Fury

CHAPTER TWENTY

JENNIFER SLEPT AS THE car swept across New Jersey. When she woke, stretched out in a sleeping bag in the back of Eileen’s station wagon, she saw they were on an interstate, passing through bleak farmland. The trees were bare, and icy snow covered the low, rolling hills. The sun, reflecting off the snow, blinded her for a moment, and she thought at once of how she had killed the pit bull, and to keep her mind off the frightening memory, she asked, “Where are we, Eileen?”

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead. According to the last signpost, we’re just beyond Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, heading west on 80. Do you want coffee?”

“Oh, no, just keep driving.” Jennifer did not want to stop. She liked feeling that she was escaping from New York, driving away from danger.

“I have some with me. Here.” Without taking her eyes off the road, Eileen handed back a thermos. “There are sandwiches packed, too, and sodas. Would you like to drive?”

Jennifer shook her head. “Not unless you want me to,” she said. “I’m exhausted.” When Eileen had picked her up that morning at the apartment, she was still trembling from the dog’s attack. She was afraid that Tom wouldn’t let her go, but he had wanted her to go then, thinking that she would be safer in Minnesota, far away from the drug dealers. But it wasn’t drug dealers, Jennifer knew, who had sent the pit bull into her apartment.

“Well, you’re okay now,” Eileen told her, smiling into the rearview mirror.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever be all right again.”

“Yes, you will. Kathy’s going to help you.”

Jennifer smiled, then reached over and tenderly squeezed Eileen’s shoulder. She closed her eyes again but immediately conjured up the nightmare vision of the dog attacking. She saw the animal’s slobbering mouth, its bare white teeth. Jennifer opened her eyes and blinked again at the brilliant winter sun.

“Tom thinks the dog was sent after him,” she said. “By drug dealers he’s prosecuting.”

“You don’t believe that.” It was a statement, not a question. Eileen’s eyes found Jennifer in the mirror.

“The dog was after me, Eileen,” she said. “I just have this feeling that whoever attacked me outside of my apartment is still after me.” Her own words frightened her. “I guess I’m trying to warn you, Eileen, even if it’s too late. I mean, here we are all alone on the interstate in the middle of nowhere.”

“We’ll be careful,” Eileen said reassuringly.

“I’m just sorry that you have to be involved.”

“I want to be involved. Kathy Dart practically told me to hand-deliver you to Minnesota.”

“Oh?” Jennifer looked over at Eileen. From where she was sitting, she could see her right profile.

“You know Kathy is concerned about you,” Eileen said.

“Yes, I know. Is she this concerned about your well-being, too?” Jennifer shifted around and rested her chin on the back of the driver’s seat.

“Yes, I think so. Habasha says that I was once in King Louis the Fourteenth’s cavalry. That must explain my love for horses. Anyway, Kathy was my commanding officer and I saved her life. That explains why she is linked to me. And look at us, you and I. Why were we so close in high school? Why did we just—you know—pick up afterwards? There’s a reason. It’s not coincidence. We’re totally different people. My parents weren’t wealthy; yours were. I was raised a Unitarian. You were what, nothing?”

“I wasn’t nothing!” Jennifer answered back, laughing. “I was raised a Lutheran. And Lutherans believe in God. I do!” she added defensively. “So there!”

“So there yourself!” Eileen answered back.

They rode in silence for a moment, watching the highway ahead of them. There was very little traffic, and Eileen was speeding in the left lane, passing an occasional car. At that moment, Jennifer felt happy and secure. She had turned her life over to Eileen and Kathy Dart. They had answers about what was happening to her, and that was more than she had herself.

“It’s scary sometimes, I know,” Eileen said softly. “I remember one of the first sessions I went to with Kathy. A man there was having trouble with his wife and teenage daughter. There was a great deal of bickering, he said, and he couldn’t understand why. None of them could, really. Well, Kathy used acupuncture on the man to release his past. It was scary. I had never seen anyone being pierced with needles, but it didn’t seem to hurt him, and then when Kathy began to lead the man back through time, he reached this point where he was an Indian living on the plains. In that lifetime the soul who’s now his daughter was his wife. That was the problem. His wife today was jealous of their daughter because she was her husband’s lover in America before Columbus landed here.”

“It all seems so crazy,” Jennifer whispered, doubting for a moment why she was going to see Kathy Dart, why she needed to see the channeler.

“It’s not so crazy. Reincarnation is a part of every religious tradition.”

“I’m just having such a hard time rationalizing it.”

“That’s the trouble. You shouldn’t try to rationalize reincarnation. You’ll see, once you speak with Habasha. Then you’ll understand why you are on earth. And what the purpose is for all your heartaches and joys.” Eileen was speaking curgently now, with conviction. “If you believe in reincarnation, all the coincidences have meaning.”

“That’s what I don’t like,” Jennifer spoke up. “I don’t like thinking that all those coincidences are linked together. It seems too planned, too neatly worked out to be real.”

“But it makes sense, Jenny. Your spirit is created by God, or whoever, and it passes through lifetime after lifetime. The spirit never dies, but it keeps changing. You’re born a man. You’re reborn as the same man’s great granddaughter. It’s wonderful when you step back, when you think of all the possibilities, and the wonderful art of it, really.”

“Maybe it’s not so wonderful,” said Jennifer. “Maybe somebody’s ‘soul’ has come back from another life to kill me.”

“Easy, Jenny. We don’t know that.” Eileen shifted again into the left lane and passed a long distance trucker. As they sped by, the driver blasted his horn. The noise startled Jennifer, and she spun around and gave the finger to the truck driver.

“That wasn’t such a great idea,” Eileen said coolly.

“Why? I hate it when jerks like that think it’s cute to harass women drivers.”

“Yes, I know, but now every trucker on Route 80 is going to be watching for two women in a gold ‘87 Buick.”

“How? What do you mean?”

“CBs, honey. They’re all linked together.”

“Damnit! You’re right.”

“It’s a long trip, and these guys have nothing else to do but amuse themselves. Don’t worry. We’ll avoid their hangouts. It’s okay.”

“Thanks. I guess I’m like someone’s obnoxious teenage daughter.”

“Well, you might have been mine.”

“Yes, I know. In another life.”

They both laughed and then fell silent, watching the white lines flash beneath the car as they sped west, and listening to the hum of the tires and the wind whipping against the windows. It was cozy in the station wagon, and Jennifer slipped down into the sleeping bag and curled up in its warmth.

“Do you mind if I go back to sleep?”

“Please do. I’d like you to drive later, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” mumbled Jennifer, already half asleep.

“Sweet dreams,” Eileen said, glancing back. Jennifer had closed her eyes. She couldn’t see that the smile was gone from Eileen’s face. Her high-school friend’s bright green eyes had glazed over and were as cold as crystal.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

“WHAT DO YOU THINK, Jenny, are we ready to stop?”

Jennifer glanced at the dashboard clock. It was six o’clock, and Eileen had been driving in the dark for over an hour.

“Yes, I guess. I need a drink and an early evening. Have we covered enough territory?”

“Yes, you made good time on the second leg. We’ll catch the turnpike first thing in the morning and be just south of Chicago by tomorrow evening.” Eileen moved the station wagon to the right lane. “I’ve stayed at the Howard Johnson at this exit before,” she explained as she exited Route 80.

Jennifer, now sitting in the front seat, watched Eileen’s profile reflected in the windshield. They took the brightly lit exit, then turned right at the intersection and drove into the Howard Johnson parking lot. “What are you looking at, Jenny?” Eileen flushed under Jennifer’s steady gaze.

“I was just thinking that you’ve been incredibly nice to me, that’s all.” Jennifer usually found it difficult to tell people how she felt, but she had always been able to talk to Eileen, ever since they first sat next to each other in their freshman home-room class.

“Oh, you’d do the same, if I needed help,” Eileen said quickly.

Jennifer saw that her eyes were glimmering with tears. She reached out and squeezed her friend’s arm as they pulled into a parking space. Then, as she reached to open the car door, she said, “Let’s check in and then hit the bar.” She stopped and turned back to Eileen. “Do you mind if we share a room? I mean

” Jennifer looked away, suddenly embarrassed. She saw several men opening the trunks of their cars and taking out luggage. “I mean, I’m still a little nervous. I’d feel safer with you sleeping in the same room.”

“Sure, of course. I hate traveling alone, myself,” Eileen answered quickly. “It’s scary, all the weirdos out here. You never know.”

“Listen!” Jennifer said, laughing. “The weirdos I can handle. I’m worried about Mr. Nice Guy.” She lowered her voice as they entered the hotel lobby. “I’m afraid I might cut off his balls if he steps out of line.”

“It would serve him right, cheating on his wife,” Eileen replied.

The vodka on the rocks made Jennifer giddy. She was telling Eileen about Bobby Scott, a boy they had gone to school with, and how he had tried to kiss her underneath the stadium stands when they played Westbury for the division championship. “Here I was trying to go and take a pee. It was cold, remember? And he just wouldn’t let go. I started to cry from pain.”

“He was not too smart, Bobby.”

“Whatever happened to him, anyway?” Jennifer stared down at her menu and tried to concentrate. Now that they were out of the car and in the warm hotel, she suddenly felt very hungry.

“Oh, he married Debby O’Brian. Do you remember her?”

“He married Debby? She was such a sweet girl, with that beautiful long red hair.”

Eileen nodded. “He went to Queens College, then married her, and they had four kids quick as rabbits. She was a big Catholic. Anyway, now he works for Goldman Sachs. I hear he owns a brownstone and is worth millions.”

“Well, good for Debby.”

Eileen shook her head. “Oh, he dumped her for someone else, a real hotshot investor herself. I met them both a few years ago at a benefit. He was with his new wife, who bought junk bonds, or sold them, or something, and she and I talked. The men were working the room, you know, and here was this woman—Rita, that was her name. She was so unhappy she started to cry, right there in the Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf.”

“With millions of dollars and a brownstone! Why?”

“Bobby beat her. She told me it was the only way he could get it up. Here we were two strangers, and she unloads this gruesome story on me.” Eileen shrugged, then sipped her drink. “She had to tell someone. She was so pitiful and desperate, and I, at least, had known Scotty when he was a kid.”

Jennifer sat back in her chair. She remembered Bobby Scott and how he hadn’t known how to kiss her, or any girl. She remembered again the beer on his breath on that cold Friday night. She had kissed him back just to get rid of him. “Maybe it was my fault,” she joked. “Maybe I shouldn’t have played so hard to get.”

“People choose what they want out of life, Jenny. That’s one of the first things you learn from Habasha. People choose their parents. They choose their lovers and their friends. They choose because they need to fulfill whatever is unresolved from a past life.” Eileen set down her menu. “I think I’m going to have chicken,” she announced. “I never get anything too fancy when I’m eating on the road.”

“Choice, and deciding for others, is all based on experiences from previous lives,” Eileen continued after they had ordered.

“I don’t get that. What do you mean?”

“Well, take us. Who was class president?”

“I was!”

“And I decided you should be.”

“Eileen, don’t be silly!” Jennifer leaned forward. She had had too much to drink and was trying to keep her voice down. “It was my clique, you know that.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I don’t believe this.” Jennifer sighed, baffled. “I remember everything about high school. Everything! It was one of the happiest times in my life. I mean, why would I screw up something like that? I remember when I decided to run for class president. You were the newspaper editor; Karen was in charge of the yearbook. And if I could be president, then our clique—my clique!—would control the senior class and practically all of Shreiber High.” Her voice had risen, and she saw out of the corner of her eye that she was attracting attention. Several diners looked up from their meals, and two men at the bar swung around to stare at them. Jennifer realized suddenly that she and Eileen were the only single women in the restaurant. She lowered her voice.

“Jenny,” Eileen said slowly, “let me tell you a story and see if you recall it. Okay?”

Jennifer nodded. The two drinks had given her a slight headache. She reached over and took a sip of water and saw that her hand was trembling.

“Do you remember our junior year?” Eileen asked.

“Of course.”

“Do you remember Sam Sam and when we went to Jones Beach?”

“Yes! Sam Sam!” Jennifer smiled. It was a name she had forgotten, the girl from Thailand who had been an exchange student at their school.

“Do you remember what happened to Sam Sam, Jenny?” Eileen asked. The waitress had returned with their food, and Eileen was calmly unfolding her napkin, watching Jennifer carefully.

Jennifer shook her head. She could picture Sam Sam, a small girl with beautiful long black hair, pretty brown eyes, and a wonderful smile.

“You don’t remember those jerks from Bay Shore? Those three bikers on the dunes? You and I and Sam Sam were on the beach that Saturday, sunning?”

“Yes, I do!” Jennifer said, suddenly recalling. She remembered then the young hoods swaggering along the beach. They looked so weird coming through the sand in their tight jackets and their long hair. They had wandered down to the patch of sand where she and Eileen and Sam Sam were stretched out on blankets.

“And one of them called Sam Sam a nigger?”

“Yes,” Jennifer whispered.

“See, Jennifer, you do block events, don’t you? We all do.”

“I was so afraid,” Jennifer confessed.

“But do you remember what you did?”

Jennifer shook her head.

“You stood up to all of them, told them off, and told them you’d have them all arrested.”

Jennifer nodded, smiling, pleased to recall the long ago incident. “I guess I did. I was so scared.”

“And I was so proud of you. I remember Sam Sam thanking you. I decided then you should be class president. I told everyone what you had done.”

There were tears in Jennifer’s eyes. “She was really lovely. I wonder what happened to her.”

“She was killed in an auto accident in Thailand when she was nineteen.”

“Oh God! No! How do you?”

“We wrote once a year or so, and then her brother wrote saying she had been killed.”

“I can’t believe it. Little Sam Sam.”

“It’s all right,” Eileen said quickly. “She was reincarnated as a member of a royal family in Asia somewhere. Habasha told me. Within our lifetime she’ll be a great leader of her people. We didn’t lose Sam Sam. She simply went on to a better life, a more important and perfect life. It was her destiny. You must learn to accept this, Jenny. Let life happen to you. Know in your heart that all these events—good and bad—will pass, and that you, too, will pass into other existences, other worlds.”

Jennifer sat back in her chair, shaking her head. “It’s all so strange.” She looked away from Eileen, glanced around the room, and saw that the men at the bar were watching them, whispering to each other.

“You’re just not ready, that’s all.” Eileen reached over and seized Jennifer’s wrist. “But you have great ability, Jennifer. Your electromagnetic frequency is much better than mine, more powerful, perhaps, than Kathy Dart’s. She has said as much to me.”

“I can’t do anything,” Jennifer whispered back across the table, “except kill people.”

“You have only destroyed what needed to be destroyed. You have only rid this world of individuals who needed to be reincarnated as better, purer spirits.”

“I can’t channel. I don’t know—”

“I understand.” Eileen broke in. “You can’t summon guiding spirits the way Kathy does. But you’re gifted in a way that she isn’t. You can ‘see,’ Jennifer.”

“Then why didn’t I see that guy with the club? The one that hit me?” Jennifer had raised her voice again, disturbed by Eileen’s certitude.

“As I said, you weren’t ready,” Eileen answered calmly. “I have a feeling that soon we’ll know why you’ve been singled out. There’s a connection somewhere.” Eileen, excited, was waving her hands and inadvertently summoned a busboy carrying a coffee pot. “I’m sorry.” Eileen laughed. Both she and Jennifer began to giggle, exhausted by their long drive, their drinks, and the intensity of the conversation.

“Excuse us,” Jennifer said, recovering, “would you please have the waitress bring us the check?” She smiled warmly at the young man, who stared blankly at both of them and then wordlessly walked away.

The waitress approached then with a tray of drinks. Jennifer looked up and shook her head. “We didn’t order another round,” she explained.

“The gentlemen at the bar asked if they might buy you all a drink,” the waitress said, leaning over to set down the glasses.

Jennifer stopped her, saying quietly, “Please thank the gentlemen, but we don’t accept drinks from strangers.” Although she did not glance over at the men, she knew they were watching, and at once she felt her pulse quicken and her blood surge.

“Jenny, easy,” Eileen whispered, “let’s not—”

“It’s okay, Eileen,” she said calmly.

“Jennifer,” Eileen whispered urgently. “Let’s not have an incident with these jerks.” She reached over to grab Jennifer’s hand and immediately pulled away, her eyes widening, as she caught the look on Jennifer’s face.

“Get me out of here,” she told Eileen.

Eileen had her purse open and was dropping money onto the table. Jennifer stepped around the table and rushed for the door. She would be all right, she kept telling herself, if she could get outside, away from the two men at the bar. It was only a question of control. She had to control herself. Nervously she licked her lips.

“Hey, honey, what’s the rush?” One of the men had come off his bar stool. He was a big man, the kind who had played football in school, and whose muscles had since turned to fat. He had no neck and a brick-shaped head.

Jennifer made it out of the restaurant and turned down the long, red-carpeted hallway that led to their room. But if he followed her, she realized, he’d know where to find them. She stepped abruptly out of the hallway and into the small alcove that had the ice and Coke machines.

“Hey, I’ve got some rum to go with that Coke of yours,” the man said, turning the corner. He wore steel-rimmed glasses that pinched his face. He was grinning.

“Please, go away,” she asked, refusing to look at him.

“Hey, honey, Pete and me, we just wanted to buy you and your girlfriend a drink. Jesus Christ, you could be a little sociable. I mean, we aren’t out to rape you. Hey, here’s my card.” He flashed a small white card from his vest pocket. “The name’s Buddy Rich. No relation, right? I’m the district salesman for Connect Computer.” He seemed to swell before her. “We’re the largest computer firm east of Illinois, servicing hospitals, universities, major companies.” He had blocked her from the exit as he waved the card in her face. “Take it!” he ordered.

Jennifer took it from him.

“There! That’s not so bad, right?”

She could smell the liquor on his breath, smell his sweat, and she was knew what was coming. She knew she could not stop herself, not without help.

“Please,” she whispered.

“I think a couple of granddaddies and you’ll be just fine. Whatcha say?” He was leaning close.

“Please?” she asked. By now she was backed up against the wall of the alcove. She concentrated on sounds—the humming of the giant Coke machine, the rumbling of the ice maker. Then he touched her.

