QUEST FOR DESTINY
                    By Cara Swann

Reader Response to: [email protected]
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Rating: General, Adult

Synopsis:
Set in the picturesque, historic Cades Cove region of the Smoky Mountains, this 50,000 word romantic suspense novel centers around the theme of reincarnated lovers from the Civil War Era. The male character has been regressed by hypnosis, knows the past tragic history, and he is seeking the woman who has been reborn in this lifetime as his soul mate. When he finds her, the two begin a beautiful romance only to learn they are being plunged back into almost the same dangerous fate that once took their lives prematurely in another time and place.
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                  PROLOGUE

Adrian Alexander had known from the first moment he met her at the Indian Summer Art and Craft Show in Ashville, North Carolina -- known with absolute certainty that could only come from the overwhelming soulful connection he felt when he'd looked deep into her soft, wide brown eyes, known she was the one he'd been waiting for, hoping for, dreaming of...


Since then, he'd been watching her from afar, not yet prepared to approach her because the timing had to be perfect. He knew with all the spiritual fire in his soul that the tall, sylphlike, copper-haired young woman named Sara Colton was his soul mate -- but did she know? Did she sense the riveting connection when their eyes locked that day in October? She'd paused when he'd asked the price of her exquisite pottery, stared at him a second too long, just enough pause for her bewilderment to show, then concealed it by a lovely smile, graciously answering his question.


He thought he'd seen a moment of recognition in her wide-eyed expression, but then maybe he was only imagining it? Adrian wondered how much she knew, how much she'd allowed herself to remember? Or had she suppressed it as he'd tried unsuccessfully to do? Did she have nightmares, waking visions...the uncomprehending fleeting images that left her weak and shaken?


Adrian swung around sharply, showering snow from his skis. He stood hidden in deep woods, the massive evergreens atop the misty snow-covered mountain providing cover as he lifted binoculars to his eyes. Down in Laurel Cove, he saw the two-story rough-hewn log farmhouse, drifts of deep-piled snow banked against stone chimneys and the wide porch; leafless maples and oaks cast thin-streaked shadows over the yard, cedars heavy with snowfall.


He saw the back door open, the familiar flash of long coppery hair and then Sara emerged, heading directly for her pottery studio, a large, aged-plank barn about a quarter mile from the house.  She tramped ruggedly through the snow, her boots leaving fresh footprints as she hurried to the studio.


Before going inside, she stopped and turned to look up toward Blue Mountain, where he stood. He focused the binoculars sharply on her face, unable to avoid a quick intake of breath at her remarkable beauty. Her pale creamy skin was sprinkled with freckles across the upturned nose and high cheekbones, huge, expressive brown eyes staring as though aware of something on the mountaintop, lips opening, lightly parted as though about to speak. Then she turned abruptly, the thick, copper hair swinging below her shoulders as she shoved through the doorway.


He felt like he'd been with her, standing next to her there by the barn, and had to wrench himself away from the sight of the closed door. And the piercing ache, it came like a plunge off a sheer drop when he went down a mountainside on skis; fear and excitement, wonder and discovery...mingled with that awful, fierce longing to possess her, to love her and perhaps fulfill their destiny in this lifetime.


Adrian put the binoculars away, stood there a moment longer watching the sun lower behind a mountain, wondering again how much she sensed of their shared past lifetime? Did she instinctively find herself compelled with soulful longing to find a man she was afraid didn't exist? But that if he did, she'd know it when they met?


Somehow, some way he had to reach her, show her that theirs could be a love meant to be; that their mutual past tragic lives together might indeed grant them a future, another chance for happiness in this lifetime. He recited to himself a quote by H. Fielding Hall:

"Love does not die with the body...it lives forever and ever, through incarnation after incarnation... Love is stronger than death.  Not any dogmas of religion, not any philosophy, nothing in this world, nothing in the next, shall prevent him who loves from the certainty of rejoining some time the soul he loves."

Adrian zigzagged back along the mountaintop, skis hissing as he swung in and out between the spiraling trees; it was exhilarating to feel the sting of frigid air on his face. He braced into the driving wind as he crested the peak and bent low, soaring off the mountain, skis singing on snow. One way or another, he hoped he could help Sara Colton remember what he did -- that they had lived and loved before in another lifetime.

                          * * * * * *


Joe Compton parked near the motel, left the van idling, smoking and waiting, disgusted with the foul weather. California was sunny and warm year round, what he was used to, but winter in Gatlinburg, Tennessee made him wish to hell he'd never had this bright idea to begin with.

He saw his wife Donna look out the motel door at the end of the building, her tweezed eyebrows lifting archly; he shook his head and she disappeared. Damn woman had to learn some patience!

Lowering the window, he tossed his cigarette butt out the van window and saw Adrian round the corner, come walking along the sidewalk, pause to lean his skis against the wall as he dug keys out of his pockets, then unlock the door and go inside the room.

Joe snickered wickedly, thought again how clever his plan was, and then backed out of the lot, drove on down to their unit, parked the van. He got out, met Donna at the door and slipped into the stuffy motel room, taking off his coat and asking, "Didn't I tell you to stay put?"

"Yeah, you did...but ain't like I got nothing else to do."

"Christ, will you get off my back? This kinda thing takes time, months, I done told you."

He pushed a pile of clothing off the bed, tumbled down and stretched out, folding his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "Donna, you gotta remember you're not that hick from Texas anymore, you're my wife, babe. We been all over L.A. and Hollywood, couldn't make it as actors so now we gonna do one big score here that'll last us a lifetime."

She edged onto the bed, asked, "Adrian Alexander, huh? He's here just like you found out?"

"Yeah babe. And I been trailing him around, he's working as a ski instructor at this resort here, real weird dude. Think he's about to scope out a gal, red-headed looker. Anyways, it won't ruin our score."  He watched her pop chewing gum.

Donna grinned at him, and he said, "Christ, I wish to hell you'd get that stringy brown hair cut, lose that extra weight."

"I will soon. That bank robbery you pulled, it really gave us the money to hole up here for this job, didn't it?"

Joe looked at the suitcase of money near the TV. "Yeah, and it's gotta last for a few months."

"You sure know how to plan ahead," Donna said, as he pulled her alongside him and they began discussing the details.


                  END PROLOGUE



                   CHAPTER ONE


Sara looked fondly at the clutter in her rustic potter's studio. It was warm inside from the wood-burning heater, and even though the snow was melting rapidly outdoors, she always felt cozily isolated in her workshop whatever the weather.

She stamped the snow and mud off her boots, took off her parka and hung it on the wall hook, knotted her loose hair into a tight bun. The woodsmoke mingled with the earthen clay scent and she loved the particularly rich smell; it reminded her of being close to the earth, part of it, at one with earth, fire and water, all the elemental basics in the craft of pottery.

Surveying the large, open interior of the converted barn, Sara again felt content at the arrangement without any waste of space. Just past the doorway, she looked to her left at the warm-glowing heater; a bit of space, then the open racks of wood shelves for air-drying her pots before firing; a long counter above which hung cutting wires, a needle for testing clay thickness, fettling knives, a wire loop for trim work, brushes for glazing. The counter had small elephant ear sponges, wooden modeling tools, plaster bats, various instruments used in pottery, and a small banding wheel turntable.

She walked toward the far end, looking with pride at the wood-firing pottery kiln, which she'd had built to her specifications so that she could conjure up her visions of art as oil or electric oven-firing would never allow. It was on a concrete foundation five inches thick, occupied the entire back area, chimney going out the roof, complete with cast brick wicket door with spy holes, arched crown, firebox and fluebox with damper -- giving her a measure of control over the firing process. A stack of larch wood was nearby, which had been aged a year to get the moisture out of it, soaked in paraffin  before use in the firebox for a slower burn to warm up the kiln.

Continuing along the opposite wall, Sara got clay out of the damp box, took off the plastic, inspected it to make sure it had been wedged, no air bubbles to trip her fingers on and throw it off center, and formed it into a rounded ball at the workbench. Then she got water from the sink in a small pail, several tools, a plaster bat and moistened it, put a little slip on the wheel-head of the pottery wheel, sat down in position. She made sure the plaster bat was anchored securely with several wads of clay, then threw down the rounded ball of grapefruit-sized clay as close to center as possible, began kicking the wheel very fast, bracing her elbows on the bars and occasionally moistening her hands in the water, pushing the clay toward the center of the wheel with both hands, making it rise up gradually in a cone shape.

As always, the feel of clay beneath her hands was primitive, satisfying; she knew instinctively how to work it expertly, creatively. Sara cupped her left hand around the cone and pressed down with the flat of her right hand, forcing the clay down again and beginning to flatten the cone, repeating the motion over and over, coning up and pushing down until the clay stopped wobbling, hitting her hands evenly. She marveled at the smooth and symmetrical shape of clay now, intuitively knowing how to achieve this process quickly while others had to practice endlessly to perfect it.

She contained the revolving clay by cupping fingers of both hands around it, continuously kicking the wheel, reducing the speed somewhat, lubricating with water when necessary. Pushing her thumbs into the clay, she pressed downward to form a well, widening it by pressing thumbs into it again, pulling the clay toward the edges of the hole.

Sighing contentedly, Sara supported the clay with one hand, put the fingers of her other hand into the opening and pulled the clay out to widen the base, spreading the clay to the edges of the pot until the base reached desired width. She sponged the excess water that was collecting on the bottom, then checked the thickness of the bottom by holding the needle perpendicular to the bottom and sticking it in until she hit the bat.

"Perfect!" she said aloud.

Pulling the clay up so that it began to rise in a cylinder, Sara placed one hand inside the form, fingers touching the inside wall of the pot, her other fingers opposite the inside hand on the outside of the pot, lowering to the base, exerting even pressure with both hands until a slight ridge developed, pulling the clay upward evenly, letting the ridge rise above her fingers as she pulled. She was especially careful during this phase, making sure the pull was in one continuous motion, lifting clay from bottom to top of the cylinder to keep even wall thickness. She repeated this deliberate, concentrated work, depending on her instinct to mold the pot into a desired height and thinness, making sure the top didn't flare out. Then, studying it, she felt it was just as she'd planned, began smoothing the top of the cylinder with a damp elephant ear sponge.

And lastly, she trimmed the excess clay from the outside of the base with a wooden tool, removed excess clay from the bat to hasten drying, and to make it easier to remove the pot. She gently took the bat off the wheel-head by loosening it with a fettling knife, careful not to damage the bat.

She studied the results, let it dry to the leather-hard stage, did some minor trimming and finished the remainder of the process, took the cylinder from the bat, sponged the rim and set it on the wood rack to dry for a week or so before firing.

As she tidied up the studio, putting away instruments, Sara was glad she'd finished the pot; it would be left to dry along with the other pieces until she returned from a two-week Christmas trip to visit her parents in Newton, Virginia. She planned to fire and glaze the pieces in January, as well as add more to the collection before April, when she opened her log farmhouse, Spring Moon Bed & Breakfast, to the public again. Tourist flocked to the Smoky Mountains in early spring, and since her property in Laurel Cove bordered the misty Appalachian Mountains of Tennessee, it was an ideal location.

Sara washed her hands, thinking again of how her mother, father and younger sister, Leala now sixteen, had thought her decision to relocate near the Smokies a mistake. They had never understood her abandoning a lucrative career as a CPA in Washington D.C., leaving the ideal home they provided just an hour outside that city --  a restored 1790s Federal period mansion which they had turned into a profitable country inn. It had been difficult to leave her childhood home, the place she'd been loved and cherished for twenty-six years, the memories all wonderful except for...

She shook her head, refused to relive the confusion of some of her unusual behavior when younger, and went to make sure the fire was banked, would die in the wood heater. Then, pulling on the parka, she flicked off the lights and stepped out into the deepening twilight.

If she lived here the rest of her life, and she intended to, Sara thought she'd never take for granted the awesome beauty of winter snow-crested mountainpeaks, the smoky-blue haze of tremendous summer evergreens -- the year-round pristine features of the natural landscape.

She stood in front of the studio, eyes lifting to the sharp snow-hazed peak of Blue Mountain shadowing her property to the east. To the west, another series of jagged mountains tapered off into the far distance. Spectacular didn't even come near the right adjective.

Staring reverently at the log farmhouse, her footprints melted now, patches of the grayish ground showing here and there, Sara thought again of how right it felt to be here for the past two years. From the moment she'd visited Cades Cove (which was only ten miles away when the road through the mountain pass wasn't closed in winter) she'd known that she was close to home here in Laurel Cove, exactly where she belonged.

Maybe no one else agreed with her, certainly not her family who felt she'd forsaken her Virginia roots. But the instant she saw Cades Cove, Sara had been compelled to come back, again and again, until at last she couldn't leave. The other peculiar feelings associated with Cades Cove, she avoided remembering... hurrying through the frigid evening to the house.

Entering the back door, she called, "Marge, I'm back!"

A middle-aged, robust lady said, "I have dinner ready, a big fire going, you ready to eat?" She wore a neat blue-denim dress, scarf at the neck, her gray-streaked hair stylishly short, complimenting her blue eyes and friendly smile.

Sara said, "Yes, I'm starved."  And she was grateful that Marge was such an excellent cook, hostess and all-around capable lady. A widow who lived at Spring Moon from early spring until the Christmas season, when she returned with Sara to Virginia and spent the winter months with her only daughter, Marge was indispensable help with the guests. She kept things running smoothly, while adding the special touches that visitors often wrote Sara they loved at Spring Moon Bed & Breakfast. Marge's expertise was the result of many years working with Sara's mother in the family business, Colton Inn.

Sara pulled off her parka, hung it on the coat rack, undone her hair, and washed up, then joined Marge in the dining room, a fire blazing before them in the fieldstone fireplace. She never tired of the charming decor Marge had helped her design; it was pure country elegance. The log walls, the polished pine floors and open-beamed ceilings... every room graced with deceptively simple, casual ornaments that were authentic American pioneer antiques. The two-story house had four large rooms downstairs, an alcove office in the entry hallway, and a modern kitchen with a small bedroom/bath for Marge; upstairs, there were four bedrooms, each with a bathroom, three available rooms for guests.

As they ate the tasty stew Marge had cooked, chatting idly about the upcoming holidays, Sara realized she would miss the older woman's companionship during January, February and March; but Marge deserved the time with her family. And besides, Sara knew she needed the seclusion to work on pottery.

Agreeing that the weather would be suitable for traveling tomorrow, Sara went up to her bedroom to pack while Marge did likewise in her downstairs bedroom.

Stepping into her bedroom, Sara smiled at how it contrasted with the rest of the rustic house; her room was romantic, warmly inviting, distinctly feminine. Vintage rose wallpaper complimented a brass bed with matching rose coverlet, bed ruffle and lacy pillowshams, a flowery carpet rug on the floor.

Dried rose flower arrangements were placed on the bedside Queen Anne tea table, a Sheraton dresser with mirror and a small white sugar chest; a cheval mirror was in one corner, near a large walk-in closet where she grabbed a suitcase and began selecting clothing to pack. The thought of being gone for even two weeks, naturally an enjoyable reunion with her family, still filled her with bleak emptiness. Sara chided herself harshly, feeling foolish for the inexplicable loneliness already clutching at her heart.

If she ever dwelled on it very long, Sara became frustrated, so she fought the obsession she felt for the area, tried to put it in perspective. However, she knew that her talent for pottery was in some way born of this same obsession, a driving desire that obliterated sensible rationalizing. Her instinctive talent for pottery making, her compulsion to live near Cades Cove...these were unreasonable and inexplicable, yet as necessary as breathing.

For a brief moment, Sara had a vivid flashback of the time she'd first seen the cabin in Cades cove, the overwhelming images that flooded her mind, sent her running away...her heart aching with lostness and longing.

She quickly pushed it aside, went down to join Marge for hot chocolate and conversation by the fireside. But when she went to bed, Sara couldn't  fall asleep, tossing restlessly until after midnight.

At length she dozed, then went deeper and deeper asleep...the nightmare creeping into her slumber, slipping ominously into her peaceful rest, flaring images of being in a dark place, her heart beating wildly, her feeling of sadness, her name echoing: Rebekah, Rebekah, Rebekah...footsteps coming, the fear growing... loud, shouting male voices, a gunshot, the piercing burn in her back...  Then, floating, floating in a bright swirl of light...

Awakening with a start, she sat upright, heart pounding, eyes wide, relieved by the ever-present nightlight glow. Why, why did she have these vivid recurring nightmares? Since age twelve, when they began, she'd been plagued by these shattering images, an irrational fear of the dark...and only when she'd visited Cades Cove did she come to realize that in some unfathomable way, the nightmares and Cades Cove were connected. But how? She didn't want to acknowledge it, but perhaps she was experiencing extrasensory phenomena... receiving the psychic images of a long-ago murder, of the girl Rebekah's death...?

Shuddering, Sara ran a hand through her tangled hair, deliberately forcing the harrowing nightmare out of her thoughts, resigned to live with the plaguing dreams, unable to understand or comprehend what seemed infinitely unknowable.

Pulling the quilt up, she snuggled down and tried to get some sleep for the trip tomorrow, knowing it would be exhausting and just the beginning of a long holiday until she could return to her beloved mountains.



                 END CHAPTER




                   CHAPTER TWO


Adrian spent Christmas alone, the day dragging by, even though he'd loved the festivities leading up to the day in Gatlinburg. The city buzzed with excitement, he'd learned, being told the special events following Thanksgiving were called Twelve Days of Christmas, featuring Yule-log-burnings, a parade, choral festivals and a 26 foot tall Living Christmas Tree and succession of creatively decorated trees.

But he'd been alone on Christmas, disappointed to have discovered that Sara Colton had deserted the farmhouse. He figured she went to visit family; he'd thought of doing the same thing, but it would have involved a long flight to L.A. Instead, he volunteered to work at the ski lodge during the season, and stayed busy with tourist through New Year's.

Yet he never failed to think of Sara; he went skiing past her land almost every day, and was standing on Blue Mountain when she returned Sunday afternoon, two days after New Year's. He watched her lug the suitcase from the garage to the house, her white coat with the fur collar turned up to almost obscure her face.

The sight of her elated him, and he focused the binoculars on her going up the steps, across the wide plank porch and then standing there, searching for her keys. He could see her gloved hands awkwardly plunge into her purse, her face anxious as she rummaged, then jerked the keys out and unlocked the door.

When she'd disappeared inside, Adrian focused on the brown Volvo by her garage; it was smudged with mud and grim from travel. He wondered where her parents lived? Obviously some distance, otherwise she'd not have been gone for two entire weeks. And what had prompted her to live here in Laurel Cove? Did she know more than he had anticipated?

As he traversed the mountainside on skis, Adrian hoped the meeting he wanted could be arranged soon...

              * * * *

Several days later, Sara was engrossed in her pottery studio when she heard the weather forecaster on the radio give warnings for snow. The front was approaching fast from the west, and there were predictions for a foot of snowfall in the low-lying valleys, more in the mountains by Friday morning.

She hastened to complete her day's work, then did some outside chores in preparation for the frigid conditions, piling bulky hay around the porches for extra insulation against the wind, getting a shovel out of the garage. She pulled the Volvo inside the garage, and checked theMazda 4X4 making sure it was ready to be driven if necessary.

Surveying the wood pile, Sara was glad she'd had a load delivered in case the electricity went off. She took an armload inside, closing the back door behind her, heading down the hallway that bisected the four downstairs rooms.

Entering the parlor, she put the wood down on the brick hearth, stacking several pieces in the iron grate. She struck a match to the kindling, got the fire started and then went to the kitchen pantry and located the kerosene lanterns, checking to make sure each one was operational in case of power failure.

After a bowl of hot soup, she snuggled down on the overstuffed parlor sofa with an afghan Marge had given her for Christmas, and let the warm memories of her holiday visit flood her. It had been a wonderful, happy gathering; her mother was in fine form, had several anniversary and honey moon couples at the inn for Christmas dinner which featured the chef's exquisite culinary talents. Her father was well, seemingly content with his retirement from the Washington D.C. law firm where he'd spent his entire legal career. He did express an interest in her invitation for him and Leala to visit during spring break...maybe they'd both come for a week then.

Leala had spent the past two spring breaks with her. And her mother might get away from the inn sometimes next autumn, a good time for enjoying the colorful leaves and craft festivals where Sara often exhibited and sold pottery.

Sara put on a Fleetwood Mac CD, got a paperback mystery she'd started, and curled up on the sofa. The fire blazed; the wind picked up outside, howling around the eaves of the house, and she felt utterly content. As the hours passed, she read and occasionally peeked out to see the snow swirling madly in the hard wind, beginning to thicken and pile up in drifts across the front yard. The book was good, and she lost track of time, finally falling asleep on the sofa.

A loud banging on the door awakened her, and she was startled, disorientated...then realized she'd fallen asleep on the sofa, and jumped up, feeling a pain strike in her stiff neck.

The banging started again insistently, this time a male voice calling, "Is anyone here?"

Sara was instantly on-guard. What was a man doing at her door in the middle of the night? The sign by the driveway announced the Bed & Breakfast was closed and as she glanced at the clock, she saw it was indeed near midnight.


"I need some help, my car went off in the ditch!" he yelled, pounding again at the door.


Sara tried to smooth out her wrinkled fleece sweatshirt, running a hand distractedly through her loose hair, heading into the hallway and going directly to the front door. "Yes, just a minute, please."


"I just need to use a phone."


She hesitated another moment, suddenly aware she'd forgotten to put her shoes back on and was standing in her socks. The wood floor was like ice beneath her feet, and she fidgeted back and forth on each foot, flipping on the porch light. She peeked out the narrow, oblong window, saw a male bundled up from head to foot in thick coat, toboggan, ear muffs, gloves...a puff of white breath steaming from his shadowed face.


Unlocking the door, she kept the safety chain on, asking through the tiny crack, "What happened?"


"I ran off the road out there, my Austin Healey is deep in the ditch, a real mess."

Shuffling movements, then: "I should have had better sense than to go out in such a small vehicle, but...I didn't know the road would get so bad."


"And you just need to call a wrecker? You aren't hurt?" Sara could see the small car angled dangerously in the ditch across the road.


"No, I'm fine. I had on my seat belt, only got a few cuts."


Sara jerked open the door, exclaiming, "You're hurt!"


He looked up then, and their eyes met; Sara smothered a gasp, felt herself sinking, sinking... a swirling sensation in her mind, unable to think clearly as he stared intently from light blue eyes, almost a sky-blue in their searching gaze that held her spellbound.


Where had she met him before? Because as sure as she was standing here looking at this man, she'd been with him before...and it felt as though she knew him intimately, not just casually. That just couldn't be, she told herself, since she'd only been intimate with one other man...and it sure wasn't this handsome stranger.


Adrian held her eyes with his; it was there, he knew it would be! Somewhere deep in her subconscious, buried maybe, but even so, she recognized him...it was there as vividly in her luminous brown eyes as if she'd spoken it aloud.

He smiled, flashing his white teeth, saying, "I'm sorry, I know it's late, but if I could just use a phone?"

Sara mumbled, "Forgive me, yes, but...are you hurt?" She stepped aside, opening the door wider.


He carefully stamped snow off his boots, dusted off his clothing, then edged inside. "No, just this nick here on my face, and I'll probably be stiff and sore tomorrow."


She saw the thin scratch on his cheekbone, and couldn't help staring at his strong, ruggedly handsome features, a cleft chin and square jawline, but his empyrean blue eyes had a dreamy, far-off quality to them, oddly incongruous with his muscular, lumberjack build and formidable masculine presence filling the narrow hallway.


"I'm glad you are okay, there's a phone in the kitchen."


He removed his toboggan, raking a gloved hand through dark blond hair that had sunstreaks through the tousled, thick strands covering his head, falling just below his ears, the most magnificent mane she'd ever seen on a man. "If you'll just follow me," she said.


Adrian followed her down the hallway, getting a glimpse of the informal parlor with fire smoldering in the grates; he noted the primitive decor, not fooled by the simplicity of authentic pioneer antiques. The room across from the parlor had shelving from floor to ceiling, two walls holding what was obviously her pottery; and two walls holding books. Small Americana touches like early lighting devices, heart utensils, baskets and dried flower arrangements made it an attractive and interesting room.


As they entered the kitchen, he said, "I sure hope I can find a wrecker to come get my car."


"In this weather, it might be difficult to get one out here quickly."


She stood by a small pine trestle table with slat-back chairs, arms folded across her chest, her long red hair falling in disarray to her shoulders, and Adrian thought he'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. For all he'd known, his soul mate could have been reborn as less physically appealing...but that her spirit was clothed in astounding physical beauty, was indeed fortunate.


Clearing his throat, he removed his gloves, asking, "Do you have a phone book?"


Sara got it, and as she watched him search for a wrecker to call, she wondered why he looked at her oddly, as though he could see past her outer physical appearance deep into her soul? She was compelled to stay nearby, look at him, feeling, wanting to touch him...halting her thoughts with sharp surprise. What was wrong with her? He was a complete stranger! The shock of that errant thought brought a flush to her face, and she glanced at the rack of knives over the stoves.


He saw her fear, and said quietly, "By the way, my name is Adrian Alexander; I'm really sorry to barge in on you like this, and I appreciate you letting me use your phone. In this day and age, you never can tell who to let inside your home. I'm working at Ober Gatlinburg as a ski instructor and I have some identification here."  He took out his wallet, riffled through it to find what he wanted.


Sara thought his name sounded familiar, but she couldn't remember when or where she'd heard it before. "Your credit card is about to expire," she told him, giving it a quick look.


He picked up the phone, began dialing and smiled at her. "Yeah, is this...  Right, right... I had an accident, my car's in a ditch...  What?"


She watched him grimace, then add, "I see, all the wreckers around here are busy. When can you get someone out to Laurel Cove?"


Sara shifted from one foot to the other, her feet freezing in the socks.

"You're sure, not till tomorrow? Yeah, well, buddy I sure wasn't planning on this either. No, no...that'll do. let me give you the directions." And he launched into the location and situation of his car.

Sara motioned toward the hall, and went to get her Reeboks, pulled them on and as she walked back into the kitchen, Adrian was looking out the dark, snow-flecked window. "I tried to get a cab, couldn't..."


"I have a Mazda 4X4 out in the garage. I could drive you back to where you are staying."


"I don't think that's a good idea. You should see the roads, none cleared, the snow is ice-glazed...we might just end up in another accident, only worse."


Sara didn't particularly want him to stay, but what alternative was there? "I do have guest accommodations here, since this is a Bed & Breakfast."


"Yeah, that'd be great. I could stay here overnight, get my car out tomorrow... Oh, I'll pay the going rate, just put it on my credit card."  He turned from the window, smiling. "I confess I saw the sign out front, but thought you might let me have a room anyway."


"I close the business during winter months, but this is kind of an emergency." She returned his smile, forcing her eyes not to lock into his.


Adrian asked, "And your name?"


"Oh, sorry. Sara Colton."


"No husband?"


For an instant, she almost lied; what if he was dangerous? But then she looked into his blue eyes and shook her head. "No, I'm not married."


"Look, I know this is disturbing, me appearing in the night, but I assure you that I'm not a threat. Okay?" Adrian knew this was the first difficulty he had to deal with -- put her at ease, get her to trust him, not fear him. Because he had to be near her, had to be with her alone long enough to learn if she had any memory of their past lives...or if it was entirely a blank to her.


Sara said slowly, "I have guests most of the year, but there is a lady who is here with me, and there are reservations in advance. Yes, this is an odd situation, but I am aware you have had an accident, and need lodging."


Adrian trailed her down the hallway into the parlor. "Thanks, I'm grateful for your hospitality."


"I have three rooms upstairs, and you can have one of those."


He went to the fire, leaned down to warm his hands, then straightened and slipped out of his coat, looked at her sitting nervously on the edge of the sofa. God, he didn't want to scare her...that was the last thing he'd ever want to do! No, he just had to be with her, close to her and observe her long enough to see if there was even the faintest glimmer of recognition, understanding, intuition...of what he already knew about their shared past lives. If not, he'd promised himself he'd never, never harm her...not intrude on her life here and now, even if it meant he couldn't be with her in this lifetime. But he had to know...


She couldn't understand his scrutiny, the way his dreamy blue eyes gazed almost longingly at her, the gentle expression stealing across his wide, rugged face. Sara stood, said, "I'll show you to your room now."


"Okay. I never should have tried to drive tonight."


"You're lucky you didn't get killed," Sara said, heading down the hall, climbing the stairs and stopping outside a bedroom door that was on the opposite end of the hall from her room.


"I know, but I... Oh, never mind. Again, thanks for the room."


She gave him the key, and just as he took it their hands touched briefly; Sara felt a sharp surge of awareness, as though her body had suddenly been exposed to an electric shock, and thought she might be trembling from his nearness.


He politely stepped back, said warmly, "Good night Sara, nice meeting you."


"Yes...you too."

She walked unsteadily down the hallway to her room, stunned at the searing physical attraction she felt for Adrian Alexander.


Where had she heard that name before?


             END CHAPTER



              CHAPTER THREE

Sara went downstairs, adjusted the heat thermostat, made sure the fire was banked, turned out the lights and then hurried back up to her room, grateful for the sanctuary of privacy. Adrian's appearance out of the night had alarmed her, and she felt her hands shaking as she undressed and got into a flannel nightgown.


Turning down the covers, she again was struck by the feeling she'd met him before. And his name, Adrian Alexander, it was somehow vaguely familiar, as though she'd heard it repeatedly...but where, she couldn't recall.


After brushing her teeth, she started to bed, but detoured by the door and locked it. The strangeness of his dreamy gaze hadn't escaped her notice, even though perversely she felt he could be trusted. However, she was nothing if not cautious, and the turn of the lock made her relax a little.


She lay there thinking for what seemed a long time, the icy ping of sleet and snow hitting her windows.

                   * * * * * * *


Adrian looked around the spacious room, noting the genuine care given to small details...stenciled windowshades in a design matched in the muslin curtains, patch-work quilt on the bed and several handmade throw pillows. Country pine furniture, the poster bed with a handmade netted canopy, braided rug on the polished pine floor, tiny wooden chest, huge wardrobe with decorative feathered paint all combined to lend country charm to the room. And he thought the dried flower arrangements a nice touch, as well as the sparkling clean bath and scented soaps, an extra big closet and magazines/books by the bed with reading light.


When he turned down the quilt, a small piece of wrapped candy was near the pillow, a notecard with the words: Enjoy your stay! Adrian smiled, unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth, beginning to remove his heavy crew neck sweater, shirt and jeans, wondering about the weather.


He looked around the room, saw the radio on a desk with writing paper and pen laid out. Flicking on the radio, he lowered it and listened to the music die, an update come on requesting those not having to travel stay home. The report then included weather bulletins of a possible one-foot snowfall, the worst aspect being a sheet of ice now dangerously covering the surface, making it exceedingly treacherous to travel.


When he got into bed, Adrian felt that fate was his accomplice; the snowy weather couldn't have come at a better time. He had some time off from the lodge after his stint during the holidays, and could devote time to learning about Sara.


As he felt the exhaustion from his ordeal of ditching the Austin Healey overtaking him, Adrian had a pang of guilt; he didn't want to deceive Sara, no...he simply wanted to create a situation in which he might be able to spend time alone with her, learn if she had bad dreams, any kind of problems like he'd once experienced. Besides, he reasoned, she never had to know that he'd deliberately staged the accident...


He felt himself falling asleep, the wind at the windows the only sound in the snow-hushed landscape beyond the house.

                    * * * * * * *


A piercing scream brought Adrian wide awake! He leapt out of bed, dancing around barefoot on the cold rug, grabbing his boots and jeans, automatically pulling them on, just as the scream shattered the quiet again.


He tried the lamp; it didn't come on, which probably meant the sleet had downed treelimbs on the electric lines. Standing still, he got his bearings, eased to the window and let the shade up, a bluish-white glow from the snow outside filtering in through the naked windowpanes.


Able to see better, he crossed the room, opened his door and heard the scream again, heard it die out, then revive and finally end with an agonized sob.


He realized the unnerving screams had come from down the hall, and as he struggled into his sweater, he went quickly along the narrow hallway, groping his way in the dark. He stopped when he could hear soft sobbing, standing at a closed door, listening.


Leaning against the solid wooden door, he heard soft crying and sobbing, the unmistakable words from his past life: "Clifton, no...oh, Clifton, nooo...please, please take me with you. I love you, we can't stay here, those Rebs, they'll try to kill you."


God, he felt his heart turn over in his chest, his lips form the cherished name: "Rebekah."


Suddenly the blood-curdling scream came again, and then a sharp gasp of shock, followed by utter silence. Then muffled movement, feet hitting the floor and Sara's soft voice, "Darn, the lights are out!"


Adrian spun around, started away but he was too late; she came rushing out, ran directly into him and screamed loudly, pressing back against the hallway, holding a flashlight beam in his face, asking angrily, "What are you doing here?"


He felt himself blinking in the harsh glare of light, couldn't speak, looking at Sara's tousled long red hair, her tear-stained face, startled brown eyes and tremulous lips.


He wanted nothing so much as to take her in his arms, explain why she had the terrible nightmare, but he couldn't --not now. This was not something you messed around with; the terror of a past life's tragic death had to be handled correctly...


"I said, what are you doing out here?" She lowered the beam, still staring at him with fear in her eyes.


"I woke up, tried the lamp, saw the electricity was off..."


"There's a flashlight in your room, I forgot to tell you." She focused the beam down the hallway, said curtly, "You can go back now, I'm up and I'll get fires going, keep the house warm downstairs."


"Let me help you," he insisted, walking alongside her as she headed for the stairway.


"That's not necessary. You are a guest, and I'm certainly capable of dealing with foul weather alone." She stopped abruptly at the landing, peering at him in the shadowy darkness.


"I'm not sleepy now, what time is it?" he shivered in the coolness, commenting, "Coffee sure would be nice but..."


"It's almost daybreak, and I can offer you coffee."


"Let me build the fire then, okay?" Adrian impulsively reached for her arm as they started down the stairs, but she reflexively jerked away as though he meant to strike her, causing him the distinctly unpleasant realization that to her, he was an absolute stranger.


Sara went to the kitchen and lit the lantern, getting out an iron coffeepot, adding water and ground coffee, and thinking it was a good thing the fireplace downstairs was capable of minimal hearthside cooking. As she stood near the hearth in the kitchen, she wondered about Adrian -- why had he been outside her room?


Panic would be futile, so she forced herself to remain calm; he'd taken her by surprise, especially as she'd just come out of that nightmare in total darkness. If she hadn't put the flashlight on the tea table by her bed, she'd never been able to deal with that suffocating feeling of being trapped in darkness.


Sara heard his heavy footsteps approaching, and he came into the kitchen, had a load of wood and began building the fire. "You're lucky you have all these fireplaces. At least you can keep warm when the electric heat is off."


"Yes, and I have a wood heater in the pottery studio, so that allows me to work through the winter months." She studiously watched him, observing the wide spread of his muscular shoulders, his athletic build, a body seemingly in perfect physical condition. His longish mane of sunstreaked blond hair and the ruggedly appealing features of his face gave him an outdoorsman appearance.


He suddenly smiled up at her, asking, "How's this?"


Flames licked at the wood, a crackling, hissing sound never more welcome, and she exclaimed, "Great! Now let me set up the spider frame on the fire, fix our coffee."


"You heat it over the fire, right?"


"Of course, and even prepare a limited selection of food too...that's what these iron pots and skillets are for." She indicated the hanging iron utensils lining the kitchen fireplace. "Lots of patience involved, but it's nice at times like this."


Adrian watched her hover over the hearth, her floor-length chenille robe over flannel nightgown so like the clothing of another era... Suddenly he had a vivid flashback of Rebekah running through the deep-fallen snow toward the cantilever barn where he looked out from the loft. She was wearing a long tattered coat, her waist-length blond hair trailing behind her slender body as she ran shouting toward him, her fragile-featured face lifting to smile that familiar sad-funny smile from beneath the odd little red beret he'd given her to wear, waving and calling, "Clifton...Clifton!"


"I asked if you'd like to sit down?"


"Huh? Oh...sorry," Adrian apologized, coming out of the trancelike state with difficulty.


"Is something wrong? You look um, kinda...upset." Sara stared at his dream-glazed blue eyes, worried at the strange mood possessing him. It was truly as if he'd wandered off to a distant land, and it made her feel uneasy.


"No, well...yeah, I guess I'm just exhausted, that's all."


"If you'd like to get some more sleep, I'll be fine," she offered, sitting down in a chair at the trestle table.


He joined her, sat across the table and said, "Nah, maybe the wrecker will be here soon."


