Immortal Souls: Phoenix Always

The Romani Journey

He stands on the top step of the stairs between the square and the camp with his hands stuffed into the pockets of a black leather duster. And he's alone there.

Alone as in there's a ten-foot radius of empty space around him. Like I'm not the only person whose instincts say to get away from him. On the other hand, no one appears to acknowledge him either.

"Brian will be relieved that we at least know what happened to her." Amber's mention of my once nephew's name tears my attention away from the man.

"What?"

Amber pulls a mini pack of tissues out of her purse. "All of my Aunt Phoenix's brothers and sisters have passed away, so her oldest nephew has been carrying on the family search for her. He'll be happy to hear our news."

"Oh."

Why would they have been carrying on a search for me when they had me declared dead? I'm guessing greed. With their parents dead, they couldn't legally claim my part of the inheritance unless I was "dead" too. Am I an awful person because that's what I think about rather than feeling sorrow that all of my former siblings are dead or joy because they never stopped looking for me? I didn't love them, nor did I care about them, but it appears they loved me despite their snobbery and greed. I should feel something, but I don't.

I finger the phoenix around my neck and dart a glance back to the stairs. He remains as still as a statue, watching me. To hell with it. I'm going to confront him. "I'm sorry, I have to—"

Charlotte stumbling toward me cuts me off. "Phoenix never had children, but your eyes are the same." One cold hand cups my left cheek and the other grips my right arm.

I swallow back the knot in my throat. "How?"

"They're haunted," she whispers. "Haunted by the ghosts of a thousand souls that can never rest."

The cold of her hands seeps into my bone marrow. Charlotte had been saying that to me since we were her granddaughter's age. Sometimes I thought I could confide in her, that she could accept the truth. But I was never brave enough.

My first few lives from 1100 to 1177, I was terribly confused and distraught over what was happening to me—no one had provided me with a warning or instruction manual, after all—and I told people. Most of them didn't believe me. They laughed at me and never took me seriously again. Some locked me up or called me possessed and "performed" various versions of exorcisms on me. No one hurt me, of course, but I went along with it and pretended to be "healed." Then I would die and find myself being born once again... The first hundred years of this cycle was traumatic to say the least, but I figured it out, and I never told anyone again.

"You're an old soul, just like my Phoenix." Charlotte pats my cheek and drops her hands, but her eyes retain a knowing glint.

"My parents say the same thing." But they and Charlotte mean it in two different ways, I know. On impulse, I wrap my arms around her fragile shoulders. Maybe Charlotte was the one person I could have confided in, but that ship has sailed.

She isn't the least bit surprised by my hug and returns it with all the strength she can muster. It isn't much. "May this life be a happy one," she whispers so that only I can hear.

Perhaps I did just confide in her.

I release Charlotte, and Amber grasps her shoulders. "Let's get you back to the hotel so you can rest, Mom." Tears continue streaming down her cheeks, but she's smiling. "Thank you, Phoenix."

I can't speak, so I nod and wave as I wipe my cheeks—still cold from Charlotte's touch.

The women and the girl wave back and say goodbye, then slowly amble off. It's just like Charlotte to refuse to use a wheelchair or even a cane as long as her legs will still work without help. But she's struggling. It's difficult to watch.