“One thousand lifetimes with her and your daughter wiped out because in the one
life that became fixed, your meeting never happened.”
William’s jaw dropped.
“She went to bed a mother one night and the next morning, she was a single art
teacher. New memories filled her head. Her life nothing but a rough draft that is
constantly being rewritten.”
He remembered Casey kneeling next to him, saying he had forgotten about May. He now
realized that was their daughter’s name. He tried to picture her, but the image
wouldn’t come. A tear rolled down his cheek.
“She had her child wiped from existence. And since she has only had the one story,
the changes affect her more than they do with people who have Apoka points.
Sometimes it’s subtle. Sometimes, it's only dreams. Sometimes, the person creates
art or writes a book and the previous lives flow out of them through that.”
William remembered Casey telling him about her dreams.
“You aren’t a creative person,” the clerk told him. “You may have had a dream or
two. Not sure how to interpret it. You don’t express yourself but maybe you had one
thing.”
The clerk sat silently for a moment.
“Maybe there was one thing, a small echo of previous lives that carried over from
one life to the next.” The clerk smiled. “Something you did. Subconsciously trying
to reach out to her.”
“You never actually remember her. But she.” The clerk paused. “She seems to be
pulled toward you. Every life you have lived and died in.”
The clerk finished with the last of the papers on his desk, his eyes met William’s
for the second time during their conversation.