Sara shook her head, advised, "Better forget that for now. Roads won't get cleared till afternoon. Laurel Cove isn't exactly a well-traveled area, and we're last to get crews."


"That's too bad, I hate to be an imposition on you."


"No problem. I'm caught up with work, plan to fire the kiln next week, have a few free days. And I could use the rest, get away from the studio, have a tendency to work too hard here alone."


"I bought one of your pieces, back last fall at the mall in Asheville, North Carolina. It's exquisite, you have real talent."


"That must be where I met you! I knew I'd met you before, that your name sounded familiar!" Sara was flooded with relief, realizing that brief meeting explained so much she'd been feeling: The uncanny sense they'd been together before, that his name was somehow known...even recalling how deeply touched she'd been by their momentary exchange, his arresting blue eyes lingering on her for what seemed a little too long.


Adrian knew he didn't dare correct her; it would shatter the seemingly safe, comfortable explanation of her odd feeling his presence was evoking from their past lives. He'd have to wait until he could gain her complete trust and faith. That would take some time...


She made them cups of coffee, put candles on the table and lit them, brought out pastry and said, "This is a poor offering for breakfast, nothing like our usual menu."


He smiled, sipped the coffee and replied, "This is fine. Look, day is breaking outside."


Sara turned to stare out the kitchen window that faced east, saw the gradual lightening of the gloomy skyline, snow-showers still swirling lazily in the frosty air. She drank coffee, nibbling on the pastry,

asking, "Are you expected back at the lodge today?"


"No, you see...I was on my way to visit a friend south of here. I have some time off and..."


"Lucky you don't have to get back today, this weather is typical of January. I've seen this the past two years I've been here."


"Where did you move from?" He leaned forward, eager to learn as much as possible about Sara Colton.


"Newton, Virginia," she said, launching into a short, impersonal background history, prompted by his questions...leaving out the peculiar feelings that had brought her back to the area.


He sighed, picked up his coffee cup, stood and went to lean against the kitchen counter, asking casually, "No serious relationships?"


Sara avoided his question, asked, "Where are you from?"


Adrian didn't want to lie, but this wasn't the time to tell her about his background; it would ruin what progress he'd made. The fact that she hadn't already recognized him was to his advantage and he shrugged. "Here and there..."


"You must live in Gatlinburg, since you said you are a ski instructor at Ober..."


"Actually, I do live near the ski resort...but I'm not a year-round resident." He hesitated, then added, "I was an Olympic hopeful in my teens, but didn't quite make the grade as a world-class ski competitor."

Pausing, he looked around the cozy kitchen, changed the subject, "You must get seasonal tourist here?"


"Yes." She wondered why he was evasive about his personal background, if he'd been crushed by defeat, discouraged by not winning a place in the Olympics? Or was he, like herself, merely reluctant to openly discuss personal issues?


Adrian saw the concern on her face, and to divert her attention, decided to take a bold chance. "Sara, this is awkward...and this is the oldest line in the world, but I feel like I've known you forever."


Oddly, she felt exactly the same, but couldn't fathom why and had no intention of inviting this bizarre line of conversation. Abruptly she stood, avoided him as she went to gaze out the kitchen window. "Looks as if the weather hasn't improved."


Adrian told himself to slow down, go easy; alienating her was the worst possible thing he could do. He drained his coffee cup, said politely, "Thanks for the coffee, guess I'll go up to my room awhile."


Sara was relieved, but glanced at him as he went to the doorway, reluctantly advising, "It's probably colder upstairs, it'd be better to stay here until the heat has spread upstairs more."


Adrian paused in the doorway, looked back just as she sneezed, heard her say, "I shouldn't have walked on that cold floor last night practically barefoot."


"That was my fault. I'm sure I surprised you by arriving so late."


She shook her head, went to get a box of Kleenex from Marge's bedroom, which was just off the kitchen. When she returned, Adrian was sitting at the table, pouring himself another cup of coffee.


"I hope you don't mind?" He smiled, revealing even white teeth, a contrast to his tanned face.


"No, please help yourself." Sara felt a cold coming on, her head throbbing with a dull ache, sinuses beginning to get stuffy, and worried it would interfere with her work. She got a bottle of Vitamin C from the cabinet, took a couple and washed them down with a glass of water.


"I sure hope you're not getting the flu." Adrian looked closely at her flushed face, concerned she might be feverish.


"Not the flu, probably just a typical head cold from the chill last night."


"Then it is definitely my fault." He got up, went to where she stood looking out the kitchen window, asked, "Do you have a fever?"


Suddenly she felt his hand on her forehead, and flinched; he let his hand drop to her shoulder, turned her slightly toward him and said, "Let me see if you feel too warm?"


Sara succumbed to his solicitous ministrations, allowed him to place his large hand against her forehead, felt him very close to her, his tall, muscular body almost touching her...which she found comforting instead of threatening. Sighing, she said, "I hope I can prevent the worst of it."


His hand fell away, and he looked down into her brown eyes. "I think you have just a bit of temperature. Is there a thermometer in the house?"


"Yes...I believe Marge keeps it in the downstairs bathroom." She saw he was staring down at her intently, then she felt his hand move beneath her chin to tilt her head toward the light from the window. She watched his rugged face melt with tenderness and his blue eyes got a faraway gleam, as he gently let his hand smooth away a stray strand of hair from her forehead.


Adrian was moved beyond words, feeling the overpowering but indescribable joy of having been reunited with the soul he'd searched for all his adult life. How could he convey this wondrous elation to her without alarming her unduly? He wanted to embrace her, tell her they belonged together, but simply said, "I feel like I've known you forever, Sara Colton."


And with his mesmerizing gaze upon her, she heard herself admit, "Yes, I...feel we have known each other longer than just a few hours."


"Please, Sara, don't be afraid of your instincts. Let you intuition guide you where I'm concerned."


He reluctantly moved away, said distractedly, "Now about that temperature..."


Sara coughed, put the Kleenex over her mouth, and when able, said, "I'll get the thermometer," and walked into Marge's bedroom, went to the bathroom, found it and returned.


Adrian was standing near the hearth, his back to the blazing fire, and watched her pop the thermometer in her mouth, sit down at the table. He wanted to put her at ease, and said slowly, "I know it seems unbelievable, but Sara...if you will let me, I think I can help you understand why we both feel this incredible sense of knowing one another."


She stared at him warily, wondering if he was a nut case? After all, she told herself, he was a complete stranger and she was alone with him...


"I know you think I'm a bit strange, that what you feel is peculiar...but, let's forget about that for now. What's the temp?" He'd seen the fear in her eyes, the anxiety in her tense stiffness and knew he was about to ruin his chances if he'd didn't back off quickly.


"Hmm, it's only a tiny bit over normal." Sara got to her feet, avoided his hypnotic stare and crossed the kitchen, saying, "I think I'll go back to my bedroom, lie down. I have a fireplace and can..."


"Let me build you a fire, I'll get the wood."


Before she could protest, he was out the back door and left her no alternative but to wait for his return. As she watched through the kitchen window, he went to the wood pile, began searching for choice pieces, wiping snow off them and balancing the best ones in his arms. She had a sudden flash of deja vu, feeling she'd done this before with him...causing a shiver of precognition to run through her.


What was it about him that elicited this profound feeling of instant recognition, she wondered? It was scary and totally unlike anything she'd ever experienced in her life... Except, she realized with a pang, it did remind her of when she'd first seen Cades Cove and how right it felt to return, that it was where she belonged... that she'd come home at last.


And somehow, she got that same sensation of belonging when near Adrian Alexander... But what did it mean?


              END CHAPTER



               CHAPTER FOUR

Adrian strode through the door, kicked it closed behind him and shook his thick mane of blond hair, snow-spray showering off him. "Whew! It's cold out there!"


Sara commented, "Yes, and still hasn't stopped snowing entirely."


He followed her along the hallway, up the stairs and into her room, where he stood staring at the dawn-lit windows. It was ultra-feminine decor, the sheer silky curtains filtering the pale daylight over a brass bed, coverlet of rose design still crumpled from her night's sleep. He felt a brief tug of desire at seeing the bed where Sara had slept, saying quickly, "I'll get that fire going."


She stood just inside the door, flipped on a lamp that had a scarf draped over it to mute the light, feeling somehow unprepared for his presence in her private space. And yet, as he prepared the kindling, struck a match to it, she had that odd feeling of being comfortable with him, that his being here was not an invasion of privacy...


He spoke in a quiet voice, "Sara, I'm going back downstairs, see if I can get the wrecker service on the phone. But if you need anything, just let me know. I think you should stay in here, keep warm, not invite trouble with that cold."


"Yes, I will." She walked over and sat down in one of the pink velvet armchairs near the fireplace. "Adrian, why were you outside my bedroom earlier?"


The question caught him off-guard and he replied honestly, "Your screams awakened me."


"I thought so." Sara smoothed her robe, asked, "Did it scare you?"


"No..." he hesitated, waiting for the fire to catch, staring into the erupting flames, hearing the snap and crack of wood, then stood, looked down at her sober expression. "What I'm going to say may startle you, but please don't let it frighten you, okay?" He had to risk this, had to help her if at all possible.


"I'm already afraid, scared that...you...that I..." She shook her head, confused and unable to articulate the feelings he evoked in her.


Adrian sat down in the armchair across from her, measuring his words: "Sara I can help you understand your nightmares."


She gasped, felt her heart race at his words: How did he know she was having nightmares? Then she swallowed hard, reminding herself he had merely guessed it, due to her screams.


"No, I didn't just assume you had a nightmare because I heard your screams." He paused, saw her lean back and close her eyes, lips trembling. "You've been having them a long time, haven't you?"


"God yes! And how I hate it, how I'd like to be rid of them!" She opened her eyes, stared at him blankly.


He decided to take a bold gamble, and got up, moved close to her and whispered, "Rebekah, Rebekah..."


She jerked forward, brown eyes riveted on him. "You heard me scream her name, didn't you?"


"No." He took a long moment to consider again if he should do this. He desperately wanted to tell her everything he had gone through himself... but it had happened when he was in his teens, and only through professional hypnotherapy had he been able to come to terms with the gruesome reality of their past lives. He was thirty now, and he still had occasional terrifying flashbacks.


She prompted, "Then how did you know the name?"


"Sara," he said softly, kneeling before her, looking into her frightened face. "I want you to tell me about your nightmares."


She wondered if he was a psychologist also? If not, why did he think he could help her? She stood abruptly, walking over to the window, staring out at the growing brightness of light reflected on the pristine snow, edging her finger nervously in circles on the frosty windowpane. "If you are a shrink, please just say so."


"Hardly! No, I'm...just a...ski instructor." Adrian began pacing. "Look, from the sound of your screams, it seems that you are afraid of something...or someone..."


"That's an understatement!" Sara snapped, turning to watch him pacing.


"Yes, it's more like panic, such terror and horror it's unspeakable." He stopped near her, capturing her eyes with his.


She saw the faraway veiled look of a mystic in his hypnotic gaze; it unnerved her, but she managed to say, "Yes. Um, my...nightmares, I've had them since I was twelve years old. Nothing seems to help, and I doubt you can."


"Would you like to tell me what happens in the dreams?" His soul ached to share the hard-won insight of a past life, his spiritual knowledge... but this wasn't something you suddenly sprang on an unsuspecting person.


"No, I can't. The only thing I can really say is that I...well, I fear that somehow the bad dreams are trying to prompt me to take action, try and...figure out what happened to this girl Rebekah in the past. Perhaps she was...murdered, and I'm picking up psychic images of it?"


"That's possible, since it's apparently a frightening situation, and when there's violent death often the restless spirit tries to communicate..."


"You don't think I'm crazy? I...my parents sent me to a psychiatrist when I was thirteen. It didn't go well. She, Dr. Crawford, thought...she seemed to think I might be suffering from hallucinations." Sara turned back to the window, appalled she'd revealed her personal pain, feeling the familiar stab of agony at her parents' worried state during that turmoil. She'd learned to keep her nightmares to herself, try and endure it silently, or be labeled a mental case.


"How do you feel about it? What are your spiritual beliefs?" He had to find out if her mind was closed to Eastern spiritual philosophy.


She walked back to the armchair, sat down and curled her legs beneath her. "My parents are Protestant and...I suppose I believe in Christian doctrine." But did she really, Sara wondered? She'd attended church dutifully as a child, but during college she'd had the normal doubts...sought to understand a variety of spiritual beliefs and had not settled on one particular path.


He asked quickly, "Why did you come to the Smokies to live?"


"My pottery is easier to distribute and sell among the many craft shops and the farmhouse is ideal for my workplace, as well as income."


"And that's the only reason you came here?" Adrian watched the conflicting emotions flicker over her beautiful face, seeing the truth written plainly. "It isn't, is it?"


"No...I felt oddly drawn to Cades Cove and..." She hesitated, dreading to see the look that she'd seen on her best friend, Kate's face, when she'd confided about the visions at the cabin that brought images of Rebekah.


He came to kneel in front of her, said, "Sara, I will not judge what you tell me. I already think I know what you are going to say."


"But how! How could you know? And how could you know about my nightmares, about the name Rebekah?" Her mind refused to accept all of this, this...weird situation, and she searched his face, saw no trace of mockery or insincerity, only caring and concern.


"I can't explain just yet, but...I want you to know I won't judge your experiences, simply try to understand."


"I...there's a cabin in Cades Cove, one that's been preserved from the pioneer days and when I saw it..."


He felt so helpless, powerless as she covered her face with her hands, heard her voice low and quaking, "I had this vision, so vivid and real, and I was wide awake! It was of the young girl, Rebekah, she had flowing blond hair down to her waist, she was running away with a...boy, he seemed to be wearing a uniform, dark blue, tattered and ragged...they were in danger, they...went into the woods, it was in a deep snowfall, and...she was crying, begging him to take her with him, and...someone or something was after them."


Sobering, she looked at him, stated flatly, "But this was extremely strange, because I sensed that I was this girl, Rebekah, not an observer."


Nodding his silent understanding, he felt the pain of that tragic time sink into his soul with the dead-weight of decades, wiped a hand over his chin-stubble. "If that scared you so much, why did you come back here?"


Her eyes were on him, big and wide, and she accused, "I thought you said you wouldn't judge me!"


"No, no...I'm not! I believe what you are telling me, but I wonder why you'd return to a place that caused you to have frightening visions, nightmares?" He had to force himself to stand, walk to the window, not look into her bewildered face.


"I...don't know exactly. I felt, I was compelled to come back again and again on vacation, and...I somehow felt I belonged here. Besides, I had the nightmare long before I came here...and the vision returned even when I was in my D.C. office." Sara couldn't contain the emotional outburst any longer, she let the tears come, sobbing...releasing all the pent-up fears, doubts about her sanity.


Adrian rushed over to her, knelt and took her hands in his, saying, "Shh, don't cry, please don't cry...it'll be all right, I promise it will."


She jerked her hands away, leaned back from him and took a Kleenex from her pocket, wiping her nose, sniffling and staring at him anxiously.


"Sara, Sara...we've barely met, and I know this must seem like something out of the 'Twilight Zone' to you, but I promise you I can help you. I do know how you are fearing for your sanity." He moved away, sat down in the armchair.


"But how! How do you know what I'm feeling?" She sobbed, staring at his serious expression, wondering if there was any real basis for his claims, or if he was mentally unbalanced himself?


"Because we have experienced something similar, and I have managed to understand part of it, not all...but a significant part of it. I want you to understand too, but...it will take time, time for you to trust that I'm not a crazy person for suggesting what will unravel this mystery for you."


Sara felt comforted by his calm, reassuring words, an almost eerie certainty that this stranger held the key to solving her own unending quest for understanding the mysterious obsessions that plagued her. It was, she decided, beyond reason; it was simply an intuitive knowledge that defied rationalization. She asked, "Is it that I can help solve Rebekah's murder? Is that it?"


"Sort of, but in the process, you can also help yourself more, learn why you have the nightmares, overcome them...finally be at peace."


"Are you at peace?" she queried, studying his face as a muscle clenched in his jaw, his hand going through his hair, then over his chin absently.


"No, I wasn't...and still cannot be, even though having met you is, I feel, the first step in attaining peace for us both. And as absurd as it may sound, fate must have brought us together for a purpose. It is our destiny to work out some kind of shared past trouble, which ties into your nightmares, your visions of Rebekah..."


"I...um, feel like I'm dreaming, like I'm in a bizarre scene for a supernatural film...or in a horror novel by Stephen King!" Sara said, suddenly smiling through her tears at the outrageous statement and the absurdity of their conversation.


Glad for her light-heartedness, Adrian grinned and agreed, "Yes, it does have elements of the fantastic and unbelievable." He hummed the 'Twilight Zone' theme music, and made a wavy gesture with his hand.


She laughed outright, but it brought on a fit of sneezing that left her weak and shaky, but she asked, "So...Adrian Alexander, what's the solution to our twisted fate?"


"Hmm, some of it I can guess at, but other aspects we'll just have to let time and destiny work out. Right now, I want you to get in bed, stay warm and I'll fix you some hot cocoa, bring it up and..."


"Do you have any idea why I have the nightmares," she persisted, needing to know what he could reveal, if anything.


"Sara, Sara...not right now. Let's take our time, go slow and get to know one another."


She stood up on trembling legs, and he saw her weakness, got up and put his hands on her shoulders to steady her...bringing them face-to-face, very close. Sara stared up into his charismatic blue eyes, feeling the sensation of falling, falling...of being helpless to prevent what was occurring between them, as though it were, as he'd said, destiny. But she agreed with him, "We do need some time, need to know each other better. Um, I don't accept all this, don't even begin to understand. Besides, I don't know anything about you, your background, your past..."


"It's unimportant, but I'll tell you everything eventually." He took a small card from his wallet, handed it to her. "This is the number where you can reach me at Ober Gatlinburg. Keep it, in case you should need it. For now, I'll get that hot cocoa."


Sara let him help her to the bed, slipped underneath the covers as he tucked them neatly around her, and then watched him leave. She felt confusion and weakness from the cold, her thoughts fuzzy, and closed her eyes, weary from lack of sleep, gradually drifting off into slumber.

             * * * *


When Adrian returned with the drink, Sara was fast asleep, and he didn't want to wake her, so he went back downstairs, made sure the fires were burning slowly, would keep the house warm, and then called the wrecker service.


It was around ten when the electricity came on; by noon, the sun was out, the temperature climbing, and by one, a snowplow was clearing the roads as Adrian stood watching from Sara's bedroom window. He studied her quietly, saw she was sleeping peacefully, tried to memorize her lovely face, peaceful in sleep, then heard a horn outside, saw the wrecker pulling up beside his ditched car.


Just then though, Sara murmured, turned slightly, began to awaken, yawning and squinting up at him as he bent down, whispering, "I'm going now, the wrecker is here."


She started, flinched as he pulled the covers up to her chin. "You stay in bed, the electricity is back on, so you'll be warm."


"I'm...I feel better. Maybe I'll be able to head off the worst of the cold." But she shivered with a chill, and snuggled down into the bed, remembering their earlier conversation, wondering if she'd dreamed it all?


"Look, I would stay longer, but the wrecker..."


The horn blared impatiently again, and he reluctantly stood, looked out the window. "If you need me, just call that number, okay?"


"Sure."


Adrian started to the door, but turned back to ask, "I was wondering, how about I come by tomorrow evening?"


Sara couldn't stifle a yawn, but mumbled drowsily, "S'kay with me, may...be lousy company..."


He grinned. "I'll be the judge of that. See you then, and take good care of yourself."


Sara nodded, already starting to doze again... but once he was gone, the door closed behind him, she had a fleeting fear she was losing her mind, that this was the ultimate end to all those peculiar experiences that started when she was twelve. Surely this man couldn't be the answer to her inexplicable obsessions and compulsions? And she had to be crazy to even imagine he could be!


                    END CHAPTER



                       CHAPTER FIVE


Adrian helped Mac, the wrecker driver, and they had the car out faster than he'd thought; he rode into Gatlinburg with Mac, and they deposited his Austin Healey at the garage. He told Mac he'd pick it up when the dent was fixed -- a minor, insignificant price to pay for the time it had given him with Sara.


Mac gave Adrian a ride to his mountain chalet, which he'd finally been able to rent for the duration of his job in Gatlinburg. He was exhausted, and decided sleep was the only remedy, went to lower the blinds in the spacious great room, knock out the glaring brilliance of snow and sun.


Just as he pulled the cord on the blind, he glimpsed a familiar van pulling to a stop down the road, parking. Adrian stood there, looking out at the brown Ford van, the windows tinted just enough that he couldn't make out the driver.


Damn! He told himself this couldn't, wouldn't happen again -- not when he was thousands of miles from L.A and Hollywood, not when he had so carefully dodged the tabloid press for six months!


Wearily, he dropped the blinds and with a groan of disgust, mounted the stairs to the bedroom, hoping against hope they'd give up on the stakeout and find another unlucky sucker to track down, harass and write lies about.


                     * * * *

Inside the van, Joe smoked and cursed about the hazardous snowfall. Even though it was melting fast as the day had warmed, late afternoon temperatures would fall, tonight would bring another hard freeze and his spying would be impossible.


If he could move faster, he would; but the master plan demanded patience, meticulous attention to detail...and the way his luck was going, it'd be another month at least before he was ready to make his move.


Joe crushed his cigarette in the overflowing dashboard ashtray, thought angrily about Donna back at the remote, ramshackle house they'd managed to rent. It was located between Pigeon Forge and Sevierville, but isolated, away from the tourist areas. Christ, Donna was bitching every day and night, never could stand to be cooped up and alone, nothing to do.


He lit another cigarette, sighing and thinking that now he'd tracked down the chalet where Adrian was staying, it would be easier to keep tabs on him. But the guy had been in an accident, and Joe wouldn't have known it if he hadn't been in Gatlinburg, seen the wrecker haul Adrian's car into the garage. Jesus, that's all they needed -- for Adrian to get hurt before they got to him! Joe was afraid Adrian had seen the van several times, would be suspicious. No sweat though, Joe figured, since he could switch vehicles if necessary.


It looked as if the guy was holing up for the day, so Joe started the van, hearing the clank and click of tire chains rattling as he circled around in the road, heading back down the mountain. Again, he wondered why Adrian was so hot for that red-headed broad? She was a nobody! Go figure!


                       * * * *

Sara spent Friday afternoon in a daze; she repeatedly went over the strangeness of her experience with Adrian. There were moments when she thought about his physical appeal, but mostly she couldn't fathom the quirky sixth sense they both seemed to share of having been together before. In fact, lying in bed she wondered why she didn't feel alarmed about confiding her personal difficulties of the past to him; after all, he was a stranger. Yet, deep down Sara felt instinctively he was not a threat in any way to her well-being.


By dark, she was feeling better, and thought the day in bed had helped prevent the cold worsening. When she awoke to a crystal clear sky Saturday morning, Sara realized with a shock she'd not had the nightmare! It was the first time she hadn't had the bad dream since she was twelve years old!


Elated, she reached for the beside phone, picked up Adrian's card, dialed the numbers but before the phone rang, she hung up. Now wasn't the time to share this news with him; she needed time to think, prepare herself for his visit tonight.


Feeling much improved physically, Sara puttered around in her studio during the early morning hours, got a few things accomplished, then returned to make preparations for the evening. She got the Rock Cornish hens ready, put the dish in the oven, set out the ingredients for the white wine sauce, and whipped up hors d'oeuvres, got the side dishes for the meal ready and then left the kitchen.


She took a long, leisurely bubble-bath, still pondering on the mysterious Adrian Alexander. The name had a familiar ring to it, and not just from their past meeting in the Autumn. Where had she heard that name?


At her bedroom dresser, she applied a touch of makeup, then blow-dried her hair, using the curling iron to weave thick strands into long, trailing coppery waves down past her shoulders.

Searching through her closet, she chose a formal outfit of pearl-colored silk blouse with notched collar and french cuffs, and a dark brown suede mid-calf length skirt. When dressed, she inspected herself in the mirror, noting how the long, fitted skirt exposed a flash of leg when she walked, the slit at the side a bit provocative. But she didn't want to be seductive -- no, she wanted this to be a strictly formal date and almost changed, but decided the flat-heeled suede shoes gave some balance to her outfit.

By the time Sara was in the dining room, setting out candles and china, she heard a car coming along the highway, slowing. She hurried into the parlor, looked out the window to see the tiny blue Austin Healey plowing up the snowy drive.


She saw the snow had melted somewhat, but there would be high drifts for quite a while. Slowly, she savored the lovely twilight  landscape, the western mountainpeaks outlined in the afterglow of fading sunset, purplish shadows a prelude to night.


Adrian got out of the Austin Healey, his tall, muscular body dwarfing the small car as he straightened up, and she realized he must be at least six-five. And as he headed toward the house, she saw he'd dressed as formally as she -- his long unbuttoned overcoat revealed a double-breasted gray suit underneath.


At the door, she hesitated, wondering if she was losing her mind? Surely, if she told anyone about this strange interlude, they'd think she'd gone mad! And yet, the lure of Adrian's attraction was just like she'd always known it would be -- when she met the right man, the man who would come out of nowhere to claim her as his destiny. Smiling, she knew it sounded ridiculous, like a young girl's daydreams of an old-fashioned fairy tale come true.


The knock was firm, loud and startled her out of reflection to open the door and see him standing there, a hand in his overcoat pocket. His blue eyes were shining with the otherworldly light and he said softly, "Sara...how are you?"

She stepped back, allowed him to enter, his vibrant energy seeming to electrify the air, fill the hallway his with masculine presence. Her voice came out in a stammer: "I...I'm...glad you could come. I am feeling...better, think I've avoided the cold. Um, I felt well enough to...prepare dinner for us." Seeing his smile, she added, "You haven't eaten, have you?"

"No. And something sure smells delicious." Adrian took a long, thirsty look at her, drinking in her beauty hungrily, his eyes meeting hers, unable to resist the impulsive touch of his hand to her wavy, soft hair. "You do look better, no feverish flush."

Sara loved the intensity of his gaze, the rapt attention with which he regarded her -- totally focused on her and nothing else. Such all-consuming attention was rare, and she was not immune to the potent effect it had on her. "Um...I almost phoned you this morning," she heard herself blurt out, instantly wondering why she'd told him that.


"Oh?" He moved away, shed his coat and hung it on the rack inside the hallway.


She was impressed by his sense of style: He knew how to dress --presenting the consummate image of a ruggedly virile man tempered by a conservative, tailored suit. His longish sunstreaked hair was combed back off his wide forehead, tucked neatly behind his ears, giving him a decidedly more serious look.


"Um, last night...it was the first time I haven't had the nightmare."


"That's great! I hoped our visit would help you." He stared at her intently, asked, "And do you feel that what we discussed is part of the reason you didn't have the dream?"


She gave a little shake of her head, led him into the parlor where a fire blazed, the hors d'oeuvres, wine and cheese already on the wagon wheel cocktail table. "I don't know...I...am still unsure, not able to...comprehend or believe all this."


He stood near the sofa, watching her nervously pacing by the fireside. "But you've had these nightmares for years, and now suddenly they stop. Doesn't that indicate our meeting had something to do with it?"


Serving the platter of appetizers, she invited, "Please sit down, get comfortable, have one of these." Stalling, she didn't know how to tell him that maybe not having the nightmare last night was just a fluke, that it would return...


"You think last night was only once, that the nightmare will return..." Adrian watched her face flush, knew he'd shocked her by his interpretation of her thoughts. Quickly, he sat down, took an offered treat and said, "Delicious," sipping the wine she'd poured.


"I don't mean to um, avoid the subject...but, can't we at least have a normal meal together? Try to get better...acquainted?" Sara took an hors d'oeuvres and nibbled it, staring at him.


"Fine. What do you want to know about me?" He leaned back, throwing one arm over the sofa back, smiling and thinking he had to be cautions, not scare her off.


"I...seem to feel I've heard your name before, even prior to the time you bought some of my pottery."


This was his greatest fear, that she'd recognize his name; he knew he'd been fortunate she hadn't identified him at first sight. Yet he wanted to prevent her knowing him through the nasty press as long as possible -- so he said, "I told you, we do share another, deeper connection. It is perhaps that which makes me familiar to you."


Sara turned away, disappointed. He wouldn't explain just now, but she had a distinctly uneasy feeling about him -- his name had a nagging familiarity, one of those you know is floating around in your memory somewhere but you can't quite call up on demand. Curtly she said, "If you are ready, we'll eat now."


Adrian, relieved she'd dropped the inquisition, followed her down the hall into the formal dining room across from the kitchen. He looked around with admiration at the antique pine furniture, a round pedestal table with lacy tablecloth set with fine china, silver and candles, arrowback chairs, hutch cabinet  -- and in front of a wide wood-shuttered window, a deacon's bench.


"This is usually where guests who stay overnight dine. Marge and I eat in the kitchen when we're here alone," Sara explained, showing him to a chair and going to get the Rock Cornish hens, vegetables, bread and drinks.


He asked if he could help, but she insisted on serving him and the meal was enjoyed in companionable small talk, him occasionally quizzing her on her family, her craft and the business end of the bed-and-breakfast enterprise.


Since Sara rarely got to discuss her expertise in accounting matters, she expounded at length on the financial aspects of her businesses, the selling of pottery and running Spring Moon smoothly during the tourist season.


Adrian was impressed: she as not only talented, creative and genuinely warm, caring, but very intelligent and highly educated as well. She dazzled him with her head for numbers, rattling off the figures of debits and credits like an adding machine, rocketing back and forth between lectures on profits and losses, how to avoid financial disaster, how to handle the small details with income taxes, how to keep afloat during lean recession years.


When the meal was finished, and they'd retired to the parlor, he felt a bit in awe of her mathematical genius. Finance was never his strong suit, but he admired a woman with such skills; and her great intelligence was a definite plus -- she would learn quickly, absorb complex material easily.


"Did I bore you?" Sara asked, having noticed his eyes glazing over during her elaborate financial discourse.


He laughed, shook his head, the blond hair escaping from behind his ears. "No, but you did amaze me with your accounting skills."


"It's so odd, really. I mean, I've always been an analytical, practical-minded person, someone who has been called down-to-earth and sensible. So when I chucked it all aside, left a high-paying career in D.C.....well, it shook everyone up."


"Yes, I imagine it did." He leaned forward on the sofa, eyes locking with hers. "Why did you do that?"


"I...told you. I felt my pottery would sell well here, that the bed-and-breakfast would be profitable and..."


"But you 'had' to come back, didn't you?"


She couldn't take her eyes away from his; they seemed to penetrate her like a piercing shaft of blue flame, melting her doubts, her fears. "Yes, as I told you...I felt compelled to live here, that there was something here for me, something I could only find by being here all the time. And I'd been waiting, expecting... feeling that whatever it was would seek me out....that I'd know it when it happened."



"And when you looked at me that first time, at the craft show, you sensed it had arrived, didn't you?" He had to plunge in now, seize the moment.


"Yes...I did. I thought about it for a long time, trying to convince myself it was nuts, tried to dismiss it. You see, the only peculiar chink in my sensible armor was this weird obsession I had that...one day a man would...come along, and I'd instinctively know him, know he was meant for me." She rolled her eyes, threw up her hands up in defeat. "My mother thought I was foolish, that I was too choosy about men, would never marry if I didn't stop being so hopelessly romantic, an unacceptable flaw in my otherwise practical nature."


"Do you feel I am that man?" Adrian held his breath, afraid she'd dash his hopes.


Sara ran a finger over her lower lip, hesitated a long moment, studying him raptly, the complete stranger on her sofa, yet the intimate familiarity she couldn't deny when he was near -- as though they'd been together forever. "Yes, reluctantly, I admit I do -- but for no rational reason I can determine."


He wanted to cross the short space between them, hold her in his arms and spill out the whole tragic past...but he refrained, clenching his jaw tightly and saying, "That's the first step, allowing yourself to open your mind to something other than objective reality. Feelings, inner feelings and a certain intuitive 'knowing' that defies reason, this is important. You have to let go, Sara, open your mind and let the light of other spiritual possibilities enter your awareness."


She felt that he spoke from the depth of his being; his words resonated deep within her, in a place she had never dared touch or acknowledge. "I'm listening."


"I have some books, out in the car. I want to leave them with you. I want you to read them, read them all, as many as possible during the next week. Don't judge, and don't condemn the material...just read it and absorb it open-mindedly."


Sara nodded mutely, feeling as if she was being led down the yellow brick road willingly...blindly....



He went out into the frigid night, retrieved the books, brought them inside and handed her the one on top of the stack, watching her face closely.


Her hands shook as she looked down at the book, realizing it was a publication dealing with reincarnation. She felt something deep down inside her respond to the title, and looked up to see him coming closer, his voice low and serious, "This is very, very important, Sara. Don't take it lightly and don't close your mind to the information, okay?"


"If you say so," she said, unable to tear her eyes away from his magnetic, probing gaze.


"Sara, Sara..." His voice caught in his throat; he wanted to kiss her, wanted to hold her in his arms, show her how physically attracted he was to her.  Yet he was afraid such a bold move would scare her away, make her suspicious, lose the small amount of trust he'd gained.



Sara didn't know what to do. She stood looking at his face, how the conflicting emotions wrinkled his brow, how he couldn't quite hide the desire burning in his blue eyes. But she knew nothing about him...not really, and stepped back, put the books on the nearby cocktail table.


He suddenly said, "I'm going to leave now, even though it's early. I enjoyed the meal, and I'm very glad you didn't come down with a cold. Anyhow, Sara, you need to have some time to read, reflect and then tell me what you think about the material."


When he looked at her, she moved a little closer, and in spite of his resolve, his hunger to hold her, just once after the long, lonely search, made him reckless.

Adrian took her in his arms, and when she leaned against him, he tilted her chin up, kissed her slowly, tenderly...felt her respond to his passionate questing....


Sara let the kiss happen, felt drawn to him beyond resistance; she melted against his muscular body, felt the powerful arms surround her and then, when they broke apart, she looked into his eyes and experienced that strong sensation of drowning in a sea of surrender, helpless to verbalize the feeling of belonging she felt in his arms, the feeling they'd kissed before...it was so natural, so effortless between them.



He stepped back, released her and apologized, "I'm sorry, I don't want to confuse you.  I...yes, I'm very attracted to you, Sara. But I promise that won't happen again until we are both more prepared."



She was speechless, still puzzled by the odd familiarity of their gentle, yet deeply soulful kiss.


He went quickly into the hall, said, "Please call me when you've read the books."


She followed him, forcing herself not to mention how the kiss had affected her. Instead she asked, "And if I disagree with the philosophy in these books?"



"That's your choice, but it's something you need to delve into with an open mind and with an eye to what you have been experiencing. As Buddha stated: "Do not believe in a thing said merely because it is said; nor in traditions because they have been handed down from antiquity; nor in rumors, as such, nor in writings by sages, merely because sages wrote them....nor on mere authority of your own teachers and masters. But we are to believe 'when' the writing, doctrine, or saying is 'corroborated' by our own reason and consciousness.'"



"Fine. I will try to keep an open mind."


He got his coat, hating to leave her, but knowing it was the only way: She was an intelligent, independent woman and only through her own insight, her own spiritual exploration into this unorthodox realm... could she come to accept what she'd been experiencing personally. However, he cautioned, "Don't try any techniques for self-hypnosis or... other methods mentioned in any of that material. You must be with someone more enlightened when and if you open a pathway of spiritual understanding into the past."


"Yes, I understand."

"Promise me?" He stepped over to her, kissed her again softly, his lips barely brushing hers. "If you need me, just call. I will answer any questions, discuss the material....any time."



And then he was gone again, walking through the doorway and out into the moonlight as suddenly as he'd appeared the other night, which now seemed long ago to Sara.


She heard his car start, the engine race, then tires crunching over the icy driveway, motor fading as he drove away.


Sara looked at the stack of esoteric books, shook her head and muttered aloud, "Reincarnation!"



                    END CHAPTER




                  CHAPTER SIX

Sara spent Sunday reading in bed, absorbed by the fascinating, complex esoteric material, yet unable to stop her Protestant upbringing from whispering in the back of her mind that this was occult, evil.


However, the more she read, the more she was aware that almost all the information about reincarnation was supplying valid reasons for her compulsions and obsessions, her odd behavior regarding Cades Cove, the sinister nightmares, the immediate belonging she felt with Adrian...


When the phone rang late that afternoon, Sara was rudely pulled out of her absorption into a conversation with her mother that left her feeling guilty and somewhat ridiculous. She could not bring up the topic, nor could she mention meeting Adrian Alexander, and this alone made her realize what thin ice she was skating between two worlds -- that which was real and that which might be only imaginary.


