Keep Them From Harm

Chapter One
Critical

GEORGE

I clamor around the hospital room and rush towards the door, dragging my IV pole behind me. I can hardly believe what Duke has just told me. The others are still sleeping hard, so I do my best not to wake them as I maneuver around Leo's hospital bed and past the row of chairs occupied by my extended family members.

I'm not wearing shoes. The linoleum floor is cool on my feet as I step out into the hallway and close the door as gently as possible behind me. I bunch the hospital gown I'm wearing up on one side and hold it securely so as not to expose myself if I can help it. But none of this really matters. Nothing matters right now except getting to Ali.

I'm still weak and it's hard to hold myself up as I walk down the hallway towards the elevators. Despite my best efforts, I have to stop and lean on one of the railings affixed to the wall along the way. I probably should have let someone push me in the wheelchair. Duke seems almost excited as I am to get downstairs, but he slows down to help me when he notices I'm having trouble.

"I've got you, brother," Duke says as he puts one of my arms around his shoulders to help support my weight.

I nod to thank him, but I don't say anything. I'm conserving my energy.

When we reach the elevators, there's a cleaning lady getting on at the same time. She looks elegant and sophisticated, like she doesn’t belong here. She sort of reminds me of a villain in a James Bond movie and I wonder to myself if it’s a sign of things to come. I’m not sure I can handle suspense and intrigue today. Let’s hope it’s just my overactive imagination trying to keep the terror at bay.

She holds the doors for us, then pushes the button for the Ground floor before we have a chance to. As we descend, she pats the sides of her slicked back hair while eyeing us curiously. Maybe she thinks Duke is trying to break me out of the hospital. We smile without giving an explanation as to what’s happening.

It feels strange to smile. I don’t know what my face is supposed to be doing right now. My face doesn’t know either. I’m happy because Ali has been found alive, yet I’m scared to death because they say she’s in critical condition. We still don’t know if my wife is going to pull through.

The cleaning lady continues to look at us for what feels like forever as we wait on the elevator to go down from the fourth floor to the first.

When the door opens, I bolt out as fast as my weary body will move me. I quickly scan the signage to see which way the arrow to the emergency room points. Duke sees it at the same time as I do and we take a hard right turn. He helps support my weight again and we teeter together past the waiting room, the reception desk, and the dreaded private room where less than twenty-four hours ago Officer Stuart Dunley and Dr. Paulette Adams told me they didn't expect Ali to make it out of the crash alive. We continue to the back corner of the building which houses the emergency department and a private entrance for ambulances.

I'm reminded again of the day Dad died. I feel it on a visceral level. I remember standing alone, waiting for his ambulance to arrive. I remember not being able to make my legs move as I saw him wheeled past on a stretcher. My God, I hope today is a better day.

When we reach the nurse’s station in the emergency department, I fling my weight forward against the counter, intent on getting someone’s attention immediately.

“Alessandra Davies," I say. "My wife. Where is she?"

The first nurse to notice me sees how much trouble I'm having, so she pulls a wheelchair out from a storage room and brings it around for me to sit in. I appreciate the gesture and gladly plop down onto the seat, then exhale deeply with relief. The walk downstairs took more out of me than I expected.

“Are you Mr. Davies?" the nurse asks once I’m situated and she has returned to her chair behind the counter.

She’s a young, red-headed woman who looks to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She has freckles on the bridge of her nose and reminds me of a grown-up version of the little girl on the Wendy’s logo. Her employee badge reads Clara Berry. Ali would proclaim that a pretty name. My wife has been a sucker for anything berry-related as long as I’ve known her. I’ll take it as a good omen.

"I'm Dr. Hartmann. Her husband," I say.

She looks up at Duke and I can see her reading the words on his t-shirt: South Lake Tahoe Police Department.

"Can I see some identification, please?" she asks.

"Are you serious right now?" I ask in reply, doing my best to remain calm. "I'm a patient here. Surely you’ve heard what has happened to my family. My driver’s license is in my pants, in my room. I'm not even sure what room I'm in because I was most recently on the fourth floor with my three little boys and my mother-in-law, who is also injured. So, forgive me if I can't produce identification right now."

“It’s standard procedure, sir,” Clara Berry says.

