A Keeper's Truth (21 page)

“Now I
know why your family doesn’t do birthdays.”

Bryce
chuckles before an earnest grimace erases his laugh lines. “It’s also why
Thomas and I grew apart. As kids we were close, very close, but as we matured
we became preoccupied with women and . . . other impulses. It
was unheard of for a Keeper to have two sons. This is why Thomas calls himself
‘the one that wasn’t meant to be.’ He thinks he was a mistake, an unwanted
anomaly. But my family thinks Thomas is a gift, and I’m the luckiest Keeper of
all time. I get a little brother. Thomas became competitive, always vying for
the attention of our parents, girls, and eventually women. He’s convinced only
one of us can carry the male gene and have a son, so he’s always rushing to
beat me to some invisible finish line. It’s foolish. And I’ve always been too
busy to be bothered with his antics. But now that I’m older, I realize my
mistake. If I hadn’t been lost in selfish desires, maybe I would’ve seen what
was happening with my brother. If I’d paid better attention, maybe I could’ve
stopped him from making the decisions that plague him now. Maybe I would’ve
been there to help him when he . . .” A cloud of guilt shrouds
his face. “I moved here to make amends, to make up for lost time, to be the
brother I should’ve been all along.”

This blows
me away more than his supernatural feats. Bryce moved halfway around the world
to be with his niece and brother, in spite of Thomas’s efforts to push him
away. I’ve never had a family member give me the time of day. I’m about to ask
what Thomas needed help with when I bite my tongue. Thomas is divorced, angry, and
obviously experiencing some sort of identity crisis.

“Oh my
God. If a Keeper’s son carries a Keeper’s soul, does that make Thomas a Keeper
too?” I look to Bryce, in shock. “Can Thomas do what you can?”

“Thomas is
my brother, Tess. A Keeper can only have one son, which is why Thomas is so
special, but he is an old soul, one of twelve who remembers his past.”

I can’t
believe this. Heat flourishes across my neck and cheeks as my temper kicks in.
Thomas is everything Bryce is, a Keeper, and he never told me, never even
hinted that he was anything but a regular guy. Everything I’ve ever thought him
to be was a show, a mask, a lie. And I didn’t see it. I didn’t suspect a thing.
Thomas and I were close. We were—whatever it was we were. He kissed me.
His hands touched my body.

Bryce
clears his throat. “Thomas makes his own choices. We all do.”

“He should
have told me. Why didn’t he tell me?”

“That’s
something you’ll have to ask him. But I’m sure he had his reasons.”

All this
information sits heavy in my mind, and I close my eyes to rest. Minutes pass.
Even though I no longer see Bryce, I feel his energy crowding my space. Air
whistles past his lips, the rhythm of his breath slightly euphoric. He moves
closer and my mouth moistens, awaiting his kiss. It doesn’t come. Instead he
takes my hand and gently pulls me across his chest, heart pounding at high
volume. I gasp for air as his mouth explores the tenderness behind my ear. His
tongue, hot and wet, participates in delicate kisses down my neck. I hold
tight, barely breathing as his hands glide over my—

“Tess!”

I wake to
reality. The duvet is still propped between us. Bryce is a foot away, on his
back, both hands over his face.

“We need
to get up. Now.” he says, literally leaping from the bed. His voice is nothing
but a garbled mumble as he disappears downstairs.

Oops.

I’m up and
the easy
breezy feeling is gone. Without Bryce I have a hole, a void that quickly fills
with doubt and fear, with the harsh reality of my situation, and it only
escalates as I shower, unable to wash myself clean of a burden too heavy to
bear. I make the bed because I need order. I get dressed and brush my teeth to
set things right when everything feels so wrong.

I hear the
kettle whistle and the tinkle of flatware. Bryce is prepping something in the
kitchen. Pausing at the door, I consider climbing back into bed and drowning
myself in layers of bedding, but the thought passes. I’d probably have a
nightmare.

And I need
to get myself in check for Abby.

My first
step into the living room is met with a crunch. I step back and pick the dried
play dough from my sock, emotion flooding me. It’s a miniature dog leg from
Abby’s masterpiece of Maxi. There are three tiny slits in the foot where Abby
used scissors to separate the toes and Maxi’s hair sticks out at odd angles.
Maxi. Maxi is dead. The enormity of what’s happened wallops me, stealing my
breath. A killer was here, in my house. I look at my feet, wanting to raise
them from the floor so as not to touch what he’s touched. I look around the
room, suddenly struck by the enormity of it all. It’s clean, too clean, like
it’s been stripped of personality, of life. There are no family photos, no
heirlooms. It could be anyone’s house, a builder’s empty showroom, and the
boarded window and smell of cleaner are nothing but camouflage.

