Chapter 26

A past-life regression therapist? Nick had no idea what to expect from such a person. He didn’t tell his parents or even Emily what he was doing. He had no one to confide in except Cat.

On Wednesday after school, Cat led Nick from the school to her car, a green Jag she had parked away from the other vehicles.

“This Jag is yours?” Nick and his friends had seen it in the parking lot and admired the sleek, compact design but didn’t know who the owner was.

“A gift from my parents,” Cat said. “It’s five years old.” She unlocked it and said, “Get in.”

It smelled of leather and polish and still had the new-car scent.

They drove out of the parking lot, the engine purring down the highway, so unlike his mother’s hand-me-down Subaru.

“I’d like to drive this sometime,” Nick said, looking around and appraising the leather interior. “This is a great car.”

Cat responded with a laugh and hit the gas. They ate up I-96 in no time, heading for Grand Rapids and their appointment with someone named Dr. Sims.

As the car hurtled toward their appointment, Nick’s mind conjured up images of a man smoking a pipe, wearing a tweed jacket, looking very distinguished and aloof, telling Nick he had a “mother” complex or something. He felt a pinprick of sweat on his forehead and pulled out the flask from his pack and took a sip.

“What are you doing?” Cat asked.

“Liquid courage. Want some?” He felt a flush from his neck up to his face. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“I’m not going to rescue you next time,” she said, making a face and shaking her head.

They arrived at the therapist’s office, which was located in a tall, rectangular building, with Dr. Sims’s name one of many on the listing of counselors, dentists, and accountants.

They took the elevator to the seventh floor and found the correct office. They stood in front of the door, neither reaching for the knob. Nick took a deep breath, and Cat said, “Ready?”

“I guess.” He opened the door, and they stepped inside to the reception area.

Dr. Sims, a woman without a pipe, wore khaki pants and a jacket, and looked every bit a professional woman. “Hello, I’m Dr. Sims,” she said and motioned for them to follow her into her office.

Nick relaxed a little.

She shook their hands and motioned for them to sit. “I’m pleased to meet you, Nick and Cat. So how can I help you?”

Nick wanted to know more about her, not the other way around.

“Er, how long have you been doing this sort of thing?” he asked. His eyes scanned her degrees and certifications on the wall.

Dr. Sims followed his gaze. “You’re wondering if I’m genuine and not some quack, correct?”

“Not a quack, but…”

“Fair enough. I’ve been doing this for fifteen years, after having stumbled on my own past lives. In that search, I found my true calling. I help people find answers and make connections from the past to their present situation.”

Nothing alarming in her statement.

“And you two?” Her eyes went from Nick to Cat.

Nick moved his chin toward Cat. “We met in class.”

“I’m assuming you think you knew each other before?” Dr. Sims asked.

“Yes,” Cat said, her eyes steady and unwavering. “We were lovers during the war. World War II.”

Cat turned to look at him, raising her brows for him to say something.

He gulped and began. “When I was a kid, I told my parents I had been a soldier in France in World War II.”

“I see,” Dr. Sims said, like it was the most natural thing to say.

The images continued flashing before him. Chaton, Jean Claude, and a school far different from Laketon High. A small village—something out of a history book, with small shops, and produce spilling from baskets onto the walkways. A town far different from Laketon. Laketon with the Hometown Grocery and Rx-Drug Store, neither with baskets of food on the sidewalks. No, he was envisioning Saumur. He reached up and massaged his temples.

“Cat.” Dr. Sims looked over to her. “Why do you want to discover your past life?”

“I remember many things.” Cat smiled and winked at Nick. “We’re mainly here for him.” Cat patted his leg, and Nick meekly smiled. “I want him to know.” Cat patted him again.

“Do you want to know, Nick?”

“I guess, but it goes against my religion,” he said, rubbing his knee.

“Ah,” Dr. Sims said. “Yes, religion. Western religion is very closed to the concept of reincarnation, whereas Eastern religious texts embrace the idea we may have lived before.”

“I’m only familiar with Western religion,” Nick said, thrusting out his chin stubbornly.

“I understand. Most of my clients feel that way. Do you want to learn more?”

