Every Time I Love You

by Graham, Heather

  And yet, it couldn't be...

  He didn't believe in it. They weren't talking about ghosts and they weren't talking about possession. It finally hit him; he finally figured it out.

  Reincarnation.

  He didn't believe in it. Gayle would not believe in it; she was not overly religious, yet she had her faith; and it had seen her through many ordeals. This could not be. It had to be a trick...and yet, what then had he believed? He had urged her to come here; he had known that she had needed a different kind of help from what a psychiatrist could provide.

  She had just described a lovers' tryst in startling detail, sweeping her listeners along in the ardency, in the sensuality, of the encounter. And God, which of them could deny it? The love affair between Katrina and Percy seemed to parallel the affair between Gayle and Brent.

  It had happened again. They had fallen in love as swiftly, as completely, in the present as they had more than two hundred years ago. No! It couldn't be, the rational part of his mind protested.

  “We hid this, of course,” Gayle was saying.

  No, a woman named Katrina was speaking, Geoff reminded himself.

  “And the year passed.” She frowned. “It was a terrible year. They wanted to punish Boston, and Boston would not be punished. It came time for the second session in Philadelphia, and Percy had to go. Not that he had stayed with me the whole time, for he had land all over Virginia. His absence was terrible. I was always so afraid that they would arrest him. Then it came time for the British to pull out. He had been right; Percy had been right all along. They were supposed to leave. Henry would be serving with the army, of course, but he meant to send me home. To Kent. I met Percy that night on the outskirts of town. And I never went home, not to Kent. We ran away together and we were married.”

  “And were you happy?”

  “Very happy.” A frown clouded her brow again. “Except that there was a war. The war...the war was terrible.”

  “But you and Percy—you were happy.”

  “Yes! We were very happy.”

  “But you have to tell me things—”

  “I can't remember.”

  “What can't you remember?”

  “Anything. I can't remember any more. I can't remember. I told you that I was happy. I can't remember any more.”

  Dr. Clark was silent for several long seconds. Then she told Gayle that she would rap three times, and Gayle would wake up feeling rested and refreshed.

  One, two, three...

  They all heard the rappings. Gayle's eyes opened and she blinked against the sudden light. Then she smiled and gave first the doctor, then Geoff and Tina sheepish smiles. “I suppose I'm not a very good subject. I didn't try to fight it—”

  “You did very well,” Dr. Clark said.

  Tina choked. “Gayle! You don't remember what you said?”

  Gayle shook her head ruefully. “No. Was I helpful? Oh, no...I let out some deep and dark and dangerous secret. I—”

  “Do you believe in reincarnation, Mrs. McCauley,” Dr. Clark interrupted her calmly.

  “What?”

  Dr. Clark smiled. “Coming back to life. The Hindus are great believers in it.”

  “You mean I was a fly, I got to be an elephant next time around, and now I'm up to being a human?” Gayle asked, confused.

  Still giving them that gentle and beautifully determined smile, Dr. Clark said no. “Gayle, first of all, I want you to know that I grew up going to Catholic schools myself.”

  “That could mean a number of things,” Gayle said with a nervous laugh. “I'm Episcopalian, but Geoff went to Catholic schools, and he has lots of funny stories about Sister Paula of Perpetual Pain.”

  Dr. Clark laughed along with them, in fact much more easily than Gayle did. She looked a little like a drowning child, trying not to believe that the water could cover her over.

  “I'm just trying to tell you that I'm not going against any of your religious beliefs. There are answers to all things, in the end. I don't have all the answers, but I do believe, very sincerely, Mrs. McCauley, that both you and your husband lived before. When we meet again, I'll record your answers under hypnotism. For now, you'll have to trust me and your friends. You met and married your husband once before, more than two hundred years ago. It seems that that lifetime is now intruding on this lifetime.”