She looks hard at me for a minute, while simultaneously flipping through something on her computer. Suddenly, her demeanor softens. Apparently, she’s located our information.

“See?” I ask.

"Okay, Mr. Hartmann,” she says. Then she adds, "I'm sorry. You said it was Dr. Hartmann."

"Either is fine," I say. "How about you call me George?"

"Alright, George,” she confirms.

Her voice is kinder now. I thank her with my eyes.

“Your wife is en route via ambulance, but she hasn’t arrived yet. Please wait over there," she says motioning towards another waiting room. "I'll let the attending physicians know you're here."

“When can I see her?” I ask. “I want to see her right away.”

“I understand your concern,” she says. “You’re a doctor. You know how this works.”

“I’m not that kind of doctor,” I say.

“He’s a rocket scientist,” Duke adds. He sounds proud.

“Oh,” Clara says.

“More like an aerospace engineer,” I clarify. “But that’s beside the point. I want to see my wife as soon as she gets here.”

Clara gives me a look that says she’ll get tough with me if I don’t cooperate. I imagine she’s had to handle unruly family members in this emergency department on more than one occasion.

“George,” she begins. “I’ll make sure you can see your wife just as soon as possible. But when she first arrives, our team will need to assess and treat her promptly. There won’t be time to waste. You’ll need to let them do their jobs. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“I know she’s not out of the woods yet,” I say, realizing the cruelty of the pun the second it comes out of my mouth.
I didn’t mean to say it that way. I don’t think any of this is funny.

Clara stands up and steps around the desk then leans down near me.

“George,” she tries again. “Look, I realize that up until a short time ago, you thought your wife had passed on, right?”

“Yes,” I say. “That’s right. My friend Duke here is a police officer and he came upstairs about fifteen minutes ago to tell me Ali had been found alive. I got downstairs as fast as I could.”

Duke gives Clara a cautious smile as if he wants her to look on the bright side with us.

“George,” she begins once more. “I know you’re eager to see Ali, but the medics who found her at the crash site listed her condition as critical. Do you know what that means?”

I can’t help but notice how Clara is using my first name a lot now that she knows it. She must be trying to help me feel better. Or calmer. Or something. It seems like a technique she learned somewhere. Maybe in nursing school? I’m not sure I like it.

“I heard critical, yes,” I say. “But is she stable?”

Clara waits a minute before answering. She’s collecting her thoughts.

“Sometimes you hear patients described as critical but stable on the news or in television dramas,” she explains. “But that’s not really accurate. By definition, patients in critical condition are unstable.”

“Okay,” I say, waiting for her to go on.

“When we say a patient is in critical condition, it means their vital signs are unstable and not within normal limits. The patient may be unconscious. Indicators are generally unfavorable.”

“Oh,” I mutter softly.

“The vital signs we record are indicators such as blood pressure, pulse, temperature, and respiration. Critical condition is very serious.”

She looks at me for a minute to see if I’m absorbing the information.

“Your Ali is in critical condition,” Clara repeats for emphasis. “Her condition is very serious.”

I sit silently without giving a response. The gravity of the situation is beginning to sink in. I got so excited when I heard she was alive. I guess I didn’t think about the fact that she might not be alive for long. They might not be able to save her in the end.

I suddenly remember the dream I had a few hours ago where I saw Ali and she seemed to be communicating with me the same way Dad and John Wendell had done before. Dad and John Wendell were both dead at the time of that communication.

Duke puts a hand on my shoulder.

“What should I do?” I ask Clara.

She smiles at me sympathetically and places one hand lightly on my knee.

“I’m going to find you a private room to wait in while your wife is treated,” she says.

My heart sinks at the mention of the private room. I’d like nothing more than to walk out of this hospital with my family and never have occasion to be sent to one of those damn private rooms again. The walls in those rooms must be dripping with fear and heartache. I doubt much good news is received in there.

“Is there anyone else I can call?” Clara asks, kindly.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Duke can go up and tell the others what’s going on.”

“No problem at all,” he chimes in. “I’ll go up now.”

“Wait,” Clara says, stretching one arm out to stop him.

Oh, no. She doesn’t want me left alone. That’s how bad it is. This is turning out to be one hellish roller coaster and I get the feeling it’s nowhere near finished yet.