Jennifer grabbed him by the throat before he took his hand off her shoulder. She looked up and saw his pale blue eyes bulge in his face. She smiled at him so he knew she was enjoying this.

She was holding him several inches above the cement floor with one outstretched arm, marveling at her own strength. Then she turned slowly around, spinning until she realized he had lost control of his bowels. Without pausing, she slammed his face against the ice machine. The blow broke his glasses and bloodied his face, and a bucket of small cubes tumbled from the machine and cracked against the concrete floor. Still holding him with one hand, she shoved his square head into the opening of the ice maker. His head was too big for the slot and she had to press harder, tearing the flesh off his forehead and the tips of his ears before she had successfully wedged him into place.

She left him there with his head jammed in the ice maker, kneeling in his own urine and excrement, and stepped into the dark hallway where Eileen stood, trembling and terrified.

“I think we had better check out,” Jennifer said, and walked down the long hallway to their room.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

“STOP LOOKING BACK, JENNY! He’s not following us.”

“How can you be so sure?” Jennifer glanced again out the rear window of the station wagon but saw no cars or flashing police lights gaining on them. The road was blank. They were alone on the dark interstate, traveling west through Ohio. It had begun to snow slightly, and the high beams picked up the flakes blowing against the windows. Jennifer felt the car shake as it was buffeted by bursts of wind.

“He’s not about to go to the police and tell them some woman shoved his fat face into an ice machine.” Eileen started to giggle, remembering. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so impressed in my life. Jenny, you beat the shit out of that guy! Like you were Rambo or someone!”

“More like Hulk Hogan,” Jennifer answered. She was sitting in the backseat with a car blanket wrapped around her, shivering. The cold was something that came with her power. When she calmed down, she knew, she’d feel better, and her hands would stop trembling. She wondered if it was her fear that provoked the trembling, or simply the aftermath of her rage.

“We’re okay, Jenny. I tell you, stop worrying.”

“I wish I could.” Jennifer buried her face in the thick blanket to smother her tears. She was so tired of crying. Her emotional swings, she thought, were as disturbing as her extraordinary strength. “Eileen, I don’t think I can do this. I can’t sit in this car all the way to Minnesota.”

“We’re not going to drive all the way. Right now, we’re an hour from Akron. We can leave the car there and fly to St. Paul. I’ll telephone Kathy, and she’ll have someone meet us at the airport. If we make good connections, we’ll be on the farm by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Where is it, exactly?”

“About an hour north of St. Paul. It’s beautiful country. You’ll love it!”

“Who’s there? Besides Kathy?” Jennifer pulled herself up in the backseat, realizing how little she knew about Kathy Dart. She would never have taken such a spontaneous trip if it weren’t for Eileen. It was really Eileen Gorman whom she trusted.

“There’s Aurora, Kathy’s daughter. She’s a beautiful child, so gifted, just like her mother.”

“What about her father? Kathy’s husband?” Jennifer asked. She had been so wrapped up in her own problems that she had never even considered the personal life of Kathy Dart.

In the car’s dark interior Jennifer could see Eileen shaking her head.

“I really don’t know that much. No one does. I mean, you heard what Kathy said in Washington, how she was living in California and unhappily married.” Eileen shrugged. “That’s about all any of us know. The outsiders, I mean.”

“But there must be more. There’s always more,” Jennifer said. They drove in silence for a moment. Jennifer found she did not want to look out the window. She was afraid of the dark, afraid of everything that was new to her. And that fear made her angry. It was as if part of her life had been taken away from her.

“So besides Aurora, who’s on the farm?” she asked next, breaking the silence.

“Let’s see, I’m not really sure. People come and go. When Kathy isn’t traveling, she holds sessions in the tukul. That’s the main building, where they all have their meals and hang out. And it’s the place for community meetings.”

“Is it like that place out in Oregon—that Indian cult with free love?” Maybe she had taken too much on faith.

“No! It’s nothing like that, Jennifer,” Eileen soothed. “You’re getting yourself all bent out of shape over nothing. I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t do that to myself!”

“I don’t know what to think. But I do know I don’t want to get mixed up in any sort of weird movement, with chanting and wearing red and having sex with guys who shave their heads. I just want to talk to Kathy Dart.”

“And you will,” Eileen answered, encouragingly. “People consult her all the time. When I was out in September, a group of corporate types—you know, chief executives, vice presidents—were taking this human-potential training that Kathy offers. She has a one-week session called Desta, which is Ethiopian for ‘happy,’ and during the week she channels Habasha.:

“But there’s other stuff, too: role-playing, confessions, meditation. Kathy says that it’s helpful for people—especially managers—to discover their own self-defeating attitudes. And I tell you, Jenny, after a week out there, these guys were just flying! They were so excited. I remember thinking that if all Kathy Dart and Habasha ever do is bring such joy to a bunch of businessmen, well, then, channeling is worth it.”

Jennifer smiled as she listened. She had forgotten how enthusiastically Eileen embraced the world.

“Okay, business guys, who else?” she asked, trying to envision what the farm was like.

Eileen shrugged. “People like you and me.”

“That bad?”

“And worse, can you believe? Everyone has heard about Kathy, seen her on television.”

Jennifer nodded. She remembered how she had seen Kathy Dart at five o’clock in the morning. “Where do we sleep?” she asked. “They don’t have dorms, do they?”

“Oh, no. Everyone has his own room, with a single bed. Kathy believes that people need to be isolated, especially if they’re meditating. Also, she believes that everyone needs their own personal space. Especially twin-souls.”

“Twin-souls?”

“Yes. A twin-soul is someone with whom we may once have shared a lifetime. There is a tremendous attraction between twin-souls, but also great resentment. Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton were twin-souls. And Madonna and Sean Penn. Real twins often function like that in life. They love and hate each other simultaneously. Your problem might be because of some conflict with a twin-soul.”

“What has happened to me—is still happening to me!—is more than just a love-hate relationship.”

Eileen nodded. “I realize that, and I don’t know the reason for these outbursts, but you seem to be suddenly attracting other souls who once shared a lifetime with you. Your past lives are coming together in this one.”

“Why now?” Jennifer sat back, and for a moment they rode in silence. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” she finally said.

“I know,” Eileen admitted. “Maybe I’m the cause. I exposed you to Kathy.” She kept her eyes fixed on the road. “But Kathy can save you, too. And if not Kathy, then Habasha.”

Jennifer closed her eyes and was comforted with the thought that help was waiting for her in Minnesota. When she opened them again, she saw bright lights on the dark horizon. The sudden sweep of lights made her think of the movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind, when the sky lit up with the arrival of the spaceship.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“I believe,” said Eileen, easing her foot off the gas pedal, “that it’s downtown Akron.”

“What if there is no such thing as reincarnation?” Jennifer asked next, as Eileen pulled off the highway. “What if there are no twin-souls or collective lives or multiple personalities!”

Eileen did not take her eyes from the interstate as she answered. “Then I think you are in real trouble,” she said quietly.

“Why?” Jennifer asked.

“Because it means you are a killer. A cold-blooded killer.”

It was colder now during the day and the light of the sun disappeared before Bura and the others had time to gather wood from the valley.

Because Bura was older, having lived through thirteen winters, and strong, strong as any of the males, except for Nira, she carried a full load back along the length of the valley.

She paused on the grassy slope where they had lived as long as she could remember. As she looked into the deep caves that had been cut with flint axes into each ledge, she thought of what her mother’s mother had told her. When her mother’s mother was a girl, they had come to live in these limestone caves, spending the cold months huddled by the charcoal fires, wrapped in the skins of wolves. Only the men would go out during the few hours of sunlight to hunt, and when they returned with a beast, there would be a great feast for all their people.

Bura thought how wonderful it must have been to live in the cave. Her mother’s mother had shown her where she slept on the cold ledge, hidden from the north winds, while the old men talked, and told Bura how she used to lie awake watching the flame dance against the rock walls, huddled there beside her sisters.

But now they lived in a round hut made of bones and bear skin, and now only children played in the caves during the warm months. Bura had bled from her womb, and her mother and her mother’s mother had taken her to the cave of drawings, and there she had drunk of her own blood, and her face and breasts had been marked with thick dark smears, and the women had prayed to all the spirits that her womb would flower with offspring. Her mother had said that Bura would go to live with Nira’s people, and she had gone that night to sleep in the thick warm skins with his sisters, and now it had been three days and three nights, and he had not come for her.

Bura knew that he would come that night. She had been told that the men never came to take their women on the first night, and that the longer they waited, the more powerful was their coupling. She was not afraid. She had seen her brothers coupling with their new women, heard the moans of pleasure and pain.

Bura was climbing up the cave path at dusk, bent forward to balance the driftwood on her back and shoulders, when they seized her. They had hidden themselves in the shadows of the ledge, kneeling out of sight and waiting for the women to climb up and out of the riverbed. One covered her mouth with his hand, slipped his arm around her naked waist. The second one pulled her legs out from under her, tumbling her over as if she were a thin-legged deer. They dragged her back into the forgotten caves, littered now with the bones of animals.

Bura bit the thick hand that covered her mouth and kicked out with her legs, but the two men had her between them. They had seized her skin covering and ripped it from her waist. She was naked now except for the shells she had strung around her neck, and one of the men seized them, twisting the thin cord of leather tight around her throat until she could not breathe.

They were trying to mate with her. Already she could feel the one who had her from behind, his arms wrapped around her stomach, shoving his organ into her. She twisted in his grasp until the leather cord grew even tighter around her neck. She broke one hand free and scraped her fingernails down the face of the man in front.

As the strip of leather around her neck loosened, Bura tumbled into the dirt, gasping for breath. She knelt on the ground, and when she had swallowed one long breath of air, she bolted from them, darting off like a rabbit caught in an open meadow.

They ran to catch her as she climbed up the steep limestone path. She was taller than both of them, and faster, and even in the dark, she knew the caves and ledges. If she reached the ridge, she would be all right.

Her breath was on fire in her throat, and there was a pain in her side. But if they caught her now, they would kill her. She could not see them behind her on the path, but she heard them, knew they were still after her.

She reached the top of the path, ran into the open meadow, and sighed with exhaustion and relief. She was safe. She saw the sparkling flames of the fires, twinkling like stars, and pushed forward for the safety of her mother’s hut. She could even smell the meat burning on the flame as she lengthened her stride and ran into Nira’s arms.

“Where were you?” he asked.

She tried to speak, to explain, but managed only to raise her arm, a signal that she was being followed.

He saw them at once, stumbling into the open meadow, and he leaped at them, hitting one of them at the base of the neck with his club. Bura heard the bones break, like a tree struck by sky light. She ran after Nira, jumping over the dead body of the fallen male, and followed him down the limestone path as he went after the other.

Swinging the short club with all his strength, Nira struck the other male once on the side of his face, killing him as the men of the plains killed the lynx that came down from the hills, and pushed him over the edge.

Bura ran to Nira and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. She leaned forward to stare into the deep black pit. There was no sound, no echo that came back to them as it did when they tossed rocks off the high ridge.

She looked up at Nira and saw his black eyes studying her. She wanted him to take her into the private, forgotten caves and mate with her, but he didn’t seem to hear her silent longing, so she took his hand and brought it up to touch her naked breast.

As she brushed her bare bottom against him and felt his organ swell, she heard his breathing grow rapid and hard.

“You!” Nira said. “You bred with the Yellow Eyes.”

Bura shook her head. “No!” she said.

“Your opening is wet from them,” he told Bura, pushing her away.

“Nira, they caught me, but I got away. I ran.” She was frightened now. “I have mated with no one,” she begged, dropping to her knees.

Nira swore at her and tried to kick her away, but she clung to him, knowing that if he left her, she would be banished by his family. No one was allowed to mate with outsiders and come back to the tribe.

“No, Nira! No!” she cried, grabbing his waist and pulling herself up. Her fear gave her surprising strength, and when he wrestled her, she fought back. Her naked body, slippery with sweat, made it harder for him to push her away, but then he seized her by the hair and drew the sharp edge of his quartz stone across her breasts, marking her body, branding her as one who had mated with Yellow Eyes.

Enraged, she kicked out, aiming for his organ. He moaned and doubled over. Unable to stop her rage, Bura hit him again, and this time she seized his thick black hair in her fingers and pulled him forward toward the sheer edge of the limestone cliff. He tried to stop her, but she ducked away, and with the strength gained from long days of gathering wood, she pushed him off the edge. Nira screamed as he tried to seize the thin air, and then he dropped into the dark gorge.

Bura fell onto the hard path and cried, reaching out over the edge as if to pull him from the abyss. Now she had no man, and she knew the elders of the tribe would learn what she had done and would take her life.

All was lost. Her life was over. Standing at the rim of the deep gully, she thought briefly of her mother, of how she had disappointed her own, and then she leaped soundlessly into the void, falling endlessly into black space.

!n the morning, word reached the highland huts, and the bodies of Nira and Bura were carried up to the high ground. As the people of the highlands moved away from the limestone cliffs, to better hunting lands farther south, new tribes came into the great meadowland and cut up the earth for planting. The old people remembered the time they left the cliffs, and some talked of the death of the young people. No one remembered their names.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

“YOU’RE SAFE NOW,” KATHY DART said, pulling Jennifer into a gentle embrace. She was smiling, but it seemed to Jennifer that she was also close to tears. “You’ve had a long journey,” she said softly, “but now you’re home.”

Kathy led her away from the front door and into the center of the living room. The house had once been a barn, and Kathy had stripped it back to its original log beams. The interior was quite grand, with stark, bare-wood walls that swept up to a cathedral ceiling.

The south end of the long room was filled with windows, and Jennifer glimpsed a lake below the house, and more buildings clustered together by a nearby evergreen grove. But her attention was quickly drawn back to the massive stone fireplace that dominated the room. Soft leather chairs and sofas were grouped around the open fireplace.

“This hour is scheduled as personal time. Everyone is off in meditation or sleeping or skating down on the lake. I’m channeling Habasha after dinner. Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” Kathy beamed as she took Jennifer’s hands in hers.

She was much more beautiful than Jennifer had remembered, with a clear, perfect complexion. Kathy Dart must be a very happy woman, Jennifer thought.

“We’ll have lots of time later to talk, Jennifer.” She glanced at Eileen. “I’ve told Simon I wanted you both in the big house with me. That way we can get together easily to talk. So let’s get you settled. You both must be exhausted.” Kathy turned and led them across the room.

“Oh, is there somewhere I can make a call to New York?” Jennifer asked. “I should check in with my office.” When they arrived in St. Paul, she had called and left a message for Tom that she had arrived safely.

Kathy paused at the entrance to the hallway. “Of course, Jennifer. But I should mention that one of our objectives here on the farm is to separate you from all worldly, everyday concerns. I’ve found—Habasha has found—that the channeling sessions go much more smoothly if you can concentrate on what is happening here, rather than thinking about outside problems. I’m sure you understand.”

“Yes, of course,” Jennifer said quickly, embarrassed.

Kathy kept smiling, and added, “When Simon comes in with the luggage, I’ll have him show you to my office.”

“Simon?” Jennifer asked. “Does he work for you?” She felt Eileen nudge her in the small of her back.

Kathy laughed. “Oh, I don’t know if any of us work for each other. Although there are days, as I tell Habasha, when I think I spend my whole life in slave labor for him. No, Simon doesn’t work for me.” She opened the door leading to the east wing of the barn, where their rooms were located. “We’re twin-souls and have been together in previous lifetimes. Now, I guess you’d say we’re lovers.”

Jennifer’s room had a view of the shallow valley that stretched away from the farm. The sun was setting, and its northern light softened the harsh landscape with an orange glow. She stood very still, concentrating on the lovely winter scene.

And then she heard a soft knock on her bedroom door. Without turning her eyes from the scene, she said, “Come in.”

“Your luggage,” a man’s voice replied. Jennifer turned. The man standing in the doorway was silhouetted by the hallway light. She could not see his face, but she knew that he must be Simon.

“Thank you.”

He set the bags aside and came to her, pulling off his leather gloves as he approached. His presence filled the room, and she found herself unaccountably giving way to him.

“I’m Simon,” he said, “Simon McCloud.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “Kathy’s friend.”

He smiled.

“Don’t I know you?” Jennifer asked, staring up at him.

“I don’t know. Do you?” He was still smiling.

“I mean, your face is so familiar.” He looked like a lumberjack, with a full beard, dark brows, and thick hair that curled out from under a wool cap.

“That’s what they all say,” he teased, slowly stuffing his gloves into the pockets of his jacket. “And you’re

who?” he asked politely.

“Jennifer. Jennifer Winters.” She could feel her face flush with embarrassment, but still she couldn’t take her eyes from him. “I’m sorry I’m staring,” she apologized, “but I keep thinking I’m going to remember. Did you go to school in Chicago?” She tried to imagine him on campus.

He laughed then, and his blue eyes sparkled. Jennifer laughed, too. He was so unlike a New Yorker, she thought, immediately friendly and open. So this was the Midwest. No one had a hostile edge.

“I’ve never been to Chicago. I’ve never been anywhere, really, except Duluth and St. Paul.” He shrugged good-naturedly.

“Well, you just look so familiar,” Jennifer replied. Finally able to break her gaze, she glanced out the window. “I was just enjoying the sunset,” she explained.

The orange glow had disappeared from the hillside, and now in the fading light, Minnesota’s winter landscape looked threatening. Simon came over and stood beside her, staring out at the disappearing day. She was acutely conscious of him near her, of his warmth, and as she watched his breath fog the windowpane, she realized how much he was affecting her.

He broke the stillness. “It does look bleak, doesn’t it? Not a night to be outside. But later, after dinner, the moon will come up and the whole valley will be lit. We usually go skating by the lake, build a fire there on the bank, and make hot chocolate and hot buttered rum. Do you skate?” he asked.

“Well, I try.”

“Good! I’ll help. All of us Minnesotans are born with either skates or skis on our feet.” He tapped the glass with his fingernails, making a sharp click. “It’s going to be a cold one.” Then he grinned and moved away. “I better deliver Eileen’s luggage. Kathy said you had a long trip and you need to rest.” At the doorway he paused and turned to her. Jennifer had not left the window. “Welcome to the farm, Jennifer. It’s your first visit?”

