“We'll always be together you know. We always have been and always will be. Forever. You might not understand right now but one day...it may be a lifetime away, you'll know what I mean and it will make the world seem infinitely beautiful.”
He managed a smile and she returned all of a smile that she was capable of.
“I love you. Remember that.”
The lifeboat crew and a man in a lieutenant's uniform were hurrying the passengers into the lifeboat.
Her husband led her over and gave her one last hug. Unable to say another word he turned her over to the lifeboat crew. The boat was full now and was lowered away. She lost sight of her husband as the lifeboat disappeared below the level of the deck he was on. As the lifeboat passed lower decks she saw people running toward the stern. The black sky and the ice-black sea merged in the distance. An occasional splash marked the demise of someone who had jumped rather than remain on board to go down with the great liner.
The boat pulled away and the black hull that had towered above her resolved itself into the long silhouette that she remembered as she boarded, days ago at South Hampton. Rows of lights defined the ship's contour and revealed the acute tilt forward as port hole after port hole disappeared beneath the surface of the water. The only sounds were the rhythmic cadence of the rowing, the occasional scream from people in the water, in the darkness, and the increasingly frequent sounds of the ship tearing apart internally as equipment broke loose and crashed through bulkheads.
The lifeboat was about 200 yards away from the doomed vessel when the ship's electrical system gave up its battle and the scene was plunged into darkness more frightening than the depths of a cave.
She yelled, “No!”and jumped over the side of the lifeboat, disappearing into the darkness as she swam back toward the ship. “She heard a woman cry out, “Stop! Go back. We've got to get her.”
“No,” yelled a crewman. The boat is full. If we go back, too many others will get aboard and we'll go under!”
Lynn felt the ice water numbing her and her swimming slowed. She felt water entering her lungs and the iciness was like a thousand needles sticking into her from the inside. Her consciousness ebbed and she sank.
Lynn woke up gasping and realized that she had just had a hell of a nightmare. She tried to calm herself and wondered about the significance of the dream and of the man with Frank's face.
She knew that man was her husband and she decided that it must be the fact that she had found herself attracted to Frank that caused her mind to put him into her dream. But what about the setting of the dream and the character that she had assumed...the woman in the dream?
She had never had a dream like that before and although her mind wanted to get back to sleep she forced herself to stay awake and analyze it. She got up from the chair and went into the kitchen to make some coffee to keep herself awake while she thought. Was this finally her first psychic experience she wondered. Had she dreamed about a past life? She wanted to believe so. But Frank's face on her husband in the dream was definitely an element of the present. But if her mind had created a dream about Frank because he was on her mind then why was it also a dream about the liner? Why not just an evening at the theater, dinner, a pub? Could something about Frank have set off a recollection of a past life?
The scent of the coffee brewing was soothing and she got out a cup and filled it. Lynn had heard about people who when they first met someone special felt completely comfortable with him or her right from the start as if they had always been together. She felt like that with Frank...comfortable, and it made her wonder. But what happens when you meet someone like that and he's already spoken for?
She went back to her chair and settled in with the warmth from the coffee cup comforting her as she thought. Maybe, the dream might just have been a way to put Frank and her together, if only in a dream, something that might never go further than a trip to the library or a pub to talk about Frank's problem dream. But her dream was about a husband and wife. Lynn gave up, gave in to fatigue, put down the cup, and drifted back off to sleep.
After work Frank and Lynn headed for the Boston Public Library, and they discussed their dreams as they made their way. They paused at the fountains in Copley Square to discuss their strategy about which sections of the library archives they might use. Puffs of white cottony cumulus clouds drifted across the sky and a slight breeze rippled the water in the fountains. They sat on the low wall surrounding the fountains.
They headed for the reference section and looked in Who's Who in America. They could have easily looked this up on the Internet but neither of them mentioned this option, preferring to be with each other. They found no mention of a Lawrence Lowell. Next they tried Who Was Who in America. Still nothing. The next book they tried was entitled “America's Historic Business Leaders.” and it yielded the following entry.
“Lowell, Lawrence Michael Spencer, 1937-1976. Financier, industrialist, inventor. Born in Southford, New York,” Tucked inside the block of type was a photo of Lawrence Lowell and although the photo was black and white and a half tone too, his dark eyes showed an intensity and a determination that left no doubt about why he had an entry in this book. There was a serious set to the mouth, a look of things to be done, of a world to be influenced and of too little time.
“Thirty-nine. He died at thirty-nine,” Frank said.
Lowell's dark hair was cut so that it just touched the top of the ears, each hair perfectly in place.
“What do you think?” He glanced at Lynn and saw that she was trembling “Are you okay? What's wrong?”
“I don't know. I just looked at that photo and a shiver went down my spine. Look at me. I'm shaking. This is weird.” She gave a forced smile and attempted a laugh. “I'm okay. I'm...it's passing now. I'm okay.” She took a deep breath. The shaking had just about ended.
“All right?”
“All right,” she confirmed.
They went back to reading but Lynn never let her eyes focus on the picture of Lawrence Lowell again.
The article went on to list Lawrence Lowell's degrees, his marriage, business endeavors, and the corporations still in existence.
