C. Omololu - Intuition

To my parents, who taught me how to listen

The best part about being Akhet is that you remember everything. The worst part is that you forget nothing.

Every day I remember more about the other lives Ive livedas a lady in England in the sixteenth century and as an Italian cellist in the nineteenthbut theres nowhere Id rather be than right here, sitting on the back of Griffons motorcycle, my arms around his waist, holding him so close I can feel his muscles shift as he kicks the bike into gear. I press myself into the back of his worn leather jacket as we cut through the wind over the blur of asphalt on the Great Highway, the sun glinting off the waves to our right, the dunes leading into Golden Gate Park on our left.

Peering around his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Griffons eyes in the rearview mirror, and I can tell hes smiling even though the rest of his face is hidden by the helmet. As he turns his head, I can see the very edge of the scar on his cheek, and it sends a shiver of regret through me. The mark is finally fading, but even if it disappears completely, Ill always know what happened and how close I came to losing all of this.

We stop for a light and Griffon puts both feet solidly on the ground to steady us, reaching down with his hand to give mine a squeeze, the Akhet vibrations between us whenever were close now just a normal part of our relationship. Its these little moments of connection that I love the mosta casual touch on my arm or the way he grabs my hand when were crossing the street. The almost unnoticeable gestures that tell the world were together. As the light changes, Griffon puts the bike in gear and I tighten my grip on his waist as we surge forward, enjoying the comfort of knowing Griffon would do anything to keep me safe.

As we approach the turnoff to the zoo, bright triangles of color pop against the blue sky up ahead. Dad used to bring me out here to watch the hang gliders when I was little, and every time one of them leaped off the edge of the beach cliff, a scream would catch in my throat in that split second before the wind tossed them high into the sky. Now for the first time I get what that thrill must feel like. As the bike glides along the asphalt, I understand how it feels to let everything go, to trust in something greater than yourself and allow the rhythm and the motion to carry you away.

We pull into the zoo parking lot and Griffon holds the bike steady so I can slide off. I put my hand up to check my ankh necklace, more out of habit than anything else; it was almost four centuries before it was given back to me, and Im terrified of losing it again. Mine is bright silver with a dark red ruby, while the ankh Griffon keeps tucked into his shirt is plain bronze on a thick black cord. Despite the differences, the meanings of both are the sameeternal life.

As Griffon secures the bike, I glance up at an ancient pink building on the other side of a chain-link fence. As soon as I see the intricate plasterwork over the three doors that face us, a tremor of recognition sends a jolt through me. Despite the fact that I dont remember it, I know Ive been in there before.

I loop my fingers through the wire diamonds of the fencing and try to get a better look. The buildings old and obviously abandoned, with different colored paint patches where someone has tried to cover years of graffiti. I close my eyes, trying to prepare myself for the worst, but Im not pulled into a memory this timeits just images and feelings floating through my mind. The anxiety in my chest eases as I realize that Im not going to be thrown out of my present into another time and place. Not knowing when the blackouts are going to happen has been the hardest part of becoming Akhet.

Looking around, I can sense that at one point there was water here, lots of waternot the ocean, but something that feels almost as big. In my mind I can hear happy squeals and the sounds of splashing. I picture people in bathing suits that go down to their knees, still wearing stockings and tall, lace-up boots.

Griffons fingers wrap around mine. What is it? he asks, standing behind me at the fence and glancing up at the decrepit building. He bends down and kisses me lightly on the back of my neck, and I shiver. Ill never get tired of the sensation of his lips on my skin.

I blink a few times to shake the rest of the memory out of my mind. Im not sure. I remember water here . . . a lake or something.

Without any explanation, Griffon understands that what Im talking about wasnt just years ago, but decades. Centuries even. Maybe you came here when you were visiting with the orchestra that time. That would have been the late eighteen hundreds, right?

Eighteen-ninety-five, I say. That was the date on the newspaper articles about Alessandras death.

A golf cart approaches and we turn to see an old guy in a khaki zoo uniform watching us. Can I help you with anything?

Maybe, Griffon says. What was this building?

The guy squints up at the crumbling carvings and peeling paint. The old pool house, he says, frowning. Its a crying shame whats happened to it over the years. Back in the day it was beautiful.

So there was a pool here? I ask, a little confused. What I felt seemed like more than just a pool.

He gestures toward the cars. Only the biggest one in North America. Ran the whole length of the parking lota thousand feet and then some. They say you could even see it from space.

That makes much more sense. The biggest pool in North America would just about fit.

Griffon glances at me, but neither of us is surprised. When it comes to places weve been to in the past, Akhet are never wrong. When was that? he asks.

The old guy scratches his head. Lets see. I think the pool opened sometime in the late eighteen hundreds. Filled with water from the ocean, but heated tooamazing technology for the time. I swam here as a really little kid, so they must have closed it in 70, maybe 71. They paved it over to make the parking lot a few years back.

The late 1800s. I look back at the faded pink facade, the sounds of laughter and splashing water still echoing in my ears as the man drives away. It is a shame.

Griffon smiles sadly at me as we turn and walk toward the zoo entrance. He takes my hand, but doesnt say anything. He must go through this all the timeseeing something from his past thats now old and decayed, the echoes of the lives that experienced it still faint in his ears. I wonder if you ever get used to it. Griffon squeezes my left hand gently, careful to avoid the fingers that are still numb from the accident. I love seeing our hands together, his dark skin against mine more of a complement than a contrast. Ive got this, he says, reaching for his wallet as we approach the ticket window.

No way, I insist. Rayne and I come here the first weekend of summer every year. This is our tradition, not yours, so I pay this time.

Griffon hesitates, but I stare him down. Okay, he says. This time. He looks around the entrance. Where are we supposed to meet them?

I pull my phone out of my pocket. I got a text from Rayne while we were riding. She and Peter are heading for the bears; theyll meet us there.

I lean into Griffon as we walk through the front gates, still amazed at the way everything turned out. Im so glad you introduced them. Rayne deserves someone good. I feel almost possessive as I look up at himhis beautiful lips with the inviting curve at the top and amber eyes that give just a hint of the abilities that lie behind them. Its impossible to imagine my life without him in it. And this way I get to hang out with both of you, and everyones happy.