“What for?” Duke asks.

“George,” Clara says again. I’m not sure whether she’s being kind or condescending at this point. I don’t know whether to be grateful or angry.

“I think it’s best if you’re not alone right now. What room is your family in? I’ll ring the phone in the room and tell them myself. Maybe someone else will want to come down to be with you.”

I didn’t think my body had the capacity to short circuit any further after the volatility it displayed yesterday, but apparently, it’s time to go another few rounds. A chill runs up and down my spine while a wave of nausea sloshes in my abdomen. My ears begin to ring, which is new. I break out into a cold sweat while, inside, it feels like my blood will boil. I can’t help but think what a cruel twist of fate it would be to have my beloved Ali found alive and brought back to me only to be taken away again. I wonder if I’ll even have a chance to see her alive. Or, like happened with Dad, I wonder if I’ll have to sit around helplessly without the opportunity to say parting words or kiss her cheek one last time.

“Okay,” I manage. “Fourth floor. The patients’ last names are Hartmann and Davies.”

I can’t remember what day or time it is right now, let alone our room number. Luckily, Duke does, so he fills Clara in on the pertinent details.

I’m glad Duke is here with me right now. Just six months ago, I didn’t even know him that well. We’ve grown closer since my family and I moved back to Ithaca Falls and he got engaged to Ali’s best friend Jen. And now we’re going into business together as well. I trust him. I can tell he’s loyal and will stand by me through thick and thin. I need every single one of my people to help me get through this.

The fact that Duke had a friend on the South Lake Tahoe police force who allowed him to get involved with the investigation into my family’s disappearance was a Godsend. Duke’s a good cop in Ithaca Falls. It sounds like he’s been a good cop here, too, and that his involvement has proved invaluable. No one else would have thought to pull out the social media picture of my dad to show the motorists who reported being flagged down by a man with dark hair and an eighties mustache. They claim the man disappeared once they found the crash site where Ali was pinned. If it weren’t for Duke, I wouldn’t have known that those motorists identified my long-deceased dad as the man who stepped in front of their vehicle and led them to my Ali. What an uncanny turn of events. I can hardly believe it myself.

While Duke tells Clara more about who she should talk to when she calls upstairs for the others, I begin to talk quietly myself. I'm not a religious person, but I am spiritual. I feel a connection to something bigger than me. And right now I need divine intervention.

Since Dad is apparently already involved, I begin speaking directly to him.

"Dad, wherever you are right now, I hope you can hear me," I begin. “I can't thank you enough for the save which brought Ali back to me. I hope you're still watching over us now so you can see her through."

Clara and Duke both stop talking to turn and look at me, but after they listen for a minute, they decide to leave me alone and go back to their own conversation.

"Seriously, Dad,” I continue. "They say Ali is in critical condition and may not make it. I assume you know how much she means to me and to our little boys. We need her. I need her. Let me be crystal clear: I don't mean that I would like to have her or that I would prefer to have her. I mean I need her with every fiber of my being. She and I are part of one whole. We go together like a matched set. The fact that we waited since Ancient Greece to have a happy ending makes it even more important that we actually get one. If there's anything else you can do to save my wife, I beg you to do it."

I turn my attention to the Universe in general. To God, if you want to call it that.

"Dear God, and any other Powers That Be, I appeal to you on behalf of my wife, Ali, right this moment. I’m asking for you to save her life."

Duke and Clara have finished, so Duke begins to wheel me to the dreaded private room. I continue talking out loud to a higher power, oblivious to what's happening around me.

"I’d give my own life right now if I could trade places with her. I’d do it in a minute without hesitation. God, if we can make some kind of deal-- my life or hers-- consider it done. Take me," I say softly.

Duke again puts a hand on my shoulder without saying a word. It's a kindness. And a comfort.

"Use me any way you like, God,” I implore. “I will gladly do your bidding. I will become an instrument willing to work in the world any way you ask of me. Just save my wife. I'm not ready to lose her."

For some reason, I almost feel worse now than I did a few hours ago when I thought Ali was dead. At least then, I thought she was at peace and no longer in pain. And I thought it was over and done with. The feeling of needing desperately to do something to help, yet being unable to do anything at all is horrible. It’s hellish, even. People talk about heaven on Earth. Well, this has to be hell on Earth. One version of it anyway.

