Tune the Violin
He had worked late, his intent to be so tired he would instantly fall asleep when he finally made his way home. Too many unsettling events had happened too quickly. He wasn't ready to accept all the memories flashing through his mind. He wasn't ready to believe he had lived as two different people at the same time.
He wasn't sure he wanted to believe.
"You weren't ready to believe you've lived before," the voice of his dreams whispered softly. "But you do, now. Why is that?"
"Raisa," he murmured. "Raisa knew our history; she told me..."
"Perhaps, Raisa is just a good hypnotist - twisting your mind into what she wants you to believe."
"Why would she do that? What would she gain? She didn't tell me every detail. I dreamed and remembered things she couldn't have known about..."
"The power of suggestion is very effective, Wesley Sergei Schyler," the voice said quietly.
"I had crazy dreams before I met her," Wesley argued. "The campfire, the violin, you, and..."
"Do you believe you and Raisa lived before?"
"You're trying my patience!" he shouted.
"Do you believe you and Raisa have a past?" the voice persisted.
"Yes," he said softly, physically and emotionally drained. "God help me. I do."
"Shared memories, Sergei, it reminded him," speaking softly, but firmly. "Your soul lives through many cycles. Cycles can follow each other, other cycles are simultaneous. Your soul has had many such cycles. You have learned many lessons. There are more cycles to come, more lessons to learn. You must accept this before you can move on. It is the only way to evolve."
"Evolve?" Wesley stared into space, trying to empty his mind of everything but the theory of evolution. It was impossible. "Christ on a crutch!" he yelled. "It's not like I'm going to die and come back as a gorilla! What the hell am I going to evolve into? A super human? I'm already at the top of the food chain. What could possibly follow that?"
"You'd be surprised," the voice whispered, "very surprised."
Wesley shook his head in exasperation. He stripped, dropping his clothes in a pile and slipped under the covers. His last thought as he drifted off was that he should have hung his pants in the closet, and thrown the shirt and underwear into the hamper.
The dreams weren't right. The night sky wasn't dark enough, the fire was too bright; yet, Wesley was cold. He was also alone.
"Now what?" he muttered.
You can't force the memories, Sergei, the thought came to him.
"What?" he said, turning around, expecting to see the old woman. "Where are you?" he bellowed, clearly frustrated. "Show yourself!"
Not tonight, Sergei. Another time. The voice faded.
Wesley shook his head, unsure if the words in his head were his own thoughts or words he had actually heard. He shivered from the cold and stomped his feet, trying to get warm.
The noise woke him and he sat up in bed, finally aware that someone was banging on his door. "It better be a goddamn emergency," he growled, getting up, pulling on sweats and going downstairs.
"Damnation!" he swore, as he saw Agent Mahoney standing outside his door. "What in God's name are you doing here, Agent Mahoney?" he barked, opening the door, practically tearing it off its hinges.
"Good morning, sir," Mahoney grinned. "I brought coffee and bagels. I hope you have cream cheese," he said matter-of-factly as he walked past the AD and into his kitchen.
Wesley followed him, his hands on his hips and his mouth open, ready to kick his errant agent's ass into next week.
"Jam will do," Mahoney said agreeably, poking his head in Wesley's refrigerator. "Oh good, you have cream cheese. Do you want eggs?" he asked, looking at his boss. "I make really good eggs."
"What are you doing here, Agent Mahoney?"
"Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd keep you company."
"Couldn't sleep?" Wesley asked quietly, a little too quietly. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked a little louder. "COULDN'T SLEEP?" he bellowed, pushing Mahoney into the wall.
"You self-centered, ego-centric, sanctimonious son of a bitch! You couldn't sleep?"
"Uh, sir," Mahoney rasped, Wesley's hand around his neck. "Technically, self-centered and ego-centric are the same thing. Now, sanctimonious... that's really not apropos. Son of a bitch? Yes, I am. When did you meet my mother?"
Wesley snorted, dropped his hand and sat heavily at the kitchen table. "What are you doing here, Mahoney?" He looked at the clock on the wall and then at the man who was mostly responsible for his elevated blood pressure. "Do you realize it's 2:40 in the morning?"
Mahoney looked at the clock and then at his watch. "Hmmm, my watch is running a little fast," he mumbled.
"Should I toast the bagels?" he asked as he dropped his coat onto a chair.
Wesley nodded. He wasn't sleeping that well, either. Might as well eat a bagel.
Mahoney grinned at Wesley's acquiescence and put a Styrofoam cup of coffee in front of his boss.
The silence was awkward. Wesley stared into his coffee, occasionally sipping it. Mahoney stared at the toaster as if it was alien and he was willing it to release the hostage bagels. He seemed genuinely surprised when they actually popped up. He smeared cream cheese on them and sat across from his boss.
"Tell me about Raisa. You and Raisa had an instant chemistry. Tell me about her. How long have you known her?" he rattled off the questions.
Several thousand years.
"Met her at the deli when you and Agent Sanders were there."
"No, you didn't," Mahoney said quietly.
"I met her for the first time at the deli," Wesley said sternly.
"You mean physically."
"You recognized her right away, didn't you?"
"No, I didn't," he denied.
"She recognized you right away," Mahoney persisted.
"She thought I was someone else," Wesley lied.
"Who did she think you were?"
"Someone she dreamed about when she was a little girl."
"Who were you in her dreams?" the agent profiler asked calmly.
"Her lover, her... husband," Wesley's voice softened, memories resurfacing.
"And were you?" The question was asked quietly and sincerely.
Wesley was about to answer truthfully, but sanity reared its ugly head, sending up defense barriers and carefully, he chose his words. "She thinks I was."
"What do you think, Wesley?"
"I think..." he paused, realizing that Mahoney had called him by his first name, a tact he used when interviewing a witness or profiling a suspected felon.
"I think we have concluded our discussion of Raisa Orlov," Wesley replied. He looked pointedly at the agent he had always addressed by his surname.
Mahoney nodded. It was enough for one night, but the gears were turning in his head. There was more here than Wesley had admitted, and he was determined to know every detail.
"You're not drinking your coffee, Agent Mahoney," Wesley groused.
"I'm feeling sleepy all of a sudden. Can I sleep on your couch?"
"Sleep on my...?" The AD sat straighter, pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his arms over his chest. "You wake me up in the middle of the night and you..."
"Can I sleep on your couch, sir? I'll make breakfast in the morning," he promised.
Wesley shook his head. Life was getting too complicated and he was too tired to deal with it. "Yeah, sack out. Don't wake me."
"Thank you, sir," Mahoney smiled shyly and headed for the couch.
Wesley looked at his agent for a moment and wondered what the hell that was all about. He barely made it up the stairs, his legs suddenly heavy. The last thing he heard before sleep embraced him was a woman's cry and the haunting notes of a violin.
~ End Part Fifteen ~ | Go to - Part Sixteen | Or, return to Vanilla Stories Or, back to Spanking Fiction - Main Menu.