I stand in front of the plain apartment door, glancing between it and the business card in my hand. The words "Alice Stone, Master Therapist" are printed on both and I take a deep breath before slowly knocking on the door. There was a stretch of silence, during which I consider walking away, before a cheery voice bids me to enter. Alice is sitting at a desk but she rises as I step into the apartment. Her bubbly personality fills the space and I find myself relaxing.
"Mr... Carter is it? I understand you've been recommended to me. Something about recurring nightmares?"
"That's right." I settle myself on a long sofa. "I dream of terrible things, the ancient world, death on a massive scale."
Alice reaches for something on her desk, showing me a rewritable CD.
"There's a track on here designed to help with subliminal hypnosis and I've found it useful in previous cases. Lie back on the couch Mr Carter and close your eyes."
I follow Alice's instructions as she puts the CD on, a rapid drumming that reminds me of midday TV programming emerging from speakers located in each corner of the room. She drags a stool to near the sofa and perches herself on it, pitching her voice to a low register as she starts putting me into a trance.
---
I can't believe I'm actually on the beach, tank traps and dead bodies spread before me. Bill from school, standing next to me on the boat, caught a bullet before the ramp even went down, as had nearly a dozen others around me. Feeling sand thrown up from a nearby shell explosion sprinkle over me I run up the beach, aiming for the dune sheltering a cluster of wide-eyed troopers. An invisible punch catches me in the right shoulder, spinning me violently round, and I have to fight to stay upright. Someone grabs me, supporting me, but there's a chatter of heavy gunfire, the soldier helping me falling with bullets implanted deep in his chest. A bullet from that same volley caught my thigh, blowing it apart, and I stagger, sprawled out on the sand.
From my position I can see the soldiers I was trying to reach attempt to crest the dune, each one falling backwards a moment later, and I glare at the bunker overlooking this section of beach. Grabbing for my rifle I woozily squint down the scope, seeing the glint from rifles wielded by the bunker's occupants, and aim at one, pulling the trigger at the same time as a muzzle flash enhanced by my scope blinds me.
---
The street of this pissant little town I'm walking down is wisely empty, the sounds of men fighting and celebrating coming from behind me. I unbutton my tunic as I pass boarded-up houses, slinging my musket over my shoulder. Let them have their fun, they earnt it. A frightened woman, pretty like all French girls are, runs across my path and I smile as I follow her. I've also earnt some fun. The woman is spooked by my pursuit, darting into an alley, and I block the entrance as I step in behind her.
Old Arthur doesn't approve of officers behaving like the common rabble so when I catch up to the woman I make sure to drive a bayonet into her stomach. She'll bleed out before she can speak. I tear off her now-bloody blouse and cast it away, taking hold of her teardrop-shaped tits and feeling their magnificent weight. I fumble with my britches as she squirms pathetically below me, pulling out my hardened prick, and shove her skirts up to her waist. I take my time in enjoying the peasant, the men will be uncontrollable until the provosts in the baggage train arrive.
The girl's movements become eager, the pleasure emanating from her belly overwhelming the pain, and I groan as her inner muscles involuntarily ripple along the length of my sizable cock. I pull out as rivulets of blood begin to make their way onto my britches, not wanting to do more washing than normal, and my breath catches as I spurt cum onto the girl's bared breasts.
---
"You were found with Catholic texts and robes in your possession. I am empowered to charge you as a foreign agent. Priest."
I sneer the word as I stare down at the dishevelled man in the dock. He had been found hiding the illegal items in a secret cupboard but that was enough to have him bought in. There is only a handful of us in the courtroom, guards to watch the Catholic and his household and then the accused himself.
"One cannot be guilty of doing God's work."
"The queen believes differently, and Parliament has seen fit to approve those beliefs." The priest frowns but holds his tongue. "The punishment for being a foreign agent in these times is death, as befitting high treason, and this extends to the entire house. Still I will be merciful."
There are gasps from the priest's household, a young woman just past the cusp of adulthood and another a year or two older, when I order the blocks bought in. A retainer follows carrying my family's ancestral sword, a formidable two-handed greatsword, and I step down to take it, watching the three prisoners get arranged for their executions. The priest is resigned, no doubt wanting a martyr's death, but the women are tearful, crying as their hands are bound behind them. A guard stands over each when they kneel and I appraise them for a moment.
The youngest woman will go first. Bringing the greatsword up so that its blade rests atop one shoulder I casually walk to where she is. The guard reaches forward and brushes the hair away from her neck, exposing its slenderness. I had stated that I would be merciful, fully intending to live up to my word, and shifted the positioning of my hands upon the sword hilt. It cuts through air, skin, muscle and bone as though forged yesterday, and the young woman's head easily tips forward into a waiting basket. I mutter a short prayer as her lips move wordlessly, her body limp like a puppet without strings, and then fix my gaze on the next in line.
The priest keeps his eyes on the stone as I loom over him, whispering prayers of his own. Like his young maid his lips continue moving even after I have separated his head from the rest of him. I pluck his head from the basket though, for recording, and then take a step towards the final prisoner.
She is visibly nervous, glancing at her fellow maid as the basket is placed just right and wetting her lips. Through the thin shift I can see her nipples are hard with fear and I take a moment to let that fear build before swinging the sword a third time.
---
With a snapping of fingers Alice takes me out of the trance. She looks at me strangely as I sit up, her hands playing with each other in her lap.
"I believe I have reached a breakthrough Mr Carter. These are not nightmares you suffer but memories." A confused expression appears on my face and Alice gently laughs. "You have heard of the idea of past lives, of reincarnation. Sometimes memories bleed through into the present. Come back in a week and we'll see what else can be uncovered."
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