Never-Contented Things

by Sarah Porter

  And even worse, my mother just heard what it said.

  “That’s why I’m coming back for you,” I say at last. I have to fight to lift my chin, but I do. “I admit I behaved like a coward, Olivia, but I’m going to make it right.”

  My mom grabs my arm. “Lexi, get inside and pack. As soon as you’ve spoken to the police, we’ll drive out to the cabin.” The cabin is my grandparents’ vacation home in Cape Cod; really, it’s more of a small, elegant, modern beach house, all glass and silvery wood, but that’s what we call it. When I glance at my mom, she’s staring straight at Olivia’s mouth on the oak, its tiny teeth biting a wet, pink tongue. But that’s the thing, it’s all so mad, so impossible, that my mom can’t even acknowledge what she’s seeing.

  Just like how no one could quite acknowledge it when Josh returned and then disappeared again. Minds slap shut like books to protect themselves from the havoc confronting us.

  “It’s too late,” Olivia’s voice whimpers from the oak. “Lexi, maybe you could have saved me then, but now it’s too late, and it’s all because of what you did! You should just give up. I’m lost forever.”

  All at once it hits me that, even if this voice is truly Olivia’s, even if this isn’t just a welt of dream opening in the world’s skin, she might be under the same uncanny influence that’s consuming Josh. She could be reciting the lies they’ve imposed on her. I’m lost forever strikes me with a whiplash of certainty, and I know that nothing the mouth says can be trusted.

  “Like hell you are,” I tell the tree. “You can let Prince and Unselle know I said so.”

  At that, the mouth stops pretending to be sad. It wrings into a fierce, unsettling grin, and when it speaks again all the childish sweetness is gone from its voice, replaced by a harsh rasp. “Oh, Alexandra, they can hear you just fine. And they can hear Ksenia mumbling to the air, pleading that you won’t try to save her. See, she knows she isn’t worth it! You have to admit that Ksenia understands more than you do.”

  My mom yanks on my arm. “Lexi, in the house! This instant!”

  Unselle can find her anywhere. Just like she can find you.

  That’s what Marissa’s mimic said, and for all I know it was a bluff, just another mirror in their maze of falsehoods—but something tells me that maybe, just maybe, that particular statement was true.

  Even if it weren’t for the mission I’ve taken on, there’s no way I could go with my family to Cape Cod, and risk bringing all this evil after them. And it’s awful, I know it is; I’ve worked all my life to be the daughter my parents deserve, but now I have to hurt them terribly.

  I pull my arm from my mother’s grasp and leap away from her, spinning to face her once I’m out of her reach. “Mom, I can’t. You have to go without me.”

  It was a mistake to look at her; her dark eyes are huge and overflowing, and her mouth has fallen from shock. “Sweetheart, please.”

  That’s even worse. My mother doesn’t beg.

  “Making you and Dad proud has been the single most important thing in my life,” I tell her. “But right now—there’s something that matters even more.”

  “Lexi!”

  “I’ll meet you at the cabin if I can,” I say. “But if I don’t come back, please try to forgive me.” And with that I turn away from her, and run as fast as my bare feet will fly. I can hear her chasing after me, but I’m carried by fury, by a kind of wild, bitter exaltation that I never knew could be mine. I’m borne up by the coronas of tear light in my eyes, until I barely feel the ground.

  Before too long, I know she’s fallen behind; that she’ll turn back to get her car, and that, by the time she drives through the dawn-lacquered streets, I’ll be nowhere to be seen. I was counting on having Kay’s help, but as far as I know she’s still asleep in my sock drawer; there’s nothing for it but to do what I have to on my own. I swing right at the end of the block, heading up the grade that leads to the cemetery.

  In every tree I pass, children’s mouths babble and yowl at me. “Alexandra,” one shrieks, “they missed Marissa, so who will they try now? If you go after Ksenia, who will you leave behind, here, in this town? Who will you leave to die?”

  I’m still running, but my steps falter just a bit at that. Realization knocks the breath from my lungs.

