Fury

  Fury

  John Coyne

  Disturbed by strange memories and violent passions, an upwardly-mobile New Yorker discovers with the aid of a channeller that she was once a Cro-Magnon, the target of a murderer who still stalks her.

  John Coyne

  FURY

  A Novel of Reincarnation and Revenge

  For Nansey Neiman, who asked, “What if I”

  Book One

  I wasn’t unhappy or disturbed by what I was learning. Not in the least. As a matter of fact, it was a kind of liberation of understanding to realize that my life today was a result of the lives that had preceded it, that I was the product of many lives and would be again. It made sense. There was a harmony to that—a purpose—a kind of cosmic justice which served to explain everything in life—both positive and negative.

  —Shirley MacLaine

  I became aware that I was losing contact with myself. At each step of the descent a new person was disclosed within me of whose name I was no longer sure and who no longer obeyed me. And when I had to stop my exploration because the path faded beneath my steps, I found a bottomless abyss at my feet, and out of it comes—arising I know not from where—the current which I dare to call my life.

  —Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

  CHAPTER ONE

  “MS. WINTERS,” THE HOTEL receptionist said, “I believe we have a message for you.” The small black man moved down the counter to the computer terminal and typed in a command, then waited for the response on the screen.

  Jennifer glanced around the lobby of the Washington, D.C., hotel and spotted a printed sign that read:

  MEET KATHY DART, CHANNELER OF HABASHA.

  JOIN THE NEW AGE!

  CHANGE YOUR PERSPECTIVE ON

  LIFE, WORK, RELATIONSHIPS.

  That’s what she needed, Jennifer thought wryly, a change, especially in her love life.

  “Yes, here it is,” the reception clerk said. ” Room twenty-three fourteen. Jenny, I have a two o’clock appointment. See you at four.’ And it’s signed, ‘T.’ ” The reception clerk looked up. “Would you like a copy?”

  “No, thank you. Room twenty-three fourteen, yes?”

  “That’s right. I’ll delete this message?”

  “Yes, please.” She bent down and picked up her briefcase.

  “And I’ll have your luggage sent up,” the clerk added, handing her a computer card. “Your room won’t be ready for another twenty minutes, at two o’clock.”

  Jennifer took a deep breath. It was Tom who had also made sure his Justice Department meetings were scheduled for this Thursday so that they could spend the night together in the Washington hotel. She had not seen Tom in three days; they had not made love in a week. She wanted to make love to him so much now, she could taste it. Sometimes it seemed to her that all they had in common was good sex. They certainly did know how to make that work.

  Turning away from the reception counter, she caught her reflection in the lobby mirrors and was pleased and surprised to see how thin she looked in her new Calvin Klein suit. The French blue color was right, she saw. It favored her fair complexion and her honey blond hair. But she wasn’t happy with her lip gloss. The shade was too orange and exaggerated her lips. Her mouth was big enough as it was.

  “Jenny! Jennifer Winters!” A woman’s high, sharp voice stopped her. Jennifer glanced around and spotted Eileen Gorman waving to her from deep in the lounge. “Jennifer, is that really you!” the woman said, rushing toward her.

  Jennifer grinned and went to her. “Eileen, I can’t believe it’s you!” She wrapped her arms around the smaller woman and briefly hugged her. “It’s so good to see you! What a surprise!”

  “Are you here for the conference?” Eileen asked.

  “Yes, the foundation conference. Who are you with, Eileen?”

  “Foundation, no. I’m here for Kathy Dart. She’s going to channel Habasha.”

  “Who? What?” Jennifer let go of Eileen’s hand and set down her briefcase.

  “You don’t know who Kathy Dart is?” Eileen asked, her green eyes widening.

  She still looks like a cheerleader, Jennifer thought, smiling at her old friend. “Eileen, you look wonderful! Do you live here in Washington?”

  “No, I’m still living on Long Island.” She took a deep breath and sighed, then, still grinning, said, “What a wonderful surprise! It’s so good to see you, Jenny.” She reached over and again embraced Jennifer. “You look beautiful. Now, what do you do? Where do you live?” she asked.