Jennifer nodded. She was searching frantically for something to say that would keep Simon with her.

“It changed my life, coming here,” he said. He paused. “I owe my life to Kathy.” He looked over at Jennifer and smiled that warm, honest smile. “She’ll save you, too. I know.” And then he closed the bedroom door and disappeared.

Jennifer did not move. She held her breath in an effort to hold on to his presence, to hold the intimacy of their shared moment. Gradually, she returned to the present, heard distant sounds from the huge old building, heard footsteps and muffled sounds, and took a deep breath, all at once exhausted from the long trip and from the week of tensions. She sat down on the edge of the single bed and pulled off her boots. Then, standing again, she slid off her wool skirt, unhooked her bra, and still in sweater and panties, slid under the heavy blankets and surrendered herself to sleep.

Jennifer felt a hand on her shoulder. Not yet fully awake, she reached out and grabbed the intruder’s wrist.

“Jenny, it’s me!” Eileen cried. “Ouch!” She fell against the bed. “Wake up, Jenny. Wake up. You’re okay. Everything is fine.”

Jennifer let go and pulled herself up. “I’m sorry. I was so… “

“I know. I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I’m sorry I had to disturb you.”

“What time is it?” Jennifer asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Around six. You’ve been asleep for two hours.”

“Oh God, I could sleep for a week.” Jennifer fell back on her pillow. “It’s pitch black out!” she said, staring out of the window.

“It’s the country, Jenny. That’s what it’s like.” Eileen moved from her perch on the bed and turned on the desk lamp. “Better?”

“Yes,” Jennifer agreed. She sat up. “I guess I’ll get dressed. After a shower, I’m sure I’ll be okay. Where are the showers, anyway?”

“Down the hall. They’re communal.”

“Oh, great!” Jennifer yawned. “I won’t take a shower at my health club, let alone here.”

Eileen shrugged. “Oh, it’s not that bad. There are private stalls, if you need them, but Kathy believes we’re too culturally bound. This is one way to break down our inhibitions.”

“Taking showers with strangers should do it.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind taking a shower with Simon McCloud.” Eileen smiled.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Oh, I saw that he took his time to drop off your bags.”

“Eileen, come on.” Jennifer tossed back the blankets and stood. She picked her wool skirt off the back of the chair and stepped into it.

“Well, what were you doing in here?”

“We were watching the sunset,” Jennifer replied curtly.

“He’s incredible, isn’t he?”

“Incredible, how?” Jennifer waited, curious to know what Eileen thought of Simon.

Eileen shrugged. “I don’t know. Incredibly ‘country,’ don’t you think? I find it odd that Kathy, who’s so sophisticated, would be involved with him. Don’t you?”

Jennifer concentrated on unpacking. She pulled a terry-cloth robe from her suitcase.

“Don’t you?” Eileen persisted.

“Getting involved with anyone that gorgeous can’t be considered too odd,” said Jennifer decisively, folding the robe over her arm. She knew she couldn’t lie to Eileen about feeling an attraction. Better just to acknowledge it and forget it. “But I also know that he’s involved with Kathy Dart, just like I’m involved with Tom. I’m not going to jump the poor guy in some dark corner. Or the shower.” Eileen laughed as she walked out, heading for the bathroom.

The showers were empty. Jennifer sighed, thankful for small favors. She remembered how she and Tom had made love in the steamy bathroom back in Brooklyn, and the memory aroused her. To cool down, she turned on the faucet and doused herself with water.

When she came out of the shower room ten minutes later, she was wrapped in towels. She stood in the doorway of the bathroom and glanced down toward the living room to see if the coast was clear.

The door was open at the end of the hall and a shaft of light from the living room filled the entrance. She could hear voices from farther away in the house. There were several people talking and laughing among themselves. Perhaps it was the skaters having a drink before dinner.

Jennifer turned toward her room and saw a figure step into the hallway, coming from the living room. She stopped at once, startled by the sudden sight of the man, and took a deep breath. She wasn’t driving herself crazy, she thought, and started to say hello when she realized it wasn’t another guest.

The man’s size alarmed her. He was immense, larger, it seemed, than the doorway itself, and he was moving slowly toward her, coming at her from the only exit. She backed off, terrified. She was immediately assailed by the odor of sweat and urine.

“Hello,” she said, needing to hear her voice, and peered into the dark hallway, hoping to see his face. But his features were hidden in the rags he used to keep out the cold. Then she realized who it was. This was the man she had killed outside of the museum.

He was not dead. He had come to get her, and now he had her cornered in the hallway. She backed away from him and the lighted living room, but he kept coming toward her. His body filled the narrow hallway, squeezed out the light from the living room, plugged up the exit as if he were a stopper. She was trapped.

“No,” she whispered, clutching a towel to her breast. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped her throat. She waited for the inhuman rage to take over her body and turn her into a beast, but this time there was no transformation. She felt no cold draft of air, no pumping of her muscles. No rage.

Jennifer stumbled against the wall. She reached the end of the hallway, glanced around for a door, but there was just a window, sealed against the cold, and beyond it, the darkness of the rural night. She slid sobbing to the carpet and waited for him to kill her.

“Jennifer, are you all right?” Kathy Dart’s voice broke into her consciousness. She was curled up, shivering in the corner, and barely felt Kathy Dart’s comforting hands stroke her hair. “It’s all right, Jenny,” Kathy whispered. “I am with you. Something frightened you, that’s all. You’re safe.”

“I thought I saw something,” she tried to explain, not looking at Kathy Dart. Jennifer realized then that she had wet herself, and humiliated, she struggled to a sitting position. She felt like a child.

“Yes?” Kathy waited patiently for an explanation. She knelt beside Jennifer on the carpet. “Tell me. You saw someone from your past? Was it Margit?”

Jennifer shook her head. “It was no one I knew. I mean, it looked like a homeless man. Someone I

” She tried to concentrate. “It was weird. I thought it was the man

” Jennifer shook her head, then began to sob. Kathy Dart pulled Jennifer into a gentle embrace.

“I’m going crazy,” Jennifer whispered. “I kill people. I have conversations with dead people in my apartment. I hallucinate. Oh, dear God, help me.”

Jennifer pulled her head from Kathy’s embrace, leaned back against the wall, and closed her eyes. She felt Kathy reach out and wipe away her tears. For a moment Jennifer let herself be comforted.

“In the next few days, Jennifer,” Kathy said softly, “we will answer these questions and straighten out all the mystery. You are at the edge of great possibilities.”

“I’m at the edge of an abyss.”

“It is when we look into that abyss that we discover the truth. You are so close, Jennifer.”

Jennifer looked up at Kathy Dart. Her eyes gleamed. Her smile emanated confidence and enthusiasm. Jennifer nodded. She would try. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Give yourself a chance,” Kathy continued, “to become the great person that is your destiny. I believe there is someone seeking to use your body as a medium into this world. Someone wants to channel through you. Someone wants to ‘get out,’ and I find that terribly exciting.”

“It has only been terrifying for me,” Jennifer answered, pulling herself off the hallway floor. She needed another shower.

“I went through this myself, Jennifer,” Kathy said calmly. “Habasha wasn’t just someone I met by chance in an aisle at the A and P.”

“I was happy the way I was,” Jennifer answered.

“You only thought you were,” Kathy Dart answered back.

“I would rather have been left alone.”

“But don’t you understand,” Kathy said quietly, “this person who wishes to be channeled won’t let you be your old self.” And then, smiling, she leaned forward and kissed Jennifer softly on her cheek.

“When you’re dressed, come into the living room, and we’ll talk. There’s so much to tell you.” Then Kathy Dart nodded good-bye and walked back to the living room, blocking out the light at the end of the hallway as she disappeared from sight

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

“HI, HOW ‘YA DOING?” Simon McCloud was suddenly at her side in the living room. “How ‘bout a cup of tea?” he asked solicitously.

“Fine. I’m just fine,” Jennifer answered, accepting the warm cup. Kathy Dart must have told him what happened in the hallway. “I think I’m finally adjusting to the frozen north,” she added. She nodded toward the blazing fire. “That helps a lot. It looks so warm and inviting.”

“It’s actually a waste of energy.” Simon shrugged. “We’d do better closing it down and putting in a wood stove, but Kathy’s a great believer in the illusion of the fireplace

everyone sitting cozily around it.” He smiled, as if amused by the deception.

“Well, I think it’s lovely, illusion or not,” Jennifer answered back. “Isn’t there room for illusions in your life, Simon?” As she sipped her tea, she scanned the room for Eileen.

“Do you want to meet any of these people?” Simon asked, ignoring her question.

“No,” Jennifer said truthfully, glancing around at the dozen other guests who were milling around the room. Many of them looked flushed, as if they had just come in from the cold. “Who are they?”

“International consultants. They work with Third World countries, telling their citizens how to act, teaching them to eat with knives and forks, and how to get along with Americans.” He shrugged dismissively, then added coolly, “To tell you the truth, I don’t pay that much attention to most of the people who come through here. There’s a different group nearly every week. This place is like a bus station sometimes. I just stand at the front door, punch tickets, and take money.” He reached over and set his cup of tea on an end table.

Jennifer was startled by his candor. “Is that how you consider me

and Eileen?”

“No, of course not,” he replied. “You’re not like these people. You’re one of us.”

“Us? What do you mean?”

“Us

you know.” He shrugged. “You and Eileen, and Kathy, of course, and me. I mean, the four of us are linked. Hasn’t Kathy told you about all of this?” Suddenly Simon looked worried, as if he had said too much.

Jennifer shook her head and kept her eyes on him.

“Kathy explained what happened to you,” he went on. “She told me before you came that we

you and I

had this

connection. She said I’d have an emotional pull toward you.” He was staring down at her, and Jennifer returned his gaze. She felt as if she could lose herself in his deep blue eyes.

“What exactly are you saying, Simon?” she found herself asking calmly, though she knew exactly.

They were both sitting now on the window seat at the far end of the room. Jennifer felt as if she and Simon were completely alone. Her heart was pounding.

“Kathy told me how you and I, and she, too, were all once—maybe more than once—connected in another life.” He suddenly seemed embarrassed and he looked away.

“Why are you saying this, Simon? What are you suggesting?”

“I’m saying that the moment I saw you I knew I wanted you.”

“I don’t think Kathy would appreciate hearing that,” Jennifer said.

“But she knows,” Simon explained. “And she understands. Habasha told her. In a previous life, you and I were living in an Idaho mining town. You were Chinese and married to an old man. I was killed—”

Jennifer stood up. “I don’t know anything about that,” she said. She knew that she had to get away from Simon. Her desire for him was dizzying. She made an effort to move, but he seized her by the wrist. Jennifer felt faint.

Just then, she spotted Eileen approaching from the other end of the room. “Stop, Simon,” she whispered. “Please.”

He let go of her wrist.

“There you are! You didn’t come and get me after your shower. Hello, Simon.” Eileen’s eyes took in Jennifer’s guilty look, and she smiled.

“I’m sorry, Eileen. I forgot. After my shower, I ran into Kathy.”

“It’s my fault, Eileen,” Simon interrupted. “We got to talking about our shared past lives.”

Jennifer took a deep breath and stared into the blazing fire. Simon was smiling at Eileen, enveloping her with his charm. As he explained that he and Jennifer once lived together in an Idaho mining town, he slipped his arm around her in a brief embrace.

Jennifer felt her knees weaken, but she forced herself to recover, to pull away from Simon’s embrace. This was crazy. Her emotions were totally out of control.

“And what about me?” Eileen made a face at Simon, fretting about her exclusion.

“Yes, you were with us. Kathy has told you that, hasn’t she?” Simon cocked his head.

“Of course she has. I was just teasing.” Eileen reached to touch Simon’s arm.

But she wasn’t teasing, Jennifer realized. Something was wrong. Eileen was upset. But before Jennifer could question her, Simon interrupted, nodding toward the center of the room.

“I think we’re ready.”

Jennifer turned to see Kathy Dart standing in front of the blazing fire. Many of the other guests had already settled into the leather chairs. Kathy looked up and smiled over to where they stood, and immediately Jennifer stepped away from Eileen and Simon and walked into the circle of chairs. Now she needed distance from everyone.

She squeezed herself between the others on the brown leather couch and turned her full attention to Kathy Dart.

“We have several new people with us this evening,” Kathy began, as she introduced Jennifer and Eileen. “As some of you know,” she went on, “I like to spend a few minutes each evening before dinner talking about various aspects of parapsychology. To remind everyone again, this is a relatively new discipline that studies extrasensory perception, or ESP; psychokinesis, or PK; and survival phenomena, which include channeling, reincarnation, afterlife evidence—you name it, the list goes on.” She paused to smile at the group. “I know that many of you have questions about us and what we are all doing here at the farm. So, let’s take a few minutes to answer some of your questions.”

Kathy paced slowly back and forth before the small gathering. She was wearing stone-washed jeans and a white cashmere sweater. But despite the casual clothes, Jennifer noted, she was perfectly turned out with pearl earrings and makeup. Her long, glossy black hair was loose and tossed over her shoulder.

“Channeling, to give a definition developed by Jon Klimo in his wonderful book, is that ‘process of receiving information from some level of reality other than the ordinary physical one. And this includes messages from any mental source that falls outside of one’s own.’”

She paused and grinned down at the group. “Got it?” she asked with a laugh.

Jennifer found herself smiling. She had promised herself that she would be skeptical of everything she heard and saw. But she had to admit that Kathy’s warmth and humor made her sound especially convincing.

“But who are the channelers of today?” Kathy went on. “And where are our oracles? Do you think I fit the mold?” She was laughing again.

“Actually, I think I’m a channeler because I’m such a lazy person. It’s true, really. My spiritual guides say that lazy people make the best mediums because they don’t have an agenda. They’re not trying to hit home runs for God.” She paced across the hearth and then nodded to one of the guests who had raised a hand.

“But, Kathy,” the woman asked, “how did you know that you could channel? How does it actually happen?”

“It really began before I first saw Habasha, but I didn’t understand what I was experiencing. I think I was always a channel. For example, I’ve never been afraid of ghosts or graveyards or horror movies. When I was a child, I wanted to have a ghost as a friend. Even back then, I began to have a sense that I could talk to the dead, and I was drawn to certain people because they seemed somehow to be connected to me.”

“I began with automatic writing, which, by the way, is nothing more than doodling. I’d hold a pencil in my hand, usually during a boring college class, and without warning my hand would start moving.”

“And I used the Ouija board, even though my priest denounced it as the devil’s tool. And in a way he was right to warn people. Ouija boards are not toys. They have great power.”

“Once you enter the world of the spiritual, you must tread carefully. I know this sounds a little medieval, but one has to use caution.”

“Are all channels alike?” someone asked.

“No, they’re not. Think of musical instruments. You can’t play keyboard music on a flute, which plays only one note at a time. But you can play Bach on the flute; you can play Bach on the pipe organ. It’s just that it sounds different on each instrument.”

“Different mediums are like different instruments. Each one has an inherent limitation, but also a unique quality. The sound of a pipe organ, for example, is different than the sound of a piano or a harpsichord. Not better or worse, but different. It’s like that with channels. Not all spirits can communicate or even want to communicate through all channels.”

“Besides, not all mediums are verbal. Some channels have healing energy. Some sing. Some dance. Isadora Duncan, I believe, was a great channeler.”

Jennifer glanced across the room and saw another raised hand. “What about these spirits that I hear talked about?” the woman asked. “Are they around us now? Do we need to worry about them or what?” She laughed nervously.

“No, you don’t have to worry,” Kathy reassured her. “They are very much like the rest of us. Some are between incarnations. Others will be spirits forever. They may be positive or negative. But they are all angelic forces. Manifestations of higher consciousness.”

“And, of course, we have their polar opposites, the demonic forces—spirits consumed by unevolved energy that pulls everyone down. The Greeks summed it up when they talked about the harpies and the sirens. The sirens are the seductors who lure you into actions that are not in your best interest. The harpies shriek guilt and self-hatred into your ear. Both are very real.”

“Are these spirits our personal angels?” someone asked.

“No, they’re universal. No one owns a spirit. But spirits do befriend and work with certain people, and some of them may represent our spiritual brothers and sisters, or perhaps even higher aspects of ourselves.”

“What about all this out-of-body stuff I keep reading about?” another guest asked.

“Very simple. You leave your body and go somewhere else. Where, precisely, we don’t know. Remember that the mind is not a physical entity. When we lose consciousness, it is because our mind, or consciousness, is somewhere else.”

“But where exactly?” Jennifer heard herself ask.

“We don’t know, Jennifer,” Kathy said, softening her voice. “The Russians have been studying this phenomenon. I guess they’d like to spy on us by sending people out of their bodies, to go through walls.”

“But let’s look at it from another angle,” she went on.

“Let’s talk about dreams. Basically, dreams are out-of-body experiences. If you didn’t sleep at night, you’d go crazy! The stress of being ‘in body’ is too great to maintain.”

“And reincarnation?” a woman asked. Jennifer found herself nodding. Yes, what about it? she thought.

“Well, technically speaking, you’re either in the body— ‘in carnca—or out of the body—’discarna.’ Carna is, literally, the flesh. And death is the ultimate out-of-body experience. But, in fact, we leave our bodies all the time! Sometimes a person’s mind is half in one place, half in another. The truth is, it can be in both locations at the same time. You see, the mind is not physical, and so doesn’t need to follow the physical limitations of the body. When we talk about being out of body, we’re talking about energy that travels.”

“So the idea is this: the mind goes out of the body. The body dies, but the mind continues to exist. !t is free to form a new relationship with physical matter. A relationship that is not necessarily confined to human form.”

As Jennifer sat listening to Kathy Dart, she suddenly felt a curious spasm and saw a clear image of Phoebe Fisher, sitting by the fireplace in her apartment in New York. Phoebe was speaking to her, but Jennifer couldn’t hear the words: she saw only that Phoebe was frowning, beckoning her away from the living room of Kathy Dart, telling Jennifer to flee. Jennifer raised her hand to reach for Phoebe’s image, and then she felt the warmth of a soft palm, and she looked up to see Kathy Dart lean forward and smile down at her.