I decide I want some privacy, so I ask Duke to reel me into a bathroom adjacent to the waiting room. It's a unisex bathroom, much like the one Ali and I made love in the night little Will was born. A wave of sadness washes over me as I remember and think about the fact that I may never make love to my wife again.

Duke pushes me into the little room. I flip on the light switch, then turn and lock the door behind me. The smell of hospital soap assaults my olfactory senses and again takes me back to the day Dad died.

“Are you sure you're going to be okay in there?" Duke calls out from the other side of the wooden door.

"Yeah,” I say softly as the overhead light flickers.

I wonder if the light will go out, leaving me in the dark. I guess it doesn’t much matter. My life is in the dark anyway.

"I'll be right here if you need anything, brother,” Duke adds, through the door.

I look up at the ceiling as if I can see through it, right to the heavens.

"Why is this happening?" I ask of whatever invisible force might be able to hear me. "Did I do something to deserve this? I can think of a few things that karma might want me to pay the tab for. But my Ali is as pure and good and kind as they come. Why is this happening to her? This is simply not fair. Not even close to fair.

“It's not fair to our little boys. They didn't ask to be born into this world. They are completely sweet, innocent, and kind. They’re still learning about life and what it means to be human. They should be playing in the vacation rental house with their toys right now. They should not be in this hospital recovering from injuries and about to find out their mommy is either dead and gone or in critical condition... and nearly dead and gone. Either way, it's a nightmare for them. It's going to be a nightmare for them. There's nothing I can do to stop this from changing them forever.

“You know, those three boys were not even supposed to be the end of the story. Ali and I planned to have another baby at some point. We haven't talked about it recently because little Will is still just a baby himself, but we’ve both always sort of figured that four kids will make our family complete. To think that-- if Ali dies-- there might be a spirit out there, meant to be with us, who can't even come to this Earth and be our child because of the monsters who did this to my family is downright maddening.

“Why is this happening? I need to know why.”

I sit quietly for a moment sobbing and contemplating the unfairness of it all.

My body insists on functioning. Even though I don't want it to. I stand up and urinate into the toilet while supporting most of my weight with one arm leaned up against the wall beside it. It makes me sad as I relieve myself, because I'm not sure if Ali can urinate on her own right now, let alone come to a toilet and do it like a normal person. Every little thing looks different now. I see every mundane ritual through a different lense.

I shuffle over to the sink and wash my hands, then splash some cold water on my face and wipe it off with a paper towel. It’s still the middle of the night. I wish I could get into bed and then wake up from this nightmare.

I sit back down in the wheelchair and remain quiet for a moment more, until finally, I summon the courage to turn the handle and exit the bathroom. Duke is there waiting.

"Hey," he says, lifting his head upwards to greet me. "Marjorie, Roddy, and Liam came downstairs and went into the room Clara set up for us. I guess your mom and Joe stayed upstairs with the boys. I get the idea your in-laws are here for each other, you know, to see to their daughter. But Liam and I, we’re for you, man. We’ve got you."

"Thank you,” I manage.

Duke wheels me around the corner, past the waiting area again, and into the dreaded private room. Just as he said, Marjorie and Roddy are here. Liam, too. Roddy has his arm around Marjorie and she's sobbing into his chest as he looks up at the ceiling. He's probably asking why this is happening, same as me.

“Have you called Nicky and Luis yet?” I ask my in-laws.
I’m sure Ali’s brother will want to know she’s been found alive.

“Not yet,” Roddy answers. “They’re probably sleeping. We’ll do it once we see a doctor and find out more about her condition. It might be morning, New York time, by then.”

I stand and get out of the wheelchair, then plop down beside my uncle, directly across from my in-laws. Duke folds the wheelchair in half and leans it up against a wall, then sits down nearby. The five of us nearly fill up the little room. One empty chair remains, but even so, it doesn’t seem like there will be space for a medical professional to come in and talk to us about Ali's condition. It’s so crowded in here. Part of me thinks that might be a good thing, to remain blissfully ignorant of whatever terrible news awaits us.