  “In the city. New York. Brooklyn Heights, really. I’ve been there since law school.”

  “I had heard you moved to California. Anita told me. You remember Anita?”

  “Yes, of course. Yes, I did move to L.A., but—”

  “Some guy?”

  Jennifer nodded, then turned her thumb down.

  Eileen laughed and asked, glancing at Jennifer’s left hand, “Married?”

  “No, just well, involved.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You know how it is.”

  “Tell me!” Eileen sighed, still smiling at Jennifer. Then she said, “It’s so good to see you, Jennifer. What is it that you do exactly?”

  “I’m a lawyer with the James Thompson Foundation. We give money to good causes—civil rights outfits, that sort of liberal thing. I came down for a meeting. Now, who is this Kathy Dart?”

  “Oh, you must see Kathy. She’s just wonderful!” Eileen’s voice rose, and she beamed at Jennifer. “She’s a channeler. A wonderful channeler!”

  “What?” Jennifer asked, laughing.

  “You know what a channeler is, don’t you?”

  Jennifer shook her head, suddenly feeling foolish. “I’m sorry, but I—”

  “Channeling was written up in People magazine. There was a story about Kathy’s psychic powers. Kathy receives information from this prehistoric human called Habasha who has returned to help us with our lives today.”

  “Are you into that stuff?” Jennifer asked.

  “This is one of her few East Coast appearances this winter,” Eileen went on.

  “Appearance? Does she do seances?” Jennifer kept smiling at Eileen, amused by her overwhelming enthusiasm.

  “No! She’s a channeler.” Eileen opened a pink folder. “It’s a special session called ‘A Weekend with Habasha’!”

  “Who?” Jennifer laughed out loud, and then touched Eileen’s arm and said, “I’m sorry to be so flippant.”

  “That’s all right,” Eileen answered. “I can’t blame you. I was the same way until I heard him.”

  “Him?”

  “Habasha. I know it’s confusing, but Kathy Dart is only the channel, you see. Habasha uses her body to speak to us. It’s sort of like possession, but isn’t. She ‘channels’ him. He speaks to us through her body. What she does—Kathy that is—is to allow herself to set aside her waking consciousness to allow knowledge—Habasha’s knowledge—that lies beyond conscious awareness to flow into her mind and through her ability to speak.”

  “A medium, you mean?”

  “Yes, that, but more, Jennifer. You’ll see.”

  “I’ll see?”

  “Yes, come with me to hear Kathy. She’s about to have an introductory session. It’s for, you know, spouses, friends. C’mon with me, Jenny, and then we can have a cup of coffee and talk, or maybe dinner. Are you busy tonight?”

  “Eileen, I can’t—”

  “Do you have plans?”

  “No, but the foundation meeting opens tomorrow.”

  “It’s just a half hour,” she said enthusiastically.

  “Okay, why not?” It might be fun, Jennifer thought, and also she’d have time to talk more with Eileen. “Are you sure it will only take thirty minutes?”

  “It will take your whole life, once you hear
him,” Eileen answered, linking her arm through Jennifer’s. “It’s so good to see you. How long has it been? Graduation, right?”

  Jennifer nodded. “I think so. It seems like an age. I mean, so much has happened in my life.”

  “You’re telling me?”

  They reached a bank of elevators, and Eileen pressed the down button. “It’s set to start in five minutes,” she said. “Kathy and Habasha are is never late.”

  “Who is she, he or it?” Jennifer asked, really confused now.

  “He’s prehistoric. A Cro-Magnon man.”

  “What!” Jennifer exclaimed, backing off.

  Eileen laughed. “I know, I know. It all sounds silly and strange, but really it isn’t. Just wait! Keep an open mind. I was the same way until I heard Kathy Dart speak. You’ll see.”

  When the elevator door opened, they stepped out into the lower lobby of the hotel. Through a set of open doors, Jennifer saw a crowd of people already gathered on at least a hundred metal folding chairs. It looked like any other hotel conference session she had ever attended.

