The tone shifted.
"There is something that belongs to me, Simon Brice."
The name was spoken slowly.
"Return it."
Brice lifted his head.
"Who… are you?"
The answer came without haste.
"The questions are mine."
A faint tremor passed through the young woman's body.
"We had an agreement," the voice continued. "And it was broken."
The air grew warmer.
"That night…" a whisper, "would have been memorable."
A long pause.
"Since then… I have searched."
There was something more in the voice now.
Not anger.
Persistence.
"It does not matter where they hide. It does not matter how much time passes. I find them."
The heat intensified.
Brice struggled to breathe.
Smoke.
He saw it.
Or believed he did.
Flickering shadows on the walls, like reflections of flames that were not there.
The screams returned.
Closer.
Clearer.
He fell to his knees.
And, for an instant—only one—he saw.
Horses.
A carriage.
Two young women.
Identical.
One struggling.
The other… watching.
Then, nothing.
When he opened his eyes, the light was different.
Clear. Excessive.
The ceiling was not the same.
Brice blinked, trying to gather the fragments.
He was lying down.
Without shoes.
Without his tie.
Beside him, seated, Heinforth watched him.
"Where… am I?"
His voice emerged weaker than he had expected.
"In safety," the other replied. "We brought you to another property."
"A hospital?"
"No."
A brief pause.
"How do you feel?"
Brice raised a hand to his forehead.
"Strange. As though I had… forgotten something important."
Heinforth leaned slightly forward.
"You fainted. About forty minutes."
Silence.
"Can you remember anything?"
Brice closed his eyes.
"Smoke… screams…" He drew a deep breath. "It makes no sense."
He opened them again.
"Was that… hypnosis?"
Heinforth held his gaze.
"If you prefer to call it that."
"No." Brice sat up abruptly. "It was not that."
A pause.
"It was… too real."
He stood, unsteady.
"We need to go back."
"Not yet."
The answer came gently.
"Only when we are called."
Brice ran a hand over his face.
"I saw things…" he murmured, "but I cannot organize them."
Heinforth watched him.
"Then tell me what you can."
Brice hesitated.
"There were two young women…"
He stopped.
"And fire."
Silence.
"A great deal of fire."
Heinforth did not reply.
And for a brief instant, it seemed that he already knew.
Brice remained silent for a few moments, as though he feared that by arranging the memories, something within them would be lost—or worse, something more would be revealed.
"There was a fire…" he said at last, slowly. "Not an ordinary fire. It was… deliberate." He pressed his hand lightly against his forehead. "And although I cannot explain why, I had the impression that I was in Paris. During the Revolution."
He closed his eyes.
"It was not this house. Not this country." A pause. "It was night. There was a moon… very bright. And a mansion. Large. In front of it, a lake."
Heinforth did not interrupt.
"People gathered," Brice continued. "Well dressed. Important." He hesitated. "It seemed… a celebration. Perhaps a wedding."
His eyes opened again, more focused now.
"Two young women," he said. "Very similar. I do not know if they were sisters… or something else. One of them… was dressed as a bride."
The silence lengthened.
"And then…" his voice lost its firmness, "another image. I do not know whether it came before or after. Perhaps at the same time." He drew a breath. "An execution."
Heinforth leaned slightly forward.
"A blade. I cannot be certain. A sword… an axe… or…" he faltered, "a guillotine."
The word fell heavily.
"It was…" he searched for the expression, "inevitable. As though everyone knew it would happen, yet no one could prevent it."
Brice brought a hand to his face.
"And there was something else," he murmured. "A man working… a craftsman." His gaze drifted for a moment. "He was shaping something. A chalice."
His breathing slowed.
"Of gold. But…" he hesitated, "there was something wrong. Its form resembled a skull."
Silence.
"I do not know what any of this means," he concluded, with quiet fatigue. "Nor why… it seemed to concern me."
Heinforth remained still for several seconds. There was something in his expression approaching astonishment—yet carefully restrained, as though he were not permitted to surrender to it fully.
"I confess," he said at last, "that I had hoped for answers."
