thing is if her spirit is capable of feeling me nearby, the same way we might feel a loved one’s presence in the next room as we drift off to sleep after a long, exhausting day.
The Asian doctor shuffles into the room looking apologetic. He comes in alone. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I'd like to hope maybe it's a good thing. Shouldn't there be a witness if you're telling family members their loved one has passed away?
He looks each of us in the eye as he shakes our hands, but most often, he looks at the ground. It seems like eye contact is a burden for him. I don't envy anyone in his position. Not to mention, I'm well aware that the skill set required to excel in medical school and to be a good physician doesn't always include being good with people and handling the raw, unfiltered emotions of grieving family members.
The doctor sits down in the last remaining chair and introduces himself as John Wong. Maybe him being named John is a good sign. Although, I’m not sure that’s his birth name. Maybe it’s an American name he picked because his birth name is hard to pronounce and spell. I like to learn foreign birth names and call their owners by them. They always seem to appreciate it when I learn and use their real names. Either way, the John connection seems like a good omen. After all, we have my grandfather, John Wendell, in our family. Or, I guess I should say we had John Wendell. And now we have my baby boy, little John William Hartmann in our family.
I know I'm grasping at straws. I'd grasp at anything hopeful right now.
Dr. Wong uses his forefinger to press his rimless glasses tight against the bridge of his nose before he begins to speak.
"I am the doctor treating Alessandra Davies," he says.
He looks at me.
“She is your wife, correct?"
"That's right," I manage. "These are her parents, Roderick and Marjorie. This is my uncle, Liam. And this is our friend, Duke. He's a police officer at home in Ithaca, New York and he has a friend on the force here who has allowed him to be involved with the recovery and investigation."
I'm surprised I was able to get that many words out in coherent sentences. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my body. Seemingly, it's flowing to my brain and allowing me to speak clearly, at least for the moment.
"Yes, good to meet all of you," Dr. Wong replies courteously.
"How is she?" Roddy asks.
His intensity is brimming just under the surface. I realize he probably can't help it, but I hope he doesn't scare Dr. Wong. We want to keep things friendly here. I'd sure hate to be pushed off at a distance because the doctor is afraid of my bulldog father-in-law.
Dr. Wong suddenly Lowers his gaze and gets very serious. He begins speaking in a lower tone.
"Her condition is very serious," he says. "She's been taken into prep for surgery. Emergency surgery," he clarifies.
"For what?" I ask. “Can we see her?”
Dr. Wong looks at Marjorie.
"You were with your daughter in the crash, correct?” he asks her.
"Yes, I was," Marjorie says simply.
She looks like she might burst into tears at any moment. It appears she's having trouble finding words.
"Then you know how serious this situation is. This situation is grave. It's critical condition," he emphasizes. “I’m afraid you can’t see her until— if— we get her stabilized.”
Marjorie lets out a loud burst of air. She doesn't seem to have realized how completely the sound would fill this little room the six of us currently share. We all feel deflated. Now Marjorie has put a sound to it.
I don't know exactly what to ask. Hopefully, this will cover the bases.
"Alessandra… she’s lost a lot of blood,” Dr. Wong explains in an official voice as if he has shifted into another character. Maybe that’s how he gets through these conversations.
"First of all, she's going to need a blood transfusion. Now, we have plenty of blood available and that will happen as part of the emergency surgery. It’s might actually be happening right now. Her blood type, A+, makes it easy for us to find blood."
We nod, waiting for more.
"The tree limb which entered the vehicle and injured Alessandra caused damage to her internal organs," he continues. "However, we are very lucky that the lamb missed her vital organs."
Now it's my turn to sigh uncontrollably. I let out of proof of air and tilt my head back with relief.
"She has a ruptured spleen and there's been extensive damage to one hip. Those injuries have caused internal bleeding. She also has a couple of broken ribs, which may have been caused by the force of the seatbelt upon impact.”
"That doesn't sound so bad," I say. “No injury to vital organs sounds good."
Dr. Wong looks at each of us directly in the eye, then furrows his brows and uses a pen to mark something down on the chart he's holding in his hands.
"Dr. Hartmann," he begins " There’s something else I need to share and it's something that you might want to learn in an even more private setting."
He glances at Duke and Liam.
"I'm going to see myself out," Duke offers as he stands and puts a hand on the doorknob to exit the room.
“Thank you, Duke," I say. "We’ll get with you later."
Duke puts a fist against his chest as a gesture that he's with me. Then he turns and exits the room, closing the door behind him.
"You can say anything you need to in this company," I confirm. "My uncle Liam is my closest friend. He can hear anything. And my in-laws, well, they're Ali's parents. And besides, we're a close family. Go ahead with whatever it is you need to tell me."