As the week passed, she still read at night, but spent her days diligently engaged in the craft of pottery. The pieces she'd air-dried, some even fired at low temperatures and glazed, were now ready, and she decided to prepare the kiln for a final firing.


Friday morning she was delighted by the unseasonable weather; it was predicted to be clear, reach a high of fifty, and she dressed in the drab-green army pants and shirt she'd bought at a discount military store, pulling on boots and tucking her hair up under a baseball cap. In the kitchen, she prepared cereal, coffee and then made a couple meals to carry along with her to the studio; firing could take all day and night -- or longer, depending on how it went.


Walking to the barn, Sara had a funny feeling that someone was watching her; she paused at the door, looked around in the fog-drenched dawn, peering upward toward Blue Mountain, the peak obscured by morning mist. She then looked back at the house, could glimpse the highway beyond, the sharp curve where Adrian's car had gone off in the ditch. A brown van was pulled off near her driveway, but suddenly roared to life and sped away down the highway.


Shrugging, Sara went into the cold studio, feeling as though she'd seen that van somewhere...but then, vans were commonplace these days. She shivered, hurried to the kiln, and selected the larch wood to burn, putting it in a stack by the fire mouth. She got the pyrometric cones she needed to test the heat of the fire, a process that prevented ruining the pottery later.


Since the wood burned in two distinct stages, Sara began her usual routine to attain the right temperature for firing the pieces, carefully considering the charring temperature as being below the ignition temperature.


The first stage she watched and gaged, knowing that the combustion of volatile gas caused by resin content of the wood added to the heat given off, then moving up into the chamber before being fully ignited where there was enough free oxygen to allow it to burn.


As the second stage progressed, she was attentive to the combustible charcoal, which had a higher calorific value than wood since the hydrogen and oxygen had already burnt off. It needed oxygen to burn efficiently and unless the secondary air was correctly administered, a heap of choking coals would build up in the firebox. She'd learned that localized heat given off by the burning charcoal was often the reason for badly warped fire bars and fire mouth breakdown.


Sara remembered how it had taken her a long time to learn the technique of firing by wood, much diligent practice of trial and error. Fortunately she'd had a teacher in Yorkstown, Virginia where she'd served an apprenticeship with kilns; the pottery skill itself she'd never taken lessons for, it came naturally.


Wood firing demanded all the potter's time, and any distraction could cause a disastrous drop in temperature, she knew, so her willingness and ability to give the kiln her undivided attention during a long firing was important.


Sara knew in order to gain the climb in temperature required, the fire mouth had to be fed at a steady rate or loss of heat would negate the climb; over-stoking would fill and choke the firebox, but steady, judicious stoking would bring about a good rise in temperature within the chamber; understanding when the flames had developed within the confines of the firebox, throat arch and chamber was essential. It was demanding, but the many unique and unpredictable bonuses of delicate flashes from the flames as they brushed the pots leaving deposits of fly ash, glazing the body, were aesthetically appealing, and gave her an intimacy with the final act of producing pots that no other firing method could.


Once the cones had proven the correct results, Sara loaded the pottery pieces with delicate attention to placement in the chamber. Then she got comfortable near the firemouth, sat in her old battered easy chair where she could reach the wood easily, thinking what a humbling experience it was to stand beside the wood kiln when it reached white heat, hearing the roar of initial stages of firing settling down to a deep-throated rumble, with tongues of flame licking holes and iridescent heat glowing through expansion cracks. She'd often thought the kiln seemed to have a life of its own, and enjoyed seeing the white and cherry-red incandescent heat, the sparks and flames all combining in the final act of her craft.


The entire experience was somehow mysterious to Sara, and as the hours passed pleasantly, she reflected that a potter firing with wood was like an ancient alchemist. Having made her pots, she then set them in the kiln and relied on the elements of earth, fire and water, plus judgment, to conjure up the end results. And while many potters preferred electric kilns, she thought they were more nearly like chemist who mixed the ingredients with a much greater degree of control over the end result.


By dark, she was exhausted; the constant stoking and feeding of the fire had been draining. However, the results, this time around, were looking better than she'd dared hope. Near ten, Sara was able to end the vigil, allow the kiln to cool off, which could take at least as long as the process of firing, before she could remove the pottery.


Back in her room, weary and tired, she took a quick shower wondering if her talent for pottery was linked to a past life, amazed at how the material Adrian provided was changing her thinking pattern. But falling into bed, she dismissed any further thought of it, sleep overtaking her quickly.


                           * * * *

Sharp ringing of the beside phone brought Sara awake, and she groped around for it, still drowsy. "Hello."


"Did I wake you?"


Adrian's husky voice filled Sara with instant longing; she squinted against the bright morning sun flooding her bedroom, noticing she'd forgotten to close the windowshades. "Yes, but it looks like I've overslept."


"Only nine, not that late yet."


Stifling a yawn, she said, "I fired the kiln yesterday; it was a long, tiring day."


Hesitation on the other end, Sara hearing his even breathing, then finally, "I don't want to rush you... but, I was wondering if you've read any of the books?"


"Yes...but...I suppose I'm reluctant to discuss it yet."


"I see. Well, no hurry." He sighed. "I'll let you go..."


"No. I mean, I...when can we get together?" she blurted out, surprised at her unwillingness to end their connection.


"I'm free tonight."


"What about tomorrow? Would you like to come for the day, we could discuss the material then."


"Are you sure you're ready? If you need more time..."


"I do have some questions."


"Fine, what time tomorrow?"


Sara sat up, pulling the coverlet off, standing and twisting the phone cord in her fingers as she tried to decide. "Noon?"


"I'll be there. Sara, I've missed you."


"Me too, see you tomorrow," she said, glad he'd called, but stunned at how moved she'd been by just the sound of his voice.


                  * * * *

By Sunday Adrian was relieved he'd not seen the van in several days; maybe they'd called off the chase for now. He knew if they ever picked up on his interest in Sara it'd be quick tabloid copy and possibly ruin his chances with her.


As he drove through the rain-slick streets of Gatlinburg, Adrian kept an eye out for the van, relieved it was not around. As he wound through the countryside, the metallic sky spewed cold sheets of rain, his wipers barely clearing the windshield to see.


The twisting, curving two-lane kept him alert, and he drove carefully, thinking how the rain would hurt business at the lodge. He only had this job until March, but it had been sufficient during his time here, something to earn wages while also enjoying his passion for skiing.


As he rounded the last sharp curve, Adrian saw Sara's log house come into view, smoke curling from chimneys, lights glowing from windows through the foggy mist. It looked inviting, welcoming but he knew his reaction was based more on who was inside than the country appeal of a log dwelling nestled in a valley, blue-hazed mountains draped around it like magnificent geological guardians.


Pulling into the driveway, he came to a stop near the garage, got out and hurried across the yard, bounding up the steps and over the porch to knock briskly on the door.


Once he was looking into Sara's big brown eyes, he felt the same gut reaction he'd had the first time he looked at her: sweet yesterday mingled with instant recognition of loss, longing and love, desire and destiny staring back at him in a face so dear and familiar he wanted to crush her to him, hold on forever...


"Adrian, hi. This rain is terrible, isn't it?" She moved aside, and he wiped his shoes on the mat, then went inside to the inviting warmth of her home.


He gave her an appreciative once-over, seeing how the tight jeans and ruffled white cotton blouse emphasized her alluring figure. Yet when he met her eyes, she was blushing so he didn't comment on her appearance, instead taking off his rain slicker, hanging it on the rack.


Sara was flattered by his appreciative gaze, but wished she'd worn something less form-fitting but saw he was dressed casually too -- plaid flannel shirt and stonewashed jeans, which made him look like a rugged outdoorsman. She told him, "I've got a fire in the parlor; we an relax first, then have some lunch. Do you like chili?"


"Yeah, it'll hit the spot today." He followed her into the cozy parlor, noticing again how the rustic decor had been softened by indirect lighting, a woven rug on the pine floor, low-backed cushioned sofa and armchairs more modern but offset by the wagon-wheel cocktail table, spool-turned tables and copper-and-brass antique tea kettle, candlesticks.


Sara sat down in a chair, watched him go to the fireplace and study a brass bed warmer hanging there, his eyes becoming dreamy and faraway as he asked, "Where did you find this?"


"It was auctioned at an antique sale, offered from one of the original Cades Cove families."


"And you were drawn to it, weren't you? 'Had' to buy it?" He pivoted, knowing eyes on her.


"Yes, and...at the time, it was far too expensive for me, certainly more than I should have spent on a decorative item." Sara recalled how she'd bid higher and higher, feeling she must own the bed warmer at any price.


"This is...part of the proof." He gently touched the floral design, a finger probing the small nicks and dents on the pan, his hand going along the thin handle, an uncanny tremor passing through him.


She saw him shudder, and remembered having the same reaction when she'd first touched it, as though lightning had struck her. "Part of the proof?"


Adrian forced himself away from the powerful vision of the past, walked to the sofa, dropped down and stretched out his legs, urging, "Let's discuss your reading."



"I...have some reservations. I suppose the one thing I cannot reconcile with my own religious background is the fear of the occult, the evil or wickedness most Western belief associates with certain metaphysical concepts such as witchcraft, black magic, Satanism."


He knew this would be a barrier, and asked, "Did you take a course in comparative religion in college?"


"Yes, and it left me confused, doubting if any organized religion could ever espouse the truth, because each has its own rigid doctrine, rhetoric and isn't open to criticism. Since then, well, I do believe in spirituality, the soul..."


"What about Theosophy -- an esoteric synthesis of known religions and philosophies which is much more open to inquiry and questing?"



"And it embraces reincarnation," she stated, holding up a book she'd read only last night on the topic.


"Sara, reincarnation isn't incompatible with the Bible. There are many passages that seem to refer to it, such as 'For verily I say unto you, till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.  --Matthew V,19'"


He saw this had penetrated, and continued, "Or how about this passage, more of Matthew: 'Why then do our teachers say that Elijah must come first? He replied, Yes, Elijah will come and set everything right. But I tell you that Elijah has already come, and they failed to recognize him, and worked their will upon him... Then the disciples understood that He meant John the Baptist.'"


"You have a point, and I know that many learned, intelligent people, even Benjamin Franklin, some creative artists, poets and writers in the past, and more recently Edgar Cayce, the New Age Movement, the actress Shirley MacClain... believe in it."


He had to conceal his distress at the mention of the New Age Movement, and his mother's acquaintance, Shirley MacClain; neither had really helped him in his darkest hours. But... the fact that more open attitudes in recent years had eventually led to his own hypnotherapy was an improvement over the fear and skepticism of the past. "That's true, but...what I want you to do Sara, is not be inhibited by what others feel or think, including myself. Rather, judge what you read by instinct and your own unique insight and experiences."


"In that case, I have to admit that reading about recurrent dreams, terror from a past life, unfinished business in a previous incarnation...soul mates...it seems to explain so much of what...I've...been going through."


"No more nightmares?"


"None. And that alone has me wondering...if...maybe it could be possible...if I could accept reincarnation?"


He went to her, knelt down and held her hands. "You don't have to accept any other aspect of the metaphysical, not the so-called black arts like witchcraft, although that can be good or bad, depending on the individuals involved. No moral persona would defend Satanism or black magic, for it is evil. Nor do you have to accept spirit possession, paranormal phenomena, astrology..."


Pausing, he looked at her puzzled frown and continued: "All you have to accept is that it is possible to live, die and live again, not so different to the Western religious belief of being reborn in spirit...just that a soul is reborn again and again into human life until wisdom and ultimate fulfillment of its talents, its abilities have attained perfection. And this can take many lifetimes or only a few."


"I have tried to convince myself that deja'vu, maybe even psychic images of an unsolved murder, ESP, were to blame for my strange behavior, the compulsions and obsessions. Reincarnation did enter my mind, but I...dismissed it because, well, somehow it's associated with weirdness, labeling one a flaky nut, not taken seriously."


Adrian swallowed hard, knowing if she ever linked his name to the tabloids, he'd be in deep trouble. He almost told her then, the words were right on the tip of his tongue, but she leaned forward and kissed him lightly, saying, "Because of you, because of what you and I have... felt, shared together...I now am able to admit that reincarnation is in the realm of possibility."


How could he shatter her newfound awareness, especially just when she'd overcome the terrifying nightmares? He couldn't, wouldn't do it, so he stood, took her in his arms and said, "I know so much more about our past life, and if you are willing, you can learn this knowledge too. But I cannot tell you...no, you must find it for yourself, and only through professional guidance."


"I want to, I do...but promise you won't leave me? You'll help guide me, stand beside me as I try to discover what happened?"


She looked up at him with a trusting, hopeful expression and he heard himself say, "Never, I could never leave you Sara, not in this life, not when we've found each other again."


And Sara knew he was being honest, sincere...but wondered if she could survive learning the truth about what she feared was a devastating, tragic past life?

                   END CHAPTER



                  CHAPTER SEVEN


The past two weeks had been near idyllic, Sara reflected, looking out the kitchen window as fat, fluffy snowflakes fell on the first day of February. Earlier Friday morning she'd talked with Adrian, and he'd apologized for being tied up at the lodge for the upcoming weekend; the anticipated snowfall would bring a rash of skiers, and he'd taken so much time off lately to be with her that he had to remain at work.


She looked at the white-capped mountains to the east, the lower regions beginning to gather a cloak of dusty white, high mountain fir and spruce bowing beneath the hefty burden. It would be an icy-white wonderland by Saturday morning, and Sara feared she wouldn't see Adrian for days.


Taking a cup of hot cocoa to the table, she sat down and let her memory roam back to that Sunday afternoon she'd accepted the possibility of reincarnation. Adrian had been earnestly devoted in allowing her time to plumb the depths of that philosophy, his only stipulation being that they not allow physical attraction cloud their thinking. He'd said it might taint the spiritual bond they must reaffirm and validate first.


Of course, he'd told her the physical attraction was inevitable; that when true soul mates first met in another incarnation, as they had with instant emotional recognition and ardent physical reunion, the inevitable was bound to happen: Their physical senses might have overwhelmed them, resulting in the act of bonding their bodies in remembered ecstasy, sensual hunger demanding expression. But they had carefully avoided letting that happen.


Though they'd discussed much about reincarnation, Sara had become aware of only a few, vague details of her past life as Rebekah in Cades Cove; the full revelation was in the future through hypnosis. The long, lingering discussions they'd had, specific, documented reincarnation cases that Adrian had told her about...it was a very real awakening of spiritual awareness.


And those true-life cases remained with her even now, especially the ones who'd not been regressed by hypnosis: An elderly Tlingit Indian of Alaska who predicted before his death he'd be reborn in a niece's unborn child, and the baby would have two marks on its body to match those on the old man, which did happen.


Or another intriguing case she pondered about: Rivar Shankar, an Indian boy age two in 1953 who talked about his former life in a neighboring district, describing previous life toys, a wooden elephant, a ball on an elastic string, a toy pistol and a ring he kept in a desk. He even identified his murderers by name and occupation, recalled he'd been eating guavas just before he was killed, said the slayers cut his throat.


What amazed Sara about this case was that later, when the boy was four, a man who had heard the stories came to him, told of his son, a six-year-old, who'd been killed six months before Rivar's birth in the 'exact' way Ravar described, and the killers he identified were the same ones related to the victim, who had been after his inheritance.


Particularly noteworthy, she had thought, was that as a child, Ravar experienced a phobia about knives and razors, afraid to go near the place he was killed; and he had an eerie scar on his neck, like that of a cut throat.

When Adrian had finished telling of this case, she'd immediately told him about a strange scar on her back; and to her utter amazement, he'd revealed a similar scar on his back!


However, what she didn't reveal to him was her stunning realization of how being afraid of the dark must tie into a past life -- and of the journal her mother had kept in which she related Sara's childhood antics, phobias and peculiar demands to take her 'home', back to where her 'real' mommy lived -- in a pretty valley. A place where they rang the church bell when people died; and when she was missing, it rang seventeen rings for her age...


Coming out of the reverie, Sara looked down into her cup of cold cocoa, shuddering. What had happened to Rebekah in Cades Cove? If she allowed herself to be hypnotized, could she endure reliving such a potentially traumatic event?


And how did Adrian fit into that past life? In her nightmares, Sara could only get fleeting impressions of a man because the terror was so devastating, she could never remember much about him upon awakening. Adrian had refused to reveal what his regression therapy had uncovered, only giving singular details here and there, enough to confirm that indeed, in that previous life he was the man who had loved and adored Rebekah.


In the material they read, Sara discovered that proof of some sort would be the final, conclusive evidence of their previous life together. The bed warmer, Adrian said, was one piece of evidence; but he thought they could document their past existence by doing research into Cades Cove history, even perhaps locating their relatives' names on tombstones in a graveyard.


Sara stood, emptied the cup in the sink, then stared dreamily out the kitchen window at the dazzling snowy, windswept landscape, wondering if she could cope with such knowledge?


But recalling the long drives along steep mountain roads with Adrian in the Austin Healey, their hearts healing, their souls communing in silent, intuitive understanding...their laughter, their mutual artistic talents -- his for art, hers for pottery -- their shared interests and lack of desire for excessive materialistic wealth...she felt she had to explore that past life as Rebekah, learn what connected her and Adrian so deeply that Fate had decreed they come together again, resolve something left unfinished in that dim, distant past. Something that had caused Sara to always sense Adrian's presence like a shadow hovering on the edge of her consciousness, alarming when he was unknown, untouchable.


But now, now that they had met, he haunted her with his melancholy for the past; he'd become a wind blowing wildly through her heart and she knew she would have to enter the whirlwind so that she and Adrian could fulfill their destiny in this lifetime.

                        * * * *

Adrian spent the weekend busy with tourist; he gave ski lessons in the morning, and had to take over a couple of hours in the afternoon as well, since the instructor who handled that time had been sick with flu.


Normally, he enjoyed the experience of teaching beginners the thrill of learning to ski, but unfortunately there were some people who could not master the sport.


And then there were the hopeless lonely-hearts, the older women who tried to seduce; or the teens who came on shamelessly. One teenage girl in particular had tried his patience to the limit by insisting he accompany her on the run, even after she'd proven her ability as a competent skier. She'd flirted outrageously, and he'd had to avoid her deliberate pursuit all weekend --not only on the slopes but in the lodge.


Monday he was free in the morning, but had the afternoon lessons, so when he got back to the chalet around six, Adrian ate a quick bite and prepared for his yoga session. He'd taken it up years ago, right after the hypnotherapy; the disciplined exercises reduced tension, helped him stay healthy and physically fit, as well as aiding in meditation and getting in touch with his subconscious.


Standing before the rock fireplace, he did his warm-up, then sat down in front of the wide window that faced the mountainside, glittering lights from the lodge and ski slopes lighting up the darkened skyline.


Adrian folded his body into the classic yoga posture, asana, and began his routine with concentration on the Suryanamaskar, or Sun Salutation, his breathing regulated in each movement. He then proceeded slowly through eighty-seven basic asanas, all suggested in the Yoga Shastras. Sometimes only a few asanas would relax him, but tonight he was stressed out from the work, and went through the entire routine, deciding to end with the yoga mudra, which was an aid to meditation.


He inhaled deeply, tilted his head slightly back, lightly closing ears with middle fingers, and gently pressing together his upper and lower lips with the remaining two fingers.


Now in the quietness, the darkness, Adrian concentrated on visualizing a light behind his eyes, while hearing the sound current within, his own mantra being a soft, soothing oommuaa, om, oommuaa, which he chanted, his mind emptying of all thought, becoming peaceful nothingness like a placid lake without ripples.


At length, he swam up from the depths of his inner being, lit a candle on the table, and practiced the gazing exercise known as tratakam. His eyes focused on the flicker of the flame, staring fixedly at it, unblinking as long as possible, then resting his eyes, and resuming the penetrating stare.


Gradually he felt the stimulating effects begin to work their magic, and the candle flicker wavered, burst into bright light, his visual imagery coming fast and vividly, scenes flashing from his past life as Clifton Kane like a film in motion: First, the bloody battle scenes, then the rickety train ride along the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the short time spent in Libby Prison at Richmond, Virginia; now the daring escape from a train near Augusta, Georgia on the way to Andersonville Prison...a treacherous trek back through that state, into Tennessee, finally getting lost in the Smoky Mountains, ending up in Cades Cove, harbored by the Slater family, Union sympathizers.


Slow-motion images drifted before him of his meeting Rebekah, a shy young beauty, her caring for him, tending his wounds, hiding him in the cantilever barn, coming to him in the dead of night through the snowfall to bring a bed warmer for his comfort, his seduction of her, his growing awareness that he was falling in love with Rebekah...vaguely aware she seemed familiar, that he could not live without this girl in his life... Fade to black, utter darkness and then the rapid scenes of danger, quickened pulses, fights and shouts, cursing and the void opening up, a gaping pit that was consuming them, his fury and futility at being  unable to prevent what was unfolding...a piercing burn in his back...


A groan of agony pulled Adrian back into the present, and he blinked, seeing only the golden candle glow in front of him now. He sagged against the sofa, stretched out his legs and arms, ran a hand wearily through his hair. Could Sara cope with the shattering images of their death that filled his mind? Even after years of reliving it in his self-induced trances, Adrian had not been able to rid himself of the horror; it always left him feeling nauseous and disturbed, sometimes angry about being cheated out of life, love and happiness.


He got to his feet, pulled on a robe, went into the small bedroom and looked at the sketch he'd been working on for the past month. It was more explicit than the other work, which was still in California at his Big Sur home. This portrait depicted passionate lovemaking -- that one brief, stolen night Clifton and Rebekah had shared in the barn loft.


As he stood looking at the two young lovers he'd portrayed, Adrian knew he'd captured something inexpressible in words...more an essence of heartbreak, a wrenching poignancy in their embrace, every line, every link between them like an exquisite torture of forbidden ecstasy, naked bodies partly revealed beneath a patchwork quilt, something riveting in their faces as they looked up, startled by what was glimpsed beyond where they lay together, eyes sad and knowing, old before their time, dying even as they were in the throes of life's sweetest bliss.

He turned away, overcome by what he saw, feeling the familiar piercing pain and hollow emptiness. Wandering back into the living area, he stopped at the window, glancing out at the road. The brown van was parked not far away, and he cursed aloud, furious that the tabloids tracked him like a wanted felon!


But there was nothing he could do right now about that, so he sprawled lazily on the sofa, reached for the phone and called Sara. He felt it was time for her to see the portrait, get her reaction, before he contacted the hypnotherapist in L.A.


                      END CHAPTER



                     CHAPTER EIGHT

Valentine's Day dawned blustery, cold, but by late afternoon that Sunday, the sun broke through the overcast skies and Sara felt her heart lift as she prepared for Adrian's arrival. Their phone conversations that past week had been thought-provoking and filled her with anticipation for their date.


Selecting a two-piece black dinner suit, Sara pulled on the short, tight skirt, zipped it up, then slipped into the tapered jacket, snapping closed the large goldtone buttons. She posed before the cheval mirror, seeing her legs outlined in the dark hose, her figure defined by the severe black form-fitting suit. Her hair was twisted up atop her head in a classic style, revealing the contours and planes of her face.


Gold jewelry, black pumps and matching handbag rounded out her ensemble, and she hurried downstairs just as Adrian's Austin Healey roared up the driveway. She got into her wool coat, threw a scarf around her neck and went out the door, locked it and crossed the porch, stood looking at Adrian leaning casually against the car, his eyes riveted on her. He had on a brown suede jacket over a button-down shirt with tie, gabardine dress slacks, and she thought he looked exceptionally handsome this evening.


He called, "Are you ready?"


"Yes, you are right on time!" As usual, she thought.


He waited while she came to the car, went around and opened the door for her, smiling and whispering close to her ear, "I've missed you Sara."


His husky voice warmed her, and his hand lingered on hers a long moment as he said softly, "I have a special Valentine's gift for you, but I'll wait until we return from the restaurant to give it to you."


When he'd settled himself into the driver's seat, Sara said, "I have something for you too, so we'll exchange gifts later."


"I hope you'll like this restaurant, it has delicious mountain trout, and is located in a secluded wooded hillside area. Very private and...cozy."


"I'm sure I'll love it, sounds...um, romantic," Sara replied, feeling intimately close to him in the small confines of the car she'd become fond of. The tiny Saxon Austin Healey was a 3000 Mark III with classic continental styling -- red leather interior, comfortably plush. It purred along the narrow, twisting roads as Adrian handled the car expertly.


When they arrived at the log hunting lodge, twilight was casting long, deep shadows through the thick woods, and as Adrian escorted her into the restaurant, Sara noticed a brown van pull into the parking lot.


Adrian saw it at the same moment, and frowned; he had not seen the van since last Monday, and now it was here! Tempted to have it out with whoever was tailing him, Adrian paused and stared hard at the vehicle, but knew if he created a scene they would find it even hotter copy. The last thing he wanted was for his and Sara's photo to be plastered across the front page of a tabloid with a headline that screamed a blatant, provocative lie.


Sara asked, "Isn't that... I think I've seen that van before."


"Where?" Adrian led her into the restaurant, feeling uneasy.


"It...no, I guess I'm wrong. I thought I'd seen it near my house one day, but there's so many vans these days, they all look alike to me."


Adrian took off his jacket, helped Sara remove her coat and knew he should do something about those sleazy spies, but when he saw Sara's black outfit, the way it defined her shapely figure, he decided to let the issue drop for now. Her face was alight with warmth and joy, and he didn't wish to spoil the evening.


As they dined in the intimate setting, a corner table with candlelight, the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant relaxed them, and they chatted about the past week. Sara had finished several more pieces of pottery, had it all air-drying, and planned on firing the kiln again soon, which she enthusiastically told him about.


Adrian told her of his ski lessons, unable to keep the edge of irritation out of his voice as he mentioned the hassles of some tourist who couldn't seem to accept that they were not capable of learning to ski.


She put her hand lightly on his arm, said sympathetically, "It sounds like you had a hard week. I was wondering... do you ever think of competing again?"


Her question caught him by surprise, and he felt the old familiar pang of loss, but was grateful for her intuitive understanding that he might miss competitive skiing. "Sometimes I...think about it, yes. I miss the sport, the challenges. In fact, I did compete a few years ago in downhill racing, nothing international, just local stuff in Colorado."


"And how did it go?" Sara asked, studying the displeasure on his face, wondering if he knew how much his distress showed?


"Not bad...but..." He put down his fork, took her hand in his, entwining their fingers. "Sara, don't get me wrong, I loved competition. It was...exhilarating, a great opportunity when I was younger. I started skiing when I was about six, at Mammonth Mountain in California, and...it...I put a lot of energy and time into it. When I didn't make the Olympic team at eighteen, I was disappointed, but I accepted it. Truthfully, I like skiing as a kind of hobby now, something I do with pleasure -- and occasionally, I can teach others who will enjoy it too."


Sara nodded, glad he'd shared this much of his past with her. His reluctance to discuss his background puzzled her, and she sometimes wondered if she really knew him at all?


"It's...nothing I can't do without. My heart isn't in it anymore. No, what I hope to accomplish in this life will be through my art."


"Painting you mean?" Sara leaned forward, adding, "I'd like to see your work."


"You will soon, I have a painting in the car, the gift I'm giving you for Valentine's."


"Oh, I...that's wonderful!"


When they drove back along the winding moonlit mountain road, they both knew this night would be special; they were not as caught up in the past so much as living in the present moment as Sara Colton and Adrian Alexander -- a woman and man in love.


It had been difficult for Sara to accept it, and she'd spent her nights and days in emotional turmoil, denial and acceptance warring within her heart. Yet now as they came into Laurel Cove, Adrian's voice was tight with forced control as he told her of his love, his fear of allowing physical desire to overwhelm him -- and she realized she'd fallen in love with him too.


Once inside, he started toward the parlor to build a fire and Sara got a thick afghan, and tossed it down by the hearth, then they stretched out in front of the blazing flames. She gazed into his blue eyes, seeing them burn with heated passion as he stared back at her.


He continued to stare at her, willing himself not to touch her, knowing the feel of her soft, pale skin would be unbearably tempting. But the past began to slip away, and his mind filled with Sara Colton...the lovely woman now beside him, her big brown eyes simmering with unspoken ardor, unspoken love; he could see it, even if she wouldn't admit it aloud.


She broke the tension by touching his face gently with a fingertip, asking, "Do you want me?"


"God Sara, you know I do! I've struggled to control myself, but being with you...it makes me want you all that much more." He caught her hand against his face, let his lips nibble at her fingertips, kissing her palm and saying seriously, "But if we make love, it might be too much too soon."


She knew he was hesitant, that even though his need was great, he'd restrain himself out of respect for their soulful bond if she didn't take the initiative. And suddenly Sara didn't want to hold back, didn't wish to deny their physical attraction.


With the firelight a backdrop, Sara stood and began removing her clothes, watching him as he gave a brief nod, and then studying her when she was naked, no trace of hesitation in his appreciative, welcoming embrace when she lay back down beside him.


It seemed as if time stood still, that their loving one another was the most natural, most spiritual act either of them had ever experienced; each touch, each caress was like a remembered togetherness, and they flowed like warm honey into the melting surrender of passionate lovemaking. It was something born out of sadness, a slow, sensual, joyous reunion -- not a first sexual encounter: tender, true and so beautiful it felt like physical ecstasy only bonded their souls into Oneness, a Wholeness; they became, indeed, as ONE.


Afterward, Sara felt gloriously alive yet serenely satisfied, and she smiled at him, whispering, "I never dreamed it could be like this, so exquisite it almost seems impossible to describe."


He lifted her into his arms, wrapping the afghan around her, and then pulling on his pants, went to get the painting from the hall where he'd left it. "I want you to see this now."



Sara sat down on the sofa, then leaned forward expectantly, running a hand through her hair. "Your gift is on the hall table, the small wrapped package."


He got it too, came back to the parlor and flicked on a lamp. As he tore open the gift, he saw a triangular earthenware object with an exotic design on it, obviously one of her creative efforts. "It's very unusual, distinctive. Thank you, I'll treasure it always."


"I'm compelled to create similar pieces from time to time, although I'm at a loss to explain what it is; the design just comes to me unbidden."


"You know...these scrolls, curling lines...it looks like an ancient writing of some sort."


"Others have remarked on that too." She shrugged, said, "Now let me see the painting."


He helped her unwrap his painting, stood it up so that she could see it in the lamplight, turning to watch her reaction, surprised to see tears glistening in her eyes.


"Adrian...if I had any doubts before, I don't now. The girl, her face, her...eyes, hair...that's the Rebekah of my nightmares." Sara studied it with awed fascination, a growing fear and sense of helplessness; she felt like a victim of fate, destiny...unable to lay claim to her own life, her own actions.


"I have more paintings of that time; I have been obsessed with depicting the tragedy, the...events, everything. Some of the paintings are of the rugged, war-torn landscape, bloody battles and other personal situations during that time, but this one only came after I'd met you. I did it during my free time, and it's..."


"Hauntingly poignant, the very essence of a bittersweet love, two lovers...their faces are...glowing with love, yet so sad and somehow lost-looking, even as they lie together making passionate love." She noted every detail, the face of the man oddly familiar, his tousled red hair, and his startlingly blue eyes -- a vivid resemblance to Adrian's.


She studied the patchwork quilt the lovers shared, having a sudden flashback of sitting in a cabin with older women, all bent over the quilting frame as they gossiped and sewed small patches of worn clothing together artfully.


"Sara, Sara..." Adrian said, coming to sit close to her, looking deeply into her eyes. "I love you. I know we are the two souls in that painting, but here and now, we are who we are in this life. I love 'you', Sara, love you for yourself, the woman you are today. I'd have fallen in love with you even if I'd not known of our past lives..."


And because she felt overwhelmed by the drama, the heartbreaking, passionate love they'd once known, the unsolved mystery of that long-ago time...and had never known such physical pleasure as they'd just shared, she wanted to tell him she loved him too. But words failed her. There was the niggling doubt about him, about what he was holding back from her regarding his background, something she sensed was important. As much as she wanted to question him, she just couldn't bring herself to break the fairytale spell they'd been sharing tonight...


He slipped beneath the afghan with her, his loving embrace gentle, reverent and then kissed her with tenderness, a deep, abiding gratefulness as he said, "But I'm so glad we've found each other in this lifetime, so we can fulfill our love, be happy. I... Sara, I want you to see a hypnotherapist, the same one I did. He can come here, and...."


"Yes, I want to learn everything about that long-ago past lifetime we shared. But...I'm afraid, not just of whether I can cope with the tragic details, but...well, of what others might think of us."


Adrian tilted her chin up, staring into her eyes. "No on need ever know, only you, me and the therapist. He is very reliable, discreet, and has never betrayed the revelations he coaxed out of me."


"That would help, to know that no one would ever know about it, no possibility of ridicule. It's just... that bad period as a child, my parents were so worried about me, others acted as if..."

"Shhh, no one ever has to know. I understand, really I do." He smiled, then said, "Happy Valentine's Day, Sara."

And they began to make love again, wanting the bliss of spiritual and physical bonding that would bring them closer and closer to that ultimate destiny waiting for them somewhere in time and eternity.


                   END CHAPTER




                  CHAPTER NINE

Sara was proud of her self-imposed isolation during January and February; she'd used the time well for potting, and the shed was stacked with pieces to be marketed. By the first of March, she was engaged in negotiations with several tourist shops in Gatlinburg and North Carolina, some of which had sold her work for the past two years, as well as supplying several handicraft guilds with select pieces.


The day she talked by phone with another potter in nearby Pigeon Forge was especially promising; they were both attending a craft association meeting in mid-March, and struck a good bargain. Charles, a well-known potter whose wife was a talented weaver, would exchange a few of his pieces with hers, and then they could show them among their own work at their established residents/shops. This would benefit them both; the more exposure one's work received, the better the chances of sales, and Sara had no objection to helping other potters succeed.


All in all, Sara was pleased with her progress, considering that Adrian had been a big part of the past two months. But she'd still managed to accomplish her goals, even if her emotions were constantly highly charged and unpredictable. During the last two weeks of February, Adrian had come to her house almost every night, either for dinner, or simply to sit by the fire and discuss the esoteric books she'd continued to read.


She smiled, remembering the day he insisted on being with her when she fired the kiln; it had been going perfectly until they started fooling around, her attention diverted by his kisses and whispered endearments. Only her quick action had saved the pottery from being ruined; she'd told him he'd have to 'behave'  himself if he stayed. And he did, at least for that day. Occasionally he spent the night -- long pleasurable nights savoring the sensual bliss of their lovemaking.

Sara sighed, looking out the kitchen window to see a windy, sun-bright March day; she got her parka, put it on over her jeans and sweater, then grabbed up her purse and grocery list.

Once in the Volvo, she shivered in the cold, but the thought of an early spring was cheering -- spring was her favorite time of year in the Smokies.


Driving along the familiar roads, she enjoyed the trip into the nearest small town where she did her weekly grocery shopping, still absorbed in thoughts of Adrian. He'd contacted the hypnotherapist, but said it would be May before the man could fly out to Tennessee. The wait would be difficult, but Sara was looking forward to having Marge back in a few weeks, the opening of her Bed & Breakfast, so the time would pass quickly with activity and involvement with others.


At the grocery store, Sara hurried inside and made her usual rounds, consulting her list and buying a few items impulsively. A nearby neighbor, Evelyn Skinner, stopped her and they had a friendly chat about the weather, Evelyn saying, "Hank and I went for a walk in the woods yesterday, and would you believe we saw spicebush and shrub yellowroot in bloom near a stream? Why, we even saw the first violets in the woodlands, and a few anglewing, mourning cloak and azure butterflies flitting about! Looks like an early spring for sure, in spite of the snow."


Sara agreed, saying, "And I love spring, the sooner the better!"

As they parted, Evelyn called, "Come to supper one night, we'd love to have you."

And Sara nodded, said she might; the neighbors and other local friends were always incredibly understanding about the seclusion she needed during the winter months for intense work. No one intruded, and she appreciated their discretion -- but it suddenly occurred to her that had it not been for their polite distance, someone would have known of Adrian's visits. Perhaps they'd noticed him at her house, but didn't want to seem nosy by asking about him.


At the checkout, Sara stood in line behind several customers with young children. She wondered suddenly how Adrian felt about having children? She had always wanted several...


Her eyes drifted to the magazine rack, and she saw the tabloids were up to their usual tricks: blaring outrageous headlines told of unbelievable alien encounters, two-headed animals. She tried to suppress a grin of disbelief at how gullible they must think people were to read that stuff. But just then she noticed the name Adrian Alexander...


