Chapter One
“HYPNOTIC AGE regression,” said Sir Adam Sinclair, “can be an exceedingly useful diagnostic tool for the psychiatric physician. If we accept that the majority of psychiatric disorders, whether neurotic or psychotic in their intensity, are to some degree rooted in the patient’s personal past, then the value of gaining access to that past becomes immediately apparent. At the very least,” he continued, keenly surveying the youthful upturned faces of his listeners, “hypnotic regression provides for the detailed retrieval and review of a wide range of personal data that might otherwise be inaccessible to the individual concerned, if only through the natural and inevitable clouding of the memory owing to passage of time. At its most useful, regression can provide the very key with which to unlock the shackles of a mind fettered by its own repressions.”
He was lecturing to his regular Monday afternoon class at the Royal Edinburgh Hospital, a mixed bag composed mainly of white-coated junior doctors on their psychiatric rotation but also including two social service workers, a retired university lecturer, and a woman deacon training for chaplaincy in the Episcopal Church. Their expressions reflected a gamut of reactions ranging from sober acknowledgement to skepticism, the latter of which was only to be expected and even encouraged, especially right after lunch.
“Dr. Sinclair,” said a stocky, bespectacled young man sitting in the first row, as he flung up a hand. “I can see the possible usefulness of regressing a patient to an earlier age, but—is it true that you’ve even managed to regress some of your own patients as far back as other previous lives?”
The question generated a minor stir of excitement. The dashing and elegant Dr. Sinclair had a reputation as something of an adventurer in the field of psychiatric therapy and practice, no doubt enhanced by his occasionally sensational association with Lothian and Borders Police as a psychiatric consultant. Had his audience known the true range of his knowledge and experience in the field now under discussion, the excitement might have turned to amazement, disbelief, and even fear.
Adam smiled indulgently. “It’s certainly been my experience that such regressions are possible,” he acknowledged easily.
His questioner looked astonished to have gotten an affirmative answer.
“Well, did you set out deliberately to induce these past-life regressions?”
“Yes, Mr. Huntley, I did,” Adam said mildly. “And you needn’t look so scandalized. I am certainly not the first hypnotherapist to do so.”
“But—”
“Let’s review a few notable case studies, shall we, and then you can draw your own conclusions,” Adam offered, coming around to sit informally on the front of the desk. His crisply starched white lab coat was open casually over a three-piece navy suit of impeccable cut, with the mellow glint of an antique gold watch-fob swagged across the front of the vest. With his classic good looks and dark hair silvering at the temples, he might have been a media personality rather than the eminent psychiatrist he was.
“I’ll first mention the studies carried out in the seventies by Arnold Bloxham and Joe Keeton,” Adam went on. “Bloxham was able to regress one of his subjects, a woman named Jane Evans, through no fewer than six previous lives, including that of a medieval Jewess named Rebecca who was killed in a pogrom that took place in York in 1190. ‘Rebecca’ was able to render a graphic description of the church crypt in which she and her child were trapped and subsequently murdered by the angry mob. After listening to a recording of ‘Rebecca’s’ account, Professor Barrie Dobson of the University of York ventured the opinion that the church most closely answering her description was St. Mary’s Castlegate—except for the fact that the church didn’t have a crypt.”
“I’ve heard of that case,” said a white-coated young woman in the back. “The BBC featured it in a special exploring the possibility of reincarnation.”
“Leave it to the Beeb to waste good airtime on rubbish,” said an intense, sharp-featured young man beside her. “They didn’t take it seriously, did they?”
“Actually, they concluded that the evidence was inconclusive,” his classmate allowed. “Six months later, however, a workman doing some renovation work on the church accidentally broke through into a previously unknown chamber that might well have been a medieval crypt.”
“I remember reading about that in the papers,” said one of the social workers. “Didn’t the chamber, or crypt, or whatever it was, get bricked back up before any archaeologists could come and take a closer look?”
“An unfortunate bureaucratic glitch,” Adam agreed, easing back into the exchange. “Perhaps one day, that part of the investigation will be completed. Nonetheless, the circumstantial evidence would still seem to suggest that Jane Evans, through ‘Rebecca,’ had access to historical information unknown to present-day authorities.”
One of the students in the front row was tapping her pen against her front teeth. “Wasn’t there also an American psychiatrist from Virginia who did a lot of work on spontaneous past-life regressions in very young children?” she asked.
