Patrick Dunovan?

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Patrick Dunovan

For quite some time, I was not sure of his name, but I supposed that "Patrick Dunovan" was a reasonable guess. I was certain trhat his first name was Patrick, and that he was Irish, like me, but his name didn't begin with an O'. As it turns out "Dunovan" was actually his first name. "Patrick" is his name in this lifetime.

First recollections: Aggatha introduced me to Patrick when I was 14 or 15. I'm not sure of her actual intentions, but I know that Patrick and I hit it off immediatly. He was a rounded man, not fat, but with no angles, not too much taller than I was. I think he fell in love with me the moment he saw me, despite the fact that I was tall and skinny, and so he did just about everything he knew to win me over... which mostly consisted of getting me drunk. He inexplicably stopped apearing in my recollections sometime before Aggatha's house was stormed by villagers.

Recently, I did a mediation to try and get more details, and to help clartify some of the confusion surrounding my relationship with Patrick. It is of note that I sought present Patrick out for this meditation, and that he was mentally present when I remembered the following.

    I was sitting on the dusty wooden floor beside the bookshelf when he came in. He greeted me with a kind, but condescending smile that men often give children and young girls. His hair was black, and hung just above his shoulders. It looked like it had been cut with a butter-knife. He squatted beside me.
    "How are you, young lady?"
    The tone in his voice infuriated me. I got up and walked away from him without another word. I have the sensation of being in another room, but I don't know what I was doing; this probably means that I was brooding and staring at the wall as I often did instead of throwing an outward tantrum. I heard Aggatha speaking,
     "You can't treat her like a child, Dunovan; she's not one. She's seen more in her years then either of us could ever imagine."
     "...how do you mean?" Dunovan asked.
     "I don't want to talk about it where she might hear. Be patient, maybe some day she'll tell you."
     I knew that I wouldn't. A deep sense of shame filled me, and I could feel my face getting hot.

    Next, I saw myself as a slightly older girl. Dunovan was sitting by the fire, scolding me.
    "Look at yourself! What kind of a wife would you make for anyone? Ye can't cook, ye can't sew... How are ye ever going to raise children?"
    "I don't wish to mary, and I certainly don't want any children." I explained, with a sudden sense of self righteousness.
     "Who'll take care of you, you young fool? You can't spend the rest of your life reading books!"
     "I can and I will. I'm going to be like Aggatha. She needs no one."
     "Aggatha's had a husband and childrern."
     "And what good do they do her now?"
    He fumed. "Fine! If you want to be a man, then let's teach you to drink like one!"

My next memory is of waking up in his arms, with a splitting headache.

I still do not know what became of him. It has occured to me that he is the same gentleman that I wound up marrying, but if that is so, then Erik is also Patrick. Another problem with this theory is that the man I was married to was a Spaniard. Both had dark hair, however, and a simmilar build, and either one could have been the man on the horse that drove the crowd away from Aggatha's house. This seems logical, as I can see no reason for a Spaniard to visit Liverpoole, England, and yet I had the distinct impression that I called the man on the horse "sir," because I did not know him.

What I do know of Dunovan, is that for the rest of my life as Ellanna I saw him occasionally as a spectre, and I would catch glimpses of him out of the corner of my eye, or standing in dark shadows. I do not know if this is due to her mediumistic abilities, or her mental instability. Going through her thoughts, I still have a difficult time seperating her madness from her insight.