Unchanged (11 page)

~

I could barely sleep the rest of Friday night for thinking about Ahaziel and the house at Havelock Point, which was kind of a blessing since I couldn't have nightmares if sleep eluded me. But I did fall asleep at some point because the jangling phone woke me much too early on Saturday morning. I couldn't get back to sleep after hearing it.

Grumbling to myself, I headed to the kitchen in my pajamas to make toast. Brandt was there, dressed and looking chipper.

"Ugh," I said.

"It's ten thirty, you know."

"Oh. Can I use the car today?"

"No. I need it."

"Well you suck." I buttered my toast and shoved a bite into my mouth. Chewing, I pondered some things about last night. "Brandt," I said, "have you ever met someone for the first time but felt like you met them before?"

"Not really."

"Do you believe in past lives?"

"I don't know."

I finished my toast, choking it down with discouragement, and returned to my room to get dressed. I felt strangely nervous when I stepped out of the house. A light rain turned the town even grayer and blurred it into indistinct, ghostly shapes. Water stuck to my hair like dewy crystals until I tugged my hood up and put my head down. Wind stirred in the tops of the trees. My arm ached, like a bruise in the bone.

An idea struck me. I would go to the library and try to find out about this past life of mine. Because that had to be the answer to what I'd experienced last night.

Though I was even more unfamiliar with the cement-block town library than I was with the one at school, I pretended as if I knew what I was doing when I asked the librarian for copies of old newspapers. He gave them to me on film and I sat down to begin my search. I knew the month and the year. All I had to do was find some kind of article or obituary, anything that proved the events at Havelock Point had actually happened.

I found mention of the fire in an article detailing the information I'd already read in the books from the school's library. Eve's obituary was in the same issue, stating she had died in the fire, but Joy had already told me that information. In the following week's paper I saw Esmond Havelock's obituary. There was a very brief account of how his body had washed up on the shores of Victoria after he'd presumably fallen by accident from the gallery. Nowhere else in the paper was there any speculation about his death.

Strange as it was, I couldn't believe the things I'd experienced from 1904 were coincidence. The proof was in my heart—I
knew
I'd actually lived those things. But there was also the manner of Esmond Havelock's death. And I hadn't known his or Eve's name before the experience.

After half-heartedly searching for and not finding the obituaries of Eve's mother, whose name I couldn't recall, or her brother Jocelyn, I turned in the film and asked for a book on past lives. The librarian stared at me for a moment, as if able to sense I didn't often visit libraries, before directing me to a row in the non-fiction section.

The librarian seemed to have been purposely unspecific in the location of past life books and this particular row covered at least three subjects, but at last I was able to find a book that looked promising. I opened it, struck immediately by the wealth of information. The book covered aspects of several religions as well as numerology, astrology, and other subjects I was not familiar with. I would never be able to read this book straight through even if I had the inclination. Flipping to the index, I found myself just as daunted. At last I simply closed my eyes and opened the book to a random page.

. . . belief in reincarnation . . . three consecutive moral existences . . . cycle of rebirth . . .

Well. I didn't know anything about moral existences, but I'd experienced memories from at least one past life. I replaced the book on the shelf, deciding not to further overwhelm myself, and left the building to head home. The library doors locked behind me and the lights dimmed. I hadn't realized I'd stayed so long. There was a twilight gloom in the air so it wasn't completely dark as I walked, but still I hurried along, eager to have a roof above my head and walls protecting me from unseen eyes.

I knew instinctively something was wrong when my house came into view. Too many lights burned beyond the windows. As soon as I burst through the door, Chris gave a dramatic cry of relief and ran to greet me.

"We've been looking for you all afternoon," she said breathlessly. "We wanted to let you know about your mom."

"Why? What happened?"

"She fell and broke her wrist," Brandt said, rising from the couch. "She's fine, but still . . ."

I sighed with relief. I had felt my blood grow cold at Chris's words, but now my panic subsided. I remembered how helpless Eve had felt in the face of her own mother's illness and how desolate, fearing each day she'd finally perish. Then it was Eve who had perished.

My mom sat at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee resting before her. A small blue cast secured her left wrist and she held it up for me to see. Her lips quirked with a sheepish smile.

"Mom!" I cried, sitting down beside her. "What happened?"

She waved her good hand, dismissing my concern. "I was bringing the trash cans in this afternoon. I thought I heard someone and the noise startled me," she explained. "That's all."

"You heard someone?"

"I thought I did. It doesn't matter."

I couldn't help but think this was my fault somehow, even though there was no way I could have prevented the occurrence. "Mom," I breathed, "I'm so, so sorry."

"For what? It's not your fault."

"But—"

"I'm all right," she assured me. "I think I'll go lie down. These pain pills have made me somewhat drowsy. Rinse my mug out, would you?"

Standing at the sink with the mug in my hand, I tried to think of plausible explanations for why I'd experienced a past life—because it
was
a past life, I was certain. I was Eve, she was me. Was Ahaziel a reincarnation as well? Or had he been here all along, waiting for me to be reborn? And why would he wait?

I shuddered, not wanting to consider the possibilities.

"Where were you today?"

I glanced over my shoulder at Brandt. "At the library."

"The library," he repeated flatly.

"Yes." I set the mug down in the sink. "I didn't know Mom was going to get hurt. It was just . . . bad timing, I guess. It's not like I have anything to feel guilty about." I did feel guilty, though, about going to the library to research my very own existential crisis. It was an obsession I shouldn't have had, and I couldn't bring myself to tell my brother the details.

