A golden ray shone down on the purple wisterias clinging to the walls of the building, reflecting the glistening dew that had gathered overnight. Darkness did not last long here in this city. By the fourth hour, daybreak had arrived with its first ray of morning light.

It was nearing the eighth hour, and the city was barely beginning to wake. People walked down the cobblestone streets out of their dwellings, bundled in coats and cloaks. It may have been the dawn of a new season, the one known for life and rebirth, but the air could still be quite chilly.

For this reason, Benjamin had the door shut as he examined the young boy seated in the doctor's surgery.

"The tooth is decayed," he said, looking into his patient's mouth.

"What does that mean?" the boy replied in a Cockney accent.

"It means I am going to have to pull it out." Benjamin removed his finger from the child's mouth. "Keeping this tooth will only cause you more pain."

"Will it hurt?" He touched the tooth with his grimy finger, tugging at the corner of his bottom lip.

"It will," Benjamin answered honestly. "But afterwards, I have something that will treat the pain."

The boy stayed silent for a moment, pulling his finger away from the rotten tooth. "Alright."

Freeing himself from the constraints of his coat, and thus the possibility of washing out bloodstains, Benjamin went to his cabinet for the pliers and the vial filled with the oil of clove. After grabbing them, he turned back to the chair, seeing the boy still fiddling with his tooth.

With heavy footsteps, Benjamin walked over to the chair, looking down at the boy before him. The child couldn't have been more than twelve if that. He was scrawny and sallow-faced like many boys his age.

"It will be over quickly," the doctor reassured, sensing the boy's trembling. "Just a yank and 'tis out."

The boy gave a hesitant nod, slowly opening his mouth up again. Gently tilting his head back by the chin, Benjamin inserted the pliers in and wrapped them around the tooth. He had just started to press on the handle when the door swung open, startling both of them.

"Doctor Peters!" A woman cried from behind.

"Yes, what is it?" Benjamin could barely contain a growl as he turned around.

"Um, forgive me, I am a nun from Saint Clair's Convent." The woman stepped forward, closing the door. "I was told to fetch you."

Benjamin took in her demeanor and dress, judging she was indeed being truthful. She was clothed in the usual drab habit nuns wore and her hair was covered in the same colorless veil and coiff.

"Well, go on." Benjamin gestured for her to continue.

"A nun at the convent has come down with an illness..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "'Tis thought to be the plague."

A low gasp was heard from behind him, but Benjamin ignored the boy. "The plague? Did I hear that correctly?"

"Yes, sir. You must come back with me. No one else is willing to help," she begged.

Benjamin shook his head. "I cannot help you. The girl is as good as dead."

As soon as he spoke those words, his heart skipped a beat and his blood turned to ice inside him. A fragment of a memory flashed through his mind. He had said those words before, he was sure of it. Somewhere, at some time, he had uttered those exact words.

And for the same scenario.

"Sir?" The nun gazed at him, cocking her head. "Are you well?"

"Y–Yes, of course," he stammered, coming back to the present. "Why would I not be?"

"You seemed to have grown pale," she answered.

"I–I... If I agree to this, should I expect to be compensated?" He recovered from his incoherent sputtering.

The nun lowered her gaze. "I am afraid not, sir. We do not have much to offer."

Benjamin let out an irritated sigh, not even pretending to be surprised by her answer. Knowing how the Church was, he should have known better than to ask. Yet, something in his mind was gnawing at him to go. Not to see the girl though. There was nothing he could for her. He knew she was truly doomed. But because of that sudden sense of familiarity that overcame him. It was too strong to just ignore.

"Alright, I will come with you," he finally agreed.

The nun burst into a grateful smile. "Thank you, doctor."

"You can wait for me outside while I gather my things." He waved her off, believing his business was finished with her.

"Lad, take this." He turned back to the boy, handing him the vial. "It will help with the pain in the meantime."

"Thank ye', sir!" The boy grinned, hopping off the chair.

"Be sure to come back!" he called after the child as he rushed through the door, letting it slam behind him.

Giving another sigh, Benjamin started to gather his equipment. If this was, in fact, the plague, he would need his leeches and instruments. As he gathered his jars of oils and herbs, Benjamin suddenly remembered he was forgetting the most important piece, knowing that would be the only thing standing between him and the Black Death.

"Where did I put the damned thing?" The doctor cursed, rummaging through the room for the costume. He had searched through nearly all of the cabinets and shelves when he caught sight of a black trunk at the top. His fingers found their way around the handle, giving it a rough tug. He must have pulled too roughly since the trunk opened on the way down and its contents came tumbling out.

Benjamin muttered another expletive as he bent down to pick up the leather coat and white mask. But when he touched the mask, an involuntary shudder came over him.

It felt familiar.

**

The convent looked dark, even beneath the light of day. Benjamin slipped the mask over his face and it felt much like a harbinger of bad tidings as he approached the gated entrance. It was no sooner than he had finished adjusting it when a sister came out of the building, along with the nun he had met earlier.

"I am the prioress," the thin, old woman introduced herself. "I thank you for your visit. As you know, no other doctors wanted to risk coming here, which I understand."

"You are welcome. And yes, I am aware." He dipped his head and nearly losing his hat in the process.

"If you will follow me." The prioress started to walk away, not waiting for him. Benjamin jolted forward, catching up with the stiff woman. Upon entering the building, his eyes went to the elaborate altar and pews up ahead. He was not going to deny the Catholics had very pretty architecture. They certainly knew what extravagance was.

However, to his surprise or perhaps his dismay, they did not go towards the worship area. Instead, the prioress made a sharp left turn and went down a dim, narrow hallway. The walls around him seem to be much older than the rest of the convent, meaning this must be the original stone.

The air grew colder as they descended further down the hall. This was what Benjamin chalked up his insistent shivering to and not the pit forming in his stomach.

His mind went back to that feeling from earlier. He had moments of seeing things before, but never this strong. And never this visceral. Those previous experiences had been about mundane things, ordinary things like a conversation.

This, however, was something different.

The prioress jerked to an abrupt halt, causing Benjamin to nearly run into her.

"Why did you stop?" His voice echoed back to him beneath the mask.

"Sister Emilia is just behind this door." She fumbled with a key hanging around her neck.

Benjamin did not answer, watching as the prioress inserted the key into the keyhole and turned open the door. He had heard that name before, and not just because it was common. No, this name, this time had weight to it.

They stepped inside a stone-walled room illuminated by several flickering candles. The figure lying atop the bed was reminiscent of cold remains inside a tomb.

"Sister Emilia," the prioress called out from the doorway. "This is the doctor."

Benjamin watched the woman as she lifted her head to look at him. She gave no response, but he did not need her to. What could he say to her when his own mouth was struggling to form a sentence?

Grateful for the mask that hid his stupefied expression, Benjamin took a step forward and had to pause to steady his buckling knees. There was no need to get a closer look to know it was her; he knew as soon as he saw her face.

The dam that had been keeping his memories at bay had broken at the moment his eyes fell upon her. This was nothing short of a miracle, a gift from God. Because what else could explain how he remembered a life from over a century ago?

A completely different life from a completely different era?

Yes, God had sent him here to save her from another untimely death.

He was sure of it.

**

A/N: Just some information, but a doctor's office is called a doctor's surgery in British English.