Twins

by Francine Pascal

  “What do you see, Gaia?” he asked cryptically, maintaining his smile as he held the knife to Gaia’s face. “You want to tell me who you were just talking to?” He hesitated for a moment, searching Gaia’s eyes curiously. His question made no sense to her. Not that she would have answered him, anyway. She was too busy assessing the wisest way to kill him. He might have somehow survived a gunshot to the head, but that was nothing compared to what Gaia could do to him.

  Josh lunged at her with the knife. Gaia hadn’t expected it. He lunged hard and fast, aiming straight for her chest.

  She felt her heart lurch at the swing of his knife. Yet another in this new flood of alien experiences. The unexpected shock to her system left the slightest gap in her reflex time. It was enough of a delay for Josh to nick her shoulder, but Gaia managed to dodge more serious injury, latching onto his arm and flipping him hard against the grassy rocks. The wicked landing knocked him out cold, and Gaia dove back down next to Mary.

  Only there was no Mary. Mary was gone. Her body had melted into the bushes. Another living nightmare, like her mother? But she’d seemed so real. The confusion was piling on so quickly, Gaia could hardly keep track of what had confused her in the first place.

  “Gaia … Help me …”

  Oh God, not another voice.

  He groaned in pain from behind her. But this voice she knew instantly. His voice. The one she’d been working overtime to drive from her head every other minute. His beautiful voice was speaking to her now, strained and muted by suffering. “Gaia, I need you….”

  She wanted to turn around, but some part of her already knew she would regret it. She knew she would be permanently damaged by whatever she saw, whether he was real or not. But still, how could she not look? How could she possibly miss a chance to see him again? Even if he was a ghost.

  That’s what they had to be. All of them. Ghosts. Gaia was seeing ghosts. Apparitions of the people she’d killed with her own negligence or ignorance. They seemed to obey none of the laws of nature, but they were too real to be dreams. It made perfect sense. How could these poor souls possibly be at rest when they never should have died in the first place? They’d all died for one reason and one reason only. Gaia Moore. And all she had to offer for their deaths was a long list of useless apologies.

  “Gaia, can you help me?” he begged again from behind her. “Will you look at me? Please.”

  She had no other choice. How could she deny him anything? Even if he was a ghost. She turned slowly toward his meek and desperate voice, and then she looked straight at him. His tormented image burned holes in her eyes. Her first impulse was to vomit.

  Sam Moon’s face was hollow and gray. His eyes and mouth were contorted with a look of unfathomable pain, like a living Rodin sculpture-an agonized, tortured soul. Smoke rose from the two black holes at the center of his chest as he reached his hand out to Gaia and fell to his knees.

  “Gaia, please,” he moaned. “Don’t let them hurt me anymore.”

  Everyone has some limit for pain—some point at which the pain becomes so great that it can hardly be felt anymore. And looking at Sam Moon, both dead and alive at the same time, Gaia had reached her limit. She’d retreated from her own body into some underground emotional bunker, leaving only her frozen skin and bones to witness this horror. She couldn’t speak to this ghost. To speak to this ghost would be to make it real, and that was something her heart simply refused to do.

  Two more shots rang out, and Sam’s body shook from the impact as he collapsed on the ground. And then … thank God … his body, like Mary’s, disappeared.

  Gaia dropped to the ground, hoping to touch what was left of his ghostly image, but she was given no time to mourn him. Two more shots rang out from a silencer as two thick holes erupted in the tree next to her face. And there was nothing supernatural about the shots. They were quite real. She turned just in time to see Josh Kendall marching toward her with his nine millimeter thrust out, firing again and again in a succession of whispered blasts.

  Move, Gaia, move. Another frustrating delay in reaction time as she dodged the gratuitous spray of bullets, rolling to her right. She turned to the bushes to run for cover, but standing there in front of the bushes … was Josh Kendall. With his knife. How the hell …? She turned right back around to escape him, but coming up fast from behind her still … was Josh Kendall. With his gun.

