Time After Time

By Kay Williamson

Pamela Ryan's marriage is over, but her emotionally disturbed husband, Norman, tells her he'd rather kill her than to let her go. The stress of her disastrous marriage finally catches up with her in a mysterious way. In a Scottish tearoom, she finds herself lapsing into a Scottish dialect. Suspecting her strange behavior is in some way related to reincarnation, she, without telling Norman, seeks the help of past-life regression therapist Dr. Martin Bradford.

Under hypnosis, Pamela discovers she was Sarah MacAllister, a young Scottish girl engaged to Robyn Macqueen. As session after session reveals the details of Pamela's past life-of her death and her grief-stricken fianc's suicide, she and Dr. Bradford grow closer. But Pamela doesn't fully understand the pull of her attraction towards her therapist until she discovers that Dr. Martin Bradford was none other than Robyn Macqueen.

In spite of Norman's murderous threats, the reunited lovers make plans to flee the country and to look for their past-life parents. But when Norman discovers their plans, he vows to find and kill them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 29, 2005
• ISBN: 9780595814145

Kay Williamson

Kay has been published in various literary anthologies, a national magazine, and served as Feature Editor of East Carolina University's weekly newspaper for two years. A former elementary teacher, Kay and her husband, Don, reside in Florida and the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

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Copyright © 2005 by Kay Williamson

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Printed in the United States of America

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

Time after time I hold you in a dream

Time after time you slip away Time after time I hold you in my arms,

a tender embrace.

Then I’m left with only a memory

a memory of what used to be

Another time, another life when we were together Where did you go?

Will you return?

Where did you go?

Will you return?

With love and respect I dedicate this book to my husband, Don, and to my grandson Dylan, a fine young writer.

Also many thanks to Barbara Raffin for her help and encouragement and to Peggy Downey for her outstanding editing.

CHAPTER 1

Pamela Ryan stood at the door of Mary’s Tearoom and for the first time in months, felt warm, secure, and totally at home. Yet an eerie sense of déjà vu permeated her psyche while she perused the quaint room. The walls, she noticed, were papered in Wedgwood blue, and the shadow boxes were filled with assorted china teacups and saucers. Highly polished antique tables reflected the soft glow of the prism lamps lit on each table. Utterly charming, she thought, completely mesmerized by her surroundings. Detecting a tantalizing aroma, she breathed in deeply. That aroma is so familiar, she whispered. She was startled back to reality when she heard someone speaking in a strong Scottish dialect.

And a good afternoon to you, dearie, an elderly woman dressed in a Scottish tartan was saying. "Are you alone or would you be expecting someone to join you?

A depressing thought hit her. She’d had so many lately. Even though I’m married, I feel so alone. She forced a smile. No, I’m not expecting anyone.

The quaintly dressed woman led Pamela to a table. Why don’t you make yourself at home here at the Macqueen table.

Sitting down, Pamela noticed the place mats represented different clans. It smells wonderful in here. What is it?

Freshly baked scones—especially good with a wee bit of strawberry jam and clotted cream. But then I should think you would certainly be knowing how scones are served, dearie. It’s obvious from your dialect that you’re from the old country.

With a start, Pamela realized she’d been speaking with a Scottish brogue. What on earth was going on?

What part of Scotland would you be coming from, dearie?

Without hesitation, Pamela replied. The Isle of Skye.

Then you’re fortunate indeed. It’s one of the most beautiful islands in all of Scotland. Now I expect you are ready for some nourishment. I have a lovely Scottish blend, and how about some of my lovely scones?

Pamela smiled. That sounds perfect.

The kind woman with the merry blue eyes ambled towards the kitchen door.

With her mind racing and full of wonder, Pamela experienced the subtle flavor of the Scottish tea. How did she know what it tasted like? Why did she feel so warm and comfortable in this place? Why had she said she was from the Isle of Skye? She’d never heard of the place. She felt so happy and comfortable in this picturesque tearoom—as if she belonged here, but at the same time she felt perplexed and very frightened. Was her stressful marriage causing her to lose her mind?

Pamela stood at the kitchen ruminating about the unusual things that were occurring in her life. Her hand trembled slightly as she filled the teapot. A week had passed since her strange visit to the quaint Scottish tearoom, and so much had happened since then. Her upcoming appointment with Dr. Martin Bradford, a hypnotherapist, had filled her with excitement and helped fill her mind with other thoughts other than the depressing ones she’d been having concerning her impossible marriage. By using past-life regression, Dr. Bradford would hypnotize her and see if the tearoom experience had anything to do with a past-life experience. She felt sure that it did.