Heart racing, she grabbed the paper, read on the front page in a small inset: WHERE IS ADRIAN ALEXANDER?

With shaking hands, she turned to a page inside to read among the Hollywood star gossip:

       Adrian Alexander, the youngest son of the illustrious actress VIVIAN TANNER, is rumored to be a ski instructor in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. When will this bad boy of the talented, successful movie star settle down and act his age? Come on Adrian, do you need to work? Those millions you inherited can't keep you satisfied? Are you going to be a ski bum the rest of your life?

Appalled, Sara felt her face flaming; she looked around self-consciously, worried someone would notice she was trembling. Swallowing hard, her mouth felt so dry she almost choked, and barely managed to say hello to the cashier, suddenly aware she was still holding the tabloid in a tight clench.


Forcing herself to put it back on the rack, she tried for a light tone as she said, "What will they write about next?"


The girl laughed, began scanning groceries, and quipped, "What now? Has someone sighted Elvis in the Smokies?"


"Not yet, but they will, just give them time," Sara kidded, getting out her checkbook, struggling to keep a steady hand as she wrote out a check.


Back in the car, she sat there in utter shock, the sarcastic tabloid words imprinted on her brain with searing clarity. Now, oh yes...now it was coming back to her, that vague feeling she'd experienced before, that Adrian's name was somehow familiar. It was, but she'd pushed it away, shoved it down deep inside her mind. Whether out of self-deception or self-protection or merely oversight, she had not tried to remember where she'd heard his name -- and now, oh yes, now she was going to pay for it, and pay dearly!


Sara drove back to Laurel Cove in a daze, various tidbits of gossipy Hollywood news coming to her in snatches of memory, so that by the time she pulled up in the driveway, the shock had worn off to be replaced by growing anger and a sense of betrayal.


How could he? How could Adrian string her along like this when he was so obviously in the public eye? Didn't he realize that some enterprising tabloid reporter would dig up his reincarnation beliefs? And then their relationship, with its mystical overtones? She could almost see the headline now: ADRIAN AND GAL PAL SARA CLAIM THEY ARE REINCARNATED LOVERS!

Staggering into the house with an armload of groceries, Sara put the sacks down on the kitchen table and collapsed into a chair. Adrian Alexander...the name echoed over and over in her mind, dredging up information she'd rather not have known -- none of it very good.


She put her head in her hands and wept with regret.

                          * * * * * *

Stunned, Adrian stood holding the dead phone in his hand, rubbing his beard-stubbled chin distractedly. What had gotten into Sara? She'd called, and before he'd even had a chance to say anything, demanded he get over to her house immediately.


He stared out at the late-afternoon sunset, a gust of wind rattling the bare tree branches of an oak beside the chalet. Sara had sounded very upset, her voice throaty, like she was getting the flu. Could she be sick? If so, that tight, angry tone might have been just a fear of illness...


Quickly, he changed into fresh jeans and shirt, seeing his unshaven face in the bathroom mirror, but not taking time to shave. Raking his fingers anxiously through his hair, he grabbed a jacket and headed out to the car.

The trip was almost a blur, his driving like a bat out of hell, punishing the little Austin Healey to the max around the sharp, twisting curves of narrow two-lane highway, then flooring it along the flat straightway of the valley.

At last he rounded the last curve and saw the welcoming sight of Sara's house, his anxiety now making his hands clench the steering wheel as he swung into the driveway. He sat there a second, trying to gain some composure, but it was useless...

At the door, he knocked and watched as Sara appeared, her eyes tearful, somehow sad, a dejected stance in her slumped shoulders. He quickly assured her, "I got here as fast as I could. Are you sick? What's wrong?"


She shook her head solemnly, moving back for him to enter, then closing the door with a loud thud. He looked at her closely, sickly pallor over her face, the swollen eyelids and puffy cheeks, loose strands of hair straggling from where it was half-held back by a band.


Overcome with concern, he made a move to take her in his arms; she withdrew as if burnt by his touch, and said stiffly, "Come in the parlor, please."


"Sara, what is it? For god's sake...tell me!" He followed, close on her heels.

"Sit down, please." She walked to the cold hearth, began pacing in the way he'd learned meant she was highly agitated.


Adrian edged onto the sofa, alarmed as he recognized the angry tightness in her face, her jerky gestures. He watched her get a tissue from the Kleenex box, dab at her face and nose, then turn pained eyes upon him.

"Why Adrian? Why didn't you tell me about...your background?"


Oh god, he thought, a lighting bolt of realization hitting him. "The tabloids, you saw something..."


She was nodding her head, coppery strands slipping loosely around her face, voice weak and tremulous, "Yes...not much, just enough to jog my memory of who you are."


He jumped up, started toward her, but she held him at bay with a raised hand. "No, don't touch me. I should have known, should have tried harder to remember where I'd heard your name before. But...I don't read tabloids or watch that kind of stuff on TV.  And anyway, you haven't been in the media all that often, have you?"


"No, I'm not that important in my own right, just the son of someone famous."


She lifted her eyes, hearing the bitterness in his voice, but continued harshly, "Whatever. You are evidently important enough that they print articles on you from time to time."


"Sara, look, that's not my fault. I can't help it if... if..."

"No, you're not to blame for their sleazy tactics or even their off-color reporting...but...you are responsible for not warning me about it."


He felt the guilt churning in his gut, and apologized, "I'm sorry, I...did want to tell you, thought about it many times...but I was....afraid it would prevent us getting together."


"Couldn't you have trusted me?"


"I do trust you, but...my background is difficult to understand and I wanted you to know me for myself before you got a false impression from the bad press." He moved closer, asked anxiously, "What did you read, have they...did the paparazzi get pictures of us?"


"God, no! Thank goodness it didn't get that bad...yet!" Sara deliberately avoided him, walking swiftly behind the sofa and asking sharply, "Would you have let it go that far without warning me?"


"Sara, please try to understand, they've hounded me all my life, it's par for the course, being the son of a famous actress but..."


"I seem to recall you have a reputation as the ne'er-do-well, spoiled, lazy son of Vivian Tanner; that you feud with your internationally famous actor half-brother, Taylor Tanner...maybe because you're jealous he is so successful and you never made it as an actor?"


"You don't know what you're talking about! Rumors, Hollywood gossip...god, it's not true! I...Taylor and I are very close, and I never wanted to be an actor, the bit parts I had were my mother's fault..."


"And that your father, Owen Alexander the real estate tycoon, died a few years ago and left you his entire estate, cutting your mother and half-brother out of his will."


"Could I help it if my father did that? He had his reasons, and I...I have given a generous share of that estate to my mother and brother."


"You know, you talk a good line, Adrian Alexander. Maybe you're a better actor than they gave you credit for. What I cannot understand though is...why me? Why have you come here, pursued me and told me this wild reincarnation story? Wouldn't it have been easier to just tell the truth, whatever that is?"


Adrian knew it was too late, he was losing ground fast, and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, then said quietly, "Sara, please...you have to let me explain. I'm being truthful with you about our past lives, everything I've told you, every single thing, it's the facts as I know them."


She laughed bitterly, but it ended on a sob of pain. "I want you to go! And don't come here ever again!"


"How could I have helped with your nightmares, which you are free of now? How could I have painted the portrait..."


"You heard me cry out during that first night, when I had the nightmare and you used that information! Then...oh, I don't know! I just know you have held back and you didn't trust me!"


"Sara, Sara...please...there's no way I could have known the things I've told you, done the painting...unless our past life together had really happened. You can't afford to ignore what we've learned, it will destroy you...us..."

"There is no 'US'! Don't you have a clue about what the tabloids would do with this kind of story?" She felt the anger flare, and stood there glaring at him, accusing, "No, you didn't think about what it might do to me if the whole world suddenly woke up one morning to learn that Sara Colton had lost her mind, thought she was the reincarnated..."


"But you haven't lost your mind! What we know is the TRUTH!" Adrian rushed over to her, grasped her by the shoulders, gave her a little shake. "You know it's true, deep in your soul, you know it's the truth!"


She twisted away from his grip, demanded, "Go! Leave me alone! Even it is true, it really doesn't matter anymore. You...you aren't the man I thought you were."


Stung, Adrian asked bluntly, "Are you saying you don't love me?"


"If I recall, I never said I loved you." She sighed. "At least I didn't make a complete fool of myself."


Adrian realized there was little more he could do now; she was hurt, upset and with good cause. Belatedly, he recognized the bad mistake he'd made by not just candidly revealing his past, whatever the chances she'd have rejected him. Slumping his shoulders, he ran a hand over his unshaven chin. "Okay, I'm going...for now anyway."


She was already in the hallway, going to the door and jerking it open for him. "I'm sorry Adrian, but what I've been through with you, the...reincarnation, if it's true, the world will not accept it. I'm not sure I do, but if...and I do mean IF it is true, I'd never want to share it with anyone. The reputation of being a nut-case, a weirdo, crucified in the tabloids..."


"Does public opinion threaten you that much?" He stepped over the threshold, looked back at her. "I've had to live with it all my life, and it's not easy, granted. But Sara, having known about Cades Cove, having known all about my past life there as Clifton, I never let it leak to the press. Think about that."


And then he turned on his heel, walked rapidly to the car, got in, started it with a roar, backed swiftly out the drive, pausing to see Sara still standing in the doorway. The sight of her was enough to make him wish he'd not been so hasty, but before he could let himself weaken, he gunned the car and shot away down the long, winding highway, cursing his own stupidity.


Why hadn't he told her about the tabloids? It had been sheer folly to hope she wouldn't glimpse something negative written or televised about him; the media loved nothing better than a Hollywood bad-boy story, even if he wasn't a star himself. There was always a smattering of facts in such sensationalism, but the way it was presented, mingled with untruths, unfounded gossip...it made his stomach roil with an acid attack, just remembering the lurid stuff they'd printed about him in the past.


Back at the chalet, he went into the main room, sat in the dark, disgusted with himself. He should have done something about that van he'd seen tailing him; should have confronted them, told them to get lost, take a hike! But he knew how they loved a juicy scene like that, picturing a couple of past encounters with furious Sean Penn and Tony Danza, their angry attacks launched on photographers, the resulting photos of menacing actors seeming childish, spoiled.


Adrian felt his stomach clenching up, went into the kitchen and drank directly from the antacid bottle, washed it down with a cold glass of milk, trying to prevent an ulcer attack. The words he'd thrown at Sara about fearing public opinion came back to haunt him, how ironic it was -- considering how it had altered his own life. Those paintings of the Civil War battles, the Cades Cove of those long-ago days that he'd slaved over, depicting each tiny detail with skill and clarity of real memory...all hidden safely away from anyone for fear of stirring up controversy about how he'd been able to portray something he'd never directly experienced. Always looking over his shoulder to see if paparazzi were lurking around the next corner...


He wandered miserably through chalet, finally stopping at the wide window overlooking the dark landscape. "Ski bum"-- that was the media's favorite expression for him...and he momentarily wondered if it was true? He did love skiing, but he'd never habitually used it as an excuse from work, rather earning his way by instruction, helping others learn the sheer joy and pleasure of mastering the sport.


Not that he needed the money...no, he had more than he'd ever spend, simply because he wasn't inclined to excessive materialistic pursuits. He found more joy in his art than all the monetary pleasures open to him.


God, he was so in love with Sara! Worse, he feared what would happen if she refused to acknowledge and explore their past lives through hypnotism. At the very least, her nightmares would probably recur... Briefly, he remembered the terror he'd gone through before being hypnotized and starting his quest for the soul of Rebekah...devastating!


There was only one thing left for him to do, he decided, and went to begin packing some clothes. He'd get the first flight to L.A., go there and when he returned, he'd prove to Sara that he wasn't the caricature portrayed in the tabloids.

                        * * * *

The next day, Joe swung in behind the Austin Healey, wondering what in hell Adrian was up to now? Having seen the luggage tossed in the car, Joe suspected it wasn't a good sign.


As he hung back far enough not to be noticed, Joe replayed the past couple of months, cursing again. It had not gone like he'd planned, and everything had to be delayed -- the frigid temperatures had frozen the ground solid in places, and it had been impossible to carry out his schedule. Also, he'd bought another vehicle, the black Chevy Celebrity he was in now. It gave Donna some wheels, shut-up her bitching; and it would prevent Adrian knowing he was being tailed. Joe chuckled wickedly, recalling the way Adrian had been eye-balling the van lately -- as though he planned an armed assault! Of course, the van was still a necessity when the time came...


And then there was the complication of the red-headed gal. She and Adrian were almost always together when he wasn't at the slopes, so that limited the chances of grabbing Adrian alone, Joe sourly reflected.


When Adrian's car headed for the Knoxville McGee-Tyson Airport, Joe clenched the steering wheel in a death-grip. Damn, was he leaving?


Sure enough, Adrian boarded a flight for L.A. as Joe looked on helplessly. He yanked out a pack of cigarettes and lit up, smoking anxiously as his mind whirled in confusion. The plan was nowhere ready to put into action, so that gave them extra time anyway. And from what he'd seen developing between Adrian and the red-head, the guy would be back, just a matter of time.


Driving back to the house, Joe began to hatch an alternative plan, going over and over the details, seeing how it played to use the red-head as bait, as a means of getting what they wanted out of Adrian.


By the time he turned into the rutted dirt road, Joe was elated; he'd come up with an ingenious plan, even better than the original! The overhanging treelimbs alongside the road scratched the car, but he didn't mind...this isolated, private road led to the secluded rental house, a perfect hideaway.


Now, he thought, if only he could get this new plan through that thick skull of Donna's, they'd be in business!

                  END CHAPTER



                  CHAPTER TEN


Before several days had passed, Sara realized how unfairly she'd treated Adrian. The initial anger and hurt gave way to a growing understanding of what he must have had to deal with all his life, the constant media attention and ruthless tactics employed by the tabloid press. She didn't believe all she'd heard and read, not by any means -- yet hadn't her blunt, accusing words hurled in anger implied she indeed bought into the hype of hot tabloid copy?

Why would she attack him without first allowing him to explain himself? The answer was an embarrassing insight: Her own excruciating experience when she was twelve with the psychiatrist had left an indelible mark, a black lesson about how others could perceive extraordinary behavior and label one unstable. Even her own parents had been willing to accept the psychiatric interpretation of mental/emotional disturbance or over-active imagination instead of honoring Sara's plea to take her back to Cades Cove after the first visit had brought on her nightmares.

Sara remembered her school friends taunting her relentlessly when they learned of her visits to a 'shrink'! It had been so traumatic that finally her mother transferred her to a private school.

She wondered if it was just that something unknown, something inexplicable caused people to feel threatened? Was that why they were cruel and vicious toward anyone daring to express views conflicting with their own beliefs and traditions? Perhaps it did make them uncomfortable, just as she'd been when Adrian first mentioned reincarnation, since it conflicted with her Protestant upbringing.

But just because something went against the norm didn't give one license to be obnoxious, and now she deeply regretted her angry words to Adrian. Yes, he'd withheld his background, but she'd known that all along, and had not pressured him into discussing it.


However, when she'd phoned Adrian to apologize, he was not at the chalet. After calling the ski lodge, she'd learned he'd quit his job and told them he was leaving Gatlinburg. Could her outburst have so easily altered his love for her? If so, Sara knew it wasn't a deep, meaningful love...certainly not a love that had transcended death!

Disillusioned, Sara fought the feelings Adrian had evoked, love and passion, the mystical, magical soulful union she experienced in his presence...told herself he was gone, that she'd better get on with her life. But when the nightmares returned with a vengeance, Sara felt alone, lost and desolate.

Fortunately, she kept busy with craft association meetings, trips in and around Gatlinburg and occasionally North Carolina, enjoying the brief tempting glimpses of spring. Wild geese winged their way northward over the Smokies, passing overhead as she stood watching in her backyard; she spotted yellow-throated warblers, rough-winged swallows, brown thrashers, mountain vireo, flocks of rusty blackbirds, grackles and cowbirds, chipping sparrows, all arriving in the Park.

On a long hike to work off her frustration, Sara walked along the base of Blue Mountain, and saw fence lizards darting for cover, tiger beetles hurrying before her on the path. At the foot of the pine and oak covered slope, Sara encountered a great horned owl in a tall pine near the crest of a ridge. Amazed, she saw the owl was frightened by her, its ear-tufts held high and its body stretched to the fullest, suddenly taking wing and disappearing.

Knowing the owl was one of the earliest birds to nest, she climbed to the crest, hoping to get a glimpse of the structure...but could never find the nest. The sounds of the woodland were alive with promise, the fresh, cold air invigorating, and she immersed herself in the soothing balm of nature's renewed awakening.

Descending toward the valley, Sara discovered the first trailing arbutus flowers of the year, the white and pinkish waxy blooms giving off a sweet scent. Mountain people called these humble little flowers gravelweed, and she knew their appearance signified that spring was coming... a thought that uplifted her somber mood.

The Saturday afternoon Marge's Toyota turned in at her driveway, Sara was feeling better able to cope with Adrian's absence. When she saw Leala jump from the car, Sara hurried outside, calling, "Leala! What a surprise!"

"Spring break, remember?" Leala shouted, running across the yard to embrace Sara.

"I'm so glad you could come!" Sara enthused, pulling back and studying her younger sister's glowing face. Leala had waist-length auburn hair, now pulled back in a long braid, green eyes in a heart-shaped face, a dazzling smile that could disarm anyone. Her clear, healthy complexion and sprinkling of freckles across the snub nose made her look every inch the way she really was:  a fresh-faced, outgoing, well-adjusted young person.

"Will you quit staring at me with those big puppy-dog eyes?" Leala remarked, giggling. "I've missed you too, but you're making me feel like I've just come back from a long Star Trek mission!"

"Sorry baby sister. I've been a little lonely and you sure will cheer me up." Sara draped an arm over Leala's shoulder, and called, "Marge, leave the luggage; I'll get it later."

Just then a big yellow Lab bounded out of the car, bypassed Marge, ran loping across the yard, coming to pounce on Sara who exclaimed, "Whoa Rex! I guess you missed me too!"

Leala bent down, began rubbing behind the dog's ears, saying, "That's a boy, my big boy." She looked up at Sara's indulgent smile. "I hope you don't mind him coming along?"

"Of course not, you know pets are welcome here along with the guests." Sara met Marge halfway across the yard, took the suitcase from her, reprimanded her again for not leaving it till later but added, "Welcome back, I sure missed you."

Marge's eyes widened, an eyebrow lifting archly. "Now you don't have to act like you missed me so much. I know you need time alone for your work."

"I usually do, and I did get a great deal accomplished... but...I'm glad you're back." Sara tried to hide her emotional distress, but realized that Marge's quizzical expression indicated she suspected something was different this time. Even when Sara was a child, Marge could sense her moods; during the time they'd been running Spring Moon, Marge was the one Sara confided in, whatever the problem.

Now Marge was searching her face intently, and said in a low voice, "We must have a long talk soon."

Nodding agreeably, Sara said, "Yes, maybe later tonight."

And then Leala was running with Rex, tossing a stick toward the garage, shouting, "Fetch Rex!"

Watching the playful antics, Sara sighed deeply, glad to have company, a relief from her aching loneliness and despair over Adrian.

                      * * * *

Marge insisted on preparing an evening meal while Sara and Leala went out to the studio to look at the recently completed pottery. Leala squealed with delight when Sara showed her the cookie jar she'd made for her; Leala said it would go in her hope chest along with the other pieces, which she planned to display someday in her own home.

Sara teased, "When you get married, you mean?"

A scarlet flush rose to Leala's cheeks, and she smiled mischievously, green eyes brightening. "Yes...and...um.."

"Is there someone new?" Sara asked, knowing Leala went through several major crushes in the course of a school year.

"Tommy Brothers, we've been dating a few weeks. He's real nice, a hunky football player." Leala grinned, shrugged elaborately. "He um, plans on college next fall, so it's nothing serious."

Sara said, "I'm glad to hear that, since you have college ahead yourself. Do you still plan on a legal career?"

"I don't know, it's dad's idea." Leala averted her eyes, began walking around the studio, fidgeting with various tools, picking up the wire loop, asking, "How did you every decide on pottery? You had such a brilliant future in D.C."

"Sounds like you're repeating mother's words verbatim." Sara walked over to the pottery wheel, touching it fondly. "I didn't choose pottery, it chose me. That sounds strange, I know, but it's true."

"Dad thinks you might eventually sell your pottery nationwide." Leala suddenly turned to stare directly into Sara's eyes. "I'm not sure I want to go into law."

"Then don't," Sara advised, walking over to her sister and adding seriously, "You do what you feel is right for you. No one can choose a career for you, remember that."

Leala sighed, asked, "Would you talk to them about it, in the future? I want to please mom and dad but...I would sort of like to teach, maybe at the elementary level. I just love little kids, always have..."

Sara hugged her. "Then that's exactly what you must do, and I know mother and father will understand."

"I just want you to talk to them, okay? Leala implored, pulling back to look pleadingly at Sara.

"Sure, you got it."

"Um Sara, I was wondering, do you ever think about getting married? Having children?" Leala went over near the kiln, sat down in the comfortable chair nearby.

"Of course I do. I'd like to have children someday."

"But you seem so content, so mature and there's no special man in your life. You don't seem to need one, always have it together."

Sara felt her mature facade crumbling, was almost at the point of confiding about Adrian when Rex began barking loudly outside, bringing Leala to her feet, racing out to see what had set the dog off.

Wishing her parents weren't so determined to engineer Leala's career, Sara nevertheless knew they only wanted what was best for both their girls; however, their well-meaning intentions could bring out a rebellious streak in Leala, and Sara made a mental note to speak with them when they arrived next Saturday to get Leala.

They'd been just as influential in her own choices, but there had come a time when Sara had simply had to go against their wishes. Yet when she'd announced she was buying the house in Laurel Cove, her mother had generously supplied a loan from a trust fund inherited from her wealthy parents.


Not to be outdone, her father had chosen a prominent architect to do the renovation, then helped her with legal matters regarding the business end of the Bed & Breakfast. And her parents often referred regular guests of Colton Inn to Spring Moon --which certainly provided a constant stream of business.

As Sara went outside to join Leala, she realized that their parents would be supportive of whatever career Leala chose, just as they had with her. It was simply a matter of discussing the situation openly, and Sara could be instrumental in getting that started, knowing that Leala was merely afraid of disappointing them.

                   * * * *

After their evening meal, they sat in the parlor, catching up on the past couple of months' happenings. Leala was her usual talkative self, and gave them blow-by-blow accounts of the guests at the Inn, where she served as hostess in the dining room, just as Sara had at her age. She told them, "Mom says it's great for me, will instill polite manners and do wonders for my self-esteem."

Sara nodded, remembering her mother's speech when she'd protested about helping in the dining room. It did help her learn to be patient, polite and courteous, to develop social skills  -- and the young male guests who flirted with her had lifted her self-esteem, gotten her past the awkward teenage doubts and fears about attractiveness.

Sara said, "Mother is right, it will give you an advantage when you get to college."

Marge agreed, "Just look at the success Sara has had with Spring Moon."

"That's partly due to 'your' presence though," Sara was quick to interject.

"Thank you dear, but I know you'd do well even without me." Marge stood, smoothed out her dress and said, "I'm tired, guess I'll go to my room. Tomorrow I want to get started on spring cleaning."

"We have some reservations already for April," Sara said, standing and stretching.

Leala called Rex, but the dog was slow to move away from the hearth. "I'm bushed too. Gonna go get in a warm bubble bath, soak till I feel sleepy."

After she went upstairs, Marge asked softly, "How about that talk now?"

Sara knew she needed to share what had occurred with Adrian, and if anyone could begin to understand, it would be Marge because she'd always known of the nightmares, the upsetting incident when Sara had seen the psychiatrist. "I know you're tired, so we'll wait until morning."

"I'm not that tired. Besides, you look as if you need to talk...and you know you can discuss anything, absolutely anything with me, Sara Clara."

At the familiar childhood nickname, Sara melted. "Oh Marge, I'm so confused! I...there's a man who, during the past two months, I...we, I thought we were falling in love..."

"I thought you looked different when I got back today. What happened?" Marge stared sympathetically at her, concerned at the way Sara was tensely pacing in front of the hearth.

"He...it seems he wasn't the man I thought he was. And yet, I didn't treat him fairly either. It's... such a mess."

Marge stopped Sara's pacing by putting a hand on her shoulder, looking into her eyes. "It's never too late to correct mistakes."

"I just don't know, the way we parted was awful. And now, he...has left here. I don't even know where he is!" Sara let Marge embrace her, then pulled away to continue pacing, her hands gesturing with agitation. "There's something else too, it has to do with the nightmares."

"How are you? Are they still as bad?" Marge's blue eyes held deep compassion.

"The strange thing is, they disappeared while he was here. But after our breakup, the nightmares came back worse than ever." Sara bit her lips, tortured eyes on Marge.

"That is unusual. But then, the nightmares have always been peculiar." Marge studied Sara's guarded look, said slowly, "I do understand how you feel though, about not going for professional help."

"I know, and I appreciate it very much." Sara shrugged. "I guess I'm just upset about what happened between us. But don't worry about it, okay? We'll talk more when Leala is gone."

Marge came forward, taking something from her dress pocket. "You forgot to check the mail today. I glanced in the box while you and Leala were at the studio, and this came for you. Maybe it will help?"

Sara took the thick creamy envelope from her hands, looked down to see Adrian's name and a Beverly Hills return address, exclaimed, "It's from him!"

"See, things might not be as bad you think." Marge smiled, said good night and left Sara alone to read the letter.

                    END CHAPTER



                     CHAPTER ELEVEN

Holding the letter in her trembling hands, Sara went upstairs to her room, sat on the bed and adjusted the lamplight on the tea table. She fluffed up the pillows, lay back and pulled an afghan over her, studying the envelope.

She was almost afraid to read what he'd written, for fear it would dash her soaring hopes. But as she edged her fingernail under the envelope flap, Sara prepared herself to deal with whatever Adrian had wished to share.

Unfolding the ivory stationary, she saw his handwriting was strong, bold and yet neat, a very legible script. It was dated March 9th, a week after the argument and his departure, she reflected, tracing a finger over the paper where his hand had been, somehow feeling closer to him. Then she read slowly:




 My Dearest Sara, My Soul Mate...
I left because you seemed to need time alone, time to think about what you discovered about my background. I trust you are still thinking about it, have not reached any premature conclusions.

I am writing because I want you to know I have not abandoned you, nor have I been able to forget you for even one second. You are with me every waking moment, and when I sleep, you are in my dreams.

Before I met you, I had a vague image of my soul mate, but now that I 'know' you exist, life has no meaning if we cannot share it together. I love you with all my heart, mind and soul; you are part of me, the part that makes me whole.




Sara paused, tears slipping down her face, wiping them away and whispering, "I love you too Adrian, I just didn't know how much."

She looked back at the letter, continuing to read his words:




I fear that your nightmares have returned, and that now the terror is getting worse. I went through almost the same thing, but fortunately my mother was free-spirited and open-minded enough to seek the right kind of help. If she hadn't, I may have lost my mind. I feel your pain, your confusion, your every single fear and doubt because I have been through it too.

During my teen years, I was restless, always dreaming of blue-hazed mountains, a secluded cove and tried in vain to find this place, traveling all over California. No place even came close, and not until I was regressed to my past life did the name of this location surface: Cades Cove. I was twenty when I finally put all the pieces together, and traveled to the Smokies, returning each year to search for Rebekah's soul in another woman. I just felt deep in my soul we would be given another chance.

Sara, Sara...please don't judge me by the tabloids. I am a victim, that is all, a victim of their tactics. I should have told you about my background, and I ask your forgiveness. There is more I want to tell you, but it must be face-to-face. And I promise proof that what has been written about me are untruths.

The main thing I wanted to say now is that you cannot ignore what you have realized about being Rebekah Slater in another life because terror material has a way of coming up again and again, progressively getting more vivid. It cannot be suppressed or rationalized away, nor can you escape Fate, whatever that is for us.

I have thought about the psychiatrist you mentioned, and concluded it was a terribly upsetting incident in your youth. Orthodox psychiatry tends to judge reincarnation terror material as coming from a person's own unconscious, representing unresolved difficulties, or symbolic material if the psychiatrist follows the Jungian line. You and I know that is wrong, so please try to overcome the fear that an incorrect interpretation will happen again. It won't. Not with the right kind of help.

There is a way to resolve your nightmares with hypnosis, like we discussed. I am still willing to have Dr. Greg Morris fly out to consult with you in May, but I'd like to return sooner, perhaps in early April, have some time with you before then. But I won't pressure you.

My love, there is unfinished business between us, and obviously from our past lives too. It may be a mission in our past life cut short or a need to set things right, carry out a trust -- but whatever it is, it has caused both of us to have overwhelming compulsions, driving forces to do certain things, be in certain places, seek out certain individuals or situations which cannot be explained on the basis of our current lives, even going against our present inclinations.

We know this is true, and again, ignoring what we've become aware of is impossible -- it won't go away, only establish itself in both our conscious and unconscious mind. Our best source of dealing with it is within ourselves, through meditation, periods of withdrawal from the world, listening to our Inner Voice. You have not attempted this yet, nor should you -- not until hypnosis has cleared the path first.

Sara, Sara...I long for you, ache for you, need you beyond what mere written words can convey. I almost phoned you, but I felt a letter would be less intimidating. Give you a chance to think about what I've shared, let you make up your mind before I phone.

I'll wait for you to write back at the address below, so I can dare to hope, dream about our future together. There will never be another soul for me like yours...the immediate recognition we felt upon meeting, instant understanding, a spiritual communication beyond logical explanation, even beyond telepathy, the deep feelings of belonging and love...

      Sara, I miss you.

                        Yours Eternally, Adrian






Putting the letter next to her heart, Sara sighed with relief; he had not dropped out of her life, after all. Then she reread the pages several more times, each reading convincing her how true his words were. Why was she fighting it? It wasn't possible to thwart Destiny. Even if no other person ever understood what she knew in her soul to be true, did it really matter?

She finally folded the pages, put them back in the envelope, took a shower, then sat down and wrote a long emotional letter to Adrian, apologizing for not allowing him the chance to defend himself against the tabloids, telling him she intended not to fight what she was experiencing anymore, and declaring her love, asking him to call the last week of March.

Immensely satisfied, Sara when to sleep easily, a deep, dreamless sleep with no haunting terrors.

                   * * * *


The next week was a time for sisterly companionship, and Sara spent the days with Leala, showing her the hiking trails along Blue Mountain, pointing out early signs of spring. They took a picnic basket to a gurgling mountain stream one day, ate the cold fried chicken Marge had saved for hem, cheese and crackers, had tea from a thermos, the food spread out on a blanket. Sara was learning how much she treasured her baby sister, their age difference becoming less distracting now that Leala was older.

With the chattering of birds echoing through the woods, they sat together and reminisced, shared funny stories of their childhood, Sara admitting that being twelve years older had made her over-protective of Leala.

When their parents arrived that weekend, Leala hinted to Sara about her promise to mention the career problem. And at the first opportunity, Sara arranged to be alone with them, explained how Leala felt, her mother understanding, her father a bit reluctant initially, but gradually coming to respect Leala's personal choice.

After they drove away, Sara had her usual pang of regret that distance separated them; her family was important, and they would always be a big part of one another's life even if not living nearby.

But having Marge around eased the loneliness she would have had to endure otherwise, and the following week was spent busily engaged in household chores to prepare for April guests.

Every day as they went from room to room, cleaning windows, floors, vacuuming and moping, dusting and putting fresh linen on beds, getting out vases for cut flowers, doing the neglected tasks, Sara listened for the phone. If her letter had arrived safely, Adrian should be calling one day or night and she waited anxiously to hear from him.

Marge had been happy to learn of the impending reconciliation, saying she was eager to meet the mystery man who'd stolen Sara's heart. And Sara had confided in vague terms about the mystical aura she and Adrian shared, but not brought up reincarnation -- her own past life had to be known fully before she could attempt to convince anyone of that reality.

Wednesday morning Marge drove to the grocery store, and just as Sara went into the kitchen for cleaning supplies, the phone rang. She grabbed it up off the counter, said breathlessly, "Hello."

"Sara, God I've missed you!" Adrian's husky voice whispered over the line.

"Adrian! I've been waiting for you call. I'm so sorry for..."

"No, I'm the one who owes you an apology for not revealing my background..."

"I should have told you when you were here, I love you Adrian."

"God, how I've dreamed of hearing you say that! You don't know what it was like, thinking I might have lost you..."

"I know, I felt the same way...awful, the most aching loneliness of my life," Sara said, holding nothing back, emotion choking her voice. "I...knew in a couple of days I'd been unfair, and I...tried to reach you, but when I called the lodge, they said you'd left. It was, I...felt...desperately lost."

"I want to come back to you, soon. And then, we need never be apart again, ever. I could never leave you, I told you that when I first met you. I only went away so that I could come back and prove myself..."

"You don't have to..."

"But I will. Sara, I would like two rooms at Spring Moon, one reserved for myself and one for another guest. Can we get those for the second week in April, the 6th and 7th?"

"I think so, we have reservations beginning with Easter weekend, but the rooms are available until then." She began pacing, curling the phone cord in her fingers. "Who is coming with you?"

"Not the therapist, not  yet. This is someone special I'd like you to meet, but no need to discuss it now. You'll see when we get there."

Sara suddenly felt overpowering love for him, so much it seemed to smother her, render her weak and fragile. "Adrian," she murmured, "I love you, I love you so very, very much."

"And I love you equally, perhaps more. I've searched the past ten years for you...and now that I've found you, I can't live without you. The spiritual oneness I feel with you when we make love, Sara, it's something that surpasses understanding."

"I feel that same wholeness, as though we are two separate parts, and when we join our bodies physically, our souls merge into ONE."

He said, "Yes, that's the way it's supposed to be. We were part of the ONE spirit...all soul mates are...and when we come together physically, it reminds us that ultimately, we'll return from whence we came, to be consumed by the larger spirit."

"I've missed you..."

His voice was low, sad, "It seems an eternity since I last held you, made love to you..."

"Yes, it does. Seems like forever." She had to steady herself against the kitchen counter, overcome with weakness and wanting to be held in his strong arms, surrounded with his tender, deep caring.

"It won't be long now, we'll be there on the sixth. Until then, remember you are with me in spirit."

"Adrian," she caught her breath quickly, managed to whisper, "come home soon, I love you."

"Home, yes...there with you, that's where I belong. Bye now, my love."

"Bye." Sara put down the phone, dazed. The next seven days could never pass fast enough, she thought, every nerve in her body singing with aliveness, desire and love for the man who'd come from beyond death to claim her for all eternity.

            * * * *


It had been a boring flight from California, Adrian reflected, and a tiring drive from Knoxville to Gatlinburg, but as he whizzed past the last traffic light, turning onto the twisting two-lane that led to Laurel Cove, he felt it was worth the time.

He glanced over at Taylor, who was studying the rural countryside with an appreciative twinkle in his baby-blue eyes, the eyes that a million women fans seemed to think made him irresistible.

His older brother, Adrian thought, was much more the urbane gentleman type, tall and gauntly thin, an angular face with generous lips and those baby-blues that set off a high forehead, blond hair cut closely, always impeccably dressed as he was now in an Armani suit.

"Tired?" he asked, turning back to the road.

"No, not especially. It's interesting, actually, the incredible mountains, the sense of rustic charm, a primitive wilderness in the Smoky Mountains Park that reminds me somewhat of the area near your estate in Big Sur." Taylor straightened his tie, pinched the crease of his pants, asked, "Do you think I will be recognized here?"

Adrian had to stifle a chuckle; it was unlikely anyone on several continents would 'not' recognize the famous, formidable Taylor Tanner, but he figured Taylor had a vain streak the size of the state from which he hailed, so he said soothingly, "Of course they will. You just be sure to stay clear of me, since I hate publicity."

"That's only because yours has all been so negative."

"True."

"And I never could understand why the tabloids picked on you. I had my share of bad films, but they never attacked my integrity."

Adrian rubbed his chin pensively, musing, "That's probably because you always managed to smooth their ruffled feathers with your charm. I, on the other hand, rubbed salt in the wound by being uncooperative, sometimes calling a spade a spade."

"Hmm, I suppose you have a point." Taylor glanced sideways at him, flaunting the profile he'd learned made him look dangerously appealing. "So, you want me to use the charm on this beauty, Sara?"

"Just tell her the truth, that'll be sufficient."

"Now, don't get defensive, little brother. I promise to be on my best behavior, not overdo the famous actor bit."

