“Low,” I say.
“You’re the boss.” She thumbs the throttle, turns off the road and moves toward the trail. A light flashes to my side, and I turn my head to see another snow machine race down the road and move onto the dike. Two riders. Same black machine.
Just as we pick up speed, a large moose crashes out of the trees to our left about fifty yards ahead. Gibbs yelps but doesn’t slow. I watch the moose’s long legs churn through the snow, its shoulders and haunches rotating furiously as its body stays level. Its long head plows the air without a jerk or shake. The moose bounds up the dike without slowing. I see his head and shoulder enter the light cone of the other snow machine and almost escape the riders racing toward it.
* * *
A massive, dark wall fills my vision, and I scream. Gibbs brakes hard and tries to turn right, but we slam into the moose with a horrid thump and crush of metal. Gibbs slams head first into the body, and I am thrown forward, sprawling, until I face plant into the dike. White hot pain fills my chest and neck. Then I feel nothing.
* * *
I see the back of the snow machine leaping up, twisting in the air then landing on its side, the headlight buried deep under snow.
“Stop! Gibbs, stop!”
She slows quickly. “What is it?”
“They crashed.” I point. “That other snow machine and the moose. Go to the dike.”
She turns and moves through deep snow, climbing the hill at an angle then stops. We flip up our visors. I jump off the seat and walk forward on the dike. I see the deep tracks made by the moose up the hill and down the other side until they disappear into the trees.
No bodies. No moose.
“What did you see?” asks Gibbs.
“They crashed into the moose.”
“Who did?”
And then I realize who they were. We went low. Our other selves went high. I saw and felt both versions. I just skipped sideways. Again.
“We did.”
25
After another fifteen minutes, Gibbs parks on the edge of the driveway and kills the engine. Our return trip was slower and less exciting, both of us thinking about what I’d seen. Earlier this morning, I’d skipped inside Caden’s tent where he tortured me, the one who didn’t escape from him in the park. Now I’d experienced both options of my choice of routes back home, dying in one version.
How am I doing this? I have no idea, but I realize I’m skipping more frequently. I wonder if I can control the skip, or will its appearance always surprise me. I want to go to my room and push my mind back into the blind. Who injured Caden? Did I die?
Gibbs walks at my side, unable to talk. Under normal circumstances, we’d both be chattering and laughing, reliving our amazing trip. When I told her we both had died, her face drained of color. She pulled her helmet over her face and climbed into her seat. As soon as I sat behind her, she drove forward. I don’t think she ever got to thirty.
I reach for her hand, but she pulls it away, pretending to wipe her nose. What storm rages in her head?
An owl hoots somewhere close by. Such a mournful sound, full of loss yet colored with need. “I want. I want.” But the bird is actually claiming territory and warning, “Stay away.” It could be saying both things at once, but only humans are so contradictory.
We leave our helmets and jackets in the mudroom. Gibbs still hasn’t said anything. We unlace our boots and leave them on the mat by the door. With her back to me, Gibbs pulls the straps of her bib off her shoulders and shimmies it to the floor, leaving her in thermals. I lower my snow pants, sit on a chair, and pull them off each leg.
Gibbs looks hard at me. “Do you think I’m pregnant?”
Where did that come from? I try to smile. “You said you are. You sure look like you’re pregnant.”
Her hands go to her hips. “Sean told you I was faking it, didn’t he? I know he did, so don’t lie to me.”
Breath lingers in my chest, unwilling to go in or out.
“That’s why you were so surprised to see my bump. What did he tell you?”
I try to think what I can say to keep from lying. “He said you’d thought you were pregnant before, but it turned out to be . . .”
“What?”
“A false pregnancy.”
“I miscarried!”
“OK, Gibbs. I’m not arguing with you. Why are you angry with me?”
Her hands find her bump. She watches her hands as they caress her stomach. “I’m pregnant. I’ve never been more sure.” Tears fill her eyes.