  “Oh, please!” Gayle gasped and then she covered her mouth because she didn't want to be rude. But she didn't believe in it; she couldn't believe in reincarnation. “I'm sorry,” she murmured hastily. “I didn't mean to be so blunt, I just don't—”

  “Gayle, it's true!” Tina interrupted. “It's true, I heard you myself; I heard everything that you said!”

  Gayle looked from Tina to the doctor, and Dr. Clark nodded. “That's why your husband calls you Katrina. You told us about meeting and falling in love. Right before the Revolutionary War.”

  Geoff cleared his throat. “You told us very explicitly about meeting and falling in love.”

  Her cheeks were burning. Gayle pressed her palms to them. “It can't be.”

  “You must have had an open mind to have come to me for help to begin with,” Dr. Clark said.

  Tears were hovering beneath Gayle's lashes and she was trying not to shed them. “I came to you because I was desperate, because my husband didn't come home last night, because...I was ready to accept a little spirit, maybe prowling around the house. I was ready to accept a lingering presence in the house maybe, or something like that. Oh, God! I don't know what I was willing to accept, but you're asking me to believe that I lived before, that Brent lived before. So why did we come back together? Why, if we were in love, does he hate me in these dreams or fits of his? Oh, God!” She dropped her face into her hands. Brent was right. She shouldn't have come.

  “There are a number of theories,” Dr. Clark said calmly. “Some people believe that we live in cycles, that people usually always come back together. A sister becomes a friend, a mother becomes a sister. Roles change, but maybe emotions remain. Others believe that we can come back to do things over. I believe, in your case, that you've come back to achieve happiness.”

  “We were happy!” Gayle shouted. The room went dead still and she clamped her hand over her mouth. Oh, God, it was true! And she knew it! She couldn't remember what she had said under hypnosis, but that first feeling was back with her. She knew—and she had known—that something would change here today. That something would come out.

  She groaned and lay back on the lounge. “Can it be true?” she whispered.

  “Yes, I believe it can be,” Dr. Clark said. “And I think that it must be very special, a very special love indeed, to be granted this kind of chance again.”

  Gayle curled around on the lounge. “But what does this do? What does it help?”

  Dr. Clark sighed softly. “I'm not sure. I need to learn more. You blocked me when I tried to go further. All we know now is that the two of you met, fell in love, and married. Katrina insists that you were very happy, then comes up with a memory loss. It's a delicate situation. Maybe just knowing, just accepting the past, will be enough. We can try hypnosis again. Frankly, though, I think that I need to hypnotize your husband too.”

  Gayle sighed. “That may be impossible.”

  “Then just you and I will work together, Mrs. McCauley,” Dr. Clark said cheerfully. She offered Gayle her hand. “Please, don't look so downcast. We made excellent progress.”

  Gayle took her hand and stood up. She was wobbly. Geoff and Tina came quickly to her side. “Please, call me anytime you need me, day or night. I'm glad to help.”

  “Thank you,” Gayle whispered again. “What do we do now?”

  “Unless you can get your husband to come, I'll see you again in a few days. When you feel that you're ready. Actually, I'd like to come to your home. I think it would provide the better atmosphere since it's where things happen. But we'll go on what we have to go with.”

  Gayle nodded. “I—I'll try to talk to
Brent again.” Feeling dazed, she let Tina and Geoff lead her out of the office. They kept staring at her. They touched her as if she were a china doll.

  “Stop it, please!” she begged them both.

  “I think lunch would be in order,” Geoff said. They were right across the street from a steak place. He led them over and they sat down. He and Tina ordered drinks as if their lives depended on getting them fast. Gayle discovered that she desperately wanted a drink too. She ordered a double Jack Black and ginger, and when it came she nearly downed it in a single swallow. Then they all looked at each other and laughed nervously, and then Gayle insisted on details and the two of them tried to provide them.

  “You really don't remember?” Tina demanded.

  “Only vague feelings like I remember from the dreams,” Gayle told her.

  “Do you believe what just happened?” she asked Geoff.

  “No. Yes. I saw it, but I can hardly believe it.”

