by Brenda Hill
If the spirits are willing? Oh no, Lindsay thought. Another obstacle? “You mean they might not want to help?”
“That’s always a possibility, so we must be prepared. Don’t be alarmed, though. If Spirit doesn’t come through, my guide, Nakhmet, will provide the information I need. As a high priest to the first dynasty pharaoh, his wisdom and knowledge was bequeathed from the ancients before him.”
That sounded like something from a ‘B’ movie, but Lindsay went along. She didn’t care where or from whom Linda got the information—as long as she got it.
Linda breathed deeply. “Let’s begin.”
Fascinated, Lindsay watched as Linda gathered incense sticks from her tote, set them in a holder and lit them, all the while chanting something about surrounding her client and herself with a white light of protection. Satisfied, the medium sat back in her chair and called upon Nakhmet to assist her, then she cocked her head as if listening to someone speak. Then she thanked him.
When she began to speak, Lindsay took a deep breath, preparing herself for a movie version of a heavily-accented guide speaking through the medium; instead, Linda opened her eyes and spoke to Lindsay in a normal conversational tone.
“This house has seen its share of tragedy and sorrow,” she said. “But today, it’s a happier place. The spirit who resides here is no longer in distress. He’s content, although deeply concerned about you.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “I see no other spirits stepping forward. If you’ve been frightened of this entity, be assured he means no harm, and—” she stopped speaking and shut her eyes again before continuing— “he is grateful to be reunited with you. Through him, I’m shown great love such as comes along very rarely. You may live in peace and harmony.”
Lindsay waited, but the medium said no more.
“Thank you,” Lindsay said, “but that’s only part of why I need your help.”
Linda studied her client a moment, then nodded. “I know by your aura you’re deeply troubled. Tell me. Perhaps I can help.”
“You may find what I’m about to tell you hard to believe—”
“‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio—’” she quoted, “‘—than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Shakespeare’s famous words from Hamlet,” she said with a smile. “I know them to be true, so don’t worry about what I’ll believe. Just tell me what I need to know.”
Lindsay related the entire story, summarizing when she could, winding up with Galen’s concern over her health.
“Incredible,” Linda murmured, staring at her client in awe. “I’ve never met anyone who had experienced such vivid memories of a past life.”
“But I don’t. I only remember certain things, mainly in dreams, and then only in small amounts.”
“It’s not necessary for you to remember everything about your incarnation as Berina. Only what is necessary for your life’s purpose as Lindsay.”
“Life purpose? If you know the reason for all this, please explain it to me. My husband’s on his way home because he doesn’t believe any of this. He thinks it’s ridiculous, that I’m having a breakdown. I have some decisions to make, and without understanding what has happened and why, I’ll be making them blindly. I’m terrified.”
“Of what, my dear?”
“Too many things could go wrong and I could lose everything that matters to me—mainly a life with Galen, the spirit in this house. Help me understand.”
“I’ll try to help you, but first I must warn you about your health.”
“My health? My health has never been an issue.”
“It is now. The spirit in this house is correct. Contact with him drains your life essence. You must cease immediately.”
That wasn’t what Lindsay had expected. “What?” Her mouth tightened and she stood. “Absolutely not. That’s not the advice I need. I need—”
“I’ve been made aware of the deep love the spirit and you have for each other, and I can’t force you to do anything. But please, give me a few moments to explain. Have you heard of auras?”
“Why are you talking about auras?”
“Bear with me a moment longer, please.”
Something in her tone struck Lindsay as true. She sat again, still wary, but ready to listen.
“An aura is an electromagnetic field emanating from all living organisms,” Linda said, “and they reflect many things about that life form. We humans have them and they can be read by those of us sensitive to them. For decades, the very idea was mocked, viewed with disdain, but today, with our sophisticated technology, they can be photographed.”
“Yes, okay. We all have them and they can be photographed. So?”
“I only offer that as proof of their existence, Lindsay. An aura has layers, and they’re interrelated, reflecting the person’s feelings, moods, and health. Your aura reveals the peril you’re in.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Linda smiled. “How interesting that you used the very word you found offensive when your husband said it to you.”
That made Lindsay pause.
“Let me be blunt, Lindsay. You’re in grave danger. When I first saw you, I read your aura. The violets are your colors—deep purple, the lavenders, the indigos—all colors of the sensitive. I even see splashes of gold, which suggests enlightenment, guidance for the uppermost good.
“However,” she continued, “a different color is growing, swallowing the others. A muddy grayish black, the sign of ill health, of eminent physical danger. If contacts with the spirit continue, you will die. I can’t be more blunt than that. If that happens, you will not have followed your own path—and you will not have helped the spirit who resides here.”
“I don’t understand any of this, and if it takes me away from Galen, I don’t want to understand.”
“Lindsay, please hear me out. I know your inner spirit will understand. I just need a few more moments of your time.”
