A/N: Sweet Grass County and the town of Sweet Grass are meant to be situated in the southeast corner of Montana. They are totally figments of my imagination, but I'm told there really is a Sweet Grass County, Montana that bears no resemblance to this one. It just sounded like a good name. I must have heard it somewhere and buried it in my brain. So sorry! I apologize to any Montanans (e.g., pryrmtns) that might be reading!
XXXXXXXXXX
She had only started to drift off again when the phone rang in her darkened motel room.
"No match." It was Nigel's voice on the other end.
"Nigel?" She glanced over at the clock. 5:47 AM. "It's not even 6AM yet."
"Sorry. Forgot the time change," he said apologetically. "I just faxed you a copy of my report to the motel's machine. I know you were hoping that there would be a match, the same concentration of Rohypnol as the Dorchester Strangler's victims, but it's not. It doesn't mean it's not the same killer though."
"Okay, thanks, Nige," she said with disappointment.
"Sorry I woke you for nothing."
"You didn't wake me."
"So...no luck with the lucid dreaming, then?"
There was a beat. She ignored the question and started hesitantly. "Yesterday...when you were talking about reincarnation..."
"Yes..." he followed warily.
"You know what? This is stupid. Forget it." She blew out a breath but then went on. "So, the theory is that we've all had past lives, right? And the idea with each life is to correct mistakes you've made in the past?"
"More or less. Some people believe that our souls are intertwined for all eternity."
"Like...soul mates?"
"A bit. But the idea is that all the people in your present life have always been with you. In another life, you and I might have been siblings or business partners or best mates..."
"But these dreams I've been having about a past life, if that's what it is, and I'm not sure I believe in all that...the question is...why? Why now?"
"Perhaps something in your environment trigged them. Perhaps voices from a past life are trying to tell you something, to warn you that you're about to head down the wrong path."
"Or maybe they're just the product of that sausage and anchovy pizza I had for dinner last night. Gotta run, Nige. Thanks for the fax."
She clicked off the phone before he could say anything else, and after a shower, she headed down to the lobby for breakfast and to retrieve Nigel's fax.
Woody hadn't come down yet, and she sat at a table by herself. She wasn't sure what she would say to him anyway. They had left things so badly the night before, there seemed little between them now.
He headed in a few minutes later. She could see the emotion flicker in his eyes when he saw her. He looked as if he hadn't slept all night. She smiled weakly at him, and he nodded once in her direction and took a seat with the pretty young FBI agent from the day before.
This was the way it was to be, then. She picked at her breakfast in silence. It was what she had wanted. And she knew that someday he would see things her way. It was for the best.
They were scheduled to ride out to the scene where the victim's body had been found, and there followed an agonizing ride out to the crime scene, the two of them crammed into the back of an unmarked government car. Every time his hand brushed against her leg, it sent shivers snaking up her spine.
They spent the better part of the morning in a vast field in the middle of Sweet Grass county. Various agents and law enforcement officials milled around measuring and taking pictures, and for a time, her dreams seemed the furthest thing from her mind.
They broke for lunch and piled back into the car as a convoy of official vans and police cruisers headed back into Sweet Grass. Exhausted from travel and the sleepless nights, she felt herself begin to drift as the telephone poles whizzed by on the endless highway.
She cocked her head. There was something there. Ahead. A small grove of trees...something else.
She sat upright in her seat.
"Stop the car!"
The FBI agent who was behind the wheel peered at her curiously in the rearview mirror.
Woody's head whipped around to her. "What wrong?"
"Stop the car! Right here!"
"What's going on, Jordan?"
She beat the heel of her hand against the driver's head rest. "Stop the car! I said stop the car!"
The agent shrugged and pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road. She had undone her seatbelt and opened the door before he could even throw the car into park.
"Jordan! Wait!" Woody called after her as she stumbled from the car and ran across the hard, brown earth.
She staggered and took a spill on the ground, crying out in pain. She could hear Woody call after, but she jumped to her feet and hobbled on until she was breathless. She stopped then as it came into clear view. It was a small clump of weeping willows, bending against the winter blast. Underneath, the wind broke the surface of the pond.
