A Toast to Starry Nights (11 page)

“If Dmitri got him to leave, then I'm
assuming that Mike didn't get your number?”

“That's correct. He's a pattern I have no
intention of repeating.”

“That's an excellent way to put it.”
Neilsinhaur offered me a small smile. “I understand why you would have a panic
attack when Mike showed up. What I can't put my finger on is why Dmitri
proposing would elicit a similar reaction. Has Dmitri ever reminded you of
Mike?”

“No. He raised his voice once in my
presence– he was pissed at the situation, not me-- but since then, he leaves so
we both can cool off before the decibel level gets cranked up. For him to be
likened to Mike in any way, shape, or form, is an insult. When I told him how I
felt when he popped the question, it sucked. No one deserves to be likened to a
despicable choad.” Didn't mention the wedding-induced unease, either. The
Pity-Me sundae does not need a cold-feet cherry on top.

“Which is why you find yourself here.”
He cleared his throat and leveled his gaze at me. I felt like a deer in
headlights-- pinned and unable to look away. “Have you ever experienced déjà
vu? Recurring dreams?”

Finally. I was beginning to wonder when
he'd get to the bread and butter. After listening to Willow drone on time and
time again about her magical adventure as an English political pawn, I was very
curious as to what lay ahead.

“I've experienced déjà vu before.
Recurring dreams too. I've had more of those than déjà vu.” I spent most of my
childhood nights in restless sleep with one of two recurring dreams. The first
one was always the same. A blackened chasm housed a mile-high pillar of stone
in a narrow oval. I lay atop the pillar. If I moved or tried to roll over, the
pillar would crumble and I'd fall to the bottom of the abyss. I always woke up
when the pillar would begin its demise and take me down into the depths with a
scream locked in my throat.

I hated that dream.

“Did any of the recurring dreams involve
people? Or places?”

“People. Can't see their faces. Like...
shadow people.” That dream had a huge creep out factor, too. A blurry room,
three indistinct people milling around in anger. Such hateful anger and rage. I
couldn't move from where I was and one of the shadows would come over to lean
down into my face. The sensation of menace and power emanating from it would
without fail wake me up in terror.

I hated that dream more.

Neilsinhaur nodded. “It's a promising
beginning. Shadow People in recurring dreams is fairly common. More often than
not in my experience, that is, Shadow People represent persons in a past life.
If they are, your dream will take on a new relevance to you as the truth behind
it is revealed. The scientific community tends to view moments of déjà vu as a
mini-epileptic seizure. In the same family as the jolt people get when they are
falling asleep and inadvertently kick their foot. It's referred to as '
hypnagogic
epilepsy'
. A misfire of the electrical impulses surging through the brain
basically.

“Those electrical impulses are what
connects us all to the Collective Unconsciousness, where we can access our past
lives and experiences. Through regression, we access the pathway to past lives
by guided meditation techniques that allow us to relax and fully immerse
ourselves in the proper state of mind. Now the question I have for you is
whether you think that past life regression therapy would be of benefit? There
is potential that you faced a situation in a past incarnation which may have
triggered your reaction to your fiancé 's proposal. Do you think it's worth
exploring?”

I didn't know. Admitting my ignorance
was something I was comfortable doing at this point in time. In fact, the past
hour was so different from my preconceived notion of what would happen. I was
in a state of psychological shock. Bawling like a baby in front of a stranger
was something that never crossed my mind when I agreed to Willow's idea. Baring
the scars on my soul to a perfect stranger, drained me into a hollow shell of a
former smartass. I felt somewhat lost.

“Honestly, I don't know if I'd benefit
from it or not, but I'm willing to try. If only to keep my mother from the
wedding. Best case is I actually get something out of it.” And I meant that.
Nothing would please me more than to find out why I'd desecrate Dmitri, so I
could explain and apologize for the true reason. I have yet to forgive myself.

“If you are truly open to the idea, then
there's some homework for you to accomplish before our next session.”

Homework? That was straight out of left
field. “Okay...”