Nick looked over at Cat, but she kept her gaze on the bookshelf behind Dr. Sims. Did he want to learn more? His dreams were becoming clearer, and he could remember more and more of them.

“I’m curious,” Nick said. “And skeptical. My father’s a Methodist minister, and he wouldn’t approve of what I’m doing.”

Cat cleared her throat. “Tell her what your parents did when you were younger.”

Dr. Sims raised her brows and leaned forward.

“They had me exorcised because I was speaking French and calling myself Jean Claude and telling them I had fought in the war.”

“World War II,” Cat clarified.

“That seems out of character for a Methodist minister,” Dr. Sims said.

“He wasn’t a minister at the time.”

“So your parents were concerned about what you were saying?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Sims put her hands on her thighs. “Let me tell you how I usually run my sessions. The first time we meet, like now, we might just talk and get to know each other, but if you’re ready, I can do a regression on each of you individually.”

“We’d like to do everything today,” Nick said.

Dr. Sims looked at the clock on her desk. “It might take about three hours for us to finish.” She paused, letting that sink in. “Are you still good with that?”

“I think so,” Cat said, looking at Nick, brows raised, whereas he shrugged.

“Now I need to ask, are you eighteen? If not, I’ll need parental permission.”

“We’re both eighteen.” Cat spoke for both of them, even though they were only sixteen.

“Good, then that’s not an issue,” Dr. Sims said. “Are you okay finishing around six?”

They would be back in Laketon around seven o’clock, the same time Nick usually got home from football practice.

“Now I need to ask you the inevitable question on how you’re going to pay for these sessions,” Dr. Sims said.

Cat drew out a credit card from her backpack. “Charge my card.”

Nick raised his brows at her. First she drove a Jag, and now she had her own credit card.

“Let’s start. The first thing I want to know about each of you is your life currently and what you hope to find out as part of a regression.”

“We want to know about our past and how it’s impacting our current lives,” Cat said.

“Fair enough.” She paused and waited. “Nick?”

He shook his head in agreement.

Dr. Sims put her palms down on the desk. “If you don’t have any questions, we can get started. Who wants to go first?” Her eyes darted between them. “Nick, would you like to begin?”

“How do you get us to relax?” Nick asked, his fingers tightening around the arm of the chair.

“Visualization.” That didn’t sound too creepy.

Nick searched his mind for more questions but came up empty.

After a long stretch of silence, Dr. Sims looked at Cat. “I’ll go,” she volunteered.

He left Cat and Dr. Sims in her office and sat in the waiting area. He picked up a magazine but put it down and stood, looking out the window. Nick stretched, and his phone buzzed in his pocket, signaling a message from Emily wondering where he was. He responded with “Docs”—Dr. Sims said she was a doctor, so technically, it wasn’t a lie.

Nick trudged around the small waiting area. He made one circle, then two, stopping at Dr. Sims’s office door to listen, pressing his ear to the wood. He heard nothing and continued his restless wait.

What was Cat telling Dr. Sims? What was she remembering? He would have liked to be in there, listening. But he didn’t want her in his session, so he guessed it was fair he was waiting.

An hour passed, and Cat came out, blinking at the light, her pupils large and black.

“How was it?” he asked.

She shrugged. “As I expected.”

Dr. Sims came out and motioned; it was Nick’s turn to find out what he remembered.

He followed Dr. Sims into her dimly lit inner office and sat on the couch as indicated.

“Get comfortable,” Dr. Sims said. “Most people like to stretch out.”

Nick lay flat on his back and propped his head up with his hands behind his neck.

“Now I want you to take some deep breaths until you feel relaxed, and close your eyes. I want you to imagine your special place to relax.”

Nick conjured up an image of lying in a hammock on the beach with a soft breeze. The tropical beach, an ocean—not Lake Michigan. It was unfamiliar to him but comforting all the same.

“What are you feeling, hearing, smelling in this favorite place?”

Nick smelled the salt water, heard the gentle rustle of the palm leaves rubbing together in a soft whisper, and felt a coolness washing over his face.

“I’m going to use guided imagery now,” Dr. Sims said. “Let’s start by having you relax the muscles in your face and neck.” She paused, and Nick willed his face to settle into a comfortable neutral expression. “Now your shoulders.” After a long wait, she said, “Your chest and arms. Let them fall heavily by your sides.”

