Called

LIGHT | 10-1

LIGHT 10

Tuesday morning, Peter leaned in to kiss my cheek before leaving for work, just as he had on Monday. He didn’t bend me over backward as he used to, hold me close, or tickle me in a gesture of playfulness, and he didn’t kiss me on the lips. Maybe it showed consideration for me. Maybe he was no longer sure of the woman he married. His reasons were irrelevant. The damage had been done.

Once alone, I dressed in my bottom drawer clothes. The previous day, I didn’t even bother to change from them before Peter returned home. Although he didn’t say anything upon seeing me, his covert glances told me he noticed.

Armed with cappuccino, I settled onto the sofa with the phone and dialled one of the few numbers my brain made the effort to store.

“Hello?”

“Jess? How are you?”

“I’m pretty good ...” For some reason, my sister always managed to sound exuberant to hear from me. “... but you’ve got something on your mind.”

I rolled my eyes at thin air. “And you know that how?”

“Because I know you.”

I blew out a breath.

“So, squeal,” she said.

“Dreams.”

She perked up. “Werewolf?”

“Of course.”

“Cool.”

Despite two years of seniority, and the ability to feed me occasional pearls of wisdom, Jess always managed to portray the mental age of a teenager at the mention of my dreams. She’d also come to expect my dreams to be of werewolves. The first one, at age seven, was in no way my last. Over the following twenty-five years, I’d encountered numerous werewolves in my dreams—some good, some bad. I’d been chased by them, had s*x with them—definitely not while in their wolf form—and even changed, myself, into the body of a wolf. They all had my sister convinced I must have been one in a former life.

In no way matching her enthusiasm, I murmured, “Hmm, cool.”

“So, what’s happened in them, then?”

I gave her a complete rundown of the events from my dreams over the previous seventeen days—everything, including the name Sean constantly invading my thoughts.

“Weird,” she said.

“Totally.”

“Have you told Peter about these dreams?”

I almost laughed at the idea. “Of course not.”

“I’d keep it that way, if I were you. I doubt he’d be too impressed.”

I nodded to the empty room. “He knows something’s up, though.”

“How?”

“Because something happened, Saturday ... Peter was with me.”

“Oooohh, I’m intrigued.”

Hit by the Jess-bug, I laughed.

“So, what was it?”

“I experienced a change.”

Jess choked on her sharp intake of breath. “Holy s**t! When? Where?”

“Clothes shopping.”

“Why are you only telling me now?” Her voice pitched high. “I knew you were a werewolf. Didn’t I tell—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no such thing.”

“How am I ridiculous? You changed, so you’re a werewolf—simple.”

I took a deep breath. “Except I didn’t actually change.”

“But ...” Her pause spoke volumes of her confusion. “You just said you did.”

“I’m not sure I was fully conscious when it happened.”

“So, you were unconscious in the department store?” She snorted a laugh. “I know shopping with Peter must be tiresome for you, Jem, but—”

“I was awake,” I cut in.

“So ... how ... ?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, although she couldn’t see. “It was like I experienced the change, but ... not.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Try.” I could almost picture Jess bouncing in her seat.

“Okay.” I concentrated. “One minute I was talking to Peter, then the next I felt tingling, and ...”

“Yes.”

“... it was in my arms, and then my legs, and although I felt certain I should see something happening in them, I couldn’t. Then I fell, and it was like some kind of ... vision, I guess.”

“Awesome! What happened in the vision?”

“The change went through—it really hurt—and I could see it happening. When it finished, I was a wolf. The store had disappeared, I was in a forest, and then an amazing scent wafted—”

“Was it beef stroganoff?”

“Jess, I’m pretty certain it was this Sean character, because when I ran toward the smell, I found another wolf and took off with him. I think the wolf was Sean.”

“Cool. What else happened?”

“Then I blinked and was back in the store again.”

“Jem, you are, by far, the weirdest person I know.”

“I’m the weirdest person I know, too.”

She laughed. “What the heck did Peter make of it all?”

“Probably thinks I’m mentally ill, or something.”

Another laugh travelled the line. “You want my evaluation?”

“That’s why I rang you.”

“Okay.” I heard the smile in her tone. “You were a werewolf in a former life—”

“They’re not real, Jess.”

“You don’t know that.”

I looked to the ceiling as I flopped my head back. “They are a myth.”

“And every myth emerges from truth. Never forget that. Are you interested in my opinions, or not?”

“Sorry, please continue.”

“Okay, from what you told me, if your dream recounts are accurate ...”

“Always,” I said.

“Then, obviously, at some point, you have been bitten by this Sean within a lifetime. You seemed to think he’d done it before, but you weren’t a werewolf when it happened ... so when he bit you previously, it must have been in yet another lifetime.”

My head ached. “Huh?”

Her heavy sigh was audible. “Sean must be your mate, Jem—your soul mate. He travels, just like you, from one life to the next, and somehow you find each other.”

“How can he be my soul mate? I’m married to Peter.”

“Peter’s a dick.”

“Jess ...”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it.” Her tone told me she had. “Anyway, hang in there. Sean will show his face. I’m sure of it.”

“How can you know something like that?”

“I just do.” She ended with such finality, she’d probably have considered it an insult to her personal insight, if I continued to question the absurdity of her ideas. Believing herself a witch in her former life, the act of returning to earth after death seemed perfectly normal to Jess.

“So ... what should I do? My dreams are driving me to distraction.”

“Because they mean something to you.”

I showed the walls another of my eye rolls.

“Write them down,” she said.

“Then what?”

“When you’ve got all your thoughts logged, I’ll take a look at them for you. I could even take them to my dream analyser, if you want.”

“Dream analyser?”

“ Yep.”

“And does she know your medium friend, and the spiritualist ... and the Wiccan, and—”

“Quit the sarcasm. You asked for my help. This is it.”

“You’re right. Sorry.”

“So,” she said, “you’ll write them down?”

“If you think it will help.”

“It will. If nothing else, it may straighten it all in your own head.”

“I’ll give it a go, then.”

“Good.”

“So, how are the kids?” I asked.

With my problems out of the way, we went on for another hour or so, discussing my sister’s family, her cranky ex, her job, what she did at the weekend, until my mind and body relaxed into the comfort of listening to tales of somebody else’s life.

***