by John Coyne
“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I saw you, and
I started to get paranoid again.”
“Hey, I said I’d get you to O’Hare.”
“I can’t go to O’Hare.”
“Okay, come with me.”
“And what?”
“I don’t know! We’ll figure something out.”
Jennifer kept looking into his eyes. “You mean that, don’t you?”
He nodded, and she saw him swallow hard again. He didn’t take his eyes off her. She saw the blind, moonstruck look in his eyes. With a mixture of fear and desire, she waited for him to touch her.
“Is it okay if I kiss you?” he asked, sounding very young.
“I want you to kiss me,” she told him.
He brushed her lips gently.
“Ouch,” he said, backing off.
“What?” She looked up, concerned.
“My nose. Where you bashed me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Kirk.” She took his face in her hands and tenderly pulled him closer to kiss the tip of his nose. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. This time their kiss was more insistent.
Jennifer gasped as Kirk moved to stroke her breast. With his head still between her hands, she moved his face to her breast. Sighing, she relaxed and let her young man make love to her in his own way.
He came quickly, and she was surprised that she was ready for him. She was sometimes slow to be aroused, but their battle had excited her. When he slipped inside her and came again, she had an orgasm of such power that for a moment she thought she might burst.
His body, too, was aflame as he lay by her side, his eyes wide. She turned and curled in against him like a matching spoon, and reaching back, took hold of his penis and smiled as it swelled to her gentle caress. This time, at her encouragement, he came at her from behind, kneeling on the soft mattress, and rode her until they were both panting with pain and pleasure. She pressed her palm flat against her abdomen, felt the length of his erection filling her, and then the sudden shudder of his orgasm.
Jennifer’s body ached both from their fight and their sex, yet she could not sleep. She got out of bed and slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower, then dressed in jeans and a sweater.
When she reentered the dark room, he was still sleeping. She resisted the temptation to kiss him, though she did pull up the top sheet and blanket and tuck them around him. Then she carefully unlocked the door and slipped out into the hallway.
It was still early morning. She walked toward the front desk, thinking that she would pay their bill and check out.
The motel hallway was long, and when she reached the end, she stepped into a glassed-in stairwell. She took the stairs to the first floor and saw the parking lot was to one side and the empty swimming pool to the other. And then she spotted Simon.
He was standing behind the full-length glass doors in the lobby of the motel. Jennifer saw his foggy breath on the glass, saw him turn his head and speak to someone hidden by the curtains.
Simon spotted her. He waved, then pulled open the glass doors and ran across the snowy yard, circled the pool, and tried to catch her before she got away.
Jennifer took the steps two at a time, ran up to the second floor hallway and through the swinging doors. She stopped then and concentrated. Deliberately, she thought of Simon and how he was coming after her, coming to kidnap her. And as she had hoped, she felt the familiar surge of strength, felt her muscles bulge. Stepping into a supply closet, she stood there under the bright light, surrounded by rolls of paper towels and tiny pink bars of soap and an empty cleaning cart. She waited for Simon to burst through the door and see her.
Moments later the door swung wide, and Simon filled the frame, a smile spreading across his face when he saw her.
“Hi,” she said. She stood with her fingers laced together, like a girl at a high school gym waiting to be asked to dance.
“Jenny, Jenny,” he said with a sigh. “What happened to you? Why did you run away? Kathy was so worried. What are you doing in here?”
“Waiting for you,” Jennifer said calmly, holding back the surge of adrenaline that swelled her strength. She wanted to wait until she was strong enough to kill with one swift blow. She wanted to wait until he was close enough for her to grab his throat.
“How did you get here, anyway?” he asked, frowning. He stepped inside the door. “Why are you so afraid?” he asked.
She grabbed him easily, with one sudden move. Her hands were around his neck before he could react, the scream in his throat sliced off by the pressure of her grasp. She felt the words die as she tightened her grip. She watched his face, saw his ice blue eyes pop out in his head, saw a bubble of blood squeeze from his mouth and drip down his lower lip. She lifted him up and flipped him over easily, dumping him headfirst into the empty cleaning cart.
Then she grabbed a clean bathroom towel and wiped his blood off her fingers. She threw the towel into the cart, turned off the light, and went back into the hall. It would be another hour before the maids finished the rooms on that floor and came back to the supply room and found him there, stuffed upside down in the cleaning cart.
“You killed him?” Kirk asked again. They were back in his Audi, speeding east on Route 80.
“No, I don’t think so. He was alive when I left him.”
“Jesus H. Christ.”
“Kirk, I know this is more than you bargained for.” Jennifer nodded toward the next exit sign. “Pull off there. You can drop me at the nearest car rental place.” As she spoke, she rested her arm across his thigh. She could not keep herself from touching him. She needed the physical contact. If he did stop and put her out, she would truly be lost. She didn’t think she had the strength or the courage to drive a car.
“I’m not going to ditch you,” he told her.
She sighed, then leaned forward and briefly rested her head on his shoulder.
“I don’t think anyone will be looking for us,” he said next, taking charge.
Jennifer shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, he might call the police and tell them he was attacked.”