Her thoughts returned to Norman. She would have divorced him long ago if he had not told her he’d rather kill her than let her go. She knew he meant it. Her husband didn’t act like the same person she’d married two years ago. He’d completely changed, and her life had changed as well. She placed the teapot on the stove. Dear God, she prayed silently, please let Martha receive my message.

As if her prayer had been immediately answered, she heard the sharp ring of the doorbell. With her long blond braid bouncing, she ran to answer it. She flung the door open and exuberantly embraced her friend, Martha Johnston. Martha, it’s so good to see you, she said, laughing and hugging her.

Now that’s what I call a warm welcome, Martha answered. She stepped back. You’re still as beautiful as ever, but you’re much too thin.

You know a woman can never be too rich or thin, Pamela joked. Come on back. I’ve got the kettle on for tea. We don’t have too much time to talk. Norman arrives around five-thirty.

Martha followed Pamela into the sunny breakfast room. Tea would be great after a hard day at school. I have more than my share of rascals this year. Her smile faded. We still miss you, Pamela. And why didn’t you return my phone calls?

Phone calls?

I must have left two or three messages with Norman. Didn’t you get any of them?

Pamela let out a long sigh. No, I never got your messages, but I’m not surprised. I have so much to tell you. Pamela pointed to a cherry ladder-back chair. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be right back with the tea. It’s a Scottish blend. I think you’ll like it.

Martha raked a hand through her gray-streaked hair and lowered her plump body into the cushioned chair. She kicked off her shoes and stretched out her legs under the table and sighed. It’s so good to sit down.

Pamela quickly returned with a tray filled with two steaming cups of tea and a plate full of cookies. I’m so glad you’re here, Martha, she said, placing the tray on the table. She passed her friend a cup of tea and pushed the plate of cookies towards her. I remembered your favorite kind.

Well, so you did, and these look delicious. With an anticipatory smile, she reached for a cookie.

Pamela pulled out a chair and faced her friend. I hardly know where to begin. There are so many problems, yet something exciting has happened, too.

Martha brushed a few crumbs from her blouse. Oh? Why don’t you begin with the problems, and save the good stuff for the last.

Pamela pulled in a deep breath. Okay. Norman’s temper seems to get worse every day, and he’s become fanatically possessive. Whenever the phone rings, he grabs it and goes into another room—later, he tells me the calls are about business. But like your calls, I know some of could have been for me, but I could never prove it. I try to avoid arguments at all costs. Attempting to hold back her tears, she swallowed. Martha, I’ve felt so isolated since I’ve stopped teaching. You know I never wanted to quit, but before we married he told me we were going on long business trips to Europe. I’m sure he made that up because those trips never happened. We have no personal friends, and the only people we see are business associates at cocktail parties. If only I’d listened when you advised me not to marry him. Why couldn’t I have seen through him?"

Martha’s face creased with concern. How could you? You were in love, and I can understand why. He was charming while you were dating. And being wealthy, intelligent, and handsome didn’t hurt either! But because I wasn’t involved with him, I could detect something insidious that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I also remember how lonely you were after your parents were killed in that tragic accident. I’m sure Norman helped fill a deep void. Don’t blame yourself for marrying him, and don’t look back unless it helps you solve the immediate problem.

She smiled at her friend who seemed so wise. That’s good advice, but it’s difficult not to look back.

I know, but do try.

She fought a wave of depression as she continued. Yet in spite of everything, I feel compassion for Norman. Shortly after we married, he told me about his unusual upbringing. His wealthy and selfish mother hired a nanny for him when he was only an infant. Then as he grew older, he could only remember seeing his mother once a week. That was when she visited him in his quarters on the third floor. He said he never remembered his father coming up at all, and he was permitted downstairs only on special occasions. It sounds like he was a prisoner in his own home, doesn’t it?

Tilting her head, Martha adjusted her thick black-rimmed glasses. I do remember him mentioning something about his strange upbringing the first time I met him; just one of the reasons I didn’t want you to rush into the marriage.

Pamela nodded then continued. When he was only six, he was sent to a military school. He said he cried for weeks for his nanny, but never heard from her. He was sure his parents had something to do with his lack of communication from the kind woman he loved so dearly. She reflected for a few seconds. Though his mother sent expensive presents and a large weekly allowance, he was only allowed to come home on a few holidays.