“Dinner, Jenny?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, sorry.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry. Were you trance-channeling?” Kathy teased, smiling.

“I don’t know what I was doing,” Jennifer admitted, chagrined by her behavior, and by what she thought she had just seen: Phoebe Fisher sitting next to Kathy and warning Jennifer to get away from her.

“Jennifer, I know you have been approached by Simon. I know you two were once lovers.”

Jennifer glanced to the channeler, waved her hand and said, “It was a simple misunderstanding.”

“It’s all right, Jenny. Please, you’re getting yourself upset. Of course you are attracted to Simon. He must have told you that we were all once together in a previous life. The physical attraction we have for each other is extremely powerful.” Kathy flashed one of her bright, wide smiles and linked her arm into Jennifer’s. “And if you two decide you want to make love, please follow your instincts. I don’t own him, Jennifer. We’re all free to act on our impulses and desires, especially here at the farm. I can’t keep you two apart. I wouldn’t if I could.”

And then she grinned like a schoolgirl.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

WHEN THEY RETURNED TO the living room after dinner, the furniture had been moved away from the fireplace. Kathy Dart was already sitting in an overstuffed chair in front of the windows on the other side of the room. She was wearing a long white gown and had combed out her black hair so that it fanned over her shoulders. Her only piece of jewelry was a gold chain and the crystal that rested between her breasts. It was the same crystal she had worn when Jennifer first saw her in Washington.

Jennifer slipped into a straight-backed chair away from the others, craning her neck to make sure she had a clear view of Kathy. She wanted to be able to see her when she went into her trance. Eileen had produced a small tape recorder from her purse; unable to find a chair close enough, she slipped to the floor at Kathy’s feet.

From her angle against the side wall, Jennifer saw the whole room, and she watched the others as they found seats. Some of the young students who were on work/study programs at the farm came out of the kitchen still wearing aprons over their jeans and slid down as a group against the length of one wall.

Jennifer spotted one young man who looked familiar, and she studied him for a moment, trying to place where she had seen him. He looked like the other students, but with short hair, and the build of an athlete. He looked up at Eileen then and smiled, and Jennifer remembered where she had seen him. He had been the young reporter writing the article about Kathy Dart. They had met briefly outside the meeting room, and he had reminded her of her brother.

Simon stepped into the room, and Jennifer kept herself from looking at him. She was afraid he might walk over and sit beside her, and she did not want him near her, not when Kathy Dart was in her trance and Habasha was speaking.

Simon, however, was busy. He had brought a large pitcher of water and a glass from the kitchen, and he set them down on a small table beside Kathy, who glanced up and smiled briefly at him. When he leaned over and whispered something, she laughed, then he stepped away and took a seat by the fireplace. Kathy turned to the group and asked cheerfully, “Are we all here?”

She glanced around the room, smiling at everyone, and went on. “I’d like to explain to our new people a little of what happens when I do this trance-channel. So everyone who has been with me before please indulge us.” She directed attention initially to the row of young students and then went on.

“I begin with a short prayer, and I ask that you join in with me. This enables us to come together as a group, as one being, so to speak. I’ll lead the group in an African chant— one of Habasha’s chants—that I find pulls Habasha closer to me and, of course, to you as well.”

“After the chant, there will be a moment of meditation as I slip into the trance and allow Habasha to come forward. As many of you know, I am elsewhere during the trance; if it were not for these tape recordings, I wouldn’t know what was actually said by Habasha.”

“Where are you exactly?” someone asked.

“Sleeping, actually,” Kathy responded, and they laughed. “I get a good nap while Habasha does all the work.” Kathy glanced around the room again, caught Jennifer’s eye, and smiled. Then she spoke again to the group. “Usually Habasha has something to say, perhaps a story from his own life, and he’ll be prepared for questions. I know that many of you have things you’d like to ask, so please, don’t be shy.” She looked pointedly at Jennifer. “Oh, you should be aware that Habasha will often use African terms when he speaks,” she added. “Later, if you wish, I will explain to you what he has said.”

Jennifer felt as if her heart were freezing up inside her. She slipped down farther in the chair but did not take her eyes off Kathy.

“Also, I’d like to request that none of you cross your arms. We don’t want to close ourselves off from each other, from the flow of energy in the room.”

She smiled, then turned to Simon, who reached over and dimmed the overhead lights. A dozen blue candles had been lit throughout the room, and their small flames flickered in the darkness. “All right,” Kathy said softly, “let us begin.”

She moved forward to sit on the edge of her chair, lifted her arms, turned the palms of her hands up, and said clearly, “Spirit of light and truth unite us. Inspire our minds and fill our hearts with love. Heal and energize our bodies. Receive our thanks for the many gifts that have come to us. Guide us on the path that we may please and serve thee.”

“Holy art Thou, Lord of the Universe. Holy art Thou, the Vast and the Mighty. Lord of the light and of the dark. O Jehovah! O Yahweh! O Abba! O Jesus! O Allah! O Brahma! Be with us today in our work.”

Kathy bowed her head for a moment, and when she looked up again her eyes were closed and she chanted:

Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

She fell silent, rocking gently back and forth on the edge of the chair. Then her own sweet voice was given over to the voice of Habasha, the ancient African, a strong, full voice that roared into the silent gathering.

“I am Habasha, the great one! How are my dear friends of America? Tenayistilligan.”

“Tenayistilligan,” a few replied. “Tim no.”

“Ameseghinallehu,” Habasha answered.

Kathy turned her head slowly from left to right. Her eyes were open, and they seemed even larger than usual. So she was not going to channel with her eyes closed, as Phoebe Fisher had done.

“We are very well, Habasha. Ameseghinallehu,” Simon said quickly, and there were a few other soft, mumbled greetings from the students and from Eileen. But most of the audience sat silent, staring up at Kathy Dart.

“I am happy to be with you today,” Habasha went on in his strong bass voice.

“I take pleasure to say that there is amongst you this evening one who has singular spiritual gifts, which, in due time, will manifest themselves to the benefit of your society. We are certain that all of you who have committed yourselves to the path of enlightenment shall know more and more with each day that comes, and you shall soon be in positions to shed much light, from the light which you possess, on where there is great darkness in this world.”

“And, therefore, let us say that by taking care of your own need to know, you sooner will take care of others who need to know, for this light which you acquire for yourself will be the light that shines for others.”

“For when you are illuminated you are like a light that shines. Wherever you go, if there is darkness, your own light will shine.”

“You have come to the light, my dear friends, and you will go to another place. And we congratulate you for doing this goodness in our world.”

“Let the truth be your essence. Let the truth lead you to your higher self. Know yourself and let that truth flow through your consciousness.”

“As for those who will not understand, some prefer the darkness. Remember, my dear friends, that all those who walk in the shadows do so by their own choosing. We ask that you will not be followers. Neither let yourselves be leaders. For if you are a follower you are standing in someone else’s shadow; if you are a leader, you are casting a shadow upon others.”

“We commend to you this work and say: Do not hope for perfection. Do not seek a perfect heaven where all things will lead forever, without fault and without flaw, without need of further thought, or further exercise.”

“All life, my dear friends, is an adventure. It is an adventure! Indeed, to know everything that was ever going to be, to have absolute and total knowledge—if you could have that knowledge, would it not deprive you of a great sense of adventure?”

“If one knows everything, what more can one know? If one has done everything, what more can one do? We cannot know the end of knowledge, and that is the mystery of existence. How much power is in the universe? How much gold is in the mountain? How much love is in your soul? It is all there. The great adventure of life is to find out how much there is, and the only way you can find out is to start to use it, start to spend it. Truth is. It is all here, waiting for your adventure and your discovery.”

Habasha suddenly fell silent and Kathy Dart rocked in the soft chair, then sat back, as if exhausted by the long discourse. She placed her arms on the chair’s arms, raised her head and again in that strong voice asked, “If any of you have questions, I will try to answer them. Speak up!” Her eyes were now closed.

“What is the purpose of life, then?” came a voice from one of the front rows of chairs.

“Woizerit,” Habasha answered, “the process of living is living.”

“What about past lives?” Jennifer spoke up. “My past lives.”

“You may have past lives, or not, Woizerit. You may still be living your past lives. People live different lives simultaneously.”

“What about our spirit, then? I mean, how can our spirit, or our soul, whatever we call it, be everywhere at once?”

“Each of your lives is lived with but a part of your total soul,” Habasha replied.

“But then how can we have good lives and bad lives?” Jennifer asked immediately.

“If those lives are beautiful and benign and contribute something to the lives they are living now, on this plane, then I think the answer is that you consider them gifted. If the lives they are living on other planes create conflict with what they are trying to do here, then we consider them to be mentally and emotionally disturbed. And they all are the result of lives you have lived before, in other lifetimes.”

“What do you mean,” one of the men asked. “Other planes?”

Kathy Dart slowly turned her face in the direction of the speaker and Habasha said, “Other planes are dimensions beyond our existence here. These planes, or dimensions, are not necessarily stacked upon each other. Different planes may exist in the same place. Heaven and hell exist in exactly the same place. People used to think that heaven was up, and hell was down. But two people can be sitting together on a sofa, and one can be in hell, the other in heaven.”

“Who or what are extraterrestrials?” Jennifer asked, thinking of Phoebe Fisher’s Dance.

“Extraterrestrials are bound by the specifics of a time and the physical laws that govern their particular planes, wherever they are, but once they transcend those planes, they may be bounded by other considerations, such as weightlessness.”

“We are all bound by laws. In terms of time travel, you have to know that time stands still and matter moves through it. Time does not move. Time simply is. Because all things exist now, there is no other time but now in any direction or plane. Therefore, the phenomenon of time is better understood as the distance between nows.”

“But if you have a past life,” Jennifer asked, pushing the point, “how would that be? Would you have a past life now?”

“Where did you put your past life?” Habasha challenged.

“Did you hide it under your bed? Where did it go? Does the past just dissolve? Does it disappear? Where is yesterday?”

“It’s used up,” Jennifer responded, anxious to hear where the argument might lead.

“You cannot destroy anything, only change it. Can you say that the whole of yesterday is just banished from the face of existence? And for that matter, what about tomorrow? Is it all being re-created for you to experience anew?”

Kathy Dart sat back again in the chair. She was nodding her head, as if Habasha had summed up the question.

“Is it tomorrow already?” the young reporter asked from the floor.

“Yes.”

“I’m still confused,” Jennifer interrupted. “If in a previous experience you lived completely in the past—as we usually understand the past—-then are you simultaneously living that past life as you are living this present life?”

“Perhaps. Let’s talk about the nature of existence. Is it physical or mental?”

“Both,” Jennifer answered.

“How much of life does your physical body encounter?”

“Very little, I guess. I mean, just where I am. Who I am.”

“And your mind embrace?”

“More.”

“More! Indeed it does. Your body experiences only the physical now. So everything about the nature of your existence is a reality of the mind. It is a reality of the spirit.”

Kathy Dart suddenly sat forward again and gestured with both arms, then Habasha said loudly to Jennifer, “Do you love anyone?” he asked abruptly. Kathy’s head was tilted up, and her eyes were now closed, but still Jennifer tensed.

“Yes,” she whispered, thinking immediately of Tom.

“But you don’t at this moment have a physical relationship with that person, do you?”

Jennifer shook her head.

“No, you only have that physical relationship when your bodies touch. The real nature of this love is spiritual. If you did not exist as a spirit, then that love would cease to exist the moment your bodies ceased to touch. If you have knowledge of the world, if you have a sense of the past or the future, if you have a sense of the meaning of things, the purpose of life, it is only because of spiritual awareness. That is the nature of existence.”

“And what about that?” Habasha asked next. “If you remember your life, do you remember it chronologically?”

Jennifer shook her head.

“No! You remember the most important things first. The most important thing that ever happened to you might have occurred many years ago. It might be easier for you to remember something that happened when you were twenty than something that happened two weeks ago. Or yesterday.”

“Indeed, something that happened to you as a child might be much more important than what you do now. And something that happened to you in ancient Egypt or Atlantis or Greece might be stronger in your consciousness now than what you do today, here on the farm.”

“That’s what I mean,” Jennifer said quickly. “If I had another life in ancient Egypt, or whatever, and that feeling is very strong in me, does that mean it is taking place right now, while I am also living this life?”

“It couldn’t be very ancient if you’re still thinking about it,” Habasha said, and around them everyone laughed.

“No, it couldn’t,” Jennifer admitted, smiling.

“It’s obviously contemporary, then.”

“How do you explain history books,” Jennifer went on, sensing that she had trapped Habasha in her argument.

“History deals with linear time.”

“Chronological?”

“Yes. You must understand that what is called ‘ancient Egypt’ is only ancient because it is measured relative to this date in history. It seems ancient, but it did not end; it continues to exist in another time dimension, another part of the now, a part other than the physical plane you occupy at this moment.”

“Habasha, why are you here?” one of the women students asked. “Why did you come to earth again?”

Jennifer glanced from the student back to Kathy Dart, who was slowly nodding before Habasha replied.

“Many have asked me that, Woizerit. Some say, ‘Habasha, do you not have a better place to go than here on this planet, at this time? Is there no paradise that awaits you? Is there no heaven in which you would rather be? Why would you come here? Why?’”

“Because,” Habasha answered himself, “sometimes we see wonderful things happening. We cannot help the whole planet, but we can help some of the planet, and you seem more than willing to let us be a part of your lives. I am pleased. Pleased with what I hear, pleased with what I see.”

“My message to you is go where you are wanted. My message to you is that there are some people on this planet who really want what you have to offer, and they will love you and thank you and work with you if you will look for them. We spirits look for those who are willing to work with us and to receive us, and that brings us pleasure because then what we have to share is meaningful.”

“And I say, too, there are people on this planet, among your friends and acquaintances, who do not wish you well, who plot against you, and will cause you pain.” Kathy Dart raised one hand, and Habasha whispered, “I warn you. I have come now to warn you.”

“Who?” Jennifer asked at once.

“I believe, Woizerit, that you do know.”

“Who is trying to harm me? I don’t know!” she said, raising her voice.

“You are an unusual one, Woizerit,” Habasha said. His voice had slowed its cadence. “I see spirits, good and evil, who surround your aura and fight to dominate your soul. Do not be afraid. You are in good hands. Here at the farm, the healing graces will conquer the evil that confronts your mind. Much is being asked of you, Woizerit. You have suffered. You must be careful.” Kathy Dart raised her hand, cautioning her. Her head was cocked, as if still listening to a faraway voice.

“How do I protect myself, Habasha?” Jennifer asked, pulling his attention again in her direction. “From these evil spirits?”

“You want answers always, Woizerit. Answers are only part of the solution. What is more important are the questions.” His voice had shifted. There was an edge of anger in his tone.

Jennifer felt it but kept pushing. “I need the answers,” she insisted. “My life, this life, you say, is in danger.” She caught herself from saying more. She glanced at Eileen and saw her friend furiously shaking her head.

“He who seeks danger receives it. He who looks for happiness finds it. Your unconscious has been responsible for getting you where you are. So you say that the unconscious part of you is somehow manipulating your affairs. Perhaps you are more responsible for your actions than you know. But how can you come to a place in life where you are able to take conscious control of your life and not be the victim?”

Habasha stopped speaking. Kathy Dart’s eyes were open again, and they were blazing, as if blue candles were shining from the irises.

Habasha stopped speaking, and Kathy Dart suddenly stood and stepped away from the chair. Eileen and several of the young students pulled back to give her room, but Kathy moved with the assurance of a sleepwalker through the crowded room.

She had turned away from the sofa, turned toward the wall of students, and Jennifer knew at once that she was coming for her. She should have left when she had the chance, she told herself. Now she couldn’t move. It seemed as if she were frozen to her chair.

Kathy Dart stepped to where Jennifer was seated and, clasping her hands together, raised them to her neck and carefully took off her crystal. Grasping the stone, she placed her hands gently on top of Jennifer’s head. Jennifer closed her eyes, afraid of what was coming, afraid of all the faces watching her.

“O spirits of the past, spirits of our lives, leave this woman, my Woizerit. I implore you in the names of all our gods to seek peace with her. Rise up now and flee us. Rise up and flee us, I, Habasha, ancient of ancient, Dryopithecine, Cro-Magnon, warrior of Atlantis, poet of Greece, priest and lover, knight of the Round Table, Crusader for Christ, pioneer, and profiteer, command the evil spirits that possess this woman to flee this plane, these dimensions, this human body.”

Habasha’s voice had risen. It filled her mind and rang in her ears. She felt the pressure of Kathy’s hands on her head, felt the weight of the crystal, and then she felt the fire. It started in the tips of her toes, seared the soles of her feet, then snaked up through her legs and thighs. It tore her flesh from her bones, flowing to the center of her body in a ball of flame.

She heard her own cries of pain as the fire consumed her body. Flames licked her breasts, rose up around her throat, and set her hair on fire.

Kathy Dart grabbed her then, before she fell, before she disappeared into the shock and pain.

Nada waited for the sun. She had made her paint from the reddish-brown clay by the river’s edge and carried it back to the cave. Now, stacking the clay onto thick green palm leaves, she carried the paints to the wide back wall that faced south. Soon the sun would reach the entrance of the cave, and she would have only a few hours of sunlight in which to paint clearly the pictures that exploded like stars in her mind and filled her up. She could almost taste her desire to depict the scenes of battle that she’d heard as a child, the great battles between her people and the hunters from the north.

Ubba had called her to his side when he saw the pictures she had carved on the cave walls and told her to use her magic hands to paint the battle so that his sons, and the sons of his sons, would see what a warrior he was.

“No man among us will forget the day we battled and killed the Saavas,” he whispered, “and they will remember me when my spirit leaves the earth and goes to sing with the birds.”

Her mother’s heart had swelled with pride, and she, too, had felt her heart fill. She knew she would never be hungry again or want for a warm bed, for Ubba would take her into his own cave and give her to his son, Ma-Ma.

But with the excitement was fear. If Ubba did not like the sketches on the wall, if something displeased him, then he would banish her from the clan. She knew of others who hid in the woods, who slept without fire, and stayed in trees to save themselves from the wild beasts.

