by Theresa Weir
I asked Mrs. Spangler to keep an eye on him while I went in to shower. Afterwards, I called Heather, and she reminded me that my former lover’s energy inhabited William and suggested the dreams were from my previous life. She sounded very sure. Okay, then. Resident expert on weirdness and pretty darned weird herself. She’d always had a unique worldview.
“He saved my life yesterday,” I told her. “He’s done his good deed, and I want the dreams to stop.” I didn’t like the whiney note in my voice and took a deep breath to get a hold of myself. I hadn’t thought the visions were that big a deal, but now that I was talking about them, I realized the powerful emotions they evoked made me feel out of control.
Silence on the other end of the line. I waited while Heather consulted her guides as she liked to say.
“No,” she said after a while. “No, that wasn’t it. He still has something to do. Sorry.”
Me, too. Not that I mind William protecting me. That was a good thing.
“Hey,” she said, “I have to go. My other phone is ringing and it’s the shelter. As far as the dreams, try meditating.”
Meditating. Yeah, right.
Outside, I heard William barking, insistent and worried. Not unlike the way he’d barked at me that morning when I’d been dreaming…about our former life. A shiver grabbed me and I shook like William did after his bath, but the sound of his voice inexplicably brought my heart into my throat so I went to investigate. He stood at the top of the stone steps leading down to the exterior entrance to the basement just below the rear deck, barking and whimpering at the open door. Mrs. Spangler was nowhere in sight. She must have gone down there. I went to William and ruffled the stiff hair on his back, trying to sooth both of us. I’d never liked the basement, either. He looked at me and whimpered again and continued barking.
“Shush,” I said to him. “Mrs. Spangler?” I called toward the doorway. Mysterious smells wafted from the opening. No, just stale air, dust. I rubbed my nose.
No answer. I went halfway down the steps but William nabbed the hem of my t-shirt before I could go any farther. I didn’t keep anything in the basement and allowed Mrs. Spangler and Mr. Weinperth to use it how they wished. I knew Mrs. Spangler had various things stored in boxes, and Mr. Weinperth had set up a workbench where he made birdhouses.
I preferred the sunny attic, not that I had much to store. Most of what was up there was my mother’s stuff. Of course, the electrical service was in the basement, but Mr. Weinperth never minded flipping a breaker. He’d seen action in Korea and two tours of Viet Nam. Nothing in the dark crannies of a domestic basement could faze him. After telling me I needed to buck up and get over it, he always went down there anyway. Just one more reason to keep their rent cheap. For anything more complicated than a blown circuit, I called Mr. Fagen.
Gabe.
Had it been just the night before that I’d last seen him? After all these years of being oblivious to his nearness, I craved him like an addiction too long denied. The ache for him mingled with my growing anxiety, forming a physical presence of its own deep in my gut, a place as stale and torpid as the basement air. Maybe he’d been shut in the same place as my feelings. Had a doorway cracked open? What else might leak out? I had cried a couple of times on Friday, though quickly got it under control. And there was the anger. Did I want to feel?
I gave all that a mental shove.
“Mrs. Spangler?” I yelled.
“Down here, dear. Just looking for something.”
“Do you need any help?” Please say no.
Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking.
I held on to William’s collar with one hand while the other crept to the neck of my shirt, pulling it away from my throat as though my airway were restricted.
“No, no.” She poked her head out. “I’m fine. But William is upset about something. He started carrying on as soon as I came down here.”
“I can see that.” A gusty sigh of relief escaped my lungs. Maybe he’d been locked in a basement by one of his former owners. There were those stories about what a bad dog he’d been. Some people would rather shut an animal away or give it up then try to figure out what made it tick. Not that I could claim to know what made him tick. But I was content to let him be.
“It’s okay,” I said to him. “Mrs. Spangler is fine. See?”
She waved and went back into the basement, and he started in more insistently than before. If he were my lover from a former life and my dreams were about that life and the woman—I—had been imprisoned in a cellar…ridiculous. He pulled on my shirt and I hopped to the top step before the fabric gave out. He wouldn’t budge until Mrs. Spangler came out and locked the door behind her. She petted him.
“Nothing down there but a bunch of old boxes and stuff. Thank you for worrying. Blackie was a wonderful companion, but he wasn’t much of a watchdog. Looks like you know your job.” She gave him a final pat on the head. “Quite the warrior angel,” she said before going in to her apartment with the box she’d retrieved from the basement.
Quite. The coffee I’d had on an empty stomach turned to acid in my throat. I looked at William. He wasn’t smiling.
Chapter 7
Inside, I walked the length of the house, took the stairs two at a time and came back down as fast as I could. William kept pace. I repeated the pattern, my thoughts zinging from Gabe to my dreams and back again but couldn’t shake the nervous restlessness and decided to go the gym for a real workout followed by a cold shower. As I gathered my things, William began barking just as there came a knock at the back door followed by more barking from the other side of it.
Good God. What now? William bounded to the door and jumped against it, pushing aside the curtain and peering through the paned glass in the upper half. He bristled and let out a huge woof but his tail wagged, leaving me unsure how to interpret his response. My eyes connected with Gabe’s and my tummy did its happy dance. The outside barking subsided to a low growl. I was pretty sure dear Mr. Fagen wasn’t making this noise and glanced through the window before opening the door.