It does sound like Norman had a terrible childhood, Martha commented, folding her arms across her ample bosom. "No wonder he’s neurotic.

It only gets worse. Norman’s brother, Steve, was born eight months after Norman started military school. On Norman’s rare holiday visits, he was treated with indifference, yet Steve was showered with love and affection.

How very strange, and how terrible it must have been for Norman.

I’m sure it was. I had such a loving relationship with my parents, it’s hard to even imagine the hurt he must have felt with all that rejection. Norman said his father never once hugged him, and when he graduated from high school only his mother attended. He went straight to college and never bothered to go home again. After college, his mother set up a large trust fund, and that’s what he used to start his business.

Martha shook her head. I wonder why his parents treated Norman with such coldness yet gave his brother love and affection? It doesn’t add up.

No, it doesn’t. He told me that he filled his lonely hours by perfecting a remarkable talent for mimicking dialects. Later, in college, he often received parts in plays that required dialects. He said he loved acting because it enabled him to become someone else.

Martha placed her cup on the saucer. A pretty sad situation. No wonder you feel sorry for him. But it still doesn’t excuse his behavior towards you.

Yes, that’s true. But after confiding in me, he never mentioned his family again until a surprising thing occurred only last month. His mother, Sylvia, called and said she wanted to see Norman. She seemed anxious to make amends for her unforgivable treatment towards him. Then she told me that her son Steve had been killed in an accident, and her husband passed away shortly after.

Martha sat up straighter. So how did Norman handle it when you told him about his mother’s call?

When I gave him the message, he flew into a rage and told me to never speak his mother’s name again. He showed no remorse over the death of his father or brother.

It’s rather chilling, isn’t it? Martha commented.

Yes. But in spite of feeling compassion for my husband, I’ve lost respect for him. He often verbally abuses me, and it’s almost impossible to please him. I don’t love him anymore, Martha. She stared into space, and her voice dropped. I’ve become very nervous around him. Once when I told him I was going to leave, he threatened to kill me. Later, he got on his knees and begged me to stay.

It greatly distresses me to hear all of this, Pamela. I do wish I could help.

You’re helping by just being here. Suddenly Pamela’s face lit up and her green eyes sparkled. But now for the exciting part. Martha, something most unusual has been happening. Would you believe—at times, I’ve been speaking with a Scottish brogue?

A Scottish brogue? Martha echoed. What on earth do you mean?

Pamela nervously fingered her spoon. "It’s so strange and confusing...okay, here goes.

I was leaving the shopping center one morning, and on my way home I noticed a Scottish tearoom. I felt compelled to go in." For the next few minutes, Pamela told Martha about her strange visit to the tearoom.

When Pamela ended her intriguing tale about her tearoom experience, she noticed her friend’s big, round eyes staring at her intently. She fervently hoped Martha wasn’t thinking she was crazy.

Good grief, Pamela, Martha exclaimed. I’m mystified. Did you tell Norman about your experience?

Pamela picked at her nails nervously. No, by the time I returned home, I’d begun to suspect it had something to do with reincarnation. I’d previously had a discussion with Norman about past lives, and he let me know very quickly that he thought it was all a bunch of crap. I wasn’t about to bring it up again. You see, I’d become familiar with the reincarnation theory because my aunt gave me a book on the subject after my parents’ deaths. After arriving home from the tearoom, I reviewed the book. The more I read, the more I was convinced that my tearoom experience had something to do with a former life.

Martha shook her head. This gets more bizarre by the minute.

Nodding in agreement, Pamela answered, It took a lot of nerve, but I made an appointment with a hypnotherapist. His name is Dr. Martin Bradford, and he’s going to regress me to see if we can solve the mystery of my Scottish brogue and tearoom incident.

Pamela, I’m afraid to think where this could lead if Norman found out you were seeing a hypnotherapist. And how are you going to pay for these sessions?

From my savings after the sale of Mom and Dad’s house. At least Norman allowed me to keep my own account after we were married.

Martha sighed then reached for Pamela’s hand and squeezed it. I can’t tell you what to do, but I can provide a place for you to stay, God forbid, if you ever need it.