Lindsay glanced through the windows to outside. It was still light, but the sun was fading. How long had they been talking?
Linda sat back and closed her eyes. The seconds, minutes dragged by and the medium said nothing. Lindsay waited, squirming on the sofa. She glanced out the side window. How long before Eric arrived? During the agonizing wait, she heard the silence—no birds chirping, no seagulls, everything was in stillness as though a cloud of foreboding surrounded the house.
Finally Linda spoke. “Thank you,” she said and opened her eyes.
“My dear,” she turned to Lindsay, “each of us must follow our universal path in order to enter Nirvana, or Heaven. It’s been revealed that your life purpose in this incarnation is to help this spirit continue on his own path. To do that, he must leave this plane and go through the light. He has been fearful, so you must help him.”
“My life purpose is to help Galen leave? No, I won’t do that, not when I’ve finally found him. You can’t ask that of me.”
“I know of your love for him. That’s exactly why you must help him to continue his journey.”
“It’s too much to ask.”
Linda gently took her hand. “Many things are spiraling toward their conclusion, including your husband’s life purpose. What you decide now will determine the outcome of several lives—Galen’s, yours, and your husband’s.”
“Eric is involved in this, this plan?”
“His purpose was to bring you here to help you achieve yours. You see, it was destined that you two meet. You both felt an instant attraction that brought you together, but the physical waned, first with him, then with you. His spirit recognized you.”
“That sounds as if everything is predestined, as if we have no choice in anything.”
“All the fates can do is favorably guide the circumstances, but we, as a people, are endowed with free will. The choices we make, the paths in life we choose, determine our fate.”
As much as Lindsay didn’t want to lose Galen, Linda’s words sounded so true that she felt taken
aback. She had felt an instant attraction to Eric, something so rare she couldn’t explain it, and he had brought her to this house.
“Galen didn’t want to go through the light,” she whispered. “He feels he wronged Frida, you see, and he’s afraid to face what comes next. I can’t push him into doing what he doesn’t want. Who knows? He could be right about what’s waiting for him.”
“Oh my dear, Infinite Spirit doesn’t judge—or punish. All that’s waiting for him is what awaits us all—patience, love, and guidance on our soul’s journey to perfection. Galen’s spirit will find yours again—when it’s time. You are destined to be together, so you’ll never lose him.”
“But if I let him go now, help him cross over, what will I do? I only just found him. It doesn’t seem fair to lose him this quickly.”
“Ah, but you must. If you continue to see him, to be with him, your body will quickly weaken of its life force and expire. You will have lost him nonetheless, and his journey will stall again.”
“But if I died, he and I could be together as spirits.”
“Ask yourself why Berina didn’t meet Galen’s spirit when she passed. It’s because her spirit crossed to a different plane, and as Lindsay, yours would do the same. Galen would still be here, condemned to waiting again, hoping you would eventually return. Is that what you want for him? An eternity of waiting? Only you can make that decision.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lindsay had planned to be at her best when Eric arrived, but when his car pulled in two hours later, she was still sitting in the parlor, so deep in thought she didn’t hear his car. She didn’t even notice the sun had set and the house sat in darkness.
What was she going to do? How could she let Galen go?
Eric’s footsteps on the porch alerted her he was home. She jumped up, then faltered. Although she had felt stronger this morning, the day’s events had sapped what little reserves she had.
Eric walked through the door, looked around, and flicked on the parlor lights. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“Oh, I didn’t notice,” Lindsay said, her voice weak.
“Are you ill? Is that why you didn’t pick me up?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot.”
“You forgot?” He set down his suitcase and strode to the sofa, sat beside her, and studied her face. He groaned, then he took her into his arms.
“My God, Lindsay. I knew something was wrong, but this proves you’ve had some sort of breakdown. We have to get you to a doctor.”
She allowed his embrace, but she remained passive in his arms. He still didn’t believe her, so that meant she had to go through it all again. She prayed for strength, and the enormity of the entire situation brought tears.
“Don’t cry, love. I’m here.” He held her again.
He had been a strong influence in her life, and he really was a nice man. She hoped he could put his life back together after this was all over.
“Have you had anything to eat?”
She told him about Shirley’s delivery. He stood and took her arm. “I haven’t eaten yet, so let’s see what’s left. We can both have something.”
Maybe something more in her stomach would help her get through the next few hours, critical hours that would determine the rest of her life. She let him lead her to the kitchen.
He warmed up the soup and goulash. Knowing how he loved goulash, she took the soup. He chatted about the business while they ate, telling her he needed to get back to California as soon as he felt she was okay, that he thought he and Mark could save the business.
She nodded and made nice noises, all the while wondering how to tell her husband she wanted a divorce.
Once they’d finished their meals, Eric took the dishes to the sink and made coffee. Lindsay wandered to the parlor window and stood looking at the moon’s reflections on the lake, entranced by the endless rows of silver strips undulating on the water. Even after all this time, they still looked magical to her. From across the lake, the haunting cry of loon echoed back to her.