“By a woman? Come on, no way.” Kirk was shaking his head as he speeded.
In New York, Jennifer knew, she could get away with hurting, even killing, a person. It was done every day. But not in the heartland.
He reached across her and took several maps from the glove compartment. “But just in case,” he said, handing them over to her as he kept his eyes on the road, “look at these and find some secondary roads that will get us across the state. Look south.”
Jennifer stared down at the open maps, unable to focus. She couldn’t go to St. Louis with him. Besides, he had a meeting in Chicago. No, running away with Kirk Callahan wasn’t the answer. How long could she hide away there? Kathy Dart would find her; when she learned Simon had failed, she’d send others. She wanted Jennifer, and she would find her wherever she went.
“I can’t go with you,” she said, looking up from the maps. “I have to go to New York.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, you have your work, that interview in Chicago.”
“I’ll do the interview, then catch a flight to New York.” He glanced over and smiled. “Come on, you can show me Broadway.”
“I would love it if you came to New York.” She took hold of his hand again.
“But what about this boyfriend of yours?”
Jennifer shook her head. “I have to speak to Tom, tell him what has happened. The only one good thing out of this trip is I know now that it’s all wrong, Tom and me.”
“But what about me?” Kirk asked. “You met me on this trip!” He kept grinning.
Jennifer stared at him and studied his face, then she asked, “You do want to come see me in New York?”
“You’re damn right!” And then, as if to prove himself,
he pressed down on the accelerator and speeded up the car. “But I think you should stay with me in Chicago. Then we’ll fly t
ogether.”
“It will be all right, Kirk. In New York, I have help.”
He glanced over at Jennifer. “You mean Tom?”
Jennifer shook her head. She was staring ahead at the long straight highway. “No. A woman. Another channeler.” Jennifer could see Phoebe Fisher now, see her in the lovely basement apartment on Eighty-second Street, see her walking slowly with her silver cane, see the way the soft, orange sun warmed the brick walls of her living room. She saw Phoebe waiting, smiling, encouraging her. It would be all right, Jennifer told herself. She had Phoebe. She had someone to turn to for help.
Book Four
Know that if you become worse you will go to the worse souls, and if better, to the better souls; and in every succession of life and death you will do and suffer what like must fitly suffer at the hands of like.
—Plato, The Republic
And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man which was blind from his birth. And His disciples asked Him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?
—John 9:1
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
“YOU’RE SAFE NOW,” PHOEBE told her, welcoming her into her basement apartment. “And where’s this young lover of yours?” she asked next, smiling.
“But how could you know?” Jennifer stood back, startled by the channeler’s question.
“Dance told me.” She kept smiling, looking up at Jennifer. “I think it’s wonderful!”
“Kirk saved my life, really. He came racing by in his little car and picked me up. God knows what would have happened to me if he hadn’t stopped.”
“He didn’t just happen by, Jennifer, as you must realize by now. People don’t meet by chance. It’s all planned and ordained. It’s your karma. Both of your karmas.”
She had her thin arm linked into Jennifer’s and was using Jennifer to support her as they walked into the living room, which on this cloudy afternoon was lit by a dozen small candles casting shadowy light.
“Where is your young friend now?” Phoebe asked offhandedly as she eased herself onto the small sofa.
“He’s flying in later this afternoon. He had an appointment in Chicago.”
“Good! Then you’ll be together in a few hours.” She seemed pleased.
“Why?” Jennifer asked, watching the small woman, wondering about the odd collection of questions.
Phoebe shrugged. “It’s always better if you are with someone who understands you, especially now while you are having such intense past-life regressions.”
“I have you,” Jennifer whispered, wanting to show the woman how much she depended on her.
“Thank you.” Phoebe smiled, nodding her thanks. “It is my privilege, really, to be so close to such a powerful source as yourself.”
“Except no one knows who I am! Or who I really once was, I should say.”
“I think it’s time we did force this spirit into the open, Jenny. We need to identify it.” She was not looking at Jennifer, but reaching down beside the sofa and pulling out a large box.
“Can Dance tell us?”
Phoebe shook her head. “Dance can’t help us. He operates on another level of consciousness. He isn’t a reincarnated spirit like Habasha. What I must do is contact directly the spirit that is using your body, trying to work through your consciousness.”
The channeler leaned forward and lowered her voice. She held Jennifer’s attention steady with the intenseness of her gaze, the look in her brown eyes. “The entity that wants to be channeled by you, Jenny, is also protecting you. He or she is waiting for the right moment, waiting for you to come into your full powers, so that you’ll accept him. So far, however, this spirit has only been protecting you from physical attacks. It is also clear that there is another reincarnated spirit, Jennifer, that is trying to kill you before you realize your full spiritual power.”
“But who is that person, or whatever. Is it Kathy Dart?” Jennifer had raised her voice. She was frightened again.
“I don’t know,” Phoebe said softly. “But this may help us.” She held up a game box.
“A Ouija board! That’s a children’s game.”
“Yes, unfortunately it is treated as a child’s game, but it is a dangerous toy and should not be used by adults, either, without training and experience.”
Phoebe set the board on the coffee table and opened it, continuing to talk as she took the board from the box.