I realize I’m watching a very vulnerable, very troubled woman, one whose moods can change wildly. What caused this now? Is she taking drugs? Or did my vision of the accident set her off? If I’d said nothing to her about the crash, would she still be acting happy?
“I’m sorry I told you about the accident on the dike, Gibbs. It was just a crazy day dream.”
“No, it wasn’t.” She watches her hands caress her bump. “A few days before you arrived, I was riding the trails, going fast like I always do, having a blast. Then I drove to the lake. I was deciding whether to go across. I’d seen some moose tracks crossing at one end, but no other snow machine had tried it. Just before I took off, I saw myself racing to the middle then break through the ice. I watched myself drown. I turned around and came home. I never wanted to go out again. Then you came, and I felt so happy. So I took you out. And I still died. I thought you being here would keep my brain from thinking about dying, but I still do.”
I stand. “You think about dying?”
She lifts her head and looks at me, her eyes red and wet. “Yes. Drowning. Hanging myself. Even shooting myself, but I can’t find Sean’s pistol.” Her chest heaves. She hugs herself and weeps.
My stomach twists as I move to her. “Why would you kill yourself?” I hold her. “You have a baby to take care of, and Dad loves you.”
“I’m just a drug addict. No job. Nothing.”
“Are you taking drugs now?”
She steps away. “That’s all anyone cares about. ‘Are you doing drugs? Where are they?’ That’s all either of you care about. Not what’s going on in my head. Not what can keep me from going crazy.”
I squeeze her against me. “Gibbs, we love you. We’re just trying to help you.”
She squirms away from me. “All you want is a sister. If I wasn’t pregnant, you’d have nothing to do with me.”
The shock of her statement doesn’t hide my realization of why she wants so desperately to be pregnant—validation, proof she is significant despite her lack of job and addiction. Mom said Dad would never marry Gibbs after her first miscarriage because she wouldn’t stop her drug use. Ever since, she’s tried to have a baby. And when she really was pregnant, she got an abortion because Dad didn’t choose her.
Of course, why should anyone believe she was pregnant and had the abortion?
I so wanted to believe Gibbs would have a baby, my sister, but now I realize someday soon she will bleed, scream, cry, and possibly kill herself. How does this cycle ever end?
We both hear Dad’s truck outside. Will we pretend and tell him what a great time we had on the dike? We both stand facing the door. This will be more than awkward.
Dad hangs his jacket in the mudroom and opens the door, wearing a big smile. “I see the Ski Doo’s been moved. Did y’all go riding?”
I wait for Gibbs to say something. After a few seconds of silence, I begin. “Yeah. Gibbs took me to the dike. We . . .”
Gibbs pulls up her shirt, revealing her bump. “Do you think this is fake?”
Both Dad and I gape at her.
“Sean, I understand you told Laney that my pregnancy is fake.” She walks toward him.
I see Dad’s eyes flick toward mine. His jaw tightens.
“Gibbs,” I say gently, “he didn’t call this pregnancy fake. He . . .”
“What do you think, Sean? Maybe I’ve been eating too much. Huh? Gotten fat?” Standing in front of him, she grabs his hand and pu
ts his palm below her navel. “That’s your daughter in there. Why can’t you believe that?”
“Maybe we should talk about this in our room.” He begins to remove his hand.
She slaps her hand over his. “Why can’t you believe I’m pregnant?” Tears flow down her cheeks.
“Gibbs, we should see a doctor on Monday.”
“I don’t need a doctor! I need you to believe in me. For once!”
He puts his other arm around her shoulders, keeping his hand on her stomach. “Let’s go talk. I’m sure Laney would like to take a shower or a nap.” As he walks her out of the kitchen, he glances back at me.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth.
He nods and murmurs something to her as they head toward their bedroom.
Has Gibbs always been like this? Or is she worse now because I’m here?
I need a bath, so I go to the tub and turn on the water before finding my soap and a change of clothes. As I strip off my pants, I notice Mom has sent a message to my phone.
