THE NEPHEW
Chapter Five
April 14
There were cold days, and then there were
cold days. This was one of the cold ones.
Rose stood shivering in the parlor of a
Victorian house on the outskirts of town. She'd been terrified to come here.
The locals all feared this woman; behind her back they called her a witch. But
privately, a few had confided in Rose that she'd helped them with a little
problem, gotten a man to fall in love with them, or told them exactly where to
find a valuable lost piece of jewelry. Her readings, they claimed, were always
one hundred percent accurate.
Rose didn't know where else to turn.
"I apologize." The seer--Marlene,
her name was--spoke with the barest traces of a Southern drawl, nothing more.
The woman who initially referred Rose to her described a lilting Mediterranean
accent, obviously embellishing her tale to add to the mystique. "This is
an old house. It gets mighty chilly at times. Come, let's go in the kitchen. I
lit the cook stove."
While Marlene set about preparing coffee,
Rose took the opportunity to study the fortune teller, who was both younger and
more attractive than Rose had been led to believe. She was drawn to a large
cameo pin in the shape of a butterfly Marlene wore on a pale yellow scarf at
her throat.
"That's a beautiful pin," she
complimented her.
Marlene poured steaming liquid into a cup.
"Thank you. My grandma left it to me. She felt it had certain...soothing
qualities that helped in her work. I inherited my gifts from her as well. One
sugar or two?"
"Two, please."
The coffee had its own soothing qualities,
the opposite of the usual jittery feeling coffee gave Rose. She found herself
wondering if Marlene was trying to put her under a spell.
"You have nothing to fear from me."
Rose started. Marlene smiled ruefully.
"No, I don't read minds," she said.
"But I can read body language and yours says you'd rather be anywhere but
here, so it must be something drastic what drove you to my doorstep. Why don't
you tell me about it?"
Rose told her, all of it from the night she
met Jack on board the Titanic twenty years earlier to her roller coaster ride
of this week. It was the first time she'd ever mentioned Jack or the Titanic to
anyone. Marlene listened carefully, taking infrequent sips of coffee and seldom
interrupting with a question. As Rose's strange tale progressed, the
interruptions gradually lessened. When she was done, Marlene was quiet and
pensive for a moment.
"Are you familiar with the concept of
reincarnation?" she asked finally.
It was clear she expected Rose to laugh, or
some other skeptical response; her visitor surprised her by nodding
enthusiastically. "Yes, yes. Do you think that John is--"
"It appears so. It most often happens in
the event of an early or violent death. I do have some concerns, though. While
those who practice some Eastern religions believe wholeheartedly in the
concept, and there has even been documentation in a few cases, I've never heard
anything the likes of what you've just described to me."
Rose's heart skipped a beat.
"I read a lot of books on the subject,
and your friend's situation seems so...well, unusual, even for someone
who believes that the soul can be reborn. For one thing, while some mannerisms
and memories may carry over from one life to the next, for him to repeat exact
phrases and songs so frequently is highly out of the ordinary. And secondly, he
came back to the same family.
"Not only that, but it appears that he
sought you out," she added. "Normally, a reborn soul might have
recognized you from your pictures, maybe even taken a great deal of interest in
your career, but to find out where you live? Even in these circumstances, only
someone mentally disturbed would step outside the boundaries of acceptable
behavior."
Rose was more than frightened now. She was
absolutely horrified.
"I'd like to meet him. Tonight, if
possible," Marlene said.
"Why?" Rose asked, startled; she'd
expected a good piece of advice on how best to handle the situation, not to
have to involve John at all.
"I'll need to speak with Jack, to find
out what he desires from you."
"You mean...a séance?"
Rose had been to one once in Hollywood.
Attending a party at the home of an eccentric acquaintance, she'd indulged in a
few too many martinis and found herself in the mansion's library, seated at a
table with several other guests and a medium who was attempting to raise the
spirit of the hostess' late husband. She remembered little of it the next day
and it became a humorous anecdote to share with friends.
This wasn't funny.