"Marjorie," I begin, after taking a quick breath. I don't hesitate. "I've been having memories of Ancient Greece. Just like Ethan said."

My mother-in-law raises her head and looks at me curiously upon hearing this. Duke, Liam, and Roddy also look at me, puzzled.

It’s time to tell them. I honestly don’t care what they think right now. Life is raw and volatile in this moment. Maybe the unedited truth will somehow make things easier.

"Really?" Marjorie asks.

"That's right," I say. "Ethan was right. About everything. I remember the same stuff. And I remember you being there. The details are fuzzy, but I remember you taking care of Ali. You helped her deliver Ethan."

Marjorie breaks down in tears again and begins to sob harder. She takes a tissue out of her purse and blots her eyes in what looks like an effort to push the liquid back in.

“In Ancient Greece,” I clarify. “You helped us the night Ethan was born in Ancient Greece. He was our baby then, just like now. And I saw your face in my memory. Your eyes.
It was you, Marjorie. I know that for sure.”

It feels good to say it out loud.

“Wow,” Liam says.

I can’t tell if he believes me or not. I’d like him to believe me.

"My dear, Marjorie,” I continue, leaning forward and taking one of my mother-in-law’s hands into mine. “I want to thank you for taking care of Ali like that. Both then and now. No matter what happens here today, you’ve done all you could."

“Oh, George,” she blurts, her face wet with tears. “I haven’t done nearly enough. She’s my little girl, and...”

“Don’t say things like that,” I reply. “You’ve been loyal when it has counted most. I don’t remember all the details yet, but I know that, in Greece, you were taking a risk by helping us. I had the distinct sense that you would have been in big trouble if you were found out. You see, Ali and I weren’t supposed to be together.”

“Say what?” Duke asks, seemingly unable to hold himself back.

“It’s a long, complicated story,” I say. “And I only know fragments of it.”

“That’s something, George,” Roddy says. “I’ve heard Marjorie talk for years about her memories of a lifetime lived in Ancient Greece. It’s remarkable to hear you and Ethan bringing it up now, too. I didn’t want to say anything when it was just Ethan reporting those memories because he’s awfully young for such weighty subject matter. But now that you mention it, I suppose it’s completely out in the open.”

Roddy looks like he might actually believe me. I guess that makes sense, since he’s married to Marjorie. She is one of the most open-minded people I’ve ever known.

I’m impressed by how Marjorie is willing to consider anything, yet she’s still grounded in a way which makes her believable. She doesn’t shun science or ignore concrete proof when it goes against what she may have hypothesized. But through it all, she maintains a faith in things we can’t yet explain from the limited perspective of our five senses. I find her credible. And I’m a trained professional with a Ph.D. in aerospace engineering. My education was all about proof and documentation. Plus, I’m a natural skeptic. I’ve become far more open to possibilities in the years since coming to know Alessandra Davies and Marjorie Dyer.

Marjorie wipes her eyes once more with the tissue in her free hand, then leans forward to meet me. She gazes intently into my eyes. I don’t know what she’s going to say next. But I can tell that whatever it is she wants to ask of me, she’s not going to take no for an answer.

“Tell me more,” she says. “I want to know everything you remember.”

“Here?” I ask. “Are you sure? It’s a lot.”

“Yes,” she replies. “Why not here and now?”

The guys shrug their shoulders and gesture for me to go ahead. I’m glad. I want to get it off my chest. I’m not sure what possessed me to start talking about this in the first place, but it’s spilling out.

“Okay,” I say. “Well, the memories began when I went to see Dr. Epstein in January. Before John Wendell died.”

“The day I went to his office with you?” Liam asks.

My uncle doesn’t mention the fact that the doc hypnotized me. Liam knows he did, but he’s letting me share the details as I choose.

“That’s right,” I say. “It was during hypnosis. I wanted to tell all of you. And Ali. I especially wanted to tell Ali.”

“Then tell us,” Roddy says, waving his hand as if to keep me from getting bogged down in despair.

“Yeah, there was a lot going on that day,” Liam adds. “Your mom was acting strange. John Wendell was sick, and then…”

“I know,” I say without letting him finish his sentence. “That’s exactly why I didn’t mention it. I was going to, but then John Wendell passed away.”

