Intuition
Authors: C. J. Omololu
To my parents,
who taught me how to listen
The best part about being Akhet is that you remember everything. The worst part is that you forget nothing.
Every day I remember more about the other lives I've livedâas a lady in England in the sixteenth century and as an Italian cellist in the nineteenthâbut there's nowhere I'd rather be than right here, sitting on the back of Griffon's motorcycle, my arms around his waist, holding him so close I can feel his muscles shift as he kicks the bike into gear. I press myself into the back of his worn leather jacket as we cut through the wind over the blur of asphalt on the Great Highway, the sun glinting off the waves to our right, the dunes leading into Golden Gate Park on our left.
Peering around his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Griffon's eyes in the rearview mirror, and I can tell he's smiling even though the rest of his face is hidden by the helmet. As he turns
his head, I can see the very edge of the scar on his cheek, and it sends a shiver of regret through me. The mark is finally fading, but even if it disappears completely, I'll always know what happened and how close I came to losing all of this.
We stop for a light and Griffon puts both feet solidly on the ground to steady us, reaching down with his hand to give mine a squeeze, the Akhet vibrations between us whenever we're close now just a normal part of our relationship. It's these little moments of connection that I love the mostâa casual touch on my arm or the way he grabs my hand when we're crossing the street. The almost unnoticeable gestures that tell the world we're together. As the light changes, Griffon puts the bike in gear and I tighten my grip on his waist as we surge forward, enjoying the comfort of knowing Griffon would do anything to keep me safe.
As we approach the turnoff to the zoo, bright triangles of color pop against the blue sky up ahead. Dad used to bring me out here to watch the hang gliders when I was little, and every time one of them leaped off the edge of the beach cliff, a scream would catch in my throat in that split second before the wind tossed them high into the sky. Now for the first time I get what that thrill must feel like. As the bike glides along the asphalt, I understand how it feels to let everything go, to trust in something greater than yourself and allow the rhythm and the motion to carry you away.
We pull into the zoo parking lot and Griffon holds the bike steady so I can slide off. I put my hand up to check my ankh necklace, more out of habit than anything else; it was almost four centuries before it was given back to me, and I'm terrified of losing it again. Mine is bright silver with a dark red ruby,
while the ankh Griffon keeps tucked into his shirt is plain bronze on a thick black cord. Despite the differences, the meanings of both are the sameâeternal life.
As Griffon secures the bike, I glance up at an ancient pink building on the other side of a chain-link fence. As soon as I see the intricate plasterwork over the three doors that face us, a tremor of recognition sends a jolt through me. Despite the fact that I don't remember it, I know I've been in there before.
I loop my fingers through the wire diamonds of the fencing and try to get a better look. The building's old and obviously abandoned, with different colored paint patches where someone has tried to cover years of graffiti. I close my eyes, trying to prepare myself for the worst, but I'm not pulled into a memory this timeâit's just images and feelings floating through my mind. The anxiety in my chest eases as I realize that I'm not going to be thrown out of my present into another time and place. Not knowing when the blackouts are going to happen has been the hardest part of becoming Akhet.
Looking around, I can sense that at one point there was water here, lots of waterânot the ocean, but something that feels almost as big. In my mind I can hear happy squeals and the sounds of splashing. I picture people in bathing suits that go down to their knees, still wearing stockings and tall, lace-up boots.
Griffon's fingers wrap around mine. “What is it?” he asks, standing behind me at the fence and glancing up at the decrepit building. He bends down and kisses me lightly on the back of my neck, and I shiver. I'll never get tired of the sensation of his lips on my skin.
I blink a few times to shake the rest of the memory out of my mind. “I'm not sure. I remember water here . . . a lake or something.”
Without any explanation, Griffon understands that what I'm talking about wasn't just years ago, but decades. Centuries even. “Maybe you came here when you were visiting with the orchestra that time. That would have been the late eighteen hundreds, right?”
“Eighteen-ninety-five,” I say. “That was the date on the newspaper articles about Alessandra's death.”
A golf cart approaches and we turn to see an old guy in a khaki zoo uniform watching us. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Maybe,” Griffon says. “What was this building?”
The guy squints up at the crumbling carvings and peeling paint. “The old pool house,” he says, frowning. “It's a crying shame what's happened to it over the years. Back in the day it was beautiful.”
“So there was a pool here?” I ask, a little confused. What I felt seemed like more than just a pool.
He gestures toward the cars. “Only the biggest one in North America. Ran the whole length of the parking lotâa thousand feet and then some. They say you could even see it from space.”
That makes much more sense. The biggest pool in North America would just about fit.