“Every night before you go to sleep, I
want you to work on a meditation. This mental exercise will help you focus your
energy towards your goal past life. This will help you internalize your
thoughts into the subconscious where the past life dwells. This is how we will
make our way to that memory that haunts you.

“I want you to close your eyes and
picture yourself in the woods. In front of you is a staircase leading into the
ground. There are thirteen steps down to a landing with a door. That door is
the entryway into the past life that is impacting you now. Your goal each night
is to walk down two steps and then back up. First is two steps, second night,
four steps down and back and so forth. I want you to notice all the details.
The feel of the walls down into the earth, the smell of the woods, the feel of
the breeze. Is it daytime, nighttime, morning? Immerse yourself. On your next
visit, we will open that door at the bottom together. We will see what we can
discover to help you move past your anxieties and address what lesson in this
life you need to learn to succeed. Everyone has these life-lessons. Once we
achieve what we couldn't in a past life, our souls are free to enjoy this life
as it is meant to be celebrated. You have much to celebrate, with your wedding
and all. Don't you think it's best to start with a clean slate, Kaylis?”

Well, yes. Assuming that this wasn't
bullshit. But like a parachute, a mind only works when open... and though I
might be biased due to association with my mother, I think I'm open minded
enough to explore this option. I am the daughter of Willow Miranda Quincey
Oshton Woods Carlow Hemingson... being special was a part of my biological
make-up. Nature or nurture, I could conquer this... even if I had to imagine a
faux world of wonder to tame the Beast of Terror that lurked inside the cave of
my mind.

Bring it on.

Chapter Nine-

“Let's roast a pig for the Fourth.”

Dmitri got his jollies by being the host
with the most. The garage already housed two kegorators and his home brew
set-up. Back yard was a man-scaped realm of a huge brick grill and shish-kebab
pit built for socializing. The deck stepped down to a flagstone patio with huge
glass topped picnic table under a portable gazebo a few feet away from the
grill at the far end. Beyond the patio was the lawn and swimming pool with a
natural-looking rock waterfall nestled into a corner. My small veggie garden
was set against the back fence. Green foliage, iris, fruitless mulberry trees
and tall conifers lent an out-in-the-woods-feel. Around the fence perimeter
were my Damascus Roses. Old-world apothecary roses of pink and red, untouched
by green-thumbed geneticists. They were prickly, heavily scented, and finicky
to grow. But perfumed summer nights made them well worth the effort.

“Roast a pig?” The closest thing to
roasted pig were the brats and wieners I planned on, in addition to chicken and
burgers to be grilled.

“Specifically wild pig.” A big grin grew
on his face as he skimmed leaves out of the amoeba-shaped swimming pool. I was
at the filter, checking it and the amount of salt for the saline system.
Mid-afternoon sunshine beat down upon us. One-hundred three degrees in the
shade kind of day, where even a swim suit and shorts combo seemed too much.
Must tend the pool first so I could cool off with a rewarding dip.

While on my hands and knees, I looked up
at him and my eyebrows raised. “Where would you get a wild pig? How would you
roast it? I don't want a pit dug in the backyard... unless you mean to use the
shish-pit.”

“Wiley got a Caja China roaster he's
itching to break out for a special occasion... and has developed a pig problem
out at the ranch. It meshes perfectly into the plan for a bitchin' barbeque.
Ever had lechon asado? It's the diggity. The shizzle mutha-dizzle bomb diggity,
babe. Alton Brown and Tony Bourdain would get into a fight for the crispy skin,
guaranteed. I'm talking pay-per-view good. Bomb. Diggity. Think of it as Iron
Chef Kaylis.” His hands made a great gesture of parting palm-out before his
upturned face, as if he imagined neon lights emblazoned with his vision.