“But not before little John William was born,” Marjorie chimes in, almost cheerfully.

Her tone reminds me that there’s always goodness and beauty in our lives, even during the darkest times. I’m grateful to have people around me who appreciate such things.

“Right,” I say. “That was beautiful. I’m really pleased with how it turned out. I think John Wendell was, too. Watching Ali place our baby boy on my grandfather’s lap and then seeing the look on his face when he learned the baby was named after him was one of the best moments of my life.”

“I know John Wendell was pleased,” Liam says, shifting his mouth into a sad smile.”No question.”

“Sure does sound beautiful,” Duke inserts. “I heard about it not long after, when Ali told Jen the story. I was touched then and I’m touched now. Sounds like a real cycle-of-life moment.”

“Right,” I continue. “So, with all of that going on, I didn’t have a chance to mention what happened during hypnosis.”

“I want to know,” Marjorie repeats, pressing me to continue.

“It began when Dr. Epstein… I mean, Joe,” I say, snapping my fingers in the air to remind myself about our new, closer relationship and the new name that goes along with it. I try again. “It began when Joe suggested we do some hypnosis to see how I’d respond to it. We’d been discussing Dad’s death and unresolved grief. I’d told him about my anger issues, like the road rage incident where I almost fought a man in the street.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, remembering, too.

“So,” I continue. “Joe had me go to the hypnosis room, where he pipes sound in while you lean back in a recliner and cover yourself up with a warm blanket. I knew hypnosis had helped Jen to quit smoking, so I didn’t have any real fear or apprehension about what the experience would be like. I settled in right away and felt comfortable.”

“Oh, it definitely worked for her,” Duke says. “Like a charm.”

“That’s great,” Liam adds.

“It really is,” I say, as I forget for a moment how somber this occasion is. It feels good to think about something else.

“When did Ancient Greece come up?” Marjorie prompts.

I remember my mother-in-law telling us about her memories of a lifetime lived in the Wild West and how they spontaneously surfaced during a massage when she was in her twenties. It’s long past time that she and I compare notes. Come to think of it, I also remember her mentioning her stance that everyone should remember past lives on their own, rather than being told by someone else who was there with them.

“I first went to childhood memories, as prompted,” I explain. “Dr… Joe was talking over a speaker system. He was in his office and I was alone in the hypnotherapy room. He counted backward and told me to see myself going down in an elevator in order to get me deeply relaxed, then he told me I could remember everything I’ve ever experienced. I moved effortlessly from childhood memories to the Ancient Greek scene. It just appeared.”

“Did you feel like you were tipping forward out of your body?” Marjorie asks.

“Not exactly,” I answer. “But, sort of. It’s hard to describe. I remember what you recounted to us about your Wild West memory. Didn’t you say that you saw the scene and felt pulled into it?”

“That’s right,” Marjorie replies. “Was it the same for you?”

"Yeah, but I’d describe it more as being sucked then pulled. It was intense. Definitely a visceral experience. The word “pulled” sounds a bit too gentle.”

“Sounds essentially the same to me,” Marjorie says. “Pulled, sucked, or whatever. Which childhood memory did you go to first?”

“Oh, that part was incredible,” I say, remembering it again. “I was a young child, laying in bed between my parents on a snowy winter night in Brooklyn. I was wearing footed pajamas. I felt completely safe and secure there. All was right with the world.”

“Huh,” Liam says.

“Yeah, I guess you remember me at that age, right, Uncle?”

“I sure do, buddy,” he replies. “You were a cute kid. Adored by everyone who knew you.”

“That’s really nice, you guys,” Duke adds.

I smile. It feels good.

“What struck me was how I felt like I was really there. It was more than a memory, if that makes any sense. I could smell the smells and feel the sensations being experienced by my young body. It was vivid.”

“I know precisely what you mean,” Marjorie confirms.

“When I floated up and away from my childhood bedroom,” I continue. “I gave myself permission to reconnect with anything my subconscious mind wanted to show me. The next thing I knew, I was in a dark hallway. I quickly felt drawn to one particular door which had bright light coming out from around the edges. I opened it and was sucked, or pulled, into the ancient scene.”

