“Dr. Greyson sent me your files. I’ve read through his notes, but they’re rubbish. I want you to tell me about … you.” She looks up, grinning while bringing the teacup to her lips.
“I won’t ease into this because I don’t think I have to with you.”
She sets her teacup down, giving me her full attention.
“I’m pretty certain I’m the reincarnation of Nathaniel Hunt’s childhood friend who was murdered.”
Dr. Albright’s brows shoot up her forehead. “Murdered?”
I nod. “He doesn’t know this. No one does except my boyfriend—fiancé.” It’s sad I don’t know what Griffin is at the moment. We’ve spoken a handful of words since the ride home on my birthday. An ocean could fit between us in bed, but in the middle of the night his arms find their way around me. By the time I wake up, his arms are gone and so is he.
She nods. “Go on.”
I tell her everything, starting with the day I saw Nate in Dr. Greyson’s office. I tell her about the book of hers I found in Nate’s nightstand. I tell her about Doug Mann and Erica. I tell her about the first time the visions in my head were from Daisy’s point of view without Nate—the memories of her death. My death?
She listens without interrupting or showing any emotion beyond a few nods. No smiles. No flinching. No frowns.
My hand rubs over my front pocket a few times. I want her help, and I’m willing to give her anything to get it, so I slip the photo of Nate out of my pocket. It’s bowed from spending so much time molded to my body.
“I took this from Nate.” I slide it on her desk.
Her lips pull into a soft smile. “That’s the student I remember. He’s always been incredibly handsome. The hair …” She glances up.
I nod. The hair. Nate has the most beautiful hair. Those curls beg for a woman’s fingers to—
“You’re blushing.”
My head jerks up from the photo on the desk to meet her bright eyes.
“What were you just thinking while looking at it?”
“Um …” I clear my throat.
“It’s just between the two of us. Woman to woman … what were you thinking?”
My lower lip curls inward as I nibble at some dry skin on it, eyes filling with emotion—shame. “I was thinking his hair begs for a woman’s fingers to comb it, fist it, tug it.”
Yeah, I’m blushing. My neck and cheeks burn.
“But I’m engaged to a man I love more than anything. I shouldn’t have these thoughts. I shouldn’t have this picture with me.” My finger dabs the corner of my eye to catch the stray tear that tries to escape.
“It’s not just that. I originally took it because this is a Nate I never got to see. And his expression in this photo haunts me. I don’t know why I can’t stop looking at it. It’s like I’m waiting for him to tell me his life’s story.” I laugh. “It’s so messed-up.”
“Give me your wish list.” She takes another sip of tea. It’s her third cup.
“My wish list?”
“Yes. If I gave you a piece of paper and told you to write down five things you wish for, what would they be?”
“Like a new car?”
She shrugs. “Any wish for the future. We can’t change the past.”
“I wish Griffin understood what I’m going through. I wish the police would arrest Doug Mann. I wish I could stop staring at this stupid photo. I wish I could find a different job and not miss Nate and Morgan. I wish …”
Swallowing hard, I shake my head.
“Finish.”
“I wish Daisy never died.”
“We can’t change the past. Try again.”
My jaw clenches as I rub my hands over my jeans again and again.
“I wish I knew everything or nothing instead of this fragmented memory that’s driving me crazy.”
Dr. Albright scribbles on a piece of paper. I lean forward. It’s the list of my wishes.
“Dr. Greyson rarely refers people to me. It’s usually the other way around. The main reason is because I’m a full-time professor. He sent you to me because I’m a bit of an oddity in our profession. I have memories of past lives. I believe in reincarnation. My theories are widely disputed and hugely unpopular in the psychiatric community.”
“Are your memories fragmented like mine?”
“Some are. Others are quite detailed. I don’t think two souls are ever the same. I don’t think you’re the Daisy Nathaniel remembers. I think souls are woven from many lifetimes. Think of it like ancestry. I’m not all German, but I’m part German. Memories are the hard part to figure out. I like to think of them like dominant and recessive genes. Most souls live in harmony when they move on. I call those little interwoven soul fibers the recessive souls. They’re not expressed. But sometimes we encounter dominant threads that are expressed through memory.”
She chuckles. “Some people believe those are the stubborn souls that want to finish their stories. That’s a little too simplistic and fictional for me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m in awe of life—both physical and spiritual. I’m certain I’ve read more books than anyone who has walked the grounds of this campus since it originated. Yet, I’m just as certain that I’ve barely scratched the surface of the bigger picture. The question that no one can truly answer …”
I nod slowly. “Why are we here?”
“Precisely.” She winks, leaning back in her chair, rocking gently. “Why are we here? What is the meaning of life? What is my purpose? Are humans supposed to mate for life? Is there a god?”
It’s official. I’m overwhelmed. I feel very small at the moment.
“I turned twenty-two on Sunday. And I hate it when people treat me like I’m young and stupid. But if I’m being honest … I feel very young and stupid. I don’t sit around contemplating the meaning of life. I like good movies, wine and chocolate, time with my fiancé, mystery and romance novels. A beach? I’m there. A sale on cute leggings? I’ll buy ten pairs. Adjusting to adulthood and having a degree is overwhelming enough. But past lives? Souls? Dominant and recessive expressions of … whatever? No.”
I shake my head a half dozen times. “That’s not what I want to think about at this time in my life. But I also don’t want to deal with the guilt that comes from knowing who killed my friend and not being able to do anything about it.”
“I understand. I truly do. Let’s talk again next week. In the meantime, I want you to think about a few things. We can try hypnosis to either repress unfavorable memories or bring forth missing pieces. It’s not a guarantee, and it doesn’t come without risks. Also, I want you to consider telling Nathaniel about your memories of Daisy’s death. I know you think it could hurt him and compound the guilt he already feels, but it could also lead to opening up new evidence that could put Doug Mann behind bars. Nathaniel would want that, no matter what the emotional cost is to him. I’m certain of it.”
I slip on my jacket. “And what do I do with my fiancé? I’m so afraid of losing him through all of this.”