Sometimes she caught glimpses of their shadows, following the clan as it migrated with the sun, trekking north after the bears came out of the trees and the frozen north to slap at the fish in the swift waters of the Twin Rivers.

Stories were told in the depth of the caves, stories of Ma-Ta and her brother Ta-Ma. Stories told, too, of Zuua and Chaa and the sons of the old woman Arrr, who was killed by the Spirits, struck down with the fiery flash of lightning. Ubba had banished her male offspring to the forest, fearful that the Spirits would strike again with flaming sky-bolts.

As Nada got ready to begin, others of the clan left their fishing and came up from the river to sit hunched at the entrance of the cave. They sat and watched her with their large brown eyes, waiting for her magic on the wall. Nada paid them no mind, though she was aware of their silent looks. She felt proud, though she did not know the word for her feeling, and busied herself with her drawing tools, slivers of rock that she sharpened herself.

Ubba approached the hillside with the aid of a bone, helped, too, by the sons of his sons, who huddled around him and bayed for favors. One carried a stool cut from the trunk of a tree. A dozen men had labored with the tree stump and fashioned for him a round chair, smoothed with river water and the oil of pigs.

Now it took three of the sons of the sons to carry the chair up the hillside to the flat entrance of the new cave. Nada waited there, hunched beside the gray cave wall.

She waited for Ubba to begin his tale of fighting the Saavas. As he remembered his battles, he told of how he fought with blood dripping into his mouth, it was a tale Nada knew, a long story that she had first heard when she still sucked her mother’s teat. Still, she listened, tried to find the pictures in her mind. She tried to summon up the images of Ubba’s past, the evil dreams that had come to him, and followed him even now, many winters after the spear had sailed through the jungle trees and struck his throat, leaving him to whisper for the rest of his life. She listened with her eyes closed, still sitting on her haunches, thinking of him as a young man, fleet as the deer of the north.

Ubba stopped. The tale was told, and now the brown eyes of the clan all turned to her. She waited, pleased that she possessed the truth of his tale in her mind, held as she might hold a bird from a net in her fingers.

She lifted the slivers of rock crystal and went swiftly to work, dipping their sharp edges into the red clay. She drew and drew, dancing before the crowd of clansmen, as excited as she was by the painting. When she had filled the back wall with the story of battle, she stepped away from the pictures, exhausted and afraid of Ubba’s judgment.

She sat again on the heels of her bare feet and rocked back, not daring to look up at the great man as he was lifted from his stool to peer up at the red clay drawings.

He paused at each figure, touching none, as he carefully walked the length of the south wall, seeing the story of his battle there in the pictures she had made of red clay. Then the old man stepped close to her and lifted her chin with his crippled hand.

“Nada, you tell the truth,” he whispered. And he motioned to his eldest grandchild, the son of his daughter Noo, and said, “She is yours.”

Nada fell to her knees in front of the warrior king and kissed his feet, as she had seen other females do when receiving a great honor from their leader. She was saved. Her mother and sister were saved. She let herself be lifted up by Ubba’s grandson, and she glanced quickly at her mother as she was led away to his bed of skins. Nada’s eyes sparkled with joy, for she had been saved by her magic fingers, and now the children she bore would someday be leaders of the people who lived beside the Twin Rivers

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

KATHY WAS WAITING FOR Jennifer when she came into the dining room for breakfast the next morning. Several of the other guests were already serving themselves from the buffet table, but the house was still quiet. It was not yet seven o’clock.

“Why don’t we have some quiet time for ourselves,” Kathy whispered, coming up to Jennifer and kissing her lightly on the cheek. “How do you feel?”

Jennifer nodded, too distraught even to speak. She let Kathy direct her into a small area off the dining room.

“This used to be the hothouse when the farm was working,” Kathy explained, “but I use it a lot during the cold months. It gets most of the winter sun.”

The bright, sunny room had a vaulted ceiling, large windows, a tiled floor that Jennifer realized was also heated, thick Indian throw rugs, and oversized chairs.

“Sit here, please,” she went on, motioning Jennifer to a deep chair next to a glass table. “Nanci will serve us.”

Jennifer looked up to see a young woman who had been in the audience during the last channeling session.

“Jennifer, this is Nanci Stern. Nanci is teaching our New Age dance classes. That’s something I wish you would try. She also is taking my course on the secrets of the shamans, learning how to bridge the communication gap between humans and other life forms. Aren’t you, Nanci?”

The young woman nodded shyly as she placed a teapot on the glass-topped table.

“The shamans? Who are they?” Jennifer asked, unfolding a damask napkin on her lap.

“You’ve heard the term?”

“Yes, I guess I have,” Jennifer admitted, shrugging. “I mean, somewhere in the recesses of my mind. I must have heard it in an anthropology class I took once.” Again, she felt like a child in a room full of adults.

“Well, primitive cultures had a person whose role was to act as the intermediary between the spirit realm and the society. The shaman altered his or her condition by chanting, singing, or eating psychoactive plants. There have been shamanlike figures in cultures as diverse as Siberia and the West Indies. Voodoo is a good example that’s close to home.”

“And you,” said Jennifer.

“Yes, of course. And other channelers like me. In a way, we’re modern-day shamans. We interpret the other realm, the spirit world, for people.” She nodded toward Nanci, who had gone into the other room. “She has a real gift,” Kathy continued, her eyes shining. “I’m very proud of her. And she has a wonderful relationship with Simon.”

Jennifer kept her eyes down as Kathy poured tea for both of them.

“They’ve been lovers now for about three weeks. It’s wonderful to watch, to see their affection for each other grow and develop. Both of them have so much to give.”

“I thought you said that you and Simon were

“

“Lovers?” Kathy glanced over at Jennifer as she set down the teapot.

“Yes.” Jennifer tried to return Kathy’s gaze, but the woman’s steady, unblinking blue eyes unnerved her and she looked out the windows instead. Through the foggy glass she could see an edge of the frozen lake, and in the distance, farm fields, all bare and snow covered on the bright winter morning.

“We are, Jennifer, and so are Nanci and Simon. It isn’t a secret, you know.” Nanci returned with glasses of orange juice and plates of scrambled eggs, then retreated quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Jennifer began. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Nor are we promiscuous here on the farm.”

Now Jennifer looked across at Kathy Dart and simply raised her eyebrows. “What about AIDS?”

“What about it?”

Jennifer shrugged. “I’m sorry,” she said simply. “This is none of my business.”

“But it is!” Kathy insisted, leaning across the table. She sat poised, holding her knife and fork above the heavy brown ceramic plate. “All of you, us, are connected. Nanci, Simon, you, me, and Eileen. We are all part of the oversoul, and therefore, there’s a natural attraction—a physical attraction —among us.”

“Has Eileen slept with Simon?” Jennifer asked without thinking, then quickly added, “I’m sorry. That, too, isn’t my concern.” She stared down at her food.

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked her. It doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Of course not.” Jennifer lifted her fork and tried to eat. She wanted only to get through breakfast, but she realized she had suddenly lost her appetite.

“It is your business, Jennifer, and that is what I am trying to tell you. I know you’re attracted to Simon. I know that he is attracted to you. I am simply saying that there is nothing wrong with that. It is normal! It is healthy! It is right!”

“I’m sorry, that’s not the way I conduct my life.” Jennifer poked at her eggs with her fork, feeling better now that she had answered back.

“Simon approached you last night, didn’t he?”

“Yes. You know that.”

“But I don’t know what happened between you.”

“Nothing.”

“Perhaps not.”

Jennifer glanced over at Kathy, furious now. “Nothing happened, Kathy,” she insisted.

“It is not necessary for Simon to physically sleep with you, Jennifer, for something to happen.”

Jennifer dropped her knife and fork and pushed back her chair.

“Don’t run away from yourself, Jenny.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I came here. I will not be

I do not have to put up with this.” She would pack and leave, she decided. If she had to, she’d walk to the airport, anything to get away from these people.

But Kathy seized her wrist and forced Jennifer back down into her chair.

“I’m sorry,” she said firmly. “But I want you to carefully think about what you are planning to do.”

“And what am I planning?” Jennifer shouted.

“You want to leave. You want to run away,” Kathy calmly told her. “But you cannot escape. It doesn’t do you any good to flee from here. You aren’t going to escape your past—all those lives you have already lived, in other generations, at other times.”

“I’m afraid of you,” Jennifer told her.

Kathy nodded. “Of course you are. I would be afraid, too, if I were you. But it is only through fear and adversity that the soul is enriched. When we are totally happy, wrapped up in our own affairs, we float through life and nothing is impressed upon our souls. We do not gain in wisdom.”

Fear swept through Jennifer’s body. “You are going to hurt me,” she said. “I know you are. I can feel it.” Yet she continued to sit there, unmoving. She had the sudden revelation that no one could hurt her, that she had conquered this woman before, in her past.

“We have been connected, Jenny, I keep telling you this,” Kathy Dart said patiently, but there was an edge now in her voice. “And the only way we are going to understand the connection, see what the problem is, is to go back in time and look at who you were and how we are all linked. What is the cosmic connection?” She smiled softly. “In a way, we have already begun. Habasha has cast out the negative spirits in your body. The pain and consuming fire you felt last night when Habasha touched you through my fingers was his way of expelling the evil spirits from your body.”

“You admit that you’re going to hurt me,” Jennifer insisted again, staring at Kathy.

“The truth hurts, yes,” Kathy agreed, nodding. “But it’s also the only way that you can overcome this rage that is within you.”

“Are you talking about acupuncture?” Jennifer asked. “Maybe that’s how you’re going to hurt me.”

“It does hurt a little,” Kathy said, nodding, “I won’t lie to you. But the pain dissolves quickly once the needles are absorbed by the body. It’s like a pin prick, nothing more.”

“Then what happens?”

“I use what is called periosteal acupuncture, placing the needle deeper into the body. It is hardly more painful than the simple tip contact, and it goes only an inch into the skin. I use a collection of needles, either silver or gold, but I do not use as many needles as, say, a normal acupuncturist. I am seeking other answers.”

“The body remembers, Jenny. You’ve been told this, I know. But it’s true. Your spirit carries forward, from one generation to the next, the history of your lives on earth.”

“You just put these needles into me and I start sputtering out past lives?”

Kathy Dart shook her head. “No, it’s done much more subtly. I twist the needles as my spirit guides instruct me, and this in turn stimulates your recall. You’ll ‘see’ what lives you have lived, as if you were watching a movie.”

“Will you be watching the movie, too?”

“Well, I won’t see your lives, but we can discuss the images, if you like. We are set up to record what is said in the sessions—you’ll want to listen to yourself again afterward.”

“It doesn’t seem possible,” Jennifer said.

“Yes, I know.” Kathy Dart sank back in the chair and looked across the frozen landscape of Minnesota. Her customary confidence and poise had slipped away, and Jennifer thought she saw a flash of fear in those brilliant blue eyes. “The truth is,” Kathy admitted, “that I don’t understand my own ability, but I fear it. I never wanted it.”

At that moment Kathy Dart looked lost, a slender, delicate young woman overwhelmed by her life. She was very beautiful, Jennifer noticed again, in a way that had nothing to do with style or fashion. She was blessed with pure white skin and fine small features, and ironically, her clarity of expression hid her very heart and soul. Jennifer knew she could never fathom what Kathy was really thinking.

“Once Habasha walked into my life,” Kathy went on, “nothing stayed the same. I left my husband. I left my friends and my teaching career. When I moved back here with my daughter, who was just seven, I had no money, no plans of any kind, but Habasha told me to go home to Minnesota. I was to build a new life, here on the banks of the St. Croix River.”

Kathy glanced over at Jennifer. “This is where I was born, you know,” she explained. “My grandparents and parents farmed this land. Then my brother, Eric, took over and mortgaged all the five hundred acres and lost the place. I was able to buy just this old barn and the outbuildings at a public auction four years ago. I used all the money I had from my divorce settlement to buy back my home. I had to do it. Habasha told me I would only find real happiness by being close to my roots. In the spring I love to go outside when the fields are being plowed and smell the fresh earth as it turns. It’s all so wonderful and right.”

Kathy Dart stopped talking and Jennifer reached over and took hold of her hand.

“None of this is very easy, Jenny, I know. But we have to go where our hearts tell us. We have to listen to our own spirits and respond to their directions. We are not alone. That’s what you, what I, what we all have to remember. We have each other. You must know that. You came here to the farm in search of the truth.”

“The truth can be very frightening. Sometimes, I guess, I’d rather turn my back on it, walk away.”

“But you don’t feel that way now, do you?” Kathy asked, searching Jennifer’s face with her eyes.

Jennifer nodded. “I don’t think I fully realized I couldn’t hide from the truth until last night, until Habasha touched me. When I felt the burning—”

“His energy hurt you. He was casting off the evil guides that had surrounded your aura. Jennifer.” Kathy squeezed Jennifer’s hand, “He has set you free, Jenny!”

Jennifer stared back into Kathy’s eyes and said firmly, resolve in her decision, “I’m ready, Kathy. I want to know who is trying to reach me. I want to end my misery. I want to know the truth, whatever it means for my life.”

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

IN A SMALL, ENCLOSED room off the living room, Jennifer slipped behind a screen and took off her clothes, then draped herself in a warm flannel sheet.

“This used to be the birthing room on the farm,” Kathy said. “When a mare or cow went into labor, she was brought into this section of the barn. It was always the warmest, because it was in the center.”

She was carrying a small tray on which a dozen silver and gold needles floated in alcohol, next to a package of gauze. She set it down near the wide, padded massage table in the middle of the room.

“Would you prefer it if someone else were here?” she asked, as Jennifer emerged. “Eileen, for example?”

“Oh, no. I’d be too frightened.”

Kathy laughed. “Well, some people are frightened to be alone when they go through the treatment.”

“What’s it going to be like?” Jennifer asked as she approached the table. There was very little furniture in the clinic: a few white steel cabinets, a wash basin, and open shelves filled with flannel and cotton sheets and stacks of white towels

“It’s a different experience for everyone. For me, it went very slowly. Each vision, each lifetime took several hours to view; it took me a month of past-life treatment to complete my history. For others—Eileen, for example—we went through centuries in a matter of minutes. She could only get a glimpse of herself, she said. Often, it was just a suggestion that she had been there somewhere—among the Romans, or the Irish.” Kathy shrugged. “It depends. A man named Howard, who is doing research on the right side of the brain, has a thesis that the more creative you are, the more vivid your recollections will be.”

“Also, you might not recall anything during this first session. Your defenses may try to protect you, keep you from knowing. It might take several sessions before we break through the median points and reach what I call the Core Existence, the center of a past-life experience. Think of it this way, Jenny. Your past lives are like blisters. Once I prick a blister with my golden needle, you’ll be able to ‘see’ the lifetime that you have already lived.”

“How can you find the right blisters?”

“Oh, that’s easy. My spirit guides will tell me where to place the needles. They know where your past lives are recorded in your body. Ready?” She smiled reassuringly at Jennifer. “I want to meditate before we begin.”

“What will I feel?” Jennifer asked, delaying.

“It depends. If you feel, for example, a sudden rush of warmth, you’re getting a negative reaction from hostile spirits. I call them the little devils.” Kathy Dart smiled down at Jennifer. She had moved a tall stool closer to the massage table and was perched on its edge.

“What if we don’t find anything?”

“Is that what’s worrying you?” Kathy asked. “That you won’t recall?”

Jennifer shrugged. “That there won’t be anything, period! No past lives.”

Kathy Dart nodded, then said thoughtfully. “It’s never happened. I have never had a patient who didn’t recall a previous existence. Some, of course, are much more vivid than others. Some are lives of great importance, but the majority, I’d say, are ordinary lives: farmers, serfs, one or two adventurous types, a bandit in one generation, a thief in another.”

“Have you had any patients who share my experience?” Jennifer asked. “That strange rage and physical power?”

Kathy Dart picked up a silver needle from the white towel and replaced it carefully. “That’s what frightens you, isn’t it? That somehow I’ll tap a certain cell in your body and you’ll become—”

“A raging primitive, yes.” She looked directly at Kathy Dart.

“That won’t happen.”

“How do you know?” Jennifer challenged.

“Because nothing like that has ever happened to me, or to anyone I have treated. You will ‘see’ your past, but you won’t become it. No one ever has.”

“No one else is me. I’m the one who has the out-of-the-blue surges.”

“But they are not out of the blue. They only occur when you’re threatened. Do you feel threatened now?”

Jennifer shook her head, remembering how she had even tried to summon up her rage in the dark hallway the previous evening.

“Perhaps what has happened is that you feel safe on the farm. You’re not in a hostile environment, and your senses intuitively know that.” Kathy shrugged. “It’s really as simple as that.”

Jennifer nodded. Perhaps that was it. She remembered the computer salesman at the motel. She would never have touched him if he hadn’t threatened her.

“Look, you’ll be fully conscious,” Kathy explained. “If you begin to feel that you’re losing control in any way, I’ll stop.” She hesitated. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like Eileen to be with you?”

Jennifer shook her head. “No, thank you. I better go at this alone. Aren’t you afraid my monster self will attack you?”

Kathy Dart laughed. “Not me! I’ve got Habasha, and he’s king of the jungle. He told me so.” She swung Jennifer’s legs up onto the wide table. “Now, relax,” she instructed.

“Are you kidding?”

“Try,” Kathy Dart insisted. “I’ll spend a moment in meditation and channel my spirits.” She moved around to the end of the table and out of Jennifer’s line of sight.

Jennifer closed her eyes and took long breaths. She would try, she told herself. She would try to surrender herself; maybe Kathy Dart could find out what was happening to her body.

“Try not to think,” Kathy whispered. “Just let your mind flow. Be at peace.”

Jennifer took another deep breath. She felt a wave of cold air cross her body, then a hot flash. She listened to Kathy sitting behind her at the head of the table and tried to match her steady breathing. Then her thoughts shifted, and Jennifer let herself go with them. She was listening to the house, but only occasionally did a muffled noise filter into the room. The acoustic tile on the walls told her the barn was soundproofed. She felt far away from the world, far away from time. And happy. So safe.

Kathy had moved around the table to her side.