Touched by her friend’s kind offer, she held back another rush of tears. Thanks, my friend, but your house would be the first place Norman would look. I’d be better off to seek a protective service. She shuddered as she envisioned herself running away from Norman and sleeping in a place with other abused women and children. I hope it won’t come to that, however.

I pray it won’t either, Martha answered quietly.

Suddenly, the front door slammed. With her heart beating rapidly, Pamela jumped to her feet. That’s Norman. I find myself bracing whenever I hear the door slam.

When Norman stalked into the room, Pamela noticed his ugly scowl. She knew there was no love lost between her friend and her husband. She clutched the folds of her shirt and prepared herself for the oncoming battle.

Hello, Martha. Have you and Pamela had fun gossiping about me this afternoon?

Ignoring his question, Martha replied pleasantly, Oh, hi, Norman. I just stopped by to see why Pamela never returned any of my calls.

Calls? Norman’s eyebrows rose a fraction. I guess I forgot to give Pamela your messages—too many things on my mind. He smirked. You know how it is with business tycoons.

No, I’m afraid I don’t, Martha answered tersely. Teachers don’t exactly fit the business tycoon description. She turned towards Pamela. It’s been great seeing you again, Pamela. Please stay in touch. Everyone at school still misses you. Maybe you could drop by for a visit one day soon. Lunch hour is still twelve-thirty, and the aids do lunch room duty so we can eat in the workroom in peace and quiet.

Pamela has enough to do keeping up this large house and looking after my needs, Norman snapped. She doesn’t have time to visit.

I see. Martha glanced at Pamela quickly and then at her watch. "Time for me to go.

She could feel her face flushing with shame and embarrassment. I’ll walk you to your car, Martha, she said, starting for the door.

When the two friends disappeared, Norman, still scowling, entered the kitchen. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Scotch.

Outside, Pamela waved to Martha then walked slowly back towards the house, deep in thought. Her conversation with Martha still played through her mind.

When she opened the front door, she had a sudden desire to turn around and run. But where would she run? She wished she were almost anywhere else. But at least she’d be seeing Dr. Bradford in the morning. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. This must be the way soldiers feel when they go to war, she thought dejectedly. Yet one never knew with Norman. He might even be charming and sweet by the time she went back inside. But she doubted it. She doubted it very much.

At dinner, Norman was in a surly mood. What did you and Martha talk about this afternoon? He cut into his braised lamb with a vengeance.

Oh, just girl talk. Martha wanted to know what we did, since no one sees us anymore. She picked up her wineglass and took a large sip.

Norman shot Pamela a mean look. She wanted to know what we did, huh? And I guess you whined and complained the whole time.

Pamela toyed with her fork. Why do you dislike Martha so much, Norman?

Don’t change the subject, Pamela, Norman replied, his voice rising. You probably didn’t tell her that we attend a cocktail party every week and dine at one of Boston’s finest restaurants at least two times a week.

Suddenly, Pamela lapsed into her Scottish brogue. The cocktail parties are for business reasons, Norman, and we never go with anyone to dinner. I miss my friends."

Anger was bubbling in his gut, and he felt his muscles tensing. What in hell was going on? Why are you talking with a Scottish accent? Remember? I’m the expert on dialects! Are you trying to be funny?

Pamela inhaled and then spoke slowly. No, I’m not trying to be funny, Norman. When I get nervous, I guess I talk strangely sometimes.

Since when? And why are you nervous?

You make me nervous when you yell at me.

So I make you nervous. Norman stood, almost knocking over his chair. He was proud of the way he kept his voice calm and succinct. Since I make you so nervous, my dear wife, I’ll leave you alone. This dinner is terrible anyway. You should spend more time preparing meals instead of wasting your time talking to nosy people.

He could see her pressing her lips together, probably to keep from crying. What was it with women anyhow? Why did they have to be such crybabies? If she thought tears would make him apologize, she’d better think again. He stalked out of the room and up the stairs.

He entered the huge bedroom, slamming the door behind him. After returning from their honeymoon, he’d made a nightly check of Pamela’s purse. This was usually done while she was washing the dishes or taking a shower. He emptied the purse onto the bed and picked up an appointment card from her hair stylist. Frosting, nine o’clock on Wednesday, he mumbled. He noticed that she’d written something else on the bottom of the card. Dr. Martin Bradford—eleven-thirty, he muttered. Who the hell is Dr. Bradford? Why didn’t she tell me she was going to a doctor? I know she can’t be pregnant. At least she’s not pregnant by me; we’ve been too careful. He felt his blood pumping through his veins. If it’s someone else, I’ll kill them both. No, this doctor could be a shrink. She acted very strangely tonight, speaking in that ridiculous accent. He placed the card carefully back into her purse. Tomorrow he’d find out about this Dr. Bradford, and it had better be good. He didn’t like her keeping secrets from him.

