The Realms Thereunder

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Reunion
1

Now . . .

She was at her desk again. It was more cluttered than before. There were large open binders before her packed tight with grids of letters and numbers. She was transliterating from Greek into Arabic numerals, she remembered, and had been writing a guide for herself in English. There was a sheet of paper in front of her that was filled with her handwriting. She started reading it:

Jesnubim, once separate from her passions, from joy became pregnant with the contemplation of the lights that accompanied him, i.e. the angels with him; and-they teach-craving (?) them she produced fruits after their (?) image, a spiritual offspring generated after the likeness of the savior’s bodyguards. Now, of these three (essences) that-they say-were extant, one derived from her passion, and this was the matter; another derived from her turning back, and this was the animate; another was what she brought forth, and this was the spiritual . . .

And so on. There were more sheets beneath it, all still in her handwriting and all seemingly gibberish. There’s no reason she would have written all that.

She heard a small cry that sent a shock through her-it was an infant’s cry-her child’s. She stood up and rushed to the next room where the cot was. Stooping over the cot, she gazed at the tiny red face that howled up at her.

Abruptly she straightened, alarmed.

This wasn’t her child.

But, if not hers, whose? And where was hers?

No, that was ridiculous; she didn’t have a child. She was too young.

But it was hers. And it was still screaming. Freya reached into the cot and pulled it out. Shouldering the infant, she started bouncing it up and down to calm it, but she held it awkwardly, unnaturally. Was it a boy or a girl? Its name was Daniel, she was sure of that much.

“Oh no! Daniel!” she exclaimed, her body tensing. She nearly lost her grip on the child as her mind flashed to a terrible image- someone she once knew running towards her, falling, and then disappearing into thin air.

“Daniel-I have to help Daniel!”

The infant at her shoulder began wailing again. She put it back in the cot and then went back to her desk. How could she have forgotten something as important as this? There was a large black marker in a pencil cup and she uncapped it and wrote on the first sheet of paper that she could find-the page with her meaningless drivel on it-in large block letters:

MUST SAVE DANIEL

Then she stood back and looked at the words. Who was Daniel? The baby was crying. Why was it so hard to remember things all of a sudden? Her head was so . . . foggy these days.

The sky grew darker. She was tired-still tired. How long had she been asleep? A headache was growing at the base of her skull.

She was hungry. When was the last time she had eaten something?

The fog was growing, but she had to push through. Everything felt . . . dissociated. All that she was truly aware of were the words on the page and the growing dread that she couldn’t remember more.

“Freya? Darling?” she heard a voice call from the doorway.

She sprang around to see Felix in the doorway. One hand went to her papers and gathered them together.

“Darling, Sophia was crying . . .” He held the infant, who was quiet, though still red-faced and teary. “What have you been doing?”

She didn’t know how to reply. “I was just . . . writing . . .”

Felix looked into her eyes. “Are you feeling okay? Did you take your pills?”

Freya opened a drawer and pulled out a small plastic bottle.

“These aren’t my pills. I don’t take these.”

“What are you writing, dearest?”

Freya brushed her papers closer together. “Don’t touch me, please.”

“Sweetheart, please take your pills. You always feel much better after them. I’ll start dinner. Why don’t you review what you’ve written?”

Felix left the room with the baby-Sophia? Not Daniel?-and she sat a moment in thought. She stared down at the pages in front of her. None of it made any sense-these weren’t words in front of her.

What was happening to her?

And why was she so . . . sleepy . . . ?