“I am ready,” she whispered to Jennifer, but her voice had changed, become more confident. “My guides have told me where to seek your lives.” She reached up for the edge of the flannel sheet and pulled it off Jennifer’s shoulder, then tucked it in at her waist. Jennifer did not open her eyes.

“I will place the first needles at pressure points on your shoulders and chest,” Kathy said calmly, “and later in your third eye, which is the center of your forehead. You will experience some pain, as I mentioned, but it will pass. Also, you will feel that the needles are warm. That is because I am taking a ball of dried wormwood—it’s an herb—and I’m placing it on top of the needle’s handle. Then I light it when the needle is inserted. The warmth will aid in the stimulation of your memory cells.”

“Tell me when you’re about to begin,” Jennifer asked.

“I’ve already begun.”

Jennifer opened her eyes and saw two long needles protruding from her chest.

“Jesus,” she whispered.

Cathy smiled sweetly and asked, “Do you want to watch?”

“I don’t know. Do I?” She felt better now that she had actually seen the needles in her body. “Ouch! What happened?” Jennifer blinked back tears.

“Nothing. I stimulated your cells by twisting the needles, that’s all.” She reached across to select another needle, slipping it behind Jennifer’s right ear.

“I don’t feel a thing,” Jennifer whispered. At that moment she felt wonderful, warm and comfortable.

“Of course not. You’re doing just fine.” She smiled down at Jennifer. “Soon you’ll begin to see your lives unfold. Take another deep breath.”

She did.

“This will help stimulate your memory.”

“I’m getting excited,” Jennifer said, smiling.

“I’ve turned on the tape recorder, so speak up when you notice anything. Sometimes it’s only an odor or taste that comes back to us from another time. Anyway, speak up, talk to me, and we’ll have all the memories recorded for you.”

Jennifer waited, her eyes closed again. She felt Kathy’s soft hands on her body, felt another fine needle pinch the skin between her breasts, but there was no pain. Then Kathy drew the sheet up over the tops of the half dozen needles, and when Jennifer opened her eyes, it looked as if she were enclosed inside a tent.

“Your spirits are arranging themselves, battling for position, so to speak,” Kathy explained as Jennifer felt another wave of cold air. “Do you see anything?”

Jennifer shook her head. “No,” she giggled. “I feel as if I’m waiting for my life to begin or something.”

“Well, you are. But don’t be afraid. You won’t see anything that you don’t want to see. Our bodies protect us in that way.” She fell silent.

Jennifer felt herself drifting off, as if she were taking a morning nap. She started to resist the urge to lose consciousness but remembered that Kathy had told her to let her mind wander, to let it find its own place in the depths of her subconscious. She stopped thinking. She forgot about her body and focused her attention on trying not to think. Everything slipped away. She felt as if she were falling gently through the space of her memories, dropping and dropping without fear. Then she was floating free of her body, like the night she was attacked and was looking down at herself on the operating table.

“You’re beginning to recall,” Kathy said, speaking, it seemed, from across the room. “I see flashes of your life. I’m picking them up.”

“What?” Jennifer stirred but did not open her eyes. She smelled eucalyptus.

“Are you getting any reactions? Any sensations?”

Jennifer nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “It seems I’m in a tropical jungle or something. I can smell fruit, figs particularly. I am high up, sitting in a tree, I think.” She shook her head as the image faded, then quickly was replaced with a stronger, more vivid picture. “I’m seeing primitive people. Very primitive people. They are running, throwing spears at each other. It’s so weird. I mean, I don’t know.” Jennifer smiled, amused by the images that floated to the surface of her memory.

“Keep talking,” Kathy instructed. “What else do you see?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m seeing lots of things. I see a little girl. I know it’s me, somehow. I am pounding on an animal’s skull. Someone is going for me. A woman. She’s running fast. My father is there, I think. It’s all whirling past me, out of control.” Jennifer felt her body tense, opened her eyes. She saw that Kathy had pulled away the flannel sheet and was gently twisting a few of the gold needles.

“Don’t open your eyes. Don’t stir. Everything is fine, just as it should be. Talk to me, Jenny, and tell me whatever you can about these images.”

“I see myself. I mean, I know it’s me. I’m somewhere else, I think. I’m standing at the entrance of a cave. I’m bare breasted, and I’m wearing just a piece of leather around my waist. I am happy, very happy. And I am beautiful. An African, maybe. My skin is chocolate colored. I am carrying this bowl in my hands. I am a painter, I know. I hear something. I’m looking around, looking at this dense jungle, and I think I am hearing something. Then I see a crowd of people—cavemen!—they are coming towards me. I am frightened, but I don’t know why.”

Jennifer stopped speaking.

“Yes,” Kathy whispered, leaning closer. She had taken out a pad and begun to scribble down notes.

“It’s gone. Nothing.”

“That’s all right,” Kathy instructed, “let the image go and wait for the next one. There’s more. Your body is in tune. Your meridian points have been reached.”

“I see Rome or somewhere like that. Greece!” Jennifer interrupted. “It’s a building with an open courtyard. I see two men talking. They’re talking about me. I’m a student here, at the palestra, a young boy. One of the men, the man on the left, will be my lover. I know that, looking at him. He’s a poet.”

Jennifer fell silent. The recollection stunned her.

“Don’t try to evaluate anything,” Kathy urged. “Just describe. We’ll talk later.”

“I see something else,” Jennifer whispered, concentrating on the visions. Her eyes were closed, but the images that filled her mind were fully realized and brilliantly rendered.

“I see a ship. On the Nile, I believe—and it’s extremely warm. Blistering hot, really. I am wishing for a breeze, any sort of breeze. The boat is moving with the tide, toward the sea. I’m a maid, a lady-in-waiting or something.” Jennifer saw a man turn to her and ask a question. She did not hear the question, and the handsome Egyptian was someone she had seen before. It was the young reporter from the magazine. But before she could even describe the scene, explain it to Kathy, the scene faded, and dissolved. Then her mind was filled with another world.

“I’m walking down a cobblestone street. I’m wearing nun’s clothes. A long black habit. There’s a crowd of people. I’m being led to a square. I’m being punished for something, I think.” Her body began to perspire on the massage table.

The flannel sheet suddenly was too warm. “Take it off,” she begged, and Kathy Dart reached over and pulled off the long sheet. Jennifer felt a cool breeze, but her body was clammy with sweat.

“Go on,” said Kathy.

“I’m to be burned to death for my sins.” She felt herself being pulled forward by black-hooded monks, saw herself going up onto the great stage where the Grand Inquisitor stood. She glanced around at the open square, crowded with peasants, then at the high bleachers, filled with the aristocracy of the Italian town. She saw Margit there, staring down at her. She kept turning and saw another woman, dressed, as she was, in the habit of a nun. Then the Grand Inquisitor stepped into her line of vision and began to read the charges against her. He turned to the crowd as he recited the list of her sins against God, and Jennifer realized it was Simon McCloud, condemning her to death.

“Are you okay?” Kathy asked.

“I don’t know.” Jennifer realized she was crying.

“Perhaps we should stop.” Kathy stood to remove the half dozen acupuncture needles.

“No, please, let’s continue.” Jennifer wanted now to know the secrets of her past. The Italian scene had slipped away to be replaced by another image. Men were riding horses across open fields. She could see snow-covered mountains in the far distance, saw, too, that the men were being chased by Indians. Hundreds of warriors were swooping down off the hillside, billowing dust across the landscape as they galloped after the fleeing white men.

Behind them, in the distance, an overturned covered wagon tipped into a rushing riverbed. She saw a child running from the prairie schooner and realized that it was she. She saw the fright on the little girl’s face, the terror in her eyes, as she came running. One of the Indian braves swept down on the fleeing child and lifted her effortlessly into his arms. The child screamed in Jennifer’s ears as she was carried off into a cloud of dust, and she saw that the Indian was Tom. Tom, as an Apache, was stealing the white child.

On the table, her legs jerked.

“I think we’ve had enough,” Kathy whispered.

“No, no,” Jennifer shook her head. She was naked and wet with perspiration, but she was not cold. Her body felt aflame. “Please, I want to know.”

“All right,” Kathy whispered, “but remember that you have already lived these lives. Nothing can hurt you now. Lie quietly,” she instructed. “We’ll go on in a moment. Now, just calm yourself. Do you want me to explain anything of what you have seen?”

“Yes,” Jennifer said at once. “Am I seeing a lot more than other people? Or less?”

“You are a very good subject, attuned to your previous lives. We say that such a person has ‘clear antennae.’ It isn’t often that we receive such rich material on our first attempt. People often can only locate one or two such images from their past lives. I have to credit my spirits, too; they’ve guided my needles well.”

“I was seeing people that I know today. What does that mean?”

“It’s not surprising. We’re all connected; what’s important is the relationship. Who did you see?”

“Tom. Simon. And that young journalist who is doing that story about you.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we find out that Simon was once your husband. Or even that you were Tom’s slave in a former life.”

“And Margit was with me in one lifetime.”

“The connection between you two is very strong. Perhaps she was your mother in another lifetime. What we have here is the intense bonding that is only possible in such maternal relationships. That is why Margit came to you after she was murdered. Are you ready to go on?”

“Yes.”

Kathy Dart stood again and twisted the long gold needle that she had planted in Jennifer’s third eye. “I’m going to stimulate your recollections.” She pulled the flannel sheet up again over Jennifer’s body.

“Have we been doing this long? I feel like I’ve been on this table for hours.”

“Linear time means nothing to us, Jenny. Let your mind flow.”

Jennifer kept her eyes closed and concentrated on relaxing, on keeping her mind free. She tried to keep herself from dwelling on what Kathy Dart had said about Tom, that he was such a dominant force in her life, her master.

Suddenly her mind was crowded with vivid pictures. They came swirling at her, and for an instant she panicked, worried that she would lose all this valuable information.

“I see a young girl, I think. I am a Chinese girl. I am being held, captured. People are after me. Chinese miners or something. They’re going to kill me, kill the person who is holding me. I can’t see his face.”

“Relax, Jenny,” Kathy instructed, touching her shoulder. “Let the images pass. They can not harm you. Don’t concentrate too much. The images will find their way to the surface of your memory. Wait.”

“I see a bedroom. An old-fashioned bedroom, you know, from the forties,” Jennifer began again. “It’s a little girl’s room.” She tried to scan the dark room. Though it was daylight, the blinds had been pulled, and the room was in shadow. A dozen dolls were stacked neatly on shelves, and there was a large dollhouse in the corner. “It’s my bedroom, I just know!” she exclaimed.

“Is anyone there?” Kathy asked.

Jennifer shook her head. She was frowning, straining to see deep into her history. “There’s a woman coming in,” she said. And then, in her mind, the door opened and a shaft of light filled the dark bedroom.

“It’s Margit!” Jennifer told Kathy. “She’s my mother and she’s come looking for me. I’m there, I know, somewhere in the room.” Jennifer turned her head from side to side, trying to force the recollection, to pull the hidden memories to mind.

She saw herself then. She was just a teenager, not yet fifteen. She sat up in bed, just wakening, it seemed. She was naked. Then Jennifer saw the man, the young man beside the girl, saw him roll over in the bed. She knew even before she saw his face that it was Simon. And she knew, too, that these two were brother and sister. Her mother, Margit, screamed and brought her fists down on her daughter and son, striking them in blind rage.

Jennifer was shaking. She could not control her own body. She let Kathy tuck the warm flannel sheet more closely around her, then gently, expertly, Kathy began to massage Jennifer’s temples. It took Jennifer several minutes to focus on what Kathy Dart was saying.

“You had an episode, Jenny, that’s all. It happens sometimes. You pull up a past life that fills you with enormous guilt or remorse, and the realization has too much pain for you to handle now. But once it is uncovered, then the trauma is released. It won’t haunt you. You have lived through the experience.”

Jennifer was weeping quietly, and she kept crying, but her tears made her feel better. She was purging her body of the memory.

“I didn’t know it would be this therapeutic,” Jennifer whispered to Kathy, who was still ministering to her, arranging a small pillow beneath her head, wiping away her tears.

Kathy nodded. “At times, it is. We made tremendous progress this morning, but I think it’s time for you to let your body rest.” She smiled down at Jennifer. “I’ll turn down the lights and leave you for a while. You’ll be able to sleep. Often such past life experiences completely knock you out.”

“I’m just haunted by the thought of me and Simon. I mean, in another life

brother and sister

“

“That’s why you found him so attractive in this life,” Kathy said. “Brother or not, he’s quite handsome.”

“I have a lover.”

“We all have many lovers, Jenny.”

“Not me.”

“Why?” Kathy asked. She waited patiently for Jennifer to respond.

Jennifer shrugged. She was suddenly uncomfortable talking about her life in such detail

“I think you would feel less stressful if you allowed your true emotions to emerge.”

“I don’t think that the way to establish a permanent relationship with Tom is to become involved with another man, with Simon,” Jennifer replied. “You know we’re living in the age of AIDS! Women don’t sleep around. Why do you want me to sleep with Simon, anyway?”

Kathy nodded toward the stack of silver and gold acupuncture needles.

“I can only do so much with my treatment. I think that a loving encounter with Simon, where you share the pleasure of each other, will enrich you. It will help break down the tensions you feel, the rage you have against men.”

“I don’t have any rage against men,” Jennifer said quietly.

“Eileen told me what happened in the motel.”

“Okay, I was angry, but you would have been, too, if you had seen him. Look, I’m not going to sleep with every man who hits on me just to show that I don’t have hidden hostility toward men. What are you trying to say, anyway?”

“Look what happened to you when you saw Simon in that recall from the forties,” Kathy said patiently.

“Kathy, he was my brother! I was sleeping with my brother!” Jennifer began to cry. Lying back on the massage table, she choked on her own tears and had to lean up on one elbow, coughing and sobbing.

Kathy waited until Jennifer had gained control of herself. She used the corner of the flannel sheet to wipe the tears away, then said softly, “I am not judging you, Jennifer, or prescribing a course of action. I am merely an instrument. The anger that you’ve been expressing, the conflict you have with your lover, Tom, are simply manifestations of a deeper and more profound unrest that is lodged within the cells of your body. Your spirit holds these memories and carries them forward, from one incarnation to the next. The body remembers everything, Jennifer. Everything! You have reached a critical moment in your life.” She leaned back. “I don’t know, Jenny, what is suddenly haunting you, driving you to such primitive rage. But I do want to help you discover its cause. Only by ‘seeing’ your past lives, by conversing with Habasha, by accepting who you were in other lifetimes will you find out who you are today. Jenny, you must accept your past.”

“Am I to achieve this by fucking Simon McCloud?”

Kathy shrugged. “I only know that you two have a strong attraction to each other and that perhaps by sharing such an intimate moment, you’ll learn something about yourself.” For a moment she was silent. Then, slowly, she began to speak. “Our most intense experiences in life, Jenny, are with our family. Our lives are shaped from childhood. We’re drawn to the kind of people we grew up with. I don’t know yet what your parents are like, but I can guess.”

Jennifer glanced over at Kathy Dart and waited for her explanation.

“You were born late in their lives, and I sense that you were an only child.”

“I had a brother,” Jennifer corrected.

“Yes, but he was much older, wasn’t he?”

Jennifer nodded. “Eileen would have told you this much.”

“I haven’t discussed your family with Eileen.”

“But she knew them. Eileen and I went to high school together. My parents are retired. They live in Florida.”

“Yes, but you were never close to them. They were older. They were not pleased that you came along so late in their lives. From childhood, from infancy, really, you felt that you were unwanted. They did not give you the nurturing you needed. It was your brother—”

“Danny,” Jennifer whispered.

“You lost Danny, didn’t you?”

“Yes, in Vietnam. He never came home. They said he was killed in a bombing raid. They never found his body. I was only twelve when he died.” She began to cry.

“You know, Jennifer, what you have to realize is that we choose our parents, choose our siblings. And we do this to resolve our experiences from previous lives.”

“Why did Danny die and leave me?” Jennifer blurted out. “Was his death caused by something I did in another lifetime?”

Kathy shook her head. “I really don’t know. Perhaps he had to fulfill another destiny. His destiny. But you were not really left, Jenny. You have seen him in your dreams, haven’t you?”

“He’s always with me,” Jennifer acknowledged. “I feel him with me. He came to me when I almost died on the emergency-room table.”

Kathy Dart reached out to touch Jennifer’s arm. “Danny is with you, Jenny. Always. He is one of your spirits. And Margit Engle is another. They—and others from your oversoul—are here to guide and protect you. Just like myself, Habasha, Eileen, Simon. We’re all part of your oversoul, members of your support system.” Her pretty face was full of assurance.

“But I still don’t know what is troubling me, or which life is the source of these rages.”

Kathy Dart nodded sympathetically.

“Soon,” she whispered, “soon.” She nodded toward the row of needles. “I think with another session, we’ll have the truth.”

Now she stood and patted Jennifer on the shoulder. “Why don’t you rest here for a while,” she said. “I’ll shut off the light and you can take a nap.”

Jennifer smiled. “Thanks. I think I will. I do feel sleepy.”

“Regressions are exhausting.” Kathy went to the door and dimmed the lights. “I’ll come back later to see if you’re all right. You’ve had an exhausting morning, Jennifer, but I think we’re very close to getting some answers.”

“Yes,” Jennifer whispered, closing her eyes. “I think we are, Kathy. Thank you.”

“Thank Habasha, Jenny. He holds the eternal truths. I’m simply the messenger.”

Kathy Dart closed the door, leaving Jennifer in the dark.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

JENNIFER OPENED HER EYES in the dark clinic and saw that Simon had come into the room. Her heart beat against her chest. He must hear the wild pounding, she thought, and she took a deep breath in an effort to silence her body.

“Yes?” she asked, not moving.

“I spoke to Kathy. She said you were resting.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I came to see if you were okay.” He was beside her. His face, inches away from hers, was silhouetted in the dark room.

“Yes, I’m okay. Thank you.”

They were almost like lovers, Jennifer thought, whispering in the dark.

“Would you like me to give you a massage?” he asked. “I know that past-life recall is very tiring. You go through so many time frames.”

