by Belle Ami
“I love you, Sophia. You will come with me, yes?”
Her fingers caressed his face. “I love you, too, Gerhard. Yes, God protect us, I’ll come. But I have a better idea. We’ll go to my family home. My brothers will not turn us away.”
The young couple kissed once more. When they pulled apart Gerhard looked up and it was as though he were looking directly at Angela. That’s when she saw his eyes—one pale blue and the other hazel. Her world started to swirl and spin and then everything went dark…
“Shit!” Alex’s knees almost buckled when he rushed into the office and saw Angela lying on the floor, unconscious. He checked her breathing, and grabbing her purse sifted through it, pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer, opened it, and waved it under her nose. When her eyelids fluttered open, he sighed in relief.
“It’s you…” she breathed.
He held her, caressing her hair and back. “What happened?”
“They were here, in this room… a man and a woman.”
He looked around the room. “What man? What woman?”
“Gerhard and Sophia?”
“The same couple we’re investigating?”
“Yes! H-he wore a German officer’s uniform, she was dressed like a movie star from an old movie. So beautiful.” Angela grabbed hold of his shirt, her eyes looked dazed. “They were arguing about the da Vinci painting. About taking it with them. H-he couldn’t bring himself to leave it here. He wanted to hide it. It was crazy, I could see everything, but they couldn’t see me. I-I know now…” Her breathing quickened like she was running a race. Alex was worried she would start hyperventilating.
“What do you know, Angel?” He caressed her flushed face.
“I-I’m her. I’m Sophia.” She was shaking now. “And I saw Gerhard’s eyes. He was looking at me.” She cupped his face in her hands. “He had different-colored eyes. Your eyes. Am I going crazy, Alex?”
“Hush, calm down, honey.” He pulled her back into his arms, the hammering pulse in her neck worried him. “It’s going to be all right. I promise.” His own heart began pounding in his chest. Angela knew she was Fioretta and now she’d also discovered she was Sophia. Both women had a connection to the painting. Alex knew he was Giuliano in a past life, and from what Angela had told him about Gerhard’s eyes, he’d been Gerhard in a past life as well. A Nazi officer, no less. Shit. This was getting way too twisted. “What else do you remember?”
She pulled away, her cheeks red with embarrassment. “Th-there was nothing else. That was it.”
He searched her eyes. She was hiding something from him. He’d get to the bottom of it later. You’re hiding something too, buddy. Guilt churned in his gut. Angela was going through this ordeal, thinking she was alone but she wasn’t. He had to tell her what he knew and soon, or he might lose her. “Let’s call it a day. We can go back home and rest, eat something, and talk.”
“Okay, I’m not much good for anything else today, I feel like I’ve just run a marathon.”
“Angel, you need to remember these people are no longer alive.” He helped her up from the floor, steadying her when she wobbled on her feet. “They exert no real hold over your life. Okay?”
“Yes, I know,” she replied with a frown. “It’s not like I went looking for this. I can’t stop it from happening. When I was on my way to the bathroom, I heard the voices and it was like some sort of supernatural force pushed me inside.” She began to tremble again. “I’m scared that I’ll keep getting pulled in deeper and deeper. What if I end up in this dream state and I can’t come back?”
“I won’t let that happen to you. I promise,” he said fiercely. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a sideways hug as they made their way from the Uffizi. He refused to think that he could lose her to this strange, creeping possession. The whole thing was like some bizarre, paranormal novel. At this rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if a vampire showed up on his doorstep.
Their past lives, for some reason, were intruding, but he would not allow them to steal her present life or her future. But no matter what came next, he vowed to protect her. No matter the risk.
Beyond the windows of Alex’s apartment, Florence glittered like a jewel. Alex had cancelled their dinner reservations and instead ordered a pizza and a salad from a local bistro, the remains of which were still on the table in the library.
“I know you’re upset, but can we talk about what happened?” He laid his hand over hers.
“I’m not upset, I promise.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I’m so quiet. I’m just trying to remember who I was before this whole thing started.”
He scratched his stubble and decided to jump in. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
She raised an elegant eyebrow. “I can tell, you’re anxious because you’re scratching the side of your face.”
“Ah, so you’re getting to know my quirks, are you?”
“Yes, but I like you anyway.”
He lifted her hand and kissed her palm. “Good, because I like you too.”
She blushed and it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and kiss her breathless, but he had to tell her before they could move forward. “Just as you know that you were Fioretta and Sophia…” He blew out a breath. “I know that in past lives, I was Giuliano and from what you told me about Gerhard’s eyes, I must have been him too.”
“Of course.” She gripped his hand. “If you were Giuliano, it stands to reason that you were also Gerhard.”
“Not exactly thrilled about being a Nazi in a past life.” He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand.
“Gerhard wasn’t evil,’ she said softly. “You know that, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “Well, we can’t pick our past lives, I guess. But I made up for it in this one. This time I was on the right side.” He quirked a half-smile.
“You’re a good man—a courageous man.” She cupped his face with her hands. “I can’t even fathom what you went through in Afghanistan. I hope one day you can share it with me.”