  Gaia looked in front of her and behind her again, and then she froze. Complete paralysis from head to toe.

  Two of them. Two Joshes. One with a knife and one with a gun. Okay, now I’m hallucinating. Or else I’m seeing more ghosts.

  Maybe Josh Kendall was haunting her…. No way. But if Josh was a ghost, then why were there still bullet holes in the trees? And why was her shoulder still bleeding from where he’d cut her?

  But if they weren’t ghosts, then what rational explanation could that leave? Other than the most obvious answer: Gaia had finally lost her mind. She’d been traumatized to her limit, and now she’d finally cracked. Maybe that’s what it took for her to feel fear. A full-on psychotic break.

  And apparently her psychosis had done the trick because as the two Joshes closed in on her, she began to feel something that was probably in the realm of terrified. She was unable to stave off the panic now. Unable to breathe or focus. She could barely move. It was taking control of her. She couldn’t suppress that heart-racing hollow buzzing.

  Josh took another swipe at her with the knife, and once again Gaia barely reacted in time. She ducked under him awkwardly and rolled away, but gunshots were raining on her the moment she recovered. From the other Josh’s gun.

  Her heart was beating so hard, it seemed to be trying to pound its way out of her chest. She was breaking down from her breakdown. Jesus, what now? She had to do something. She had to conjure up some vestige of her former self. She had to at least rid him of that gun, or she was dead for sure.

  She reached deep down into all her years of training and whatever was left of her spirit and launched into a flying kick. She snapped her leg out at the pistol, kicking it high out of Josh’s hand somewhere into the bushes, and then tucked her body into a cannonball, rocketing straight into his body and knocking him into the dirt. The two tussled wildly on the ground until Gaia suddenly felt two strong hands grab the back of her shirt and yank her back up. She spun around to take him on, but when she saw his face, she felt the remainder of her infinitesimal hope fizzle.

  Square jaw. Blue eyes. Cruel smile.

  Now there were three.

  Gun-toting Josh was on the ground. Knife-wielding Josh was standing next to him. This Josh was holding her tightly by her shirt. He might not have a weapon, but the mere fact of his existence was enough to leave Gaia devastated, without an ounce of fight left in her. Her own delusions were trying to kill her. How could she fight her own delusions? How could she take on her own insanity? How could she do anything when she was pathetically quaking in her boots?

  Welcome to your new life. Your new “normal” life.

  Why had she agreed to that injection? That was the main question. Why would anyone in her right mind ask for this sensation? If this was fear, then fear made every move impossible. Fights had always been like chess games to her—planned methodical attacks, knowing the next five moves before the first. They were nothing but games, target practice. But this …

  This was pathetic.

  She didn’t even raise her arms to fight now. She had nothing left to offer. No wits. Her mind was obviously gone. No confidence. She’d practically forgotten how to fight. And most of all, no bravery. It seemed her newfound dementia had stripped her of all her noble impulses and left her with only one very feeble impulse. The need to retreat.

  So that was just what she did. Like a true coward, she ducked between her delusions and took off with whatever energy she had left. She didn’t even dare to look back.

  And so it was official. She was running from a fight. For the first time in her life, Gaia Moore had
chickened out. If this was what fear felt like, she should have just chosen death in the first place.

  Foulmouthed Angel

  DON’T GO TO THE DOOR, YOU LOSER.

  Ed had already made that mistake six times today, and he was thoroughly sick of himself. He’d heard phantom knocks at the door, phantom phones ringing from the other room…. She was never there.

  He twisted himself uncomfortably in his bed and wrapped his rubbery pillow around his ears. That was definitely not a knock at the front door he’d just heard. He’d learned that much after this heartbreaking, interminable day. If he had to hear himself call out her name to an empty hallway once more or whisper it hopefully into a dead phone line, he would …

  He didn’t know what he’d do. Something self-destructive. Something to punish himself for his idiotic optimism.