“I’ve never had a massage,” Jennifer admitted, “except when—” She stopped midsentence, remembering how in college her boyfriend had given her massages before they had made love. “What do you do? What types of massage, I mean.”

“I know a lot of different methods, actually. There are the shiatsu and acupressure systems. They use finger and hand pressure on the body’s energy meridians—the same principle as acupuncture, except without the needles. Or Swedish, which is body manipulation. I was taught that as a kid by my uncle. Then there’s reflexology, you know, the kind that focuses on your feet and hands.”

“They’re all different?”

“Yes, and all are for different purposes. Hydrotherapy, for example, uses water and develops muscle tone, helps reduce swelling. Esthetic massage is a way to improve your looks.”

“Good, I could use that one.”

“No, you’re already very beautiful,” he said.

Jennifer smiled, afraid to say anything.

“And then there’s myotherapy for the treatment of muscular pain.” Simon went on. “And sports massage for runners, you know.” He shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

“And you know them all?”

“Kathy sent me to school.”

“Of course.” Jennifer pulled herself up on her right elbow and turned toward Simon. “What massage does Kathy have?” she asked.

“I always give her a Swedish massage.”

“Then that’s what I want.”

“Good!” Simon smiled. He stood up and stepped across the small room, moving carefully in the darkness.

He was out of the wash of light, but still Jennifer could see him open the closet and take out a low, padded bench. He placed it on the floor, then returned to the table and handed her a folded white sheet.

“You’ll need to put this on,” he told her, and turned away.

She swung her legs over the side of the table and put on the sheet. “Oh, it’s cold,” she said.

“That’s okay. I’ll warm you up.” Simon had knelt beside the table and was pulling several thick towels from the bottom drawer of the built-in wall cabinet.

“I’ll be using oil on your body,” he told her. “It’s warm and it will keep your skin smooth.” He was all business.

Now that the early intimacy between them had passed, she felt curiously let down. He glanced around and saw that Jennifer had tucked the long sheet around her body. “Ready?”

“I guess.” She felt foolish now and vulnerable.

“Here,” he whispered, taking her hand and gently maneuvering her into position on the table. He slipped a thick, rolled-up towel beneath her ankles, and another under her head, then turned her head so she faced the corner of the room. Jennifer closed her eyes, aware only of his strong hands on her back.

“I want you to relax and keep your eyes closed,” he whispered. “I’m not going to talk at all, and I want you to focus on your body. Your neck muscles are very tight. Let me begin there.” Leaning forward, Simon placed his hands, wet with oil, on her back. She shivered at his touch, and he whispered, “Relax, Jenny, relax and enjoy.”

He began slowly and steadily to stroke her neck and back muscles with his strong hands, sliding them evenly down her back and up again. Jennifer felt herself grow sleepy, and gradually she let go of her defenses and surrendered herself to the pleasure of the massage.

Simon moved to her legs, kneading the calf muscles. She moaned when his fingers tightened on her legs, and he whispered an apology.

“It’s okay,” she answered, tucking her arms around the thick towel. She could lie there forever, she thought. She loved the feel of his hands on her body. “You have wonderful fingers,” she told him.

“Shhh,” he whispered. Moving to the bottom of the table, Simon began to gently stroke one foot, then the other. He began at the ankle and stroked toward the toes. She felt the tension disappear from her leg.

“I want you to do this to me every day,” she mumbled.

“My pleasure,” Simon answered, smiling in the dark. Slowly, he stroked up her leg, across her calf, up her thigh to her buttocks.

The loose sheet had slipped off her back, but she didn’t care. It was dark in the room; she could not see him and was aware only of his hands and what they were doing to her body.

“Do you do this with Kathy?” Jennifer asked.

“Yes,” Simon whispered. He was close beside her now, and she could smell the warm, fragrant oil on his fingers. “And now I’m doing it to you.”

Simon turned her body with his hands, exposing her breasts. She reached down and draped the end of the long sheet across her waist. Slowly, carefully, he used his fingers and the palms of both hands to stroke her shoulder muscles, to pinch away the tightness and pain. Then he moved down the length of her body, using his hands carefully on her abdomen, kneading her thighs and calves, returning to her feet and stroking her to the tips of her toes.

He was working steadily, breathing harder from his steady effort, but he did not stop, and Jennifer fell silent, following obediently his hand signals, turning her body the way he directed. By now she was naked on the low table, and in the dim light, she saw the crumpled shapes of the discarded sheets.

Then she felt his hands on her thighs, rapidly striking her with the palms of his hands. He stopped and kneaded her legs with his strong fingers, then slipped his hands between her legs. She gasped.

With her eyes closed, Jennifer could not see him. She felt only his breath as he leaned across her body, using his full weight to bring pressure to his strokes. His fingers were warm and oily and lovely. When he touched her breasts, she felt her breath catch in her throat. Then he moved his hands up to her neck and, with his fingertips, massaged the tender skin at the base of her throat.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.

Again, he moved down the length of her body, silently stroking her flesh, as if her body were nothing more than an instrument for his use. This was what true submission was, she realized as she lay there. This was what real emotional slavery meant.

Jennifer knew now that she would give her body to him.

She would surrender simply and gladly. She wanted to be his lover, if only once. This had nothing to do with Tom, with her life in New York. This moment in the dark room had meaning only to the two of them. It did not matter that Simon was Kathy’s lover. They were all of the same soul; Habasha had told them. They were all connected in another life.

She opened her eyes and lifted her arms to take him into her embrace, and he smiled and whispered, “No. Not yet.” Then he leaned over and slowly, lovingly kissed her breasts, then gently pulled a warm blanket over her. “Lie here a moment,” he whispered, and then he was gone.

She lay still, as he had instructed, stunned by his unexpected refusal. He wanted her to wait. Wait. She was alone in the small room, warm and close under the heavy blanket, with voices coming to her from deep in the house, and the sharp Minnesota wind whipping against the walls. She thought of his lips touching her breasts, his warm cheek brushing against her aroused nipples, then she came.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

JENNIFER OPENED HER EYES. It was already evening, and she heard voices in the other rooms, laughing and talking. It must be time for predinner drinks in the living room. Later, Jennifer knew, Kathy Dart would be channeling Habasha.

Naked, Jennifer slipped off the table and quickly put her clothes on, pulling her thick navy blue turtleneck over her head and sliding into her leather pants. Her fear had made her jumpy, and as she left the small clinic, she glanced through the curtains of the windows, half expecting to see Simon’s face there, watching her from the darkness. But there was only a vast expanse of frozen snow, glistening from the outside floodlights. She saw a car swing into the small lot. Its lights swept across the fields before it pulled in.

She was afraid of Simon now, afraid of his power over her. She remembered vividly the past-life regression, how he had condemned her to death as the Grand Inquisitor. She had to get away from him, from this farm, before something else happened to her, before Simon tried to make love to her.

In her bedroom, Jennifer grabbed her parka from the back of the chair, then quickly threw her clothes into her bag and hurried out of her room and down the hall and into the night. Only when she reached the cold did she realize she didn’t know how she would escape the isolated farm.

She glanced around. No one had followed her from the house, and the yard was silent and dark. She ran at once onto the road and waved at a passing car, which slowed for a moment, then sped away. Just as well, Jennifer thought. The driver had been a man, and she didn’t want to tempt fate.

Another car swung out of the farm’s driveway, and for a moment she was pinned in the bright headlights. The car came straight at her, and she backed away from the highway, looked to see where she might run, but there was no shelter, no woods, only miles of farmland and open fields. The car slowed, and she saw the driver lean over and open the passenger door. When the interior light came on, she saw it was the reporter who was doing the article on Kathy Dart.

“Hi!” he said, grinning. “Car break down?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” She smiled back. “A rental car. I need to get to the airport in St. Paul. Could you give me a lift in that direction?” She stared at him. Her heart was pounding, and she was suddenly afraid that he was lying, that he knew she was trying to get away and had been sent to get her. He was one of them, not a reporter at all.

“Sure, hop in.” He reached over and moved a stack of audio tapes from the seat. “Where’s your friend?”

“Eileen?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. I met you in Washington, D.C., right?” He was watching her, still smiling.

Jennifer nodded as she tossed her bag in the back and slid in beside him.

“She’s staying longer?” he asked, starting up the car.

“Yes. Yes, she is.” Jennifer took a deep breath and glanced around. No one else had come out of the farm’s parking lot. “I saw you at the Habasha channeling session the other night. Is the article done?”

“Yeah, just about. I’ve got all of my research done on Kathy Dart. You had some reaction to old Habasha last night, didn’t you?” the reporter commented.

Jennifer glanced at him again. He wasn’t quite as young as she had first thought. And she hadn’t realized how good-looking he really was.

“Are you going as far as the airport?” she asked, avoiding the question.

“Yes, I’m going back to Chicago. My name, by the way, is Kirk Callahan.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“And I remember you didn’t want to be interviewed.” He kept smiling.

“I didn’t have anything to say. I’m not into channeling.”

“But you’re here now.” He gestured toward the farm.

“Well, I was.” She kept staring ahead at the dark highway. Each mile, she realized, was taking her away from the farm. What would Kathy do when she discovered that she had left? She glanced again at the dashboard, thankful that Kirk was driving so fast.

“Where are you going?” Kirk asked, and she jumped, startled by his voice.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” He slowed the car.

“Oh, New York. I’m going to New York City.” She glanced out the rear window.

“I’ve never been to New York,” Kirk said. “I’d like to visit sometime, to see a Broadway show or something.”

Jennifer had forgotten what clean-cut, Midwestern kids were like. It was as if he were from another planet.

“You live in Manhattan?” he asked.

“No, Brooklyn. Brooklyn Heights, actually. It’s right across the river.” Still no headlights behind her.

“No one is following,” he said, frowning.

“I’m sorry. I just keep thinking

you know, you’re driving so fast. I’m worried about cops.”

“It’s okay. I’m keeping an eye out. We have nothing to worry about.”

Jennifer nodded. “That’s a nice notion, saying we have nothing to worry about. I wish it were true.” She forced a smile.

“You like some music or something?” Kirk asked.

“Sure.”

“Here.” He handed her a box of tapes.

“No, you pick something you like. Anything.” Jennifer noted with satisfaction how her smile flustered him.

“Okay, how ‘bout a little John Cougar Mellencamp?” He slipped in the tape and hit the play button.

“Great!” Jennifer said. She had no idea whom he meant.

They drove without speaking as they both listened to the music, and Jennifer began to relax. The music helped to distract her, but it was really the car, speeding through the dark night, that did it. She was driving away from the farm with this attractive young man, and she took a perverse pleasure in the knowledge that no one—not Eileen, not Kathy Dart, not Simon, no one—knew where in the world she was.

She slipped down farther in the soft bucket seat. “This is a nice car,” she said. “What is it?”

He grinned proudly. “It’s brand new,” he said. “An Audi 80. Five cylinders, a two-point-three-liter engine. And this is all leather!” He reached over and ran his hand lovingly across the upholstery.

“A present?”

“Yeah. I bought it for myself. I made some money in the market.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. But I was just lucky. I got out when the market heated up. It’s due for a crash.”

“You play the market?”

“I did. Now I’m into CDs and cash.”

Jennifer nodded but said nothing. When she was his age, she had only college loans and debt. She didn’t know anything about stocks. She slid further down into the seat, curling up as best she could in the tight space. She saw Kirk reach over and lower the music, and she smiled at him. Then she closed her eyes and thought how nice he was to leave her alone. She fell asleep in the bucket seat of his new Audi, grateful that he was such a nice guy.

In the last moments of her troubled dreams, in the silent drifting fog before consciousness, Jennifer saw the hand coming at her throat, and she tossed and turned trying to escape.

Then she was startled awake. Kirk Callahan’s hand rested gently on her shoulder, and he was whispering to her.

“Hey, Jennifer? Hey, I’m sorry. We’re getting close to St. Paul; it’s time to wake up.” He withdrew his hand as he slowed the car.

Jennifer saw overhead expressway signs slip past. They were in traffic, and she was aware of buildings, flashing billboards, the roar of trucks. She felt a wave of panic. The car’s dashboard clock read 7:32.

Kirk looked older now. His face was more sharply defined, with a blunt chin, a large, generous mouth, and a straight nose. It was a strong, masculine face, and it was made more masculine by his forthright manner. Jennifer mused as she watched him. A farmer’s son. A Minnesota lumberjack, perhaps. She remembered then that he had been in her Egyptian past life, and to keep herself from recalling anything more, she said, “Okay, Kirk, tell me about yourself?”

He blushed, as she knew he would, and shyly, hesitantly talked about growing up on a farm in the Midwest, about high school football and girlfriends, and going to college on a track scholarship. Jennifer listened attentively for a while, and then she realized she wasn’t listening to him, but was watching the way his lips moved, and how he cocked his head to the side when he started a new story, and how his eyes brightened just before he came to the punch line of a joke.

“What about it?” he asked.

“Pardon me?” Jennifer sat up, taken aback.

“What about riding with me into Chicago?”

“Are you going to Chicago?” she asked.

“Well, yeah, I’ve got an interview tomorrow afternoon downtown in the Loop, then I’m headed home.”

“But where do you live?”

“St. Louis. But I can drop you at O’Hare, that’s no big deal.” He kept glancing at her.

“I don’t know. That’s a long drive. We’ll have to spend the night somewhere, right?” She thought of the guy she’d shoved into the ice machine on the drive out from the East. She wondered if there was a warrant out for her arrest.

“They’re not going to get you, not if you’re with me,” he said softly, watching her.

“What do you mean?” Jennifer realized her hands were trembling. “Who’s out to get me?”

Kirk shrugged. “Those people at the farm.” Kirk held her gaze evenly. He was waiting her out.

She did not want to lie to him. She wanted to tell him what had happened to her, how she had gotten to the farm, and why she was now running for her life. It was true, she realized, how one would tell strangers the most intimate of secrets and hide the truth from friends. And so, there in the small car as they raced toward St. Paul, she told Kirk Callahan how she had met Kathy Dart and why she had come to the farm in the first place. All she withheld was her crimes.

What startled her most was that he didn’t seem surprised by anything she said. As she talked, he kept glancing at her with his sober gray eyes, never once registering surprise or astonishment at her story.

When she was finished, she finally asked, “Are you a follower of Kathy Dart? Do you believe in this New Age stuff? Are you going to turn me in or what?”

He shook his head as he looked ahead and watched the road. “All this New Age stuff is just a mind fuck. You do it to yourself. I took this course—abnormal psych—last fall, and you know, you start reading these cases, and suddenly you begin to think, Hey, I’m like that. That’s me! Or you know someone who’s slightly off and you think, He must be a paranoid schizophrenic, or whatever.”

“But you’re writing an article about it?”

“That doesn’t mean I believe in any of that shit.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Jennifer said vaguely, now not knowing who or what to believe. She thought again of the session with Kathy Dart and the vividness of her past lives. Those were true, she told herself. Whatever else had happened to her, she had seen into her past, she thought, sighing, and she had killed people with her primitive strength.

They drove in silence, out of St. Paul on Route 94, and into Wisconsin, then south through more flat farmland. For a while, Kirk fed cassettes into the tape deck. He played tapes of George Harrison, Billy Idol, and more John Cougar Mellencamp. She wished he wouldn’t play anything at all. She would have liked the silence, but it was his car, his drive, and she wouldn’t be demanding. She wanted only to get back to New York.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“DO YOU MIND SHARING a room with me?” Jennifer asked when Kirk decided to stop driving for the night. She had made up her mind when they had started across Wisconsin that she couldn’t spend a night alone in a motel room.

“Hey, sure.” Kirk grinned.

“I don’t mean anything by that,” she said firmly.

“Yeah, you can trust me!” he said, grinning.

“I know that.” She opened the car door.

“Wait!” he told her.

“What? Did you see someone?” She slipped down into the car seat.

“No, of course not. Hey, Winters, no one is going to find you out here in the middle of this farmland. The farm doesn’t employ the KGB. Just wait here until I get the room, that’s all.”

“Oh! How are you going to sign us in?”

“Well, I thought I’d put down Mr. and Mrs. Kirk Callahan. Or is that being too pushy?”

She allowed herself to smile back. “Fine! But don’t use my first name, okay?” She knew she was being paranoid, but still

“Here!” She reached for her purse. “Let me give you some money.”

He waved her off. “Buy me dinner.” He opened the car door.

“Okay, but we’re eating in our room. And make it the second floor, okay?”

He sighed. “Any other motel obsessions?”

“No.” She smiled after him, thankful that he was handling all the details. Then she reached over and locked the car door.

“How’s this, Mrs. Callahan?” Kirk asked, opening the door and letting Jennifer lead the way into the motel room.

“Good!” she said, taking in the dimly lit room. “There are two beds.”

“Hey, I asked for them!” He sounded hurt.

Jennifer watched him for a moment, holding her small plastic bag of toilet articles. She knew he hadn’t been told enough to know why she was so on edge, but at least he was willing to take a chance with her, to go along with her erratic behavior. How did he know that she wasn’t some wacko from a mental hospital?

She stepped over to sit down on his bed and said softly, “Kirk, I’m not trying to order you around or treat you like a kid.”

“Then stop doing it, okay?”

“We’re in an awkward position, thrown together, and I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me. You’ve saved my life. I just don’t want you to misunderstand, that’s all.”

“I’m not misunderstanding anything.”

Jennifer stood up. A single room had been a big mistake, she realized now.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s all right.”

“Jen, I just”—he looked off when he spoke—”I’m sorry, I

“

“Kirk, it’s okay,” she soothed. She kept herself from reaching out and touching his cheek. “I’d better take a shower,” she finally said.

In the small bathroom, she turned on the shower, buried her head in a thick bath towel, and let herself cry, knowing that it would calm her down. She didn’t bother to lock the door. She wasn’t afraid of Kirk. Of all people, she knew she could trust him.

She took a long shower, washed her hair, then went ahead and washed her panties and bra and hung them on the curtain rod. When she returned to the bedroom, she had wrapped up her hair in a bath towel and was wearing her red flannel nightgown. She’d thought about putting on her shirt and jeans again but decided against it. There wouldn’t be a problem. Besides, after dinner, she wanted to get into bed and go right to sleep.

“Dinner is being served,” he told her, pointing to the tray.

