Deja Who Read Free Page A

wherever.”
    Ah, the afterlife. You don’t have to learn anything in your single solitary lifetime, and then you can live in the sky forever after! Unless you live in a lake of fire beneath the earth forever after. Well, there were stranger theories.
Tabula rasa,
for one. The goal of goals, an ideal so unlikely as to be mostly unattainable.
    What would it be like, born with a clean slate? Nothing tomake up for? Nothing to relive or regret? It was such an amazing concept Leah couldn’t grasp it. Like trying to explain the science of reproduction to a preschooler: “He does what? And then
what
happens?”
    â€œIt does seem to defeat the purpose of living,” Leah put forth with care, shaking off the daydream. “No point in trying to learn from your mistakes since this is your only chance to get it right . . . it calls a lot into question.”
    â€œExactly. I’m not a Denier. But
I’m
in control of
this
life. Whoever I was before, they had their time. Now it’s my turn.”
    â€œThat mind-set can work,” Leah said carefully, “sometimes.” It depended on who the person used to be. And what that person used to do. If in her past lives #6116 was, say, a humanitarian who mentored needy children in her spare time, then sure. Except . . . “About seventy percent of the populace can remember some or all of their past lives. But it’s fragmented, they get flashes. Or they remember it all but they don’t feel it.” One of her patients had explained it as being akin to watching a movie. You might care about the characters on the screen, but no matter how the events unfold, it doesn’t affect the viewer on a personal level. “Or, in your case—”
    #6116 shuddered. “Nightmares. But they never bothered me before.”
    You weren’t escalating before.
“Sometimes a traumatic event will change how a person perceives their past lives.”
    â€œWhy are you talking like you’re narrating a documentary? I know all this.”
    Leah ignored the bluster. It was barely possible the woman would hear what she was really trying to say. “I’ve had patients who didn’t have any sense of who they used to be, but then aloved one dies, or they survive a violent trauma—assault, rape—and suddenly they’re flooded with images of who they used to be.”
    Then there were the others, the last group, the smallest percentage. About 5 percent of the population not only remember their past lives perfectly, and feel them on an emotional level, they are able to help others access
their
past selves. And to this day, scientists were still arguing about why.
    Once upon a time, Insighters were routinely burned alive, thought to be in league with Satan. These days, nobody burned and Insighters were only in league with whatever HMO covered their patient. The meds helped, too, of course.
    â€œWell, none of that stuff applies to me. I was getting along just fine and then I started having nightmares where I was the judge
and
the defendant. We even had the same terrible hairstyle!”
    â€œTraumatic,” Leah replied, and managed to keep a straight face.
    â€œYou don’t know the half of it. And then I dreamed I was on a cruise. Well, a slave ship. But it was like a cruise, because I was white, so I didn’t have to row or anything, y’know? Food sucked, though. I kept waking up hungry. And seasick.” #6116 made a shooing motion, waving off nightmare-induced motion sickness. “So the meds worked. Right? I mean, obviously, you’ve got that ‘I’ve got a secret’ expression all you Insighters are terrible at hiding.”
    â€œNot all of us,” Leah mumbled. She made a mental note to work on hiding her expressions better. Just because she was jaded didn’t make it right to be lazy, too.
    â€œI always thought it was kind of a joke. Medication + Insighter = hello,