by Linda Hawley
“One thing I need to tell you…” I said pensively.
“Yes?”
“Remember in Washington, D.C., when I told you that you couldn’t co-dream with me unless I gave my permission?”
“Yes.”
“Well…it was stupid. You don’t need my consent. As you told me in D.C., you’ve been co-dreaming with me for ten years, and you know me very well. It’s weird—at first I felt like you were invading my privacy. I know it doesn’t make any sense, since I was remote viewing other people’s lives. But now the idea of you being in my dreams comforts me. I feel safer somehow.”
He bowed his head slightly to me as he sat in his chair. I took in my friend’s face—he who had again risked everything for me—and then closed my eyes to rest.
Chapter 3
BREST, FRANCE
The Year 2015
True to Doctor Dreyfus’s word, he released me twenty-eight days later. Chow and I travelled to a GOG safe house in Brest, France, run by a young couple. I would continue recuperating there.
After more than six hours in the car, we pulled up to the two-story brick cottage. Three people were standing outside, waiting for us.
“Is that who I think it is?” I asked Chow.
“Yes.”
“Did you know he would be here?”
“Yes,” he said, pausing. “He has come to help me train you.”
The driver stopped the car on the circular, cobblestoned drive. Barely having time to reason through the new information, my door opened, and a feminine hand helped me out. As I rose, I came face to face with a beautiful French woman with ivory skin, chestnut hair, and piercing hazel eyes.
“I am Françoise. Welcome,” she said and kissed me on the cheek.
“Bonjour, Françoise. I’m Ann.”
“This is Philippe, my husband, and of course you know Edwin,” she said, gesturing.
“We’re delighted to have you with us,” Philippe said, shaking my hand. He seemed genuine, but reserved.
“Thank you for having us, Philippe,” I said, giving him a smile of gratitude.
I then turned to Chow’s fraternal twin brother. He bowed to me and then took three steps toward me as he extended his hand.
“Hello, Edwin,” I said as I shook his hand.
His dark eyes appeared relieved. I was grateful to have my protector from AlterHydro here to help me train.
“I am grateful that you are alive. I can see for myself that you are healing,” he said, giving me a genuine smile.
“Thank you for coming all this way,” I said, touched by his presence.
He released my hand, and it fell to my side.
Edwin and Chow greeted one another in Korean, and Chow was introduced to our hosts.
“I’ve got your room all set up,” Françoise whispered to me during the introductions.
She seemed like an old friend. The introductions completed, Françoise put her arm through mine, leading me to the entrance of the safe house. After we passed through a bulky wooden front door that looked to be from another century, we entered a spacious foyer filled with sunlight.
“Would you like a tour of the house now? Or I can show you later. Which would you prefer?” Françoise asked me.
“Merci, Françoise. I think later,” I said, feeling fatigued.
“No problem. Your room is upstairs. Is this your first trip outside the hospital?” she asked quietly, leading me to the stairs that climbed along the far wall.
“Yes,” I replied, captivated by her grace and beauty. “I’m sure you can see, I’m a little tired,” I said as we began to climb the stairs together. “It’s been five weeks since I left Barcelona, and I’ve been in the hospital ever since. I feel as if I’ve lost all my core strength,” I said, disappointed in my physical condition.
After a few moments of silence, she said, “You’ve earned your right to rest.”
The understanding in her eyes was clear to me.
As we entered the last room in the long, upstairs hall, she said, “I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”
“It’s a beautiful room,” I responded.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it. There’s a nice soaking bathtub just there,” she said, gesturing to the in-suite bathroom. “I know you don’t have any of your personal things, so I’ve put some of mine together for you in there.”
“Oh my goodness, Françoise,” I said, suddenly realizing. “This is your room. I cannot take your room.”
“Ann, please,” she urged me, taking my hands in hers. “There are many other rooms here. Philippe and I have chosen another, which is perfect for us. It was my choice that you have this room. We are honored to have you as our guest,” she said convincingly.
Too tired to argue, I acquiesced with a grateful, weary smile.
The very large bedroom held a queen-sized bed, two large nightstands, a large wardrobe, and a chaise lounge. The walls were a pleasant light yellow, and a large painting of the French countryside hung above the hand-carved limestone fireplace that faced the bed. The mantle was adorned simply by a scroll motif. There were three medium windows, with the wooden shutters pushed out and fresh air billowing in, allowing the room to breathe. It was vintage perfection, and it would be easy to rest here.
“I’ve hung some clothes for you in the wardrobe.”
“Merci, Françoise. You’re so thoughtful,” I said, giving her a hug.
She smiled and then left the room. I was napping soon after my head hit the pillow.
* * *
After sleeping for what seemed like hours, I awoke refreshed, which was a fantastic change from the prior month in the hospital bed. I stretched like a cat as the sun shone upon me from the windows, warming my skin. Finding fresh clothes my size hanging in the wardrobe, I got dressed. When I opened the bedroom door to the hall, both Chow and I startled one another.
“You look tired, my friend,” I said playfully.
He looked haggard.