It wasn't the same as in her dream, but it was close, so close that her blood ran cold. Her breath came out in great, frosty puffs.
"Jordan, what the hell is going on?" Woody had caught up to her and stood with his hands on his hips.
"I don't know...I had to see it," she said as if in a daze.
"Does this have something to do with the murder?"
"No." She shook her head foggily. "I've seen this place before."
"So, you had an entire FBI convoy pull over to the side of the road so you could reminisce?" he said with an edge of anger to his voice. "What do you mean 'seen this place before?' Like in a book Have you been here before?"
"No, not exactly..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked over at him sheepishly. "I can't explain."
"You've just shot our credibility with the feds, you know that?"
His eyes were dark, and he was frowning. All his emotions toward her had become tangled up in this moment, and she knew that his anger had much more to do with what had happened the night before than this.
She shrugged helplessly and looked back toward the image of the weeping willow swaying above the pond. "I'm sorry..." It was all she could say.
He turned and stormed back to where the car idled on the side of the road. She stood for a long moment, aware that her hands were throbbing with pain from her fall on the frozen earth. She limped back to where Woody sat glowering in the back seat.
"Sorry, boys," he huffed as she slid in next to him. "She just had a feeling."
The agent in the passenger seat moaned quietly and shot a look to the driver. "Great. We're working with The Medium here," he mumbled sarcastically, and the car moved on.
They were silent on the way back, and she could feel his anger radiate from him. She jumped from the car as the agents eased it into their parking space in front of the motel. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes as she headed to her room as quickly as her swollen ankle would carry her.
"Jordan, wait!" She heard him call after her. She hurriedly tried to close the door before he could reach her, but he slid in next to her and stopped the door with his hand. She tossed her bag on the bed as he followed her in. "What the hell was that about?"
"Look, just leave it. You wouldn't understand."
"Try me," he snarled.
"I just had a weird feeling. Like deja vu. I can't explain it."
There was an empty space. She walked to the bathroom and brushed at the bits of dirt and gravel that had embedded in her raw palms. He said nothing, and she hoped he would leave as much as she hoped he would come and fold her into his arms and cover her mouth with kisses.
He took a step in towards her. She could see from his reflection that his features had softened with concern. "Talk to me Jordan. You've been acting strange since we got here."
"No, Woody," she started wearily. "Please just go."
When he spoke, his voice ached. "Don't push me away, Jordan."
He put his hands on each of her shoulders, and her body went rigid. "The way you pushed me away when you were shot? The way you pushed me away when I asked you in the other week?"
Her voice was icy, but he wasn't dissuaded. "I'm sorry for the way I've acted, but it doesn't have to be this way, Jordan. Ever since we made love..."
"We didn't make love. We had sex."
He stumbled backwards then, as if he had been struck. She watched him in the mirror for a moment and then she turned to him with her arms folded across her chest.
"You cold bitch..." The words came out in a stunned, exhaled breath. Neither of them moved.
Finally, he spoke. "If I leave now, I'm never coming back, Jordan." It was not a threat but a pained realization.
She threw her head back with a humorless snort.
"Then go."
He stood for an agonizing moment. A small corner of her wanted nothing more than to suck the words back into her, but she could not. He turned finally and left her there alone.
She waited until the door had closed behind him before she collapsed on the bed in a shower of tears.
She sat there, as her eyes reddened with crying and her ankle swelled and throbbed. She tossed in bed for an hour, and then swallowed some Tylenol, but sleep was slow in coming. She was exhausted, drained, but something nagged at her. A voice, a feeling.
She rose from the bed and found the paper bag with her purchases from the day before. Something drove her on. She reached in and pulled out the stack of books. One seemed to call out to her. It was a slim paperback with fake gold lettering and a green cover meant to look like an old leather bound volume.
"My God..." she whispered aloud and ran her fingers over the words.
A HOMESTEADER'S STORY:
THE DIARY OF JO CAVANAUGH
MONTANA TERRITORY
1885
(PRINTED BY THE SWEET GRASS COUNTY
HISTORICAL SOCIETY)
She took a deep, calming breath, but her hands trembled as she turned to the first page and began to read.
June 3rd, 1885. Lily Seely came to see me today to ask me if I'd attend her when the baby comes...