  It was his own fault. All those months working with Brian, the world’s first physical therapist/professional wrestler/inspirational speaker. Ed had spent so many weeks listening to Brian, trying to get back on his feet with “the power of positive thinking,” he’d ended up falling prey to the worst kind of blind optimism. “Anything is possible if you just put your mind to it” and all that crap. Nothing could be further from the truth. It might be true of recovering calf muscles, but it had nothing to do with human emotion.

  Going from a paraplegic to a biped was one thing.

  But try losing the love of your life after only one kiss, Brian. Try confessing months of unrequited love to her and then watching her disappear—for God knows what reason. She may have died some horrific, tragic death. Or she may have just had the simple realization that she never cared about you to begin with, even after you’d poured your heart out to her. Try being stuck in that little ring of hell—missing her, hating her, mourning her, loving her all at the same time, knowing you’ll probably never get any answers or see her again. Try that, Brian, and then tell me what’s left of your godforsaken optimism.

  Ed heard another knock at the door. But it was more than a knock this time. It was a full-force pounding, loud enough to cut through his pillow-smothered hearing. His torso shot up on the bed as his head snapped toward the quick, insistent thuds coming from outside.

  It’s her. Jesus Christ, it’s her. You’re a genius, Brian. You’re a goddamn genius!

  Ed practically fell from the bed as he pulled a crumpled T-shirt from the floor, tugged it over his head, hoisted himself up on his crutches, and hobbled out of his room—straight to the front door as the knock grew louder and louder.

  He hesitated for a moment, pressing his cheek to the door as his hand crushed the brass knob. This would be the last time he would do it. He couldn’t possibly handle another disappointment. If he heard any other voice but hers come through that door, it would be the last straw. Whatever the hell that meant.

  “Gaia …?” he uttered tentatively.

  “Open the goddamn door!” She groaned.

  It was the most beautiful demand Ed had ever heard. The foul mouthed angel herself sent straight from heaven.

  Ed ripped open the door. Gaia fell into his arms before he’d even gotten his first word out. She clenched the back of his shirt in her hands and buried her head between his neck and shoulder. Still not a word spoken between them. Her head felt like a hot compress that had just been doused in boiling water. Unless she’d stuck her head in the oven for the last hour, she must have a massive fever.

  His immediate impulse was to get her to a chair or a couch or a bed. But first, at least for a moment, he had to give in to his more selfish impulse: the need to hold her and to feel her holding him. He’d convinced himself that this sensation was only going to exist in memories, so to actually feel her in his arms again was one of those minor miracles that needed to be at least temporarily savored.

  Gaia had kept her promise. She’d told him she would be back, and she’d just proved what Ed had always known. Gaia wasn’t a liar. An old saying popped into Ed’s head as he held on to her, although he couldn’t remember all of it. If you love something, set it free. If it comes back … He couldn’t remember the rest. He’d remember later, when he could think of anything other than Gaia Moore.

  Finally he forced his nobler instincts to return. He loosened his grip and tried to move her farther into the living room, where she could at least sit down, but Gaia was clearly not ready to move. She held her ground and clung tightly to him like a small child clinging to her father’s leg at the doctor’s office. It was so bizarrely out of character. Gaia never feared anything, nor did she ever act like a child. Unless you counted her love of Froot Loops.

  “Are you okay?” he asked gently, his mouth only a half inch from her ear.

  She didn’t respond. She only tightened her embrace.

  “What is it?” he asked. “What happened?”

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she breathed.

  “You have no idea,” Ed replied, letting his lips graze her earlobe. He had much more to say to her. But he sensed that what she needed right now was just his embrace and a fair amount of silence. “You’re burning up,” he said. “I think you should lie down.”

  “I think you’re right,” she said. Her entire body began to give, leaning more and more on Ed’s right arm to support her weight.

  He helped her to his room, gingerly holding her up with his right arm and holding himself up with his left crutch. The trip took about five times as long as it should have, but Ed luxuriated in each additional moment that she allowed him to support her.