“A Ouija board, or talking board, as it is sometimes called, is very old. In 540 B.C. Pythagoras used them in his seances. This board was reinvented in 1892 by a man named Fuld. It’s very simple, really, just a semicircle of the letters of the alphabet, and the words ‘YES,’ ‘NO,’ and ‘GOOD-BYE.’ ” She looked over at Jennifer. “Have you ever used one?”
Jennifer shook her head. “No, not even as a child. I seem to remember it was banned from our house—something to do with the devil.”
Phoebe smiled. “Yes, that’s the cultural superstition. And today among parapsychologists it is accepted that Ouija boards attract channel entities of the lower classes, unless handled by a channeler.”
Phoebe picked up a small platform supported by three inch-long legs. “This is a planchette. See how it’s shaped like a pointer? As I ask questions, the pointer will indicate letters to spell out a message.” She handed Jennifer paper and a pencil. “I’ll ask the questions, Jennifer, and would you please take notes.”
Phoebe lifted the board off the coffee table and set it on her lap. “I need to have physical contact,” she explained, placing her fingers lightly on the planchette.
“We’ll begin slowly,” Phoebe went on. “I’ll ask the questions and summon up the spirit. It may take several minutes after I ask a question for the spirit to announce itself,” she added. “You’ll see the planchette move. When the planchette indicates a letter, just jot it down.”
Jennifer nodded, but she was already tense.
“Relax, Jennifer,” Phoebe advised, and then she placed her fingers lightly on the planchette and, closing her eyes, asked the Ouija board, “Do you wish to communicate with us?”
Jennifer glanced from Phoebe’s hands to her soft, pale face, and then steadied her gaze again on the channeler’s fingers.
For several minutes nothing happened, and Jennifer realized she was holding her breath. She took a deep breath to calm herself and was about to speak, to tell Phoebe that she was too frightened and tense to go on with this, when the planchette suddenly moved and the pointed end of the plastic platform turned in the direction of the word “Yes.”
“What are you called?” Phoebe asked.
Jennifer kept staring at Phoebe’s hand as the instrument moved again and in rapid jerks pointed to more than a dozen letters.
Quickly, Jennifer scribbled down the letters as the planchette tracked across the smooth board, then read the words out loud: “I am one of many names.”
“You say you are one of many names,” Phoebe said, still with her eyes closed. “But what do you wish us to call you?”
PHARAOH
Next to the name “PHARAOH,” Jennifer wrote “Egypt.”
“Do you know Habasha?” Phoebe asked the board.
ETHIOP
“Yes, an Ethiopian. Have you and Habasha been reincarnated many times?” Phoebe questioned the spirit. Again the planchette moved.
YES
“And our Jennifer?”
YES
“Is our friend Jennifer in danger?” Phoebe asked, softening her voice.
The planchette moved quickly under Phoebe’s fingers. The heart-shaped instrument crossed the flat smooth surface on its own accord. It pulled back to the middle of the board, then sped again to the word “YES” and the symbol of the bright sun. Jennifer stared at Phoebe. The channeler’s brown eyes had opened and widened.
Phoebe continued with her questioning. “Tell us, spirit,” she asked calmly, “who wishes to harm our soulmate Jennifer?”
The planchette hesitated, spun freely u
nder Phoebe’s fingers with a life of its own and quickly spelled out a message. Jennifer read the letters aloud as the planchette rapidly moved across the board: “T-A-M-I-T.”
Phoebe, her eyes closed again, paused a moment to frame her next question.
Her hands stopped moving. The heart-shaped planchette froze. Jennifer held her breath and watched Phoebe.
“Tell me, Pharaoh,” Phoebe said to the Ouija board, “who in this lifetime is Tamit?”
K ATH Y
“No!” Jennifer whispered, and the breath went out of her.
Jennifer looked down at the board as the planchette, moving under Phoebe’s touch, spelled out the story from the days of Ramses the Great, of how Amenhotep had fought a battle and killed the Ethiopian monarch to marry Roudidit. Then Tamit, the jealous daughter of Nenoferkaptak, had Roudidit murdered when Amenhotep was away at Memphis.
“And who is Amenhotep?” Phoebe asked.
KIRK
Phoebe Fisher pushed the Ouija board away and looked over at Jennifer. She looked worried now. The warm softness had slipped off her face. She seemed older in the winter light of the afternoon. “It is clear from what this ‘Pharaoh’ spirit is telling me,” she said carefully to Jennifer, “that an ancient drama is being played out today.”
“I just don’t understand why now.” Jennifer kept shaking her head. “It’s an endless puzzle. We keep going around in circles. Everyone used to be someone else; no one is who they are. I’m not me!” She looked at Phoebe, her eyes showing her feeling of helplessness.
Phoebe reached over to hold Jennifer’s hand, telling her, “You are frightened, I know, Jennifer, and with good cause. Your spirit has been in revolt against your rational consciousness. Your friends appear to be your enemies. Your whole world has changed beyond recognition. But you cannot let your fear become your prison. You must not lose hope, or you will not transform your life.”
Jennifer shook her head, still bewildered.