  Xand.

  even dreams consume

  They have me cornered, so that no matter what I do I’ll be responsible for the next gust of tragedy. Can I truly abandon Xand to them? In the initial shock of the false Ksenia’s death, he stayed with me constantly, rocked me in his arms for hours. I haven’t forgotten how sweet he was when I needed him most. And even when we fought, even when I left him, he was trying, just trying in the wrong way. But on the other hand, they’re so clearly determined to divert me from reaching Ksenia; they’ll play any trick to twist my steps away from her. And that can only mean one thing: they’re afraid. Of me, and of what I could do once I find her again.

  I hesitate in the midst of the sidewalk. Dawn like saffron paint spatters the gray cement. Ksenia has been the focus of my grief, of all my longing to mend the fissures running through our world. But isn’t Xand’s danger more urgent than hers?

  For all I know, they could blockade my way through to her, if I don’t go right now. They must realize that I’ve been heading for the cemetery; they must grasp what that means.

  All around me, mouths with curling lips still gibber from the tree trunks. The spring foliage nods with somnolent heaviness, and my ears echo with their taunts. “Oh, Alexandra, whatever will you do now? Do you really think it will make the slightest difference either way? We’ll take them all from you, take whomever we like, and grind them down into one blur, one boiling formlessness: the raw matter of our reality. Alexandra, even dreams consume, and children such as you are their food. Is that what you want for Alexander, or would you rather watch him die? Run, run and you’ll arrive in time. Maybe we’ll be generous, maybe we’ll let you choose. Hurry, now. We’ll wait for you.”

  Whatever these creatures are, they’re made out of lies; they’re built of deceit and illusions as surely as I’m composed of living cells. And yet they might still mix in fragments of the truth, if only to make our pain and confusion even worse.

  I finally turn right, to run the mile to Xand’s house—I’m still in my satin pajamas, still barefoot with my soles stinging from how I raced up here, but there’s no way I can risk going home for my phone. I’m not even choosing him over Ksenia because I want to, but because it seems like the only decent thing I can do. I’ll have to take the chance that, by the time I can return to the cemetery, the passage Kay told me about will be sealed.

  I’ve gone a block downhill when I notice that someone else is keeping pace with me on the opposite side of the street. I should have known, I should have anticipated that this would be a gesture that Josh’s new friends would find especially amusing, but I still swerve and nearly smack a lamppost.

  Because, of course, it’s me.

  They’ve made no effort to simulate my outfit, my torn pajamas with trails of dark grit where I shimmied down the tree; far from it. She’s dressed beautifully, that imitation Lexi, in a flowing, wine-red sundress that billows at her ankles as she runs, clings sinuously to the curves of her legs. Delicate gold gladiator sandals wind up her dark calves. And she’s wearing more makeup than I typically would, unless I was going to a party. Her eyelids shimmer with blue-violet iridescence and her lips are ruby-bright with gloss.

  She glances at me from the corners of her almond eyes, not bothering to turn her head, and smiles as if her mouth were filled with secrets as plump as cherries. A blue shadow longer than a night streams behind her heels.

  “Alexandra,” she calls, with venomous sweetness, “wasn’t it such a terrible mistake I made, leaving Alexander? Oh, but now I understand; the two of us just can’t keep away from each other. Do you think he’ll take me back? I’ll shower him with kisses, I’ll wrap myself around him like a vine. And then … I’ll do wh
atever I decide.”

  “Stay away from him,” I shout back, my voice thinned by breathlessness. We’re both running at a pace I know I can’t sustain much longer, a near sprint. I can’t help hearing the contrast with how she sounded, her tones oily and insinuating and not even faintly winded.

  She grins at me and leaps forward with unnatural grace; her sandals snap at the pavement. Then, while I stare in disbelief, she doubles her speed, her wine-colored dress whipping behind her. She’s me, but also not; a sheen of beauty, of killing sensuality, highlights her strong swimmer’s arms and the nape of her neck.

  She’s me as I might appear in Xand’s fantasies, at the moments when his longing sharpens its teeth: absurdly alluring, more goddess than girl. I drive myself faster, even knowing how impossible it is that I could outpace her, and for a while I can still watch the garnet and brown of her diminishing under the trees. I’d like to tell myself that Xand won’t be fooled, that he’ll notice at once that there’s something wrong, something exaggerated, in the Lexi writhing against him—and at the same time I recognize how little faith I have, that he can tell the false me from the real.