“Fascinating,” Roddy says, rubbing Marjorie’s back gently as she leans forward towards me.

I decide to get down to the important parts. A doctor should be here soon to update us on Ali’s condition and I don’t know when we’ll have a chance to talk about this again. Plus, I still need to tell my uncle and in-laws about the motorists who identified Dad as having flagged them down last night to save Ali. I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when they hear. I try to speed up my telling.

“In Ancient Greece, we lived in Ithaca, or Ithaki,” I say.

“Whoa,” Duke says. “That’s freaky. Ithaca then and now.”

The others smile. They can’t help themselves. I wonder if they feel guilty for smiling right now. I don’t think any of us are really sure how to act.

“Yeah,” I continue. “And I was a soldier.”

“What?” Duke asks, flabbergasted.

“So you’re Ithaca’s soldier. Or Ithaca Falls’, anyway,” Liam says matter-of-factly, crossing his hands in front of him around one knee.

“Funny,” I reply. “That’s exactly what John Wendell called me the day we moved into our house. We ate lunch with him at The Cupboard Kitchen in downtown Ithaca Falls. He showed off the write-up in the newspaper and said I was Ithaca Falls’ very own soldier.”

“Like I’ve always said,” Liam replies. “John Wendell was a smart man. We had a history of agreeing on things.”

“You sure did,” I say with a chuckle. “I always knew to listen when both you and John Wendell gave me the same advice.”

“I take it that happened a lot?” my uncle asks.

“It did,” I concur.

Marjorie is eager to hear more about Greece. I can feel her looking at me and wishing I would get on with it. She, too, probably realizes our time for this discussion is running out.

"George," Marjorie says, very seriously. "Tell me."

"Right," I say.

Marjorie's intensity is scaring me. I suddenly wonder if she does remember our life together in Ancient Greece. It seems like she has something to say, but that she's waiting on me to tell my part of the story first. Maybe she has answers which can fill in the blanks of my memories. That would be fantastic.

"Do you remember it, too?” I ask her.

I figure we might as well get right down to it. I don't see any benefit of withholding information from each other right now. Perhaps the two of us together can put pieces in place and find out who the hell is after us.

Marjorie shifts in her chair against Roddy’s outstretched arm then leans her head back against the wall as she closes her eyes.

"I don't know, George," she says. "I don't know what I should be telling you or not telling you right now."

"Wait a minute," Duke says. He sits forward in his chair like Marjorie and I. He seems very interested in this whole thing. "Marjorie, do you actually remember the same thing George does? Because that would be next level."

"You can say that again," my uncle adds.

Marjorie rolls her head around a few times with her eyes still closed. She almost looks like she's meditating. Maybe she's asking for an answer as to whether or not she should tell me what she remembers. The tension in the room escalates until, finally, she decides to speak.

"Alright, George," she says. "I'm going to break my own rule and tell you what I remember in the hopes that it will somehow help us figure out what's going on here. We've got to keep each other safe. So, yes, I remember having lived in Ancient Greece at the same time as you, Ali, and Ethan."

"Holy shit," Duke says, sitting back in his seat now and putting one hand on his forehead.

"I remember the whole thing,” Marjorie begins. "I remember how you and Ali fell in love, but you weren't permitted to be together. Your relationship caused all sorts of havoc and chaos for the two of you and everyone else in the city, really. It was a memorable event. One that defined my lifetime there just as much as it did yours."

"That's right,” I say. "We weren't supposed to be together. I don't fully understand why. Maybe you can help me figure that out."

"I probably can," she replies.

"Do you remember anyone else from our current lifetime who was there back then?” I ask.

"I do," she answers.

"My mom?” I ask.

"Yes, I remember Linette being there."

“Dr. Epstein… I mean, Joe?"

"Yes, I remember him being there, too," Marjorie confirms. "It wasn’t a surprise to learn that they’re dating now in the present."

"Interesting," Liam says.

"Well," I begin. "It was a surprise to me, so you must remember more than I do about that part. I remember them both being there and being on some sort of counsel or decision-making body together, but that's all I know. Were they together romantically in Greece?"

"They were," she replies. "There's a lot more to the story."

"How much do you remember?" I ask.