My heart
rate rises another notch.

I hear
Bryce in the kitchen and force myself to take a few steps in his direction, but
movement is limited. That man, that lost soul with the piercing eyes and ripped
body etched with tattoos was in my home, touching my things, destroying
memories I hold dear. How dare he. I look around the room, seeing him in
everything. I can smell him over the scent of cleaning solution. His snarl
tears through the room.

I’ve got
to get out of here. It’s all too much to take in, too much to handle. I can’t
do this. After Meyer passed, I panicked over how I’d survive on my own, how I’d
raise Abby alone. Now I need to protect her from a man who killed a woman,
destroyed our home, and snapped the neck of a dog!

I stumble
through the kitchen, practically knocking Bryce over in my mad dash to the
patio door. I need air. I need to think.

The lost
soul killed Maxi!

I burst
through the doors and out into the light, panting.

He
murdered Sonia!

What if
Karen had been at the house to feed Maxi when he came? What if Thomas finds
him? What if he doesn’t and this guy comes back? What if he hurts Abby? Grams
and Gramps, they’re not safe!

I trip and
fall face first in the snow. I look to the greenhouse just as Bryce lifts me
from the ground. Everything is a blur. Bryce is speaking but I can’t
concentrate, can’t hear his words. He’s worried. He says something about
returning to the kitchen but I push him away. This is too much, too much for
anyone.

“The
studio,” I sputter, voice not mine. I need to be there, the only spot he hasn’t
been, the one place the lost soul didn’t leave his mark.

Bryce lets
me go and I run.

I throw
the door open and stumble inside, taking deep breaths. The scent of oil paint
and pine instantly calms my nerves and the sight of my paints and brushes gives
me focus. Still, I barely move. My pants are pasted with snow, my socks heavy
with clumps of ice. The cold stings my skin.

“You’ll be
okay,” whispers Bryce from behind me.

“Will I?”
I snap. “How? If he comes back, if he chooses to inflict more on me, what can I
do? Can I fight? Call the cops? Can I beat him off? Can I run?”

Bryce
covers his mouth with his hand, and I realize I’m yelling.

“He’s
going to kill me!”

I bend
over, hyperventilating.

“Please,
try not to worry. I will help you—”

“How? How
can you help me?” I pace the small space. “This is insane! What could you
possibly teach me to fend off a person so bent on destruction?”

“I’ll
teach you our history, our—”

“History?
Are you kidding me? How will history keep Abby safe? What if this guy shows up
and you’re not here?”

“I will
teach you how to master the original form of martial art. Its meditation
is—”

“I’m gonna
to fight this guy by meditating? Are you nuts?”

“Mu-
tubu
-
udundi
puts human biorhythms
in accordance with Earth’s energies, allowing control of one’s defense. Adepts
aim to exhaust opponents with an intricate series of—”

“Tire him
out? That’s the plan? Oh my God, I’m going to die!”

Bryce
reaches out to me, but I swat his hand away. He looks hurt.

“You won’t
need to fight, Tess. One strikes only after all other options have been
exhausted. And it’s irrelevant since I’ll be with you.”

“Show me.”
I push him into open space.

Bryce
steps forward and pulls me into his arms. “Patience,” he says. “Explaining eons
of ancient history, lost art forms, and how to connect with forgotten ways will
take years.”

I try to
wiggle free but he holds tight until I surrender, clinging to his chest.

“Years?” I
can barely breathe. “I won’t be able to defend myself, protect my daughter, for
years?”

“Pretend
you’re a toddler learning to read.”

“I’m not a
child, Bryce. I am fully capable of—”

“I am not
comparing you to a child. I’m hoping the analogy will help you understand that
you will need to learn in progression.” His breath hollows out to a whistle.
“The fact that you are an adult, an intelligent one at that, is not an
advantage. In some ways it will make teaching you more difficult. You have
pre-existing biases and opinions. You’ll want to ask many questions. Some I can
answer and some will need to wait until you’re ready. You will get frustrated
and mad, but you must remember that I am trying to help you. And that I have
your best interest in mind at all times. You’ll need to trust me.”

I’ve lost
all my fire listening to Bryce’s voice.

“I do
trust you.” I do.

“Tess,
Thomas and I are Keepers. We’ve spent an eternity working with lost souls. We
know how they work, how they think, and Thomas can’t find a trace of this
particular man. He’s probably left town and won’t come back. You will be safe.
Abby will be safe. We’ll make sure of it. So, please, please try not to worry.”