“That’s right,” Adam said. “His name is Dr. Ian Stevenson. His most celebrated case involved a five-year-old Lebanese boy whose people claimed he was the reincarnation of a man called Ibrahim, who had died recently in a neighboring town. When Stevenson examined the boy, he found that the child possessed an inexplicably intimate knowledge of Ibrahim’s personal life; besides exhibiting certain behavioral traits which Ibrahim’s surviving family swore were consistent with those of their deceased relative. Stevenson later published this and other findings under the title Twenty Cases Suggestive of Reincarnation.”
“What a load of bunk!” exclaimed one of the students in the front row. “How can he call himself a serious scientist?”
“I assure you that Stevenson did not use the term lightly,” Adam said mildly. “In his estimation, the evidence was strong enough to constitute a case for speculation, at very least.”
“Evidence for reincarnation . . .” another of his students mused. “Is that what you’re looking for when you attempt to do past-life regressions with your own patients?” she asked bluntly.
“What I’m looking for,” Adam said with a droll smile, “is information that will help me arrive at an effective diagnosis. If the unconscious can allow me access to vital information by couching it in terms of past-life experiences that have bearing on the patient’s present problems, then it behooves me, as a physician, to treat ‘memories’ of these past-life experiences as if they were real, and to deal with the patient accordingly. I think that no one would argue that experiences of the mind are any less ‘real’ than experiences of the physical body. Indeed, in some cases, they can be more vivid, as in the instance of phantom limb pain, long after an amputation.”
“But that’s a physiological reaction of damaged nerve-ways,” a young man objected.
“In part, perhaps,” Adam agreed. “But who is to say exactly where the lines are drawn between body, mind, and spirit?”
A striking brunette in the front row rolled her eyes and put down her pen.
“I knew it was only a matter of time before someone came up with one of the ‘S’ words,” she muttered, then glanced at the woman deacon in friendly challenge. “Lorna, care to tell us what the God Squad has to say about spirit, or soul, and the matter of reincarnation?”
“Certainly,” Lorna replied, “though I’m not certain I have any answers. Would you prefer an Eastern or a Western bias?”
“Perhaps you might share both points of view,” Adam said.
“Very well.” As all eyes flicked briefly from Lorna to Adam and back again, she settled herself composedly in her chair, collecting her thoughts. Her very name, Lorna Liu, proclaimed her mixed Scottish and Asian heritage, and her appearance combined the most graceful attributes of both, enhanced by the clerical collar she wore with her conservative grey suit.
“I’d be less than honest if I said I wasn’t impressed with the way the case for reincarnation is being argued,” she said amiably, “but I think it’s time that someone pointed out that the question is not so much a scientific issue as a theological one. Let’s take Buddhism and Christianity, since those are my background. While the two theologies have many views in common, especially with regard to ethics and morality, they differ rather drastically in their respective concepts of personal salvation.”
Seeing that she had the attention of the rest of the room, she went on in the same reflective tone.
“Buddhists believe that the whole material world is nothing but mere illusion—maya—and can only be transcended in most cases at the cost of repeated lifetimes spent in pursuit of personal enlightenment. Sometimes this is visualized as a wheel, escape from which becomes the goal of the enlightened individual.
“Christians, by contrast, believe that matter and spirit are inextricably bound together as a consequence of divine creation, and are likewise simultaneously eligible for redemption—not through some long-drawn refining process of repeated existences, but as a direct consequence of divine atonement through the sacrificial death and resurrection of Christ, the God Incarnate. As a Christian, I must confess I see no logical way of bridging the gap between my religious convictions and the concept of reincarnation as a fact of existence. If anyone else can suggest a means of resolution, I would be very grateful to hear what he or she might have to say.”
Thoughtful silence settled for a few seconds as the rest of the group wrestled with the problem, after which the bespectacled Mr. Huntley said bluntly, “I don’t see how there can be a resolution. One point of view or the other has got to be wrong.”
“If not both,” said the retired lecturer with a touch of skepticism. As all eyes turned to him, he added, “I admit quite freely to being an agnostic, Dr. Sinclair. But whether or not there’s a spiritual dimension to our existence, I find the notion of reincarnation messy and illogical. Where, for example, do souls get stored when they’re not in use? When a given soul attains enlightenment and escapes from the wheel, is another soul immediately created to take its place? If so, who or what determines whether a newly conceived infant receives a virgin soul or one that has been around for a while? If not, will we one day run into a shortage of souls? Do souls get recycled more quickly when there’s a population explosion, as there is at the moment?” He broke off with an ironic gesture of disclaimer.
“Maybe not everyone gets reincarnated,” a new voice said thoughtfully. “Maybe it only happens in special cases.”
