Awaken, Shadows of a Forgotten Past

by Marcia Maidana

  “Would I look the same as I did before?”

  “A carbon copy. And you’ll be allowed to retain any personal belongings that were buried with you.” He shot a glance at the spiritual bracelet on my wrist. “You’ll also be placed in an environment where your heart will stay pure and where your path will cross his at some point in life.

  “Now, if you fail to listen to your heart, or for some other reason you choose not to be with him, you’ll have to suffer the consequences. The price for failure after reentering the mortal realm is your own soul.” I felt cold as if a hand from the obscurity had stretched out its long, dreadful fingers to grab me. “Darkness will have the right to claim your soul as well as his. There will be no help from this side of the veil. We are not allowed to interfere, unless if by no fault of your own, evil jeopardizes your mission. Then and only then, will we help you see clearly, to balance justice.

  “Nonetheless, if you decide not to take this chance, you’ll be instantly drawn into the light where your loved ones are anxiously awaiting your decision. If you stay you’ll be safe in their company forever.” He pointed towards the light.

  I considered the idea of being with my father, Lucca, Mrs. Allerton, Mr. Leroy…and my dear baby. My heart ached to see them again. “My loved ones…all except for him.”

  “Standing in the veil, you hold the past, present, and future in your hands. What is your decision?”

  “Without Alex, the light will be darkness to me. I will take the chance. I will reenter mortal life.”

  The memory was instantly replaced by another transcendent occurrence. Bransen stood in the monastery’s gardens, a small bundle secured in his arms. He waited patiently. When the time came, he carefully placed the baby on the damp ground. Invisible to human eyes, the guardian watched from the distance.

  The nun strained her ears to distinguish the direction where the cry came from. Her morning stroll turned into a brisk walk, then into a jog.

  Sister Dolores Perkins couldn’t believe her eyes; she knelt on the ground, uncaring about the dirt. Lovingly, she held the bundle close to her chest, and as she looked into the baby’s brown eyes, the crying stopped. Bransen smiled. His mission had been accomplished—he disappeared.

  * * *

  Knowledge settled in me, and I reflected, “It would have worked. Alex and I would have been happy together again. But evil interfered and that’s why you came to me and I had the chance to go back in time—to remember, to balance justice.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  “Lucca, I can’t waste another second. I must reach Alex before it’s too late.”

  “Indeed, you must.” Lucca smiled, satisfied that I now comprehended the urgency of the situation.

  Lucca reached for my hand, I blinked, and we were back where we had started—back in Geneva, New York, in my room at the monastery.

  “When you return to your body, it will be about the same time when we left the room. From then on you are running against time,” he warned. “Do you understand?”

  “I understand. Lucca, I’ll forever be indebted to you.”

  “My beautiful sister, don’t fail.” His arms engulfed me, filling me with confidence.

  “I’ll miss you.”

  Lucca took a step back from me. “I won’t be far from you.” He smiled and raised one hand as if saying goodbye. I was back in my body, and he was gone.

  As if I had just been awakened by an icy bucket of water, I sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. Disoriented and unsure of what had just happened, my eyes searched about wildly. My spirit self slowly adjusted to its mortal body again.

  Fueled by the intensity of returning to flesh and bones, the heaviness of losing my baby and leaving Alex behind was a burning scar in my heart. The profound love I felt for them was woven into the very fiber and sinews of my body.

  Many things were still far from my grasp, but I was absolutely sure that my Alex was still the same and we belonged together. How would I explain to him who I really was? Would he believe me? I suppressed my thoughts. What really mattered was that I was here for him and he wouldn’t be alone or afraid anymore. Our past and future, our whole existence, depended on me getting to him in time.

  25

  ~ Breaking Point ~

  I jumped out of bed and ran to the common room to find the telephone.

  “Zaira! It’s me, Florence.”

  “Florence, I didn’t think you’d call.”

  “Please, tell me, how is Mr. Sterling?”

  “He is fading fast. I’m afraid it’s just a matter of time.”

  “Zaira, tell him I’ll be there soon.”