  If I could trust Xand to see through her, then maybe I wouldn’t have had to break up with him. I can’t see her anymore, and pain radiates through my chest. I slow down, my legs weakening with the knowledge that I’ll never get there in time to prevent whatever it is she’s going to do. Then I stop completely, breathing hard.

  They’re going after Xand because of me. I can’t ignore the responsibility implied by that. But if I have no realistic chance of saving him, then wouldn’t it be best if I reversed course and tried to reach Ksenia?

  Then I remember what the tree mouths said: they’ll wait for me. I’m the audience they require, and until I get there, they’ll linger, drag out the preliminaries. Only once I arrive will they raise the curtain.

  Unless they know I’m not coming. In that case, I have to assume they’ll slaughter him offhandedly, if only to get back at me for their disappointment.

  I’ve returned to the same conclusion, that I have no choice but to go on, to seize whatever chance I can, however slim, that I can stop the worst from happening.

  I gather my strength and take off down the hill again, the cold pavement scraping my feet.

  There’s a loud snap, a cracking and creaking, and a snapped-off pole supporting a power line crashes inches behind me. The ground vibrates like a drum against my naked soles. I spin around instinctively and see that the sky at my back is full of those horses, a cavalcade of steam gnarled and spun into rearing bodies, lashing manes. Even their whinnying sounds different, like moaning wind. And on their backs are riders: ghastly and beautiful, dressed in concoctions of scales and impossibly colored silk, their faces with odd tweaks, unusual ridges and planes, that suggest just how inhuman they must be. They prance and swirl above me and I can see their colors shining through their half-transparent steeds.

  Some of the horses have a different kind of rider, I see it now: what appear to be ordinary people but which are certainly replicas instead, in band T-shirts and jeans, or tweed blazers and slacks. I recognize a few faces from around town, and they look both drab and surreal scattered among those horribly lovely beings.

  But it’s the dull, false humans who are doing all the damage.

  A man I’ve seen at the gas station rounds back and darts at the branch of a tree just above my head, splintering it with a single kick. The branch plummets and I barely sidestep in time. Above me, the unearthly riders leap. An inhuman girl pivots in midair to catch my eye, her long pink dreadlocks whipping at her shoulders, and gives me a confiding smile. As if their attempt to kill me were a friendly gesture, something that might bring us closer.

  In their world, I had the impression that these creatures were incapable of physical violence, and maybe that’s why they’ve brought this legion of imitation humans with them; it seems that the same restrictions don’t apply to these mimics. They’re like weapons made all the worse by the bland familiarity of their faces.

  I leave the sidewalk and sprint instead down the center of the street, to be as far as possible from falling wreckage. The rising sun throbs in the leaves, and around me the town is waking; I race through the whirr of coffee grinders, the twittering of alarm clocks.

  What kind of world are all those people waking up to?

  Not one they’ve ever seen before. Not one they have the faintest idea how to cope with. The cloudy procession runs in midair behind me, heels smashing windshields, snagging laundry lines; a woman steps outside in her bathrobe to see what’s causing the tumult.

  Before I can yell to her, two fake-human riders blow by, a cable tangled around their feet. It catches the woman by the neck and drags her a dozen yards before she’s smashed headfirst against a truck. Even from a distance, I can see how her head is at an angle, which can only signify one thing. She’s not stirring even faintly, and I know there’s no point in trying to help her.

  She didn’t have time enough to scream. How deluded must I be, or how arrogant, to imagine that I can defeat this madness? Pausing, even long enough to glance at the murdered woman, gives them time to launch another branch at me. This one catches the edge of my shoulder and sends me staggering; it’s pure luck that it missed smashing my skull.

  The riders laugh. As for me, I run, run through a fragmenting town. The serene morning sounds of frying eggs and rushing showers are now mixed with scattered shrieks and the shrill tinkle of falling glass.