Caleb “Wiley” Boldton was to Dmitri as
Jet is to me. He and Dmitri met in the Marine Corps and served two tours in
Iraq and Afghanistan together. Nine months ago, Wiley moved up to our neck of
the woods when he relocated for his Game Warden gig. He bought a ranch out of
Stonyford where wildlife ran rampant. Elk, deer, wild pigs, bears, foxes,
coyotes and other fauna existed under his benevolent thumb. The man truly loved
the outdoors and all the creatures it contained. In general, Dmitri wasn't game
when it came to hunting... but if Wiley was involved, any idea automatically
became an awesome one.

“So let me get this right... you guys
are gonna go hunting out at his ranch and do what now with it?”

“He's got a pig roasting box... so we
add the required swine, a couple bags of briquettes and a few magic hours then
crackling good roasted piggy, beer, friends and fireworks. How is that not a
great equation?” His enthusiasm was contagious.

Dmitri had a point. A roasted pig with a
red apple in its mouth would make an awesome presentation. I warmed to the
idea. Medieval style gluttony topped with a pyrotechnic display... a long table
with chairs around so everyone could dig into the beast. Greasy hands, happy
smiles and an everflowing font of beer... it could work. “You know, if Wiley's
going to be here, you can't light off the bottle rockets you got stashed.”

“I know... we'll save those for the
Halloween party. I bet he'll be working that night.”

“Does he have any idea how much shit you
do that he'd frown upon?” I sat up and dusted tiny bits of gravel from my knees
and palms. Wiley's proclivity towards upholding the law was somewhat diametrically
opposed to Dmitri's liking of breaking the lesser of said laws.

“Nope. Let's keep it that way.”

“He still dating the school marm? Is she
gonna be here to throw a wet blanket on the festivities again?” Wiley's woman
wasn't the most sociable creature this side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. She
came to last year's Christmas party and condemned everyone for the sinful
enjoyment of a gift exchange, alcohol and the sexes mingling together. She's
entitled to her beliefs, but telling Jet she was doomed to roast on Beelzebub's
pitchfork was a touch too much. Jet ended up saying something pithy to the
school marm resulting in a brief exchange of conversation. The marm turned beet
red and stalked out of the party to sit in Wiley's truck. After five minutes of
waiting, she pounded the horn every thirty seconds until Wiley bid his goodbyes
to everyone and left. He hadn't socialized en mass with us since.

“No... they split a few months ago.
She's in Colusa with her fling. The shitty part is that Wiley planned on
proposing to her on Valentine’s Day. He had already ordered her ring when she
fucked around behind his back. He's still pissed about it all.”

“Aww, that sucks. Wiley's gonna have to
have fun. He's such a sober guy... he needs to cut loose. What type of booze
does he like? Willow already volunteered to be designated driver if she can use
the Jeep.”

“Would she drive all the way out to
Stonyford with an officer of the law in the same vehicle?”

“As long as she wasn't in handcuffs and
backseat of said vehicle, I'm sure she wouldn't mind. She'd get her giggles up
in the hills anyhow. He'd point out the wildlife, she'd yack about why she
can't trust men and it'd be a rewarding experience for them both. They'd bond
as only a life-long stoner and a man sworn to uphold federal and state law
could. Maybe even swap grow tips.”

“She's not going to be rocking the ganj
at the party, is she?”

“Oh God no, she promised to be
completely sober for the Fourth of July. Willow will have her own little
after-party when everything is wrapped up. And it's the condition she must
fulfill if she wants to use my wheels. She knows how I feel about her doing
that stuff around me... had enough of it when I was a troll.”

“It's called 'child', Kaylis. It’s not a
bad word.”

“Whatever. Spawn, offspring... take your
pick. I like 'trollbait' myself.” I smiled and stood up and made my way to the
bench beneath the largest mulberry tree. Willow once told me I was too Irish
for NorCal summers. I'm inclined to agree. Tanning is not something I can accomplish.
I burn lobster-red within fifteen minutes of exposure to summer sun if I don't
wear at least an SPF 45 sunblock. Although I was slathered with the stuff, I
preferred to avoid the sun when possible, especially in early afternoon.

“You're twisted. Seriously twisted,
Kaylis. I gotta be twisted too, otherwise why the hell do I get off on you
being demented like that?”