Adrian laughed, reached over and gave Taylor a slight shove. "Just be yourself, don't act at all. She will like you, I'm sure."

As the Austin Healey rounded the last curve, Adrian geared the engine down, slowed for the turn into the driveway at Spring Moon, thinking that for all Taylor's ego-centered behavior, they were still especially close and caring toward one another. It came from being unable to depend on their parents: Adrian's father away on real estate business; Taylor's father banished by divorce. So they'd turned to each other in their loneliness, and become good friends as well as half-brothers.

When the car stopped, Adrian heard Taylor give a low wolf-whistle. "If that's Sara, you didn't exaggerate in describing her as a beautiful woman."

"That's her, and you just remember big brother, she is mine. You got all those gorgeous-but-ambitious starlets after you, and this woman is off-limits."

Taylor laughed, but said sincerely, "Not to worry, I know a love-struck woman when I see one, and her glowing eyes are a dead giveaway."

          END CHAPTER



          CHAPTER TWELVE

Adrian forgot about Taylor, having eyes only for Sara as she came down the steps, a glow of love on her face, coppery hair a shower of waves over her shoulders. He looked at her tailored sandy silk suit, the short skirt showing off her long, long legs, thinking he should have changed from his rumpled gray docker pants and casual cotton shirt.

Taylor was getting out of the car, but Sara seemed unaware of him, coming directly to where Adrian was now opening the door, her voice low with subdued excitement, "I've been waiting for you, I've missed you."

And then he was standing, taking her in his arms, feeling they were the only two people in the world, their embrace growing intense, his words husky, "God Sara, you look even more beautiful than I remember. I've missed you too, missed you so badly."

She looked up, and he pulled her closer, his body warming to hers, unable to resist lowering his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly, then feeling the surge of pulsing desire, his arms binding her to him, feeling the overwhelming joy of being together. At last, he reluctantly paused to look at her flushed, dazed expression, bent to whisper in her ear, "I can't live without you, Sara."

"Oh Adrian, I feel the same way. I love you, love you so very much. I was afraid I'd never get to tell you, when you left so suddenly."

Taylor had stopped at the porch, was looking back at them enviously Adrian saw, so he said to her, "By the way, my brother, Taylor, is with me."

As though suddenly aware they were indeed not alone, Sara moved back, turned to stare at Taylor, saying, "Welcome to Spring Moon, I'm sorry I didn't properly welcome you sooner. It's just that..."

They walked across the yard, up the steps, Taylor on the porch now, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "It's understandable. I believe you had someone else more important to welcome back."

Sara grinned, linking her arm with Adrian's as they went to the door, saying, "Yes, that's true. I was very anxious to see your brother, he's been missed here."

She was impressed by the sophisticated Taylor Tanner, but found him a striking contrast to Adrian, who was almost exactly opposite in physical appearance. Taylor, near forty, had the commanding presence of Hollywood stardom; it was in his every polished move, every practiced gesture, his well-modulated voice, his lean, taut body and angular face with those mobile, expressive features. Yet the arrogant half-grin betrayed his true nature, and she thought his ego must be tremendous.

Adrian had his own brand of charm and presence too, but he was ruggedly built with a craggy-featured face, and had a friendly, natural demeanor without a trace of arrogance, no egotistical glint in his blue eyes which held instead a dreamy, mystical light of otherworldliness. Only the same light-blue eye color linked them as blood relations, inherited no doubt from heir mother, Vivian Tanner, who'd always been known as the misty blue-eyed femme fatale in her movies.

The door opened and Marge invited them all inside, her voice welcoming, "Hello everyone!"

Sara introduced Adrian to her, and the approving look on Marge's face was a relief to see. They shook hands, and Marge said, "I have been anxious to meet you; Sara speaks highly of you."

Adrian looked into the face of the woman Sara had told him was like a second mother to her -- but less critical than her real mother. He said sincerely, "And I have wanted to meet you Marge. Sara says you are the reason so many guests choose Spring Moon for their stay near the Smokies."

"My goodness Sara! She overestimates my role here, I'm afraid," Marge protested, but her eyes reflected joy at the words of praise.

Taylor stepped forward, a tightness in his handsome features, as if he could no longer endure being ignored. Sara introduced him, but Marge was already nodding, her face flushing as she exclaimed, "I'd know you anywhere! I loved you in that movie, 'Night of the Falcon'! You certainly know how to scare people."

Taylor chuckled, and sensing a fan, moved to gracefully take Marge's hand, lifting it to his lips, bestowing a light kiss, then looking deep into her eyes, his voice an intimate caress: "Thank you Marge. You don't mind if I call you Marge, do you?"

She was looking at him as if she couldn't believe he'd ask, and said, "No, no...of course not."

"Are you, by chance, a fan of thriller films?"

"Yes, I confess I like a good slasher movie." Marge watched him lower her hand, let go and move smoothly to her side.

Sara was a bit surprised at how Marge's face had brightened, how she gazed adoringly at Taylor; it was almost amusing to see how Taylor fairly oozed charm. She inquired, "Would you like to freshen up? If so, I'll show you to your rooms before we dine."

Taylor looked at Marge, asking politely, "Would you mind giving me a personal tour of the house and grounds before it gets too dark?"

Marge smoothed her denim dress, put a hand on the colorful scarf at her neck, flustered. "Why...I... of course not! I'd be glad to show you around Spring Moon."

And with that, they started down the hallway, Marge telling him about the collection of pioneer antiques, steering him into the parlor, her voice trembling with adoration.

Adrian said, "I'll get the luggage, and you can show me to our rooms," and went outside.

Sara waited at the stairs, hearing Marge relate the history of the old farmhouse, how it had been purchased and restored, how she'd contributed to the authentic details...Taylor's interrupting to lavishly praise her efforts, his voice almost too smoothly responsive.

When Adrian came inside, he said, "Whew! There's a chill in the air. Guess there may be snow on the mountains by the weekend, according to the forecast."

Sara agreed, and they went upstairs, her pointing out Taylor's room, where Adrian deposited a small piece of luggage, saying, "He has a return flight booked for L.A on Thursday morning."

Leading Adrian to the same room he'd had in January, she said, "This was yours before, so I thought you might like to have it."

He opened the door, pulled her inside, tossed down the luggage and swiftly placed an arm on either side of her, pinning her against the closed door. "Sara, tell me again...tell me you love me, I need to hear you say the words."

"I love you Adrian, love you with all my heart and soul." She looked up into his brilliant blue eyes, his soul shining through with love and tenderness. His arms slipped down, his body molding to hers, and she allowed her body to respond. For long moments, they stood embracing, feeling the warmth, the sheer comfort of just being together physically.

At last though, Sara pulled away, walked across the room and asked, "Why did you bring Taylor here?"

Adrian sighed, said, "I wanted him to tell you face-to-face about the tabloids. I felt he could explain a few things to you, about my childhood, the strange behavior I had until the hypnotherapist."

"I told you that wasn't necessary; I believe you."

"Maybe...but this way, you can hear how it affected me, and him, and our parents...in his own words. If you have any doubt, this should erase it." He looked at her then, saw the anxiety in her face. "Sara, have the nightmares stopped?"

"Yes, right after the letter I wrote you." She went to the door. "We'd better get downstairs."

He followed her, but at the stairs put a hand on her arm, turning her to him. "As much as I desire you Sara, I would want to be with you for the rest of our lives, even if we never made love again."

"Oh Adrian, you don't have to..."

"Yes, I do. I am crazy in love with you, crave you sexually, but it's your soul I can't live without. Only by being with you, near you, can I feel whole. Our souls must be reunited."

"I think I'm beginning to accept that, but..." She stared into his dreamy eyes, feeling that strange mystical light encompass her with wonder.

"But what, love?"

"I...need to know it through my own experience, go back through regressing and relive it all. Otherwise, I can never fully understand, no matter how much you tell me."

He embraced her gently, kissed her lightly on top of her head. "And you shall, my love. Just as soon as we can arrange it."

"I'm scared."

He took her arm, said firmly, "Don't be. I'll be there with you."

The meal Marge had prepared was, as usual, superb. As they ate, Taylor devoted his attention to Marge, continuing to ask her questions, but also praising Sara's pottery. He said he wanted to purchase several pieces for his home in Beverly Hills, and promised to let his famous friends know who created such exquisite works of art.

Afterward, Marge said she was retiring to her room, and that left the three of them alone in the parlor. Adrian built a cozy fire and then Taylor focused his concentration on Sara, which she found to be formidable, almost unnerving.

But Taylor's face was earnest, and he spoke forthrightly, "I came here to clear up any doubts you may have about Adrian's trouble with the tabloids."

"I told Adrian this wasn't necessary," Sara replied, wondering if Taylor knew he was fatally attractive to most women -- but held no physical attraction for her?

He smiled warmly, peering directly into her eyes. "I know that, but the tabloids can be quite nasty. Mother and I have been able to protect ourselves from the viciousness they've exhibited toward Adrian. However, considering he isn't willing to court those rags, it is understandable they persecute and crucify him."

"Isn't there any way to stop their invasion of privacy?"

"My dear, when one is in the entertainment business, one is considered public property. We have no right to privacy. On the other hand, Adrian here has never really been involved in it, yet he seems to make juicy copy. Partly it's his being the son of a famous actress, and partly it's his lack of interest in acting."

Sara muttered, "And his huge monetary inheritance."

"That too," Taylor agreed, continuing, "undoubtedly, many people find it difficult to believe he has no interest in being an actor, the critics comparing him to a young Jeff Bridges in a minor role mother insisted he take years ago." He paused, then said as if musing to himself, "The fact Adrian inherited more money than he'll ever need, yes, that's fodder for the jet-set's gossip, another angle the rags find irresistible."

Adrian interjected bitterly, "And don't forget my failure to qualify for the Olympics, which gave them the idea of labeling me a 'ski bum."

Taylor shook his head, a dark grimace shadowing his angular face (reminding Sara of his powerful ability to convey a sorrowful yet dangerous character in films). His words were genuinely distressed though, "That is really a low blow."

"But isn't there any way Adrian can prevent them hounding him?" Sara asked again.

"Some famous people have tried, but it only seems to make them more keen for the hunt." Taylor lifted his shoulders. "The paparazzi have clever ways of getting photos, and will stoop to all kinds of malicious ploys."

Adrian moved close to Sara on the sofa, put an arm across her shoulders. "I think it is something we may have to deal with, but if we are very, very careful, as I've been in the past, there's no reason they will ever have to know about our unorthodox beliefs and what we share regarding reincarnation."

"If they ever got wind of that..." Sara said, shaking her head, grimacing.

"Which brings me to Adrian's peculiar behavior," Taylor said, studying Sara intently.

"You don't have to explain..."

"Yes I do." Taylor stood, went to the fireplace and began relating incidents from Adrian's childhood she'd not known.

When Taylor told of Adrian's insistence he belonged to another family, that he lived on a farm, that he wanted to go to his real home at the age of four, Sara told them she'd done the same thing at that age, only her descriptions of home were similar to Cades Cove.

Taylor merely nodded, continuing about Adrian's ending that phase when he turned six; then the rapid onset of nightmares at age twelve, and his need to find the mountains, the beautiful cove where he insisted a tragedy had taken place. And these obsessions persisted throughout his teens, the search always futile and unproductive in trying to locate the geographical region of his nightmares.

Adrian sat very quietly, his arm occasionally pressing against Sara's shoulders when she admitted she identified with his past turmoil and confusing behavior.

"Mother tried to help, had access to various open-minded people, psychics, etc. None seemed to help. When my step-dad, Owen Alexander, finally realized this was going to eventually put his only son, Adrian, in a mental institution, he took action. He went at it methodically, as a businessman might, being convinced that the 'flaky' types in Hollywood couldn't be of any help."

Sara asked, "And that's how he found professional help?"

"Yes, he located a trained, credible hypnotherapist who wasn't a flake or just out for money, and managed to get at the truth. And you, of course, know what that is, don't you Sara?"

"Yes." Sara glanced at Adrian, saw the naked pain in his eyes.

He said, "So help me Sara, when I first came to Cades Cove, it was really hard to leave, I wanted to stay forever. I did keep returning, feeling intuitively that the past life I lived there demanded I find Rebekah's soul."

"And do you believe this, Taylor?" Sara asked, turning to look at him questioningly.

"Personally, I have never experienced anything like it, but I can't judge you and Adrian. I believe it is distinctly possible, if that is what you're asking."

"In other words, it is not your belief?"

"I find reincarnation a perfectly acceptable belief, and I do know what Adrian has suffered because I was there, I witnessed it. Frankly though, it upsets me and I'm rather glad I never had any kind of karma or whatever to deal with in this life." He glanced sideways, giving Sara the daring profile. "I enjoy this life immensely, wouldn't want the past to intrude."

"It will interfere with your present life," Adrian agreed, "and it sure has with mine." He moved away from Sara, lowering his head into his hands. "The compulsions and obsessions, the inability to make sense of what you are doing...you doubt your sanity. I mean, all the restless wandering I did, all over the country, all over the world...fruitless. I was unsettled, unable to stay anywhere long, earning the reputation of being shiftless, rootless and even worthless because I couldn't be tied down by a job, a career. I had to keep moving, keep searching..." He paused, adding, "Only the painting, my art...that was a compulsion too, but it was also a way of giving clarity to what I knew I'd suffered in a past life."

Sara was moved by the agony in his voice, identifying with his pain and confusion. She muttered, "It was much the same with me. My family still doesn't understand, and when the psychiatrist condemned me, they accepted that. I just finally kept the nightmares to myself, at least the contents."

Taylor sighed deeply. "I imagine it was horrible, and that is why I'm relieved I have no such burden. I'm satisfied with my life, and feel terrible about what you and Adrian have had to deal with."

Sara studied his face, realized he was being perfectly honest, not acting. There was genuine compassion in his eyes, and he came over to put a hand on Adrian's shoulder. "Whatever else I am, I have always tried to be a good older brother to Adrian. I care for him deeply, and wouldn't want to see him hurt."

She saw he was looking pointedly at her. "Don't worry," she said, "we...I...I am in love with Adrian, and I would never hurt him intentionally."

"Fine." Taylor gripped Adrian's shoulder a second, then let go, said, "I'm going up to my room. What time is breakfast?"

"Marge serves between eight and ten, so anytime during those hours is fine."

As Taylor started to the door, he suddenly paused and looked back at them. "You two are lucky though, to have found one another again. After the bad, failed love relationships I've had, well...I'd settle for half what you have together." Then he disappeared into the hallway, his footsteps receding up the stairs.

Sara said, "Until he said that, I couldn't see him as a vulnerable person. In fact, I was having trouble with his arrogance."

Adrian moved close to her, said, "Arrogance is sometimes just a front to protect a deep sensitivity. Besides, when you get mixed up with ambitious Hollywood starlets, greedy gold-diggers, what can you expect? I went through a few of those superficial types, it always ended the same. Most were gorgeous starlets who dated me hoping I'd influence my mother for them, help their careers. Disgusting scene. I don't miss it."

"Oh?" Sara touched his face, moving into his arms, kissing him on the cheek. "And why is that?"

"Because I have you, love, and you are my destiny." He held her close, whispered in her ear, "I want to make love again, feel the spiritual oneness of our souls as we reclaim what we lost in our past lives. But I want to wait until we are totally alone."

They cuddled for awhile, then went upstairs, reluctantly parting, each going to their separate rooms.

As Sara got ready for bed, she reflected on all Taylor had said, and felt he was deeply caring for his younger half-brother, Adrian. They seemed to share a close relationship, in spite of the many differences in their characters.

And she knew it was a wonderful gesture for Taylor to have made this trip, taken time out of his busy acting schedule, to convince her of Adrian's good character, his honorable intentions. Truly, she had no doubts now whatsoever.

Yawning, she slipped into bed, hoping soon she could unravel her past life so that their present relationship could be free of the hold it had on them, and they could start anew, fulfill their true destiny in 'this' lifetime together.


              END CHAPTER



           CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The next three weeks of April were a buzz of activity and Sara stayed busy helping Marge with guests. Hardly a day went by that there wasn't at least one arrival and departure, even though the higher elevations had a dusting of snow. Some tourist liked coming in off-season to avoid crowds; they were usually older couples without children. However, Sara did find their pets to be a source of joy and pleasure, albeit causing more work. And then there was always the traveling salesman who preferred the homey atmosphere of a Bed & Breakfast compared to the sterile sameness of motels and hotels.

After Taylor's departure, Sara had invited Adrian to say at Spring Moon until he could locate suitable lodging. That proved to be difficult, since he told her he wanted isolation and privacy, a place the therapist come to work with her in total seclusion.

By mid-April, he had contacted a friend of his who was in the real estate business, and was able to lease remote property well away from tourist attractions. Sara had been awed by the spectacular view from atop the private mountain estate, and the rustic charm of the dwelling.

On several occasions as they stood on the balcony, enjoying the breathtaking vista of misty mountainpeaks, deep gorges and rugged terrain, Sara had seen through binoculars the return of migrating birds, blackpoll warblers, cuckoos, tanagers and once witnessed a duck hawk nesting on a sharp cliff.

Adrian told her the wilderness terrain reminded him of his Big Sur property. Except for the lack of seashore and the ever-present pounding of waves, Adrian said the estate was very similar. He'd first invited her to Big Sur for the therapy sessions, but Sara felt leaving the area while Spring Moon was open would be too burdensome on Marge.

An ad placed for live-in help brought good response though, and Sara interviewed several local young women, finally hired Linda Simpson, who would be there to assist Marge during Sara's absence in May while with Dr. Morris. And Marge could always phone her should an emergency arise.

The last weekend of April was lovely, and Sara managed to join their guests on the Park's annual Spring Wildflower Pilgrimage which featured over two-hundred species of plants nearing their peak of blossoming beauty. It was a special time for her and Adrian, enjoying the wonder of nature's unspoiled splendor in the Smokies; they seemed to grow even closer, their troubles forgotten in the joy of being together.

Sara tried to prepare herself for the hypnosis sessions, telling herself it would be therapeutic, the only means of resolving lingering emotional turmoil. And yet, when Adrian phoned on May 2nd and said Dr. Morris had arrived, that she could pack a bag for a few days stay, Sara felt anxious and fretful.

As she and Marge sat on the front porch that Sunday afternoon watching the tangerine orb of sun descend behind the mountains, hearing the calls of whippoorwills ringing through the valley, she had trouble letting the peaceful landscape ease her anxieties as it usually did.

Marge swayed in the porch swing, hearing the far-off drumming of a grouse, noticing Sara's tense face and nervous fidgeting. She asked, "Is there anything wrong?"

"I just don't want to cause you too much work here."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Linda is a gem, and if I need you, I can pick up the phone, you'll be here shortly."

"I know, but..."

"No buts. I'm not sure what you and Adrian plan during this time, but it seems important. And I've grown very fond of him. You both look happy together. That's what I've always wanted for you, love and happiness, a family someday."

Sara couldn't explain about the hypnosis, but she feared Marge was getting the wrong idea and said, "We haven't discussed marriage, if that is what you are thinking."

"Not yet, you haven't. But Sara, I know that young man is crazy about you, and it's just a matter of time..."

Sara smiled, went over and gave Marge a hug. "You'll be the first to know, I promise. But for now, I'm going to pack, then try to get some rest."

They looked down the road, saw a brown van round the curve, slowing as it passed the house, then accelerating away into the dim, dusky evening.

Marge said, "Remember, I will let you know if we need you."

And Sara knew she would, but that Spring Moon was in capable hands with Marge during her absence.

                          * * * *

Joe drove on through the twilight; he took a deep drag on his dwindling cigarette, squinting in the dimming light, the towering mountains casting dark shadows over the narrow two-lane.

He pondered about the plan; it still needed some fine-tuning, but he thought everything would come together like a champ when he made his move.

Shaking his head, a tight grin on his face, he remembered the sight of Taylor Tanner in unfamiliar territory; the shock of that sophisticated actor standing in the midst of rural folk giving autographs at the country store, so out-of-place it was funny. Damn, the man didn't even have his usual army of bodyguards, and Joe laughed, thinking how easy it would have been to snatch him. His mirthless laughing brought on a fit of hacking coughs, and he pounded the steering wheel, trying to get a deep lungful of air.

He recalled Donna pointing out that Taylor Tanner didn't have the big bucks, no use going after him. No, it was Adrian they had to get their hands on. And as Joe headed toward Gatlinburg, he reminded himself she was right -- that the key to success was that red-headed broad.

From what he'd seen, Adrian was gone on her; she was looker, had a knock-out figure...but damn, Adrian Alexander could have any woman so why her? Joe knew it had something to do with Adrian's bizarre behavior of the past, the peculiar wanderlust and rumored links to Eastern spiritual beliefs... But what?

And did it really matter, he wondered? Joe remembered tailing Adrian to the airport, watching him meet a man who got off the flight from L.A.. He scratched his chin, turning onto the dirt road that led to their rented house, lost in musings about who the man could be, what connection he was to Adrian.

When he pulled into the garage, Donna came out to meet him and asked, "You find out what the man is doing here?"

"Nah, not yet. But I will, you can bank on it."

She giggled, said, "Ain't that the truth! You trail them like a bloodhound on the scent of an escaped convict."

As he slid out of the van, he gave her a chilling grin. "Yeah babe, that's it...I stay on their trail, going in for the kill soon."

                     * * * *

Sara found Dr. Greg Morris to be just as Adrian had described him, a distinguished-looking gentleman in his sixties with thinning gray hair, a neatly trimmed beard and piercing silver eyes that served him well in his ability to hypnotize his subjects.

By Monday afternoon, she had grown comfortable with Dr. Morris, who had spent the morning in casual conversation with her, asking about her childhood, routine probing as a psychologist. But his approach was informal, putting her at ease, and seemed almost like chatting confidentially with an old friend; he refrained from making comments either negative or positive, merely listened and jotted notes from time to time.

With great sensitivity, Dr. Morris led her into a discussion of the incidents she'd experienced regarding Cades Cove, her nightmares and anything else pertaining to extraordinary memories or events that didn't fit in with her current lifetime. When she mentioned her compulsive talent for pottery, he made a note of it and exchanged a puzzled look with Adrian.

After lunch, they went into the large open-beamed den, and Adrian closed the drapes over the wall of windows that led to the balcony, turned on a lamp. Dr. Morris asked her to lie on the sofa, to get comfortable, relaxed, which she tried to do.

Adrian put a tape recorder on the nearby end-table, and then sat down in an armchair, out of her sight.

Sara saw Dr. Morris take a small bright object from his pocket, and then hold it in front of her, requesting she stare at it fixedly, his voice soft and soothing: "Now Sara, I want you take some deep breaths, inhale slowly, let your eyes focus on the pendant, yes...that's good. You are starting to relax....you feel calm, tranquil..."

Sara stared at the slow-spinning pendant as it reflected the sparkles of lamplight; she found it soothing, and felt her body relaxing, saw nothing but the pendant, the room and Adrian fading, hearing only Dr. Morris saying softly, "Your body is relaxed, your legs seem weightless, your arms too, your whole body weightless, you're floating in a cloud, a soft, soft cloud of serenity. Now close your eyes, that's right..."

                   END CHAPTER



              CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Adrian watched in fascination as Sara slipped deeper and deeper into trance; she was an exceptional subject, and Dr. Morris nodded his approval, then began his ritualistic counting to ten, telling her she'd be going farther and farther out, going into the distance, but could still hear his voice...

He regressed her to the age of twelve and asked, "Now what is happening at home?"

"Um, my mom...I got a baby sister, she's cute and cuddly."

Adrian heard the childish voice, and smiled, wishing he'd known her back then.

"What's her name?"

"Leala, and um...mom won't let me hold her!"

"Okay...it's okay. Now let's go back, we're going back, back in time... When I speak next, you'll be five...understand?"

"Uh huh."

"Now you are five."

"Umm..."

"What is happening at home?"

Adrian saw an impish grin form on Sara's face; she giggled, then said in a high-pitched voice: "Mommy says I can't do that anymore! She says I can't play in...um, the dirt, can't make mud pies, she'll buy me some play dough."

"Why?"

"Mommy says it's not clean to play in dirt."

"Do you like the play dough?"

"It's fun, I make pots, I build things, but...um, mommy and daddy get angry."

Adrian leaned forward, perplexed by the childish whine, watching her lips pout, then saying peevishly, "They, um...mommy and daddy say I am home, but I'm not! I want to go to my 'real' home in tall hills, big, big high hills..."

Dr. Morris looked at Adrian, nodded again and then asked, "What's the name of your real home?"

"It's...um...I...I don't know how to say, it's like...Kate's, um...Kate's...a funny word, but that's my home! I want to go home!"

Dr. Morris softly reassured her: "You're going home soon, just relax, everything is going to be fine. Now you're just floating, and you're going back, back... you're four, think of something that happened then. You don't have to tell me, just think of it. Now... you're three, think of your parents, and now... you're two, going back, way back..."

Adrian watched Sara start to fidget, then her body curled into the fetal position and he heard Dr. Morris say, "You are in a warm, dark place now, you are gently floating, you hear a distant, rhythmic beating sound, that's your mother's heartbeat, you are secure, you are surrounded by warmth, by total love..."

This went on for a few minutes, and Adrian leaned back, watching intently, afraid for Sara...

"Okay now I want you to go back, back...faraway to another life. You can do it, just let yourself drift, drift...back, back through space and time, way back to faraway times, another lifetime, it's there in your memory and soon, soon you can tell me what you see, what you are experiencing..."

Sara's body uncurled, she lay quietly, her face solemn and devoid of any emotion.

Suddenly she smiled brightly, her face flushing with happiness. "I see my home, a cabin in Cades Cove, the mountains all around!"

"Yes, who are you? What's your name?"

Adrian was amazed at her voice; it was the Rebekah of his dreams and visions and he heard her exclaim, "I'm Rebekah Slater!"

"How old are you, Rebekah?"

"Sixteen." She grinned, said, "Mama says I'll be marrying soon, but I ain't got no sweetheart." A tinkling laughter then, and the wistful, sad-funny smile that Adrian instantly recognized as that of Rebekah's dear features.

Dr. Morris said smoothly, "No sweetheart? A girl as pretty as you, Rebekah?"

"No, but..." She shrugged, said sadly, "Daniel, he lives at the west end of the cove, he likes me. I don't like him, not the same way...but um, see, he's a Reb. My clan don't go for no Rebs. The east end, we's for the Union." Her brow wrinkled, she frowned deeply. "Sometimes Daniel...he worries me..."

"What is the date, Rebekah?"

"Today is, it's...November 1863, don't know the day. It's fall, real pretty weather too."

"Where are you, what do you see?"

"I'm in the yard, I'm standing by the big pale rocks we used to play on, my little brothers still do. It's real nice, just soakin in the mountains like this, stand here staring up at the blue hazy ridges, feeling my spirit calmed. The sun's warm, but there's a chill in the shadows."

"Rebekah, can you tell me the names of your family?"

She nodded, saying rapidly, "My mama's name is Martha; my papa is Henry; and my sister, Beth, she's just three years younger than me, we's real close. Then there's the meanest brothers ever: John, ten; Mark, eight; and Caleb, five. They's always into something they shouldn't be!"

"Can you tell me what you love about the cove?"

"I love it all! Or I did till this mean old war come here. Papa says it's the rich man's war and the poor man's fight."

Adrian watched her face begin to glow, her voice elated, joyous: "I love everything about my home, always will. The sound of the wind, that strange eerie wind that starts with a slow roar on the mountains before it sweeps down into the valley, carrying the sound of mourning doves in the purple dusk. I love the sweet tinkling of cowbells in the foggy mornings, and the night sounds like the hoot of a big owl over the ridge, even if it is scary sometimes. Night birds singing after dark and...katydids and frogs, just the natural sounds of life hereabouts. I won't never leave, even if mama says I might want to one day."

Dr. Morris studied Sara's rapturous face, the fierce pride and sense of belonging not lost on either him or Adrian, who now leaned forward, elbows on his knees, wondering what was next.

"Now Rebekah, you're a very happy young lady...but, we're going to travel forward into your future there in Cades Cove. First though, I want to tell you that no matter what happens, it is not going to really harm you, even though it may be frightening and upsetting to experience. I want you to repeat this to me: 'I am not hurt, I am not hurt...I will survive.' And you are to repeat these words when you are feeling afraid."

She dutifully repeated his words, solemn and serious, her face set in obedient willingness.

"Good girl. Now Rebekah, we're moving forward... it's December, around Christmas, think about it, remember it but you don't have to tell me about it. Now, it's January 1864, real cold, frigid...you feel it, don't you?"

Sara was clutching her arms around herself, shivering.

"Now it's February, still cold, snowy..."

Sara stiffened, her eyes flashed open and Adrian almost gasped, but Dr. Morris put a finger to his lips, asked softly, "What's wrong, Rebekah?"

Her eyes were wide, frightened, focused on something beyond the wall where they were directed. "Shhh, be quiet!"

Dr. Morris whispered, "Why Rebekah?"

Adrian forced himself to remain rigid, not move a muscle for fear if he did, he'd not be able to stay put.

"It's the hunting horn, mama says to listen... I hear it, it's echoing down the mountain, got a haunting sound... means my little brothers spotted trouble, could be deserters, could be bushwhackers, guerrillas...war renegades who'll hurt us. We's part of the Home Guard, papa and mama, my little brothers up on the ridge, act like they's playing...but they know when to sound the horn, let us know strangers are amongst us."

"What's happening now?"

"Papa is going outside, mama come in from the kitchen and me and Beth, we's to go and hide in the root cellar. I hate it! I want to stay here, work on quilting, see what happens."

Adrian watched Dr. Morris waiting patiently, observing the conflicting emotions flickering across Sara's face, finally prompting, "What are you seeing now?"

"I...can't see much, just a candle with us in the root cellar under the cabin. I...hear a man's voice, papa is talking...there's Caleb's whiny voice...and...oh, now I see the door opening, it's mama!"

"You've left the cellar, what's happening now?"

Sara's face blushed, and she said shyly, "Why, he's a Union soldier escaped from capture on his way to a southern prison. And he's looking at me real special-like, winked when mama and papa didn't see him. I've never seen him afore, never met him... but...I...feel like we knowed each other forever."

"Can you describe this man?"

"He's tall, real tall and skinny, says he didn't have hardly nothing to eat for a long time. He's got red hair, and the bluest eyes I ever seen, but he limps, says he's been walking in awful cold weather. His left foot is...it's all bloody, got rags wrapped around it. And he's hurting...papa says he can stay in here by the fire, hide in the barn if'n the Rebs come."

"What is his name?"

"Clifton Kane, that's what he just said, and..." a girlish smile creased her face, "he winked at me again."

Dr. Morris looked at Adrian, they exchanged a mutual acknowledgment of the dangerous territory ahead and then he told her, "Tell me about it, all about it, you and this soldier, Rebekah."

"Um, he stays, me and mama tend his wounds, but he keeps askin I do it for him. He says he's from Illinois, lived with his family on a great big old farm." She smiled, her eyes dreamy. "It's so strange, I like him, we talk lots, and he says he feels like he's always knowed me too."

"Okay, now let's go ahead a few weeks, you are falling in love..."

"Oh yes! I do love him, I do!" Sara burst out, then more subdued, "But those nasty old Rebs, they came through here and now, now Clifton has to go to the barn. I don't want him to go, it's cold out there, papa says it looks like snow too..."

"Rebekah, repeat the words now..."

She paused, then said solemnly, "I am not hurt, I am not hurt...I will survive."

"Good, now you are calm, very calm as you look around you, you're in the barn...tell me what is happening."

"Clifton is staring at me, he is holding out something... I walk over to him and...oh! It's a pretty little red hat, I never seen one like it, he says it's a um, beret, he found it in one of those big old plantation houses he hid in after his escape. I put it on for him, and he's smiling, says it's perfect on me, makes me..."

"Yes?"

"No one's ever told me I'm beautiful. I...um, don't believe it. But Clifton is getting up from the floor, he's limping toward me, his foot is still not healed. We got him a bunch of quilts in the corner, a place to sleep in the hay loft, but it's snowing now and I don't want him to stay alone out here tonight."

She fell silent, and Adrian watched her face closely; she flushed, her breathing faster...almost as though... yes, she was reliving their first kiss, he could see the awakening of sweet discovery in her eyes as they went all dreamy and moist.

Dr. Morris prompted, "What's happening?"

"I...it's...oh, mama never told me about how... I'd feel all soft, like melting butter on the inside when I was kissed. Clifton is holding me, he says he feels like we knowed each other always, like... we belong together."

"Yes, you are happy right now. Tell me more..."

"Mama called me back home, but I can't stand him out there all alone. Must be midnight went they's all sleeping, I sneak out to the barn, carry him the bed-warmer, help him stay warm." She closed her eyes, her face flushing and her words full of wonder: "Clifton asks me to lie with him and I do. Mama won't like it, but I can't help it, I love him, I do...it feels right, us being close, together, like I always needed him to feel whole."

She lay quietly, her eyes still closed, tender emotions of first love washing over her features, the dreamy happiness. At last she sighed, murmured, "Clifton says he's taking me with him, we'll go north, get away from this mean old war, be married. He...wants to marry me."

Then she fell silent, motionless and after a long pause, Dr. Morris asked, "Now Rebekah, it's coming dawn, what do you see?"

"No! No! Oh Clifton, they...I saw them, run...you must run, the Rebs will kill you!" She was suddenly agitated, her face pale with fear.

Adrian sat forward, tense.

"I...Clifton! I woke up, heard voices calling my name, and looked out the loft, saw mama hollering for me. Behind her, I could see Rebels on the back porch!"

Dr. Morris intervened with soothing words, "Now remember, you are not hurt, you will survive."

She went limp, quiet.

"What is Clifton doing now?"

"He's dressing, I'm helping him. He's still hurt, I can't bear it, him sick and all, having to go out in the snow. He wants to go alone, but I won't let him! I won't! I'm going with him, he can't make me stay here without him!"

"Calm down, be an observer..."

She was twisting with agitation, but the words seemed to bring her a measure of reassurance, and she resumed less nervously, "At first Clifton won't let me go, he's arguing with me, I just throwed my arms around him, started kissing his face...and I tell him the Rebs might kill me if they find out I was with him, that I love him."

Adrian felt himself fearing what was ahead.

"The snowfall is deep, and the Rebs look all around the house, my mama tells them no one is here, just us... But I see they ain't believing her. So we go down the ladder, sneak through the barn to the rear, and slip out...head into the snow, can't help making tracks behind us. It's only a little ways to the woods, but...they'll come after us, see our tracks, follow us."

"Rebekah, repeat the words now."

"I am not hurt, I am not hurt...I will survive."

"Good girl. Now you are calm, you are just watching this happening, it's not really happening to you..."

Her tone of voice became less frantic, almost detached: "We run on and on, Clifton's foot begins bleeding...it's so cold, I can't hardly make it, icicles hanging off the bluffs, and the trees are all glittering with ice in the morning sunlight. We hear them coming after us, shouting to each other. Then we hear a bloodhound baying...and we run faster, harder, falling and stumbling. Finally, Clifton sees a small cave way back in the underbrush, almost hidden. We head for it, but I double back, get a pine limb, rub out our tracks behind us, hoping they won't find us."

"Remember, you are watching this..."

She nods, says, "They go by us first, but then the bloodhound comes sniffing round, and they find us."

"Rebekah repeat the words again."

She does so, then resumes, "Clifton begs them to let me go, that he'll surrender, but they are rough boys used to rough ways. A few are real mad, cause I'm with Clifton, they can see I love him, the way I'm being protective and all. One says Clifton musta raped me. That makes me mad, and I scream at them to go to hell!"

She paused, took a deep breath. "Then I see him come out of the shadows, it's Daniel and he's looking at me real strange, quiet and scary."

"Yes?"

"He is part of this outfit, and he tells the other Rebs that he'll take care of it, for them to leave him alone. That I'm his girl, he'll get rid of the damn Yankee who ruined his sweetheart. I want to scream that I ain't his girl, never was! But then I think maybe he'll let us go."

Adrian ran a hand over his chin, felt the mounting pressure about to explode, balling his hands into fists.

"I...when we's alone, Daniel gets this real funny look in his eyes, and he...comes over, savagely kicks Clifton on his sore foot! I scream, jump up and grab him, try to fight him off, but he slaps me hard, shoves me down roughly. I'm on the frozen dirt, the cave floor and I fall back, helpless, feel blood run out my nose where he hit me. Now...oh no! Please, I'm begging you Danny, please don't do it! I love him, please don't!"