Bryce
gently tugs me toward my easel. He lowers my painting apron over my head and
ties it at my waist. A second later a paintbrush is in my hand.

“Find your
happy place,” he says, pointing to the canvas. The lightness in his voice
sedates my nerves, and I close my eyes to focus on the feel of his breath on
the back my neck.

“I’m
sorry.” I’m suddenly ashamed of my outburst.

“Your
reaction was delayed but expected.” He wraps his arms around me. “I thought
you’d wake in a fury.”

No, I woke
under a blanket of tranquility, thanks to my white knight. Reality knocked the
wind from me for a moment, but I’m all right now. I’ll get through this, I’ll
find a way to keep everyone I love unharmed. I’ll be strong for Abby. Bryce
will help.

“I will,”
mumbles Bryce. “But this is going to be harder than I thought.”

“What’s
going to be harder?”

“Teaching
you. Helping you.” He watches our tangled hands moving in tandem, delicately
exploring of their own free will. “Helping old souls is my purpose, and I am
very proud of what I do. But this, this will be different. I’ve never had
feelings for one of my students.”

I suppose
I should ask him to clarify his feelings but I don’t really need enlightenment.
Holding his hand is easy and natural, like we’re pieces that form to one. We
belong together. His breath catches, and I find myself amused that a man
capable of such mythical feats can be so affected by a simple touch. My touch.

We stand
like this, me in Bryce’s embrace, for a long time. The silence is wonderful,
soothing, and after a while I forget he’s even there, behind me. I lose myself
in colors, textures, the dance.

It’s
euphoric, like the finest of drugs.

At one
point I turn and catch Bryce studying a canvas hanging from the ceiling. The
glint in his eyes is back and I watch him, enthralled, wondering what he’s
thinking.

“It’s not
fair really. You know my intimate thoughts, and I can only guess what—”

“Soulmates,”
he says, staring at the sliver of light cutting across one of my paintings. “I
was thinking how some Keepers search for their soulmate and waste an entire
lifetime doing so. With a population so massive and widespread, most cannot
hope to find a past love, even if they believe one is truly out there.”

I reach to
cup his face, a touch to resurrect his smile. It works and he glows.

“I’ve
never really considered the concept of a soulmate. The idea of having a soul
was foreign, so it never came to mind.”

Oddly
enough, neither does Meyer.

Some
believe ancient Egyptian texts contain the legacy of a lost civilization on a
quest for the immortality of the soul, a belief that immortality may not be
guaranteed by simply being born. It may have to be worked for, strived for, the
result of a lifetime of choices, the focused power of the mind, an advanced
connection to our inner spirituality. Immortality may be a gift that is earned.

Forgotten
History Magazine
: Archeological Finds Baffle Scientists

I
f bad
things really do happen in threes, I hope I’ve met my quota. I’m not sure my
tiny family can endure much more. And I can’t stand watching them suffer.

Even at
five, Abby senses something is different about the house, something off,
something beyond the physical. The vibe of our home has been altered in some
intrinsic way beyond description. Abby doesn’t recognize the break in. I don’t
think it’s even in her vocabulary. And I’m spending every waking moment making
sure she never has reason to suspect a thing. While Abby is at school I shop.
Well,
we shop. Grams and Gramps won’t leave me alone. Karen, Bryce, and
Thomas hover relentlessly, Bryce and Thomas seldom in the same room at once,
and bickering when they are. It’s exhausting. I have a long list of broken
items to replace, and most days I barely make it home in time to open boxes,
put things together, and dispose of packaging before retrieving Abby from
school. Scheming is hard work, but I want Abby to feel secure and safe, so her
contentment has become my obsession.

Me, on the
other hand, I’m not so oblivious. Nothing will ever be the same.

Thinking
that maybe this is a sign to move on with my life, I pack the last clinging
remnants of Meyer and surrender them to a local shelter. I watch men cart away our
bed, Meyer’s and mine, then spend an entire day assembling a new one, a bed
without memories. It isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. The old me is
coming back, slowly but surely, the me with thicker skin. I’m no longer a widow
but the strong, independent woman I once was, the chick capable of battling
whatever or whomever life throws her way.

A
survivor.

All this
bravado yet I lie about Maxi. I lie big time. It’s a choice I’m not totally
convinced I won’t regret someday, but I don’t see an alternative. Life’s harsh
realities were part of my everyday upbringing, but I’ll be damned if it’ll be
Abby’s. Even Grams and Gramps back me when I tell Abby that while we were in
Florida, Maxi was reunited with her family, the family that missed her dearly.
They took her home, to a happy house, too far for us to visit but filled with
children and quality dog food. The news fostered melancholy in Abby, and she
sulked for days, but she swallowed the storyline and is now drawing cheery
pictures of Maxi with her family in some foreign farmhouse.

