by Erik Carter
Yorke spoke. “He’s been speaking only as Felix. We’ve tried to get him to bring out Jonathan, but he claims he doesn’t know that name or any of the other personalities. It’s as though Felix has chosen to block the others out entirely.”
Jane sighed. “I can believe that. I’ve met Felix before. Only once. Right before John left, cross-country from Kansas, to come back here to California to commit the first crime.
Melbourne stepped closer to her. “How did it happen?”
Jane washed her hands in the kitchen sink and admired the small river stones in the backsplash. They mirrored the larger stones on the house’s exterior. It was a classy touch. Jane loved attention to detail. And she loved everything about her little cottage-style house in Topeka. It was her place over the rainbow. Her escape. She’d finally gotten herself and John somewhere safe and secure.
She called out to him as she dried her hands. “Find any more intriguing info?”
There was no reply.
She finished drying her hands and walked out to the dining room table where she’d left John going over his stacks of research material as he continued to delve deeper into his conspiracy theory about a cover-up to the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.
And when she saw him, she nearly jumped back.
It was something about his expression. Something different in his eyes. It wasn’t sinister … just different. Very different from her brother. And when he spoke to her, Jane’s suspicion was confirmed.
It was a brand-new personality.
John tilted his head, squinted his eyes, confused.
“I apologize, madame. Do you work at this establishment?”
The voice was very old-fashioned sounding. And affected, kind of over-the-top, almost cheesy.
For a moment, Jane didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure how to respond. There hadn’t been a new alter since John first split. She didn’t know how to handle it. And she certainly didn’t understand what he meant by asking her if she worked at an establishment.
So she just said, “Yes … Yes, I do.”
“I see. Then I must ask you to leave.”
“Why?” Jane said as she slowly, cautiously walked closer to him.
John suddenly bolted out of his seat, making Jane jump. He leaned over the table, spreading his arms out.
“Because I cannot have you seeing these materials. Not until I am prepared to release them to the public. I do hope you understand.”
Jane thought for a moment, wondered how to proceed.
“What’s your name?” she said.
“Felix Lyons,” he said in an exasperated tone. “Now, I must ask you to leave. I have an agreement with the owner to use these facilities exclusively. “
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jane said. “I live here.”
John laughed heartily. “You live in a restaurant? You are a humorous individual, madame.”
Jane stepped a bit closer to him.
“I mean you no harm, Mr. Lyons. Why don’t we—”
John leaned farther over his materials and slammed his hand down on the table with a loud crack.
Again, Jane jumped. She stopped in her tracks.
“Dammit, woman! I have been cordial with you to this point. This is your final request to leave. Pray I do not lose my patience.”
John’s face had gone red, and there was a bit of sweat on his brow. He was simmering, nearing a boil.
John was a sweet man, and Jane had never seen him nor any of his other personalities this angry. She’d been caring for John and his condition her entire mature life, since shortly after the two of them reached puberty. And she’d never felt frightened of John or the alters.
Until now.
John’s eyes bored into her with fire. His hands were on the table, a slight bend in his elbows, and his whole frame quivered. She started to slowly back away from him.
But then the rage in his eyes disappeared.
Vanished.
He quickly sat back down at the table. His face went blank, his features softening dramatically. He blinked, and now his eyes were big—open and curious—innocent. He spoke.
“Janey?” His voice was small, squeaky. Like a tiny child. Because that’s what he was.
He’d switched to Andy.
“I think I lost some time again,” he said. He paused for a moment, looked around the room. Then he rubbed a fist into his eye and yawned.
Jane’s body was shaky from her experience with Felix Lyons. She leaned against the counter behind her, gathered her resolve.
John stood up, walked over to her. Even though she knew he was Andy now, her instinct made her jump back.
“I’m sooooo hungry. Can I have some candy?”
Jane took a deep breath and walked to the towel she’d just used to dry her hands. She wiped her face with it.
“Not right now,” she said.
John stepped up to her. “Pleeeeease! I really want candy.”
He bounced on the balls of his feet.
“I said, not right now.”
Jane liked to think she had a good deal of patience, but if she was being honest with herself, she knew that sometimes Andy’s baby-talk annoyed her. She understood that her brother couldn’t help it—she’d lived with his condition for years, studied it at school and on her own—but at times the Andy voice seemed absurd to her, making her wish he would just knock it off.
And right now her heart was still racing from this new alter she’d met.
Felix Lyons certainly wasn’t evil. No person that came out of John’s personality could be evil. If anything, Felix seemed passionate, and evidently his passion was this historical conspiracy John had been researching the last few years. But Felix was more forceful than John. Much more forceful. Maybe that’s why John’s mind had created him—a more forceful personality to pursue this quest of historical correction, something that John’s meeker personality couldn’t do.
And Jane knew that while passionate people weren’t often evil, they could certainly be dangerous. Jane didn’t know what to do about this new personality, Felix.