  They made it to his room, and Gaia collapsed on his bed. It was actually the first time he’d seen her from any distance, and the sight of her caused a twinge of pain in his chest. Her face was gaunt and washed out. Her hair was so matted with sweat, it had turned dark brown. Her eyes were red and glazed over from fever, and her lips were so pale, they were nearly invisible. She looked like she was just waiting for the detectives to outline her in chalk.

  He leaned over and carefully shifted the pillow so that her head could rest more comfortably. She seemed too weak to even lift her head to assist him.

  “Gaia …?” Ed couldn’t even tell if she could hear him, but he needed at least a few answers. The initial burst of joy at seeing her alive had quickly worn off. It was replaced by the shock and confusion of seeing her looking closer to dead. “Gaia, what happened to you?” he asked. “Is Sam all right? Did you find him?”

  “I can’t talk about that now,” she croaked.

  “Well, what the hell happened last night? Who did this to—”

  “Can we not go there right now?” she insisted. She was lying still with her eyes closed, but her immense pain was visible even with her face at rest. “Can you just hold on to me for a little bit? Just until I catch my breath?”

  Ed was too stunned to respond. Hold on to me? It was the most un-Gaia-like request he had ever heard. Gaia was asking him to hold her. She was asking him.

  But he knew not to hesitate for too long. He figured he had about five seconds to spare until she would shut him out. This was no time for second guessing and self-doubt. In spite of his twenty-four hours of frustration and yearning, somehow tonight Gaia needed him even more than he needed her. Could he hold on to her for a little bit?

  “I can do that,” he said.

  He carefully lowered the bars on the left side of his hospital bed and then climbed in as gently as he could, trying to leave Gaia as much space as she needed. He lay down on his back, not even sure what to do with his right arm as he kept his eyes on her pained expression.

  Gaia turned over on her side and nestled her head on his shoulder, breathing hot, shallow breaths into his neck. Her position cued him to wrap his arm around her, which he did, gripping her shoulder tightly as she clenched the chest area of his T-shirt in her hand.

  The moment they settled into each other, Gaia’s breaths began to slow down, bit by bit until she was nearly silent.

  “Are you okay?” Ed whispered, keeping his body as still as he co
uld for her, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

  “Better,” she whispered, sounding half asleep already. “This is better.”

  A few seconds more and she was fast asleep.

  Ed took a deep, cathartic breath and closed his eyes. He couldn’t quite fathom how much had changed in the last five minutes. But he agreed with Gaia. Things were suddenly much, much better. Optimism … Genius, Brian. You’re a goddamn genius.

  He tried once more to remember that old saying as he drifted toward sleep.

  If you love something, set it free. If it comes back …

  If it comes back …

  He didn’t really care what the rest of it was. Gaia had come back, and that was enough.

  To: L

  From: QR2

  Test completed. Serum seems effective. Indications of hallucination confirmed. Indications of paranoia still unknown. Subject performed below usual skill level. Displayed certain indications of fear in the forms of tentative action and retreat, but nothing conclusive.

  To: QR2

  From: L

  Continue as planned and provide further details in next report. We are dealing with certain unknowns. We cannot pinpoint with any certainty if and when the serum has taken full effect or when it will wear off. Monitor closely.

  New field agent is on board. Full access to Enigma and subject should be secured within the week.

  so busted

  Her request that he hold her last night-another anomalous moment born out of her desperation and a very high fever.

  Conversing with Thin Air

  HER BEAUTY WAS A MAJOR DIStraction. Not to mention her subtle resemblance to Katia. It was making Tom sick with guilt. He had dire and immediate issues to deal with: Gaia’s questionable health and safety, Loki’s slippery maneuvers and vengeful intentions. These had been Tom’s obsessions for the last five years, and if anything, he’d planned to make them even greater obsessions as of the last forty-eight hours. So why could he not stop staring at her oversized brown eyes?