"A lot," Marjorie replies. "I've returned to that particular lifetime during meditation on numerous occasions. Several notable things happened. There was plenty to go over and over in my mind."

"Do you remember my dad being there?” I ask. "My dad in this lifetime. I mean Alec Hartmann."

"I do," she answers simply.

Liam says it before I have a chance.

"So, Marjorie, that day at Yellow Cob during John Wendell's going-away party, when you talked about feeling like we have all probably known each other at some level, that was more than just hypothetical, wasn’t it?"

"Yeah," I say in agreement with my uncle. "Marjorie, I remember what you said about knowing Dad even though you’d never actually met him in this lifetime. This is what you were talking about, right?"

"That's right,” Marjorie confirms. "I remember Alec having a little cottage outside of the city. I remember him taking Ali and Ethan in and letting them live with him. And I remember him being a medicine man. I knew him quite well, actually."

"Did you know Isabel Madera?" I ask, pointedly.

No good in hiding it. If Marjorie was there, she probably knows. In fact, she probably knows more than I do. Or, at least, she remembers more than I do.

"Yes, I knew her,” Marjorie says without hesitation.

I pause a moment as flashes of Ali, Isabel, and I move across my awareness. Our group lovemaking was incredibly sexy and exciting to remember. If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, I’d like to experience a repeat session in the near future.

"Were you aware that she was, well, friends with me and Ali?"

"George,” Marjorie says. "I’m quite certain everyone knew you were friends."

I'm embarrassed. My face feels flush as the blood rushes to my cheeks. I wonder what happened that led everyone in Ithaki to know about the three of us. Maybe Marjorie doesn't know the whole story and she's referring to something less salacious. Not likely, I realize.

It kind of sounds like we were involved in a full-blown scandal. And scandals have a way of getting out. I can't quite figure what that has to do with people who may be after us now though. I've racked my brain and it just doesn't make sense. I can’t pinpoint anything in my Greece memories that would lead people to want to harm my family thousands of years later.

"Marjorie?” I ask. "You mentioned some legitimate scientific research happening on the topic of past life memories, right?”

“Yes,” she replies.

“I know I'm not exactly in a position to dig into that at the moment, given what my family is currently experiencing, but I want to do so soon. Is there somewhere we can go to learn more? An expert we can consult, maybe?"

“Yes,” she replies affirmatively.

Duke seems genuinely intrigued by our conversation.
“You want to get ahead of this thing, to investigate it on your own terms. Don't you, man?" Duke asks.

"Well, yeah." I say "It seems pretty clear at this point that there’s some kind of connection to Greece which is happening now. I can't ignore it. I mean, I'd like to ignore it. It sounds ridiculous. But if there are answers to be found that will put an end to the nightmare we’re living, then yes. I'm willing to research and learn and to dig into everything I possibly can."

"No offense, Duke," Roddy interjects. "But law-enforcement has been only moderately helpful so far. And if you count the fact that the getaway driver in Ithaca Falls wasn’t found, I’d have to say law enforcement hasn’t really been helpful at all. I agree with George. We need to do whatever we can on our own to figure this thing out."

“Understood,” Duke says. “I won’t stand in your way.”

"Good. Let me be clear,” Roddy continues. "I'm sitting in this room right now because I need to be with my wife, my daughter, and my grandsons. Because they've been through a terrible ordeal. But that doesn't mean I’m taking a backseat in this investigation or in the handling of this entire situation. I intend to use everything at my disposal to hunt down the villains involved in this mess. Every last living person who has had any part in harming my family will pay for what they've done.”

Roddy grits his teeth as he speaks.

“And George,” he says sharply. “I expect that you'll be with me."

I nod my agreement. Of course I’ll be with him.

"Me, too. I’m with you. One hundred percent," Liam adds.

My uncle is ever the faithful supporter.

Suddenly, Clara knocks on the door and our conversation comes to an end. There’s no time to tell the rest of what I remember about Ancient Greece. And no time to describe how Dad may have saved Ali’s life. All of that will have to wait.

Clara ushers in a middle-aged Asian doctor we haven't met before, then excuses herself and leaves the room.

The doctor has kind eyes and a friendly face. The name Wong is embroidered on his white lab coat.

God, I hope he has good news.