  But at the far end of the room was a winged green satin armchair placed upon a small platform. The chair was surrounded with flowers, bouquets of bright spring blossoms, and Jennifer was struck by how incongruous it all seemed. Directly behind the armchair, a beautiful crystal pyramid was suspended from the ceiling, though it seemed to hang in midair like a halo. Of course, she thought, remembering now some of the things she had read about the New Age movement. Quartz crystals were considered a source of psychic energy.

  “They’re all women,” Jennifer said, scanning the crowd.

  “Well, yes, mostly. I really hadn’t noticed,” Eileen answered as they stepped into an aisle and sat down in two of the folding chairs.

  Jennifer saw that the majority of women were like her. They were mostly in their late twenties, well dressed, and many were wearing business suits and carrying briefcases, as if they had just come from the office. The few men in the audience were similarly well dressed and well groomed. This was not, she realized, a way-out group of people.

  “One reason I feel comfortable going to one of these conferences,” Eileen whispered to Jennifer, “everyone looks like me. See, we can’t all be crazy.” She smiled at Jennifer. “Oh, I’m so glad I ran into you. It’s so exciting.” Before Jennifer could respond, Eileen said quickly, “There she is.”

  Jennifer turned toward the door. Kathy Dart had appeared at the entrance, and the roomful of people immediately fell silent. Jennifer looked away for a moment and suppressed a smile. It would be impolite to laugh, she knew, but the flowers, the small throne, and all the pomp and circumstance were embarrassing. And now around her, Jennifer saw, people were smiling, and some had tears in their eyes as Kathy Dart entered the room.

  The channeler came up the center aisle and smiled down at her audience. The palms of her hands were turned up, and as she moved toward the stage, she reached out to caress the cheek of one woman, to touch another’s hand, to make physical contact with her followers.

  She was beautiful, Jennifer saw. Beautiful in a delicate and fragile way. Very tall and thin, with sloping shoulders that concealed her height. She wore no makeup, and her very long and straight black hair set off her pure white skin. She looked like a woman who needed to be protected, who was too fragile for the world. Yet when she stepped into the room, she immediately overwhelmed it with her presence.

  As Kathy Dart passed their chairs, her eyes swept down the row and then caught Jennifer’s face, and she stopped walking. For a moment, her eyes were riveted on Jennifer, and the sweet smile slipped from her angelic face. Kathy Dart looked startled, as if she had been found out in some way. And Jennifer, at that moment, felt a surge of heat and pain sweep through her body, leaving her flesh aflame.

  Kathy Dart broke off her gaze and turned abruptly away to find another face. She smiled warmly at the next person, as if she were trying to quickly reestablish herself with the crowd. Jennifer fell back into her chair, trembling from the silent exchange.

  “She’s almost thirty-three,” Eileen whispered. “Don’t you think that’s interesting? You know, the same age as Jesus Christ?”

  Jennifer could not catch her breath. The eye contact with Kathy Dart had surprised her, and seeing the disturbed look on the woman’s face had frightened her. She turned to ask Eileen if she had seen the way Kathy Dart looked at her, but at that moment there emerged from the assemblage a soft humming. It swept across the crowded room, as if dozens of mothers were gently humming their infants to sleep.

  Kathy Dart had reached the flower-decked platform, and the humming increased to a rushing crescendo. Kathy Dart faced the audience with uplifted arms. She was dressed in a long white gown trimmed in light blue. Around her neck she wore a gold chain that held a small quartz crystal.

  The room lights dimmed and a small spotlight focused on Kathy Dart. She lifted her right hand, and as she slowly lowered it, the humming faded away.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, “for giving us some of your present time, for welcoming us into your life.” She spoke slowly, smiling constantly at the audience, her bright blue eyes flashing in the spotlight.

  It’s going to be one of those talks, Jennifer realized at once. She was always uneasy around people who gushed with deeply felt emotions. Jennifer glanced at her watch. It was now 2:20. She had hoped to be through with her afternoon jog before Tom returned to the hotel. She would give this another twenty minutes, she decided, and then she’d leave.