If there
is such a place as hell, and deception is considered a whopper of an offense,
I’ll rot there with a smile on my face.

When I
have the chance to slip away from my responsibilities as a mother, I spend time
with Bryce. This is another thing Grams and Gramps have rallied to support,
even going so far as to nudge me out the door, hoping I’ll make my way over to
Bryce’s estate. It’s obvious they think they’re participating in a budding
romance, and if they actually knew what Bryce and I spent these hours doing,
they’d be thoroughly disappointed.

I am the
student, and Bryce is the teacher. And it’s not some kinky sex game.

“I see you
brought another list,” says Bryce, pointing at the paper in my hand. He’s
trying to maintain professional etiquette, but I can see his effort to contain
a grin.

I’ve come
to enjoy these hours with Bryce. Even though the atmosphere is a bit stuffy and
clinical, I can always get him to lighten up and laugh before I leave for the
night.

“Why do we
meet in your office?” I ask, following him down the hall.

“You don’t
like my office?” He turns in the doorway.

I come to
an abrupt halt, practically underneath him. His eyes flicker silver and the
muscles in his cheek twitch. The effect is disturbing, and I wet my lips in a
spontaneous response.

“It’s a
perfectly nice room,” I say. It’s a typical office with a large oak desk,
leather chairs, and various black and white photos hanging on the walls. A
well-appointed man-den. “It’s just a little formal, I guess.”

“Yes,
well, that does help.”

To the
left is an excellent Monet look-alike. It’s taken a massive amount of
self-restraint to keep from touching it. A bowl of jellybeans sits on the desk.
I know from last week that they’re hard as rocks.

“How does
formal help me?”

“Not you,”
he says, tapping on the back of a chair, instructing me to sit, “it helps me.”

“This is
new.” I spin the chair. Usually Bryce has plush yoga mats in front of the
window and we sit on the floor while we talk.

“You
talk,” he corrects. “I try to get you to concentrate.”

He’s
right. Lesson one I demanded to be taught Mu-
tubu
-
udundi
. The trick to this ancient martial art is to slow
your breathing and block outside stimulants. The sessions haven’t gone well.
Apparently I have the lung capacity of an asthmatic and the only place I focus
is in my studio.

“You won’t
clear your mind until you’ve gotten answers to your questions.” Bryce sinks
into his chair. He points to my list. “We might be a while.”

I ignore
his smirk and skim through my list titled
Man’s Big Questions.
I’ve
actually pulled these from the Internet. I’m not this deep. I was shocked to
discover how little, as human beings, we really know about ourselves. Worse, I
find it baffling that what we do know is speculative at best.

I clear my
throat. “Let’s start at the beginning. Where did man come from? Were
Atlanteans
the first people to inhabit Earth?”

“Man
existed for millennia before Atlantis.” He taps his pen on the desk. “Humanity
first appeared on islands in the Pacific about two-hundred and fifty-thousand
years ago. Our pack nature fueled the gradual rise of mankind’s first
civilization, the
Lemurians
, and we dominated for
a—”

“We?”

“Yes, we.
The world was—”

“We, as in
you and me, our souls? How do you know, were you there?”

“Our souls
date back to the dawn of man, but you need to stay—”

“Did you
know me, my soul, were we . . . acquainted?”

“Stay
focused, Tess.” He rolls his eyes. “The world was a different place then.
Several moons revolved around various planets seen with the naked eye. Even
Earth itself was different. It was lush, green, untamed. Human beings were not
separated by water or religion. We lived together in harmony, on one vast area
of land called the Motherland, or Mu. But Mu was more than a place, it was a
culture spread over a number of territories across thousands of miles.
Lemurians
knew the sun personified the order of the
universe and attached the human soul to recurring patterns in the cycle of
life. We believed personal fulfillment lay in cooperating with nature and
considered knowledge the highest form of spiritual attunement. We lived in
peace, and through our understanding of natural law, we developed science and
art to a high level of sophistication, creating majestic cities with temples,
palaces, citadels, columns, and colossal pyramids.” He pauses, obviously
enjoying a memory. “Even with all these so called powers, most of us were
seamen and farmers, nurturing bountiful crops under an enduring sun. We enjoyed
life.”

I
gravitate to the window. The sun is asleep, the moon casting a radiant blue
glow over the snow. My soul was there, in this world Bryce weaves with words.
Somewhere deep inside I remember, I must.

“What
happened? Where did we go?”