Adam glanced toward the speaker and raised an eyebrow.
Avril Peterson’s academic standing might not be the highest in her class, but this was not the first time he had seen her display a flash of intuitive insight.
“Ms. Peterson, I do believe you may have offered us a possible solution to this theological paradox,” he said, his smile warming. Transferring his attention to the group at large, he went on to elucidate.
“Allow me to acquaint you with a possible key to be found in Judaic tradition associated with the Qabalah, which is a body of Jewish mystical doctrine. A very learned friend of mine who is a scholar in such matters once confided to me that a true knowledge of the inner meaning of the Qabalah was not to be acquired through the study of books, but rather through the agency of special ministers whose sacred office it was to transmit ‘the teaching’ from one generation to the next. According to apocalyptic Hebrew legend, mankind was first instructed in the Qabalah by the archangel Metratron, who is legendarily identified as the transfigured Enoch—the man who, according to Genesis, ‘walked with God’ and did not taste death. Metratron is said to have subsequently manifested himself throughout history as various great teachers, including Melchizedek, the priest-king whose encounter with Abraham foreshadows the Eucharist, because he offered bread and wine.
“By more conventional reckoning,” Adam went on, “we might regard Metratron as an archetypal figure—a symbol, if you like, of all others of his kind. There’s a rather fascinating passage at the beginning of the sixth chapter of Genesis which speaks of there being intercourse between ‘giants’—a tantalizing reference to beings apparently inferior to God, but superior to humankind—and the ‘daughters of men.’ The children born of these liaisons are described by the King James Bible as, ‘mighty men which were of old, men of renown’.
“If we accept that such legends, along with myths and the contents of certain dreams, are expressive of non-empirical truths—truths known to the psyche, but inaccessible by empirical means—then it becomes feasible to consider as a possible vehicle of truth Ms. Peterson’s notion that reincarnation is confined to a selected handful of individuals recruited by the angels and thereafter entrusted with the task of imparting sacred knowledge, generation after generation.
“These individuals thus become bearers of the divine light of truth, in the Promethean sense,” he concluded, “but the lifetime experiences for such individuals might well be likened to the projections thrown off through the apertures of a magic lantern—emanations of light manifested in different places, but derived from the same common source. What is withdrawn at the death of the physical body is the projection, rather than the essence. The light itself continues to burn undiminished, until another aperture opens in the fabric of time.”
His audience had been listening with rapt fascination, caught up in the near hypnotic intensity for which Dr. Adam Sinclair was famous, and now the old lecturer nodded grudging approval.
“You appear to have thought the matter through very thoroughly, Dr. Sinclair,” he admitted. “Are we to take it then, that you personally subscribe to the belief you’ve just outlined in such poetic terms?”
“You may take it,” Adam said lightly, “that we have come as close as we can to providing Ms. Liu with the theological resolution she was seeking. Speaking more clinically, from the standpoint of a psychotherapist, I would say that whatever we may personally come to believe about the nature of past-life regressions, when we encounter such regressions in our patients, it behooves everyone concerned to treat such memories as a valid aspect of the patients’ total experience.”
He would have continued but for a rap at the lecture room door. He glanced in that direction as the door opened and one of the hospital administrators poked his head around the doorframe.
“Sorry to interrupt your lecture, Dr. Sinclair, but I have a telephone message for you. They said it was rather urgent.”
Coming forward, he handed Adam a folded piece of hospital memo paper. Inside, written in a neat secretarial hand, was a single sentence: Sir Adam: Humphrey requests that you phone home immediately.
Conscious of a sudden feeling of foreboding, Adam consulted his pocket watch, then directed his attention back to his class as he stood.
“My apologies, but it seems I’m going to be obliged to cut this lecture short,” he said smoothly, pocketing watch and note. “Please feel free to carry on in my absence, but we’ll plan to resume the discussion next time.”
Five minutes later, seated behind the desk in his office, he was listening soberly as Humphrey, his butler and personal valet, relayed the news about Nathan Fiennes.
“Mrs. Fiennes said that emergency surgery was performed during the night to alleviate pressure on the brain, but his condition is deteriorating,” Humphrey concluded. “Apparently he asked for you immediately after the attack. Mrs. Fiennes was quite agitated that you should come, if at all possible.”
The account, as it unfolded, struck Adam as oddly coincidental, for though he had not thought about his old mentor in some time, it had been Nathan to whom he was referring when he spoke of the Qabalah during his interrupted lecture. He had to wonder whether the old man’s worsening condition, coupled with his specific request for Adam’s presence, perhaps partially explained why Adam should have been thinking about Nathan only minutes before.