We arrived in Chicago an hour ago. Snow fell this morning, so the trees are beautiful. I’m sure by now your father has told you about your “twin.” My doctor warned me that the undersized fetus might complicate my pregnancy and could result in a miscarriage, so I took the only responsible action to protect you. There’s no reason for you to have ever found out. I can’t understand what led Sean to tell you, other than to increase your anger toward me. If you can imagine yourself in my position, what would you have done—risk losing everything to try to save both fetuses or make the safer choice? The one to save you.
Increase my anger toward her? What anger? When?
And I could just have easily been the other twin. She didn’t know who she was saving.
I turn off the water and text back. Dad said nothing to me about my twin. I almost tell her about Gibbs’ twins but decide her name will complicate rather than explain. There’s a missing girl in Austin named Bailee West who looks very much like me. I think I saw her in Cabela’s. I did have a dream. That’s why I asked. Maybe in another universe you saved us both.
I put the phone on the counter and take off the rest of my clothes. The water is too hot, so I have to ease into it slowly. And the tub is too full. Some of the water drains out above the shower lever. My head rests against the back lip, and my blood-red knees rise like islands above the water because my legs are so long. My arms and breasts float just beneath the surface. So relaxing.
I close my eyes and try to return to the blind. I was tied to a chair but had been slapped off balance, the rope around my neck tightening.
* * *
I lift my chin higher, but I still can’t breathe. I gag and gasp. Just before I black out, I hear twigs snap outside the blind. A hand grasps my face and squeezes, pulling me upright in the chair. The rope is still tight around my neck, but I can breathe.
Another twig snaps behind me. It almost sounds on purpose. I hear slow footsteps inside the blind moving behind me then stop. Maybe I should scream and let whoever it is know I’m in here.
Just before I make a sound, I hear the zipper barely move. Then again. Caden’s unzipping the door and doesn’t want to be heard.
Another twig snaps.
I hear Caden pant.
I should scream.
But he’ll hit me.
And if he does, the person outside will have a moment’s advantage.
I scream. Caden slugs the back of my head and lights blast off in my brain. I’m suspended sideways, the rope tightening. I can’t breathe.
The zipper rips open, and light pours inside the blind.
“Die, you motherfucking asshole!” A girl’s voice. Bailee?
Caden growls then screams behind me. Liquid splashes onto my face and arms. It’s blood. I hear horrible gurgling sounds.
“How many times do I have to slit your throat?”
An arm pulls me upright. I hear a slice, and the rope relaxes. The tape is ripped from my mouth.
My mind sinks further into darkness.
She’s holding me. “Please don’t die. Not this time. Stay with me. Please.”
“Bai . . . lee.”
“Yes. Bailee. What’s your name?”
“Laney.”
I sink away. I don’t feel her touch.
* * *
I lurch out of the water, coughing. Water is in my lungs. The sound of my choking explodes in my ears, echoing against the tile. I’m drowning.
I stumble out of the tub, landing on my shoulder. I need to puke. Scrambling along the floor, I pull my face above the toilet and wretch into it. Water and yellow bile swirl. More coughing, gasping for breath.
Someone is banging on the door behind me.
“Laney!” Gibbs yells. “Open the door.”
I puke again. My guts lurch into my throat. Stabbing pain cripples my chest. I can’t get air.
Gibbs rattles the knob and the door opens. I feel cold air hit the water on my skin, and I shiver.
“What happened to you?” She throws a towel over my back.
I cough some more. She slaps between my shoulder blades. More water spills into the toilet. I can breathe again. I sit back on my butt and lean my head against the toilet seat.
She wipes my face with a towel then rubs the other towel around my back.
“What happened?”
“I . . . must’ve fallen asleep . . . in the tub.” I lean back and look at the mess I’ve made. “Sorry.”
“For what? I’ll clean up. Don’t you worry. Can you stand?”
I nod and try to push myself up. Gibbs stands and helps me up. She gives me a new towel.