Adrian is reliving the ugly scene he's often had nightmares about, feeling the utter helplessness of being unable to protect Rebekah; he can feel the sweat bead on his forehead, run down his back and it's as if it all happened yesterday, not over a century ago.

"Please Danny! Oh please, I'll go with you, don't hurt him, I love him, I do. I'll do anything you want, just don't hurt Clifton!"

"Rebekah, Rebekah..." Dr. Morris interjects, "calm down, calm down...repeat the words now."

She does so, then resumes more evenly, "Danny jerks me up, then shoves me down beside Clifton. Danny is acting so strange, quiet and spooky, like he's a...haint. He makes us scoot way back, way back in the awful, creepy tiny crawlspace in the cave, it's dark, really dark and he... tells us to turn away from him, not to look...and...I...I feel Clifton's hand take mine, and he whispers, 'I love you Rebekah, we'll never be apart again'. Then I know what is going to happen, but I can't help it, I beg again, and Danny has his carbine ready...tells me to look away from him. There's...this awful blasting sound, deafens me and I see Clifton is shot in his back and... I lean over him and then I...it's a piercing burn in my back, and....I can't get my breath, I'm...oh my eyes go blind, black, so black...I...there's no sound but the heavy labored agony of our dying breaths..."

"Rebekah, you are lifting above it, you are floating above the death, you are looking down at the place...you feel relaxed, calm. Your soul has survived, your spirit has been set free...you are going toward the light." Dr. Morris then repeated his suggestions for coming out of trance, bringing Sara slowly awake, tears streaming down her face.

"You remember it all now, don't you Sara?" Dr. Morris asked gently, watching her wipe away the tears, nodding.

He turned to look at Adrian, who got up and moved to Sara, taking her tenderly in his arms, saying gently, "It's all over, all in the past. We're back together now, here and now...and that's all that matters, dear Sara."

                      END CHAPTER


                CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in conversation, Dr. Morris explaining that with Sara he'd had a unique opportunity to know in advance what had happened in her past life; that through Adrian's hypnosis sessions, he'd learned the tragic details of their past lives, and could insert calming suggestions in order to prevent the terror causing psychological damage, more especially since Sara wished to recall it upon coming out of trance.

Sara felt relaxed, yet was grieving as though that long-ago time had just occurred; she clutched at Adrian, needing his reassurance, his emotional and psychological support as the nightmarish memories assaulted her consciousness. For now, now that she'd retraced that trauma in hypnosis, it asserted itself vividly in her mind, every terrifying moment as fresh and poignant as if it were yesterday.

Adrian, feeling tenderly protective, sat beside her and let her talk freely, openly; he would occasionally interject bits and pieces of his own memory, their thoughts/feelings similar, as though they were of one mind, one soul... completing each other's sentences, the experiences of their time in Cades Cove, the Civil War coloring it all...authentic information of the period, particular detailing that Dr. Morris insisted on tape recording for research.

Exhausted, they finally ate a quick evening meal; then, Dr. Morris retired to his room, saying that tomorrow he'd play the tape of Adrian's sessions for Sara to hear. At that time, he suggested they begin evaluating specific material for evidence of proof that Rebekah Slater once lived in Cades Cove.

Sara felt slightly alarmed by his parting statement, and once she and Adrian were alone in his bedroom, she asked, "What did he mean, proof?"

"Don't you want to know if this can be substantiated?" Adrian began taking off his plaid shirt, unbuttoning it and running a hand over his chin, feeling in need of a shave and shower.

"Not particularly. I mean, why do we have to prove it? Isn't it enough that we both know it is true?" She studied his haggard face; the session she'd just gone through had affected him deeply.

"I know it; you know it; and I firmly believe Dr. Morris knows it as truth. But Sara, look... for our own sanity, don't you think we should figure out why we've been fated to come together again? What is our unfinished business? Why the nightmares and visions, the way we've been brought together here and now...there simply has to be a reason. If we confirm Rebekah's existence in historical records then..."

"Wait a minute, what about Clifton?"

"I've found out a little, but no actual records of him, like birth or death records, and his name isn't on the Army records either, though lots of men never got listed, especially in low ranks. I can only tell you what I learned in hypnosis: He was enlisted in the Civil War as Private Clifton Kane, Company L, 16th Illinois Cavalry, and I did document the battles he fought in, and even the one in which he was captured, led by Major C.H. Beer. This regiment was concentrated near Cumberland Gap in East Tennessee."

He paused, and took a deep breath. "See, Burnside's nearest supplies base in the fall of 1863 was Camp Nelson, near Lexington, Kentucky, 180 miles away. The Army needed guns, ammunition, food and clothing for men and horses, it had to be hauled by mule teams through impassable mountain roads. The Confederate forces were in that remote region, 64th Virginia Cavalry, mounted regiment of local young bloods who'd already seen two years of service. They patrolled roads from the Gap into Virginia, held a portion of Powell's Valley, stripped it of cattle, forage and food, constantly raided Burnside's Federal supply trains coming over this supply route..."

He looked at her a moment, resuming, "So the Union had to stop the raiding of their supply route by Rebels, and Clifton was in that ill-fated Battalion, one of the three hundred men sent to open up the valley to protect supply trains."

Sara was awed by his impressive factual details; she asked, "Did you confirm all this, except for a record of Clifton?"

"I did after I'd been hypnotized. At first, I was having the same kind of nightmares you did. I was tortured, miserable...but then, Dr. Morris carried me back in regression, and I spoke of it, him eliciting the names/dates of that time. However, I had already done these paintings, battle scenes and all kinds of incredible terrain, stuff that Dr. Morris looked at before he took me under. You see, I'd been searching for this area, but still couldn't find it until hypnosis brought it all out."

"I want to see those paintings."

"Oh you will. But not now, not until you hear my tapes and we unearth some factual records of Rebekah's existence in the cove, because we must be able to verify it objectively. And I think there's a good chance of that, better than with Clifton."

He smiled at her, said, "Don't worry Sara; we're in this together, and that makes all the difference."

Sara felt reassured, and nodded, agreeing to what he said.

"But right now...I need a bath, and then...Sara Colton...I want to make tender, sweet love to you, reuniting Rebekah and Clifton's souls in the here and now."

And that is exactly what Sara felt she needed --to feel Whole, to become One with him in body, mind and soul.

                     * * * *

Marge was grumbling to Linda, saying she couldn't understand why two people would expect to stay at Spring Moon without reservations, but that she just couldn't turn away the young couple when they'd appeared suddenly in the night, their van broken down on the road nearby.

Linda was making he bed with clean sheets, and asked, "Are you sure you should take Sara's room?"

"I don't see any other way. All the rooms are occupied, I'm giving them my own private quarters."

"They seem kinda strange, don't they?" Linda mused, tucking in the corners of the sheet.

"That's an understatement! That man gives me the shivers, those cold dark eyes in his razor-sharp face! And when he grins, it's enough to make your blood run cold. The girl, she's not so chilling, but she seems distracted all the time. And she's such a slouchy, slovenly sort."

"Think we should call Sara?"

"No, I don't want to intrude, don't want to upset her." Marge looked around the small bedroom, then put away a few personal objects, retrieving the items she felt might invite theft. "I've never let anyone use this room, but they seem desperate. And the girl is pregnant, in need of a place to stay. Maybe first thing tomorrow morning they'll call a wrecker and leave."

But the next morning, while waiting for the wrecker, Joe insisted on breakfast for him and Donna, said he'd pay full price. He managed to sneak in a few personal questions, referring to the gracious hostess-owner, the wonderful atmosphere and how he'd be glad to send business their way.

Marge didn't like him, but couldn't refuse to answer his questions about Sara, her being the owner.

"Does she live here too?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I haven't seen her..."

"She's away just now. But I'm sure she'll be glad to accommodate you, make reservations any time you wish to stay here in the future."

"Wait! I believe I've met her. Isn't she a red-head, real gorgeous doll?"

Marge flinched at the leer on his face, but said evenly, "Yes, she has red hair. Where have you met her?"

"I think I seen her at one of the craft shows, selling pots, stuff like that. Remember hon?"

Donna was cramming a glazed doughnut into her mouth, looked up and mumbled, "Yeah...she's real pretty."

Marge was silent.

"Look, isn't she dating that ski fellow, what's his name, hon?"

"Uh, Adrian...something or other."

"Before my wife got pregnant, she took some ski lessons last season, didn't you hon?"

Nodding, Donna looked at Marge's probing gaze at them, thinking the woman wasn't buying this act.

"Anyways hon...let's see, didn't we see them two together at a restaurant?"

"Yeah."

Marge didn't like the drift of the conversation, but said, "Yes Sara is seeing a young man by the name of Adrian Alexander."

"Hey! Isn't he the brother of that famous actor? You know, that guy that does those thrillers, slasher films?"

Marge nodded, sipping her coffee, wondering how to get off this particular topic.

"Oh yeah! He's a great actor, good at scaring the daylights outa folks!" He gave the chilling grin. "Anyways, Mrs. Hagan...when you expecting Sara back? Cause me and the wife here, we'd like to tell her how much we like the place."

"She should be back next weekend."

"Yeah, well, does she like, you know, ever go hiking? Cause this baby's gonna be here any day now, and we'd like to come for a stay afterward, have a little time to ourselves. Does Sara give guided tours over the mountains?"

"Yes, Sara does conduct tours...but mostly on Blue Mountain, which is not in the Park."

"Say, what's her schedule like?"

"Usually on Fridays, she'll set up a group of hikers...if enough people are interested."

"Hey, that sounds good. Soon be time for the rhododendrons to be at their best in June. We may work something out for then."

"Sara does have tours on weekends in June. But you'd better make reservations in advance."

"Oh we will, we surely will." He winked at Donna, said, "And me and the wife won't forget you letting us stay here when we broke down, neither."

Later, when the wrecker was pulling the van into Gatlinburg, Donna said, "Risky, what we did. That woman ain't no dummy." She was tugging on the padded pregnancy outfit, grouching, "This damn thing itches!"

"Hey, I didn't give her our real names; and risk is part of any plan. The outfit worked, she thought you was pregnant, or she wouldn't of let us stay. Yeah, she was probably suspicious, but what the hell? I mean, it was worth it. I got into the downstairs office, found out that guy from L.A. is a hypnotherapist. I read her journal, what a trip! Jesus, can you believe it? I'm tempted to sell this story to the tabloids, they'd eat it up. Reincarnation stuff sells good. But hey, it'd spoil our big score...so, no go."

Donna grinned tightly. "Now you know you we can get them together, wait and watch for when the old woman is away, like she said about taking off sometimes. That's what we're waiting for, ain't it?"

"Yep! That and getting that damn hole dug, everything set up just right," he said, giving her a glimpse of the thin, feral grin.

            * * * *

Tuesday and Wednesday, Sara listened to the lengthy dialogues of Adrian's hypnosis tapes, discussing them with Dr. Morris and Adrian, all of them agreeing it was eerie how strongly Clifton's personality asserted itself, the northern accent and tone of voice deeper, richer than Adrian's normal speaking voice.

Adrian produced a series of journals his mother had kept when he was a child; Sara revealed that her mother also had a personal written record of her behavior as a child, and that Dr. Crawford, the child psychiatrist, had videos/tapes of their sessions as well.

Dr. Morris was eager to see such documented evidence; he hoped to write an article for a prestigious parapsychology publication, using their case, but not disclosing their real identities. Sara did feel she could trust him; nevertheless, she would have preferred that nothing whatsoever be made public regarding their situation.

She did undergo hypnotic regression twice again, during which Dr. Morris let her re-live the traumatic death, inserting calming messages, once and for all ending her nightmares in her current life.

During their many conversations, Sara listened to Dr. Morris ponder on what their previous lives together (before Cades Cove) may have been; he was willing to regress them both farther back in time, but she resisted, even though they speculated her talent for pottery originated in the distant past.

Adrian said he felt further regression was not relevant to this lifetime right now anyway. Dr. Morris agreed, saying that their unfinished business might only be coming together, fulfilling their love here and now.

Adrian wasn't so certain about that; he kept reminding Dr. Morris that in self-induced trances, he'd felt a distinctly disturbing purpose for their obsession to come together beyond mere earthly happiness.

And yet neither could understand what that might be, so it was decided that Adrian would teach Sara yoga, transcendental meditation and eventually self-hypnosis procedures. Together then, they could pursue an inner-directed search for understanding about why they'd been brought together, how their time in Cades Cove might affect this lifetime.

Thursday morning, Adrian drove Dr. Morris to the airport for his flight to L.A. After he was gone, Sara got into faded jeans, a cotton sweatshirt, pulled on her boots, secured her hair in a ponytail, and went out into the cool, dewy May morning.

Being indoors the past several days had made her eager to get outside, get some exercise, and she felt a long walk was in order. She stood for a moment enjoying the fresh air, looking off down a winding trail that skirted the hillside, lush foliage drooping in the early mist that clung to higher elevations.

Crossing the yard, Sara looked briefly back at the rustic estate; it was built into the mountainside, an exterior of rock, cedar and darkly tinted glass, almost seeming to be part of the rugged terrain. Sara loved the place, being with Adrian, and the time for privacy, solitude -- but she'd begun to miss the noise and cheery company she'd left in her bed and breakfast farmhouse.

She walked along the narrow path, making her way downward, keeping her attention focused on the landscape, seeing that a few large cream-colored magnolia blossoms were beginning to open. Here and there, tulip trees swarmed with bees, and she identified other lovely displays of mid-May blooms -- silverbell, dogwood, fire cherry, black locust.

But even the wilderness beauty couldn't distract her entirely, and she found herself returning to that past life, making odd connections to her present life. She recalled that her deep-seated fear of the dark had manifested itself in early childhood; now she understood that the suffocating darkness in the cave, when Rebekah and Clifton were murdered, perhaps caused that fear, which had plagued her even as an adult. But could it link to another past life's tragic death in a dark place too?

She almost stumbled on a sharp rock, caught herself against the trunk of a buckeye tree, and stood looking off through a gap in the forest to a valley below. Her heart ached at the sight, feeling that familiar emotional pang of yearning and longing she'd always experienced at any view reminiscent of Cades Cove.

Daniel came into her mind; he had murdered them both, Rebekah and Clifton. But had his crime ever been known? What did Rebekah's family think when she never came back? Only that she'd run away with Clifton, escaped the Rebs? And what did the other Rebels think when Daniel joined them? Could that be their unfinished business, she wondered?

Could it be that she and Adrian had to somehow document Clifton and Rebekah's murder, even at this late date? Or was it revealed back then? Were the two lovers even now buried in one of the primitive cemeteries in Cades Cove?

Suddenly excited, she turned around and jogged back uphill, hurried across the yard and entered the house. Adrian wouldn't be back for some time in the Volvo, so she grabbed the keys to the Austin Healey, and sprinted out to the car.

She spent the morning in Cades Cove, exploring the cemeteries, going from headstone to headstone, her hopes high until she located the Slaters, finding some of them, but not Rebekah. She didn't find a marker for Daniel Weber either, and wondered what had happened to him?

As always though, Sara felt overwhelming sadness at the sight of so many infants' graves; it had been a hard life in the 1800s, and epidemics killed indiscriminately.

She drove through the popular eleven-mile loop of Cades Cove, looking anew at the region where she'd once lived as a young girl. It seemed more dear than ever, and the authentic restoration and preservation of the pioneer way of life almost seemed like Karmic influence. After all, she reasoned, if the valley had not become part of the Park, would it have evoked such strong emotional reactions in her?

By the time she pulled into the driveway back at the estate, it was afternoon and Adrian came out to greet her. She walked with him to the house, saying, "I went to Cades Cove, wanted to search through the cemeteries."

"No grave, I already checked for Clifton and Daniel." He looked at her, seeing the disappointment. "I believe their bodies, Rebekah and Clifton, were left in the cave. That if we knew where to search, we could prove our past existence by finding the skeletons."

Sara shuddered. "That's awful, just awful! Daniel killed them, got away with it. Or it seems that way."

"I think he did. I believe he probably told the Rebs that he shot them; but they wouldn't care. Back in the cove, Daniel probably told Rebekah's family they got away...and the rest of their lives, they may have always been expecting them to come back for a visit."

"I wonder though if any of her family ever went north, tried to find her and him in Illinois?"

"Even if they did, they disappeared during the Civil War, so when no one heard from them, it was probably assumed they met with disaster on the trip north."

"I guess some of this may never be known." Sara stood on the steps, looking up at Adrian's somber expression.

"Maybe not. I'm not sure if Rebekah told her parents she might go with Clifton. But when you learn self-hypnosis, become able to listen to your inner voice, it's possible you can determine how much Rebekah's family knew of her involvement with Clifton."

He looked down into her troubled face, reached to touch a finger to her chin. "Don't worry. Together we'll find out what the unfinished business is. And it could be only what you're thinking, to reveal their murder, exposing Daniel's crime."

She smiled, lifting on tiptoe to kiss his lips lightly. "You're reading my mind again."

"Yes I am. Oh, one other thing about the cave. I've done some sketches of it, at least what's come to me in trance. Maybe you will be able to help me, and we can decide exactly where to look. At this point, I'm unsure where Rebekah lived in the cove..."

"I don't know if I can ever do that, manage to determine exactly where the cave is..."

"No hurry. We have the rest of our lives." Adrian took her in his arms, kissed her soundly. "Come on, let's get dinner and then we'll begin your yoga lessons."

          END CHAPTER



    CHAPTER SIXTEEN


Sara was a quick study; she began learning Yoga and TM during the following week, staying longer at Adrian's than anticipated. When she'd phoned Marge, found everything running smoothly with the business, she decided the extra time to explore her past life was necessary.

Adrian loved having her with him all the time; he wanted it this way the rest of their lives, and rejoiced in their togetherness. He brought out the paintings, let Sara examine each one, then regress through self-hypnosis and listen to Rebekah's days in Cades Cove. The significant information they retrieved was that Rebekah had descended from Scotch-Irish who'd migrated to east Tennessee; that the Slater cabin was very similar to the John Oliver Cabin preserved by the Park; that the location was near the east end of the Cove, but nothing could quite elicit the precise place where the Slater cabin had stood. And Sara's pottery skills, her innate talent for that, was still a mystery.

Sara was disappointed, and wished she could provide a missing piece of the puzzle in locating the cave, but it just wasn't possible at this time. However, she was amazed at Adrian's paintings he had shipped from the Big Sur estate; the vivid details of Rebekah and Clifton together brought stinging tears to her eyes...melancholy emotions surfacing that had to be connected to that tragic time and place.

She was impressed by one portrait which Adrian told her depicted the first night after the 16th Illinois Company L had been beaten, their arms and horses surrendered to the enemy, having lost one fourth of their men. The soldiers were sorrowful, several crouched around a campfire, obviously freezing in the frigid weather.

Looking at the portrait, Adrian told her the captive soldiers had been given a few sacks of meal from the Rebs; having not eaten all day, the soldiers were starving...and thought they might have to eat it raw. But one enterprising fellow devised a way of using their caps for mixing bowls, getting water from a nearby spring. They mixed the meal and water in their caps, then spread a wad of dough on a flat rock, cooking it over the fire. Crude, yes...but it tasted good when one was hungry, Adrian explained.

Sara was amazed at the details in the painting; it was blackened all around the edges of the canvas...and emphasized the firelight-shadowed faces of soldiers as they seemed to ponder their grim fate, one or two nibbling at the thin wafer of cooked meal. She asked if Clifton was among them; Adrian said no, that this was an image he'd captured in trance -- that Clifton was talented, did sketches of war scenes --and that he, Adrian, had seen it through Clifton's artistic vision.

He told her there were similar paintings back at Big Sur, many of the battle scenes too graphic, bloody and gruesome, for her to see right now. He'd concentrated on choosing the paintings of Rebekah and Clifton, not the Civil War material.

After examining the cave portrait, she still had no idea where it might be located today; the terrain had changed remarkably since those long-ago days, and neither of them knew where to start searching.

For the next three days they pored over official historical records in nearby colleges, courthouses and libraries; the Slater family was documented, Rebekah's birth officially recorded. However, today there was nothing essential known about the ancestors of the Slater family, who'd apparently fled the Cove prior to the Park being established. So they'd come to a dead end.

By Friday, Sara was convinced they'd just have to hike through the hills near the east end of Cades Cove, search for the cave on foot when time permitted. Adrian agreed, and as they sat on the balcony enjoying the spectacular sunset, he asked, "When do you think it'd be possible for you to go hiking there?"

Sara saw he was frowning, but the dreamy gaze she'd come to love was glowing in his blue eyes. "Sometimes in July, maybe. I have to give tours on Blue Mountain in June, and I have some craft fairs to attend, sell pottery for the next two weeks of May."

He got up, paced along the balcony railing, ran a hand over his chin. "Sara, you've made incredible progress with your self-hypnosis, but I still don't want you to practice it alone, okay?"

"Sure, whatever you say. But I love the Yoga positions I've mastered; it will help me stay in shape and learn to relax." She joined him, standing near where he stared at the sunset fading behind the mountainpeaks.

Adrian turned to her, looked into her eyes, pulling her into his arms, already feeling lonely; he dreaded seeing her leave. He loved, needed her more than ever...just the comfort of knowing she was near made him happier than he'd ever thought possible.

Gently, he cupped her chin in his hand, stared deeply into her fluid brown eyes, saying, "Sara, Sara...I love you so much. I wish you didn't have to leave, but since you do, there's something I need to ask you."

"Yes?" Sara felt cherished in the warm glow of his loving gaze; there was no anxiety, no fear of what he might ask of her.

"I want to marry you, I want us to be together like this the rest of our lives."

"Oh Adrian!" She smiled happily, moving her fingers to trace his lips, thinking how right they were for each other.

"Is that yes or no?" He quizzed, lowering his lips to claim hers in a sweet, lingering kiss.

"Yes," she murmured, "I want to marry you. I want the proverbial 'happily ever after' for us. To complete and fulfill our love that was so tragically cut short long ago." She pulled back slightly, "But promise me one thing?"

"Anything love, anything at all."

"You must show your paintings to the public."

He stiffened, pulled away and began pacing along the railing, ran a hand through his hair. "Why? I thought you didn't want to reveal our past lives?"

"I'd rather not, but darling, your art is exceptional. You deserve recognition. I'm willing to risk exposure, although I see no reason why you'd have to reveal the source of your inspiration."

"Maybe not, but I think showing the work would, at the very least, invite questions I couldn't answer. That's why I haven't allowed it to be exhibited yet, even though the only person who's seen it is Dr. Morris."

"And he agrees with my opinion, that such remarkable art deserves to be shown, not hidden away..."

"Love, if that's what you want...yes, I'll show it one day." Adrian took her in his arms again. "But first, we need to find that cave, confirm our past lives...learn what our unfinished business is."

"I agree."

He took her by the hand, led her across the balcony, and they went upstairs to the bedroom where, in the fading sunset glow, they made love -- feeling closer, more intimately bonded than ever. Adrian taught her the art of eastern lovemaking that he'd learned in his travels there, and as they explored one another's physical bodies in rapturous wonder, a beautiful radiance enveloped them.

Later, as twilight dimmed the windows, Adrian ran his hand down her back, moving his fingers along her spine, touching the deep scar near her waistline, as she reached out to touch the identical scar in the same place on his back. "I know it's scary," he said, "feeling these scars, but it's indisputable proof of our being murdered by Daniel, the carbine blast hitting us in these identical spots."

Sara felt an overwhelming sadness for the loss they'd once known...but words failed her.

Adrian said, "What we have together, here and now, it's this Wholeness with a soul mate that drives humans to search the universe for fulfillment, reaching out for this other part of what was once originally part of a larger unit, the longing to reunite and be ONE, to accomplish destiny."

"I do understand, I feel the search has ended, and I'd been searching all my life for you."

Adrian lifted her hand, kissed her fingertips and time seemed suspended, as if they'd been together forever, that many, many lives had brought them together as lovers and only now, in this present life, had they been given the opportunity to fulfill their true destiny.

Sara sat quietly, blissfully listening to the far-off whippoorwill calling in its plaintive voice, echoing down the canyon below them. She said, "What we just shared, it's more than sex or lovemaking even...it felt...spiritual."

"It was, love, it was. We bonded our souls with love, joined our bodies physically as ONE, which should always be a spiritual experience as well."

They got up, Adrian wrapping the sheet around them, and they stood looking out the windows to the dusky light of approaching night beyond the mountains. He said, "If we are very careful, listen to our souls deepest calling, we may attain Nirvana, end our cycle on this earth, reach perfection in our next lives...end the necessity for further human, physical experience, outgrow this desire for flesh, free our souls from the Wheel of Birth and Death."

Sara wanted to learn all there was to know about Eastern Spiritual beliefs, and felt an instinctive, intuitive feeling of 'Truth' about what he'd just stated. Yet she had no words to explain it; rather, it was a feeling of impossible possibility.

He added, "If we can only find the key to our unfinished business in this life, solve whatever has been brought over from our past lives...maybe, just maybe in our next life on earth, we can come close to freeing our souls forevermore."

They kissed, turning away from the darkness descending over the land, moving toward the welcoming light.

           END CHAPTER



          CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Upon her return to the farmhouse, Sara found that Marge had everything under control, just as she'd expected. However, Sara had been somewhat uneasy when Marge explained about the strange couple who'd spent one night with them; it was a peculiar incident, and when Linda described their van, Sara thought the vehicle sounded familiar to the one she'd glimpsed on several occasions.

But all that was forgotten when Sara announced she and Adrian were planning to marry in early October. Marge had been ecstatic, and insisted on beginning arrangements to formally proclaim their engagement, teas and dinners she wanted to prepare for friends and family.

Sara had phoned her parents with the news, which her mother took with almost a sigh of relief; and her father took with the usual fatherly reservations; but which Leala excitedly screamed was just heavenly romantic and she at least was enthusiastic and couldn't wait to meet the lucky man!

Then Sara spent the next two weeks traveling to various arts and crafts shows in and around the Smokies, exhibiting her pottery. She always enjoyed meeting the friendly tourist and combining business with pleasure, extending invitations to stay at Spring Moon Bed & Breakfast while selling pottery at the gatherings.

One afternoon, as Sara was leaving a craft show, she saw the van Marge had told her about in the parking lot. When she drove off, the van followed about two cars behind her; it tailed her all the way to the motel where she was spending the night, and made her very uneasy. Why would anyone be following her?

That night, she phoned Adrian and after they'd exchanged their daily news, she told him, "Remember that couple Marge told us about, and their van?"

"Yes, why?"

"It was here today, followed me to the motel."

"Sara, listen...I have something to explain. I saw a similar van back in January; a few times it was parked in front of the place I was staying and I glimpsed it behind me on the road too."

"Who is it, what do they want?"

"I figured, back then, it was the tabloid press, maybe a free-lance photographer trying to get candid shots of me or something. Now I'm not so sure, because the couple Marge met doesn't sound like paparazzi, although these independents are a weird bunch, will do crazy stunts to cash in on revealing photos."

"Maybe that's why they are following me. But if not, what could be their motive?" Sara was beginning to feel nervous, and wished he was with her; that she wasn't all alone in the motel room.

"Don't know. I know I'm going to have to confront them, might as well be now. Want me to drive over there?" Adrian was concerned; he'd tried to avoid worrying about the van, but this was different --because whoever had been tailing him had obviously been watching Sara too.

"No, I'm fine now. It could just be a coincidence, you know. Lots of people come to craft shows." She paused, sighed. "I wouldn't mind you being here...but no, I'll be okay."

When they hung up, Adrian was unable to put the conversation out of his mind. Why would anyone, other than tabloid hounds, be following them around?

He wasn't aware of any obsessed fans after him; Taylor had a few loonies, mostly women, who wrote passionate love letters to him, some undoubtedly unstable. And his mother always had a slew of male fans who declared their undying love in letters, one or two actually considered potentially dangerous.

Perhaps, he thought, one of those obsessed fans was following him, hoping to learn about Taylor indirectly -- especially since Taylor had recently been in the area. Fans would go to almost any lengths to learn the home addresses of stars; and he had to admit to himself that anything was possible in this day and age of celebrity stalking.

Resigned to get to the bottom of the matter, he dreaded having to bring in a private investigator, but obviously, it was necessary now.

              * * * *

Joe came in the door, dusting off his dirty pants, rubbing the smudges off his sweaty face. "Hey Donna, how about a cold one, huh?"

She emerged from the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel. "Get it yourself, I'm sick and tired of waiting on you!"

"Cut the crap, okay? Look...just a few more days, we'll be ready for this to go down." He wiped his hands on his shirt, opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, ripped off the top and guzzled it.

"I ain't staying in this dump much longer, you better be about ready to move on this." Donna slumped down in a warped chair at the Formica-top table, adding, "I'm sick of this dump, bored outa my skull."

Joe slammed the can down, sloshing beer over the top, shouted, "Damn, will you give it a rest? I'm doing all the work, digging and sweating out there in the woods! You could help out yourself, not lay in here eating and watching soaps!"

"I ain't gonna dig no hole, and that's that! You never said nothing about this taking so long, was gonna be a couple months and here it is almost June!" Donna stood, went to the window, stared at the thick woods behind the house, disgusted with the badly littered yard, overgrown grass in need of mowing.

"Look, there'll be a perfect setup some time in June, when the old lady is gone, no guests. I coulda grabbed the broad after those craft shows, but we've gotta do this right. Nabbing them both will work out better, see? Besides, you had the car, and that broad looked the van over like it was gonna swallow her up alive."

Donna relented. "Yeah, I ain't crazy about you hanging around her anymore. They ain't as stupid as you think."

He took a slug of the beer, wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Maybe not, but I'm in charge of this babe, know what I'm doing. It'll be smooth as silk when it goes down, wait and see."

Donna wasn't so sure, but seeing the evil look on Joe's face convinced her she had better not try to leave him; he had a cruel streak she didn't want let loose on her.

           * * * *

Adrian and Sara sat in the wooden swing, enjoying the twilight hour. She stared down the road to where the sharp curve rounded the base of a hill bordered by an open field.

"Friday night, anything you care to do this evening, Sara?"

She looked into Adrian's smiling blue eyes, his happiness evident in his relaxed demeanor; he had one arm over her shoulders, gave her a gentle squeeze, prompting, "Care to dine out, take in a movie or should we just cuddle on the sofa while we have the house to ourselves?"

"I think we should take advantage of having some time alone here. Marge will be back tomorrow morning, guests will be arriving and Sunday, I'm scheduled for a walking tour on Blue Mountain."

"I agree, we're lucky to have this time to ourselves: tourist sure keep you busy, Miss Colton." He gave her a hug, whispered, "We've hardly been alone since our time at my place."

Sara smiled, feeling the spark of their sensual attraction. "That's true, but now that we're planning our wedding, I...would prefer we wait till our first night as man and wife."

"If that is your wish, I'll comply." He gave her a light kiss, held her closely a moment.

She said, "Come on, let's go inside; we'll have dinner, just something quick and easy."

Once inside, Adrian watched while Sara puttered around in the kitchen, preparing cold-cuts for their meal. He thought she looked happy; he loved seeing her dressed casually in old faded jeans and blouse, both of them now comfortable just being themselves, informal and relaxed together.

While they ate, they discussed various details of the wedding plans, Sara mentioning she'd like having it at the height of the autumn season, timing for maximum colorful foliage as a backdrop.

Adrian had no problem with that; he wanted whatever pleased her, and asked only that they settle on a date so his family could make advance arrangements in their demanding schedules.

Just as they started to the parlor, a knock came at the door. Sara gave Adrian a puzzled look, since there were no tourist reservations, and Marge was spending the night with friends in Gatlinburg.

Adrian went to the door, opened it to see a wiry, dark-haired man staring sullenly at him. "Yes, can we help you?"

Before Adrian knew what was happening, the man had pulled a gun out, stuck it in his stomach, commanding, "Yeah... move back! Move it!"

Adrian put his hands up, easing back, back...

"That's right...real slow, now stop," Joe directed.

Sara was startled, didn't see the gun, only knew that Adrian's face had gone ashen, and he was moving as though stiff with shock. Suddenly a woman pushed past the man, and grabbed Sara by her hair, screaming, "Don't move, I've got a gun on you!"

The blunt point of a gun was rammed in Sara's ribs; she felt a scream rising in her throat, but managed to hold it back, asking in a tremulous voice, "What...what do you want?"

Joe grinned his chilling grin. "You two, we want you two, that's what!"

Donna pulled rope from a canvas bag she was carrying, and Joe began tying Adrian's hands behind him, then did Sara the same way, taking two handkerchiefs from Donna, and blindfolded Adrian and Sara.

Adrian asked sharply, "What the hell is this?"

Joe snickered wickedly. "A kidnapping, that's what it is."

They were hustled out of the house by Joe; Donna remained behind, turned off all the lights in the house, and then joined them outside. Joe guided them down the road, walking them to where the van was hidden in trees out of sight of the house.

He opened the rear doors, shoved first Sara, then Adrian inside. He told Donna, "Now, get in front and drive. I'll stay back here."

Sara was struggling to keep her fear under control, and heard Adrian whisper, "Sara, are you okay?"

She replied, "Yes...but...what..."

"Shut up, just shut your mouths or I'll tape 'em shut."

The silence was broken only by the sound of the motor starting, then the tires crunching through vine underbrush until the van swung onto the highway and got underway.

Adrian's mind was spinning with frantic thoughts; he berated himself for not taking action sooner -- because obviously this had been planned for several months, and if he'd not so easily dismissed the whole thing as tabloid tactics, acted on his suspicions of crazy fans, he might have prevented...

Joe said bluntly, "Adrian Alexander...you're gonna be our ticket to the easy life."

Adrian quickly replied, "Look, whatever it is you want, I'll gladly give it to you. But please, please let Sara go. You have no reason to keep her."

"Oh, but we do, we damn sure do." Joe laughed, said in a rush, "Sara babe is our way of making sure you do what we want you to, get us the cash we're after."

Sara shuddered, feeling certain of impending doom; these were desperate people, carrying out a calculating criminal act, a clever kidnapping plot.

Donna called, "Hey! Joe, how about a cigarette?"

He moved to the front, and Adrian whispered to Sara, "We'll get out of this, one way or another. Let's try not to panic, okay?"

Sara wanted to reassure him, and replied, "I won't, but Adrian, please, don't do anything to provoke them. That man seems...unstable."

"I won't." Adrian wiggled around, managing to get closer to her and say, "Marge will know something is wrong in the morning, when she comes back."

"Yes..."

"Let's just hang in there, not panic, they'll need us both alive if their intent is to get money."

Joe was moving back to them, and the ride continued in silence. When the van slowed, then turned onto a bumpy road that jostled them around, Joe said, "We'll be there soon, so you two just do what I say, no one'll get hurt."

Sara asked, "Could you loosen my ropes, my arms are hurting."

"No, not now. When we get there, yeah... I'll let you get more comfortable." Joe thought she going to be a whiner, probably worse than Donna.

Soon the van stopped, and Joe hustled them out into the cool night air; Adrian heard an owl call, then the distant sound of wind in treetops and wondered where they'd been taken.

They climbed steps, then walked across what seemed to be a cement floor, then into a sour-smelling place, Joe guiding them, the gun stabbing in Adrian's back.

Finally, they were placed into straight-backed chairs, tied to the frames and then Joe said, "I'll be back in the morning."

His footsteps sounded on the floor, then a door slammed shut and Adrian exclaimed, "My God Sara, I'm so sorry!"

"It's not your fault."

"Yes it is...all my fault! These creeps want me, probably for ransom, plan to hold me as a means of extorting money from my mother or Taylor. You shouldn't be here, this is MY problem."

Sara sighed, decided to tell him her thoughts: "Adrian, isn't this...don't you find this whole situation...sort of, well, similar to what happened to Rebekah and Clifton?"

He'd been so focused on his failings, worries and shame over not having taken action earlier, Adrian hadn't made the connection -- but instantly, her words made him aware of the parallel situation from their past lives. "Yes! You're right, it's strangely similar! My God, could it be...do you think this is the test? That somehow, some way we're being presented with almost identical circumstances but that..."

She finished his thoughts: "If somehow we can get out of this, we'll have completed our unfinished business, come full circle and changed our fate?"

"Oh Sara, yes, that's exactly what this seems to be."

She said soberly, "If only we can get out of this alive."

And in spite of himself, he echoed her fears: "It doesn't look good. But listen, Sara...at least we are prepared now. We know we have to fight to survive, outsmart the captors...and we should have an edge in knowing that."

"Yes, and we're together in this, both of us aware of the past history between us." Then she lapsed into silence, hoping, praying they could indeed survive this ordeal.