  “I can't believe it,” Gayle said numbly.

  “Well, you really have to believe it, don't you?” Tina said.

  “What do you mean?” Gayle asked her.

  “Well, what are your alternatives? You've already tried a regular psychiatrist. No help. What if the same kinds of things keep happening? Then what? It must be like living with Jekyll and Hyde. And you! What if you were to have a weapon when you attack him in your dreams? Gayle, the way that I see it, you have to trust this woman. You've got only one other option.”

  “Which is...?” Gayle asked thickly.

  “A divorce, the way I see it. Divorce each other and get as far away from each other as possible. Before one of you kills the other.”

  “Oh, God!” Gayle groaned.

  “Tina!” Geoff said sharply.

  “It's the truth,” Tina retorted. “What the hell else is she going to do?”

  * * *

  She didn't know what to expect, but as she came home she knew that Brent was there in the house somewhere, and that Mary was not. A Robbie Nevil disc was playing at a high volume. Brent never played music so loudly when Mary was around because she didn't care for it, and Brent was always courteous to others.

  Or at least he always had been, once upon a time.

  She entered the passage and closed the door. She wondered if he were in his studio, but once she had climbed the stairs she discovered that he was not. She looked into their bedroom and searched the upstairs, then pensively started down the stairs again. On her way down she realized that the music had stopped.

  She stepped into the kitchen, then glanced into the ballroom. It was dark and empty. When she stepped into the parlor it was dark and quiet too. She was about to leave when he spoke from the far corner of the room, startling her so that she almost cried out.

  “So you are back,” he said softly.

  Unease—deep, creeping unease—set into the base of her spine and began to crawl toward her nape. She paused dead still in the doorway and swung around.

  She could barely see him. He was no more than a silhouette in the corner of the room, with shadows falling over his features. He was holding a brandy snifter in his hands. He swirled the brandy in his glass while he stared at her.

  This is not the man I married, she told herself. His name is Percy, and he has come from another time.

  The words were dull and flat in her mind. They were unbelievable.

  But as he moved toward her slowly like a stalking tiger, her heart sank, for though it might be incredible, it was true; and every moment of her life was becoming a living hell, for she never knew whether she'd be encountering Brent or Percy.

  I am mad, I am mad. I have gone crazy... she thought.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded harshly.

  “Nowhere—”

  “God, what a fool you think I am, my love!”

  There was a deadly chill to his tone. The afternoon shadows still fell upon his face, which was handsome but cold. He set the brandy snifter down, and in those seconds she thought to run. She turned around, slamming the door on him, and raced down the passage for the front door. She could scream and pray for help, or she could perhaps get to her car and drive away to wait until this regression had passed.

  She did not reach the front door. He caught her by the hair and jerked her back, then slammed her hard against the door. She gasped for breath, staring at him desperately, wondering what in God's name she should say or do. Sweet heaven, help me! she thought. If she was Katrina, why in hell didn't she know what to do? Why did the answers elude her? Why couldn't she appease him?

  He smiled at her but the smile was nothing more than a hard, bitter, humorless twist of the lips. He planted his hands on either side of her head, pinning her there. Then he asked her again, “Where have you been?”

  “Out. Working.”

  “And what work was that?”

  “You're hurting me—”

  “Am I?” He brought his hand from the wall to stroke her cheek. His palm and fingers fell to her throat, and when he had caressed the flesh, he tightened his grip. Panic welled inside of her and he saw it...and he smiled again bitterly. “Perhaps I should strangle you now. Perhaps it would ease the torment in my soul when I sleep at night. At least I would know where you lie at night.”

  She could barely breathe. She knew that she could fight, but at the same time, she prayed that even as Percy he could not really hurt her. For if he could, then their marriage might as well end, this way as well as any other.

