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27. Hyx

I'm the muscle, not a scientist, I think to myself as Libby pulls out another flash card.

"Alright, and what does this one make you think of? Remember just say the first thing that comes to mind," she repeats for the fiftieth time.

I give her a deadpan look, and she shrugs.

Scientists. I should have known what I was getting into. Why did I agree to this again?

She's smiling so wide and so hopeful that it makes my heart ache.

Right. That's why.

I look at the flash card she's put in front of me. It's a picture of a river.

"Rest," I say.

She immediately scribbles that down in her notebook. We've been at this experiment of hers for nearly an hour. I'd thought it would involve a lot of scanning my brain wave activity or taking blood samples.

Instead, she took me back to her place. Normally, I wouldn't complain about that, but somehow it doesn't seem we're going to end up anywhere near the bedroom. So far, all she's done is show me flash cards and then write down what they make me think of.

"Okay, okay, one more flash card, and then we'll move on to something else," she promises.

I raise my eyebrow, unaware that today's experiment had a part two to it.

She lifts up another card, this one of a playing card.

I immediately grimace. "Trouble."

She writes that down. I let out a sigh. Libby really is determined to prove the whole past lives thing scientifically.

To me, it's always been more of a feeling than anything. Something you can't explain with science.

Though to her, it doesn't seem to be a case of needing to prove it with science as much as to show it with science. She seems to believe it wholeheartedly, she just wants a way to demonstrate it. A way to illustrate her work neatly.

And if that's what will make her happy, then so be it. I'm just not sure it can really be done this way. But I want answers just as much as she does as to why I wake up sometimes with the sound of toxic alarm sensors ringing in my ears, so I might as well stick around for the ride.

She beams up at me. "This is going great so far!"

I furrow my brow. "Really? Me saying the first thing that comes to mind is helping you gather data?"

She nods vigorously. "You see, I'm trying to use a lot of the same methods doctors use on patients with amnesia. Because in a way, that's kind of what we have. Our memories have just been reset for this life, and we need to recover the old data from our past ones."

I snort. "Now you're making us sound like robots."

"That analogy could work, too."

I shake my head. "So what did you find then?"

Her eyes lit up, and I know I've asked the right question. "First of all, I want you to tell me if you've ever been in combat."

"No, not really. There's a few skirmishes with thieves and pirates but not many."

"What about a shady criminal?"

I quirk a smile. "Can't say I've ever given it a try.'

Her smile grows. "Perfect. You see, a lot of your instinctive reactions point to the same instincts as a soldier in some cases and a criminal in others. Like associating a river with a rest spot to get water and regroup. Or the playing card with trouble. An ordinary person might just see it as a game. But a criminal who knows the stakes also knows it comes with trouble."

I blink in surprise. Had she really got all that just from showing me flashcards? I have to give the woman credit.

"Alright then, what's next?"

"This one is a bit different and is going to involve a lot of patience and concentration." She gets up and begins to move things around.

"In what way?" I ask as I watch her set up two mats and pull out a speaker.

"We're going to try an immersive meditation together to see if it pulls out any memories for us."

Meditation. Great.

Then I realize everything she just said. "Wait, us?"

She nods. "Us. I want to see what I come up with, too."

I raise an eyebrow as I see her pull out a few scent cubes. "What exactly are you putting together here? I thought we were just meditating."

"Immersive mediating," she reminds me. "I'm going to be playing some ambient noise and cycling through a few different scents as we meditate. Sound and smell are two of the most powerful triggers for the mind."

It doesn't sound too ridiculous aside from the meditation. Sometimes, there can be a scent I catch in the air from time to time that takes me back to a moment in my childhood. Or a certain buzzing noise that makes me think of an old alarm I had. So I can believe what she's saying.

"Show me what to do."

We end up sitting back to back on the mats with our eyes closed.

"Breathe in deeply and then let it out slowly. Relax and let your mind become clear of everything," she says soothingly.

As she does, I hear her hit a button on her remote. The sound of rainfall comes through the speaker. Then to the right of me, I smell the scent of rain from one of the scent cubes. It's nice, but it doesn't really spark anything.

We sit there in silence, just listening and smelling the rain while a whole lot of nothing is happening. I can feel myself growing impatient with every minute that ticks by.

The noise changes to a bird chirping, and the scent cube for rain goes away and is replaced by the smell of trees. This one also doesn't invoke anything in me.

Maybe my mind's supposed to be clearer?I wonder. But how can someone clear their mind when all they're thinking about is clearing their mind?

Another few minutes pass, and I open my eyes and let out a frustrated groan. "This isn't working."

Libby sighs. "I was just getting my head to clear."

"So it wasn't working for you, either?"

Her silence is enough of an answer.

"Let's just forget it," I say. "We'll try something else tomorrow."

I move to get up, but Libby grabs my arm. "No! Come on, we've only gone through two cycles. Just try one more at least?"

Her pleading gives me pause.

Memories pour into my mind almost painfully.

A dark-haired woman draping a blanket over my half-bare form and staying close to me. Telling me she believes me.

A light-haired woman with the familiar bright blue eyes tending to my wounds. Risking her own life for mine.

Two women – no, one woman who was always by my side. Always came back for me. Always supported me.

I feel like something is owed, and maybe that's why I stop protesting. And so I sit back down and close my eyes. "Fine. One more."

Libby puts her back against mine again, and the sound and scent changes. This time it's the sound of the wind and the scent of a crisp fall day. Sensations and flashes begin to tug at my mind. But instead of trying to fight off the sensation, I embrace it and find myself falling into what I know is a memory.

I'm soaring high above in the clouds, shooting high and then pulling my wings in and going into a freefall. Then I spread them again and race off. The wind whips against my face and my wings and it feels like freedom.

Then the memory shifts as the noise and scent do.

I'm searching frantically for Alana, hoping against all hope that she survived the crash. I find her half of the shuttle, and it makes my blood freeze. I toss debris carelessly, but I still don't see her there.

And then, my eye catches footprints. Her footprints.

My mind seems to move to the next memory on its own accord. Like a floodgate has suddenly opened.

We sit in a dusty schoolhouse just chatting like we've always known each other. The city around us has all but crumpled, and my men will come hunting for me soon. And yet we've found solace among the books and chairs that haven't been used in years.

Here, with her, I'm at home.

I open my eyes and suck in a sharp breath. Libby moves behind me, and I turn back to look at her.

It's her.

Warmth floods me suddenly, and I feel like a piece of myself that's been missing slips back into place. I see the same look reflected back in her eyes.

I've really found her. She's here.

I reach out a hand and cup her cheek like I'm not really sure she's there. She reaches out and does the same.

Finally, I'm able to put a name to the feeling.

Love.

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