“Thank you for relaying that, Humphrey,” Adam said, when Humphrey had finished. “I’ll go, of course. I don’t suppose you had time to check with the airlines to see what flights are available?”
“As a matter of fact, I did, sir. Air UK has a four-fifteen flight into Leeds-Bradford, which is the airport nearest to York itself. There were still seats available ten minutes ago. Shall I book you one, sir?”
“Yes, do that, please,” Adam said. “On second thought, book two seats. If Inspector McLeod can get away, I’m going to ask him to accompany me. Since there’s a police aspect to this, it may be that he can facilitate interface with the Yorkshire constabulary.”
“Very good, sir. Shall I pack you an overnight bag and meet you at the airport?”
Adam glanced at his gold pocket watch and grimaced.
“Good idea. It’s going to be tight to make that flight. See you when I get there, Humphrey.”
His next phone call was to the Fiennes residence in York, but there was no response. After the seventh ring, Adam abandoned the attempt and dialed the number assigned to police headquarters in Edinburgh.
“Good afternoon. Sir Adam Sinclair calling. Please put me through to Detective Chief Inspector Noel McLeod.”
He did not often invoke his title, but as usual, it got him the desired result.
“Hello, Adam. What can I do for you?” came a gruff, familiar voice.
“Hello, Noel. I’ve had something rather unusual come up,” Adam said. “Are you busy?”
“Not unless you count the usual backlog of paperwork,” McLeod replied. “Given half an excuse, I’d gladly play hooky for the rest of the afternoon.”
“How about a whole excuse, and play hooky tomorrow too?” Adam replied. “I’m afraid that what I have to offer is hardly in the nature of a pleasant diversion, but it is police business, and it isn’t behind a desk. How good are your contacts down in York?”
Adam heard the muffled squeak of chair springs as McLeod pulled himself upright. “What’s happened?”
Briefly Adam outlined the situation as Humphrey had relayed it to him.
“Nathan Fiennes is an old and dear friend,” he concluded. “I read philosophy with him when I was down at Cambridge, and we’ve maintained the friendship ever since. I would have been happy to go to him in any case, but the fact that he’s asked for me in particular suggests that there may be more to this situation than meets the eye. Your assistance would be welcome on a number of fronts.”
“Shouldn’t be too difficult,” McLeod replied. “If all else fails, I’ve got some personal leave time coming to me. When were you planning on leaving?”
“I’ve had Humphrey book seats for us on the four-fifteen flight to Leeds,” Adam said. “I realize that’s cutting things a bit fine at your end, but the alternative is to drive, which wouldn’t put us in much before midnight. I’m not sure Nathan has that much time.”
“Don’t worry about me,” McLeod said sturdily. “How do you want to handle this, logistic-wise?”
“Why don’t I meet you there at your office in about half an hour?” Adam said. “Humphrey will be at the airport ahead of us to pick up the tickets. I drove the Jag in this morning, so I’d rather leave it in the police car park than here, if it’s going to sit for a few days. If you don’t mind, we can take your car from there, and swing by your house on the way to the airport to collect your kit.”
“Aye, that ought to streamline things a bit,” McLeod agreed. “I’ll call Jane and have her pack me a bag. See you when you get here.”
Several more phone calls handled the arrangements to cover Adam’s duties at the hospital for the next few days. Then he put a call through to York District Hospital.
“Yes, Dr. Adam Sinclair calling with regard to a patient named Fiennes. He would have been admitted last night for emergency surgery. I expect he’s in ICU.”
After several transfers of his call, Adam found himself speaking to one of the on-call physicians in intensive care.
“I’m afraid the professor’s prognosis is very poor, Dr. Sinclair,” the woman concluded. “He was still conscious when he came in last night, but a hematoma developed during the night and we had to go in to relieve it. Unfortunately, he hasn’t regained consciousness since the surgery. I wish I could say there was much hope that he will.”
“I see,” Adam said. “I don’t suppose Mrs. Fiennes is there in the ICU, by any chance?”
“No, I don’t see her—though I’m sure she hasn’t gone far. I think her son finally persuaded her to go down to the hospital cafe for a cup of coffee. She’s been here all night, and he came in first thing this morning. Shall I have one of them return your call when they come back?”
“No, I’ll be on my way to the airport by then,” Adam said. “Just tell Mrs. Fiennes that I’ve received her message and that I expect to be joining her there at the hospital in a couple of hours. Will you do that? Thank you very much.”