Chapter 21

Peter joins Theresa in her treatment room, placing himself on the lounge. He’s feeling nervous, but mostly he feels vulnerable. The robbery and the visit to the police station both play on his mind. He explains both events to Theresa, having experienced multiple panic attacks over the last few days. Each one seems triggered by the bookstore, a police siren, an officer walking his beat.

“You’re innocent of the crime,” Theresa says confidently, making Peter more comfortable.

He nods at this. “Of course, I’m not a monster. Even if I experienced the fugue, it’s not in me to take a life like that.” Peter replies. “Though I worry that my military background may make me a suspect.”

“Let’s not dwell on these events, Peter. Is it possible or probable that you’ll be fingered for the crime?”

Peter takes a moment to consider the question. “Possible?”

“Sure, but very unlikely that it’s probable. So don’t waste your time worrying about it. Even probable, by definition, isn’t proof.”

“That’s a curious way of thinking,” Peter says, still trying to understand the difference.

“You don’t want to speculate - is what I’m telling you. Divergent thinking will get you nowhere. Convergent thinking – using logic, will help deflect any concerns you have over the outcome.”

“I’ll remember that.” Peter feels lighter from the conversation and pulls the weighted blanket up his torso.

“Good, I’ll offer a cleanse of your energies, and we’ll get started.” Theresa lowers the lighting, and Peter experiences a chill. He rests his head against the plush lounge. Chimes are introduced next as Theresa lays hands above Peter’s throat to even out his energy. “I’m going to lead with reiki focusing on the throat chakra, and then we’ll begin the regression,” she whispers.

His body senses Theresa’s energy and submits to her. The sensations Peter experiences are of being lightly touched by thousands of fingertips as they brush over every nerve ending, knowing Theresa isn’t touching him at all.

Peter finds himself again with a choice. Not so much a choice as a calling. The call of gravity pulls him toward a door meant to serve him in his present by revealing a past he can learn from.

The imaginary hallway stretches out before him like an elastic band pulled too tight. It begins to shudder, and a door to his immediate left vibrates to match his frequency. This is when the pull of gravity ensnares his ethereal form, drawing him closer to the door until it opens, and he is driven into a past his conscious mind no longer identifies with.

The timeline seems fuzzy. Peter looks at his feet as instructed and comments on the footwear. It’s all at once foreign and familiar to him. “Lady’s shoes,” he mumbles. This is a switch. He’s a woman? “I’m a woman.”

He describes the setting and moves to a mirror. His reflection is appealing in a 19^th-century kind of way. He explains that he is in Russia and is to be paraded in front of single men who come from wealthy backgrounds on this very evening. Young, old, rich, it is not what he wants. Peter begins to think in the feminine and refers to himself as such. Her name is Kristina, and she lives on a fine estate on land owned by her family for generations. She is one of many women of age being presented tonight at a ball in her father’s home. Peter looks out his second-floor window to observe diplomates and royalty emerge from their carriages in an orderly fashion, their footmen opening doors and calling out names.

Peter is discouraged. Why? Because Kristina has other ideas. She will flee the spectacle at the end of the evening and meet her lover, who will be waiting for her at the great oak on the east end of her family’s property.

She and Feliks have been meeting for months like this. He is the woodsman on the property, employed by her family. Peter feels his heart pound faster thinking of the young Feliks, his lean muscled form and thick, powerful hands pressing against her. She was no longer a virgin, which would prove problematic for the aristocracy looking her over as potential marriage material.

Peter feels a tear tracing down his cheek. Kristina could not forsake Feliks or herself the opportunity for a lifetime of happiness. Her parents would stop her if they knew her intentions. Still, she must make a show of it tonight to draw any suspicions away from her plan.

Peter feels the depth of Kristina’s love for Feliks. The sensation fills his chest. He has never been in love himself. Kristina looks about her room and eyes the bag she will take with her to the oak tree. It is hidden even from her maid. No one can know.

Once summoned, Kristina manages a final review in her mirror. She stands tall and runs her palms over her torso, fitted tightly into her corset. Her palms are wet with nerves. Her hair and make-up look perfect. She will draw much attention from the nobility and must remember her manners. It will be over soon enough, Peter thinks. Then she will be happy.

The roar of voices below makes her hesitate at the top of the staircase. She’s no stranger to these large gatherings, music, food, and dancing, but tonight is different. Tonight will be her last. She will not miss them; she convinces herself, not once she is laying in Feliks’s arms many miles removed from her palatial home. He will provide for her, and she for him. They will make babies, and she will be a mother and Feliks a father. She is in love, and Feliks loves her. There is no going back. Nothing will stand between them.

“My daughter, Kristina,” her father announces as she steps off the winding staircase to greet the assembled guests. She admits two of the younger men are quite fetching, but her heart is spoken for. An older man, as old as her father, takes her hand and kisses the lace of her glove. She curtseys and smiles, but not too brightly. She would not wish to share this man’s bed. The others follow suit and move on to the next girl being presented.

Kristina takes a full glass from the tray of a passing servant and drinks thirstily. A fire warms the guests, and Kristina avails herself to one dance after another, getting to know her suitors as they take their turns.

