Sorry folks... short but sweet seems to work here. :)

Thanks to my friend Kyn, I have now seen the only wax David Bowie that Ireland has to offer. It provided me inspiration for the next few chapters that will be longer. lol

Again, I own nothing but my imagination. Or does it own me? Question for the ages...

Enjoy!

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CHAPTER 3

Sarah thought all day about calling the hypnotherapist. She filed claims electronically, verified billing information, data entered, and called ordering doctor's offices for missing transportation forms. The work kept her busy and focused for the most part, but still swirling in the back of her mind was the internal struggle of whether to trust another human being with her issues again.

She had only been eighteen the first time she'd seen her doctor about the disturbances. They weren't affecting her too badly at that point, but seemed real enough to make her wonder if she was having a breakdown of some type. Sarah still remembered the cold, sterile looks of mild interest on all those doctor's faces. She was nothing but a bug to them – to poke at and prod. Three years of psychologists, psychiatrists, numerous drugs that made her feel anxious, depressed, abnormal in her own skin followed. By the time she was twenty one she'd washed her hands of it all and discovered living with the nightly occurrences wasn't nearly as bad as the 'cures' the doctors had trotted out for her to try.

Still, things were ramping up lately … to something, she figured. She was having at least a few different disturbances each night now – no thanks to her four days of vacation, weakening her mind no doubt.

Angie only knew about Sarah's trials because she was the closest thing she'd had to a best friend for the last couple years. Their friendship had grown out of Sarah's love for all things technical, and Angie's love for all things dramatic – complete and total polar opposites. Angie reminded Sarah of all that she had loved in her youth: the glamour, the drama, and the brightness of her personality. Her flair for the dramatic underlined her ability to empathize with Sarah, and she always felt better after their long talks over coffee or meeting up for lunch or dinner when available.

She counted herself lucky to have such a nudging friend who always did what she thought best for her. Maybe this time Angie was right. Really, what could it hurt to go and see this hypno guy?

Within the last year every dream became so much... more. It was now to the point she would wake several times in a night to these stories that played within her unconscious mind, and by rote, sob out her pain, calm herself, and return to sleep to live another life.

The first time things had felt so much more, Sarah'd fallen asleep on her bed, a romance book wedged between herself and her and the blankets.

She saw him grasp her hand and felt her pulse flutter. His black gloved hand caressed her flesh, gently, and pulled her to the dance floor. She was but a teenager, she knew, but this man had seen in her the woman she was to become. He looked dashing, she thought, with his cravat and waistcoat of royal blue studded with stones. The subconscious Sarah wondered idly if they were supposed to have such detail back then...? Her eyes flashed to his face and her heart skipped a few beats. He was amazing-from the tips of his hessian boots to the tops of his pale hair pulled back in a queue. And his command of the waltz? Divine! Sarah heard herself thinking all of this during the dream – in a posh British accent. How weird is that, she mused.

There were many good dreams – but the 'disturbing' ones as she called them – outweighed all the others. Those were the ones where she cringed as she felt what her counterpart in the dream felt.

Sarah was in the middle of the copying room, waiting for her turn at the scanner, when a whispered, "Memory..." fell from her lips. The thought formed and coalesced. Maybe it was time to believe in the new age bullshite, she sighed. Because if it past lives didn't exist, then she was certifiably insane – if nothing else than from the lack of sleep alone.