Read The Reincarnationist for Free Online Page B

excitement. It surpassed anything that had ever happened to her before.
    And then it was over.
    Dizzy, Rachel put her head back and stared up at the ceiling. Her skin was burning hot. How long had the episode lasted? A half hour?
    She picked up her wine. No, the glass was still cold.
    Only minutes?
    Except it seemed so real, so much more real than any daydream she’d had before. It wasn’t just an image stuck in her head. She thought she’d been sucked through time and space and had been somewhere else for a moment, not seeing the scene played out but being part of it.
    Leaving her bedroom, she walked down the sweeping staircase and headed toward the kitchen. She needed something stronger than wine. She wished her uncle was home so she could tell him what had happened; it was the kind of thing he’d be fascinated by. No, nothing had happened. She must have been tired, after all, fallen asleep without knowing it, dreamed the villa and the man and the colors.
    After pouring a brandy, she took a few sips, the fiery liquid stinging her eyes and burning the back of her throat, and then, instead of going back to her bedroom, she went into her uncle’s den and sat down at his desk. She felt safer there, surrounded by all his books. That waswhen she noticed, tucked into his desk blotter so that it was hardly noticeable, a corner of newsprint.
    She pulled it out.
    Tomb Possibly Dates Back 1600 Years.
    Rachel shivered as she read the dateline. This story had been filed two weeks ago, in Rome, by that same reporter. No, there was nothing portentous about Alex tearing out this article. He was a collector. Tombs yielded ancient artifacts. The house was filled with objets d’art. She was overreacting. It was just a coincidence.
    Wasn’t it?
    What else could it be?

Chapter 6
    Rome, Italy—Tuesday, 7:45 a.m.
    J osh felt a sharp, searing, twisting pain in his middle. Taking his breath away. Stunning him with its intensity. He broke out in a second cold sweat. The pain worsened. He needed to get out of the tunnel; his panic was making it almost impossible for him to breathe. If he hyperventilated now he might suffocate, and the professor was too old and too slow to get to him in time. He needed to get out now.
    But he couldn’t turn around. The space was too narrow. How was that possible? He’d gotten here, hadn’t he?
    He sat back on his haunches and reached out both of his hands, feeling for the walls on either side. His fingers hit dirt almost immediately. The tunnel must have narrowed as it continued without him being aware of it.
    The reality of the darkness descended on him. He was fully conscious and present. The smell of the dank air nauseated him and he was suddenly, inexplicably sure he was going to die in this tunnel. Now. Any minute. In this small, narrow space that was not big enough for a man to turn around in.
    A small rock came loose and pinged him on the shoulder. What if his presence caused an avalanche of stone, and he became trapped in this passageway to hell? His chest tightened and his breathing became increasingly labored. He tried a series of contortions but couldn’t manage to turn.
    His panic heightened.
    A few deep breaths.
    A full minute of focusing on one fact: he’d gotten this far, that meant he would be able to get out.
    Of course. Just go backward. Don’t try to turn now. Don’t turn until the space widens again.
    The gripping frenzy broke, the anxiety vanished and Josh became aware of a very different pain. The tunnel was filled with rubble. Small pebbles and sharp stones ripped his palms, pressed down deep to the bone in his knees. He held his hands up to his face, forgetting for a minute that there was no light—he couldn’t see what he’d done to his flesh but could guess from the overpowering sweet smell of blood. Struggling out of his shirt, he banged his head on the tunnel’s roof. Ripping the fabric with his teeth, he used the