Eric silently joined her.
“It’s so beautiful here,” she whispered. “I’ll hate to leave.”
“Why should you leave?”
She turned to him. “Let’s sit down. I have a lot to tell you.” Once they had seated, she began the story again. She didn’t get far until Eric interrupted.
“You told me this ridiculous story—”
“Ridiculous story.” She smiled. “Funny. I used that same word with Linda. It’s even more poignant now.”
“Linda? What are you talking about? Honey, I’ll call Mathews in the morning and find out who can help you with these delusions.”
“We’ll call Mr. Mathews in the morning, but for a different reason. Now I want you to listen to me and don’t interrupt until I’ve finished. If you’ve ever felt anything for me, you’ll do as I ask—for one last time.”
“One last time? You’re not making sense.” He rose and picked up the cordless phone. “Maybe his answering service can get in touch with him tonight.” He punched some numbers into the phone.
Lindsay reached over and took the receiver from his hand, threw it against the wall and smashed it. Eric’s astonished gaze traveled from the pieces of the phone scattered on the floor back to Lindsay.
“I’m not violent,” she said. “Or dangerous, but you must listen to me. All I’m asking is for you to sit down, shut up, and listen. When I’m through, I’ll answer any questions you may have.” Staring at her, he silently slid down on the sofa.
She began telling him more details about the stories she’d told as a child, stories of life as a young woman in the Peterson house, although she hadn’t known the house by that name at the time. She then skimmed through her adult life, only slowing down when she and Eric met. She finished by telling him everything the medium had told her, continuing even though his expression told her he thought she had lost her mind.
When she grew quiet, Eric sat back. “I don’t know what to say, except of course I don’t believe it.”
“What part?” she asked wearily. Even though the telling had exhausted her further, she felt relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted.
“None of it. Okay, maybe you told stories when you were a child, but they couldn’t have been of this house. I’ve never heard of anything so absurd.”
Lindsay stood. “I was afraid of that.”
“You expect me to believe you made love to a ghost? And that you were Berina, my aunt?”
“Your adopted aunt, Eric. Your grandparents took me in when my mother—Berina’s mother, abandoned her.”
“I want to believe you. After all, you’re my wife, and I don’t want to think you’re … you’re—”
“What, Eric? Insane? You might as well say it. That’s what you think.”
“Lindsay, I spent several summers in this house. If anything was here, I would have noticed it, but I never saw or felt anything. It's just a bunch of superstitious old coots with nothing else to do but spread gossip. Happens all the time. Please, let me call the doctor. He’ll prescribe something to help these delusions. That’s all they are. Surely you can see that. Perhaps the stress of moving …”
Lindsay tuned out the rest of his words. He was truly convinced she was insane. How could she convince him of the truth? What could she do? Whatever it was, she had to do it quickly before he had her committed.
She could ask Galen to appear. But what if he were in some other place, the place he goes when he wasn’t with her? Eric would hear her calling to a ghost that never appears and be more convinced she was insane. That was too risky. So what else?
Suddenly, she knew what to do.
“Eric, get a shovel and the most powerful flashlights we have. Then follow me.”
He stared at her as if she had sprouted two heads.
“Look,” she said. “I’ll make a deal. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll go willingly to whatever doctor you choose. But you must follow me
now. I promise it won’t take long and it’s not dangerous.”
Reluctantly, he gathered the equipment, even adding work gloves.
“If I’m going to dig, I might as well be prepared. I just hope it’s not my own grave.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lindsay carried a flashlight and led the way to the boathouse, walking confidently on the soft lawn. Eric trailed a few feet behind her. The next few moments would decide her fate: he would either be a total believer and they’d make decisions together, or he would have her committed.
She breathed deeply of the familiar humid air and listened to the night. Insects whined, and from the shore, a soft splash as something, probably a frog, jumped into the water. From above, a multitude of stars twinkled in the velvet sky, a sight so rare in the dense Southern California atmosphere that she still marveled at how close they seemed. And how a part of the universe they made her feel.
How she loved this place, and how she dreaded leaving. She only hoped it would be on her own volition and not strapped in a straightjacket. Everything depended on the next half hour.
“How much farther?” Eric asked irritably, packing a flashlight and two shovels.
“Almost there.”
She found the site she wanted near the boathouse, an area of barren grass within the triangle of three pine trees. She wasn’t sure of the exact spot as time had erased the guides—the white rocks surrounding a shade garden of wild ginger, purple hepatica, white bloodroot. But she eyed the trunks and stood where she thought they should dig.
“Here.” She placed her flashlight on the ground and angled the beam to illuminate the spot.
“Now what?” Eric said, joining her. He dropped the shovels onto the ground.
“We dig.” She picked up one of the shovels and cut into the lawn. He watched a few moments, his expression clearly showing his skepticism.
