by Dee Willson
I can’t believe this. Heat flourishes across my neck and cheeks as my temper kicks in. Thomas is everything Bryce is, a Keeper, and he never told me, never even hinted that he was anything but a regular guy. Everything I’ve ever thought him to be was a show, a mask, a lie. And I didn’t see it. I didn’t suspect a thing. Thomas and I were close. We were—whatever it was we were. He kissed me. His hands touched my body.
Bryce clears his throat. “Thomas makes his own choices. We all do.”
“He should have told me. Why didn’t he tell me?”
“That’s something you’ll have to ask him. But I’m sure he had his reasons.”
All this information sits heavy in my mind, and I close my eyes to rest. Minutes pass. Even though I no longer see Bryce, I feel his energy crowding my space. Air whistles past his lips, the rhythm of his breath slightly euphoric. He moves closer and my mouth moistens, awaiting his kiss. It doesn’t come. Instead he takes my hand and gently pulls me across his chest, heart pounding at high volume. I gasp for air as his mouth explores the tenderness behind my ear. His tongue, hot and wet, participates in delicate kisses down my neck. I hold tight, barely breathing as his hands glide over my—
“Tess!”
I wake to reality. The duvet is still propped between us. Bryce is a foot away, on his back, both hands over his face.
“We need to get up. Now.” he says, literally leaping from the bed. His voice is nothing but a garbled mumble as he disappears downstairs.
Oops.
I’m up and the easy breezy feeling is gone. Without Bryce I have a hole, a void that quickly fills with doubt and fear, with the harsh reality of my situation, and it only escalates as I shower, unable to wash myself clean of a burden too heavy to bear. I make the bed because I need order. I get dressed and brush my teeth to set things right when everything feels so wrong.
I hear the kettle whistle and the tinkle of flatware. Bryce is prepping something in the kitchen. Pausing at the door, I consider climbing back into bed and drowning myself in layers of bedding, but the thought passes. I’d probably have a nightmare.
And I need to get myself in check for Abby.
My first step into the living room is met with a crunch. I step back and pick the dried play dough from my sock, emotion flooding me. It’s a miniature dog leg from Abby’s masterpiece of Maxi. There are three tiny slits in the foot where Abby used scissors to separate the toes and Maxi’s hair sticks out at odd angles. Maxi. Maxi is dead. The enormity of what’s happened wallops me, stealing my breath. A killer was here, in my house. I look at my feet, wanting to raise them from the floor so as not to touch what he’s touched. I look around the room, suddenly struck by the enormity of it all. It’s clean, too clean, like it’s been stripped of personality, of life. There are no family photos, no heirlooms. It could be anyone’s house, a builder’s empty showroom, and the boarded window and smell of cleaner are nothing but camouflage.
My heart rate rises another notch.
I hear Bryce in the kitchen and force myself to take a few steps in his direction, but movement is limited. That man, that lost soul with the piercing eyes and ripped body etched with tattoos was in my home, touching my things, destroying memories I hold dear. How dare he. I look around the room, seeing him in everything. I can smell him over the scent of cleaning solution. His snarl tears through the room.
I’ve got to get out of here. It’s all too much to take in, too much to handle. I can’t do this. After Meyer passed, I panicked over how I’d survive on my own, how I’d raise Abby alone. Now I need to protect her from a man who killed a woman, destroyed our home, and snapped the neck of a dog!
I stumble through the kitchen, practically knocking Bryce over in my mad dash to the patio door. I need air. I need to think.
The lost soul killed Maxi!
I burst through the doors and out into the light, panting.
He murdered Sonia!
What if Karen had been at the house to feed Maxi when he came? What if Thomas finds him? What if he doesn’t and this guy comes back? What if he hurts Abby? Grams and Gramps, they’re not safe!
I trip and fall face first in the snow. I look to the greenhouse just as Bryce lifts me from the ground. Everything is a blur. Bryce is speaking but I can’t concentrate, can’t hear his words. He’s worried. He says something about returning to the kitchen but I push him away. This is too much, too much for anyone.