Nick put his arms at his sides and moved them into a relaxed position.

“Do the same for your stomach and legs. Relax some more. The more relaxed, the deeper you will go.”

Nick felt the urge to yawn but kept his eyes closed and his face expressionless.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Umm hmm.”

“I want you to find the long dark tunnel in front of you. Do you see it?”

A long black tunnel stretched out before him, a subway of sorts without the cars. “Yes.”

“There’s a small white light at the end. Do you see that?”

As he moved closer, he saw the light. “Umm hmm.”

“The light becomes bigger and brighter as you move toward it. Is the light brighter now?”

“Yes.” His eyes watered at the glow.

“Tell me when you have reached the light.”

Nick moved forward, drawn to the glare. “I’ve reached it.” The light hurt his eyes, and he closed them tightly.

“You’ll get used to the light, Nick. Relax your face again.”

He did.

“Can you see better now?” Dr. Sims asked.

“Yes.”

“Imagine the light streaming into your head and filling your body.”

The glow surrounded him. It filtered through his mouth, eyes, and ears, filling him with lightness and a buoyant feeling.

“Are you filled with light?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to float up on the light away from the tunnel. You will soar high in the sky. What do you see?”

“I see a large school.” He paused. “Yes, it’s a school. I see the sign over the fence. École de Cavalerie.”

“Is that French?”

“Yes. I attend the school. I am a student. I’m wearing a black uniform and tall black boots.”

“And who are you?”

“I am Jean Claude Rousseau.” He remained quiet as he turned the familiar name over and over in his head.

“And can you describe the school?”

“Yes.” He paused to study the building. “Rectangular, with many windows, with two wings forming a courtyard.”

“Is it very large?”

“Yes, massive.”

“What else do you see?”

“Boys working horses.”

“How are they working them?”

He concentrated. “They are practicing riding. Around and around. Around objects. Walking backward. Jumping.”

“Good. Let’s skip forward a bit. What do you see?”

“I’m in the forest.”

“Can you tell the season?”

“It’s definitely not winter, but maybe spring? Buds on trees and small grapes on the vines.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m watching a caravan set up in a vacant lot. And I am looking for something on the ground.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I think I’m pretending to search, but I’m also looking. I see a girl through the trees.”

He concentrated at the fleeting figure of the girl. Seeing a patchwork skirt made of scraps of multicolored material, then long hair, and hearing her laughter. He put the images together into a beautiful dark-haired girl with brown, serious eyes that seemed to waltz around the fire in the middle of their camp.

“I’m not supposed to be with this girl. They say she’s bad, but they’re wrong about her. She’s a Roma—a Gypsy—and they are good people.”

“Are you with her now?”

“She is coming for me.”

She surprised him, walking out from the trees, startling him.

“What are you seeing now?” Dr. Sims continued.

“Her name is Chaton.” He knew what the word meant. “It’s French for ‘little cat.’ A kitten.”

“What are you doing now?”

“We’re eating rabbit stew, I think. Yes, rabbit.” He paused, scanning the scene before him. “There is singing and dancing. Everyone is happy.”

“Are you happy?”

He thought about her question. “Yes, I’m very happy. Happier than I’ve been my whole life.”

“Why?”

“The Gypsies are fun. There is singing and dancing. I wish I could stay longer.”

Dr. Sims waited for him to finish before saying, “Can we move forward a few weeks?”

Things went dark for Nick, and when they cleared, he saw people running. “Er, people are running, and there is a lot of excitement.”

“Can you tell me what’s happening?”

“I think the war started.” He thought about those words and what he felt. “France is being invaded by the Germans, and some people want to fight and some want to collaborate.”

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going to fight.”

“And what about Chaton and the Gypsies?”

Nick concentrated. “I think they’ve left.” No, that wasn’t right. “They’ve been forced into a camp.”

“Can you describe the camp?”

Nick willed himself to move closer to the camp surrounded with a fence and barbed wire. Not a nice place to be. Nick felt cold and shivered.

“Are you cold, Nick?”

“Yes, it’s bitterly cold. There is no protection for the people here. They are freezing and hungry.”

“Do you see Chaton?”

