by I. T. Lucas
David returned with two tall glasses. “What would you like to talk about this time, Kajeck?” He handed one to Kalugal.
Cradling the glass in his palms, Kalugal crossed his legs. “I’m actually fascinated with the new novel you are writing. I don’t remember if I have mentioned this before, but I contacted you after reading your first book. I remember thinking that the ideas were so fresh and interesting, especially since the author was not only a professor but also a medical doctor.”
David smiled. “I hope I didn’t disappoint in person.”
“On the contrary. I was even more impressed.”
5
David
David remembered Kajeck mentioning reading his book, but the reason he’d given for seeking him out had been his interest in post-traumatic stress disorder and David’s research on the subject.
Since the guy hadn’t seemed to suffer from that disorder or any other issues, David had assumed that he’d been inquiring for the benefit of a friend or a relative. Except, Kajeck hadn’t asked him to provide anyone with a private consultation, so the interest might have been purely academic.
Not that he cared about the Russian’s motive for spending thousands of dollars for the privilege of talking to him. The money was good, and the company even better. Kajeck was among the very few people David had taken an immediate liking to.
From their first meeting it had been like reconnecting with an old friend or a family member, someone who broadcast on the same wavelength as he, and that was incredibly rare and pleasurable. Throughout his life David had encountered only a handful of people who’d evoked that feeling in him, and he would have gladly made time for Zolotovsky even without being paid.
Leaning forward, David smiled. “Thank you. I remember you mentioning that you’d read it, but we haven’t discussed it. You seemed more interested in my research.”
Kajeck shrugged. “I welcome all knowledge, and you are very passionate about the subject. Your insights made me realize that several of my close associates might have a mild case of the disorder. Our conversation provided me not only with a better understanding of some of their behaviors, but also gave me better tools to deal with them, as well as with people in general. Compassion doesn’t come naturally to me. It’s more of an intellectual concept.”
That was in line with David’s impression of Zolotovsky. The guy was cerebral to his core. In fact, it was odd that he felt such a strong connection to a man who exhibited so little emotion.
Perhaps that was the guy’s secret, though. There was a calm and a sense of purpose about him that was refreshing and reassuring.
“I’m glad I could help.” David took in a deep breath. “Sometimes, I wish it was an intellectual concept for me as well. Detachment would have made my life a lot easier, but I can’t help the way I’m made. I feel for people. So many carry around incredible pain, and they don’t have the tools to deal with it. They try to hide it, to put a smile on it, to go on with their lives, but it corrodes them from the inside. And I’m not talking only about their mental health. The emotional pain profoundly affects their physical health as well.”
Kajeck nodded. “In my humble and unprofessional opinion, excessive preoccupation with inner pain makes the burden heavier. I’m all for distractions, as long as they are not destructive, that is.” He smiled. “Taking mind-altering drugs or drowning one’s sorrow in alcohol is not the answer. What I’m referring to are healthy distractions like reading or doing something meaningful or creative.” He leaned back and smiled. “I don’t have any artistic abilities, but I consider myself a creative thinker, and so are you, my friend.”
“Thank you. But just to clear up a misconception, some hallucinogenic drugs are actually beneficial for treating depression and anxiety. At this point, their use for that purpose is limited to experimentation, though. John Hopkins has a center for psychedelic and consciousness research. They focus on how psychedelics affect behavior, mood, cognition, brain function, and biological markers of health.”
Kajeck’s eyes lit up. “Fascinating. Why aren’t you there? It’s right up your alley.”
“Not really.” David sighed. “There is only so much one person can do, and my interests gravitate toward different avenues of research at the moment.”
Kajeck smiled knowingly. “Are you referring to past life memories? One of the ideas that I loved about your novel was your firm belief in reincarnation. You wrote that the reason most reincarnated souls lose memories of their previous lives is to allow them a fresh start that is unburdened by previous suffering. Only those with unresolved issues or traumas too severe to overcome carry them over to their next life.”
Since the Russian wasn’t a colleague, and their conversation was private, David allowed himself to reveal the connection between his official research and his fiction writing. “That’s why it is so important to help people deal with their pain in this life. Some can manage that on their own, but some need help.”
“I agree wholeheartedly.” Kajeck took a sip of water and then put the glass down on the table. “Which group do you belong to, professor? Did you deal with your loss on your own, or did you seek help?”
David was taken aback. It seemed that his guest had done more than read his book. The guy had researched his personal life, and that was creepy.
“Did you have a dossier compiled on me, Mr. Zolotovsky?”
Kajeck waved a dismissive hand. “I’m a careful man, Professor Levinson. And I don’t meet with people I haven’t had investigated first. When it’s a new potential business associate the investigation is quite thorough, but in your case, my instructions were to prepare a file only from what’s freely available on the internet. That was how I learned about your brother’s death. It must have been very difficult for you to lose your twin. I’m sure that the connection between twins is stronger than that of regular siblings.”