Brandt grimaced a little and scuffed his foot against the linoleum. "But you never set foot in a library if you can help it. Were you meeting someone?" His tone was casual but protective. I knew he was only trying to get the truth out of me so he'd know what was going on and give me some kind of brotherly speech, but to me his words sounded demanding and controlling.

"It's none of your business what I was doing," I sputtered.

"I'm only trying to look out for you—"

"I can look out for myself."

He nodded, chagrined, and backed out of the kitchen. A moment later I heard him slip out the front door. Chris was waiting for him in the car, no doubt.

I went to my room and lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling. No one understood me. No one could see the strangeness exploding around me. But I didn't need them to understand. I would figure things out on my own.

No matter what, I vowed.

~

On Sunday Brandt and I picked Chris up from her house, then grabbed some donuts and hot coffee drinks. We took it all to Austin's house. I was relieved to learn Joy wouldn't be joining us. I didn't have the energy or will to deal with her.

Austin, dressed in lounge pants and a white t-shirt, opened the door for us and led us down to the basement. Eyes heavy with sleep, he reached for a donut and inhaled the whole thing. Still chewing, he took another one and settled into the overstuffed sofa with his drink. I had never seen him straight out of bed in the morning. His short dark hair was mussed and there was still a crease from the sheets on his face. He looked sleepy and cute, though his chest in the white shirt was much more than cute.

My gaze traveled to Chris and Brandt, who were snuggled together on a large armchair, feeding each other bits of donut. Nauseating.

Suddenly I realized why no one had invited Joy. This was some kind of couples thing. Maybe Chris and my brother were conspiring to get me together with Austin in a physical way now that we had attended a high school dance together. I looked at Austin sitting on the other end of the couch from me. He was reaching for the remote to turn on the stereo.

I was sure Brandt and Chris had meant well, but I had no intention of getting to know Austin in a physical way. I turned my attention to my drink, hoping he wouldn't scoot closer.

"I had fun at the dance," he said.

"Oh." I was surprised—I'd hardly paid attention to him, distracted as I was by Ahaziel's appearance. "Um, me too," I finished." I tasted my drink, wincing because it was too bitter.

"You're not like the other girls I've dated."

I didn't know how to reply so I just smiled and forced myself to swallow more of my drink. Then I felt Austin's skin on mine, his fingers taking the paper cup from my hand. Confused, I watched him set it down on the coffee table. Without me noticing he had managed to scoot right up next to me. I looked over at him with tentative dread.

"I'm having a party here soon," he said. "You'll come, right?"

"I'm pretty sure I'll be tagging along with Brandt," I admitted.

"Good."

A cutesy giggle erupted from Chris and I turned to look at her and Brandt. They took no notice of me or Austin. I gulped and turned back to Austin, prepared to make excuses about how I had to leave. As soon as I opened my mouth, though, his lips were on mine, his tongue snaking through them. I recoiled but he leaned with me, pinning me down on the couch. I was so startled and weirded out I couldn't have enjoyed the kiss if I'd wanted to.

I let him continue for a few minutes, trying to make sense of my feelings. Maybe if I just gave Austin a chance . . . But no. Making muffled sounds I hoped he wouldn't take as encouragement, I slapped at his chest and arms until he lifted his body off me.

I slipped out from under him and leapt off the couch. "Uh, gotta go," I said to the room before running up the basement stairs and out of the house. The cool air dispelled the flush on my cheeks, but my heart pounded unpleasantly the whole way home.

It was only when I approached my front door that a horrible feeling descended on me. I couldn't get inside fast enough. I darted through the house and into my room, where I shut my door and leaned against it, waiting for my heartbeat to slow. I pressed my hand against my mouth and allowed my thoughts to center on the terrifying thing that had been bothering me while I walked home.

Someone had been watching me.

~

The next morning I walked across town to Psychic Gem to ask about my application. I felt optimistic and polite, but I was given the explanation that although they didn't hire during the winter I might receive a call in the summer when tourist season began.

I should have expected as much.

Not yet ready to head back outside, I wandered into the book section. I vainly hoped to find something the library didn't have, like a step-by-step guide on past lives or a how-to manual. But it was another book that caught my eye. It was black with faded gold letters stamped into the spine.
Mythology of the Pacific Northwest
. I lifted it off the shelf. I had no money, but I had to have this book. I
needed
it.

I waited until the orange-haired cashier turned her back before dashing out the door. I had to hope she wouldn't notice the missing book until it was too late. I felt guilty, but also relieved. This book, I knew, would teach me something.

For a while I walked around aimlessly, book clutched to my chest. I passed the closed schools and half-empty parks, wondering what to do to fill the hours. Suddenly I remembered something Joy had said, something about a photograph of me . . .

A photograph of someone who looked like me.

My feet turned in the direction of the library, hurrying me along. I was eager to see the photograph, eager to confirm that I really had lived a hundred years ago.

Walking down the library's basement stairs, I couldn't help but envision spider webs and moldy boxes and piles and piles of unorganized paperwork. The basement
was
pretty damp, but to my surprise everything was clean and neatly stacked on heavy-duty metal shelves reaching nearly to the ceiling.

I headed to the back, towards the oldest records. I looked up warily, wondering if there was any danger of the crushed, crumbly boxes falling on my head. None of them moved, so I concluded I was safe.

Setting aside the mythology book, I spotted a box labeled
1904
, wedged inexplicably between 1910 and 1923. I struggled to heft it down without dropping it or falling off the footstool. I set it on a small table against the wall and wiped my brow. Then I lifted the lid and started rifling purposefully through it. I encountered a few photographs of people and the town, building plans, business ledgers, and yellowed newspaper articles, none of it in any particular order.