Ignoring my assessment, Chow asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yes. How long was I asleep?” I asked quizzically.
“We arrived here yesterday.”
“Oh my goodness. I slept yesterday and all night?”
He nodded.
“Well, Chow…I feel pretty good,” I said with a smile. “I’m hungry!”
He chuckled. “You must be feeling better. That is the first time you have asked for food since we left Spain.”
“I do love French food,” I said with a wink. “Do you think Françoise has any chocolate croissants?”
He laughed out loud. “I am sure she does. I told her how much you liked to eat.”
“You did not,” I challenged, slapping him on the shoulder playfully.
He chuckled as we descended the stairs together.
* * *
We were treated to a beautiful meal crafted by Françoise. Afterward, Chow asked me to take a walk with him through the garden.
As he closed the back door behind us, I passed through the wide, ten-foot archway filled with blooming climbing roses—the entrance to the rose garden. The sun glistened off the bounty of color before us. Chow and I slowly strolled side by side, taking in the scents of the tea roses that lined the footpath and the roses that climbed the eight-foot-high stone wall surrounding the formal garden. After my long stay in the sterile hospital, the visual extravaganza delighted me.
“What beautiful roses,” I exclaimed, as we made our way to the center of the garden.
“I agree. All the roses remind me of…”
“The rose garden at Sahelion Ki Bari,” I said, finishing his thought.
Chow froze in the stone path, and as I turned towards him, I found him staring intently at me.
“What?” I asked him.
“You.”
“What about me?”
“Never have I met anyone who can complete my sentences like you do,” he said, his face shifting subtly, the expression changing slightly. Then he stepped close to me. “Afte
r all we have experienced together and all the years I have co-dreamed with you, I know you as well as I know myself,” he said tenderly. Then he leaned into me and kissed me full on the mouth, lingering and passionate.
I kissed him back with feeling.
As he pulled away, the look on his face was one of complete bewilderment. I was surprised by the outcome, but not embarrassed.
“I expected that to go…differently,” he said, drawing out the last word.
“It’s only natural that we’d—”
“It was like kissing my sister!” he blurted out, seeming repulsed.
I burst out laughing, unable to stop myself. Chow pulled me down to the nearby garden bench as he joined me, chuckling.
“After all this time, I thought we would be…” he said.
“I know,” I said, as relief flooded over me. “I figured our chemistry would explode.” I laughed, finding the whole thing ironic.
“Well, Ann, it exploded all right, but not in the way we thought.”
Putting my arms around him, I hugged my dear friend tight, smiling at our acceptance of the complete lack of romantic chemistry between us.
Chapter 4
Several days after arriving at the safe house, someone knocked on the fortified door. We had practiced door-answering drills a number of times since I’d arrived. Before we could receive someone, one of us had to give the all clear signal, which confirmed that the person knocking was a known GOG member. If the person was not GOG, they couldn’t enter.
Edwin shouted “all clear,” and Chow answered the door to Doctor Dreyfus.
After the doctor and I exchanged cheek-kisses, we retired to the whitewashed walls of the living room. He immediately got down to business.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“I’m good. It feels so good to be active again.”
As he started to poke and prod me, he asked, “Any headaches or other complaints?”
“Not really.”
He looked me in the eyes. “I’ve been a medical doctor more than half my life, ma chère, and I know when a patient is holding something back. What is it?”
I paused, looking down at the floor. “Well…it’s nothing, really.”
“What is it?” he gently asked again.
“It’s silly,” I began, feeling my face flush.
“What is?”
“Well…I can’t seem to…”
“What?”
“I can’t seem to smell,” I said, looking down at the floor.
“You’re having difficulty breathing through your nose?” he said, moving his hands to my face and raising it to his.
I pulled back. “No. I’m breathing fine. I just can’t seem to discern smells,” I said, looking at him.
He looked at me, puzzling for a moment, and then swiftly rose, saying, “I’ll return in a moment.”
As I sat, I wondered what he was doing. He came back with a small bowl covered with a yellow cloth napkin.
“Let’s test your sense of smell,” he said. “Close your eyes.”
I closed them, and then he held something under my nose.
“What do you smell?” he asked me.
“It’s a green pepper.”
“Aha. And this?” he said, holding something else to my nose.
“Lemon.”
“One more.”
“Mint.”
“You may open your eyes. Ma chère, there is nothing wrong with your sense of smell. You identified all three.”
“But it’s…less…much less,” I complained.
“Tell me the difference.”
“Before my injury, when I smelled something, it permeated my whole being. I felt a smell so profoundly that it was as if I had a photographic memory for smells. For example, I can tell you the location of every fantastic crème brûlée I’ve ever had in my life, and who I was with when I ate it. Now when I eat, it’s just not that exciting. I’ve tried to smell roses in the garden, and they’re all sorts of ordinary. It’s as though life is less because I can’t smell it properly.”
“What you’re describing is called hyperosmia. You see, there is a signal that is transmitted from your olfactory receptors to your olfactory cortex. In patients with hyperosmia, that signal is boosted, usually by a genetic component. Many patients with hyperosmia complain, wishing that they could remove their abnormally acute sense of smell. But I can see that you’ve enjoyed it.”