  His hand fell from her neck. For the moment she was free. She shoved him with all of her strength and ducked beneath his arm, desperate enough to run for the ballroom. “Katrina!” He shouted out the strange name and he was behind her. She reached the room and slammed the door shut and bolted it and leaned against it. It was to no avail. He screamed out the strange name again and she heard him slam against the wood. She felt it shudder and she jumped away from it, a scream on her lips. He slammed against the door again, and the old bolt broke. The door opened, screeching on its hinges.

  “Percy, please!” She was barely aware that she used the old name, the name so alien to her. And then she swallowed sharply, for he paused, hearing her say it. “Please!” she whispered again.

  But he came toward her anyway, reaching out his hand. “I told you...I begged you,” he whispered, “not to bargain. But you were gone again. Running to him again.”

  She shook her head. She tried to spin and run again, but this time he lunged at her legs like a football player, and they both fell to the antique Persian rug that stretched the length of the room. He crawled over her and she beat against him frantically. He caught her wrists and stretched them far above her head. She stared at him in the day's pale and dying light, and he whispered to her then, “I loved you so very much.”

  “I love you.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her. She squirmed beneath him, struggling. He held her steady with his weight, watching her face, easing his hold on her wrists at last to run his fingers over her face.

  “Please let me go,” she whispered. “Percy, this is the ballroom.”

  “Ah, yes, the ballroom. And you are a prim and proper wife now, my love? Tell me, does it matter to you when you go to him? Does it matter if it is a barn or a cornfield, a ballroom or a shabby garret within a tavern? Does it matter then?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about!” she shouted.

  “You cannot deny it. James was here when the ship came up the river. He was hiding with his troops out in the field. You gave them supplies and quinine, and he met with you here.”

  “No!”

  “Was it in this room, dear wife? Tell me that you did not take him to my very bed. Ah...were you in the kitchen, perhaps, or the little parlor or upon the rug in the music room when you finished with your entertainment?”

  “Percy, you are mad! Let me go!”

  “I cannot. You are my wife.”

  “Have pity, then!”

  “Did you dance with him? Did y
ou play for him?”

  “No. Percy—”

  He was on his feet again, dragging her up. To some distant music only he could hear, he began to swirl her around and around the room. She grew dizzy and she held on to him for dear life. Darkness settled heavily upon them. She could almost see it as it would have been, years and years ago, damask on the windows, a player at the spinet...

  They turned and turned some more, and then she was back in his arms and they had burst out onto the balcony and he took her chin into his hand, lifting her face to his. “By heaven, I love you! Fool that I am, I love you!”

  She cried out as his fingers brushed her throat again and he whispered against her earlobe, “Dear God, that you could betray me so!”

  “Never!” She assured him, trembling. “Please, please, don't hurt me again.”

  “Then love me, my wife. Love me.”

  Trembling still, she set her palm against his cheek and she kissed him. He caught her hand and kissed it tenderly and swept her into his arms again carefully, as if she wore voluminous skirts. He sank to the floor, holding her.

  Her tears mingled with each kiss. He caught her lips again and again, playing with them as he eased his hands beneath her hem and along her thigh. He had seldom been more erotic—his mouth never leaving her lips, his eyes never straying from hers—as he slid his fingers against the lace and elastic of her panties, then swept them away to plunge his fingers inside of her, his breath hot and heavy against her face. She bit her lip and cried out softly in sweet excitement and shame. She shouldn't feel it, she shouldn't want it, she shouldn't have it, this was not right at all...

  He swept her skirt above and ravished her flesh with his lips and teeth and tongue, and she did nothing but feel the rising pulse of anticipation. When he rose from her at last and stripped, she reached for him eagerly, coming to him on her knees. A merciful blankness filled her mind. The body belonged to Brent McCauley, and she loved him. Had she loved him before? Was this then the same person? She didn't know. She only knew that he was hers and she was his and that he did not hurt her now, but held her and swept into her with tenderness and love.

  Until the end, until the very end. He stroked her hair and he lay beside her, damp and glistening. Then he looked up at the ceiling and then he stared at her in horror. He jumped up. “Oh, my God! It's here! It's right here, witch, that you betrayed me!”