  “I’m sure you all know something—a little something perhaps— of channeling, of who I am, and of how this new man came into my life,” Kathy Dart began, and the audience laughed.

  She certainly had a nice easy delivery, Jennifer noted, coolly appraising her.

  “My Old Man, I call him. God knows he’s old enough,” she said quickly, raising her voice in mock seriousness. “He’s at least twenty-three million years old, give or take a few hundred years. Of course, I think he might be telling a few white lies about that age of his,” she added, raising her eyebrows. Then she threw up both hands. “But who’s counting!” The audience broke into quick applause.

  Beside her, Eileen beamed up at Kathy Dart.

  “Many of you, however, don’t know about Habasha, and that is why I have these little talks early in the weekend, to give you and your friends a chance to meet my lover, my mentor, my best friend. I am sure some of you know that Habasha was once my warrior lover; in another time we were both pirates off the Barbary Coast, and in yet another time and another place he was my son. That is the wonderful nature of reincarnation. The wonderful nature of our spirits, ourselves, our souls. With the help of Habasha, I have regressed to my distant past, have tracked all my previous lives.”

  She paused and looked around the room, taking in the audience. Her large, shiny, saucer blue eyes caught and held everyone’s attention.

  “Reincarnation is such a wonderful, strange, and also beautiful aspect of our existence. It is a basic tenet of many religions. We are reincarnated! I know. And you know in your heart of hearts, too, that somehow, someway, you have lived before, have been another person, suffered perhaps and died, and then lived again.”

  “We know this from the religions of our childhood. I myself was raised a Roman Catholic, and within the teachings of my very first catechism, I learned how the saints of the early Christian faith came back from death to tell us about heaven as well as hell. I learned that all of us someday will join our Maker in eternity.”

  She had softened her voice, Jennifer realized, to draw people closer, to force them to be more attentive. Even she was leaning forward and paying more attention to Kathy Dart.

  “I mention reincarnation because some people are made nervous by the idea that they are somehow born again in another person, in another time.” Kathy laughed. “I guess if I thought I’d be reborn again with these big feet of mine, I’d be upset, too, but I have hope and faith that it won’t happen the next tim
e.”

  The audience broke into laughter. Jennifer leaned over to Eileen and whispered, “She does have a nice way about her, doesn’t she?”

  “She’s wonderful,” Eileen answered, her eyes moist with tears.

  “But how do we know that we lived before?” Kathy Dart went on. “That we might have been—as I was—a Barbary Coast pirate? Or as Shirley MacLaine has said she was once, a hardworking woman of the night.”

  “We know,” Kathy Dart whispered. “We know.” She paused and swept her blue eyes across the room as she gently tapped her heart with her small closed hand. “We know in our hearts, don’t we? We know we have lived before,” she whispered, nodding to the crowd. Then her voice grew stronger and more confident. “We know because we have had that wonderful experience of turning the corner in some foreign country or looking at a photograph in a mossy old book and realizing, yes, we were there; we walked through those ancient streets, lived in those times. We, too, might have been a mistress of King George, a Christian tossed to the lions in the Colosseum, or perhaps a Cherokee princess, or an American housewife living the hard life on our western frontier. I mention those people in particular because they were some of my many former lives. I have lived and passed on. Lived and passed on again and again and again. We never die. Our spirits don’t die. We all know that, regardless of our religious faith. Our spirits, ourselves, our egos, you might call it, have always been, will always be.”

  She paused and took in the audience. She had clasped her hands together as if in prayer.

  “We know all this ourselves,” she went on slowly. “It is a secret that has been locked away in our subconscious, but how do we know? That’s the question.”

  “Exactly,” Jennifer said out loud.

  “Shhhh.” Eileen nudged her. Eileen was sitting on the edge of her metal chair. Everyone was leaning forward, Jennifer saw; they were all on the edges of their chairs, straining to hear every word.