Intaglio Dragons All The Way Down

chapter 9: The Time of the Lone Wolf is Over



They were drinking tea again, this time out of coffee mugs; all the teacups for reading were shoved roughly to the side. Cole had his elbows against the table, his body slumped forward. Next to him, Ava rubbed circles into his back, her arms around him. It had taken a full twenty minutes to get the story out of Cole in any semblance of order, and Ava still wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Cole dreamed of her dying… had dreamed it endlessly for many years before he met her that day last Fall outside the art history class. He’d had the dream enough times to describe it with uncanny detail. Remembering her own dream in his own way. There was no peace in his version, only his absolute horror at her loss. Ava was more bothered by this than the fact that he’d recognized her painting, or that he was in her past-life teacup at all. It was Cole’s agony with her dying that grieved her. Even now, mug in hand, he was inconsolable.

‘No wonder he’s afraid I’ll leave him.’

Across from them, Oliver had a lit cigarette in his mouth, returning sense to the incomprehensible events of tonight. Narrow bands of smoke wove around him like loosely coiled rope, winding around his hands and arms as he gestured. Ava’s father never smoked in the house... never.

Until tonight.

“It’s something that already happened,” her father explained. “It obviously is affecting you both. But it doesn’t mean that something like that’s going to happen again. I mean, why should it?”

He took a long draw on the cigarette, and Ava knew she was not imagining the tremors in his fingers. This reading had really bothered him.

It worried her too.

“What scares me,” Cole muttered, “is that Kip Chambers dreamed of Ava too.”

“He dreamed of my painting,” Ava corrected. “Not me, exactly.” It felt like a lie, but the truth felt worse.

Oliver frowned.

“Who’s Kip?”

Ava fiddled with her mug, weighing her words before laying them out. Things were unbalanced again and getting worse. For just a moment, she flashed to sliding down the steep decking of a boat. ‘Another dream…?’

“He’s the other guy you saw in my cup,” Ava answered nervously, “the one I had to make a clean break with in order to get things cleared up. The guy Cole has an issue with. He had these dreams – these nightmares – when he was a kid... and it seems linked to me somehow.”

Oliver nodded, tapping ash into the chipped saucer next to him.

“Ah, well, that makes sense. He’s probably from this other time too. But I didn’t see him in your cup at all. Just saw Cole with you there at the end.”

“Maybe he was one of the people who died in the storm,” Ava said quietly. This wasn’t making her feel any better at all.

Oliver shrugged and put the cigarette to his mouth again, lips pursed to hold it in place.

“Could be,” he mumbled, “looks like a lot of people died in that storm.” He paused for a long moment as he drew the smoke into his lungs, and Ava knew what he was going to say right before he said it. “Even you died, Ava.”

Next to her, Cole sat up.

“What the f*ck does that even mean!?” he snapped, fury under the surface of his pain.

Oliver frowned, leaning back and setting aside the cigarette. He picked up Ava’s discarded teacup and held it in the palms of his hands. His lips tightened as he looked into it.

“There’s a figure here. I’d say the figurehead on the prow of the boat. It’s a woman – a woman with wings instead of arms—”

“An angel,” Ava interrupted.

Oliver nodded, setting the cup down and steepling his fingers.

“What Ava saw tonight at the show, the woman you carved, was an echo of that memory. It must’ve been something she saw – something that meant something to her, something that scarred her – and after that she… she…”

He left the word unspoken, picking up the cigarette from the saucer with trembling fingers.

“I’ve no idea what it really means. I don’t know anything for sure... but whatever happened, it marked both of you. You’re connected – the two of you – and you, and this… this thing between you is still connected. Still wrapped together.” He frowned, pointing at Cole with the burning end of his cigarette. “Emily Bronte wrote that ‘whatever our souls are made of – his and mine are the same.’ I think that’s what Ava is to you, and you to her.” He sighed. “Your past is tangled together, and it’s affecting things here and now.”

Cole laughed coldly.

“Look, I don’t believe in any of this shit, alright? I don’t know how you knew that about my dreams... but I don’t believe in past lives. When you’re dead, you’re dead.”

Ava watched as her father took another lengthy drag on his cigarette. His eyes were narrowed and critical. The atmosphere of conflict made Ava feel sick.

“An atheist, huh?” Oliver said curtly. “Well, life might throw some things at you every once in a while to question that.” He laughed harshly.

“Doesn’t make any sense.” Cole grumbled.

Next to him, Ava’s fingers found their way to his hand, holding tight.

“No, it doesn’t,” her father replied, “but there’s a lot of crazy shit that happens in life that science never explains... and the ripples of events – past and future – go both ways, forward and back. Most of what we’re doing now is our focus, but big events change us. Call it a parallel universe if you want to... or a past life... or just misfiring synapses.” He tapped the side of his head as he said it. “I don’t really care how the hell it gets explained, but the ripples happen, and they go both ways...” He gestured between them, the cigarette forgotten in his hand. “I think that’s what’s happened here.”

“So what do we do about it?” Ava asked. “I mean, is this a warning? Something that’s going to happ—”

“It’s already happened,” her father barked. “You remember that. Alright? It’s done now, Ava. Done!”

She could tell he was upset too. He never raised his voice. It wasn’t her father’s nature.

“But how could this...?” Ava mumbled, not even knowing what she to ask, just that she was feeling lost, and wasn’t sure where to go now. Cole leaned closer, his shoulder pressing against hers. Balancing her.

Across from them, Oliver set the cigarette butt into the saucer at his elbow as he blew smoke to the side. He rubbed his ragged face. There were rings under his eyes, skin waxen. He wouldn’t be reading any more teacups any time soon.

“I don’t know how it happened, Ava,” he said wearily, “but the woman with wings is here, and you dreamed her, and the voyage ended in death.” He glanced at Cole, voice hard. “I know what I saw... and if you dreamt about it and so did Cole, then it’s obviously done and gone. So it’s this life you should be thinking about,” Oliver said, knuckles rapping loudly on the tabletop. “What to do now should be your focus.”

There was an uncomfortable silence and then Oliver glanced to the side as if hearing something. Without a word, he got up and headed into his bedroom, returning seconds later with a dog-eared book. He flipped through the pages as he walked.

Clearing his throat, he began to read.

“This could be a good time. There’s a river flowing now very fast. It’s so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being torn apart and they will suffer greatly. Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, kept our eyes open, and our heads above the water. And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate...

“At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally. Least of all, ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey come to a halt...

“The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration...

“We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.”

He glanced up as he finished. Ava felt a sense of déjà vu... she’d had a dream once about another man talking to her about a boat. He’d told her about the time to head out into the water, and the time to wait out a storm. Her throat was tight, too many emotions under the surface.

‘My father died, leaving us all behind… and I had to choose because of it…’

She blinked and the almost-memory was gone.

“Who wrote that?” Cole asked. His voice was raw with emotion.

“No one knows the name of the author,” Oliver answered, “it was before the advent of written language. It’s a Hopi prophecy about our time.”

He sat back down at the table, lifting the cigarette. He gestured between Ava and Cole, ashes swirling.

Set adrift…

“This time around,” Oliver said with a nod, “in this life... the two of you are in the river together.”