Chapter 3
Juliette awoke to the most beautiful melody in a man’s deep, soulful voice. The house was silent, yet the song surrounded her. As she opened her eyes fully, sitting up on the bed, a strange mist swirled in front of her.
“Helene,” it whispered. The voice pulled her from her dreams. Or maybe not. Damn, she must still be dreaming. She must have spent a few too many hours remembering those childhood fairy tales. That was all she could think to explain these dreams. Juliette rubbed her eyes, but yet, the mist remained. The haunting song still played for her.
“Hello?” she called out. Maybe it was Tammany and another of her dang pranks. But, as she sat, the mist began to take shape of a man. A ghost? Long dark blonde hair was pulled back and held by a ribbon. He wore some kind of antique clothing that reminded her of the art framed in Dr. Benoit’s office. But it was those eyes, the ones she saw in her dream, the ones pulling her to him. This couldn’t be happening though. Ghosts? Really? While she loved those old stories, she’d never bought into the lore or believed in ghosts. But if not that, then what? Swirling mists, a man in his confederate uniform, the song. What the hell was going on?
“Helene. You must remember. You must remember.”
Under her breath she muttered, “Oh, my God. It talks. This is so not happening.” And now he was three steps closer to her, almost at the edge of the bed. Somehow, though, she was calm, not frightened. “I’m not Helene. I’m Juliette. Helene was my great great something. An ancestor, but it’s not me.”
The form floated above her, and she almost reached out to touch him, but curled her hands at her side instead as he spoke. “Helene, you have to remember. We have found each other again, in another lifetime. Our song will bring us together. It’s time, time for the two of us to finally be together.”
In a blink, he was gone. The mist, the man, nothing remained, but a cold chill. Juliette shivered. She tried rubbing her eyes again, blinking rapidly. After a few minutes, she was able to convince herself that she’d been dreaming. There’d been no man, no mist, no talk of finding one another. Just a dream that seemed very real. Too real.
She flipped the blanket back and poked through her bag for shower gel and shampoo. Maybe a few minutes under a steamy spray would clear her thoughts. But as she walked from her bag to the bathroom, she stopped at the window.
“Woah.” Who the hell was that? Handsome in ways she had only imagined, a man was mowing the lawn. She had grown up in the company of people hired to tend to the house, the lawn, Juliette’s every whim, and never before had she noticed that they were real people, people with families or stories of their own. People with rippling abs. Shocks of blondish hair. A line of sweat trickling down his broad chest. And tattoos. Oh, the lovely works of art decorating his body. She hadn’t noticed before, but she damned sure was now. He paced back and forth the expanse of lawn, behind him, the waves crashed onto the beach from the lake, fed by the Ocean.
“My love, she said
We will meet once again.
Where the water rushes into,
And then falls away from the land.
The spray of surf
And whispering winds
Caress her cheek
She kisses him
The failing moonlight
Dims the face
He has her heart
And clings to fate
Where the Spanish Moss
Floats on the air
We will meet
Once again.”
Was he singing? She couldn’t see his lips moving from up on the second floor. But the words called to her, pulling her to him. She moved back, dropping her things. She burst from the room, clambering down the stairs. At the bottom, she followed the halls, seeking the back patio. At the large glass doors, Juliette paused again.
She still heard the haunting words of the song over the loud whirring of the mower motor. From her spot, she had a view of him and he wasn’t singing. His lips were still. But she had to get to him, see him for herself. Before she could move, a hand on her shoulder startled Juliette.
“Juliette,” Mr. Benoit said as she turned to him, her eyes straying to the landscaper as he continued. “I was sorry to hear about your father and his troubles.” He moved to her side, also looking out the door.
“Who is that?” she asked the men beside her.
“Just some boy from the swamps. He’s cheaper than the other landscaping companies we found and works hard.”
She recognized his tone—the one that said the boy on the mower didn’t matter, would never matter in their world. Had she treated people that way before? She would make amends later. She couldn’t think about it now. Not with the words to the song still rolling around in her head.
Mr. Benoit tugged her from the window, but she strained, stretched until she couldn’t see the man on the mower any longer. Sighing, she gave up, allowing herself to be pulled along. Mr. Benoit led her to the sitting room, where he asked questions about her father and how things were going. She was unable to answer many of them, due to having been shocked by what happened, and then her nap.
“Is Tam home yet?” she asked. He shook his head, looking down at his phone when it pinged. “Well, I’m going to freshen up before dinner,” she said, quietly leaving the room, while the man, much like her father had, lost himself in work.
At each window she passed, she hoped for another glance of the man, whoever he was. She finally reached the guest room, and even after a diligent search of the corners of the grounds, could not find him outside anymore. As she climbed into the shower, she began humming, the words to the song still haunting her head. She needed a beach. The Gulf air always made her feel better. She quickly showered and changed, packing an overnight bag. Quickly sending a text to let Tam know where she was, Juliette jumped into her car and headed out.