She took a couple more quick, deep breaths, trying to slow her heart.
John continued to bounce on his feet. He stomped his right foot.
“I want candy. Please, please, please!”
“No, Andy!”
She just wished it would stop. That kid voice. She needed a break. Ten minutes. Just ten minutes to calm down, to gather her thoughts about Felix. Should she take time off work? Schedule some more appointments back in Lawrence?
She needed to talk to John.
“You’re so mean. I’m hungry. I want candy!”
Jane grabbed his shoulders.
“You know what I want? I want my brother. I want John.”
He brushed at her hands.
“Stop it.”
She squeezed tighter.
“I want to see John.”
His eyes went left to right. Frightened. His mouth opened.
She grabbed even tighter. “I want to talk to my brother. Where is he?”
He pushed at her hands, squirmed away from her. Tears formed in his eyes. “Leave me alone!”
She shook him hard. “Have you seen John? Huh? Have you, Andy?”
She was shaking him so violently now that his head swung about.
He swiped her hands away. “Stop it!”
He ran off. To the living room. Dropped onto the couch and pulled his legs in. The fetal position. He sobbed.
And Jane realized what she’d done.
Oh my god…
She ran to the couch, dropped to her knees beside him. He shuttled away from her.
“Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”
More sobbing. Louder. His face was between his knees. He held his arms protectively over his head.
Jane felt sick.
What had she done?
She sat on the couch beside him, reached out to him. He moved farther away.
“Andy, I’m so sorry. Janey didn�
��t mean it.”
“Leave me alone…” he said pitifully between sobs.
She reached out again, touched his shoulder.
“You know Janey would never do anything to hurt you, right?”
He shrugged. But his crying lessened somewhat.
She drew closer, put an arm around him.
“She wouldn’t,” she said and pulled him in. “Janey loves you. And John. And Rebecca and Walter.”
He let his head go to her shoulder.
She kissed the top of his shaggy hair.
He sniffled and put an arm around her, nuzzled his head against her neck. His warm tears dribbled onto her chest.
She rested her cheek on his head. “Shh. Shhhhhh…”
She rocked him gently and started singing.
“Hush little Andy don’t you cry. ’Cause Janey’s gonna sing you a lullaby…”
Jane wiped a tear away. She was embarrassed that she’d cried in front of Melbourne and Yorke.
“And that was the last time I’d seen John until today,” she said. “When I woke up the next morning, I found a note, signed by John. It said that he and Felix were on a mission and that Felix needed John to drive him to California. That he’d come back to Kansas after the mission was completed. John stole my car. He’s never even had a driver’s license. They arrested him five days later for the first robbery.”
“And you’ve been on the run ever since?” Yorke said.
Jane nodded. “I came back to California, and I’ve been laying low. So my father doesn’t find me. Under-the-table jobs. Apartment I pay for in cash.”
She looked at her brother again through the glass. She’d done it all for him. She’d do anything for her twin.
Melbourne crossed his arms. “Let’s hope somehow all that you’ve done for him will help to bring Jonathan back out.”
Jane sat on one side of the table with Melbourne and Yorke. And across from her was John.
Only a couple feet away.
It had been so long since she’d been this close to him. And yet it wasn’t him. It was Felix. It was surprising to Jane how easily she recognized John’s alters based solely on the way he held his face. She’d only met Felix once, but she recognized him immediately. His body language was more precise than John’s. He was more poised than the other alters. And there was a strong sense of purpose in his eyes.
Jane looked at Melbourne.
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
Jane turned to her brother. “Felix, do you recognize me?”
John shook his head. “I am afraid I do not.”
“I’d like to speak to John.”
He gave her a puzzled look.
“Jonathan,” she said.
Still he didn’t respond. His eyes turned to Melbourne and Yorke. “Who is this ‘Jonathan’ you are all seeking?”
“Look at me, Felix,” Jane said. “Really look at me. Are you sure you don’t recognize me?”
At first, John was exasperated. But then he squinted, confused. He studied her.
“You know,” he said. “Somehow I believe I do recognize you. But I fail to recall how.”
Jane’s spirits lifted for the first time in a long time. Just the smallest glimmer of hope.
She reached into her packet and took out a photo—the image of her and John from college. The one she kept on her desk. She’d taken it out of the frame. The two of them together, her arms around his shoulders, both smiling.
She handed him the photo. He studied it, his eyes still squinting.
Then John’s hands flew to his head.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Paulie stood in the living room of his estate, preparing to leave. Huge, floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the room’s angular, modern decor with the pinkish light of dusk as the sun began to disappear. He and Danny’s figures cast long shadows onto the furniture.
Paulie threw on his jacket.
“And you’re sure they saw both of them?” he said to his son.
“Absolutely,” Danny said. “First, John was taken in, and now Janey walked in of her own free will. They said her hair’s black now.”
