Cries from the Lost Island - Kathleen O'Neal Gear Page 0,2

extol the history she had supposedly lived. It was all mythic, larger-than-life, and utterly amazing. I so longed to step into her memories that I only felt truly alive when her soft lilting voice was guiding me into the past to walk the streets of Alexandria—a vision of gleaming white marble with the famed lighthouse soaring four hundred feet above the ocean waves in the distance.

Someday, we’re going to Egypt together. To prepare me, she’s been teaching me Egyptian, as well as ancient Greek and Latin, and she’s promised to show me where Antonius is buried. That’s really important, because no one knows where either of them is buried. Their true graves have never been found.

I rolled to my side and propped my head on my hand. “But Cicero was one of the greatest orators in history.”

Cleo reached out to gently touch my cheek and stare into my eyes. Her smile melted my heart. “He was, Hal, that’s what made him so dangerous. People listened to him.”

“People like Octavian?”

“I knew no one of that name.” She lowered her hand, and examined the bust of young Octavian on the map. Her delicate black brows drew together. “After the death of my lover, Julius Caesar, the man you call Octavian was called Gaius Julius Caesar, because Julius had adopted him in his will. I knew him as little Gaius.” Venom filled her voice.

I protested, “But all my history books call him Octavian.”

“Yes. They’re wrong.” It was a calm statement of fact.

Determined to prove her wrong, I got up and went to my bookshelf to pull down my encyclopedia, whereupon I discovered she was right. Octavian came from his name, Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus. “Octavian” was actually . . .

There was a sharp knock on my closed door. “Hal? I need to speak to you,” my father called.

“Just a minute, Dad.”

My parents were experts at keeping me and Cleo apart. They constantly pushed me to date other girls, but I refused. Who needed to date when the reincarnated Queen of Egypt was in my bedroom staring at me with adoring green eyes?

Not only that, I had dirty blond hair, was overweight, and had a hooked nose that resembled an oversize eagle’s beak. Plus, I was completely incapable of “small talk.” I didn’t know the latest movies, music, or celebrities, and I routinely bored girls to tears talking about dead people they’d never heard of. Not exactly the kind of boy that girls line up to date.

Quietly, Cleo said, “Your father wants me to leave, Hal. I’ll be waiting on our bench. Come soon?”

“See you in fifteen.” Our bench was in front of the local Starbucks.

“Excuse me,” My father said as he rudely shoved open my door. “Cleo, I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to leave. Hal has other obligations today.”

I said, “What?”

Cleo grabbed her canvas shoulder bag and hurried toward him, politely saying, “I had a lovely time today, Mr. Stevens. Thank you for letting me come over. Goodbye.”

She veered wide around my father, and her hurt expression broke my heart.

I glared at him. “What is it, Dad?”

Despite the fact that it was a weekend, my father was dressed in a starched white shirt and tan trousers, his blond hair greased and combed with the precision of a Greek statue. He was a high school English teacher, and looked it.

“Please, come into the kitchen, son. We need to talk.” He turned and disappeared.

I didn’t follow him because I was seething.

Ten minutes later, when I finally deigned to enter the kitchen, I found my father sitting erect at the table with his hands folded neatly in his lap. Trim and athletic, he had an annoyed look on his face. In clipped tones, he said, “You are aware, I assume, that there’s no such thing as former lives?”

“Really? How do you know?”

“Don’t use that tone with me, Hal. I’m on your side, but we need to have a realistic conversation about Cleo. I know you like her—”

“I love her, Dad.”

He gave me one of those narrow-eyed looks. “Look, hands down, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to Cleo, and we want her to get well, but she is not mentally stable. It worries us that you spend every free moment with her.”

“I’m fine, Dad. Now, I got to go. I got plans.” I started for the front door.

“Come back here. Please, sit down?” he asked. “Let me finish.”

“I promised Roberto I’d be at his house at three! He has the second edition