Her mother, Peter explains, is radiant next to her father. This is the moment her parents have dreamed of, and she would be crushing that dream in mere hours. It does not make her feel good, but neither does the prospect of sharing her life with someone she does not love. Kristina looks up at the chandelier but only sees Feliks’s face there in its brilliance and drops her gaze, smiling. Mistakenly, a young man assumes the smile for him and slides up beside Kristina, with a glass of champaign for her.

She nods and graciously accepts the glass. The boy becomes assertive with her, leading Kristina to a couch by the elbow. They sit, and he explains his intentions. He rhymes off his many titles and wants, but Peter finds himself still in the glow of Feliks’s face. Kristina is unwavering in her love and cannot wait to escape this nonsense and get back to him.

The party ends eventually, to Kristina’s great relief. She returns to her room after hugging her parents tightly. She will miss them greatly but is eighteen and in love and will not be talked out of it as if she were experiencing some silly flight of fancy. That’s what her father would tell her, and her mother would agree.

Peter finds himself slipping out of the dress with the help of his maid and into a nightgown. She thanks the girl and sends her away. Next, she changes into something more suitable to flee, bagging her nightgown. She pours her jewelry into the bag and a large sum of rubles. They will not want for much before Feliks secures a new job. Shoes and tiaras are next. She places her delicate feet into appropriate boots for the journey and throws a heavy jacket over her shoulders. Everything has been planned. Everything is going perfectly to that plan. Kristina dares a look out her window and watches the last of the carriages depart.

She’s trusted no one with this escape. Her maid doesn’t even know about Feliks, and she tells her everything. The house will soon be dark to match the night, and Kristina will abscond from this privileged life. Is she being naïve? Perhaps, she knows little of the world, but Feliks is from that world, not this one. He will make her safe. He will make her happy.

As the servants depart for their quarters and her parents sleep soundly in a haze of champaign, Kristina creeps through the ancient hallways and staircase to slip out the cook’s door. Peter admits his heart is racing as Kristina rushes through the open grass fields between the majestic trees that dot the landscape. There is not even a moon in the sky to give her up. The bag is heavy, but she makes excellent time crossing the expansive yard. The oak is in sight, and she tumbles into Feliks’s waiting arms.

Feliks kisses her deeply, and Kristina returns the passionate embrace, holding onto Feliks like he is her lifeboat. They stay like this for some time.

“I’m sorry,” Feliks tells her as they break their embrace. “I’m so sorry.”

Peter is mystified over Feliks’s apology. “What have you to apologize for?” Peter feels breathless. Anxiety rears up in Kristina like a fire in her belly. It becomes smoke in her chest, and she gasps. Tears flow freely as Feliks is pulled away by two of her father’s footmen. They move to their left to reveal her father.

“You’re a silly girl, Kristina,” he is utterly disappointed in her. “There can be no more of this.”

Peter is caught up in the moment, and Kristina is speechless.

“You think us clueless to your affair, but we have never been so. Your mother suggested we stop it much earlier than tonight, but I wanted to give you that opportunity. It seems I was wrong in my attitudes toward you.”

“Oh, father, please, let me go; I love Feliks. I can’t do what you ask,” Peter is shaking from the possibility he will never be allowed to live out her dream.

Peter explains that Kristina’s father now looks to Feliks and nods. Feliks steps forward and cruelly tells Kristina that he does not love her and is only using her.

Kristina cries out at this. That’s not true. I know what we have. I know it’s not true. But whether it was or wasn’t, Feliks leaves the scene as Kristina’s father returns her to her room in the stately house, resembling more a prison than a home now.

Theresa brings Peter out of the regression and sighs as she leans back into her seat.

“You mentioned Feliks’s face more than once. Did you capture who he is in this life?”

Peter is groggy and upset over the love lost between Kristina and Feliks. “Do you think they ever found one another again?”

“Whether they did or didn’t isn’t why you experienced this traumatic scene. What you were meant to encounter, you did. It’s a slice of life. Not an end.” She speaks calmly to ease Peter’s return to the present.

“I don’t believe what he’d said,” Peter sits up, the weighted blanket falling to the floor. “They’d frightened him into saying that.”

“Maybe, but before you lose the moment, did you recognize anyone in Feliks’s eyes?”

Peter sits in contemplation. Did he? He was so engaged with the life he hadn’t bothered to consider who Feliks might be in the present.

“I don’t think so,” he finally admits. “Maybe. I’ll have to think about it.” Could it be Clare? He doesn’t want to tell Theresa this. It would be embarrassing, and she would caution him against seeing her again. He is enjoying their time together and doesn’t want it to end. He’s not in love or anything. Not if love feels like what Kristina felt for Feliks. That was powerful. He’s sad over their loss.

“You may discover this life will play out in the days to come,” Theresa tells him. “We witnessed your lover betray your feelings. Your parent’s love is another aspect to deliberate on. I mean, Kristina’s parents. Perhaps you saw someone in the present in their eyes?”

Peter shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think it was about her relationship with her parents. It doesn’t feel like that to me.”

“Then let it percolate. Listen to the recording I’ve just texted you. Review your feelings, and we’ll discuss it again.” She stands, and Peter follows her lead. “If something rises to the surface, you can text me. We can address it sooner if you need to.”

“Thank you,” Peter lets himself out the front door and thoughtfully strolls down the residential street, boards the bus, and goes home.