He quickly disrobed and jumped into the shower. The hot water relaxed his tight muscles but did nothing for his anger. He visualized Pamela and Martha discussing him, and his fury mounted with every imagined scene. Then as suddenly as his anger had come, it evaporated as his thoughts shifted to Pamela’s beautiful body. He’d make love to her then she’d quickly forget Martha’s visit.

He whistled as he soaped his firm, muscular body and fantasized making love to his gorgeous wife.

He stepped out of the shower and gazed at his tall, perfectly proportioned body reflected in the mirror—brown curly hair; deep brown eyes; and a flawless, tanned complexion. Not bad, he bragged to his smiling image. My beautiful wife could never leave me. And I’m rich, too!

After wrapping a towel around his waist, he strutted through the bedroom and opened the door he’d previous slammed. He turned off the television and switched on the stereo. Soft music flooded the room as he pulled back the coverlet. He got into bed, closed his eyes, and smiled with anticipation.

Norman was dozing when Pamela entered the bedroom. He opened his eyes and glanced at the clock. It had been two hours since he’d stalked up the stairs. He supposed Pamela had stayed away from him on purpose, waiting for him to cool down. Well, he’d cooled down all right, but now it was time to warm up again.

Hi, my pretty one, he said, smiling sweetly and patting the bed. Hurry and get in beside me. I’ve missed you.

He watched Pamela, who had not said a word, slowly undress. He was fully aroused when she got into bed, and he reached for her. Kissing her passionately while his hands explored and caressed her, he whispered, Pamela, I love you so much. You are my life. Please don’t ever think of leaving me. He realized that Pamela was totally unresponsive, but he paid no attention. He entered her slowly, and when he felt his release, his tension finally dissipated—at least for the moment.

Later, when he turned over, he felt tears stinging his eyes. He wiped them quickly with the sheet, not wanting Pamela to see them. Everybody has always deserted me but not Pamela. I won’t let her. He pushed back the threatening thoughts of his sad and lonely childhood and fell quickly into a restless sleep.

The next morning, Pamela woke up thinking how Norman’s sudden mood swings seemed to be occurring more frequently. The first few months of their marriage had been happy. Then he’d begun to display anger and possessiveness. He’d flare up over nothing and then change abruptly into sweetness and gentleness—begging her not to leave him. Later, he’d shower her with gifts and flowers. The first time his ugly mood emerged, she thought he’d lost his temper because of stress. Owning a highly successful computer firm and working diligently could take its toll on anyone. Then he began to explode more frequently and slowly pulled Pamela away from her friends. As he became more demanding and domineering, she became more frightened. When he confided his strange and sad childhood, she suspected his explosive and possessive behavior had been rooted in his upbringing. Though she hadn’t wanted to make love last evening, she did feel relieved at his mood shift. And she’d dared not provoke him by refusing his advances. Almost anything was better than enduring his anger. Her thoughts settled on Dr. Bradford, and she smiled as she thought of her impending appointment with him. When she heard Norman running the water in the bathroom, she jumped out of bed and reached for her silk wraparound. She’d better get downstairs and start making breakfast.

While Pamela poured Norman’s coffee, she hummed softly to herself.

My, my, you certainly seem happy this morning, Norman commented. Are you doing anything special today?

I’m having my hair frosted, Pamela said, realizing that she’d better be careful not to express her elevated mood. She quickly changed the subject. Aren’t you meeting with the Treelax people today?

He placed his coffee mug on the table. Yes. Guess I’d better leave a bit early. I need to review my notes again. The meeting’s scheduled for eight but shouldn’t take too long. The paper work has been completed already.

Relieved, Pamela picked up Norman’s empty cup. Guess you won’t have time for more coffee.

No. He pushed his chair away from the table and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Suddenly, he grabbed her and squeezed her tightly. I love you so much, Pamela, he said fervently. He released her as quickly as he’d grabbed her and walked to the door. Turning, he blew her a kiss. You know I couldn’t live without you, my darling."

After he left, she stared resolutely at the door.