On the other side, a smaller dog, brown, short-haired, probably a chocolate Lab, sat on the deck and wriggled and made what I’d thought was a growly sound, but her body language said otherwise, kind of like William’s.
“This is Lucy,” Gabe said. “I thought William might like a playmate.”
Oh, good, one for William, one for me. I wouldn’t need the gym after all.
“I doubt I can hold him,” I said loudly enough to be heard through the heavy door. “You think it’s safe?”
Gabe shrugged. “She’s well socialized. They can usually work it out.”
“Okay,” I said. “Stand aside.”
Gabe unhooked Lucy’s leash as I opened the door and stepped back, unsure whether the doggie games would be inside or out. I shouldn’t have wondered. William rushed forward, jumped over the other dog, down the steps into the yard, spun and turned. Lucy ducked, rolled, and came to her feet at the top of the steps, on her toes, tail up. They stared at each other.
Lucy made the first move. She boldly sauntered down the steps and sidled up to William, offering her backside while she sniffed at him. I admired her style. During my restless pacing, the dream of the man and the woman in the woods had been the most vivid, the most provoking. Remembering it elicited the same unsatisfied longing I’d felt upon awakening. What I wanted was a good, long workout with Gabe, not an exercise machine at the gym. And I didn’t think he would mind. I’d figure out the feelings part later.
William whipped around and went for Lucy’s throat. I gasped, but she dropped and went belly up, gracefully submitting to the larger dog. This was his territory, after all. She took off around the yard and William watched. She stopped and put her paws out, chest down, butt up and tail wagging. Universal dog language for “let’s play!” William sat and looked at me.
“Go on,” I urged. But he didn’t.
Maybe it was too hot. He’d already been for a run. I brough
t them a big pot of water and they both drank. Lucy licked William’s face. He tolerated the attention.
Gabe leaned against a porch support, not watching the dogs, but keeping his eyes on me. I’d grown hot under the close scrutiny, but if he had something to say, he could just spit it out. I was in no mood for beating around the bush.
“She’s great,” I said. “Wish I could be so bold.”
He shifted. I realized he’d been waiting for a cue from me. He pushed away from the post, took my hand, and led me inside, shutting the door and turning the lock.
At first, I wanted only his heart. Doesn’t sound like much, but I wanted to hear it, needed to feel it. To put my ear to his chest and nothing more. But the moment I pressed against him and he folded me in his arms, it wasn’t nearly enough. With the ripple of muscle beneath my cheek as he breathed, I wanted more. My hands explored his sides, his back, his shoulders. Solid and real and substantial. He smelled of soap and expectation. His heart pounded, and his stomach—his whole body—was taut with the same anticipation and deep longing as mine.
We had been flying through life side by side but never touching. I had wanted him always. We had wanted each other. My heart pounded too. Against his. With his. I was finally in Gabe’s arms where I’d always wanted to be. It had been a dream for so long. The reality was hard to take in.
He waited, and he would wait a little longer while I got used to this grand new idea that was Gabe, that was flesh and blood and bone and breath.
He took my hand again, kissed the palm, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. Oh Lord, too much, too soon. The idea was still too new. I pressed my hands into his chest to separate us and headed up the stairs. He followed.
In my bedroom, I stopped at the foot of my bed, a hand on the high footboard. He shut the door. I flipped the sandals off my feet. He kicked out of his topsiders. His legs were long and strong, glazed with fine hair.
Ideas and images collided in my mind. Those legs rubbing mine. A man and a woman entwined together on the ground in a deep wood. I would take all he had to offer and more, but my own legs were suddenly wobbly with want. In a blurry moment, we tumbled into the sheets.
They crackled like a thousand years of dry leaves. It was right to take his lips in silence, the stubbled skin along his jaw, his smooth collarbone. He swallowed and sound rumbled through him, a manly purr of pure hunger.
I didn’t know who I was or whom he was, only the slide of our bodies, which knew all that was needed. The sheets were cool. We had forever. I arched to meet him.
He was mine.
Chapter 8
Gabe couldn’t believe it. If he didn’t have Stephanie’s warm, naked body tucked around his, he wouldn’t believe it. He could wish—had wished—that they’d been together like this forever. But he still could barely grasp what had just happened. If there were such things as otherworldly experiences—there weren’t—he’d call what they’d done miraculous. No, not a miracle. They’d done the most basic thing that humans and animals enjoy on a daily basis. Probably his imagination—years of imagining—that made it extraordinary.
They’d been transported. There, he admitted it. There was no other way to describe it. His body felt heavy as a lunker and lighter than one-pound line, like he wasn’t even in it.
But he was and he was starving. He squeezed Steph against his side. It would be painful to get out of her bed but they had to eat, and he wanted to pick up some things from his place before returning for the night. She murmured—a satisfied sound if he ever heard one. A ripple of pleasure shot from his feet to the top of his head.
“Hey,” he said. “How ’bout Chinese?”
“Ummm.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Stay.”