Danny scoffed.
Paulie buttoned the jacket.
“Let’s roll.”
Paulie stepped outside to the wraparound, cobblestone driveway with a group of men behind him, including Danny. There were several cars parked along the drive, and he, Danny, and his driver went to the Rolls-Royce.
There was a flash of light, something at the gate at the end of his drive. His men had seen it too. Urgent voices.
It was a small caravan of vehicles, luxury machines like those lining Paulie’s drive. Several men, all wearing suits, stepped out of the cars and approached his gate.
The silver-haired man leading the group was Angelo Alfonsi.
Paulie hesitated, and his instinct pulled him toward the small gun strapped to his ankle. But he restrained.
There were noises from his boys, metallic sounds as they grabbed their guns. But Paulie waived them off, giving them a look that told them to keep their weapons at bay.
He did so because Angelo had his hands in the air as he approached the gate. The hands of all his men were also visible and free of guns. Walking beside Angelo, on either side of him, were his sons, Mateo and Marco. This was an unorthodox move for sure, but whatever Angelo had in mind, it was nonviolent.
At least for the moment.
Paulie and his men slowly walked down the drive. Angelo waited on the other side of the gate, his hands remaining in the air, as they approached.
As Paulie drew closer to his visitors, he saw a neutral expression in Angelo’s green eyes. He stopped a couple feet from the gate.
They were face-to-face for the first time in at least five years or so. And only the third time ever.
“There has been too much bloodshed,” Angelo said. “And I want you to know that it is not of my doing, but it is my fault. For not reeling in my boy.”
He motioned toward Marco, who shifted uncomfortably and looked away from Paulie.
“He’s the one,” Angelo continued. “He hired El Vacío to track down your son.”
Paulie could have pulled his gun from his ankle holster and shot Marco dead right in front of his father.
But he restrained.
Marco continued to look away.
“And you came here to turn him over to us, I hope,” Paulie said in jest, controlling the rage that coursed through him.
“You know I can’t do that, Paulie. What I’m offering is our help in returning your son to you. Whatever assistance you need, we’re at your disposal. It can’t change what my son has done, but it can put an end to the violence.”
Angelo looked at Paulie for a moment before continuing.
“From one father to another,” Angelo said, “I want you to know that my intentions here are noble.”
Paulie turned to Danny, standing beside him, then looked to his other men and back to Angelo.
“I accept your offer,” Paulie said. “And you can start making things right immediately. Come with us to the Hall of Justice. We’re paying a little visit to the DA’s office.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Felix was in the darkness. A void.
For a moment, he was frightened. But only for a moment. Because although it was a strange place—surreal and empty—there was something familiar about it.
He heard a voice.
“Hello, Felix.”
It was the same voice he’d been hearing lately. The voice that had tormented him so. His mania.
A figure materialized. A man. Felix’s height. Shaggy hair. He wore bizarre, square-framed spectacles.
And somehow Felix knew the man’s name. He said it.
“Jonathan?”
The other man nodded.
“What is happening?” Felix said. “I do not understand.”
“It’s time for me to return,” Jonathan said.
Felix was completely perplexed, but an overwhelming desire ov
ercame his confusion.
He couldn’t fail his goals.
“No!” Felix said. “My mission…”
Jonathan put his hand on Felix’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Felix. I won’t let history forget the people who died. I’ll figure out a way to get the truth out about the quake. A better way. A peaceful way.”
“But—”
“You have to trust me,” Jonathan said with a pure, meaningful look in his eyes.
And for some reason, Felix did trust him.
Felix fell asleep.
Jonathan Fair blinked his eyes. His chin was resting on his chest, and as he looked up, he saw his sister and two strangers sitting across the table from him.
His sister.
He hadn’t seen her in what felt like forever, not since Felix had convinced him to drive him to California on his quest.
“Jane!”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached out across the table. He took her hands.
The room around them was small, dingy, and with the large mirror on the wall to his left, he recognized it as an interrogation room.
A bearded man and a blonde woman sat on either side of Jane. Official-looking people. Cops.
“Jane,” he said. “I think I’ve lost time again.”
“You have, John,” she said. A tear fell down her cheek.
“Something happened, didn’t it?” he said, looking at the other two. “Something with Felix.”
The man spoke. “Jonathan, my name is Tim Melbourne, and this is Hanna Yorke. Your alter, Felix Lyons, has broken out of Napa State Hospital and committed multiple robberies across San Francisco the last several days. Do you have any recollection of these activities?”
John looked away and thought hard. Everything was so unclear. Foggy.
“I was researching the 1906 earthquake cover-up. In Topeka. And…”
He stopped and thought for a moment.
“And a new alter came out. Felix. He said he was strong enough to complete the mission, to get the message out about the truth I’d discovered about the quake. He needed my help. Coordination. And a ride to California.”