“Michael, I’m here because I told you I would be—and truth be told, I’m curious about you—but I won’t speak about what’s happened since the life we shared. I’m only interested in discussing that time with you. If you need to know about what’s happened since then, I’ll have to leave.”
Michael looked crestfallen, like a child whose kite had lost the wind. “Please, don’t leave. You only just got here.”
“And I want to stay, but it has to be on my terms.” He’d been willing to accept her on her own terms before, when he’d courted her. She’d loved him for it.
“That’s fine. We can talk about anything you like, so long as you stay. We don’t have to speak at all if you don’t want to. I could just sit here and look at you for hours.” Michael swept a hair that had escaped its pin from her face. The touch was familiar and comfortable, soothing her nerves. “You’re even better than my dreams. Praise God for keeping you in your original form.”
Amaia winced at his use of God. Of course he would be religious like every other cursed human, the way he had been in his recent past lives, but somehow she wished he wouldn’t be. “How can you believe in God knowing what you know? Doesn’t you being here mock the divine plan?”
“No. Believe me, I’ve thought on it long and hard. I don’t know why I keep coming back, but it must be because God has some higher plan for me, a purpose he has chosen not to reveal to me yet.”
“You really believe that? All of it?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
Amaia pointedly stared at him.
“I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I believe this is all part of God’s plan. I don’t know how you can’t believe.”
“Simple. It’s not true. He’s as mythical as the monsters parents warn their children about to keep them out of the woods.” Amaia didn’t care that she was one such monster. Michael didn’t know. “I’ve seen no proof of his existence in all my time on Earth.”
“I see it all around me. The fact that I’m here with you now is proof of his hand.”
“No, it’s not.”
“How else do you explain my soul surviving intact? My soul has passed from body to body. I’m still the same person, the same Michael you knew. How else can that be if not for God’s hand?”
“I don’t know. But when I don’t know something, I say so; I don’t make up stories.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to the idea. Faith has brought comfort and beauty into the lives of thousands of people. Knowing that God is in charge gives me hope. I’ve messed up so many things in this life and my previous ones that I take comfort in knowing that in the end, it’s all up to his will.”
“The question of whether we end up together or not is up to him?”
“His hand guides us, but he expects us to use our free will to make decisions. I pray for you every day.” Michael grabbed her hand, the warmth of his skin reinforcing the sincerity of his words.
Amaia had never been in someone’s prayers before. It was a strange thought. She wasn’t sure she liked it. “Life is too short to believe in something as silly as a fairy story.”
“It’s not just a story, Amaia. I don’t know why you don’t believe. Perhaps you’re too strong to need the solace, but not everyone is.”
“I don’t understand, Michael. You weren’t this religious in your first life, or at least you never spoke about it to me.”
“Going through these different lives has led me to believe that there must be a god. He is the only way I’m able to make sense of it.”
“But doesn’t it seem silly to you? I would think it would be just the opposite. For me, it’s proof that there is no god. Where is his hand in this?”
“It’s everywhere. There must be a purpose.”
Amaia didn’t have an answer. What was she supposed to say? That this was all because she had killed him, that he was a curse on her? Of course, that would be admitting the existence of a supernatural force with reason and desire to curse her. Nothing made sense. What lesson was there for Michael to learn so he could advance beyond this life?
“I believe that some things just are.”
He seemed to consider that and then nodded. “Fair enough. I don’t care to change your mind. I’ve never wanted to change anything about you. I just love talking to you, hearing your thoughts. I bet you’re not so painfully honest with anyone else. You never were. That part of you has always only been for me. Now, what is it you want to talk about? The night we met? The time you turned up in hysterics outside my door after you had been with that pimply fellow, Lord Bradley I think it was? The time we ate in the Hampton Court gardens all by ourselves? Or how about the time we danced, and I told you how it was going to be with me?”