Dame Fortune turning her wheel
Confronting Marilyn after the celebratory night before was hard, because I had to tell her I was at the Wheat Sheaf Tavern with Abe, not only getting drunk, but celebrating with Erin and Cindy.
Surprisingly, she wasn’t furious with me or even jealous of Cindy—she almost expected it as her lot in life, as if everything was fated.
I was beginning to feel I was caught up in some romantic tragedy across time. Marilyn and I were the star-crossed lovers having to deal with a cast of antagonists who were determined to test us when we were at our weakest point on the Wheel of Fortune.
We were puppets of Fate like in a medieval tragedy with the goddess Fortune blindfolded and cranking the wheel. Some of us would be lifted to the stars and the unfortunate ones would be crushed beneath the wheel.
I didn’t know if my analogy would make any sense to Marilyn until she suddenly turned to me and said simply, “I’ve got two sets of memories and so do you.”
I was dumbfounded.
I stared at her, my mind racing neck and neck with my heart. It was true. I loved her more than just one lifetime’s worth. My mind protested what my heart sensed.
Time had doubled back and attacked me, like a serpent consuming its tail.
Everything was heightened when I was with her—including the people—they seemed larger than life and more than real—if that made any sense.
“We’re partners in time,” I said. “You, me, Abe, Harry—the whole lot of us—everyone alive right now. We’re all meant to be here—we’re linked.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you,” she said.
“But I sure wish you could remember more about Catherine.”
“I can—if I want—but it means going back.”
“Going back where?”
“To the house—to Havelock Street. It holds the key.”
“Are you saying you’re prepared to do that?”
She nodded. “I have to Scott—it’s time. I have to face whatever’s buried there.”
“When do you intend to do that?”
“Now—today. Memories keep coming—welling up inside me—attached to this strange smell. I think I know what it is—but every time I try to identify it, I hit this locked door.”
She had a wild look in her eyes.
“I don’t know. Are you sure you’re ready to do this? Look—” I pointed to her hands—“You’re trembling.”
“I know, but I have to Scott—if I don’t, we’ll both be in grave danger.”
“Okay, okay. Get dressed—I’ll drive you.”
I waited, sitting in the front room, staring out the narrow windows, struggling with a sense of dread.
We were part of some great action and events were spinning toward an inevitable conclusion.
Everything was fated—even our lives hung in the balance.
Whatever was behind the door Marilyn was about to open was bound to be horrific—yet she was determined to press ahead.
We’d plunge into a whirlpool from which there would be no escape.
But she had come to this place to find herself, and had come too far to turn back now.