              * * * * *

Joe sat at the kitchen table, drinking a beer, telling Donna, "Damn, what a piece of work, huh? Just like I planned, didn't I tell you?"

She nodded, a grim look on her face. "But what about that old lady, she's gonna have a fit when she gets back and they ain't there."

"Hell, I got it all figured. See, Adrian can call, tell the old biddy they eloped. Remember, when I called for reservations, she told me about them planning a wedding? Anyway, she'll buy the story if she hears it from the horse's mouth, so to speak."

Donna looked at his arrogant grin, smoking her cigarette and watching the cruel twist to his lips. She didn't say anything, feeling afraid of him; he'd not bothered with disguises, the couple had seen their faces plain as day. And she knew he'd told her that most criminals made the mistake of leaving victims alive to identify them...


             END CHAPTER



           CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It seemed like the longest night of their lives; they tried constantly to reassure one another, but the underlying fear never left them, casting shadowy doubts over their souls.

Sara felt sure this was the reworking of their mutual past lives' tragedy, but couldn't quite believe Adrian's suggestion of the male kidnaper being their reincarnated murderer, Daniel. However, in an eerie way, it did make sense and she even acknowledged that possibility, asking, "But who is the woman? Is she from our past, maybe somehow connected to us or not?"

Adrian, exhausted near dawn from the lack of sleep, mused, "That, I don't know. It could be she's fated to intervene or perhaps is working out karma unconnected to us."

Sara heard the ragged weariness in his voice, ached to comfort him, said softly, "Adrian, I know you are tired..."

"Ah love, don't worry about me. It's you I'm concerned about; you've had no sleep either." He squirmed around, working frantically with the ropes on his hands, an all-night effort that had proven futile. "Oh God, Sara, you shouldn't be here, this is all MY fault."

"Don't say that! Please don't allow yourself to feel that way, darling. If we truly believe in our past lives, and I do, then nothing could have prevented this happening."

"I do believe in our past lives, but...had I been more keenly perceptive, I'd have taken action when I suspected the van might be connected to obsessed fans. I should have intervened before this situation got...well, so dangerously out-of-hand." He sighed, slumping forward and trying to relax his rigid muscles, ease the tension throughout his body.

"Maybe so, and then again, maybe not." Sara felt she had to somehow relieve his overwhelming quilt; otherwise, if she didn't survive and he did...his life would be utterly wasted in useless guilt and self-blame. "Look, yes, I believe we have the power to alter, even change fate...that's what the Masters teach. By awareness, by seeking to understand our past karma, good and bad. But darling, listen to me, you must not blame yourself. I feel certain we had to come to this exact point, must be faced with death again...and only then can we cheat the dark forces. Perhaps, if that guy is Daniel, this is the only way that his karma can be worked out, that his murdering us in the past can be punished?"

Adrian was moved by Sara's attempt to absolve his guilt; he loved her the more for it, but in his heart, he knew if she didn't survive this...not only would it end his life here and now, but that their souls would never rest, could not be freed from earthly existence for many more lifetimes. He sighed, said, "Possibly, it could be possible."

"Yes, I think so too. Adrian, no matter what happens, our souls will be reunited again."

The desperation in her voice made Adrian cringe; he felt so helpless, just as Clifton had long ago in the cave. But then he turned to his deeper spiritual strength, felt a sudden surge of renewed determination and said confidently, "Yes, that is true. But Sara, love, don't give up. Never, ever give up. We must be strong, we must defeat, thwart that man and woman. Promise me, tell me you will try to be strong?"

"Yes, I will, I promise." She wanted so badly to be held in his arms, and being tied up, unable to even touch him, not see his face... even though she could imagine every single, dear feature...frustrated her.

"I wish...I hate not being able to see you, touch you," he said, verbalizing her silent thoughts.

"Me too," she said, adding, "mind-reader."

He managed a faint chuckle, and then they fell silent, hearing the first morning bird-calls, chatterings off in the distance. Suddenly there was the sound of heavy footsteps and a door opening, the man's voice: "Damn, you two sure are a sight!"

Adrian said in a low, angry voice, "What do you intend to do with us?"

"Hey, take it easy pal. We'll get to that, but first you and the gorgeous broad here need some breakfast, got a long ordeal ahead of us."

Sara asked, "Can I use the restroom?"

"Just like a broad, always gotta go, huh?"

Adrian allowed himself a moment of uncensored rage, thinking how he'd like to deck the smug bastard who was obviously a low-life human being.

But just then the man approached closer and said, "I bet you didn't remember me, did you? Forgot about us being bit actors in that film, huh Adrian? But hey, I never forgot you, the spoiled, rich son of Vivian Tanner. No sir. And when I couldn't make it as an actor, just like you couldn't...well, I figured out a way to get onto easy street."

Sara felt him untying her from the chair, his alcohol-tinged breath near her face as he leaned down and touched her hair, then roughly pulled her to her feet, yelling, "Donna, get in here!"

Adrian was racking his brain, trying to recall the man who'd appeared in the doorway last night, connect him to one of the low-budget films he'd been in, but knew it was hopeless to remember every extra and bit actor in those past movies. None of the minor films had remained strongly in his memory, much less the unknown cast of hopefuls filling in the background.

Sara heard the woman's high-pitched voice: "This way Red," and felt herself being guided along, almost stumbling over her own feet. Shortly, her hands were untied; then abruptly the blindfold was jerked off her eyes. She blinked, letting her vision adjust to the sudden light, then looked into the face of the woman.

"What you staring at, I ain't that ugly."

Sara said, "I didn't mean to stare, it's just that my eyes hurt from the blindfold." But she was unable to turn away from the woman, staring at her appearance: the face was distinctive, and with better care, could have been called striking... perfectly oval with pale, pale skin...but the sunken brown eyes had dark circles beneath, and her ample lips were thinned into a grim line, giving her a haunted, bleak look that was made worse by limp, lifeless shoulder-length brown hair. And she was considerably overweight, a hulking presence as she glared at Sara, snapping, "Get moving!"

Sara glanced around the narrow hallway, noting only the cramped space, peeling wallpaper and closed doors to other rooms.

Opening a door on the left, the woman shoved her ahead of her. "Make it quick."

"Um...can't I have any privacy?" Sara asked, stepping into the tiny bathroom, seeing rust-stains on the tub, the sink...

A harsh laugh, then, "You kidding, ain't you? Joe would have my hide if I..."

As though realizing her mistake, the woman suddenly looked at Sara, her eyes filling with fear. "Shit, can't believe I said his name. Look, you won't tell him, will you?"

"No, I won't." Sara pointedly looked away, letting the woman untie her hands, then relieved herself and stood, having her hands retied behind her.

They crossed the hall, went back into the small bedroom; Sara saw the yellowed blinds were pulled down, dimming the early dawn light. Her eyes went instantly to Adrian, who had his blindfold removed too, and was staring at her with such a sorrowful look in his blue eyes that she said, "Oh Adrian, I...I love you."

Just as she started toward him, her path was blocked by the man, Joe, stepping directly in front of her. She ran into him, backed away, exclaimed, "Let me go to Adrian, please!"

Joe steadied her with his hands on her shoulders, staring into her eyes, a smirk on his lips. "No way." He leaned into her face, so close she smelled his sour breath as he snickered, then whispered, "Reincarnation huh? You and our failed star here, reincarnated lovers...yeah, real cute story for the tabloids."

"How'd you...how did you know about that?" Sara questioned, heart racing, her body stiffening as Joe reached to touch her hair, causing Adrian to struggle in the chair, shout, "Take your hands off her, you slime-ball!"

Joe grinned, a thin, tight grimace on his lips that made Sara's skin crawl. "You forget, Sir Gallant Adrian, you have no control over this situation. You both are at my mercy."

Adrian felt every muscle in his body tighten with the effort to control his rage; he had never known the raw, primitive instinct to kill a human, but at this moment, he knew it was what he could do, if given the opportunity -- obliterate the man who stood sneering at him, one hand lightly caressing Sara's long copper hair. He felt nausea churn in his stomach, and stared as coldly as possible at the creature holding them captive.

Joe dropped his hand, spun Sara around, sat her down in the chair, and seethed, "Dammit, Donna, I heard you say my name out there!"

"You used my name first, when you called me in here!" Donna retorted, looking at him sullenly.

Joe shrugged. "What the hell, they seen our mugs, guess it don't matter none anyway."

Donna went to the door. "I'll get their food."

"Yeah, you do that." Joe paced around the room, nervously running his fingers through his oily black hair.

Sara watched him, studying his wiry build, the long, narrow face and deep-set dark eyes that were penetrating and scary. He seemed to be near Adrian's age, but had a weathered, hard look about him, as though he'd been through too many bad experiences. And she wondered how he'd known of their reincarnation beliefs, but then recalled the strange couple Marge had mentioned; if they stayed in the house, perhaps somehow he'd read her journal?

Joe spun around, snapped his fingers, pointed at Adrian. "Not gonna keep you guessing any longer. Here's the whole deal: I've got a deep hole dug out behind the house, down in the woods, and I'm gonna put your gal down in it. Then you and me, Adrian, we'll go get the money I'm after."

Adrian sprang forward, almost toppling the chair, shouting, "Never! I won't give you a cent if you do that to Sara!"

Sara felt a rush of fear cut through her; to be buried alive, to be placed in a dark place perhaps until she died... Her breath came quickly, and she felt as though she might faint.

Joe noticed her reaction, and went to stand by her, looking into her ashen face. "Hey, don't check out just yet..."

"For God's sake, can't you see she's about to pass out? Get her some water, do something!" Adrian commanded, watching Sara's misery anxiously, then coaxing her gently, "Sara, Sara...remember meditation, breathe deeply, take deep breaths...that's right, now calm down....go through the routine."

Sara automatically obeyed, feeling her body begin to regain some semblance of normality, her heart-beat slowing, her weakness fading.

Joe sighed, said sarcastically, "Jesus, I hope you don't croak on us too soon."

Just then Donna came into the room, carrying a tray of food. Joe told her to put it on the dresser, and then continued to detail his plan: "After she's set-up in the hole, you, Adrian, will charter a lear-jet from the Gatlinburg-Pigeon Forge Airport in Sevierville. You and me will fly out to L.A., get the money, say it's for a real estate deal you and me are working on. I'm gonna play the best part of my life, a real estate broker!"

Donna displayed a proud smile. "One thing Joe is good at, acting."

"You know it babe! Anyways, I got it all figured. Donna here will check on Sara, feed her, take care of her needs in the hole... but should something go wrong..." He cast a dark look at Adrian. "Like you try to slip off from me, call the law...well, your lady here, the reincarnation of a past lover..." He gave a disbelieving hoot, continuing more soberly, "She'll just shrivel up and die of neglect in that hole, never get out, starve to death. You do exactly as I say, we get the cash, fly back and we walk back through that door together, then I'll bring Sara back to the house. Leave you two here...alive, tied-up loosely...give me and Donna time to get long gone."

Adrian said, "And you think I believe you, that you'll let us live? Come on, get serious. You plan to kill us, don't you?"

Joe shook his head, grinned wickedly. "Nah, no use in hurting you if I get what I want. Besides, you'd be too embarrassed to turn us in, admit to the public how you'd gone along...been used."

Sara knew in her soul that, of course, they would both be killed...but not until they'd served their purpose. And until then, they at least had a slight chance of altering Joe's malicious plans. She looked at Adrian, and he seemed to be reading her mind, his blue eyes communicating his similar thoughts.

Adrian stated flatly, "It looks as if we have no choice, so yes...I'll comply. Not willingly, but as a hostage who will do anything to save Sara."

"Good, I knew you'd see the light." Joe slapped his hand on Donna's back, said, "See, didn't I tell you they'd go along? That they'd agree to my brilliant plan. Besides, they're so deluded, they think they're soul mates..."

"How did you know about our, um, our..." Sara stammered, unable to restrain her curiosity.

"When Donna and me stayed at your Bed & Breakfast, I did a little snooping, read your most fascinating journal."

"Oh." Sara felt regret about writing it all down; but it had been her way of understanding, coming to terms with all she was learning.

Donna picked up the tray, said, "Untie their hands, they need food if they're gonna have strength for all we gotta do today."

Joe exclaimed, "Amen!"

Adrian and Sara were silent, praying for that strength.

        END CHAPTER



        CHAPTER NINETEEN

After their breakfast, which Sara and Adrian ate under the vigilant scrutiny of Joe, they were retied and left alone. Sara wanted to put up a strong front, even if she was a nervous wreck, so she said bravely, "Adrian, please don't think I can't deal with..."

"Being buried alive?" He leaned forward, repeating, "Buried alive, Christ! I doubt I could endure that kind of ordeal, but to subject you to that kind of horror, when you've always struggled against the darkness, the fear caused by our deaths in the depths of that cave! God, Sara, I can't let that happen!"

"You haven't any choice, not unless you get a chance to overcome Joe." Sara sighed, feeling the ache in her bound arms, her wrists chafed and burning where the rope was too tight. "I can use what I've learned about meditation, the concentration of yoga...to help me survive."

"That's a good idea, but sweetheart, I'll have no way of knowing how you are doing, if you're still alive..." Adrian dropped his head, feeling helpless and angry, the rage boiling over as he ranted, "That worthless excuse for a human being out there, I'd give anything for just a moment of freedom with him. He's...less than human, some kind of mutant that preys on others..."

"Adrian, listen," Sara began, knowing she had to remain calm, soothe his anger. "Remember you told me to be strong? Well, now I'm asking you, begging you to be strong too, and calm down, don't let him get to you. If we can't control our emotions, we haven't a prayer of escape."

Adrian knew she was right, and he took a few deep breaths, chanting his mantra softly, letting the sound soothe him and bring his emotions under control. Then he said, "Forgive me...I...it's just I feel so helpless, just like Clifton. I've relived it so often in nightmares, in self-hypnosis...and now that it's actually happening to me, not in the distant past life... Well, I let myself become overwhelmed."

She forced a weak smile, replied, "I have faith in you, I know we'll somehow survive this test. And remember what you taught me about reincarnation: Karma first concerns itself with the impact of an individual on others; Daniel committed a wrong, the worst sin against you and I, murder. We've been given the bonus of having learned about our past lives and deaths in order to get a head start, to have insight about our previous situation so we can benefit and apply that knowledge to this parallel occurrence. So, we're already prepared, darling."

He found himself nodding, proud of her depth of spiritual wisdom; how incredibly intelligent she was to have grasped it all so quickly. "You're right, and I'm glad you reminded me. One way or another, we'll have an opportunity to rectify the wrong."

"Yes." Sara closed her eyes, then added, "I love you, and whatever happens with you and Joe, please never doubt that."

"Oh Sara, I...life would be meaningless without you. I've searched so long, almost given up hope. Now that we've found one another, nothing could ever alter my love for you. We are beyond good-bye."

Just then, the door was flung open and Joe came in, striding to the windows, snapping up the shades, flooding the shabby room with daylight. He commanded, "Okay, Sir Gallant, it's about time for a little trip...just you and me."

"Where?" Adrian asked, looking at Joe, who was wearing fresh clothing -- shirt, jeans, now looking remarkably like a young, carefree man.

"I'll tell you that once we're on our way." Joe untied his hands, his ankles, said, "The gal will be here with Donna, so don't get any bright ideas about splitting once we are away from here." He waved a gun around for emphasis, patted a knife shielded beneath his shirt.

Adrian gave Sara a glance, trying to look calm. "Remember what we promised."

"Yes, I will."

Joe snickered wickedly. "Jesus, you two cooking up some scheme on me or what?" He looked back and forth between them, shrugged. "Nah, you're probably just talking over that past life, huh?" He gave a hoot of laughter, then urged Adrian up with the gun, never taking it off him as Adrian stood.

Donna came in the door, asking, "You all having a party in here?"

Joe quit laughing, soberly said, "No, I just laid that reincarnation stuff on them, struck me as hilarious."

Donna eyed Adrian, then looked directly into Sara's eyes, stammered, "Uh...that... stuff, all that spirit stuff, gives me the creeps."

Sara noticed her nervousness, the strange fear shadowing her face, and made a mental note to discuss their past lives with Donna if she got a chance. The woman obviously had a superstitious nature, which could work to their advantage.

Joe stabbed the gun in Adrian's ribs, barked, "Get moving Sir Gallant!"

Sara watched them all leave, the door closing behind them, and suddenly felt bereft, alone like never before in her life. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to get comfortable, telling herself she had to be strong...

                 * * * *

The van traveled the highway, Joe at the wheel, humming along with the radio, nonchalant as he said, "You know, I'm one helluva actor, if I do say so myself. Just that, hey, I didn't get the breaks out there in Hollywood. Not like you, had that famous mom, coulda been top billing. Guess you're just a lousy actor. No talent, huh?"

Adrian felt the sweat roll down between his shoulders, his arm stuck out the window; it was hot already, near noon, and he now knew their destination was the mountain retreat so he could pick up a couple of suits, get what he needed to present a normal appearance when they flew to California. He didn't answer Joe, merely stared off into the hazy June sunshine.

"I said, you had no talent, huh?" Joe persisted, taking out a pack of cigarettes, tapping one out and lighting it.

"Do you have to smoke?"

"Jesus, you and the gal, a coupla whiners...just like Donna. Sometimes I wonder why I married that complaining bitch...she's getting worse lately too."

Adrian couldn't help but goad him, "You have no respect for anyone, do you?"

"Sure, but never met a gal wasn't whiner. And as for you...well, Sir Gallant, methinks you are a sissy. As a matter of fact, there's rumors, Hollywood gossip, little innuendoes about you being a pansy..."

Adrian shook his head, said nothing, refusing to take the baited hook.

"Anyway, I coulda been a big star, you know? I got natural talent, lots of it. One of the drama classes I took at UCLA, the teach said I had raw talent, just needed whipping into shape, some discipline."

"Then how did you sink so low, become a kidnapper?" Adrian asked, genuinely curious about the man and his life.

Joe shrugged, took a drag off his dwindling cigarette. "Just the breaks, I guess. For every actor that makes it, a zillion don't. I was a loser in that game, cut my losses... and here I am." He gave Adrian a broad wink.

The steamy noonday heat roared in the open windows, and they were silent as Joe made a turn, drove along the highway winding uphill, slowly bringing cooler air inside as they got into higher elevations, thick evergreens bordering roadsides.

Adrian knew it was ridiculous to hope for an opportunity to somehow overpower Joe, who had a switchblade knife on him. And even if there was a chance to run for it, or clobber the guy...what of Sara? Donna was instructed to shoot her if they didn't return within an hour; the woman wasn't about to defy Joe, not when they'd been planning this for months, were accomplices in crime, and depending on the money to build a better life.

It was pointless to seek a way out right now, so he let his mind briefly replay the conversation he'd had from a phone booth with Marge, telling her that he and Sara wee eloping. Marge had been shocked, a touch irritated, then lapsed into her usual easy understanding, saying she was happy for them. As instructed, Adrian had told her they would be flying out to California, be gone a week or so. She'd wanted to talk to Sara, of course, but he'd stalled, said she was out buying clothing for the trip... Marge had revealed a trace of uneasiness with the whole conversations, but Adrian thought he'd reassured her enough that she wouldn't be a problem...not unless they failed to return within a couple of weeks. Only then would she take action. Too late for them...

When they pulled up to the gates of the retreat, Joe said, "Cozy little hideaway, pal."

Adrian grimaced, said nothing, wanting to get it over with, get back to Sara.

               * * * *

Returning within an hour, Adrian studied the rutted dirt road leading to the house. When it came into sight, he saw it was rundown...the roof had missing shingles, leaked no doubt. A pair of huge bull-horns hung over the cement porch where a wooden swing dangled from a broken chain. An exposed fuse box was gaping open, wires tangled and twisted, and Adrian figured it was a fire hazard. A bent, leaning TV antennae stood beside the house, and the yard was littered with discarded items, a busted TV set, ice chest and rusted wheelbarrow.

Joe pulled into the yard, cut the engine, got the gun out of his pocket, said, "Let's go pal."

Soon they were walking through the unkempt yard, the grass long overdue to be mown, and up the steps, across the porch.

As they entered the doorway, Donna came in through the back, a laundry basket in her arms. "Ya'll sure made a quick trip. Guess I won't get to shoot her, huh?" She laughed, tossing down the basket in the kitchen where Joe stood, frowning.

"Donna fix us some lunch, I'm starving."

She narrowed her eyes, her lips pouty. "You fix it, I'm sick and tired of waiting on you."

Joe slapped her so fast Adrian hadn't seen it coming; she screamed, her face reddening where his hand hit her, then cowered against the wall, eyes wide with fear.

Joe grabbed Adrian by the arm, shoved him into the bedroom, saying to Donna, "Get a meal on, bitch, or there'll be more of that."

Adrian was pushed into the chair, then tied up as he looked at Sara. "You okay?"

"Yes. Where did...you go?"

Adrian summarized it quickly, Joe still securing him to the chair.

Sara cried, "Oh Marge must have been so hurt! She wants to be part of the wedding."

Joe ordered, "Shut up! I've had enough whining for one day! He suddenly slumped down on the bed, rubbing his chin, then telling them, "One more night here, then tomorrow morning, Sara is buried. Adrian you'll be taken to the pit blindfolded, so's you can't find her without our help later. But I want you to see it, once we get there, take a picture of Sara in the hole...something for you to look at, keep you in line."

Silence.

"We'll come back here, me and you will head out for the airport, make arrangements to charter a lear-jet, get off to L.A. sometimes Sunday, be there ready to do business on Monday morning."

Adrian was looking at Sara; they knew time was speeding up now, that their chances of altering the situation would soon be beyond hope. And yet, neither allowed the dismay to show on their faces.

Joe stood, ran a hand through his hair. "Better get some rest. Plenty of action ahead for us, eh Sir Gallant?"

Adrian looked at him, wished he could wipe the smirk off his face, but said, "I'll do whatever it takes to save Sara's life."

Joe nodded, grinning. "That's what I'm counting on, pal."

Once alone, they stared wordlessly at one another, naked fear on their faces now.

             END CHAPTER



              CHAPTER TWENTY

Sheer physical and emotional exhaustion finally took its toll, blessedly allowing Sara and Adrian the relief of sleep; they had talked for hours, but around midnight, both sought the blissful solace of quiet and fell into deep, dreamless sleep.

Sara was awakened by the shades snapping up loudly, daylight flooding the room, her body cramped and aching from being tied in the chair. She saw Joe coming forward, a breakfast tray in hand, shouting, "Wake up, wake up! Time to get this show on the road!"

Adrian was awakened by the noise, looked at Sara, gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He wanted to hold her just once, and asked Joe, "Couldn't you let me kiss Sara good-bye, before we leave?"

"What a romantic, huh? Can you believe this guy, Sara? He sure knows how to woo a woman!" Joe sighed, studied them a moment, then said, "Yeah, I'll let you give her a hug just before we bury her."

Adrian was silent, watching Joe untie Sara's hands, then his...and they ate the food quickly, Joe staring at them, occasionally making provocative remarks, which they both ignored.

When Joe retied them, left the room with the trays, Sara whispered, "I think I can get close to Donna, talk to her when she comes to check on me, maybe even get her over on our side."

"I don't know...Donna seems unpredictable, unstable even...but it won't hurt to try." Adrian added, "But I'll do my best to go along with Joe. If I don't, I'm afraid... well, if anything should happen to us, your life... Oh God, Sara, I'm so sorry!"

Before Sara could reply, the door opened and Joe strode back inside, carrying the blindfold. He went to Adrian, saying, "It's time for us to take that walk into the woods. Gotta blindfold you, pal."

Adrian sat very still, but inside he was seething with suppressed rage, and it was all he could do to let his sight be blinded.

Adrian sat very still, but inside he was seething with suppressed rage, and it was all he could do to let his sight be blinded.

When finished, Joe yelled for Donna; she came into the room, they untied Sara and Adrian's feet, left their hands tied behind them. Then Donna urged Sara to her feet, shoved her ahead of her, while Joe took control of Adrian.

Sara saw the gun in Joe's waistband, knew it would be foolish to attempt escape, provoke his anger, which she already knew didn't take much. Better to buy time by complying for now.

They left the house by the back door, crossed a cement porch and stood briefly in the weedy backyard, early morning mist burning off as the sun rose higher in the cloudless sky. Sara looked at Adrian, told him, "It's a beautiful morning."

Donna giggled, then remarked, "It ain't gonna be beautiful to you for long."

"Just get going, Donna, and cut the crap." Joe led Adrian by the arm, and headed off across the small yard, Donna keeping a hand on Sara's arm as they followed.

Sara saw a dim path leading into the thick, dew-wet woods, and soon they were walking along it into the forest, still cool from the night. She struggled to remain calm, and for distraction, began, in a low voice, identifying the lovely array of June plants in bloom: white rhododendron, a common shrub over wide areas of Southern Appalachia that thrived under moist forest canopy; the flame azalea, called wild honeysuckle by mountain people, with spectacular colors of red, orange and bright gold, yellow and cream blossoms on separate branches of the same plant.

Donna almost tripped over an upraised vine root, cursed, "Damn! Will you slow down Joe!"

He stopped, gave her a sinister look over his shoulder, then jerked Adrian forward, snapping, "Look were you're going, will you Donna?"

Sara had noticed wild blackberries growing in profusion along the path, and asked, "Have you ever tasted these berries?"

"No, what are they?"

"Wild blackberries, great for pies, jams, jellies..."

"Shut up back there! What is this, a guided tour?" Joe shouted, glaring back over his shoulder at them, hand going to the gun for emphasis.

Donna said in a low voice, "Jesus, you'd think he'd let us talk, wouldn't you?"

Sara whispered close to her ear, "We can talk freely when you come to check on me, have all the time we need to get acquainted."

Donna pulled back, her face pinched with fear. "Don't go getting any bright ideas, cause I ain't helping you outta this!"

Joe stopped abruptly, turned to them, said between clenched teeth, "Will you two knock it off? I'm on to your game, Sara, so quit giving Adrian hints on how to find you by identifying the plants, huh?"

Sara bit her lips, reluctantly nodded, realizing that Joe was far more astute than she'd expected.

They continued their pace, the hushed quiet of the deep forest surrounding them, only an occasional bird call or rustling sound breaking the silent atmosphere as they climbed a hill, went down the other side and then crossed a shallow stream on some shaky logs.

Joe turned to the left, walked in that direction; then turned right, walked in that direction; then went straight again, and Sara realized he was deliberately confusing Adrian's sense of direction.

Soon they were in a deep, narrow gorge between two hills; they walked for what seemed about a mile to Sara when she saw a pile of dirt up ahead.

Joe brought them abreast of the area, tied Adrian to a pine, then took off his blindfold. Adrian blinked in the sudden daylight, letting his eyes adjust to the wooded landscape, seeing the deep hole immediately in front of him. He shut his eyes again, said in a tight voice: "I'm asking you one more time, please...don't put Sara in there. I'll give you what you want without doing this."

Joe snickered, shook his head. "Pal, you think I don't need insurance for our trip? Sara here is my insurance that you'll do exactly what I say."

Donna pulled Sara closer now, and said in a softer voice, "It's all fixed up, no problem now."

Sara looked down into the gaping ten-foot hole, felt a shudder race over her, couldn't keep her body from shaking as she stared at the dark pit where she would be forced to stay. It looked to be five foot in length and width; and the sides were partially lined with plywood, as was the bottom...

"Now, see Adrian," Joe explained, "this is a real safe place, nothing will happen to her if you do what I say. I boxed the bottom and sides with plywood, so it wouldn't cave in, and so she wouldn't be on the damp ground. There's a metal top with air holes, fits at the rim of this hole, some pine to be strewn over it for camouflage. The top can be taken off for Donna to lower food down by rope for Sara."

Adrian felt every fiber of his being would be confined in that hole along with Sara, and turned to look at her pale, wretched face. He said heatedly, "Safe? And what if it rains, what if a bear comes sniffing around, a wild animal..."

Joe laughed, shook his head. "That's too damn bad! No joking though, we have a tarp to use over the top if it rains, but the forecast is for severe clear here the next week. And don't worry about wild animals, they won't get past the lid at the top. Besides, Donna will keep a close check on Sara, make sure she's taken care of."

He paused dramatically, grinned at Adrian. "Unless of course I fail to call her at our arranged times, let her know everything is going smoothly."

Sara began trembling, and Donna pulled away from her, telling Joe, "Get on with it, will you? I ain't gonna stand here all day."

Joe walked over, took Sara by the arms, moved her toward the hole, stopped at the rim, then went over to a cluster of vines, pulled out a ladder, lowered it down in the hole, and said, "Get down there now."

Sara felt her body go rigid, was unable to move. She said weakly, "You promised I...that we, Adrian and I..."

"Christ, I forgot. Yeah, you can have one last kiss." Joe spun her around roughly, shoved her toward where Adrian was bound to the tree.

She went to him, leaned forward, and they stared long and deep into one another's eyes; Sara felt she was gaining strength from the love she saw in his eyes. Their lips met in a gentle kiss.

Joe grabbed her from behind, barked, "Enough already!"

And then he walked her back to the hole as she heard Adrian say with an emotion-choked voice, "I love you Sara, more than my very life."

"I love you too," she returned, now at the hole and looking back at how helpless Adrian was to prevent her burial.

Donna was staring at them, her face having lost the cynical, tough look...and Sara thought she seemed wistful almost, an undisguised longing in her eyes for the kind of love shared between Sara and Adrian.

Joe untied Sara's hands, stripped off her wristwatch, declared, "You won't need to count the seconds on a watch. Now, climb down the ladder, pronto."

Sara moved stiffly, feeling like she was in a waking nightmare, watching instead of participating. But amazingly, once she touched the ladder with her foot, her body swung into motion and she eased down each step, feeling stronger now...

Adrian called, "Sara, be brave. I'll be back, I promise."

Joe snickered, looking down at Sara's upturned face, that sly, evil grin on his thin lips. "That is, if Sir Gallant can cough up a coupla mil, he'll be back for you."

Donna was now peering over the side, her face impassive and her eyes cold, distant.

When Sara touched bottom, she stood in the small space, looking up the sides, noticing how there was no way out, nothing to hold onto, no way to climb back out. Her eyes went around the ten-foot high plywood lined wall, on past it to the slick dirt rim, and then she simply sat down with a thud, fighting off panic.

Joe walked off, stayed gone a short time, then returned with a large plastic bucket, which he lowered down on a rope. She took it, saw various items of food: cheese crackers, granola bars, raisins, a thermos. As she took the stuff out, she said angrily, "Thanks for nothing."

Joe replied, "Look under that blanket in the corner, you'll find some stuff to get you by."

Sara lifted the blanket and pillow, saw a small plastic urinal, bath tissue, a paperback novel, paper and pencil. But when she saw the flashlight, she grabbed it and hugged it to her.

Donna advised, "Don't use it too much, the batteries will go dead. I ain't giving you no more neither."

"I won't...but at least, I mean, I won't be in the dark all the time. Please..." she looked up directly at Donna. "Please tell Adrian about this?"

Donna nodded, then turned away and Joe loomed at the edge of the hole; he had a Polaroid camera, took a snapshot, then said, "Donna will be back before dark to check on you, after I call from the airport. Till then, you be good." He gave a loud hoot, and moved off, saying, "Here's a photo of her to remind you of what she's going through, Sir Gallant."

The next thing Sara saw was the round metal cover coming over the top, being wedged into the grooves made in the ground, feeling the darkness descending...closing her eyes against witnessing the dying light above her.

But when she opened her eyes again, the light was streaming down through the many air-holes, so it wasn't totally dark...at least not now, but when night came...

She could hear their voices mingling, catch Adrian's occasionally, and then they were fading away, getting fainter and fainter as they left the area.

Panic swelling in her chest, a lump sticking in her throat, almost cutting off her breath, she swallowed hard, running her tongue over her dry mouth, smelling the damp earth and vegetation. She found the flashlight, flicked it on, opened the thermos, poured out water, drank deeply...

"Dear God," she prayed, "please help me be strong."

               * * * *

Back at the house, Adrian was allowed to take a shower, closely supervised by Joe who held a gun on him; then he dressed in his best gray tailored suit, and was tied in the chair while Joe went to dress.

When Joe came for him, Adrian was stunned: The man was utterly changed, now the very essence of a successful businessman --dressed impeccably in tailored suit that rivaled Adrian's.

Joe winked broadly, giving him a glimpse of the sinister man still in control. "Pal, didn't I tell you I was a great actor? Meet Joe...the real estate broker, ready to wheel and deal!"

Adrian felt his ulcer acting up, the acid roiling in his stomach, swallowed his frustration, said, "Yeah, you sure look the part."

"Right pal. Now, let's get going. That lear-jet needs lining up soon."

When they went out the door, Joe said to Donna, "Remember, be at the phone booth around noon. I'll call from the airport, let you know the time of our departure, and when to expect my next call from L.A."

"Okay," Donna replied, her face anxious.

"Like we planned, every time I call, I'll tell you when to be at the booth for my next call. If I don't make the call, well...you know what to do, huh?"

She nodded, a grim set to her lips, her eyes drifting to the double-barrel shotgun beside the sofa.

Joe slapped Adrian on the back, saying cheerfully, "Let's get moving, pal! Time's flying!"

Adrian felt his stomach clench, and braced himself to call on all the acting talent he had as he said, "The sooner we get going, the sooner this is over."

Joe nodded, and they headed for the van.

         END CHAPTER



     CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sara tried to calm herself, but the eerie quiet, the stillness surrounding her was nerve-racking. She sat cross-legged on the rough-hewn plywood floor, her face turned upward to catch shafts of sunlight streaking down through the air-holes. As time passed, she began to hear forest sounds: a slight rustling of leaves as a soft wind passed through the woods; a blue jay's shrieking cry, followed by an answering shriek; rustling noises in the underbrush. And she thought she caught the faint droning of a plane overhead.

Recalling they'd left the house around eight, she estimated their trek to have taken an hour, and tried to guess at the time by the slant of light through the holes. it was, she figured, around eleven.. or closer to noon, maybe. The idea of endless, empty hours...nights, days ahead of her in this cramped, stifling space gave her chills, raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

Taking a deep breath, she began to cough, suddenly aware that the air within the hole was stale, that very little fresh air could seep through the holes. Making a great effort not to panic, she controlled her breathing, certain that exertion would waste more of the clean air. Obviously, she thought, Joe hadn't tested his theory; therefore, he'd not considered how stale and stuffy the confining space would become.

Sara leaned back against the wall, felt the dampness against her back, and shook her head wearily. Another problem: moisture from the wet earth had penetrated the wood -- the floor, the walls were damp, musty. She forced her thoughts away from such observations, wondering if Adrian and Joe were at the airport, of if they'd had trouble, been delayed...

That train of thought was too upsetting, so she reached for the blanket, unfolded it halfway, crawled onto the dry material and got the flashlight, flicked it on, running the beam over the floor, up the sides of the hole, searching for the slightest possible way to climb out. It looked hopeless, but she couldn't give up...and quickly stood, touching the plywood, ran her hands over it, then on tiptoe, she put her hand up higher on the dirt, wondering if she could dig out notches for hand and foot holds?

She clawed at the hard-packed dirt, loosening a few handfuls and then, to her horror, a shower of falling dirt came from above her. She turned her head away, shielding her eyes until the cascading dirt stopped, then looked up the sides to see how unstable the whole area was now. Flicking off the flashlight, she realized with sickening clarity that any attempt to climb out would result in her being buried alive underneath the crushing pile of loose dirt!

Falling down on the blanket, she wept with frustration and fear, giving in to hopelessness, sobbing and sniffling sounds echoing around the enclosure.

At last though, the crying fit subsided, and Sara sat up, feeling better, having gotten the pent-up emotions out of her system temporarily. She wiped her tears away with the edge of the blanket, turned on the flashlight and pulled out the paper and pen. How absurd, she thought, that they'd given her these items... But then she had an idea, smiled to herself and got comfortable, seeing there was enough light from the air-holes now to enable to write.

She positioned the paper tablet on her lap, took pen in hand and began: Donna... Although we are strangers, I wonder if you know that there must be some past life connection between us...


                   * * * *

Adrian grimaced, buckling himself into the seat, watching the smug grin widen on Joe's face.

"Told you, pal. No problem, these charter pilots are always looking for a gig, need customers."

"Did Donna understand we are on our way, that everything is going as planned?"

"Yeah, and she's gonna check on the broad, so not to worry." He leaned back, getting comfortable in the seat, still grinning.

Adrian heard the jet engines firing, the pilot preparing to move toward the runway, and stared out at the airfield. It had been luck to get the lear-jet so easily, and they should be landing at LAX around darkfall... God, when it got dark...Sara would have to fight the panic attack, fight against that terror from their past lives!