“This is weird. Really strange,” said Lynn. They both finished reading at about the same time. Since they had moved side by side to finish reading the article, their faces were only inches apart as she spoke. Suddenly they both appeared uncomfortable and moved a bit farther apart, not so much because of their proximity but because it was the library, with people all around. But before they separated, there was a meeting of the eyes, an obvious attraction that they only reluctantly broke.
“Are you sure you never heard of that name before your dreams began?”
“Not that I know of, but who knows. I might have heard of it and just forgot it and for some reason it's coming back in these dreams or experiences now.” He looked back at the biographical sketch and then back at Lynn. “How do I find out anything more? What do I do now? I mean, this tells me that there was a man named Lawrence Lowell but so what. It doesn't tell me why I'm experiencing what I'm experiencing. Where do I...” He paused, his glance moving back and forth from her eyes to her lips and finally resting on her eyes. “We?” He waited for an answer.
“We,” she confirmed.
He finished his question. “Where do we go from here? A séance?”
“Maybe...maybe. Or we could take a ride out to that town where he lived and had his businesses, and ask some questions.”
“I noticed,” said Frank averting his gaze, “that your vacation overlaps with most of my vacation.”
She saw that he was uncomfortable, having suggested a trip together, so she quickly replied, “I'll never forgive you if you go without me!” Then her look became serious, concerned, worried that it might not happen. “What about Allison?”
Frank sighed, tapped his finger on the table while thinking, then said, “We could bring her along?”
Lynn's expression darkened, she looked away and said in a neu
tral tone that didn't do a good job of concealing how she felt about that idea, “Oh...I guess so.”
Frank gave her a gentle hit on the arm, smiled and said. “But what does she know about psychic phenomena?” Lynn brightened up understanding that they'd be going without Allison.
'But how will you tell her?”
“I'll write an explanatory note telling everything that happened to me and why I need you to come along with me. I'll just leave it under her door and be gone by the time she gets home.”
“You don't want to tell her in person? I mean you're always with her.”
If I tell her in person, she'll be coming. She's persuasive and she has her money to help her get her way. She'll want to run the whole show. I'll just deal with it when we get back.”
During the next two days while they waited for their vacations to begin, things pretty much got back to the usual. Frank accompanied Allison to her country club event.
Somehow he felt more at liberty to make a mockery of her attempts to bring him up to her standards than he ever had in the past. Wandering around the ballroom, he tried to seek out a similar person to commiserate with but everyone looked perfectly in place or was at least trying hard to look like they belonged and always had. He wandered into a lounge area and saw a phone. Not a pay phone but a table model phone sitting on a wooden table that Frank thought might be something like teak judging by the rich black finish. Next to the phone sat a vase with a single long-stemmed rose in it and beside the vase was a book, a leather-bound book. No lettering on it, just the polished leather binding and gold leaf inlaid decoration along the seam. Frank picked up the book and saw that it had been laid on the table upside-down. On the front in gold leaf lettering with silver leaf piping were the words “Regency Hunt Club. He opened the book. Christ he thought to himself. A God-damned phone book. It's a God-damned phone book. They're too proud to admit something as mundane as a phone book plays a part, however little, in their lives. He put it back down, then with a devilish grin, he picked it back up, looked around to see if he was alone and then took out his pen, opened the book, and wrote on the inside of the cover in large bold letters, 'For a good time, call Brandy at 555-2356. He felt a bit immature but smiled again, closed the book and hurried off toward the ballroom.
He wondered what he could do next to pass the time. Maybe socialize a bit, make some conversation. Lay the groundwork for when Allison forced him into local politics and eventually state politics and maybe national. He knew that if he stayed with her she wouldn't settle for less. He changed course and headed toward the bar.
Lynn did a lot of reading from her personal library on psychic phenomena and did the same on the Internet while waiting and she even canceled a date to do so. Frank called on Sunday to make sure everything was ready for the trip. Mercifully, his dreams were the normal assortment of mixed up ramblings of the brain and not his nightmare, so he dared to hope that they had ended and wouldn't return. Frank thought of maybe even having a normal fun-filled vacation with Lynn in New York. They'd go to Southford and find no connection with Lawrence Lowell at all. There would be no more nightmares and he and Lynn would relax in central New York exploring the Finger Lakes, maybe Howe Caverns, or the Mohawk Valley. They'd have a good time and when they came home, who knows what might happen.
Frank spent some of the time tuning up his '97 Chevy Cavalier. He went to a parts store and bought a repair manual for the Cavalier, a new set of spark plugs, a PCV valve, air filter and also a new serpentine belt to bring along on the trip just in case. On the way home he stopped at a lube place and got an oil change. Back at home he set to work checking out every tune up item that the manual recommended and he installed the parts he had purchased. He didn't want to break down on this trip, not only because he would be five hours from home, but because he had Lynn with him. He even purchased a “new” used tire and rim so that he wouldn't have to depend on the ridiculous little dough nut spare that had come with the car.