"No," Marlene explained, "I'm
going to try a method known as hypnotic regression, to return John to his
previous life." Rose gave her a blank stare, but she went on speaking as
if she didn't notice. "Tomorrow morning's the twentieth anniversary of
Jack's death. I don't believe there's any better time to attempt this, do
you?"
*****
Rose and John faced Marlene across a round
table in a drafty room lit only by a few strategically placed candles. The
heavy draperies at the solitary window were drawn. Before Marlene closed the
door, Rose noticed the room was bare save a few shelves crammed with books on
the occult and this table. And, in one corner, a padlocked cabinet. Rose
wondered what dark and mysterious objects were contained in that piece of
furniture, then decided she didn't want to know.
Marlene called this her work space.
Rose's anxiety level had skyrocketed in the
hours leading to this moment. It had been far too easy to convince John to come
back with her. She only told him she was going to see the psychic for a
reading, and was too spooked to go alone. He'd laughed and teased her about
crystal balls, then cautioned Rose of something that made her blood run cold:
his mother had been to see that witch once a few years earlier, and was told
something so upsetting she would never speak of it.
He'd asked if she was sure she wanted to
come. She said yes, and now Rose prayed she wouldn't live to regret it.
"I know you came to hear your future,
Rose," Marlene said, playing along with the deception, "but I'm
getting a feeling...it's pulling me in your direction, John. I need to focus on
you for a moment, is that all right?" John shrugged. "I want you to
concentrate for me, please." Marlene’s voice softened. "You see the
butterfly on my scarf, John? Look at it, see how it shimmers...see how the
colors shift and change...that's it. I want you to relax. Think back to a time
when you were younger, John, a time when you were happy...think of your art and
how much pleasure it gave you. Think of being a little boy and drawing..."
Rose glanced at John. None of this made sense
to her. He sat still, rigid. His eyes were closed, a smile twitching at his
lips.
Marlene continued, her voice growing softer
and more hypnotic, guiding John back further and further until...
"I'm going to bring you to an even
earlier time, John. Now this might be a little scary to you, so I'm gonna give
you a way to escape this place. When I say the word butterfly you'll come back
to the present, and you'll remember none of this, understand?"
He nodded mechanically.
"All right, John. I want you to think
back...it's a long time ago now. You're taking a journey, a sea voyage home on
a big ship. Your name is--"
"Jack Dawson."
Rose jumped. It was his voice.
Marlene gave her a stern glance, then
returned to John
Jack
whose facial expression remained passive.
"Something is amiss, Jack. Something happened to the ship. Do you
remember?"
Suddenly his face changed. His skin paled,
until the veins showed underneath. He began to shudder violently, and grasped
the edge of the table, holding on for dear life.
"What's happening?" Rose cried.
"What have you done?"
John
Jack
turned to her slowly, and, his eyes fastening
upon hers, gripped her hand.
His hand was frozen--and soaking wet. His
voice trembled as he spoke.
"You must do me this honor...promise me
you will survive...that you will never give up...no matter what happens...no
matter how hopeless...promise me now, Rose."
Rose opened her mouth. Not a sound came out.
The shaking stopped as quickly as it had
begun, and his eyes lost that frightful quality, the desperation of a dying
man. The hand, however, was still cold.
"I knew you couldn't do it," Jack
said. "I knew you wouldn't keep your promise to me."
"Jack?" Rose managed in a croak.
"Oh, I know you tried," he
continued. "You became an actress in the moving pictures like you wanted.
You rode the roller coaster in Santa Monica, learned to fly an airplane,
traveled around the world. And now your travels brought you here to open your
very own art gallery. For that, I'm proud of you."
"Jack?" Marlene interrupted. To
Rose, she sounded unsure of her footing for the first time that evening.
"Jack, we're very happy to have a chance to talk with you."
"Are you?" He fixed her with a
steely glare. "I believe you're trying to get rid of me."
"Why do you say that?"
"I know what you told my sister. Besides
the fact that she wasn't going to live to see fifty."
