“No,” she said after a moment’s thought.
John stepped forward quickly. “I know how to use it; I’m with her. Can you just let us into the room?”
The librarian nodded wearily, and they followed him to a small back room, where the microfilm reader was set up. “You thread the film through here,” he said, “and turn the knobs to advance it.” He gave John a suspicious look. “Got it?”
“Yes, thank you for your help. We are very appreciative,” John said as he glared at Jessica.
As the door closed behind the librarian, Jessica pulled the film out of her pocket and handed it over. “Okay, what are we looking for?” she asked excitedly, clapping her hands with anxious energy.
“Slow down, okay?” John said wearily. “We almost got killed, we don’t even know what’s wrong with Charlie, and now you’re giddy like we’re looking for hidden treasure.”
“Sorry.” Jessica straightened her posture.
“I think these are the same pictures,” John said as he unwound the film and threaded it carefully through the machine. He flipped it on, and the first picture appeared: Jessica and Charlie, picking outfits in a clothing store. He clicked through the next few; they all matched what he remembered of the photos, though the order was different—chronological, he supposed.
“They’re the same, and they’re not any clearer, either,” Jessica said.
“What?” John went back, trying to see what Jessica had noticed that he hadn’t.
“They’re not any clearer. Charlie is still blurry,” Jessica pointed out.
“She’s just in motion,” John explained.
“In all of them?”
“The picture is clear,” he said again, growing agitated. “She’s just walking.” Despite his words, he stopped and began to go through the pictures more slowly, studying Charlie’s appearance in each one. Jessica was right: Charlie was blurry in all of the pictures, even some where she appeared to be standing still. John clicked through the photos fast, confirming it: there was Jessica and Charlie in a clothing store; Marla with them outside Jessica’s apartment; Charlie hugging herself as she spoke to John at the Burkes’ house that first night—Charlie was blurry in all of them. John flipped ahead quickly to the last set: himself with Charlie—the false Charlie—sitting in the restaurant where they’d had dinner.
The reel ended on the final picture from that night: Charlie nearly lost in the crowd, turning back one last time. She was barely visible, far more distant here than in any of the other pictures, only recognizable by the color of her dress and hair.
“I still don’t see the point,” Jessica said impatiently. John grasped the lens and turned it; the picture shrank. “These are the same pictures.” She turned away and sighed.
“This is the point,” he said, slowly turning it back the other way. The film was high-resolution and the image continued to enlarge as he zoomed closer to Charlie.
“What is?”
John kept zooming in; Jessica gasped, stepping back from the machine. John let go of the lens. “It has a maximum range,” he said softly. The figure that filled the screen was elegant and feminine, but it was not human. The face was exquisitely sculpted and was split down the middle, a thin seam outlining where the two halves met. The limbs and body were segmented plates, their color almost iridescent.
“It looks like a mannequin,” Jessica gasped.
“Or a clown,” John added. “I saw her,” he said wonderingly. “The night Clay was attacked, she was on the road. She looked at me …” The eyes in the photo were difficult to see, and John leaned closer to the screen, trying to make them out.
“It’s the imposter, it’s the other Charlie,” Jessica breathed. John snapped off the projector, blinking as the haunting figure disappeared. He took the disc from his pocket and handed it to Jessica. She turned it over in her hand, her eyes widening. “Is this hers?”
“No,” John said shortly. “But I’m guessing that our mutual friend has one just like it, messing with our heads when we’re around her and making us see her as Charlie.” He leaned back against the table. “I think Clay took those pictures; I think he suspected something like this but needed to prove it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“These things, these discs, send out signals that overwhelm your brain, causing you to not see what’s really in front of you. Now, that wouldn’t work on a camera, obviously, but Henry thought of that, too.”
“So, the frequency or whatever it emits causes the image to blur,” Jessica said, catching on.
“Exactly, but it has a maximum range. The signal fades; that’s why he captured these from a distance. He suspected that whatever was causing the illusion must have its limits.” John began putting the film back into his bag. “That’s why she looks human in the other pictures, at least, human enough when blurred.”
Jessica studied the disc again for a moment before John took it back. “I still don’t understand,” she said. She looked around as though suddenly afraid of being caught.
“I think it’s exactly what I suspected,” he said. “Except I was completely wrong.”
“Oh, that makes perfect sense,” Jessica quipped.
“I had all these theories about Charlie,” John said. “And even though I may have been wrong about the details, I suspected that Charlie, our Charlie, had been swapped out with an imposter. But it wasn’t a twin brother, or a twin sister. Afton swapped her out with … this.”
“A robot?” Jessica said skeptically. “Like from Freddy’s? John, that was different. People, kids, had been murdered. Those robots were haunted. I don’t even believe in hauntings, but those things were haunted! Robots like what you’re talking about don’t exist, at least … not yet. Plus, she knew everything Charlie did, how could Afton have programmed that?”
“She didn’t know everything, though. She blamed all the gaps in her memory on the near-death experience; her personality changed—everything changed—and we all believed she had just turned over a new leaf,” he said bitterly.
“You didn’t,” Jessica said, and he met her eyes.