“Well…I didn’t enjoy it, per se. Maybe I was just used to it.”
“Then with time, you will adjust,” he said, matter of fact.
“I guess not smelling all the nasty things will be a relief,” I said, trying to convince myself.
I told the doctor the story of Chow and me riding in the auto rickshaw while in India and was rewarded with the sound of his boisterous laugh.
“Ann, you’re a fine storyteller. Perhaps I will return to hear another one of your hyperosmia stories. But for now, I must return to the hospital.”
“Thank you for checking on me. I would have felt silly talking to anyone else about my smell problem.”
“It’s my pleasure, ma chère. I’m pleased your body has healed, so that you can train to be the crusader that you used to be—the one you’re meant to be,” he said, then kissed me on both cheeks.
* * *
“Like this,” Edwin said, positioning my leg correctly.
I repositioned my leg and repeated the combination.
“Better,” Chow said.
Edwin and Chow had been training me in Soo Bahk Do. We were working on combination strikes. My confidence was increasing.
“I think I need a break. We’ve been at it for nearly three hours.”
“Of course,” Edwin agreed.
“By ending early, I’m not breaking the Soo Bahk Do tenth article of faith, ‘Always finish what you start,’ am I?” I teased them lightheartedly.
I could see that Edwin was still having a mental battle about my moving quickly from beginning stances into more advanced moves. He wanted to see me move through all the steps sequentially. Then he said, “Your accelerated training is certainly not the traditionally taught method, so you have broken no article.”
I laughed out loud at Edwin’s seriousness.
Chapter 5
A week after arriving at the cottage, I was in the garden hovering over soft pink Félicité Parmentier roses, smelling their sweet scent with my repaired nose, when Jean-Pierre Belle arrived.
“I see you are still as beautiful as ever,” the guttural voice with the thick French accent pronounced.
Turning away from the roses, I stepped towards the man who was the uncle to my daughter’s husband, and a GOG leader in France.
“Jean-Pierre, I’m so happy to see you,” I said, as he took my hands in his and then kissed me on both cheeks.
“Ma chère, I’m relieved that you’re well, and of course, so is Aimée, who sends her best,” he said, his dark blue eyes intent on me.
“You are both so kind…”
Interrupted by barking, I excitedly turned and saw my beloved Lulu leaping toward me with excitement, her bottom fiercely wagging. I left Jean-Pierre, flinging myself down to hug my dog.
“Oh, I’ve missed you,” I exclaimed.
She licked my face and bounced around with joy. I giggled through the tears that escaped my eyes.
“Your little Lulu has been a great help to us on the farm,” Jean-Pierre said.
“She has? How?” I asked, looking up to him as I sat on the ground, cradling Lulu like a baby.
“We had a peregrine falcon come hunting our flock of Marans chickens that we keep for their dark eggs…” he began.
“Wait a minute. Aren’t those the eggs that James Bond eats?” I asked, interrupting him.
He chuckled. “The very same. Those eggs are perfection. Aimée will cook with nothing else, which makes the story I am about to tell you a potential disaster.”
I waited, sorry I’d interrupted him.
“Lulu, you are such a good girl,” I praised as I put her down, ruffling her fur.
Her bottom wagged fiercely.
“Oh, but that’s not all, Ann.”
I looked up at him, curious.
“When the falcon first dove, the rest of our Marans flock immediately scattered, hiding themselves anywhere they could. Simon looked all over but couldn’t find a single chicken. He had been working with Lulu around the flock, so he turned to her and told her to ‘piste.’ Do you know what she did?”
“Can you first tell me what ‘piste’ is?” I asked. “Because the image that’s coming to my mind can’t be right.”
He smiled and said, “I think in English, it’s lead…or to track.”
I nodded in understanding.
“Simon gave Lulu the ‘piste’ command, and one by one, Lulu brought Simon to every chicken that had hidden itself in brambles, shrubs, holes in the ground, under the barn, anywhere that it could be safe from the falcon. Lulu would point to the location of each chicken—staying perfectly still—until Simon retrieved it. Once he put the poulet back in the coop, Lulu would take Simon to where the next chicken was hidden. When she found the eleventh chicken (the twelfth was killed by the falcon), your genius dog stopped looking, sat down, and then looked up to Simon as though she were waiting for the next command. It was as if Lulu knew how to count,” he said with astonishment, reaching down to pet her.
Lulu licked his hand.
“You’re an amazing dog,” I exclaimed, hugging Lulu.
“When Simon told me the story, I gave Lulu a steak with the bone. She was happy for three days, chewing on that bone,” he said.
Smiling, I said, “Yes, you’re a good girl,” giving her another fur-ruffle.
The memory of Chow in his Vancouver apartment telling me, “Maybe she can learn to herd chickens,” rushed through my mind, and I laughed out loud. I looked up at Chow, as he had joined us, and I saw that he was smiling. I think he remembered too.