Marlene rocked backwards as if she'd been
pushed; her chair even skidded a ways. "You can't know that," she
whispered.
Jack smiled, but the smile didn't extend to
his eyes. "You gain certain abilities in the afterlife. I brought a few of
them with me."
Marlene fumbled for the cameo pin on her
scarf; touching it appeared to restore some of her composure. "John, can
you hear me? John, look at the butterfly--"
"My name," he said firmly, "is
Jack."
"This ain't supposed to happen," Marlene
said to herself, shrinking in her chair. "This ain't supposed to
happen," she repeated.
Rose decided it might be safe to get to the
heart of what Jack wanted herself. If she didn't speak up soon, she'd go
insane.
"Is that what she told Jane?" she
inquired of him. "That her son John was really you?"
"She had her suspicions," Marlene
answered. "I told her the same thing I told you, and advised her the only
way to know for sure was for him to come see me, but she never brought
him." She spat at Jack, "She was afraid of you."
"Why would you do that to her,
Jack?" Rose asked.
"Don't feel sorry for her, Rose. You
don't know her the way I do."
"So she ran off and left you to fend for
yourself. You were both so young then--"
"She killed our parents!"
Silence.
Jack finally told his story in a flat, calm
voice. "They were good folks, but a lifetime of backbreaking work took its
toll. Jane liked to try their patience, and she was punished. I think she got
one whipping with the switch too many, and then she took off. But she lied to
you, Rose. She did come back when the good times ran out, and she started
getting into trouble. She refused to help out around the farm, and when the
sheriff came around looking for her, Papa had enough. He ordered her to get
out, or he would take her to the jailhouse himself. That same night, a fire
broke out on the ground floor of our house. It spread quickly. My parents were
asleep upstairs and they didn't wake up in time."
A stray tear fell. Jack wiped it away
absently.
"But my sister forgot one thing; I liked
to sleep out in the fields under the stars on warm nights. I saw her running
away after the fire started. Later she told the sheriff that Papa put her out
and she spent the night elsewhere. She didn't count on me living to contradict
her."
"Surely she wouldn't have hurt
you," Rose said, aghast. "She loved you."
"She loves me now. Now that she's dying,
and she's afraid of dying alone. But she admits that I was the favorite. And I
was going to inherit the farm. Mama and Papa never would have left it to her.
So you see why I had to leave Chippewa Falls, and fast. If she'd gotten another
chance at me--"
"But you told the sheriff!"
"And he didn't arrest her. He had no
proof, other than my word, and I was still a child. And no one wanted to
believe a child--a daughter--would do that to her own parents."
"So now every time Jane looks at her
son, she sees you," Rose said, all emotion drained from her voice.
"You came back for revenge."
"I came back for you, Rose." She
looked away; he forced her to look back at him, fingering tendrils of hair
around her face. "You forgot your promise. You did all those things we
talked about, but you did them all by yourself. You never allowed yourself to
fall in love. Until John."
Rose felt tears threatening; she shut her
eyes and shook her head in denial. Across from her Marlene sat with a hand to
her mouth. She looked sick.
"So you see," Jack was saying,
"fate has brought me to you again. And even Jane's satisfied because her
son will marry well, and I'll still be able to go to college when she's gone.
Oh, yes, we will get married."
She began sobbing--whether from joy or fear
she did not know.
"I'm sorry if I scared you." Jack
was contrite. "Or you," he added to Marlene. "The last thing in
the world I want is to hurt you, Rose. For all intents and purposes, I'll be
John Calvert from now on. But if you ever need Jack Dawson, I'll be here."
He kissed Rose gently, on the forehead, then
on the lips. She surprised herself by not pulling away from him. The kiss was
sensual...and warm. It felt familiar to her. A shudder ran through her body.
He released her, and studied her carefully.
After a few seconds he frowned.
"Rose, are you crying? What did she say
to you? My God, you look like you've seen a ghost!"
It was John's voice.
Marlene let out a gasp, then jumped from her
seat and fled the room, leaving the door gaping open. She didn't return to see
them out.