  “He is unconscious.”

  “Tell him anyway.”

  “You are really coming?” I understood her incredulity. From her perspective, it had been only a few hours since I had said I’d never care to see Mr. Sterling again. I’d always blame myself over my prompt willingness to believe in Mrs. White’s hateful tale without giving Alex the benefit of the doubt.

  “Yes, I’m coming. Zaira, please forgive me for what I said earlier. I was confused but I see things clearly now.”

  “It’s all right—no harm done,” she answered, in a sweet tone. “Dr. Petersen is out of town, and Mrs. White said that no one else will drive out to Geneva until morning.”

  “I’ll find someone. Zaira, watch over him. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Florence, he—” Her words were cut short, replaced by Mrs. White’s voice.

  “You have nothing to do here,” Mrs. White sputtered. “You would do well not to set foot at Oak’s Place again.”

  “You’re wrong. You’re the one who has nothing to do with Alex. I know what you’ve done, and I’m coming to settle the debt.”

  “You’re a fool!” She hung up the receiver. Just then, I heard the sisters, returning from the fundraiser.

  I rushed down the long stairs, skipping the bottom few steps, and stormed into the kitchen, almost crashing into the group of chattering sisters that were heading into the hall.

  “Granny! Alex is deathly ill. Dr. Petersen is out of town—we need to find Dr. Ferns.”

  “Well, what happened?” Sister Callahan’s voice echoed from the back of the kitchen where she rummaged through the pantry in search of something—probably a late snack.

  I ignored her. “Please Granny, help me.”

  “Calm down, child.” Granny took hold of my shoulders, her eyes intensely fixed on mine. “If he is so ill, why didn’t you stay with him earlier?”

  “I can’t explain right now. We must find Dr. Ferns.”

  Any other time Granny would’ve insisted on obtaining an explanation, but my evident urgency constrained her. “Dr. Ferns doesn’t practice medicine anymore. He is too old, and at this time of night…” She frowned.

  “That’s exactly why we need to find him. We need his experience.”

  Granny walked to the corner of the kitchen and opened a drawer. “I do believe he still sees a few private patients.” She pulled out the phone directory and quickly flipped through its well-worn pages. “Let’s see…” I moved around impatiently, listening to the tick-tock of the grandfather clock mercilessly giving Time advantage over me. “Oh child, he is not listed in here, and I don’t know where he lives.”

  Granny’s words put me in a state of total chaos. “It can’t be, Granny.” I felt a sour sob in my throat. “I have no time to get someone from out of town. Granny, he is dying!”

  “Whining won’t solve anything—yes, yes, you need a doctor, Mr. Sterling is dying, and it’s late at night—” Without any encouragement from us, Sister Callahan entered the conversation. “There is one person who surely knows where to find Dr. Ferns. He seems to be well informed on all that goes on in town.”

  We were all ears now. “Who?” Granny and I asked in unison.

  “The priest of course.”

  “Yes, of course, Fr. Thompson is a good friend of Dr. Ferns,” Granny observed
.

  “Well, yes…priests and doctors are often found together at the end of people’s lives,” added Sister Callahan. I didn’t like the relevance in her statement but it was true.

  “We just left Fr. Thompson at the parish, he should still be awake,” Granny said, encouragingly.

  “Let’s call him,” I urged.

  Granny picked up the receiver and called. After many tries, we realized that it was useless. He wouldn’t answer.

  “We need to pay him a visit,” Sister Callahan proposed.

  “She is right,” Granny admitted, softly nodding. “Fr. Thompson will help us—he is such a dear.”

  “What are you waiting for? Go get the car—” Sister Callahan ordered me, instantly taking charge of the situation.

  Soon the Buick traveled down the road leading to the old church. The wind blew fearlessly through the deserted streets. The ancient trees swayed from side to side protesting against the wind with a loud whooshing sound.

  Leaving Granny and Sister Callahan in the protection of the car, I walked against the blowing wind. The path bordering the side of the building at night was much different than I remembered it. Surrounded by overgrown trees and shrubs, all kinds of silhouettes seemed to stare at me in the obscure night.