“The studio,” I sputter, voice not mine. I need to be there, the only spot he hasn’t been, the one place the lost soul didn’t leave his mark.
Bryce lets me go and I run.
I throw the door open and stumble inside, taking deep breaths. The scent of oil paint and pine instantly calms my nerves and the sight of my paints and brushes gives me focus. Still, I barely move. My pants are pasted with snow, my socks heavy with clumps of ice. The cold stings my skin.
“You’ll be okay,” whispers Bryce from behind me.
“Will I?” I snap. “How? If he comes back, if he chooses to inflict more on me, what can I do? Can I fight? Call the cops? Can I beat him off? Can I run?”
Bryce covers his mouth with his hand, and I realize I’m yelling.
“He’s going to kill me!”
I bend over, hyperventilating.
“Please, try not to worry. I will help you—”
“How? How can you help me?” I pace the small space. “This is insane! What could you possibly teach me to fend off a person so bent on destruction?”
“I’ll teach you our history, our—”
“History? Are you kidding me? How will history keep Abby safe? What if this guy shows up and you’re not here?”
“I will teach you how to master the original form of martial art. Its meditation is—”
“I’m gonna to fight this guy by meditating? Are you nuts?”
“Mu-tubu-udundi puts human biorhythms in accordance with Earth’s energies, allowing control of one’s defense. Adepts aim to exhaust opponents with an intricate series of—”
“Tire him out? That’s the plan? Oh my God, I’m going to die!”
Bryce reaches out to me, but I swat his hand away. He looks hurt.
“You won’t need to fight, Tess. One strikes only after all other options have been exhausted. And it’s irrelevant since I’ll be with you.”
“Show me.” I push him into open space.
Bryce steps forward and pulls me into his arms. “Patience,” he says. “Explaining eons of ancient history, lost art forms, and how to connect with forgotten ways will take years.”
I try to wiggle free but he holds tight until I surrender, clinging to his chest.
“Years?” I can barely breathe. “I won’t be able to defend myself, protect my daughter, for years?”
“Pretend you’re a toddler learning to read.”
“I’m not a child, Bryce. I am fully capable of—”
“I am not comparing you to a child. I’m hoping the analogy will help you understand that you will need to learn in progression.” His breath hollows out to a whistle. “The fact that you are an adult, an intelligent one at that, is not an advantage. In some ways it will make teaching you more difficult. You have pre-existing biases and opinions. You’ll want to ask many questions. Some I can answer and some will need to wait until you’re ready. You will get frustrated and mad, but you must remember that I am trying to help you. And that I have your best interest in mind at all times. You’ll need to trust me.”
I’ve lost all my fire listening to Bryce’s voice.
“I do trust you.” I do.
“Tess, Thomas and I are Keepers. We’ve spent an eternity working with lost souls. We know how they work, how they think, and Thomas can’t find a trace of this particular man. He’s probably left town and won’t come back. You will be safe. Abby will be safe. We’ll make sure of it. So, please, please try not to worry.”
Bryce gently tugs me toward my easel. He lowers my painting apron over my head and ties it at my waist.
A second later a paintbrush is in my hand.
“Find your happy place,” he says, pointing to the canvas. The lightness in his voice sedates my nerves, and I close my eyes to focus on the feel of his breath on the back my neck.
“I’m sorry.” I’m suddenly ashamed of my outburst.
“Your reaction was delayed but expected.” He wraps his arms around me. “I thought you’d wake in a fury.”
No, I woke under a blanket of tranquility, thanks to my white knight. Reality knocked the wind from me for a moment, but I’m all right now. I’ll get through this, I’ll find a way to keep everyone I love unharmed. I’ll be strong for Abby. Bryce will help.
“I will,” mumbles Bryce. “But this is going to be harder than I thought.”
“What’s going to be harder?”