I want to. God, how I want to. He gazed into her velvety eyes, shimmering with a luminous beauty. He’d never talked about it with anyone, except for his therapist and other vets. Never wanted to until he met Angela. They may have been together in past lives, but he yearned to know her in this one.
He had to come clean about what he knew. “The painting you sat in front of at the Getty. The one by Botticelli—”
“Yes?”
“Your last day at the Getty, you had the run-in with that asshole Scordato and you ended up sitting on the bench facing the Botticelli. I woke you up from a trance state remember?”
She nodded.
“What I didn’t tell you was that the painting spoke to me. Giuliano told me he failed to protect Fioretta, and it was my duty to protect you at all costs because the past was doomed to repeat itself.”
Angela gasped, pulling away, she stood and began to pace. “The painting spoke to you? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“At first I didn’t know what to think. I had to process everything in my own mind. And you were so distraught about Scordato and then you collapsed outside the restaurant and had another vision. You were going through so much baby, I couldn’t dump that on you too.”
“But that’s precisely why you should have told me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I was going through so much—I felt all alone.”
“You’re not alone.” He stood and laid his hands on her shoulders. “My priority was keeping you safe and getting you away from Scordato. I was going to tell you after we got to Florence and now I’m telling you. Forgive me.”
“Do you really think all of this is fate?” Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears.
“We kissed twice in front of that painting. Your eyes changed color from brown to green. You spoke in Italian. You
told me you loved me. That we were destined to be together.”
“I was in a trance.”
“Yes, but you knew it was me. On some level, you knew I was Giuliano,” he said softly.
Tears were streaming down her face now. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.
“No more secrets,” she whispered thickly. “Please, we have to be honest with each other. Promise me.”
“I promise… Speaking of which, I get the feeling that a lot more happened in your vision this afternoon than what you shared with me.” He leaned back and saw her ruby-red blush.
“Yes, but I was kind of embarrassed by what I’d seen…”
“What did you see?” He smiled at her flustered expression.
“Sophia and Gerhard made mad passionate love on the desk. It was the most erotic thing.” Her eyes were wide and if it were possible, she blushed even more.
He grinned. “Shit, that must have been hot.”
“But that wasn’t the weirdest part.”
“Go on…” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, making her laugh.
“They spoke in Italian and I understood every word they said…”
“Is that all?” He was having fun teasing her.
Angela leaned in closer and whispered, “Every time he touched her I felt it like a sensory memory, and I…” Her cheeks turned a darker shade of crimson. “I enjoyed it.” She looked down, clearly embarrassed.
Damn! Her words had awakened his own sleeping giant. He wanted to carry her upstairs to his room and spend the next few days in bed, loving every inch of her luscious body. But he couldn’t. Not now, not when she needed his strength to lean on. “Well, that’s a hell of a lot better than some of your other past visions.”
“It’s not funny, Alex.”
“Sorry, humor is a coping mechanism,” he admitted. “For a while I considered stand-up comedy then I realized I was terrible at it.”
She arched her brow. “I think that was a wise decision.”
“Ouch.” They both laughed at that and then he said in all seriousness, “Your past selves are reaching out to you for a reason and it has something to do with the missing da Vinci.”
“Maybe… there’s more. Maybe they want to help me stop whatever cycle keeps repeating itself. And it’s getting stronger, more demanding. It’s as if these lives are merging into mine. Taking over my life.” She pressed her fingers to her temples.
He removed her hands and gently massaged her temples.
She sighed from his ministrations, a soft moan escaping her lips.
“We’ll figure it out. Together. I promise you, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“I’m not sure you can stop it. I seem to be the conduit and they’re not about to let go of me. If Giuliano in the painting told you to protect me because of history repeating itself, then that means danger is ahead. But what?”
Her frustration was as great as his. He didn’t have any answers for her, at least not yet. “I wish I knew the answer to the mystery, but together we’ll figure it out. I keep thinking there’s a score to settle, some cosmic vendetta that must be satisfied.”
“I seem to be the bait.”
“Not on my watch.” He caressed her face. “I’d like to take you to the Church of San Lorenzo where both Lorenzo and Giuliano are buried. Tomorrow, if you’re up to it.”
She nodded.
“Then in a couple of days, we can head out to my vineyard in Montefioralle. It will give us some respite from everything. Besides which, you had a strong feeling that Montefioralle factors into this mystery. Even if it doesn’t, it will give us a chance to just chill out and breathe some fresh country air. Read, hike, whatever you want. I need to check in with my manager anyway to see how the grape harvest is coming along.”
“That would be wonderful.” She sighed. “Whatever happens, we’re going to be honest with each other from now on?” she asked.
“I promise.” He kissed the side of her cheek and drew her back into his embrace. No matter what danger lay ahead, he would protect her with his very life. That didn’t mean he wasn’t worried. Little by little, with each episode, the dreams and visions were becoming more visceral and debilitating.
How the hell can I stop this from hurting her?
