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‘Before I go on, I must ask you both a question. Does either of you know anything about’ - here he paused a moment before measuredly pronouncing the word - ‘reincarnation?’

The tension in Janice’s grip on Bill’s hand relaxed a bit as she slowly shook her head in the negative. Bill, convinced he had heard ‘green carnation,’ could only stare dumbly at Hoover and wait for further information.

‘My entire upbringing,’ Hoover continued, ‘has always steered me away from a serious belief in Karma…’

The statement was utterly baffling to Bill, it didn’t connect with his train of thought. What the hell was Karma, and what did it have to do with flowers?

‘But after seven years of seeking and meditating, I began to experience the reality of reincarnation and now believe, as the Koran tells us, that ‘God generates beings and sends them back, over and over again, till they return to Him.”

‘Did you say ‘reincarnation’?’ Bill suddenly asked, finally linking into the drift of Hoover’s words.

‘Yes, Mr Templeton,’ Hoover replied warily, ‘the religious belief of nearly one billion people on earth, a doctrine accepted by some of the greatest men our world has produced, from Pythagoras to Schopenhauer, from Plato to Benjamin Franklin…’

‘Oh,’ Bill said lamely, swallowing the last of his drink.

‘Understand, I don’t expect you to accept or believe in the ethics of Karma, any more than I did at first. What I am asking is that you keep an open mind to the things I’m about to tell you. You will doubt them, of course. You may even think I’m insane. Quite natural. I accept your scepticism beforehand, But do hear me out.’

‘Okay,’ Bill said. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Ten years ago’ - Hoover began his story on a note of solemnity - ‘there was an accident. And in this accident my wife and daughter were taken from me. It was very quick, very sudden. For a long time it left me paralysed mentally. For a year I did nothing, went nowhere, avoided people. The vacuum they left in my life was unbearable.’ A quick mote of brightness flecked his eyes. ‘And then, one day, I had this distinct feeling that they were near me. I felt as if my daughter, her name was Audrey Rose, was very close to me. I had never believed in life after death or the supernatural; I thought it was probably an aberration of my mind brought on by the painful loss, as if my mind were trying to compensate - to fill in the gap. But it was a good feeling, and I didn’t reject it In fact, the sense of Audrey Rose’s closeness gained in intensity as time went on and served to put me back on my feet, brought me to the point where I could deal with life again and with people—’

‘Would you care for something else?’ Marie had sidled up to their table, unobserved, causing Janice to jump slightly.

‘I’ll have more tea, thank you,’ Hoover said.

‘Do it again,’ Bill said, handing her the empty glass. ‘Make it a double.’

Janice remained silent.

After Marie cleared the table and left, Hoover shut his eyes, composed his thoughts, and continued.

‘About a year and a half after the accident I was at a dinner party and - now, please bear with me - one of the guests was a woman who claimed she could read minds. It’s called psychometrize. She’d take your ring or some other personal possession and, through it, tell you things about yourself, as psychics do, about your past, present, and future - like one of those magicians you see on the stage. I thought it was stupid, silly; people can’t do these things. Anyway, the friend who brought me to the party persuaded me to give the woman my ring, and she began telling me things about myself - very accurate things -about my past that only I knew. And then she started describing my daughter, as if she were a child of about two, and I got very upset. I started to leave when she stopped me and asked why I was so reluctant to talk about her. I told her that Audrey Rose had died in an accident and that the memory was still very painful. She laughed and shook her head.’ Hoover’s voice rose in pitch slightly as he attempted to duplicate the woman’s speech. ‘ ‘Your daughter is alive,’ she said. ‘She’s come back.’ And she went on to describe my daughter as being a lovely blond child, living in a beautiful home in New York City. She gave Audrey Rose your daughter’s name, Ivy, and combined them so dramatically that they were the same person, they were one and the same, and I thought, Oh, this is impossible! It was very shocking, upsetting, and so I left… It was a very disturbing feeling when she told me all this … And I told her she was crazy, she was wrong, and I took my ring back, and I left…’

The words were spilling forth at a rapid rate. Bill felt himself wince under the vicelike grip of Janice’s hand as she increased pressure apace with Hoover’s incredible statement.

Hoover filled his cup from the pot of tea and continued his story in a quieter, more controlled voice.