“Teaching you. Helping you.” He watches our tangled hands moving in tandem, delicately exploring of their own free will. “Helping old souls is my purpose, and I am very proud of what I do. But this, this will be different. I’ve never had feelings for one of my students.”
I suppose I should ask him to clarify his feelings but I don’t really need enlightenment. Holding his hand is easy and natural, like we’re pieces that form to one. We belong together. His breath catches, and I find myself amused that a man capable of such mythical feats can be so affected by a simple touch. My touch.
We stand like this, me in Bryce’s embrace, for a long time. The silence is wonderful, soothing, and after a while I forget he’s even there, behind me. I lose myself in colors, textures, the dance.
It’s euphoric, like the finest of drugs.
At one point I turn and catch Bryce studying a canvas hanging from the ceiling. The glint in his eyes is back and I watch him, enthralled, wondering what he’s thinking.
“It’s not fair really. You know my intimate thoughts, and I can only guess what—”
“Soulmates,” he says, staring at the sliver of light cutting across one of my paintings. “I was thinking how some Keepers search for their soulmate and waste an entire lifetime doing so. With a population so massive and widespread, most cannot hope to find a past love, even if they believe one is truly out there.”
I reach to cup his face, a touch to resurrect his smile. It works and he glows.
“I’ve never really considered the concept of a soulmate. The idea of having a soul was foreign, so it never came to mind.”
Oddly enough, neither does Meyer.
Confession
Early February
Some believe ancient Egyptian texts contain the legacy of a lost civilization on a quest for the immortality of the soul, a belief that immortality may not be guaranteed by simply being born. It may have to be worked for, strived for, the result of a lifetime of choices, the focused power of the mind, an advanced connection to our inner spirituality. Immortality may be a gift that is earned.
Forgotten History Magazine: Archeological Finds Baffle Scientists
If bad things really do happen in threes, I hope I’ve met my quota. I’m not sure my tiny family can endure much more. And I can’t stand watching them suffer.
Even at five, Abby senses something is different about the house, something off, something beyond the physical. The vibe of our home has been altered in some intrinsic way beyond description. Abby doesn’t recognize the break in. I don’t think it’s even in her vocabulary. And I’m spending every waking moment making sure she never has reason to suspect a thing. While Abby is at school I shop. Well, we shop. Grams and Gramps won’t leave me alone. Karen, Bryce, and Thomas hover relentlessly, Bryce and Thomas seldom in the same room at once, and bickering when they are. It’s exhausting. I have a long list of broken items to replace, and most days I barely make it home in time to open boxes, put things together, and dispose of packaging before retrieving Abby from school. Scheming is hard work, but I want Abby to feel secure and safe, so her contentment has become my obsession.
Me, on the other hand, I’m not so oblivious. Nothing will ever be the same.
Thinking that maybe this is a sign to move on with my life, I pack the last clinging remnants of Meyer and surrender them to a local shelter. I watch men cart away our bed, Meyer’s and mine, then spend an entire day assembling a new one, a bed without memories. It isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. The old me is coming back, slowly but surely, the me with thicker skin. I’m no longer a widow but the strong, independent woman I once was, the chick capable of battling whatever or whomever life throws her way.
A survivor.
All this bravado yet I lie about Maxi. I lie big time. It’s a choice I’m not totally convinced I won’t regret someday, but I don’t see an alternative. Life’s harsh realities were part of my everyday upbringing, but I’ll be damned if it’ll be Abby’s. Even Grams and Gramps back me when I tell Abby that while we were in Florida, Maxi was reunited with her family, the family that missed her dearly. They took her home, to a happy house, too far for us to visit but filled with children and quality dog food. The news fostered melancholy in Abby, and she sulked for days, but she swallowed the storyline and is now drawing cheery pictures of Maxi with her family in some foreign farmhouse.
If there is such a place as hell, and deception is considered a whopper of an offense, I’ll rot there with a smile on my face.
