“How many cases do you think you’ve got in those cabinets?” Cole asked.
“Close to twenty thousand,” he said. “We ran out of room two years ago, and all subsequent cases are being digitally compiled. The files in this room are also being scanned and saved, and in the next year or so I might even be able to clear out some of the cabinets. But the cases never stop coming, and each one is fascinating.”
The room fell silent, and Dr. Van Dean seemed to study me for a moment before he said, “Your case is most unusual, Lily.”
I stiffened. “It is?”
“Yes,” he said. “I don’t typically entertain cases where there’s been any hypnotherapy. It’s too easy for the therapist to plant a suggestion in the mind of the patient and for the patient to then adopt that suggestion as truth. What’s exceptional about your case is that, after watching your session with Dr. White several times, I’m convinced that he did not plant anything of Amber Greeley’s life into your subconscious. The details you offer up are also quite extraordinary. You named dates, places, people, and events that were all relevant to Amber, but there was no easy way, and in one or two instances, no discernable way, for you to have discovered them.
“I believe, as Dr. White does, that you may, in fact, actually be the reincarnated soul of Amber Greeley, but why you’ve come back through the bloodline of a total stranger is the question that is quite puzzling to me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, in about ninety-five percent of the cases I’ve studied, the reincarnated soul comes back as a family member. Sometimes, there isn’t a direct line. One soul might come back as his great-grandson’s cousin, but there almost always seems to be a consistent link to the family tree. To my understanding, you are not in any way related to Amber Greeley, correct?”
I looked at Mom. She shook her head. “No,” she said. “There’s no familial connection that I know of.”
“But your grandmother lives in Fredericksburg,” Dr. Van Dean pressed. “And was there at the time of Amber Greeley’s passing?”
“Yes,” I said. “And she did know Amber’s mom. Mrs. Greeley owns a hair salon and does my grandmother’s hair. From what Mrs. Greeley told me, Grandmother was kind to her after Amber died, but I don’t know if Amber ever actually met my grandmother.”
“Interesting,” Dr. Van Dean said, tapping his finger to his lips.
Then he pointed to Cole, whom he’d also interviewed at the start of our session, after I’d told him all the coincidences Cole and I had uncovered.
“You see, your story is consistent with a reincarnated soul coming back as the first available relative. The naming of your pets is a big clue. We often find children will name dolls or pets after people who were important to them in a previous life. Of course, I’d need to do a more thorough interview with you and your relatives to verify that you are the reincarnated soul of Ben Spencer, but it wouldn’t surprise me at all. Your story contains all the markers: your uncle died tragically, and young; you named your pets after your uncle’s best friend and his ex-girlfriend’s dog; you have similar interests—he worked in landscaping; you work in landscaping—you both drove Mustangs and you bought yours without knowledge that it was the same make and model as the one your uncle drove; and perhaps even most telling was that you were drawn to that amber bead, which was the name of your uncle’s girlfriend. Odd coincidences to be sure, but maybe not so odd after all.
“Cole, let me ask you,” he added, leaning forward. “Do you have a birthmark?”
Next to me, Cole looked taken aback. “Yeah,” he said. Tugging on the neck of his T-shirt, he exposed two red dots on his chest.
I gripped the arm of the chair in shock. The texture and color of Cole’s birthmark was very similar to my own.
Dr. Van Dean nodded and pointed at Cole. “Your uncle died of two gunshot wounds to the chest, correct?”
“Yeah,” Cole said, dumbstruck. He tucked his chin to eye the marks. “I never made that connection before.”
“It’s a consistent trait with reincarnated souls,” he said. “When the death was sudden, about twenty-five percent of the subjects come back with a mark that bears a striking resemblance to a wound they received at the time of their death. One child I interviewed talked openly about his hanging, and at the back of his neck was a large birthmark that looked very much like the coils from a rope. It was extraordinary.”
I rubbed at my own birthmark. This was a lot to take in. “And what about my dreams?” I asked him.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “It’s quite common, Lily, for reincarnated souls to be plagued with nightmares, especially about the moment of their passing. From what you described to me, the dreams are not part of your subconscious creation, but an actual memory from your previous life as Amber, with perhaps a few dreamlike qualities.”