He frowned in concentration. “No, she’s someplace else.”

“Do you want to continue looking around the camp?”

He hunched his shoulders. “I’d like to move on.”

“All right. Move ahead.”

After the blackness cleared, Nick saw an army on one side of a river and Jean Claude and the cadets on the other side.

“Can you describe what’s happening?” Dr. Sims asked.

“I’m helping blow up a bridge.”

“Why?”

“To slow down the Germans.”

The bridge exploded before his eyes. “The bridge is gone, and everyone is waiting.”

A shot rang out, and a Nazi soldier fell off his motorcycle. Both sides began firing. The cadets were hidden behind monuments, trees, and buildings, whereas the Nazis were out in the open. “I’ve shot a man.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“I don’t…feel anything,” Nick said plainly. “The Nazis are bad and deserve to be shot.”

“Let’s speed it up. What do you see now?” she asked.

“I’m running away. Someone is after me. He doesn’t like me.”

“Is he a Nazi?”

“No, one of us. I shoot him, and he shoots me. I’m trying to do something, but I’m not sure what. I’m also running toward someone, but I don’t know who.”

“What else can you see?”

“I’m starting to float away.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m over the river. There are dead men and blown-up tanks and trucks. A real mess. Everything is covered with thick smoke. But the Germans are fording the river in rafts, and we keep shooting.”

“Would you like to return now?” Dr. Sims asked.

He wanted to get away from the war and the blood. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

“Do you see the light by the tunnel?”

He did.

“Float down to the light and let the brightness leave your body, and walk through the tunnel.”

Nick did as he was told before shifting and moving his body from the swaying hammock at the ocean to the couch in Dr. Sims’s office, reluctantly leaving the relaxed feeling before opening his eyes.

“What did you think of your regression?”

“It was interesting, like I was watching a movie.”

“Do you believe you were watching yourself?”

“Yes, I was Jean Claude.” Jean Claude was imprinted on Nick in some way. “But I don’t know the whole story. I think I’ve missed parts.”

“Probably, but you may start to remember or dream about more of your life as Jean Claude.”

“And Cat? Is she the Gypsy girl, Chaton? She felt familiar.”

“Only you can recognize her.”

“Yes, Cat was Chaton—the little kitten.”

They returned to her car and drove home. Nick couldn’t explain what he was feeling with images jumping around his head and feeling as if someone had poured fizzling soda into his veins.

“How are you feeling?” Cat asked.

“I’m just confused.” He leaned forward, his arms and hands hanging limply. He felt drained and tired. “And I don’t know what to believe.”

She laughed softly. “I remember my first time. Trying to keep an open mind and be skeptical too.”

“I was Jean Claude.” I am Jean Claude.

Nick paused and tried to collect his scattered thoughts. “Or was I making it all up in my head? You know, the power of suggestion?”

Cat remained quiet, her right hand splayed on the wheel. Her blue-stone ring caught the fading light and winked at him.

“Do you think you were making it up?” she asked.

He shook his head wearily. “It would be easier if I was.”

“Why is this so difficult for you to accept?”

He turned toward her, as far as the seat belt allowed. “Do you know what it’s like being the son of a minister?” It was then that the fizzing inside turned caustic, and he caught his breath.

“No, I don’t,” she said.

“It’s damn hard. I have to follow the Bible, be nice and polite to everyone, and reflect positively on my father.”

“That sounds like a heavy responsibility.”

“It is!”

Cat drove for several miles, with Nick looking out the window at the acres of farmland and orchards, before continuing, “My father thinks I have a concussion. He doesn’t believe in past souls or reincarnation.” Nick banged his fist against his chest. “None of that. If I accept this, I’ve lost my family!” A strangled gasp escaped. “I’m afraid.”

Cat gripped the steering wheel, and they traveled the rest of the way in silence.

****

Thirty minutes later, they pulled into the mostly deserted school parking lot. Football practice had just finished, and the team spilled out from the field into their cars and trucks.

“Hey, Nick!” Bryan waved to him. “Nice of you to show up!”

Nick eased out of Cat’s car. He was in no mood for Bryan’s bullshit tonight.

“Nice wheels!” Bryan ducked down to look at Cat and the car’s interior.