  As I race at least a dozen of the riders stay close behind me, now and then lobbing projectiles just behind my heels. As if they’re herding me, because the course I’m on was their choice all along.

  I hope to God my mom has given up searching for me by now, and made the decision to get Marissa and my father out of town. As long as my family is safe, I’ll face whatever comes next with all the courage I have.

  there are lies that have some truth in them

  By the time Xand’s house rises over the curving ground, the drama is already under way. From a distance, I spot the garnet sweep of her dress in the wind, its color even more vivid against Xand’s white house with its neat black shutters, its shrubbery trimmed boxy and severe.

  He’s with her, of course he’s with her. She stands on tiptoe to twist around him, her brown fingers deep in his hair, his pale cheek lowered to press against hers. So far from seeing through her, he’s yielding utterly to the illusion of this sultry, sweet Lexi who wants him back and raced to him at dawn just to tell him so. Even though I’m still too far away for her to catch the rush of my footsteps, she seems to feel my eyes on her instantaneously. I notice the slightest rotation of her head toward me, and a smile that seems to glide in my direction. Oh, Lexi, I thought you’d never come!

  She pulls his lips to hers and kisses him, deep and ravening. Xand seizes her by the hips, and now my steps have carried me close enough that I’m nearly certain I hear him moan. What makes it even more unsettling is that I can see the theatricality of her gestures, even if Xand can’t; her passion is overblown, insincere, as artificial as she is herself. With my revulsion and my fear for him comes anger; how can he possibly imagine that that creature is me?

  In my mind’s eye, I already see the scenario that artificial Lexi is planning. I’m supposed to cry his name, tell him to step away from her; she’s supposed to croon into his bewildered face, and then grin sidelong when he accepts her, new and improved as she is, in preference to the frazzled girl in ripped pajamas. I suppose it’s hard to see any alternative to doing just what she expects of me, but I still search for one; for anything at all that I can do, besides simply following her script.

  For a start, I approach in silence, my steps slow and so soft that I’m within ten feet of them before Xand’s head jerks in my direction. His mouth rounds, and then he tries to cover his dismay with a smirk—how did I imagine that I was in love with him, I wonder? I still say nothing, and my mimic starts to pout, clearly annoyed at my fai
lure to recite my lines.

  “Okay,” Xand says, with desperate jocularity—still trying, but now he’s trying to fool himself. “Good one. What are you going to tell me, that you two are long-lost twins?”

  He has to see it for himself; I don’t think I can save him if he doesn’t. He has to look in my face, and recognize that the true Lexi is the one who doesn’t want him. I’ve changed so much since my foray into nowhere that now I can scarcely remember the Lexi who did want him. I loved him, and I still care—but wasn’t there always something missing?

  Besides, it’s beneath me to plead for my own identity.

  My mimic lets him go and spins toward me. “Why don’t you tell him, Alexandra? Does it mean nothing to you, if I kill him?” She leans in, uncomfortably near, and for a moment I see our confrontation through Xand’s eyes: my double looming so intimately I feel a jolting fear that she intends to kiss me. Our two heads with their dawn-brushed twists of dark hair must take on the disquieting look of a dividing cell.

  Xand’s smirk is turning into a bent crevice of panic, as if understanding might at last be opening inside him, and with it the beginnings of fear.

  “Xand,” I say. “Go inside and lock the door.”

  “Lexi?” And there it is; he can still escape, if he’ll only pay attention to what he truly knows, and what he wishes he didn’t know. He hesitates, his gaze fluctuating between us. “We have to be together. I knew that if I waited, you would come back. I knew you couldn’t just stop loving me so easily!”

  Even he doesn’t know which of us he’s talking to.

  “I’m never coming back to you. But I love you enough to want to save your life, Xand. Now show me you have the sense to listen to me, and run away.”

  No. He still wavers, and my mimic smiles, her tongue flicking the air like she’s tasting his weakness. She swings back to him, her skirt lofting thigh-high in a gust of wind, and runs one silky finger down his cheek. Her nails are perfectly manicured to match her outfit, I notice, the same wine red as her dress, with bright golden tips. I’ve been biting mine again, ever since I saw Ksenia.