“Over
thousands of years, Earth suffered a series of natural disasters. A passing
comet caused killer tsunamis, plate shifts, seismic activity, and major
volcanic eruptions. Mu slowly broke into several parts, some buried, most
sinking under the sea.”

“Just like
Atlantis.” What an awful fate.

“Unlike
Atlanteans
,
Lemurians
had time to
prepare, to amass an immense understanding of weather and astronomy. In fact,
our comprehension of science and natural law proved to be our greatest asset,
allowing some of us to spread to foreign highlands, to safety, before
catastrophe obliterated our entire race.”

“Why don’t
people know this? Why isn’t this documented?”

Bryce’s
pen stops mid-air. “It was,” he says. “Try to envision the chaos, the upheaval.
Everything was burned, buried, or lost at sea. What was left survived only in
the tormented minds of the beaten and broken, in nature’s refugees.”

I look
back to the black line of trees outside the window. “Until all that is left is
myth and folklore.”

Bryce
smiles. “Atlantis has been the jewel of the storyteller’s trove, but Mu has not
been forgotten.” Bryce joins me at the window. “Tales of tall, light-skinned
survivors of an epic catastrophe are told across the globe, in diverse
cultures, entwined in almost every belief system, all with similar notes of our
sunken realm. And not all was lost,” he says, bowing gracefully. “The Keepers
remember.”

I watch
the spark in his eyes as it reflects off the glass.

“My
grandfather was involved in the preservation and transcription of one of
Japan’s oldest historical documents, the
Fudoki
,
or
Record of Ancient Matters
. Evidence of
Lemurian
culture exists for those willing to look for it.”

It dawns
on me that Bryce’s soul was actually there, watching everything and everyone he
loved killed, and he remembers. His soul remembers. I take his hand and squeeze
tight. I can’t imagine having to dwell on such awful memories.

I hear the
sound of tiny feet only seconds before Sofia runs into the room at full
throttle, flying into Bryce’s open arms. He dips her formally, holding her
tight, and winks at me. Now that Thomas thinks Sofia’s presence will keep Bryce
from making a move on me, from getting physical, she’s allowed over a lot more.
I haven’t commented. Bryce is thrilled. Sofia begs for a bedtime story. I watch
Bryce negotiate with his niece, raising the ante with every offer. Bryce caves
and I laugh. He settles for four books at breakfast and Sofia jumps from his
arms, running to the door where Nanna awaits.

I wave to
Nanna and she smiles. Everyone says goodnight before Bryce and I are alone
again, staring out into the woods.

“Sofia is
beautiful. She looks just like you.” The moment the words are out, I blush. I
can’t believe I just called Bryce beautiful.

“I
wouldn’t mention that to Thomas if I were you. That’s a sharp bone for him,
that Sofia looks more mine than his.”

“Does
Sofia know you’re a Keeper? Does she know what her father is?”

I know
Sofia isn’t an old soul, Bryce told me a week ago when I asked about Abby. Our
children were born with new souls.

Bryce
shrugs. “I’m not entirely sure what Thomas tells her, but my family and I don’t
censor Sofia, we have nothing to be ashamed of. She knows we’re different,
hears us talking. But she’s too young to understand the perplexity of our
world. Someday, when she’s older, if Thomas will allow it, we’ll teach her everything.”

I can see
it hurts him to keep things from his niece. I know the feeling. Fudging the
truth about Maxi’s death and the break in has eaten away at my conscience for
days. But part of parenting, part of maturity, I think, is knowing when a child
is mature enough to hear the truth. And when they’re not.

Bryce
leans forward, resting his forehead on the window frame. “When children are
born with a strong connection to their old soul, they naturally tap into hidden
talents from previous lives. But society frowns upon unusual talents and
eccentric behavior, quickly putting the kibosh on what is deemed adolescent
imagination at best, or mental illness at worst.” He sighs. “It’s a shame
really, because when nurtured these children bloom, gifted at telepathy,
precognition, telekinesis, levitation, and much, much more.”

“When I
was a kid I used to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until I could touch it.
I swear I’d float, hovering inches from the stucco. I remember telling my
mother about it once.”

“And?”

“She told
me to keep it to myself. That I was silly and adorable.”

“A few
months ago, I was called to assist with a situation. A four-year-old boy had
been lowered into a dormant well to cleanse his body of evil spirits. When I
arrived at the remote Turkish village, the boy had been at the bottom of the
thirty-six foot shaft for three days without food or water. This was the local
clergy’s cure for clairvoyance.”

“The
thought makes my skin crawl, but I’m not surprised. Human beings can be brutal
in their beliefs.”