“I won’t be long. Couple of hours to get home, get some stuff, call in an order. I’ll stay when I get back with food. Okay?”
“Ummm.”
He edged away from her. She hung on and grumbled a protest.
“Starving.”
He’d loved her straight into the Stone Age if all she could manage were grunts and single words. He grinned and stroked her backside.
“Me, too.”
“Food. Now.”
“Okay, okay, cave woman.” He laughed and kissed her forehead. “I’ll hunt food now. There’s a to-go place around the corner. I can gather my stuff later.”
She patted his chest. “Cave man good.”
He forced himself out of the bed and shrugged into his clothes. “Lucy usually rides shotgun. You want William in or out?”
Stephanie burrowed into the mattress. “In,” came her muffled reply.
At the back door, the dog trotted past and up the stairs without so much as a glance at the man.
* * *
If that was what crazy felt like, I’d take it. William jumped onto the bed. He sniffed around then curled at my feet. A tiny voice urged me to move, take a shower. I ignored it, breathing Gabe’s scent into my cells. I never needed to move again. My body felt torpid and a little sore, but good good good, and my mind, blessedly blank. I coaxed William closer and drifted off.
I kneel in the temple, alone. The others have returned to the village after the invocation. I love being alone in this place. It is the dark of the moon, the stone beneath my knees is hard, the air sharp. Silently, I repeat the sacred prayers. I feel the presence of the old ones bringing in the new year.
A shriek cuts the night from down the hill. Shouts. Pounding hooves.
I am running. I lead them away from the others. I’m fast. No one in the village can catch me. Ahead, a place of safety. They are coming swiftly. On horseback. I can’t reach it. They grab me from behind and drag me between them. They are too strong, too strong for me. It is dark, but I hear their voices, one especially.
It cannot be.
I am in the cellar with the others. They are weeping. I comfort them and they quiet.
At dawn, the barbarians return to set the fires.
Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking.
He is not coming. The man who was my love. It was his voice I heard. My heart is sick with knowing. Sparks and cinders rain through the ceiling. The building above begins to collapse.
I curse him. Before the blackness descends, I curse him in all directions of time.
I flailed against flames and roiling soot. Their screams—my screams—jarred me awake. Someone shoved beneath my arm. William. My skin was clammy with sweat and stank of smoke, my heart raced. I held onto my dog with both hands until I caught my breath. He pushed his nose into my face, whimpering.
He didn’t like the dreams.
Neither did I.
Chapter 9
Gabe had hummed the whole time he waited for their food. He didn’t know what Steph liked—to eat—so he ordered one from column A, two from column B, and three from column C.
Back at her place, he learned she liked spring rolls and Szechwan chicken, the hotter the better. He preferred egg rolls and Hunan beef, the hotter the better. They were going to get along just fine.
Except that he wasn’t humming now. She’d been telling him an outlandish tale that involved a previous life starring William as her lover. She had diagnosed herself with PTSD—or possibly plain old insanity—as a result of losing her purpose in life. All that to explain why they couldn’t continue. At least not until she got this sorted out.
What a load of crap.
“So this woman—you—was burned to death in a cellar—”
“Which explains why I’ve never liked basements or fire.”
“And her lover was supposed to save her but didn’t—”
“She thought he would but he betrayed her.”
Which could explain why she’d never married. Wait, no. He was not buying into this. “And William is this guy, and he has to make it right. Does that sum it up?”
“Pretty much. She cursed him. I think she was a priestess or something.”
“You were a priestess.”
Ste
ph deftly brandished a hunk of chicken with her chopsticks. “I kind of like that part.”
Gabe dredged his third egg roll in a dollop of spicy mustard. “You know how this sounds.”
“Yeah, but it does explain a lot. Still, I’m thinking the PTSD idea has merit. I’m really not myself.”
“Of course not. You’re the priestess.”
“There’s no need for sarcasm. And look at William.”
They looked at the dogs. Both had been following the conversation, or maybe it was the food, closely.
“I mean, look at him.”
William made direct eye contact with Gabe, then very deliberately looked away, giving his attention to Steph. If Gabe didn’t know better, he’d say he’d just been told to drop dead. There was no malice in the look, though.
“He’s a dog, Steph.”
Gabe wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to convince. Something had to explain the animal’s immediate bond with this woman and total disinterest in a female of his own kind. Something like a lack of socialization with other dogs. Not the spirit of an imaginary man from hundreds of years ago who had been cursed…. He wasn’t going to let this nonsense come between them. Not after all this time.
“You have to admit,” Stephanie continued, “he doesn’t act like other dogs.”
“He already saved your life. He’s redeemed himself.” Why was he encouraging her?
“That’s the thing. Heather said that wasn’t it.”
“This the same Heather who used to wear crystals in her hair and make burnt offerings to the full moon?”
Stephanie’s eyes grew wide. “Oh my God, you knew about that?”
“There wasn’t much I missed.”
“You’re wrong.” She cracked open a fortune cookie. “It was the new moon.”
Gabe grinned then took a swig of beer. There was nothing wrong with her that enough time with a flesh-and-blood man—himself—wouldn’t fix.
