The Secret Language of Stones by M. J. Rose

Author:M. J. Rose
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books

Chapter 15

Once I’d recovered from my fainting spell, Anna made me tea laced with cognac and lavender honey and served me little Russian tea cakes her cousin had left for us and insisted I try to eat. But I couldn’t. She sat with me and encouraged me, but all I could do was cry. My tears of frustration flowed freely, and she tried her best to comfort me, but I was inconsolable. I’d put so much faith into our session. I’d expected to walk away with the ability to be in control. Instead, nothing had changed. I’d only learned that if I tried to close the portal, I might never be able to open it again.

“It’s a gift,” Anna said, smoothing down my hair. “And you need to embrace it and trust we will find a way to help you live with it.”

“It’s not a gift,” I insisted. “It’s a nightmare.”

“Part of the secret to being able to control it is not being so frightened of it . . . not hating this ability quite so much.”

“Anna, the war is right inside my mind. I hear these men who have died. Some are still caught up in their pain, haven’t forgotten it yet, are traumatized by it. Others are so worried about those they are leaving behind, they can’t sever the connection. Lost, missing their families, they are in some terrible limbo.”

“But they don’t stay there, do they?”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s agree you are receiving messages the soldiers leave in the passage vortex between life and death. That these final thoughts linger in some kind of psychic tunnel waiting for you to retrieve them so the soldiers can take their last step out of this realm.”

“Yes, fine.”

“And once you listen to the messages and pass them on, the soldiers move on?”

I nodded.

“So if you focused on that, maybe you would be more accepting. After all, none of them stay with you, do they? Once you give a mother or sister or wife her talisman, that soldier’s voice is gone, isn’t it?”

“Yes . . .” I wanted to tell her about Jean Luc, but something stopped me.

She didn’t notice my hesitation.

“So your actions relieve them of all their pain and suffering. You unhaunt them, if you will. Do you see?”

I nodded.

“That’s why it’s a gift. You give them the permission they need to move past the pain and step into the light.”

“And if I were to keep hearing a voice, what would that mean?”

“I’m not sure. Has that happened?”

If I told her about Jean Luc, would she think there was in fact something wrong with my mind? That I was making him up? What if she called my mother in Cannes and my parents came to get me? Would Jean Luc come with me? What of my work at the shop? The help I was giving the women who came to see me? Could I abandon them?

“No, it hasn’t,” I lied.

“So if you look at the process this way, wouldn’t the burden feel less onerous?”

“I suppose.

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