  I knocked on the same door where Fr. Thompson had received me not too long ago. I wondered if he would be able to differentiate my knockings from the noises of the tree branches tapping on the walls.

  My call became constant and louder. I jumped a little when a strong hand pulled me back. “Let me knock!” Sister Callahan offered, gaining my position.

  “Sorry child, we didn’t mean to startle you.” Granny emerged from the path, her black habit swirling in the wind.

  “Granny, he is not answering.”

  “What could be taking him so long—we were just here,” Granny noted.

  “Maybe he sleeps like a rock,” said Sister Callahan.

  “He probably can’t hear us.” I wondered if we should try the door on the other side.

  “I didn’t know he is also deaf,” Sister Callahan mumbled. “Let’s be a bit more aggressive.” Her large hands turned into fists as her knocks were about to break down the door.

  It didn’t take long for an inside light to shine through one of the windows. Soon, Fr. Thompson stood in the doorway looking at us with eyes wide open.

  “Father, we need your help,” I said.

  “What’s the matter?” the priest asked in a raised voice, clearly displeased with the disturbance.

  “Fr. Thompson, we are sorry for the trouble but we need to find Dr. Ferns. Do you know where he lives?” Granny explained, emerging from the shadows.

  “Sister Dolores,” he stuttered in surprise, “you shouldn’t be out in this weather. I thought you were back at the monastery.” His face softened as he addressed Granny.

  Sister Callahan took a step forward. Dressed in a red habit, she appeared larger than usual. “Dr. Ferns! Where does he live?” she demanded and for a moment, I feared she would shake him to get the answer out of him. The priest must have thought as much for he took two steps back from her. “Are you going to tell us or not?”

  Since Sister Callahan irritated the priest, he directed his next question to Granny, “Why do you want to know where Dr. Ferns lives?”

  “That’s none of your business!” snapped Sister Callahan.

  “Sister Callahan, please!” Granny cried out, placing herself between her and the priest.

  “Mr. Sterling is seriously ill and needs a doctor. Dr. Petersen is out of town and any other option would take too long,” I explained rashly.

  “Dr. Petersen is out of town? Are you sure? I saw him this morning. He didn’t mention anything about leaving.” The priest was confused.

  “That’s the information we have—please tell us where to find Dr. Ferns,” I pleaded, bringing his focus back to the issue at hand.

  “On the outskirts of town, I believe—close to the lake.” He sounded unsure.

  “On the outskirts of town?” Granny questioned. “I was under the impression he lived close by.”

  “He did but moved after he retired. It won’t be easy to find his house if you’ve never been there, especially at night,” he observed.

  “You’ll have to come with us then,” Sister Callahan declared, and then added, “and why don’t you answer your phone?”

  “The phone line is down,” he explained, a sudden awareness crossed his face. “Oh, I see. You must’ve tried to call me—that’s why you came.”

  “Yes, yes!” Sister Callahan exhaled loudly.

  “Would you show us to Dr. Ferns’s house?” I asked. “Please.”

  Finally coming to terms with our unexpected visit and our request, he answered, “Very well then, come in. It will be just a minute. I’ll grab my keys and cloak. I’ll lead the way.”

  We stepped into the waiting area of the parish. Suddenly I felt the pressure of time falling on my shoulders again. I needed to get to Alex. “Granny, can you bring the doctor to Oak’s Place? Do you think that Fr. Thompson would mind? I don’t want to lose more time.”

  “Of course, he won’t mind,” Sister Callahan said. “We’ll ride with him.”

  I smiled for the first time that night. Sister Callahan would make sure that the priest cooperated.

  “Yes, child, of course. We’ll handle this. You go ahead and we’ll catch up with you once we find Dr. Ferns.”

  I gave Granny a hug of gratitude, and after hesitating briefly, worried that she would squeeze my ribs, I hugged Sister Callahan as well.

  Now that the sisters weren’t in the car, I drove wildly, gas pedal flat to the floor. “I’ll get to him in time. He’ll wait for me,” I repeated over and over, willing it to be true.