David swallowed the bile rising up in his throat.
“My brother and I were fraternal twins. Our genetic similarity was no greater than that of siblings born apart.”
He and Jonah had been two very different people, in looks as well as in character. Jonah had taken after their father, while David was the male version of their mother. They hadn’t gotten along all too well either. But Kajeck was right about the connection. When one of them had been hurt, the other one would feel it, and when Jonah had died, David had felt an acute chest pain as if he had been the one experiencing the myocardial infarction. When the pain had passed, he had known that his brother was gone.
Regrettably, the connection hadn’t survived Jonah’s death.
David hadn’t received any communications from the beyond, not even in dreams. For a while he’d been tempted to seek a medium’s help to contact his brother, but that was going too far even for him. If anyone had gotten wind of that, he would have been completely discredited.
He’d even considered the use of psychedelics but had been too chicken to try.
“Nevertheless, I’m sure that you felt a special connection with your brother.”
“Naturally, but Jonah and I weren’t close. I always hoped that would change once both of us had families. Regrettably, my brother was taken so unexpectedly and at such a young age.”
Kajeck regarded him with his penetrating blue eyes. “Did your brother’s death inspire your current novel? Creativity is a great outlet for processing pain.”
He shook his head. “The current novel has been brewing in my mind for the past seven years, two full years before Jonah’s death, but I have no doubt that the loss influenced the story.”
Zolotovsky leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Can you tell me more about it?”
The change of subject was welcome, and David had no doubt that it was also intentional. The Russian was smartly backing away from the personal inquiries and moving into neutral territory.
It was a relief. David felt as if Kajeck had lifted his foot off his chest so he could breathe again.
&n
bsp; Talking about his novel was much easier than thinking about his unresolved issues with Jonah.
6
Kalugal
The change of subject brightened the professor’s glum expression. “Are you sure you want to hear about it? I’ve only written a few chapters, and the story might take a different turn down the line.”
“I find the creative process fascinating. When your novel comes out in print, I’ll be able to compare the finished product to your original idea.”
David chuckled. “Didn’t your people hack into my notes while compiling my dossier?”
Kalugal put a hand over his heart. “You have my word that no hacking of your notes was or will be done. As I said, my investigation was very superficial, and my aim was to find out a little more about your academic and personal life before meeting you. I have enemies in the business world, and I needed to make sure that you weren’t connected to any of them.”
“I can understand your need to take precautions, but you also must understand how uncomfortable that made me feel.” The professor pushed to his feet. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”
Kalugal smiled. “Thank you. I would love a cup.”
The truth was that Kalugal hadn’t bothered checking the professor’s background prior to deciding to introduce David to Sari. After, though, he’d had his men dig up every possible tidbit about him, including interviewing a small sample of the many female faculty and students who had hooked up with him over the past three years.
The professor was very popular, and there had been no shortage of ladies to choose from.
The picture Kalugal had gotten was of a man who kept his heart protected and his emotions distant but was not dismissive of the ladies’ feelings. The only negative his partners had talked about was David’s reluctance or inability to enter long-term relationships. They had reported that the professor had been pleasant to be with, a good lover, and a good listener, but the feelings just hadn’t been there.
Kalugal had no problem with Dr. Levinson being a butterfly who flapped his handsome wings and sampled many different flowers.
The professor’s attitude was similar to that of most immortals, albeit for different reasons. Kalugal wasn’t a psychologist or even overly empathic, but David’s emotional distance must be the result of the losses he’d suffered.
The professor had lost his twin five years ago, and then his father three years later.
Kalugal wasn’t going to bring that up, though. David was obviously still mourning his brother, and the loss weighed heavily on him. Mentioning the death of his father would have killed his mood completely.
Doctor Levinson senior had been a renowned cardiologist, and the article that Kalugal had read talked about the doctor’s failure to diagnose his son’s heart condition. Evidently, he’d failed to diagnose his own as well because Doctor Levinson the elder had also perished from heart failure.
Hopefully, David was made from sturdier stuff. Otherwise, even if he had the godly genes, and his induction worked, he wouldn’t survive the transition.
The mother was still alive, and hopefully the professor had inherited her sturdy constitution. Then again, Ronja was a relatively young woman. Levinson the father had been twenty-four years her senior.
Had the father been a womanizer like his son?
He’d gotten married at the age of forty-three, which was late for a human, and he hadn’t stayed married for long. David’s parents had divorced when he and Jonah were eighteen.
While Levinson the elder had remained single, the mother had remarried and had even given David a half-sister.
The professor returned to the study with a tray and put it on the table. “Cream and sugar?” He poured Kalugal a cup.
“No, thank you. I’ll take it black.”