“Yeah, she’s a beaut,” Nick said, closing the door.

Bryan still had his hand on the door when Cat drove off, making Bryan pull away in surprise.

“Are you talking about the car or Cat?” Bryan asked, adding a whistle to his question.

Nick just shook his head and snorted.

“So,” Bryan said slowly as they watched the green Jag round the corner. “You and Emily over?”

Nick rubbed at his chest. “No.” His feelings for Emily were solid. Weren’t they?

“Well, what’s with that?” Bryan flicked his hand toward the flash of Cat’s taillights.

“Working on the project together,” Nick explained with a shrug.

“Yeah. Right.” Bryan smirked. “Project.” He air quoted. “I might have to give Emily a call…”

“Shut up, Bryan! I told you I’m working on a project.”

Coldness tightened around his heart at the thought of Emily—sweet, innocent, wonderful Emily—going out with a sleazebag like Bryan.

Bryan punched Nick playfully in the arm but with more force than necessary, and Nick shoved him back with equal force. Bryan stumbled, and just as they both clenched their fists, the rest of the team surrounded them, giving Nick a look of concern and disappointment.

Bryan spit on the ground. “You’re a piece of shit!”

“Back at you,” Nick mumbled as he unlocked his car and got in. He was still fuming when he got home and banged into the house. Slamming the door jarred him from his thoughts of knocking Bryan’s teeth down his throat.

“Nick? That you?” his mother called from the basement where she was doing laundry. He heard the telltale thump of the machine as it flipped the clothes from inside the rotating drum.

“It’s me!” He grabbed some cookies from the kitchen and went down the steps to the basement. He had been afraid of this dark, creepy space that held the washer and dryer and the funny-sounding water heater. He shook away the creepy feeling. Even at sixteen, the musty space felt scary to him. A vision of a cave flashed through his head. A cave smelling of vinegar and eggs.

His mother gave him a kiss. “Coach called and wanted to know how you were feeling?”

“Uh…yes, I was…you know…working on my report.” The basement reminded him of something, and a creepy feeling caused him to twitch his shoulders.

Then he remembered. The limestone caves by the Loire are perfect hiding places. I played in them as a boy, always careful not to disturb the mushrooms that grew on the walls and floors. The monks, at one time, had stored their barrels of wines and spirits in the caves for safekeeping and for the constant temperatures deep in the caves. They were little used now and rarely considered for hiding places after one had collapsed many years ago, killing a monk and a local laborer. Was the cave a memory or just his brain conjuring up a scene, an overactive imagination?

His mother turned to face him. “You don’t sound very sure.”

I hadn’t visited the caves since boyhood. He rubbed his neck. “It’s been a long day.”

“Oh?” His mother raised her brows. “Is everything all right?”

“Sure. Sure.” He looked at the pile of laundry his mother was sorting and began to help fold the bathroom towels. “Where’s Dad?”

“Visiting Mrs. Kady from church and checking on Grandma. They’re both at the same hospital.”

“Dinner?” He needed out of their dungeon basement and to get some air.

“A plate in the fridge for you.”

“Thanks!” He kissed her again. “Love you, Mom.” He gathered up an armload of towels and took the stairs two at a time.

“Love you too,” she called after him.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he went into the kitchen to reheat his dinner.

“Hi! Missed you after school,” Emily said, a hint of an accusation in her voice.

He cradled the phone against his neck as he pulled out the plate and put it in the microwave. Leftover pork chops from the looks of it.

“At a doctor appointment.”

“Oh? Someone said they saw you drive away with Cat.”

“Umm hmm. They must have been mistaken.”

“Can I come over and show you my dress for the dance?”

Nick cut into his chop. He knew it was rude to talk and eat at the same time, but he was starving.

“What are you doing?” Emily asked.

“Eating dinner,” he mumbled through some mashed potatoes.

“Oh, maybe I can show you at school tomorrow?”

“Sure. Sure.” Nick shoveled more food in his mouth. “Tomorrow is better.”

“Love you.”

“You too!” he choked out.

He didn’t care about the color of Emily’s dress. What he needed was a drink to steady his nerves. He paused and listened for footsteps on the basement stairs. All quiet. Maybe he could sneak some Jim Beam while his mother was busy and his father gone.