When I have the chance to slip away from my responsibilities as a mother, I spend time with Bryce. This is another thing Grams and Gramps have rallied to support, even going so far as to nudge me out the door, hoping I’ll make my way over to Bryce’s estate. It’s obvious they think they’re participating in a budding romance, and if they actually knew what Bryce and I spent these hours doing, they’d be thoroughly disappointed.
I am the student, and Bryce is the teacher. And it’s not some kinky sex game.
“I see you brought another list,” says Bryce, pointing at the paper in my hand. He’s trying to maintain professional etiquette, but I can see his effort to contain a grin.
I’ve come to enjoy these hours with Bryce. Even though the atmosphere is a bit stuffy and clinical, I can always get him to lighten up and laugh before I leave for the night.
“Why do we meet in your office?” I ask, following him down the hall.
“You don’t like my office?” He turns in the doorway.
I come to an abrupt halt, practically underneath him. His eyes flicker silver and the muscles in his cheek twitch. The effect is disturbing, and I wet my lips in a spontaneous response.
“It’s a perfectly nice room,” I say. It’s a typical office with a large oak desk, leather chairs, and various black and white photos hanging on the walls. A well-appointed man-den. “It’s just a little formal, I guess.”
“Yes, well, that does help.”
To the left is an excellent Monet look-alike. It’s taken a massive amount of self-restraint to keep from touching it. A bowl of jellybeans sits on the desk. I know from last week that they’re hard as rocks.
“How does formal help me?”
“Not you,” he says, tapping on the back of a chair, instructing me to sit, “it helps me.”
“This is new.” I spin the chair. Usually Bryce has plush yoga mats in front of the window and we sit on the floor while we talk.
“You talk,” he corrects. “I try to get you to concentrate.”
He’s right. Lesson one I demanded to be taught Mu-tubu-udundi. The trick to this ancient martial art is to slow your breathing and block outside stimulants. The sessions haven’t gone well. Apparently I have the lung capacity of an asthmatic and the only place I focus is in my studio.
“You won’t clear your mind until you’ve gotten answers to your questions.” Bryce sinks into his chair. He points to my list. “We might be a while.”
I ignore his smirk and skim through my list titled Man’s Big Questions. I’ve actually pulled these from the Internet. I’m not this deep. I was shocked to discover how little, as human beings, we really know about ourselves. Worse, I find it baffling that wha
t we do know is speculative at best.
I clear my throat. “Let’s start at the beginning. Where did man come from? Were Atlanteans the first people to inhabit Earth?”
“Man existed for millennia before Atlantis.” He taps his pen on the desk. “Humanity first appeared on islands in the Pacific about two-hundred and fifty-thousand years ago. Our pack nature fueled the gradual rise of mankind’s first civilization, the Lemurians, and we dominated for a—”
“We?”
“Yes, we. The world was—”
“We, as in you and me, our souls? How do you know, were you there?”
“Our souls date back to the dawn of man, but you need to stay—”
“Did you know me, my soul, were we . . . acquainted?”
“Stay focused, Tess.” He rolls his eyes. “The world was a different place then. Several moons revolved around various planets seen with the naked eye. Even Earth itself was different. It was lush, green, untamed. Human beings were not separated by water or religion. We lived together in harmony, on one vast area of land called the Motherland, or Mu. But Mu was more than a place, it was a culture spread over a number of territories across thousands of miles. Lemurians knew the sun personified the order of the universe and attached the human soul to recurring patterns in the cycle of life. We believed personal fulfillment lay in cooperating with nature and considered knowledge the highest form of spiritual attunement. We lived in peace, and through our understanding of natural law, we developed science and art to a high level of sophistication, creating majestic cities with temples, palaces, citadels, columns, and colossal pyramids.” He pauses, obviously enjoying a memory. “Even with all these so called powers, most of us were seamen and farmers, nurturing bountiful crops under an enduring sun. We enjoyed life.”
I gravitate to the window. The sun is asleep, the moon casting a radiant blue glow over the snow. My soul was there, in this world Bryce weaves with words. Somewhere deep inside I remember, I must.