A pause.
"But perhaps…" his eyes now shone with a new intensity, "perhaps you have given us something more valuable than that."
Brice frowned slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"A path."
The word was spoken with a conviction that admitted no dispute.
"For all these years," Heinforth continued, "we have sought solutions in every possible direction. Science, religion, medicine… even that which we would rather not name." He made a faint gesture with his hand. "And, curiously, it is precisely the most… uncomfortable hypothesis that has proven the most persistent."
Brice watched him closely.
"The possibility that all of this," he went on, "is connected to a prior event. Not merely remote… but prior in another sense."
"Reincarnation," Brice said, almost automatically.
"Yes."
The silence that followed was not one of agreement, but of recognition.
Brice looked away.
"I cannot accept that easily," he said. "Even though…" he hesitated, "even though what I experienced renders the idea… less absurd than it ought to be."
There was something honest in that.
"But still," he continued, "it does not seem to me that we are dealing with something resolved in the past. There is… a presence." His voice lowered. "Something acting now."
He raised his eyes.
"And it recognizes me."
Heinforth did not waver.
"In my opinion, Professor, what occurred to you was one of two things," he said calmly. "Either you accessed memories that do not belong solely to this life… or you were led to them."
Brice gave a faint, humorless laugh.
"I prefer to believe that I was influenced," he said. "That voice…" he hesitated, "it was not merely speaking to me. It was… inside."
A pause.
"And there was something… familiar about it."
The silence deepened.
"Familiar?" Heinforth repeated, with renewed interest.
"Yes," Brice replied. "As though I had heard it before. I do not recall where… but there was recognition."
He drew a breath.
"And… an attraction."
The word seemed to surprise him.
"Not exactly desire. But… an inclination. As though part of me… agreed."
Heinforth watched him with heightened attention.
"Tell me," Brice added, "what happened after I lost consciousness?"
The host took a moment before answering, as though reviewing each detail in his mind.
"After you collapsed," he said, "Brenda stood."
His voice grew lower.
"Not like someone awakening… but like something deciding to move."
Brice remained still.
"I thought to approach," Heinforth continued, "but I was prevented." His eyes hardened slightly. "She ordered me to step back."
"With that voice?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"Then she walked toward you."
"Walked…?"
"In a manner…" he searched for the word, "improper. There was no harmony in the movements. And yet, there was rhythm."
A faint chill passed through Brice.
"In one of her hands…" he continued, "she seemed to conceal something."
Silence.
"She lay upon your body."
Brice closed his eyes for a moment.
"I thought she would…" Heinforth broke off, with a trace of discomfort, "kiss you."
A pause.
"But no. She merely leaned close to your ear and whispered."
"What?"
"I could not hear."
The silence stretched.
"And then…" he said at last, "something changed."
His voice softened.
"She returned."
Brice opened his eyes.
"Returned?"
"Yes. For a moment… she was once again our daughter."
There was something painful in the way he said it.
"She was crying. Softly," he continued. "And then… she spoke your name."
Brice felt his heart quicken.
"She asked for help."
The sentence was simple.
But final.
"'Brice… please… help me,'" Heinforth repeated, almost in a whisper.
Silence.
"And then…" he added, "she lost consciousness."
Brice passed a hand over his forehead, trying to order it all.
"Was it recorded?" he asked.
"All of it."
Heinforth then leaned forward and took Brice's hands with unexpected firmness.
"Professor…" he said, with a plea he no longer concealed, "we have nothing left. But we believe that you…" he hesitated, "that you may be the key."
Brice held his gaze for a few seconds.
"I will return," he said. "We can go back now."
Heinforth shook his head slowly.
"No."
A pause.
"That door… does not open by our will."
Brice frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Only when we are… admitted."
The silence that followed carried something new.
"Rest," he added. "We shall return tomorrow. Or the day after."
Brice did not respond.
"Besides," Heinforth continued, "when Brenda enters that state… she does not awaken for one or two days."
He released Brice's hands.
"And when she does awaken…" he said, almost to himself, "she is never quite the same."