He examined the rust spots, at least they wouldn't cause the car to break down. They'd have to wait. He crawled under the car and examined the exhaust system. It seemed a little loose and rusty with a few holes in it. Frank put a roll of wire in the trunk in case a part fell off and had to be tied back on. A roll of duct tape went in the glove compartment, useful for fixing all kinds of things.
He never liked the paint job on the car and now it was faded, worn and checked. He hadn't cared until now and he wished he had a nicer car to drive Lynn to New York in. He thought of renting but decided that since he had purchased all the tune-up parts that he might as well bring the car up to standard and use that. Tomorrow was departure day and he was as ready as he'd ever be. All the preparations for the trip had taken his mind off the main purpose of the trip—Finding out what lay in store for him in Southford, New York.
CHAPTER 7
Frank drove south on Route 128 to pick up Lynn at her home in Brookline, two floors of small but comfortable rooms in a condominium complex. Lynn knew he'd only be spending a half hour or so there while he picked her up, just long enough to have the breakfast which she had promised him, but she had spent at least two hours rushing around, picking up things, cleaning, dusting, rearranging things and now, this morning, preparing breakfast.
Frank usually had a bowl of cereal because it seemed like too much effort so early in the morning to make anything else. But today there was Belgian waffles with strawberries, home fries, fresh-squeezed orange juice and an omelet of Lynn's creation, made with Chinese vegetables.
Frank was amazed at Lynn's collection of books on the unexplained. Bookcases lined two full walls and the space between the two windows on a third wall. One bookcase was full of magazines in plastic envelopes that allowed them to be stored upright. Another shelf, attached to a wall was full of DVDs mostly about the unexplained.
Frank noticed one shelf that was labeled 'Doubtful Inquirer'. While Lynn put the breakfast on the table, Frank thumbed through one copy. It was a magazine devoted to debunking everything, from phony spoon-benders to psychic channelers. The table of contents to the issue that Frank was checking out listed an article on reincarnation. He turned to the page and saw that the publisher had chosen the right title for the magazine. The article was doubtful. From the first few paragraphs he could see that the author was tearing reincarnation apart. Frank held the magazine up for Lynn to see and said, “I thought you were a believer.”
“It's a great magazine,” she said with enthusiasm. “I like to get both sides of an issue. Sometimes I hear about an unexplained incident and it sounds convincing and then later I see an article in “Doubtful Inquirer” that gives evidence that it was all a hoax or tells what actually happened. It helps me sort out a lot of the trash that's published on the unexplained.”
Frank and Lynn finished their breakfast, cleaned up the dishes together, then Lynn went upstairs to get her suitcase. While Frank was waiting at the door he took one last look at the condo, probably thinking that if he had his way he'd be returning here often.
Upstairs, Lynn stopped to savor the feeling of having had Frank with her in her condo, having had breakfast together and being about to go out for a drive together. Then she picked up her suitcase and went downstairs.
They drove back to Route 128 and then west on the Massachusetts Turnpike, more commonly called the Mass. Pike.
Lynn opened her tote bag. “I've brought some books along.”
Frank glanced over, “To make up for my boring conversation?”
“Books on parapsychology. I did some reading again last night and I wanted to check through these books before we get there. Maybe get some ideas.” She held up one book at a time and showed the cover to Frank while making comments. “Here's one that discusses the afterlife. This one tells about retrogressive hypnosis to help people recall past lives. And this book is about rear-death experiences. I've read a lot already and a lot of reports sound similar to yours.
“Nice to know that's the category that I fit
into-near-death.”
“You seem pretty lively to me.”
“Wait until today's driving is over. You'll have to drag me into the room.”
“I'll do some of the driving too. Then we can both drag each other into the room.” A smile crossed her face and then she joked, “”You will let me drive your limo, right?”
“Shh, you might offend her. Don't want the old girl to strand us in the middle of nowhere, do you?”
“Sorry baby,” she said to the car.
Out into western Massachusetts, the buildings of U. Mass., poked up out of the middle of the green countryside like a giant child's blocks stacked on a shag carpet.
They watched the buildings grow larger as they neared them, then get smaller in the mirrors behind them.
Lynn was reading the near-death experience book. Frank was listening to a radio station from eastern New York, that had only moments earlier made its presence known through the static. It entertained them with 80's rock music. His phone beeped. Just a message reminding him of how many days he had left till he had to renew. “Christ, I forgot to turn it off. If Allison calls it's all over, Instant wrath.” He turned it off. Lynn didn't comment.
“Listen to this,” Lynn said, taping on the book. “It talks about that silvery cord that you saw. It's quite common. Just about everyone who reports a near-death experience of any significant length sees it. And the tunnel. It's common too in near-death experiences.”
Frank had a look on his face, not of enlightenment, but of bewilderment. “But those are people who have been in accidents, had injuries, been in crashes, right?” Lynn seemed ready to jump in with a comment, but Frank continued. “Where do I fit in? I was sleeping. How could--”
Lynn interrupted out of enthusiasm. “That makes it more real. Do you see? Skeptics criticize near-death experiences because they say that the brain is hallucinating from oxygen deprivation. But you experienced exactly what these people who had near-death experiences saw.”
The Ice House Page 4