‘Almost a year went by. I couldn’t help thinking about the incident, of course - it was natural to want to believe in such things - but I considered myself an intelligent, rational person and tried to push the whole thing away from me. But I couldn’t really. The things she said, the way she described Audrey Rose, the accuracy, it was all too convincing, and so I clung to the hope that perhaps she might not be just another fraud. But I did nothing about it.’

After another slight pause, Bill thought to heighten the dramatic effect, Hoover picked up the threads of his story.

‘The year was 1966; the month was December. I happened to be in New York on a business trip when I saw an ad in the Times, announcing a lecture appearance of a famous psychic at Town Hall - he was a well-known expert on paranormal phenomena and a clairvoyant as well. For some overpowering reason, I felt I had to attend. I remember giving up a ticket to Hello, Dolly!, which was the hottest show on Broadway at the time.

‘The weather that night was miserable; it was almost impossible to find a cab, but I finally did and arrived at the hall as the lecture was in progress. I walked down the aisle as quietly as possible and had got to my seat when I realized that the speaker had paused in his lecture and was looking at me - studying me, actually, with a look of amazement. It took him a couple of seconds to recover his poise and continue with the lecture, which mainly centred on ESP and thought-transference experiments.’

While Hoover took a sip of tea, Bill sneaked a glance at Janice. Perspiration glazed her perfect skin; her eyes were riveted exclusively on Elliot Hoover, scrutinizing him with all the awe and uncertainty of a scientist on the brink of a fearful discovery. Bill squeezed her hand reassuringly, but the tenseness remained.

‘After the lecture,’ Hoover continued, ‘as I was about to leave the hall, he pointed his finger at me and indicated that he wanted me to wait. I joined him in his dressing room, where he immediately apologized for staring at me and told me about an aura, surrounding me, that had first caught his attention—’

‘A what?’

‘An aura. A kind of halo of light that emanates from certain persons and can be apprehended only by a specially attuned consciousness.’

‘Oh.’

‘Like the woman at the party the year before, he told me things about myself, very accurate things about my past, about my daughter, describing her as if she were alive and referring to your daughter as my daughter, all very detailed - descriptions of the kind of clothes she wore, and the friends she had - but it was my daughter, in your daughter, born again. He told me of the home she lived in, describing the living-room with a large white fireplace and a lovely panelled ceiling with paintings set into it … and the room upstairs, where Ivy slept … the yellow and white gingham curtains, the bright terry-cloth bedspread … the dresser drawer that always sticks, second one from the top …’

Janice flinched. She remembered well the checkered gingham curtains which she had made from a magazine pattern just before Ivy’s birth. And the terry-cloth bedspread that Aunt Wilma had sent them, discarded years ago. And that awful drawer, second from the top, that still defied the strongest, most patient attempts to pry open.

Janice spoke for the first time.,‘How old was your daughter when she … died?’

‘Audrey Rose was just five, Mrs Templeton. She and her mother were driving to Harrisburg on the turnpike. They were in a storm. The road was slick. The car skidded and smashed into another car and went down a steep embankment.’ Hoover’s eyes reflected the painful memory of the tragedy. ‘They died before help could get to them.’

Janice bit her lip in hesitation, before asking the next question : When … did it happen?’

Hoover didn’t answer at once. For a long moment, his eyes probed across the table, first into Janice’s face, then Bill’s, measuring his audience, pacing himself with care, before softly replying, ‘August 4,1964, a little after eight twenty in the morning, a few minutes before you gave birth to Ivy at New York Hospital.’

Janice remained sitting, immobile, locked in the grip of -Hoover’s penetrating gaze. Bill coughed and rose to his feet.

‘Well, Hoover, this is certainly a lot of information you’ve given us. Give us a couple of days to think about it.’

Elliot Hoover stood up, flustered, as he saw Bill clutch Janice’s arm and begin to assist her to her feet.

‘Y-you do understand what I’ve told you, Mr Templeton?’ Hoover stammered, placing himself in their path in a futile attempt to delay their departure.

‘Sure,’ Bill replied genially. ‘Your daughter died and was reincarnated in our daughter. In effect, you are saying that our daughter. Ivy, is really your daughter, Audrey Rose.’