“Here. Wrap this around you.” She tucks the corner at the side of my breast and smiles. “Maybe you should take a nap before dinner.”
I nod and grab my phone near the sink. She gathers my clothes.
“Did you and Dad work things out?”
“Not really. No one’s going to believe me until I hand them a baby.”
I squeeze her hand. “That would be amazing.”
She walks me back to my room.
“Bailee tried to save me.”
“What?” Her eyes widen, and her brows wrinkle.
“After she killed Caden, she said, ‘Don’t die. Not this time.’ She’s saved me before, and I’ve died every time. I think she’s trying to find me.”
“Who’s Caden? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tell me after you’ve slept a little. Here, lie down.”
She pulls back the covers. I sit on the bed then fall back against my pillow. She covers me.
“You sleep as long as you want. I’ll have something to eat when you wake up.”
“Thank you.”
She touches my face, turns out the light, and leaves.
I need to find Bailee. She went to the park to find me. She didn’t know my name. The only way she knows where to find me is to look for Caden. How many times has she killed him? Or versions of him.
Jagger. I need to skip to Jagger.
But how?
26
I’m going to need Jag’s help at the park, so I text him. I know this is going to sound weird, Jag, but I need you to drive to the campground near the Onion Creek Trailhead at Falls Park. How soon can you be there?
After a minute, he texts back. I was hoping to hear from you today. How are you? It’d take me about twenty minutes. What do you need?
I text back. I don’t have time to explain, but I need you there. As soon as you can. And bring a knife or even a gun. Wait for me. I’ll be there. Please don’t reply. Just do this for me.
I wait to see if he sends anything back, but he doesn’t. Good for him. I can imagine what’s going through his head right now, but what does he have to lose? Gas and time. And to gain? A reunion with me, and probably a very dangerous situation, but he doesn’t know that.
I imagine what we’ve been doing for the past two days. I wouldn’t have risked skipping my flight just to hold hands during a movie or even making out in his
car. I’d be having sex with him, my first time. Being tortured by Caden doesn’t count, nor does masturbating at Marissa’s.
I lay on my back and open my towel. What would his hands feel like? My fingers touch my breasts then move lower until they find my thighs. I imagine his lips touching my stomach, kissing my skin, moving lower, inhaling my scent. I open my legs to him.
* * *
I am in my bed, lying on my side, naked. I see my bookshelves and Jagger’s shirt and pants draped over my chair. His hand rests on my hip. I can feel his warmth radiating from behind me. His breath licks the top of my head in slow, even wafts as we share the same pillow. He is sleeping.
I could move my butt back less than an inch and feel his genitals. Just a slight movement as one would naturally make during sleep. I could feel all of him against me, but then I couldn’t leave. And I have to.
In slow motion, I move toward the edge of the bed. His fingers linger on my butt cheek then slip off. I stand and turn slightly, barely breathing. He is uncovered above his thighs and so beautiful. Just enough hair to tease but not cover, curly and soft. Fading tan lines reveal a short bathing suit.
I force myself to turn away and move into my closet. For what might happen tonight, I think old sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and a pair of Keds would be best. I dig my keys out of my pants crumpled on the floor, my panties still inside. It’s obvious I ripped them off together quickly. I toss these into the hamper. I don’t want Jag thinking I walked out of the house naked. Our phones lay on my desk. I take mine and let my eyes linger one more time on his body, then slip out my door.
I leave him a note on the kitchen counter. Don’t worry about me. Get some rest. You’ll need it when I come back. In fact, please stay in bed as much as possible. I’ll slip back under the covers with you soon. I draw a smiley face with puckered lips. Since my guide knife and pepper spray are in Alaska, I head toward Khannan’s nightstand. His gun and bullets are still in the drawer. Jag should know what to do. I put the gun and box in my pants pockets and check my mother’s drawer. Most of her toys are still there and the rope. I take two coils, shove them in my shirt pouch, and head toward my car.
Some Laneys Died: A Skipping Sideways Thriller Page 20