“Thank you,” she said. “Where did this come from?”

“I told the desk we were on our honeymoon and I wanted to serve you dinner in bed. And they sent up the tray.” He lifted a bottle of champagne from a plastic ice bucket and held it up with a flourish. “And this,” he added.

“Kirk, you’ve got class,” she said, impressed.

“You think so?”

“I know so. You’re an all-right guy.”

“An all-right kid, you mean.”

“We’re friends, remember?”

“Right!” He sat down on the edge of his bed.

“Hey,” she cocked her head, smiling out from under the towel turban, “come sit with me. Let’s talk. I’ve told you about Tom. Now it’s your turn. Tell me about your girlfriends.”

“Which one?”

“Well, let’s start with the most recent.” She bit into her hamburger, then took a sip of the champagne while Kirk told her about Peggy. They had gone to school together, but that Christmas she had announced her engagement to someone in law school, a guy she had met the summer before.

“She was your great love?”

“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t date much in high school. We lived outside of town; there were always too many chores to do. Then when I got to college, Peggy and I hit it off right away and went together pretty much all the time until last summer. When she came back after Labor Day, it was all over between us.” He shrugged his shoulders and went back to his hamburger.

“Well, don’t worry. You’re a good-looking guy, and there’ll be plenty of others.”

“You think so?” he asked.

“Of course there will be.”

“No, I mean, do you really think that I’m good-looking?”

Jennifer glanced at him as she drained her glass. The champagne had had an effect. She felt relaxed for the first time that day, warm, and even safe. Impulsively, she reached over and touched his cheek with her hand, drawing her fingers down the length of his jaw. Fleetingly, she imagined what it would be like to make love to him, and then she pulled her thoughts under control and simply said, “Yes, you are a good-looking man.” She paused. “But I think you should let your hair grow out a little. And now I’m going to sleep.”

Kirk picked up the tray, and Jennifer crawled under the blankets and put her head down on the pillow. Her hair was still wrapped up in the towel and she knew she should comb it out, but she was too tired to even move.

Kirk leaned over, tucked the blankets up to her neck, then reached out and shut off the bedside lamp. Before he stepped away, he leaned down and kissed her softly on her cheek.

Jennifer smiled and mumbled thank you, and then she was asleep.

Much later, she woke up and saw Kirk standing by the windows in his white boxer shorts. She thought what a great body he had and then fell asleep again.

When Jennifer woke next, it was daylight. She turned over and saw that Kirk’s bed was empty and she was alone in the room. She jumped out of bed at once and went to the windows, peeking out from behind the heavy curtains. Kirk’s Audi was still parked where they had left it.

Jennifer sighed. What had she thought? That he would leave her there in the middle of nowhere?

She spotted Kirk then, jogging across the lot. He had been out running, that was all. She sighed and watched him slow down and walk by a station wagon that had just pulled into the motel. It was only when the driver lowered the front window to speak to Kirk that Jennifer realized who it was. Kirk was telling him something, pointing across the parking lot, but Jennifer had fallen away from the second-floor windows, fully comprehending what had happened. Kirk Callahan, the young man she had allowed herself to trust, had led Simon McCord to her.

He ran. Clutching the fist-sized piece of quartzite in his hand, he scampered down the bank and headed for the muddy river. The others were close behind. They had found the body of the female, and now they were after him, following his scent through the underbrush, following his footsteps in the soft soil.

He ran for his life. They would kill him, just as he had killed the female. He did not know why he had killed her. She would not come with him. But other women in tribes near the river had not come with him, and he had not hurt them.

Yet her refusal had enraged him, and without thinking, he had swung the quartzite at her, its sharp point piercing her neck, spraying blood in his face. He could taste her blood on his lips, in his mouth.

He reached the river and dove into the deep water, letting the swift tide carry him farther downstream. There were rhinos in the water, and crocodiles, too, sleeping up on the banks and in the shade of acacia trees. The sleeping crocs frightened him, but he feared more the band of men running along the muddy riverbank.

If he didn’t bother the animals, he was safe. The river widened at the next bend, then swept away to the horizon. He did not know where the river flowed, but once, when he was younger, his grandfather had stood on the high cliffs behind their campsite and told him of lands beyond the grassland where elephants were as plentiful as raindrops and where berry bushes and yarrow plants grew beyond one’s dreams.

He would have to leave this valley, he thought, catching hold of a bamboo limb and swinging up to perch on it. There were too many others living together in the valley of the honeycombs. He would be killed if he returned; the males of the woman’s clan knew him. They would kill another member of his family, sweep down into their camp that night and slaughter one of the women for what he had done to the clan.

He knew that her people thought of him and his kind as nothing more than monkeys to be killed, their heads smashed with rocks so the sweet-smelling meat of their skulls could be scooped out with fingers, their eyes sucked like shellfish; and then, later, her men would heat the thighs and arms of their enemies’ dead bodies over the campsite fire and linger in the shade with no pain from hunger.

Her people kept his kind away from the grasslands, away from the berry bushes on the far side of the river. Still, he and his cousins crept across the river after sunset, slipping by the sleeping crocodiles to steal the honey or to find the patches of yarrow and take away the white flowers in the dead of night. Her people said these fruits and berries belonged to them, to all the cave people who lived high up on the steep cliffs, and they drove off his people, kept him and his cousins from the lush vegetables. They fought his people off from the water holes where the bushbucks lingered, where they could trap and snare a zebra or giraffe, kill it with blows from their axes.

He slipped his knife into his buckskin pouch as the swift river bore him away. It had taken him weeks to find the stone, then to shape it as he wanted, chipping away the slivers of quartz as his father had taught him. With it, he could kill. With it, he could defend himself against the cave people.

He thought of the woman he had killed. He had seen her first by the river’s edge, then followed her to the crest of the hills. He had called to her then, but she had mocked him, jutting her chin out, pushing her breasts at him, slapping her thick upper lip with her tongue, and saying, “Maa-naa, Maa-naa,” as she turned to show him her behind.

He had wanted to lure her from the track, to entice her into the deep gully beside the huge banana trees where the ground was soft and mossy, but she wouldn’t budge from the clearing. He watched her prance in the bright sunlight, flicking out her pelvis as if to entice him. He rushed out from the safe patch of underbrush, and she scooted away, giggling. Enraged, he had grabbed his new quartzite ax and struck her.

He would stay with the river, clinging to the thick log of bamboo. His grandfather had told him tales, stories told to him by his grandfather, of hills beyond hills, of other people, tall and slim like running giraffes, who wore the skin of animals, and told tales of giant mountains where the rain was white and cold.

These were only tales, he knew, shared around warm fires on cold nights, when the old people huddled and sang stories of lands beyond the river, stories they said that came to them in dreams, when the body sleeps, and the spirits sail with the moon, and they painted such songs on their cave walls.

He did not believe the old men’s stories. He knew only what he saw, only what he tasted in his mouth, only what had happened to him.

He had killed the woman, and the cave people would kill him. He did not want to leave his own woman, his children, or his mother and father, but he did not want to die from a flying spear and have his eyes sucked from his head.

He clung to the bamboo stump and was happy to be alive, happy, too, that he had killed her. She had laughed at him with her eyes and jutted out her sex as if it were the lush fruit of a berry bush, but would not mate with him. Yes, he was glad that he had killed her, and he kept sailing away on the tide of the wide river, heading toward the rising sun and the land of white cold rain and tall slim men.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

JENNIFER BOLTED THE BATHROOM door and spun around to face herself in the mirror. Under the bright lights, she was amazed at how frightful she looked. It was as if she had stuck her finger in an electrical outlet.

She thought of Kirk, of how he had come out of the night and helped her get away from the farm, of how he had been so nice to her. Her mind whirled as she linked together all the strange coincidences that had brought this man into her life. She had been trapped and double-crossed by this innocent-looking guy.

“Oh God!” Jennifer exclaimed. The familiar rush of fear crippled her, and she slid to the bathroom floor, trembling.

It was so obvious. He had been sent out onto the lonely Minnesota road to pick her up when she ran away from the farm. He had been sent by Kathy Dart to keep an eye on her. No wonder he was so willing to indulge her whims, to go along with her scatterbrained theories about the farm and Habasha. He was one of them.

She curled herself into a tight fetal position, sobbing, but part of her mind had already begun to sort out what she must do to save herself.

Why did they want her? she kept asking herself. Who was she that they kept coming after her?

She forced herself to stop guessing and concentrated on how she was going to escape. Kirk would be returning soon, perhaps with Simon in tow.

She would call the police, tell them she was being kidnapped. She remembered reading stories about cult groups and how they always fled once the police became involved.

Jennifer pulled herself up from the floor and glanced around for a telephone. When she saw there wasn’t one in the bathroom, she leaned against the door and listened for sounds of Kirk moving in the room.

Slowly, quietly, she pulled open the bathroom door and peeked into the bedroom. Kirk was standing in the door, filling the frame with his body. He was grinning at her, still sweating from his early-morning jog.

Jennifer jumped him.

“Jesus Christ, what’s going on?” He ducked her swinging fists.

Jennifer tried to grab him by the hair, but it was too short. Frantically, she flailed out with her arms. Swearing, Kirk caught her arms in his hands and pinned them to her sides. She kept struggling, and he picked her up and dropped her on the bed. Then, with some effort, he turned her face toward him and forced her to look at him.

“Hey,” he said softly, as Jennifer kept kicking. “Hey, what the hell is going on?”

Her nightgown had torn open and exposed one pale, milky breast.

“Christ,” Kirk murmured, keeping her arms pinned to the pillow above her head.

“You! You’re one of them!” She tried to keep fighting, but then, exhausted, she broke down into tears.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, holding her gently now.

“Simon

in the car

” She kept sobbing and explained how she had seen him talking to McCloud in the parking lot

“Yeah, I know who he is. He wanted to know where the restaurant was, for chrissake!” He let go of her and stood up. “What are you talking, anyway?” He grabbed his sweatshirt and pulled it over his head.

“He’s after me!” Jennifer said, sitting up. “Kathy Dart sent him after me.”

“Jesus, you are paranoid.” He glanced over at her, shaking his head.

“Why is he following me?” she shouted.

“He asked me where the restaurant was. He told me he was driving to Madison. He’s giving a lecture or something,” Kirk explained, returning to the bed. “And what else, he doesn’t know you’re even in this motel.” He stared down at her.

“He’ll ask at the desk!”

“And no Jennifer Winters is registered.” Now he allowed himself to smile.

“I’m so scared,” Jennifer whispered and, reaching over, touched Kirk. Her eyes were puffy from crying.

“It’s okay,” he answered softly. “It’s okay.” He pulled her into his arms.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jennifer pleaded.

He was shaking his head. “We’ve got time. He’s having breakfast. Let him finish and get back on the highway.”

“We can’t stay on that road.”

“Okay, we won’t. We’ll take another route. Don’t worry, he won’t find you. I won’t let him. Okay?” He smiled at her.

Jennifer nodded, unable to speak, overwhelmed by his closeness and his strength. She realized that all she wanted at that moment was for Kirk to hold and comfort her.

He moved her then, gently eased her down onto the pillows. His eyes never left her, but his gaze moved from her face down to her breasts, then to her slender hips and thighs. He swallowed hard, and his gray eyes darkened. There was a long silence as they stared at each other.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I saw you, and

I started to get paranoid again.”

“Hey, I said I’d get you to O’Hare.”

“I can’t go to O’Hare.”

“Okay, come with me.”

“And what?”

“I don’t know! We’ll figure something out.”

Jennifer kept looking into his eyes. “You mean that, don’t you?”

He nodded, and she saw him swallow hard again. He didn’t take his eyes off her. She saw the blind, moonstruck look in his eyes. With a mixture of fear and desire, she waited for him to touch her.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” he asked, sounding very young.

“I want you to kiss me,” she told him.

He brushed her lips gently.

“Ouch,” he said, backing off.

“What?” She looked up, concerned.

“My nose. Where you bashed me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kirk.” She took his face in her hands and tenderly pulled him closer to kiss the tip of his nose. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. This time their kiss was more insistent.

Jennifer gasped as Kirk moved to stroke her breast. With his head still between her hands, she moved his face to her breast. Sighing, she relaxed and let her young man make love to her in his own way.

He came quickly, and she was surprised that she was ready for him. She was sometimes slow to be aroused, but their battle had excited her. When he slipped inside her and came again, she had an orgasm of such power that for a moment she thought she might burst.

His body, too, was aflame as he lay by her side, his eyes wide. She turned and curled in against him like a matching spoon, and reaching back, took hold of his penis and smiled as it swelled to her gentle caress. This time, at her encouragement, he came at her from behind, kneeling on the soft mattress, and rode her until they were both panting with pain and pleasure. She pressed her palm flat against her abdomen, felt the length of his erection filling her, and then the sudden shudder of his orgasm.

Jennifer’s body ached both from their fight and their sex, yet she could not sleep. She got out of bed and slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower, then dressed in jeans and a sweater.

When she reentered the dark room, he was still sleeping. She resisted the temptation to kiss him, though she did pull up the top sheet and blanket and tuck them around him. Then she carefully unlocked the door and slipped out into the hallway.

It was still early morning. She walked toward the front desk, thinking that she would pay their bill and check out.

The motel hallway was long, and when she reached the end, she stepped into a glassed-in stairwell. She took the stairs to the first floor and saw the parking lot was to one side and the empty swimming pool to the other. And then she spotted Simon.

He was standing behind the full-length glass doors in the lobby of the motel. Jennifer saw his foggy breath on the glass, saw him turn his head and speak to someone hidden by the curtains.

Simon spotted her. He waved, then pulled open the glass doors and ran across the snowy yard, circled the pool, and tried to catch her before she got away.

Jennifer took the steps two at a time, ran up to the second floor hallway and through the swinging doors. She stopped then and concentrated. Deliberately, she thought of Simon and how he was coming after her, coming to kidnap her. And as she had hoped, she felt the familiar surge of strength, felt her muscles bulge. Stepping into a supply closet, she stood there under the bright light, surrounded by rolls of paper towels and tiny pink bars of soap and an empty cleaning cart. She waited for Simon to burst through the door and see her.

Moments later the door swung wide, and Simon filled the frame, a smile spreading across his face when he saw her.

“Hi,” she said. She stood with her fingers laced together, like a girl at a high school gym waiting to be asked to dance.

“Jenny, Jenny,” he said with a sigh. “What happened to you? Why did you run away? Kathy was so worried. What are you doing in here?”

“Waiting for you,” Jennifer said calmly, holding back the surge of adrenaline that swelled her strength. She wanted to wait until she was strong enough to kill with one swift blow. She wanted to wait until he was close enough for her to grab his throat.

“How did you get here, anyway?” he asked, frowning. He stepped inside the door. “Why are you so afraid?” he asked.

She grabbed him easily, with one sudden move. Her hands were around his neck before he could react, the scream in his throat sliced off by the pressure of her grasp. She felt the words die as she tightened her grip. She watched his face, saw his ice blue eyes pop out in his head, saw a bubble of blood squeeze from his mouth and drip down his lower lip. She lifted him up and flipped him over easily, dumping him headfirst into the empty cleaning cart.

Then she grabbed a clean bathroom towel and wiped his blood off her fingers. She threw the towel into the cart, turned off the light, and went back into the hall. It would be another hour before the maids finished the rooms on that floor and came back to the supply room and found him there, stuffed upside down in the cleaning cart.

“You killed him?” Kirk asked again. They were back in his Audi, speeding east on Route 80.

“No, I don’t think so. He was alive when I left him.”

“Jesus H. Christ.”

“Kirk, I know this is more than you bargained for.” Jennifer nodded toward the next exit sign. “Pull off there. You can drop me at the nearest car rental place.” As she spoke, she rested her arm across his thigh. She could not keep herself from touching him. She needed the physical contact. If he did stop and put her out, she would truly be lost. She didn’t think she had the strength or the courage to drive a car.

“I’m not going to ditch you,” he told her.

She sighed, then leaned forward and briefly rested her head on his shoulder.

“I don’t think anyone will be looking for us,” he said next, taking charge.

Jennifer shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, he might call the police and tell them he was attacked.”

“By a woman? Come on, no way.” Kirk was shaking his head as he speeded.

In New York, Jennifer knew, she could get away with hurting, even killing, a person. It was done every day. But not in the heartland.

He reached across her and took several maps from the glove compartment. “But just in case,” he said, handing them over to her as he kept his eyes on the road, “look at these and find some secondary roads that will get us across the state. Look south.”

Jennifer stared down at the open maps, unable to focus. She couldn’t go to St. Louis with him. Besides, he had a meeting in Chicago. No, running away with Kirk Callahan wasn’t the answer. How long could she hide away there? Kathy Dart would find her; when she learned Simon had failed, she’d send others. She wanted Jennifer, and she would find her wherever she went.

“I can’t go with you,” she said, looking up from the maps. “I have to go to New York.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, you have your work, that interview in Chicago.”

“I’ll do the interview, then catch a flight to New York.” He glanced over and smiled. “Come on, you can show me Broadway.”

“I would love it if you came to New York.” She took hold of his hand again.

“But what about this boyfriend of yours?”

Jennifer shook her head. “I have to speak to Tom, tell him what has happened. The only one good thing out of this trip is I know now that it’s all wrong, Tom and me.”

“But what about me?” Kirk asked. “You met me on this trip!” He kept grinning.

Jennifer stared at him and studied his face, then she asked, “You do want to come see me in New York?”

“You’re damn right!” And then, as if to prove himself,

he pressed down on the accelerator and speeded up the car. “But I think you should stay with me in Chicago. Then we’ll fly together.”

“It will be all right, Kirk. In New York, I have help.”

He glanced over at Jennifer. “You mean Tom?”

Jennifer shook her head. She was staring ahead at the long straight highway. “No. A woman. Another channeler.” Jennifer could see Phoebe Fisher now, see her in the lovely basement apartment on Eighty-second Street, see her walking slowly with her silver cane, see the way the soft, orange sun warmed the brick walls of her living room. She saw Phoebe waiting, smiling, encouraging her. It would be all right, Jennifer told herself. She had Phoebe. She had someone to turn to for help.