Joe leaned in close, advised, "Relax, pal. Hell, I got it all planned perfectly. You just do what I've told you when we get to L.A., line up a meeting for tomorrow morning with your accountant. Then you and I will waltz in there, you'll introduce me as a new partner, a real estate broker, and I'll do the rest. The money shouldn't be no big deal, huh?"

"It'll take some time, can't just pull that kind of funds out of other sources. But no, it shouldn't be impossible."

"How long at tops?" Joe looked into Adrian's face just as the jet rolled out onto the runway, the higher-pitched whine of the engines kicking in for takeoff.

"No more than three days, I'd estimate."

"Good deal!"

Adrian hoped he was right, that the money could be transferred to an account in the Cayman Islands in that short time...but he wasn't absolutely sure. And if he failed this test, failed to save Sara now...all was lost.

                     * * * *

Donna pulled the Chevy inside the garage, cut the engine, and sighed with relief. That damn Joe, always walking the razor-edge, not making the call till five minutes past the arranged time. Sometimes, she felt like taking a hike on him...

But as she climbed out of the car, going to close the garage doors, Donna knew she was in too deep now, couldn't cut out on the bastard. he had her over a barrel... and she'd just have to do what he told her.

Hurrying into the house, going to the kitchen to prepare a meal for the woman out there in the hole, Donna felt a shiver run up her spine, and stopped at the stove, looking around the empty room. She remembered one of her grandmother's old Texas folk sayings: "Someone's walking over your grave, child."

Donna shook her head furiously, trying to rid herself of the spooky feeling, telling herself she was being ridiculous. She turned back to her task, quickly flipping on the radio for distraction.

                   * * * *

Sara heard the crunching, rustling sounds long before she was able to discern the sound of distinctive footfalls. When she was sure someone was approaching, she pulled the folded pieces of paper out, hoping what she'd written would influence Donna.

"Hey! Hey you down there! I got some supper for you, hear?"

Sara looked up to see the shadowy, late-afternoon light from the air-holes now darkening as Donna leaned over the top, yelling, "Hey! You okay down there!"

Sara shouted, "Yes! I'm glad you brought me something to eat, I'm starving." But in truth, she felt like eating would be impossible, had not touched the snacks provided for her.

There was a moment of silence, then Donna was working at the rim, Sara watching how difficult it was to remove the heavy metallic top, realizing a crowbar was being used... It was apparently an exhausting task, because Sara could hear Donna breathing hard from exertion, grunting, but at length, she saw the lid removed, light now filtering down upon her as she raised her eyes to see the canopy of intermingled trees overhead, a glimpse of sky...

"I ain't never been strong, but Joe really put his damn thing on here to stay!" Donna grumbled, still breathing heavily.

"Did they get a lear-jet, are they on their way?" Sara couldn't help calling out anxiously.

"Yeah, right on target. Now look, uh..."

"Please, call me Sara. And I'd like to call you Donna, if that's okay?"

"Uh, okay. Look Sara, I'll drop the bucket down with your supper, cooked some stuff for you."

"Thank you." Sara stood, stretching and yawning. "I'm doing better than I thought, actually."

"Good to hear it." Donna was putting food in the bucket, tied the rope to it, edged it over the rim and started lowering it, the bucket bumping the sides causing dirt to shower down on Sara.

"Sorry, but Joe said it had to be like this, so you couldn't escape." Donna watched from above, determined and aloof.

Sara took out the food, sniffing appreciatively, saying, "Toasted cheese sandwiches, it smells delicious."

"I'm gonna stay till you're done, take back the scraps." She chuckled. "Don't want no wild animals coming round here looking for leftovers!"

Sara stiffened at her remark, but said nothing, merely got out the food, began eating, managing to say between bites, "This is great, you're a good cook."

"Hey, tell that to Joe! He thinks I ain't worth a damn for nothing."

Sara ate as quickly as possible, wiped her hands on the cloth napkin, then replaced the containers in the bucket, putting the folded paper at the top. "Um, Donna, I wrote something this afternoon I wish you'd read. It's important, okay?"

"I ain't much for reading, bores me." Donna began hoisting the bucket back upward, staring down at Sara impassively.

"Please read it, that's all I ask."

Donna retrieved the bucket, nodded curtly, then began struggling to replace the wooden top, cursing and swearing with the extended effort. When finished, she called out, "See you in the morning."

Sara, standing in the dim light, struggled to keep the tremor out of her voice as she replied, "Yes, I'll...um, be glad to see you then."

Footfalls retreating, then utter silence; the forest was still now, every creature hidden, cowering somewhere, disturbed by the unnatural human presence.

Sara sat down, put her head in her hands, said to herself, "If I make it through the night, that is."

                       * * * *

After Donna returned from taking the call, relieved that Joe was still satisfied, that they'd landed safely and were in L.A., proceeding as planned, she came back to the house, got in bed, turned on the bedside lamp, pulled the sheets of paper close, studied Sara's pretty handwriting and began to read...

When she finally got through the last page, she started at the beginning and reread it all again, mumbling the words to herself, growing more an and more uneasy...

The wind outside picked up, and she shivered, even though the house was hotter than hell from the June heat. She said aloud, "This is weird, creepy stuff!"

She crumpled up the paper, tossed it on the floor, turned out the lamp and slid down, snuggling into her pillow, unable to rid herself of the words Sara had written. Good and Evil, God and Satin... the Christian upbringing Donna had hated but halfway feared was true, it all fell away now...and in its place, she pondered the strange, exotic ideas Sara had presented.

Was it possible? Could she have lived before? Donna laughed out loud, thinking how ridiculous it all seemed.

And yet, she wondered about her and Joe? Why had they gotten together? He'd picked her up out of the blue, one day when she was trying out for a part in a movie... which she didn't get, as usual! Hollywood types said she'd have to take acting classes, lose the Texas twang in her voice, study grammar. Forget it!

But Joe had said he'd been drawn to her...she wasn't even his type... And what about this scheme they were involved in? Donna recalled how Joe had said he'd been obsessed with Adrian Alexander since they met on that movie set long ago, couldn't get Adrian out of his mind.

And why, why would Joe plan this hare-brained scheme anyway? He had never been the least attracted to crime, not until he hatched this kidnapping plot...done the bank robbery as a way of financing the kidnapping.

And the compulsion he had for that damn hole, it was weird! When he'd first planned the kidnapping, the hole was for Adrian. Then he decided on the red-heard, and Donna argued to keep the woman tie tied up with her while they were gone, but he disagreed.

Donna sat bolt upright, her body rigid with fear. No, no, no! it was just too stupid, made no sense! Impossible that Joe could have been a murderer in a past life, killed Adrian and Sara in that previous life... That thought was too scary, especially if it meant he was destined to kill them again in this life! Belatedly, she realized she'd always hoped he'd let them go, once he got the money.

She got up, went to the kitchen, took out vodka, made herself a stiff drink, gulped it down and returned to bed.

Even so, it was a long time until she was able to sleep.

                    * * * *

"You're doing fine, Sara Clara, just fine," she told herself, keeping her eyes closed against the fearsome darkness. Using the pet name suddenly made her wonder how Marge was coping, if she was angry, hurt by what Adrian told her? When this was over, Sara knew she would have to make Marge understand there was nothing she could have done to prevent it; otherwise, Marge would feel guilty too.

Since darkfall, Sara had chosen to stretch out on the blanket, try to sleep. It wasn't easy, because her memory kept replaying the past months since she'd met Adrian, how she'd finally found the man she'd known existed somewhere...the only man to whom she could ultimately give her love.

But mercifully, she fell into sleep later...only to have a shattering nightmare, reliving the hellish past when they were both ruthlessly murdered in that cave. However, the murderer wasn't Daniel in her nightmare; he had the face of Joe, and she awoke to her own fierce screams piercing the night.

Calming herself at last, she sat quietly in the darkness, using yoga positions for self-discipline, then chanting softly, whispering  her mantra.

There were scratching noises on the wooden top; Sara felt her heart thudding with fear, her body tense, eyes staring sightlessly into the black abyss. When the noise stopped, she guessed it was a raccoon in search of the lingering scent of food...and worried a bear might be next.

She had no idea what time it was, and decided to do something Adrian had warned her against: self-hypnosis.

Proceeding according to instructions she'd followed in the past with Adrian, Sara was soon going back, back, back to that past existence in Cades Cove to try and learn who Donna had been then... what their relationship had been...

         END CHAPTER



       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The fan whirred away, warm air sweeping over the bed as the summer night remained hot, and Donna had a difficult time getting to sleep. Once or twice she thought she heard a faraway female voice calling, calling her name.

Drifting off at last, she began to sink down deeper and deeper...falling, falling back, backward...swirling into a tunnel of time that transported her away, way back into Cades Cove...

"I ain't, I mean it, I ain't gonna do it, Daniel!"

"Yes you will, Cassie Cahill!"

She looked around, vaguely aware of being in a woodshed, different types of wood stacked neatly: maple, hickory and oak for slow-burning hot coals; very little poplar and chestnut because it popped too much; lots of pine kindling for starting a fire. The woodsy odor was overpowering, and she grabbed a load of oak, starting for the open doorway when Daniel grabbed her, hard, causing the wood to clatter loudly all over the floor. "Stop it! Stop it Daniel, or I'll tell my Pa!"

"No you won't," Daniel said between clenched teeth, "because I'll take you off, kill you and bury you, if'n you ever tell another soul about it."

That her own husband could have done what he'd just told her, Cassie found impossible to believe. It was a story, she told herself, that's all. He was trying to scare her, keep her from leaving him like she had planned.

"You ain't leaving me! You're gonna march on down to my mama's, and you will tell 'em you cain't leave me, that you love me!"

Cassie felt him seize her ruthlessly, his strong arms shoving her against the rough-hewn log wall, his angry dark eyes probing her face, a gleam of malice in those deeply sunken eyes. She had never dreamed Daniel was such a violent, savage man -- only after they'd married did his cruel streak show itself. And now, a year later, Cassie had suffered at his hands: a black eye, bruises on her arms, legs...hidden beneath her long cotton dress.

"Tell me you ain't gonna run off!" Daniel seethed, his hand coming up to slap her, the sound ringing in the silent woodshed, his hands gripping her shoulders roughly.

"No, no I promise I won't go." She felt tears smart in her eyes, tried to avert her gaze away from his, but couldn't, so she begged, "Please Daniel, don't hit me no more."

"I don't love you, never did, never could. Only girl I ever loved was Rebekah." He looked off out the window, seeing early lime-green springtime colors upon the mountains, shook his head sadly.

"But you just said you killed her," she blurted out, then said softly in awe, "How could you kill the only girl you ever loved?"

"She was gonna run off with that Yankee, and that's a fate worse than death. I couldn't let her, don't you see? I had to stop her and him, it was the only way."

Fighting the panic she felt coming on, Cassie implored, "Couldn't you have talked her into coming back, let the soldier go?"

"Nah, they's set on going. Besides," he paused, moved back a step, removed his hands from her shoulders, stared out the window. "I think she was in love with him."

"Oh Daniel, how could you murder..."

He swung around, grabbed her and shoved her down onto the pile of wood, sent her sprawling as she felt sharp pieces of wood stabbing in her flesh...crying out in pain. He loomed over her, pulled her to her feet, said in a deadly quiet voice, "It ain't murder, it was...it just happened. I had to do it, she was better off dead than with that blue-coat scum."

He spat on the floor, his voice on the edge of panic, "Do you know what I seen in the war, do you? Those blues, they... I saw one shoot my own brother in the back! And to let Rebekah go off with one, maybe be raped..."

Moved in spite of herself, Cassie went limp, said in a whisper, "I know it was real bad in the war, you suffered..."

"Cain't you jest let it be? Cain't you see if'n you run off it's...like...I ain't got nobody no more?"

Cassie saw the tears in his dark eyes, and knew she could never leave this man; she'd loved him long before he took notice of her, long before he lost his beloved Rebekah. Whatever she had to endure, it was better to be at his side than cast away from the only man she could ever love.

"I won't never leave you, Daniel." She looked at him a long time, then said simply, "But I'm...gonna have a baby, and you gotta stop hurting me."

Suddenly, and for the first time, Cassie saw a warm, slow smile of astonishment and joy fill her husband's face. "A baby? You sure?"

"Yes, and I won't let you be hurting me or my baby no more."

He held her gently then, and she let him; Cassie knew in her soul it was wrong to keep Daniel's awful secret... But no one even knew Rebekah was dead; they all thought she was up north, happily married. It would only hurt her folks to know the real truth.

Cassie loved Daniel and couldn't, wouldn't betray her husband.

Never.

No matter what.

Now they had a child to think of too, so she had to forget it, somehow try to pretend he'd never told her this dark, ugly secret. Maybe he'd made it up after all, was too proud to admit Rebekah had chosen a Yankee over him?

So she told herself it was all over, had nothing to do with her now... and then settled the struggle within herself, and walked with him out of the woodshed, determined to put it out of her mind.

                    * * * *

Donna came awake with a start, drenched in sweat; she recalled every detail of the nightmare, and struggled against the absolute certainty that she'd been Cassie Cahill in a previous life, living in Cades Cove, married to the murderer, Daniel.

She got up, stood directly in front of the small fan, trying to get cool, running a hand through her damp hair. God, was it possible? Could Joe have been Daniel in another life?

Walking slowly to the kitchen, Donna was dazed; she got ice out, filled a glass and ran water over it. Drinking deeply, she stared out at the first light of dawn...the yard misty and everything, trees, woods obscure and indistinct, like a blurry image.

Draining the glass, she put it in the sink with other dirty dishes and wondered why she'd had the dream? Could it have been caused by that creepy stuff Sara had written? Or was it more than that?

She headed for the shower, telling herself to keep her suspicions to herself, not reveal the nightmare to anyone, least of all that crazy woman, Sara.

                * * * *

Sara was caught in her self-induced trance; she walked the hills and hollows of 1860s Cades Cove, wandering aimlessly, seeking knowledge in her ghostly form, hoping to find Donna in that life... futile and fruitless, she feared her mission.

She roamed the fields as Rebekah's spirit, ethereal among the ruins of the Civil War, everywhere seeing the signs of wasted emotions, evidence that Guerrilla bands had stolen pigs, plowhorses, chickens... bitter faces grim with pain and anguish, the eastern cove people hating the Union, the western people hating Confederates. Churches were padlocked, closed and divided by the community's animosity, ending any outlet for peaceful repose and spiritual solace.

Only when she happened to encounter a loud argument in a woodshed close to Daniel's parents' farm did she let her spirit drift down into the spring-green woods, floating easily into the blossoming dogwoods, listening intently... overhearing shouts, now recognizing Daniel's voice...and hearing a vaguely familiar young woman's higher-pitched pleas...

She remembered that voice: It was Cassie, one of her childhood friends. There were scuffling noises, more shouts, crying and then...the words were spoken so softly, she had to drift closer, ever closer...

Daniel had married Cassie! She had a stab of sympathy and regret: If only she could have warned Cassie of Daniel's violent streak!

But now she heard they were expecting a child... Yes, maybe that would change his life? She hovered in the chill air, looking down as they emerged from the woodshed, arm-in-arm, and Daniel's face, he was smiling, his eyes warm, loving.

"Sara! Sara! Hey, you down there, you okay?"

Someone was calling her back, back... but she didn't want to leave the cove, she wanted to know what happened to Cassie and Daniel, if they were happy, how many children they had...

"Hey, I ain't staying here all day!"

Reluctantly, Sara felt herself being pulled away from the brilliant springtime of long-ago Cades Cove, and was soon entering the time warp, flying...faster, faster and now, she was coming up, coming up the long tunnel, slowly, ever-so-slowly regaining herself, flooding into her physical body, a wrench of pain as she felt herself in possession of human flesh.

"I ain't asking you again! You okay down there?"

Sara blinked rapidly, finally opening her eyes wide in the shower of daylight falling into the open top above her. She looked up, saw Donna's pinched face looking down at her, the long lank hair framing her lackluster features.

"Yes, I am...Cassie."

Donna gasped, shouted, "How did you know!"

"Know what, Cassie?"

Donna shuddered, turned away and looked around her, trying to shake the feeling she had entered the 'Twilight Zone.' She had no idea how Sara could have known about her nightmare, and surely being called by that name wasn't a coincidence?

"Donna, I know you were Cassie Cahill in Cades Cove. You and I were best friends, we played together as children..."

Donna put her hands over her ears, exclaimed, "Stop it! You hear? Just stop it! How could you know about my nightmare last night, it ain't possible!"

Sara stretched, lifting her arms high, unfolding her legs and getting to her feet, looking up silently.

"You're trying to spook me, ain't you?" Donna screamed, turning back to stare at Sara angrily.

"No, I'm not. In fact, I didn't know you had a nightmare."

"I did, I damn sure did. It was, ugh, awful...got beat up by my husband, Daniel...and... Wait a minute! Maybe you's sending me ESP, made me have that dream?"

Sara shook her head, said seriously, "No. It seems as if you've had your first memory of a past life as Cassie. You know, those kind of nightmares, once they start, they won't stop unless you live out your destiny."

"Quit that! I don't believe that crap!" Donna moved away, paced around the area, kicking at the pile of dirt, nervous and restless. What was she going to do, she wondered? What if Joe WAS that maniac, Daniel? She stomped on the dirt, then hurried back to the hole, looked down at Sara.

"I'm sending down your breakfast, gotta hurry and get back for the next phone call. Look, we'll talk later. But don't get no idea I'll help you, cause I won't, never."

Sara shrugged, said calmly, "It's up to you, but...if you keep having the nightmares, I'll be glad to discuss them with you."

Donna said nothing, only lowered the food and then left.

                  * * * *

Adrian was boarding the lear-jet, Joe behind him as they went up the steps. "I told you it'd be smooth as silk, didn't I?"

Nodding as he walked into the cabin, going to a seat, Adrian said, "Yes, and to my surprise, you were correct."

"See, like...I did my homework. I knew you had that Big Sur property, and that you'd had several reliable offers for it. Now, that wasn't so hard to part with, was it?"

Adrian looked at Joe's smug grin, watching him buckle himself in, and replied, "I'll have to come back here soon, clear out the house, do something with my belongings."

"Yeah...but see pal, the down payment alone met my ransom. And it was simple to convince your accountant I was a broker for some prime Cayman property you wanted to invest in. The money was wired electronically to the account I set up down there, no big deal. Kept us from having to actually raise money in cash, all the difference in the world, Sir Gallant."

Adrian looked out the window as they taxied out to the tarmac, thinking it was a smog-hazed morning...three days since they left Tennessee, now Wednesday. Adrian recalled Joe's clever disguise while meeting the accountant: he'd had full theatrical makeup, fake mustache, a wig, stuff to totally change his looks, even contact lenses to change his eye color. The accountant barely noticed though, preferring to concentrate on facts and figures, which Joe had somehow detailed with flourish. He asked, "And what if I call it off when you let us go?"

"Hey, I thought of that, I'm no dummy. What I'll do, you and the gal will be tied up, then I'll call someone at the FBI back here in the states, tell them where you are -- AFTER I get the cash from that account in the Caymans."

The noisy engine sounds momentarily blotted out all speech; then Adrian turned to Joe, asked, "And if you don't get the money?"

Joe formed his hand into a pistol, pointed his finger at Adrian's head, mouthed, "Bang, bang...you're both dead. I plan on having a bomb rigged up to your chairs. You move, try to escape, not wait for the FBI..."

Adrian got the picture, and sighed with frustration, his body tense from days and nights of watching for a chance to overcome Joe, as well as the unabated anxiety and worry about Sara. If it hadn't been for Joe letting him talk to Donna yesterday, Adrian didn't think he could have endured it. Even though Joe was listening and she knew it, he'd noticed something different in Donna's voice...there was just a slight difference...something wistful, something almost encouraging...

His thoughts were interrupted by the full thrust of takeoff, and Joe grinned widely, giving a thumbs up sign as they got airborne. "Hey pal, we'll be back in Tennessee soon. You can see your little sweetie, ain't that grand?"

Adrian closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer that they made it safely and that somehow, some way he could prevent this sociopath from killing him, Sara...and possibly Donna, thereby leaving no witnesses to his crime.

          END CHAPTER



     CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Sara sat cross-legged, the pad on her lap, pen moving fluently over the lines, coaxing with words, stating the importance of the discovery she and Donna had made during the past three days; it had become more and more incredible, and Sara felt sure that Donna was on the brink of accepting it all.

She stopped abruptly, looking up at the afternoon light beginning to dim as the sun went behind a mountain; soon there wouldn't be enough light to write. Quickly, she brought the missive to an end, telling Donna she'd write more later.

As she folded the paper, Sara thought about her ordeal; she was proud of her strength in coping with the situation. If she'd ever imagined herself in this bleak confinement, Sara knew she'd have thought it impossible to survive. But as the minutes, hours turned into days, nights...as time passed, she'd used the yoga and self-hypnosis to great advantage, strengthening her psychological/emotional fortitude.

Standing, she stretched, glancing down at her soiled jeans and blouse; the dampness permeated everything, and flakes of mud occasionally fell onto her. Physically, this had been rough -- she felt grimy, badly in need of a shower and fresh clothing. Running her fingers through her oily hair, she grimaced and sat back down, wondering if Donna would come again today. At noon, Donna had said she would not return, and Sara had been aware that she was very near the breaking point.

If only she could persuade Donna to help them, Sara thought, knowing it was their best chance of escaping a sure death. For without doubt, Joe planned to kill them. Donna had told her she'd spoken to Adrian on the phone, that the ransom money was safely in a Cayman bank account, that soon they'd be returning.

And though Sara was relieved and glad Adrian would soon be back, unharmed, she felt if she'd only had a little longer to work on Donna.

Suddenly she heard rustling sounds in the distance, her hearing having become acutely attuned to the slightest disturbance in the woods; the noise grew nearer, and she stood again, tensing with fear and anticipation.

"Sara, hey...you didn't croak on us, did you?"

She took in a sharp breath, calming herself, managing to say, "No, I'm fine." Joe...it was Joe's voice...

"Good, real good gal." He shadowed the hole, yelled, "I've come to get you, take you back to the house." He snickered wickedly, then added, "Yeah, it's all over, time for you to get back among the living."

Sara flinched -- the icy tone in his voice, callus, cruel, the suggestion of sarcasm about her fate. She watched as the metal top was laboriously removed, and late afternoon light silhouetted Joe's wiry frame looming above her.

"Is Adrian okay, where is he?"

"I shoulda known you'd be asking about Sir Gallant, huh? He's just swell, back at the house, waiting on you. Donna's keeping an eye on him."

Sara felt her hopes soar; if Donna and Adrian were alone, it was possible they'd begin discussing Donna's nightmare, and then...maybe Adrian would be able to convince her to help them, they could go for the authorities... She brought herself up shortly, aware of her unrealistic thinking; if she hadn't been able to persuade Donna, it was unlikely Adrian could.

Joe was lowering the ladder, saying, "Leave all that stuff down there, no use dragging it all the way back with us."

Sara nodded, but managed to put the folded pages in her pocket, just in case she could slip it to Donna later on, have one more chance to persuade her over to their side.

The ladder hit bottom, and Sara put a foot on the first rung, looked up, asked, "Will you hold it steady?"

Joe was grinning that chilling thin-lipped grin, and she felt her skin crawl; there was something evil about him, something sinister and scary, almost a tangible sense of primal savagery that looked out from his midnight-dark eyes. He said, "Why sure, ma'am, I'm at your service."

It was the quaint word, *ma'am*, that set off a past life memory in her: It sounded so like Daniel's double-edged words, the evil lurking behind a courtly facade when he was wooing Rebekah. Sara shook her head, trying to clear away the past, concentrate on being alert in the present moment, starting to climb carefully on the shaky ladder.

When he took her hand, assisted her over the edge brandishing a gun in one hand but pulling her well away from the hole, Joe surveyed her with mock concern. "Damn babe! You don't look so good. Real smelly and...you stink of something foul."

"Of all the nerve!" Sara burst out, anger getting the best of her as she struggled to keep from slapping his face. "Need I remind you that you are the one who constructed this nasty place? Have you any idea what I've been through, trapped like an animal, forced to exist in that stink day and night?"

"Whooaa babe! You got a temper, matches that red hair...but..." He grabbed her by the arm, moved in very close, right up in her face, pushed the gun into her stomach. "Just remember who's in charge here! One wrong move, you're never gonna see Sir Gallant again."

Sara bit her lips, tasted blood, muttered an apology, "Sorry...it's been awful... and I..."

He moved back slightly, studied her face intently, lifted an eyebrow archly. "And did you miss Adrian?"

"Yes, I...I love him very much."

Sara turned away, but he reached out, caught her chin and forced her to look at him. "He's not half the man I am. Sure, he's got that dreamy look, seems otherworldly and wise, but beneath all that romantic charm, he's nothing, no guts. Didn't even try to escape during our trip, a real coward. I could show you what a real man is like..."

She felt bile rising in her throat, pulled back, said in a choked voice, "Now you're a rapist... I think I'm going to be sick..." and let out a gag that was genuine.

Joe jumped backwards, looking at her with a repulsive sneer. "Don't puke on me!"

She gagged several times, the mere thought of Joe's provocative gestures, words making her heave until the crackers and cheese she'd eaten earlier came up. When it was over, Joe seemed disgusted, turned off, relieving her fear of rape.

He quickly tied her hands behind her, shoved her ahead of him, commanding, "Get moving! It's late, we gotta get back before dark."

The long hike through the woods was exhausting to Sara, her body stiff from being cramped up in the small enclosure. She hardly took notice of the landscape, wanting only to get this over with... learn what their fate was to be.

When they emerged from the woods into the backyard, Joe stopped her, turned her to face him. "I want you to know I... well, I guess what I want to say is that it's too bad you had to go through all that, but it's over now."

He paused, stared off into the middle-distance, pensive, finally musing, "I... there's a peculiar feeling I had when I met Adrian years ago on that movie set. Now, I don't believe for one minute all that karma crap, but I do admit an uncanny feeling about you both."

Sara rushed in, "Don't you see? That's exactly how it feels when you recognize someone from a past life?"

"Forget it! I'm not buying that story. But...you twisted Donna's pea-sized brain real good with that line of bullshit. So I'm warning you before we go inside, you try that again, and it's curtains for us all."

Sara felt the blood drain from her face, said soothingly, "I understand. I promise not to mention anything about past lives."

"Good. Just so we got that straight." He took her arm, led her through the weedy yard, up onto the cement backporch, and yelled, "Hey Donna! Get out here."

Donna came to the screendoor, stood there asking in a sulky voice, "Yeah, what you want now?"

Donna averted her eyes from Sara's face, looked instead at Joe, asking peevishly, "You gonna let her in here, see him?"

"Why sure, I wouldn't keep these two lovebirds apart."

Joe pulled the door open, pushed Sara inside, and walked her into the bedroom where she saw Adrian tied to the chair. She hurried over to him, kneeling by his side, crying, mumbling, "Oh Adrian...oh...I...thank God you are okay!"

He leaned forward, his eyes going over her clothing, her matted, tangled hair and then meeting her eyes. "Sara, it'll all be fine now. I'm sorry...that I wasn't able to somehow..."

"Don't apologize! You did what was necessary, just so I could survive."

"How...did you cope?"

"I did better than I'd have thought. I...well, we'll talk about it later." She looked to where Joe and Donna stood, both studying them closely.

"Donna, you really helped me by bringing the food, talking..."

Joe gave Sara a cold look, came forward, jerked her up and planted her firmly in the other chair, untied her hands, retied them to the chair, securing her ankles also as Donna watched impassively.

Finally, Joe went to the door, motioned for Donna to leave. Then he said to them, "We'll be leaving in about an hour, but we'll be back in to see you before then."

Adrian said nothing, staring solemnly at him.

Sara was about to ask what they planned to do...when suddenly she saw Donna lurking quietly behind Joe, the shotgun coming up from her side, the barrel now rammed into Joe's back.

"Hold it, hold it right there Joe. You ain't going nowhere, now are you?" Donna leaned around Joe, gave Sara a tense smile. "Surprised, ain't you?"

Adrian smiled back at her, said, "Way to go, just like we planned."

Joe moved slightly, and Donna pulled back the hammer on the shotgun, making him stiffen. "I said, hold it, don't move!"

"Damnit Donna, what in hell are you doing? Do you know what you're letting yourself in for? You don't think the law will let you go, do you? Cause bitch, you're in this deep as I am...you'll be locked up a long, long time!"

Adrian intervened, "Not if we say she saved our lives."

Donna said quickly, "I ain't gonna let you kill them, that's all." She looked at Adrian, then Sara. "I ain't gonna make the same mistake Cassie did..."

Joe exclaimed, "What in hell are you talking about?"

"I learned lots while you's gone, sure did. Me and Sara here, we had some strange experiences, think it was ESP. Then, I had these nightmares about Cades Cove, when I was Cassie Cahill. She married Daniel, and you are him in this life, Joe. And you, Daniel...I mean Joe, you abused her, killed her and the baby! Even if he didn't mean to do it, just hit Cassie too hard..."

"What has got into you, Donna? Have you lost your mind?" Joe stormed, turning slightly to glance into Donna's face.

She said, "You ain't killing me again, no sir! I mean to save myself, cause you ain't gonna get another chance at me."

Joe was still staring in shock, but Sara realized suddenly that he had one hand coming up slowly to his side...she yelled, but it was too late, because in a split second, he'd overcome Donna, gotten hold of the shotgun, shoved the barrel upward when it went off, blasting a hole in the ceiling, debris falling down all around them...

Adrian sprang up out of the chair, and Sara realized he hadn't been tied, his body now moving in almost slow-motion as she watched helplessly...a struggle between the two men, shouts and curses, Donna screaming, cowering in the corner, furniture overturned.

Joe and Adrian were fighting, both struggling over the shotgun, so closely together that it looked like a macabre dance as they twisted and turned, falling to the floor.

Sara strained to get loose, pulling helplessly at her tied hands, watching with horror as the men rolled over and over, coming closer to her...and then, they suddenly stopped.

In the abrupt silence, Sara saw that Adrian was holding the shotgun and the barrel was against Joe's stomach.

Donna shouted, "Kill him, kill him!"

Adrian was breathing hard, struggling to disentangle himself from Joe, while cautioning, "Don't move Joe or I will shoot you."

And then Adrian was on his feet, the shotgun barrel pinning Joe to the floor, his black eyes for once blinking in fear. "Don't do it, pal. You'll never be able to live with yourself."

"I won't shoot you if you do exactly as I say and I mean, exactly as I say." Adrian lifted the barrel enough so that Joe could stand, then told him to get in the nearby chair.

When he was seated, Adrian told Donna to tie him up. She cried out, "No! Kill him! He killed you, all of us once!"

Sara was speechless, watching as though what she was witnessing had been destined to happen, that it would unfold as fate decreed.

"I said, tie him up. Do it!" Adrian commanded, his voice harsh, a threat in it.

Reluctantly, Donna got the rope and tied Joe to the chair while he swore and berated her for it.

At last, Adrian walked over and checked the ropes, saw Joe was securely tied down, safely subdued. He looked at Sara, began untying her hands, putting the shotgun down.

Donna asked, "Why wouldn't you shoot him, get even for what he done in our past lives?"

Adrian helped Sara up, studied her a long, silent moment, then gave her a brief kiss, and turned to Donna. "I couldn't do that. Don't you see, if we killed him it would only be negative karma that would bring us back to replay this whole ordeal again... Joe still after us. To end a destructive cycle it has to be countered by positive action."

Donna considered that for a moment, then nodded, grudgingly conceded, "I guess you know more about that stuff than me, so I ain't gonna argue." She walked over and kicked at Joe's shinbone, snarling, "You worthless piece of..."

"Hey, watch it! I got enough trouble without you breaking my leg too!" Joe grimaced, shaking his head. "Go figure. The whole bunch of you, crazy as shit-house rats!"

Adrian passed the shotgun to Donna, said seriously, "I trust you not to harm him, unless it's necessary, while Sara and I go for the authorities."

Donna shrugged, grinning. "Nah, I won't kill him, even if he does deserve it."

Once out of the room, Adrian took Sara in his arms, kiss her long and searchingly, then said with a triumphant smile, "Now we can have that autumn wedding we planned."

And Sara could only nod mutely, pulling him back to her for another welcoming kiss.

        END CHAPTER



       EPILOGUE

Sara looked up at Blue Mountain, the colorful autumn foliage so beautiful it took her breath away. But then she turned back to Adrian as they stood beside his Austin Healey about to leave on their honeymoon, a trip to California, and found she was looking forward to their excursion without the usual pang of loneliness at parting from her beloved mountains. Having Adrian with her, their souls united at last, made all the difference.

"Happy, love?" Adrian asked, flashing a wide smile of satisfaction and joy.

"Yes, oh yes." Sara paused, looked at his dreamy blue eyes, then said seriously, "Do you really think we can deal with all the publicity?"

"I am positive we can." He searched her face, elaborating, "Your ability to survive in that hole, the confidence it gave you in spiritual strength, it was beneficial even if a terribly hard way to gain such strength. Your self-hypnosis while there, the total, uninterrupted concentration, it gave us the missing piece of the puzzle..."

"Yes, now we have proof, concrete proof. That cave was on Blue Mountain, not one of the mountains near Cades Cove. And with the help of Dr. Morris, the skeletons were found. I believe they will be identified as Rebekah and Clifton's remains. Since there was no grave for Daniel Weber, only Cassie, our guess that he left the area after her death must have been correct."

Sara sighed. "But the tabloids..."

He took her in his arms, held her tenderly. "Sara, we can deal with it, whatever they print. Love, we'll never be able to convince everyone, nor should we try. All we can do is tell our truth, our story, and let people decide whether they believe it or not."

"A true story that I'm sure a talented writer will be able to convey in a book. Maybe some will at least consider it, the possibility of reincarnation, if nothing else."

"Precisely." He walked around to open her door for her, adding, "And if you are willing to openly acknowledge our past lives, then I'm willing to reveal my paintings."

"People will be amazed at the authentic details, the historical details in the battle scenes you painted when Clifton was engaged in those conflicts."

"I've already had two Civil War historians suggest I donate my artwork to certain archives...and maybe I will."

Sara slid into the car seat, then heard Marge yelling, saw her coming across the yard. "You forgot the pottery you made especially for Donna's mother."

Marge gave it to Sara, bent down to plant a light kiss on her cheek, then turned to Adrian. "Take good care of our Sara Clara; we came too close to losing her once."

He winked at her, said, "I will, don't worry. But we'll miss you while we're gone."

Marge smiled brightly. "You'll be back in a month, and I'm looking forward to having you two nearby."

They said their good-byes one more time, and then Adrian got in, started the car, heading out onto the paved road. "It was a great idea, selling the Bed & Breakfast to Marge. She will enjoy being the owner."

Sara turned to him, agreeing, "Yes, and when Donna comes back with us from California, I'm sure Marge will eventually develop her into a polished, polite hostess."

"Donna was lucky not to do time like Joe; he'll be in prison a long, long time. But Donna seems to be enjoying her visit with her mother in Texas, and I'm sure she'll be happy with Marge. It'll be interesting to drive through Texas, see where Donna grew up and pick her up on our way back from California."

There was a comfortable silence as they drove along the familiar curvy road, both lost in their thoughts; then Sara said, "I'll like living in the estate where I first learned what happened back in Cades Cove...but won't you miss Big Sur?"

Adrian shook his head. "No, I want to paint some of the spectacular scenery around here, in the Smoky Mountain Park. Besides, I believe I just about exhausted all the artistic potential of my place in Big Sur."

Sara sighed, happily contented, looked over at her husband and asked, "Love me?"

"Yes...through two lifetimes...maybe more..." He gave her a dreamy, enigmatic look.

"Oh no you don't! Just because Dr. Morris suggested we had been together in previous lives, that doesn't mean we are going to undertake learning who we were in those lives!"

Adrian shrugged, said soothingly, "Of course not. That is, unless you ever change your mind."

Sara merely shook her head in amazement; this man, so spiritual and yet so physically appealing...he just might persuade her to undertake *anything*!

But suddenly he pulled off the road, took her in his arms and said soberly, "Sara, no matter what those past lives were, all that counts is that we live out his life happily together. Have our children, do the best we can, cherish one another...because if we can do that, then our souls will be freed of earthly return eventually, and can achieve spiritual Nirvana."

Sara looked deeply into his dreamy blue eyes, and as she had the very first time, she saw eternity in a love without end.

           THE END

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