  The storm brewed above me. I couldn’t afford the delay of less visibility, wet pavement, slower speed, but soon enough I was caught in a downpour. Rain fell faster than the windshield wipers could clear away. Lightning struck within the low heavy clouds, with blinding intensity. The conditions forced me to slow down. I couldn’t help Alex if I were in an accident.

  My thoughts gradually wrapped around reality. In my frenzy to get to Alex, I hadn’t considered Mrs. White’s presence at Oak’s Place. A confrontation wasn’t a possibility, it was a certainty. We couldn’t exist under the same roof anymore; she had to go.

  Her audacity was remarkable. She had woven an astonishing, credible story, a lie which would’ve worked were it not for divine intervention. I flinched at the thought of how skillfully Mrs. White had manipulated the situation to simultaneously deceive Alex and me. I could not help but think how Alex must have felt; defeated, an old and broken man, that had allowed himself to dream, to love one more time, just to lose it all again. When Alex came into my office and saw my tears along with the pictures in my hands, he assumed that Mrs. White had told me the truth, that he believed me to be his deceased wife, pushing me to think that he was on the brink of madness.

  Perhaps if she had disclosed the true mystery surrounding my person, frightened at the incomprehensible, I’d have fled from Alex’s life for good. I wouldn’t have understood nor allowed myself to compete with a ghost from his past. I would’ve never been the intruder, the usurper in his life. Yes, that’s where Mrs. White, thankfully, went wrong.

  And then there was Mr. Vines, her faithful accomplice—the poor Mr. Vines, caught in a pernicious love. He, the only person who could back up my allegations, would die before betraying Mrs. White. The word die made me feel nauseated—she was capable of killing.

  “He was always sick, always in pain. Poor fellow, death was a relief for him.” Alex’s statement about Mrs. White’s husband, Frederick, entered my thoughts like a bullet. My mind went blank for a few seconds, giving room for the new idea to materialize. Alex’s words had perfectly described his own illness. My skin pricked with gooseflesh.

  “I’ve been faithful to you through it all, even Frederick,” Mr. Vines had said that dreadful night
when I overheard their conversation at Forte Radici.

  “Don’t you dare threaten me!” Mrs. White had retorted.

  Had Mrs. White murdered her husband? Was she slowly killing Alex the same way? Perhaps with a poison that could be administered in moderation and without suspicion? Yes, it was possible, since the crash of the Stock Market, murder by poison had become a more common crime. Moreover, I knew that it was also a preferred method of murder in England. I just had never entertained the idea that it could happen so close to me, although, I had to admit that after my awakening, nothing seemed too impossible to believe.

  With this new insight, I threw caution to the wind and once more floored the pedal. Pulling to a screeching halt in front of Oak’s Place, I ran for the shelter of the front porch. To my relief, I found the front door unlocked.

  I stepped into the darkened foyer. The door behind me remained open, and the wind gusted down the hall to where Mrs. White stood in obvious surprise at my abrupt entry. Beside her was Mr. Vines—both with suitcases in hand.

  “You vile woman!” I was past fear, consumed with the righteous wrath that burned in me. I strode toward her without hesitation.

  I had seen many expressions on her face before, but the look of terror at that moment trumped them all. She knew that I knew. The time had come to confront the past.

  I had given no thought to what exactly I would do when face to face with my murderer. I acted on instinct; grabbing her suitcase from her hand, I threw it across the hall, and then reaching forward I pushed her against the wall, with a force that surprised Mrs. White as well as me. Her head bounced off the wall, and her eyes seemed to go unfocused for an instant. She recovered rather quickly and launched towards me. She and I engaged in a fierce tug-of-war. “Restrain her, you idiot,” she screamed at Mr. Vines, who stood dumbfounded at the scene.

  Instinctively I glanced at Mr. Vines, and in that brief moment of distraction, Mrs. White was swift to let go of my arm, and with her open hand, she gave me a sharp blow to the face. My skin burned, and my head spun, but I was more than happy to return the blow even harder than the one I had received.