“Yeah, but I wanted to. Something just wasn’t right.”
Jessica was quiet for a moment. “Why did she kill Jen?” she said abruptly.
“What?”
“Why would she kill Jen?” she repeated.
“Charlie’s aunt Jen knew her better than anyone,” John said. “She must have known she couldn’t fool her.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Jessica bit her lip, then her face took on a look of alarm. “Or she went there—”
“To find Charlie,” John cut in.
“John, we left her alone; we have to go back.”
John was already out the door, running headlong across the library to the exit. Jessica ran after him. They both got into John’s car and he hit the gas, clenching his jaw as they sped toward his apartment.
Have you forgotten something?” the man snapped, and the woman gave him a level stare.
“I forget nothing.”
“Then why are you not already on your way?” He lifted his arm weakly and gestured toward the door.
“Time is running short,” she said. “I do not understand why we are spending our time—your time—pursuing this thing. I am better used here.”
The man was silent.
“We are seeing results,” she added, but he shook his head.
“We are seeing nothing.” He held up a finger before she could protest. “Anyone can discover a fire already burning, but Henry found a unique spark—created something truly different, something he didn’t deserve, or intend, to stumble upon.” He gave the woman a sharp look. “You will bring it to me.” The woman cast her eyes to the floor, and when she spoke there was something pleading in her voice.
“Am I not enough?” she asked softly.
“No, you’re not,” he said firmly, looking away.
The woman paused, then walked out the door, not looking back.
* * *
When he turned into the lot, he let out a shaky breath: the few cars belonged to his neighbors, and his door was intact. He gave Jessica a curt nod, and they got out of the car. Jessica followed close behind and stood beside him, facing the parking lot, as he unlocked the door. Jessica jabbed him in the side hard with her elbow just as he was about to turn the key, and he jerked it back from the lock. “OW! What the … ?” He whirled around angrily to Jessica, then immediately straightened his posture and threw on a big smile.
“Charlie!” he blurted. The elegant woman approached them, and John reflexively took a step back. “Where did you come from? I mean, we didn’t see your car. What a nice surprise,” he added hastily. The woman who was not Charlie smiled easily.
“I’ve been out walking, I wanted to clear my head. I realized I was near you and thought I’d stop by. Is that okay?”
John nodded, stalling for time. “Of course! It’s great to see you!” John blurted, painfully aware that he was overselling. “My place is a mess, though. Bachelor pad, you know?” He forced a grin. “Do you and Jessica mind waiting out here while I clean up a little?”
Charlie laughed. “John, you saw my dorm room last year—I can handle a little mess!”
“Well, unlike you last year, I’m not working on a crazy brilliant science project, so I have no excuse,” he said.
Jessica jumped in. “How about that project, Charlie? Did you keep working on it? How’s it looking?”
Charlie turned to Jessica as if seeing her for the first time. “I lost interest,” she said. John seized his chance: he unlocked the door, slipped inside, and locked it behind him before the imposter could follow. In his bedroom, Charlie, his Charlie was still curled up on his bed, her back pressed against the wall; she didn’t look like she’d moved since he left.
“Charlie,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, but I have to move you, now. I’ll be careful.” He scooped her up with care. She was warm in his arms, and her eyes twitched beneath her lids: she was dreaming. John held on tightly, looking around the room for a place to hide her—his failure to furnish the place beyond the essentials was working against him. John carried Charlie out into the living room: the couch was at an angle to the wall, leaving a tiny, triangular space behind it. John set Charlie on the couch temporarily, took a blanket that had been in a heap on the floor, and tossed it down into the space, giving her at least a little cushion. Then he climbed over, picked her up, and lifted her over the back, settling her on the floor. He barely fit, even standing, and he kept his eyes behind him as he climbed back over the couch, afraid of kicking her. There was another gray blanket draped over the end of the couch, something left by a previous tenant, and he grabbed it and spread it over Charlie, covering her face.
Someone knocked on the door. “John?” Jessica called. “Are you almost done cleaning?” There was an edge of panic in her voice. John looked around. There was no evidence of a mess, or him having just hurriedly cleaned one. He rushed to the bedroom and grabbed some laundry from his laundry basket, then carried it with him to answer the door.
“Sorry,” he said, aiming for a sheepish expression. “I don’t get a lot of guests.” Jessica smiled nervously and the other Charlie flashed a grin as she pushed in past him.
“Looks pretty nice,” she said, turning to him. “How’s the neighborhood?”
“… Fine,” John managed, disconcerted to be face-to-face with her, moments after the real Charlie. This time he could see the differences—he could have written a list. The impression that this woman, with her glamorous allure, was simply Charlie, grown into her beauty with grace and new self-assurance, was gone. Now, the individual features stuck out on her face like warts—each one a marker that this was not Charlie. Nose too narrow, cheeks too hollow. Eyes too far apart. Hairline too high. Eyebrows at the wrong angle. The disparities were minute, millimeters or less: the only way to be sure would be to look at Charlie and her robotic double side by side. Or one right after the other. The imposter Charlie gave him a subtle smile and shifted her balance, as though about to come closer. John cleared his throat, hunting for something to say, but Charlie had already looked away and was now glancing around the living room. Behind her, Jessica was giving him a questioning look, probably wondering where the real Charlie was. John ignored her: Not-Charlie strode past him into his bedroom, and he followed quickly.