David cast him an amused glance. “Is it a taste or health preference?”
As Kajeck, Kalugal was a little heavyset, and the professor probably assumed that he was watching his diet.
“Taste, my friend.” Kalugal patted his nonexistent belly. “This plump beauty doesn’t bother me.”
The question was how the professor would react when Kalugal dropped the shroud, and whether he should explain the situation before or after revealing his true form.
But first, he needed to test the professor’s responsiveness to compulsion. So far, Kalugal hadn’t used much because David had been more than willing to cooperate, and there had been no need.
But things were about to change.
David shook his head. “Forgive me if I unintentionally offended you.”
“You did not.” Kalugal leaned back and smiled. “As the saying goes, we Russians don’t beat around the bush. Tell me, David. Why aren’t you married? You are a handsome, successful guy, with no shortage of admirers.” Kalugal imbued his tone with a smidgen of compulsion.
David shifted uncomfortably and forced a smile. “I haven’t found the right woman yet.”
That was an untruth. It seemed like the professor needed a stronger push.
“Tell me the truth, David.” He smiled reassuringly. “We are friends. Aren’t we?”
Grimacing, David managed to resist for a short moment before blurting out, “I was engaged once.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “My fiancée left me.” He added an eye roll. “She said that she didn’t feel the love.”
“But that wasn’t the real reason.”
“It’s not what you think, Kajeck. There had been no infidelity on either part.”
David was still fighting the compulsion, which wasn’t a good sign. If he was resistant, Kalugal would have to rethink the plan of taking him to Scotland and introducing him to Sari.
A hunch was all he had on which to base his suspicion that David was a Dormant. If it turned out that he wasn’t, he would have to be returned to his old life sans his memories.
“So, what happened? Did she suddenly fall out of love?” This time Kalugal didn’t throttle his power of compulsion.
David swallowed once, twice. “After Jonah’s death, she just couldn’t deal with my grief and depression.”
“Then she wasn’t the one.” Kalugal leaned forward. “Life is full of miseries, big and small, and you don’t want a partner who can’t be there for you when things go south.”
David nodded. “I realized the same thing. What I can’t understand, though, is how I fell in love with a woman that shallow in the first place. I must be a bad judge of character.”
“I doubt that. If you can’t figure a person out, who can? You are a psychologist and a psychiatrist.”
“There is a reason doctors don’t treat family members. Emotions get in the way.”
“Perhaps you weren’t in love with her at all.”
“You might be right.” David let out a sigh. “The pressure to get married came from her. I was relieved when she broke things off.”
Nodding, Kalugal lifted the coffee cup and took another sip. The professor was slightly resistant to compulsion, but he wasn’t immune.
It would have to do.
Even if David remembered things from his trip down the rabbit hole, he would probably keep them to himself. After all, his esoteric interests in reincarnation and near-death experiences already undermined his position as a serious researcher. He wouldn’t dare to add talk about immortals and shrouded castles to that.
Kalugal put the cup down and leaned back. “We’ve digressed. Let’s go back to a happier topic. Your book.”
7
David
David crossed his legs and leaned back. “Since you’ve read my other novel, you already know that my focus is not on futuristic or alien technology. I’m more interested in exploring different social structures. The society in this story is comprised of a rigid two-caste system. The ruling caste, the one considered superior, are people who remember their past lives. They think of themselves as spiritually and mentally more evolved than those who don’t, and since they retain knowledge from pre
vious lifetimes, they have a clear advantage over the mundanes, who are the majority of the population. Naturally, there is a strong incentive to cheat, and many pretend to have memories of their past lives.”
Kajeck waved a hand. “Excellent idea. The possibilities for conflict are endless. But is there a love story?” He smiled. “We Russians love a good romance to lighten our politics.”
“There will be, but I’m not there yet. Given the social structure, a forbidden teenage love from across the tracks fits the story, but that’s been overdone. I would have preferred a more mature love story, but since my target audience is young adults, I’m afraid that I’m stuck with the cliché.”
“Perhaps a change of scenery will provide you with new ideas.” The Russian waved a hand at the small study. “You can’t expect inspiration to strike within these four walls. A trip abroad would do you good. Maybe you’ll find your own romance, and it will inspire the one in your novel.”
“I’ve given up on finding love, Kajeck.” David smiled. “Besides, I’m married to my job, and fiction writing is my mistress. No woman would be happy with being a distant third.”
The Russian laughed, a deep belly laugh, and his image wavered for a split second as if he was a hologram. Instead of a stocky Russian, David caught a glimpse of a handsome young man sitting in the other armchair.
Shaking his head, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them the effect was gone.
Strange. Nothing like that had ever happened to him, not even when he’d been too drunk to see straight.
“Believe me, professor.” The Russian put a hand on his belly. “When you find the one, she will take first place, and the other two will become distant second and third mistresses.”