The Collector of Dying Breaths by M. J. Rose Read Free Book Online

things he wanted her to do when he was gone. Now, two weeks after Robbie’s death, she opened her notebook and read down the list. Most items were bequests of art and antiques that Robbie owned and wished her to give away.
    The first was a perfume bottle in the shape of a rose that Robbie wanted given to his friend and fellow perfumer Dmitri Distas. Next a Tibetan prayer necklace he wanted given to Mark Solage, who had been his lover for years and had remained his friend. Jac smiled, thinking about how Robbie’s lovers always remained his friends. One of the wondrous things about her brother was his ability to bring people into his life, care for them and keep them close.
    Number three was for Malachai.
    “I want to give him something special,” Robbie had said. “My jade Buddha. That’s something he’d like.”
    And he would. Dr. Malachai Samuels was the therapist who had helped Jac out of her childhood crisis and had continued to watch over her. He and Robbie had gotten to know each other well over the years and shared a deep belief in reincarnation.
    Jac’s eyes rested on the fourth item, a bequest for Griffin North.
    Griffin. Her first lover and first love and one of Robbie’s closest friends. Griffin, whose imprint she wore on her very soul. She remembered the horrific accident almost two years ago. He had almost died saving her. How still and pale he’d looked lying in the hospital bed. Hour after hour, he remained unconscious, his breaths so shallow, his color so bad, the only way she knew he was still alive was by staring at the machines recording his vital signs. She remembered how it had felt to sit beside him, holding his limp, unresponsive hand. It seemed impossible that these were the same fingers that could set off sparks when he touched her skin.
    Over and over she wondered how she would be able to live if he died, knowing his death was her fault.
    Griffin had come to Paris to work with Robbie on the translation of the ancient Egyptian pottery he’d found. During that brief time, she and Griffin had reunited, and her strange and awful fugue states had started up again. Jac experienced two sets of hallucinations—or, as Robbie and Malachai believed, past-life regressions. In both, each of the men she’d seen in her visions had died tragically because of the love they had for a woman.
    If Jac was having hallucinations, it didn’t matter—but if she accepted Robbie and Malachai’s interpretation of her memory lurches, she was the incarnation of those women and Griffin was the men.
    She hadn’t wanted to give the theory any credence until Griffin had almost died while saving her life.
    Once he’d gotten out of the hospital, she became obsessed by the idea that she’d almost been responsible for his death. She didn’t really want to believe in reincarnation, but what if her brother and Malachai and thousands of years of traditions were right? What if reincarnation was real? She could not be responsible for Griffin’s death a third time. She had to give him up.
    She told him it was because she was worried about the effects of his impending divorce on his six-year-old daughter. Jac encouraged him to try and save his marriage.
    Weeks after he left, Jac discovered she was pregnant. Even before she’d figured out what to do about it, or how to tell Griffin, she miscarried. She never told him. What was the point? He was where he belonged. Safe in New York with his wife and his child.
    She hadn’t been in contact with him since.
    Griffin had called the day before Robbie’s memorial service, but she hadn’t talked to him. He’d called the day after the service and the day after that. She hadn’t returned any of his calls, and finally he’d stopped trying. What was there to say? What was there to hear? Everyone had said everything to her already and nothing made any difference.
    Jac returned to the list. Knowing Robbie, she wondered if there was some meaning in the order of the things he’d asked