Chapter 10
Florence, Italy
Church of San Lorenzo
August 8, 2018
It was magnificent.
Angela was awestruck when she entered the Church of San Lorenzo to see, in person, the pinnacle of Renaissance architecture designed by Brunelleschi and Michelangelo. She walked through the nave in reverent silence. Renaissance means rebirth and San Lorenzo was one of its masterworks. A rebuttal to the Medieval dark ages that had preceded it. Here, great artists, thanks to the Medici family, had been given a chance to build a monument that embraced humanist achievements in learning and wisdom.
“So, professor, do I get an art history lesson, or are you going to keep the story to yourself?”
“Actually, this place ties in rather strongly to our mystery. After Giuliano and Lorenzo’s deaths, Michelangelo was hired by his childhood playmate Cardinal Giulio de Medici to design and build the New Sacristy here. I don’t know if you know it, but Michelangelo was like a son to Lorenzo and he grew up at the Medici Palazzo.”
“Giulio de Medici?”
“Giulio was Fioretta and Giuliano’s son. He later became Pope Clement VII.”
Alex whistled. “Our son the Pope, now there’s a feather in our cap.”
Angela smiled. “We did good, didn’t we?”
“We sure did, baby.” He glanced around. “Knowing that we were here before is beyond anything I could ever have imagined. Tell me about the New Sacristy, where I’m buried.”
“Michelangelo’s design for the New Sacristy was a space symbolically embodying Human Life. After death the soul would be freed to pursue the pleasures of an active sporting life and the contemplative philosophical life. His design aligned with his own spiritual quest and belief in the hereafter.”
“Michelangelo believed in reincarnation?”
“No. There’s no proof of that. I think his belief was more influenced by his devout Catholicism. More a belief in the spiritual hereafter.”
Alex and Angela exited the church and walked around its perimeter to the back where the entrance to the Chapel of the Princes was found. The chapel was built to display the grandeur and wealth of the Medici Grand Dukes. The soaring walls of the mausoleum were inlaid with marble, granite, jasper, alabaster, lapis lazuli, coral, and mother of pearl. The elaborate Baroque tomb and its soaring frescoed cupola were a lavish display of excess, but this was not Alex and Angela’s destination. The reason for their visit was downstairs.
Only a few people at a time were given entry to the New Sacristy. Finally, Angela stood at the front of the line with Alex behind her. When the group before them exited they would be let in. Just as the tourists filed out Angela stepped in first. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Alex had paused to look at something. Before she knew what was happening, the door slammed shut locking her inside.
“Alex!” She pounded on the door but could hear nothing on the other side. A whoosh of wind whispered in her ear and she turned, pressing her back against the door. Frightened and confused, her gaze swept the claustrophobic space where priests would dress before conducting the Mass. The funerary chapel was square and dense. Soaring in heights that exceeded its width and length. The second story, designed with faux windows of solid marble, enhanced the oppressiveness and made Angela shudder. She recalled one art historian’s comparison of the chapel to purgatory. She understood that feeling of entrapment. At this moment she wasn’t sure if she’d ever get out.
Only at the top, where the dome floated, were the possibilities of heaven and freedom given expression. From a surro
und of windows thin streams of light filtered down. She lifted her face to the light, hoping to conquer the fear that had formed a knot in the pit of her stomach.
The art historian in her brushed her fears aside and stepped toward Michelangelo’s monumental sculptures of Night and Day that bookended the carved statue of Giuliano, who posed relaxed and breast plated. He appeared to be a Roman warrior at ease. On the opposing wall were Dawn and Dusk, which flanked the sculpture of Lorenzo, a decidedly more introspective figure that appeared to be contemplating life, death, and eternity. Both statues were supposed to represent Giuliano’s and Lorenzo’s namesake cousins, but Angela had always sensed that they were really Giuliano and Lorenzo whose effigies Michelangelo had planned, but never begun.
Giuliano’s sculpture was an idealized symbol of man’s physical perfection and beauty. It was her favorite of Michelangelo’s sculptures. Now, as she gazed at the statue, her eyes filled with tears. The beauty of Michelangelo’s genius made her cry. She might have remained in a state of contemplation if a whispering voice hadn’t filled her ears. “Fioretta, amore mio.”
She whirled around, but there was no one there. Invisible fingers brushed through her hair and she whirled again, her heart stampeding in her chest. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she felt a cold breath on her neck that whispered, “Fioretta, ho aspettato un eternità per essere riunito a voi.” She repeated the words in a whisper, “My darling wife. I’ve waited so long to be reunited with you.” Hadn’t she just told Alex that she didn’t think the ghosts of the past could intervene in the present? Yet, she was being caressed by Giuliano, a man dead for over five-hundred years.
The light in the chapel dimmed, casting shadows over the monumental statues. She turned in a circle, the chapel spinning around her, trying to find the source of the ghostly voice that continued its recitation of words of love. “What do you want from me? Why are you haunting me?”
She sank to the floor, closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears. She tried to block out the voice that invaded her mind. “I’m not Fioretta. I’m Angela,” she repeated over and over.
