LXXVIII

One day he was fetching water. It all happened so quickly.

A group of men came thundering through the campsite on horseback and although he was on his way back, water pitcher full to overflowing, he wasn’t quick enough.

A strong arm came down suddenly and in one fell swoop she was on that horse, six other men on horseback surrounding her.

It was the last time he would see her, and the last time she would see him, at least in that lifetime.

He carried that guilt around his entire life and searched for her every day, eventually dying of a broken heart as the prospect of ever finding her alluded him.

Perhaps he’d been looking for her in every lifetime since and she for him.

Perhaps the feeling she felt when he spoke in this lifetime was a soul recognition, one that stayed buried deep in her heart and also in his from the day they parted. A knowing. Patiently waiting, diligently until the spark was reignited, the slumber awakened from where they left off.

They would wait for each other, no matter how many lifetimes it took to find each other again.

Inana believed in soul recognition, in divine timing and that everything happened for a reason. 

This is what she would teach him.

Inana was conscious of every meeting she had. She believed nothing happened by coincidence, she believed all who crossed her path, crossed it for a reason.

Jack Henry was no exception.

In fact he intrigued her more than anyone she had met.

The subconscious plays an interesting role, somehow present but just out of reach; inexplicable, yet knowing at the same time.

While Silas had invoked a raw passion inside her, a deep desire to connect with him sexually, Jack had invoked something else entirely.

While she felt a deep desire to connect with him, it was a desire to connect with his soul, to unlock his full potential, his deep desire, his desire to feel on a level she felt he hadn’t felt for lifetimes.

Somewhere along the line he had forged the belief that feeling would get him into trouble and she was in his life to debunk that myth.

There was a depth and a substance to him, something deeper than raw sex, with him she could feel his heart.

When he spoke to her from behind that wall, there was something in his voice; kindness, compassion a softness she wanted to explore, on every level of her being.

She would keep coming to the prison, slowly chipping away at the seemingly impenetrable exterior.

With each meeting she would unlock a small part of him; she healing him, he unknowingly healing her.

Where once he was another patient requiring assistance with healing, he was now becoming more.