The Reincarnationist

Chapter 49

Finding myself to exist in the world, I believe I shall, in some shape or other, always exist.

– Benjamin Franklin

New York City-Tuesday, 2:00 p.m.

The next morning, Rachel Palmer had sounded so distraught on the phone that Josh agreed to meet her. She suggested the American Wing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He always felt at home and comfortable there. Josh was a city kid, and he and his father had spent endless afternoons at the Met over the years. But Rachel’s anxiety was pervasive and cast a pall over the afternoon.

“If someone is here, watching me,” Rachel said as they walked through the sun-filled gallery, “this doesn’t look very suspicious.”

“Who would be watching you?”

“I’m going to sound paranoid.”

“I won’t take it personally.”

She smiled. “My uncle Alex.”

“He’s having you followed?”

“I think so.”

“Why?”

“He thinks I’m in danger.”

“Well, isn’t that what you think, too?”

“Yes. But his reasons are specific. He’s done some research and uncovered a scandal or two surrounding some artwork and jewelry Harrison’s bought and sold over the years. It’s worrying him, although it’s nothing out of the ordinary, considering the business he’s in. It makes me think he’s not telling me everything he knows about Harrison.”

She stopped in front of the big, hulking marble sculpture of the Struggle of Two Natures of Man.

“He’s changed so much since my aunt died. I know that happens, of course, but this isn’t just mourning.”

“What else could it be?”

“Alex is obsessed with reincarnation. Always has been. You know he tried to buy the Phoenix Foundation a long time ago? Anyway, it’s been much worse since my aunt’s death, and then I made the mistake of describing what happened with Harrison. Now Alex believes I’m experiencing past-life memories and is obsessed with the idea that Harrison could be dangerous. And although I haven’t told him, I think he’s right.”

“You’ve had another episode?” Josh asked.

She sighed and described going to Harrison’s apartment the night before, seeing the gun and spiraling backward. “But there’s nothing specific I can tell you. I don’t know who the men were. Or where we were. Nothing, really-just pictures and a few phrases.”

They’d left the American Wing and were strolling through a series of galleries filled with religious artifacts. He noticed a huge ivory cross, a triptych of the Annunciation and birth of Jesus, and a glass case of reliquary objects. Josh had been there before so often they were all familiar.

“The problem is that no matter what I tell myself, and how determined I am to stay away from him, I feel drawn to him. As if this is out of my control. And I don’t like being out of control.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” he said as they passed over the threshold into the hall of Arms and Armor. Gleaming silver knights-their spears held aloft, banners flying above their heads-sat atop stationary horses in their own elaborate silver mesh suits.

“My father and I used to come to this hall when I was a kid…It’s been years since I’ve been back,” Josh said, remembering being here with Ben. It was magical then and still was, because, while everything around him had changed and altered, these knights were still there, in position, lifelike and waiting to hear the call to battle that would never come.

It was a different kind of stepping back in time, a safer kind, and he half expected to hear his father’s voice, so Rachel’s caught him by surprise.

“Here’s the deal, Josh. How much would you charge to hypnotize me and put me through a series of past-life regressions so I can get to the bottom of this mess?”

“It’s not a question of money. The foundation only-”

“What? Kids’ pain is more important?”

“No, but-”

“This morning he drove me to work,” she interrupted again. “When I was getting out of the car, I looked down. My shoes were old-fashioned boots with tiny buttons running up the front, nothing I’ve ever owned or worn. And the car had turned into a horse-drawn carriage. Harrison was wearing a morning coat.”

“And then what happened?”

“I heard my name called, and it was all over.”

“Which name?”

“What do you mean?”

“What name did you hear?”

“Rachel. What name could I have heard?”

“Your name from the past.”

“So you believe me?”

“I believe that you are seeing what you say you are seeing.”

“And you’ll help me?”

He shook his head. “I told you that the foundation-”

“I’m not asking to work with the foundation. I’m asking to work with you.”

They both turned as two boys-between eight and ten-ran wildly into the gallery, shouting as they pointed out the swords and shields and helmets to each other.

“I want to be that one,” screamed the smaller.

“And I’m that one.”

“We’re knights!”

“What are we going to fight for?”

“To kill the bad guys!”

The children who’d described their past-life experiences to Malachai and Beryl never explained how they knew when someone they met in the present had been someone they’d known in the past. And they didn’t doubt their feelings. Children didn’t need to be convinced. They didn’t need to educate themselves about the concepts of reincarnation in order to believe that what they were feeling was real. They didn’t become obsessed by the philosophy of their nightmares; they just experienced them.

Rachel turned away from watching the boys and back to Josh.

There was something there. He felt it. Almost impossible to detect, but palpable. And different from what he expected. Since the accident, he’d come into contact with many women, and he’d looked into their eyes-the way he was doing with Rachel-searched for some glimmer of familiarity, and waited; but she was the only one with whom the connection existed. And persisted. She wasn’t Sabina, but she was someone he’d known.

Selfishly, he realized that he wanted to work with this woman and find out if his life and hers intersected. Where they intersected. What it might mean to him, how it might help him.

“It’s happening,” Rachel said in a soft, low voice.

“What?”

“My body is humming and I hear that far-off music, but it doesn’t have anything to do with tones or keys or chords or melody. It’s pure rhythm.”

“Where are you?”

“With you. In the museum, of course.”

Josh wasn’t sure if she was in the present or the past. Before he could ask, she said, “Can we go? Isn’t it time for tea?”

“Tea?”

He knew what was happening.

“Yes, of course. Where would you like to go?”

“Home,” she said, surprised, as if he should have known that. “Where else would we go?” She seemed to know him so well. But who was she seeing?

“To a coffee shop? A hotel?”

“Delmonico’s.”

“I don’t know where that is.”

“Of course you do. Why are you teasing me?”

“I wasn’t. I haven’t heard of it. Is it nearby?”

She blinked and shook her head as if she were trying to find focus. “You haven’t heard of what?”

“Delmonico’s.”

“What’s that?”

Josh knew then for sure that whoever had suggested tea hadn’t been Rachel Palmer.