‘Well … yes,’ Hoover said, attempting to gauge Bill’s sincerity. ‘I think we should talk more and come to some kind of … understanding. I don’t want to hurt anybody. I know that legally there’s nothing I can do about this. And even if there were, I wouldn’t do that to you. I know what it is to lose someone you love.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ Bill steered Janice purposefully past Hoover towards the restaurant archway. ‘We’ll think about it, see if we can’t come up with some answers.’

‘May I call you tomorrow?’ Hoover directed his words at their backs as they moved rapidly away from him.

‘Call my office,’ Bill flung back over his shoulder; then, with a trace of sarcasm: ‘I think you know the number.’

*

Carole Federico, sitting at the dining-room table playing solitaire, rose to leave as Bill and Janice entered the apartment. Their parting exchanges were brief and friendly: Did they have an interesting evening? Ivy went to bed soon after they’d left; there were no phone calls, how about dinner with the Federicos Saturday a week?

After Carole left, Janice looked in on Ivy, while Bill prepared himself for bed. They hadn’t spoken of their meeting with Hoover, nor would they, Janice knew, until later, in the darkness of their bedroom.

Gazing down at the lovely blond innocence of her sleeping child, Janice felt suddenly chilled throughout by the terrible prescience. Incredibly, they had met the enemy, had estimated his forces, had learned of his objective - Ivy.

A soft, fretful moan from Ivy, a flinching, her sleep disturbed by some dream. A wave of dread swept through Janice as she recalled the year of the nightmares. Pray God they never return … Janice felt her child’s head. Cool. Normal. A good sign.

The warmth of her own bed felt good as she slipped between the paisley-print sheets and geared her troubled mind to the silences of the night.

Soon Bill would join her, and they would talk.

Having removed his robe, Bill turned off the bed lamp and crawled into bed beside her. His hand groped for hers beneath the sheets. Janice waited to see which of them would speak first. But as the seconds ticked by and Bill’s breathing rhythm began to extend itself into even patterns, Janice realized that if she didn’t speak, he would soon be asleep.

‘Bill, talk to me!’

‘For God’s sake, Janice, relax.’ Bill sighed deeply. We’re in good shape. The man’s a nut. There are places for nuts. They’re called nut houses.’

‘He knew you’d say he was crazy. He predicted it and was even willing to accept it.’

‘Sure, because that’s how their twisted minds work. They tell you what you’re going to think in advance to put you off guard. They hook you that way, don’t you understand?’

‘No, Bill, I don’t understand. I’m scared to death.’

‘That’s reasonable. Nuts are scary people.’

‘That’s not why I’m scared. I’m afraid he isn’t a … nut.’

‘You believe his story? You buy his Karmas and auras?’

‘He believes it.’ Janice put all the force and feeling she could manage behind the quietly uttered phrase. ‘He believes what he said, sincerely. I could tell by the way he looked…’

‘How did he look? Pale face, weird, empty eyes - is that the look of a normal, healthy man?’

‘But why would he do it? Why would he come to us with such a story?’

‘The answer to that is locked up in his crazy brain, Janice, and I’m no mind reader.’

‘I can see that you’ve decided not to answer any of my questions in a rational manner.’

‘Tell me one question you’ve asked that I can answer rationally.’

‘All right. What if he isn’t crazy? What then?’

Bill smothered a yawn. ‘If he isn’t crazy? Well, then’ - Bill considered his choices - ‘it’s possible he’s doing it for money. He’s an extortionist. He’s come up with this elaborate scheme to get our money.’

‘What money?’

That’s not the point. The extortionist theory makes good sense to me.’

‘You mean, he spent seven years travelling around the world just to come back here and take our money, which doesn’t exist?’ ‘How do you know he travelled anywhere? Because he told you so? I say he never went anywhere. He’s always lived in New York. He’s got a racket. He pulls names out of the phone book. He finds his marks and zeros in on them. Disprove it.’ What about Who’s Who?’

‘A borrowed identity. Can the real Elliot Suggins Hoover stand up and identify himself? No. Because he’s dead.’ ‘You don’t know that for a fact.’

‘No, Janice. The only thing I know for a fact is that he isn’t from the FBI, the CIA, or the IRS, and that takes a hell of a load off my mind. Anything else I can handle.’