Remembering & Recognition

Brian couldn't help thinking that there was something about her that was familiar. He felt like he knew her from somewhere, but he couldn’t put a finger on it.

One thing was for sure: there was no way Brian believed in reincarnation. That was just crazy.

The only explanation was that he must know her from somewhere, somehow. And she wanted to get to know him better, so she had concocted this elaborate story.

200 years, yeah right, he chuckled to himself. She must know someone from his family, someone who could tell her about the birthmark, and about where he lived.

Heck, she probably did this to tons of guys.Brian wondered if any of them ever fell for it, and he almost laughed out loud at the thought of it. But then he remembered hearing her voice, clear as a bell, inside his head. I can see you’re starting to remember me now...

He shuddered, cold suddenly. His mind, usually so good at finding logical, rational explanations for things, drew a blank. Could she be psychic? Just then the phone rang. Brian hesitated for just a second before picking up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Brian, do you plan on coming to work today? We have a meeting at 10. Or did you forget?"

His boss. Oh God... Brian looked at the clock. 9:34. He was supposed to have been there over thirty minutes ago.

"Yeah, boss, I’m sorry. I, uh, overslept. I’ll be right over."

"Get your ass over here, Brian. And for Christ’s sake, don’t take a cab. You know how traffic is at this time. Hurry up!"

With a half-mumbled expletive and a click, his boss hung up. Brian made a mad dash for the shower, and ten minutes later he was out the door, all memory of the morning’s events forgotten.

The crowds in the subway weren’t as bad as Brian expected and he was able to make it to work in record time. He was just sitting down in his office at 9:56 when his secretary, Darlene, walked in, teetering on lipstick red stilettos.

"Your messages, Mr. Finley."

"Thanks, Darlene."

Brian had three missed calls from a Mr. Henry Davenport re: Madeline. Brian reread the message slips, incredulous.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Finley?"

"Mr. Finley?"

Brian realized that Darlene was staring at him with concern. He cleared his throat.

"No, nothing is wrong, Darlene. It’s that I just realized I haven’t had any coffee this morning. You know how I get when I don’t get my daily fix."

Darlene giggled in a schoolgirlish way and went teetering off to the kitchen to dutifully brew Brian a pot of coffee. Brian looked at the message slips again. Who was this Henry Davenport? Was this the same Henry Madeline had mentioned this morning? If Madeline was even her real name. Brian was sure of nothing at this point. Did this morning’s events even happen?

Fragments of last night’s dream came to him suddenly, unbidden. He was walking in a forest where everything was colorless, lifeless. Everything except for the nearby stream, its blue waters beckoning him. And a voice shouting out his name, only it wasn’t his name. David!

The End

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