Griffon glances at me, but neither of us is surprised. When it comes to places we've been to in the past, Akhet are never wrong. “When was that?” he asks.
The old guy scratches his head. “Let's see. I think the pool
opened sometime in the late eighteen hundreds. Filled with water from the ocean, but heated tooâamazing technology for the time. I swam here as a really little kid, so they must have closed it in '70, maybe '71. They paved it over to make the parking lot a few years back.”
The late 1800s. I look back at the faded pink facade, the sounds of laughter and splashing water still echoing in my ears as the man drives away. “It is a shame.”
Griffon smiles sadly at me as we turn and walk toward the zoo entrance. He takes my hand, but doesn't say anything. He must go through this all the timeâseeing something from his past that's now old and decayed, the echoes of the lives that experienced it still faint in his ears. I wonder if you ever get used to it. Griffon squeezes my left hand gently, careful to avoid the fingers that are still numb from the accident. I love seeing our hands together, his dark skin against mine more of a complement than a contrast. “I've got this,” he says, reaching for his wallet as we approach the ticket window.
“No way,” I insist. “Rayne and I come here the first weekend of summer every year. This is our tradition, not yours, so I pay this time.”
Griffon hesitates, but I stare him down. “Okay,” he says. “This time.” He looks around the entrance. “Where are we supposed to meet them?”
I pull my phone out of my pocket. “I got a text from Rayne while we were riding. She and Peter are heading for the bears; they'll meet us there.”
I lean into Griffon as we walk through the front gates, still amazed at the way everything turned out. “I'm so glad you
introduced them. Rayne deserves someone good.” I feel almost possessive as I look up at himâhis beautiful lips with the inviting curve at the top and amber eyes that give just a hint of the abilities that lie behind them. It's impossible to imagine my life without him in it. “And this way I get to hang out with both of you, and everyone's happy.”
“I'm definitely happy,” Griffon says, leaning down to nuzzle my neck. “Never been happier.”
I laugh and pull back slightly. “We'd better stop or we'll never make it to the bears.”
“Okay by me,” Griffon mumbles. “We could just go back to my house and lock ourselves in for the rest of the day. For the rest of the week.”
I force myself to take a step back, the thrill at the thought of being alone with him coursing through my body. Part of me wants to spend every minute with Griffon, waking or not. “I can't bail on Rayne.” I push him toward the path that goes past the lion house. “This way.”
As we turn the corner, an Asian couple blocks the path, gesturing wildly and shouting things I don't understand. The man looks frantic and the woman is on the verge of tears, her eyes shining and her face red.
“Hang on a second.” Griffon drops my hand as he walks over and says something in their language. The couple looks both surprised and relieved, and fire off some rapid sentences, pointing up the pathway.
“Hey, Cole,” Griffon calls back to me. His voice is steady, but I can hear the urgency in it. “See if you can find someone who works here.”
I don't know what's going on, but I can tell it's something bad. I feel panic rising as I turn the corner and see a woman in a khaki uniform. “We need help!” I say, pointing up the path. “This way.”
Griffon and the couple rush over as soon as they see us. “They think someone took their son,” Griffon explains, while the parents look on with fear in their eyes. “About two years old. They were with him over by the lemurs a few minutes ago and when they turned around, he was gone.”
The employee gets on the radio to relay the information, and in seconds there's a crackly response. “What was he wearing?” she asks.
Griffon quickly translates the question and then their answer. “A red striped shirt and a brown hat.”
I hear the description being relayed to radios throughout the zoo, then there's nothing but static for a few long moments. The man reaches over to grab the woman's hand, and I see him squeeze it hard. Griffon smiles and says something that I don't understand, but it seems to reassure them in some way and they both nod in reply.
We all jump as the radio crackles, and the park attendant answers. She grins, and I feel my whole body release the tension that's been building for the past few minutes. “Someone's bringing him overâthey found him watching the chimps.”
His parents can't wait; as soon as they spot the employee carrying the little boy, they race over to him, their happy cries not needing any translation. After scooping him up and covering him with kisses, the mother comes back to Griffon and takes his hand in hers, nodding rapidly as she talks.
Griffon flashes his smile and bows his head as she says something to him that I can tell is a thank-you.
“That was scary,” I say as we watch the family go into the lion house together, each of the parents holding tight to the boy's hand. “What language were they speaking?”
“Mandarin.” He shrugs. “I told you I was Chinese . . . before.”
“Handy,” I say, teasing him to cover up the awe I feel whenever he does something unexpected like this. Putting an overturned chess set back together, each piece in the same place it was before, switching languages without even thinking about it, reading pages of text faster than he can turn them; it's going to take a lot of lifetimes for my abilities to catch up to his.