“Right!” John bolted into action. “So, this is my bedroom,” he said, as if the tour had been his own idea.
“Nice,” Charlie murmured, surveying the room. She turned in a circle, taking it all in, then went to the dresser, and turned to inspect the room again from there.
“So, hey, we should all go hang out later or something!” Jessica said suddenly, but Charlie didn’t answer. Instead, she knelt slowly and peered under the bed. Jessica and John exchanged a nervous glance.
“Not much to see. It’s just me here.” John laughed. Jessica elbowed him and made a disapproving expression. I’m being too obvious again, he realized. John could feel his pulse in his throat, immediately regretting what he’d said. Please don’t look around. Charlie went into the bathroom and glanced around it, opening the medicine cabinet and examining the contents. Jessica gave John a perplexed look, then it occurred to her. She’s looking for signs that someone’s been injured. Charlie began to close the cabinet, then caught sight of her own reflection and paused, her hand still on the cabinet door, looking at herself. She was still for a long moment, then her eyes darted to John in the mirror, and she made a face.
“I hate mirrors,” she remarked, then turned away and pulled back his shower curtain.
“I know right? They add ten pounds,” John said mildly.
“I think that’s cameras,” Jessica corrected.
“Well, mirrors add at least five,” John whispered.
“Maybe you just need to lose weight.”
“Are we really having this conversation now?”
They continued to watch Charlie. “She’s searching,” Jessica whispered. “She’s not even trying to hide it.”
John worried. Charlie paused and opened the bedroom closet, then crouched down to look in the open space under his hanging shirts and jackets. She stood and went back into the living room: Jessica followed, sprinting to get ahead of her and sitting on the couch quickly, crossing her legs. Charlie went to the kitchenette and opened the refrigerator, then closed it.
“Are you hungry?” Jessica asked. “I’m sure John has something you can eat.”
“No, thank you. How have you been, Jessica?” Charlie asked, crossing the room to the couch. John’s whole body went rigid as he willed himself not to run across the room and yank her away. Instead, he opened the fridge himself, forcing himself to breathe as, from the corner of his eye, he watched her sit down beside Jessica.
“Anybody want a water? Or a soda?” he called.
“Yes, please,” Jessica said with a strain in her voice, coughing loudly. John grabbed two cans and brought them over. Jessica took hers eagerly. “Thank you,” she said with too much emphasis, and he nodded.
“Yeah, of course.” He smiled stiffly at Charlie, and she looked back: every moment she was there, he felt more and more like his skin was about to crawl off his bones. He would have thought it was a side effect of her chip, except it had not happened until he knew what she was.
“Sit down, John.” Charlie smiled, gesturing to the arm of the couch beside her.
“Sorry I don’t have chairs and stuff. I never meant to live here long-term,” John explained nervously.
“How long have you been here?” Charlie’s familiar voice was like tin.
John sat down beside her. “Since—everything. This is where I lived when I first came here.”
“Oh.” She glanced around the room again. “I guess I don’t remember it.”
�
��You never saw it,” he said, unable to keep the coldness from his voice. Jessica shot him a warning glance, and he took a deep breath. Charlie began scanning the room again. She stared straight ahead, her face taking on a look of concentration. Her eyes swept up and down the room in strokes, her head and torso slowly turning until she was looking almost directly behind her: in a second, she would see the gap behind the couch. “Charlie, I had fun the other night,” John said quickly, forcing himself to mean it. “Do you want to have dinner again tonight?”
She turned back around, looking surprised. “Yes, of course—that sounds great, John. Same place?”
“Same place. Around seven?”
“Sure.”
“Great!” Jessica declared, and stood. “Anyway, I have to go,” she said. “Want to walk out with me, Charlie?” She glanced nervously at John, and he got up quickly.
“I can give you a ride if you need one,” he volunteered, “I know you said you were walking.”
Thank you, Jessica mouthed from behind her back.
“No,” Charlie said. “I think I’ll keep walking. I’m not parked too far away. It’s really nice outside.”
“Okay, then,” John said. Charlie moved gracefully across the living room and let herself out. Jessica let out a long breath like she’d been holding it. They went to the window and, silently, they watched the imposter go, until she had disappeared around a bend in the road.
“What if she comes back?” Jessica said. “I don’t want you alone with that thing,” she finished, practically spitting the last word. John nodded in vigorous agreement.
“I don’t want to be alone with her, either,” he said.
Jessica looked thoughtful for a moment. “I won’t be gone long,” she said. “We need help. And if you don’t think Charlie should go to the hospital, then the hospital has to come to her.”
“Marla?”
“Marla.” And with that, she went to the door quickly. John walked out with her, and watched uneasily as Jessica got in her car and drove off. Then he went back inside and shut the door, locking and bolting it. A lot of good this will do, he thought as he slipped the chain into place.
The Fourth Closet Page 10