by Lauren Bolt
Sophie disappeared into the stockroom while Amara hobbled to a nearby table, pulled out a stool, and sat down.
“There’s a broken Erlenmeyer flask. Ugh, these things are thirty dollars apiece. You’d think people would have more respect for lab equipment, not to mention the school itself.” Amara glanced up in Sophie’s direction before rolling up a pants leg above the knee. The thick fabric had prevented any scraping or bleeding, but the skin was quickly turning an ugly shade of pink. She would be bruised by nightfall.
“Great,” she muttered to herself.
“That’s odd.”
Amara rolled her pants leg back down and limped into the stockroom. Sophie was looking over the contents of a shelf mounted to a wall. “What is?”
“Don’t you see it?” She didn’t. “Lab samples from class today. Periods one, two, three and four here,” she pointed, “six and seven here. Five is missing.”
It was strange to be sure, but the significance was lost on Amara.
“Maybe Mr. Jackson is going over them? I was supposed to meet him here after school to redo my lab.” The memory of their earlier exchange came back to her then, and she lowered her face when she felt the hot flush of red filling her cheeks.
Sophie glanced back at Amara. “I saw Mr. Jackson leaving a while ago. Why would he take them out of the classroom?”
Amara shook her head. “No, he has detention. He said he’d be here.”
“Well, you’re obviously lucky enough to have never been assigned detention, otherwise you’d know that it is always held in the library from three to four.”
Amara couldn’t picture Sophie in detention. She made a mental note to ask her about that later.
“I guess I must have heard wrong?” She was sure she didn’t. “Did you see him leave-leave or do you think he’s coming back?”
“He was headed towards the parking lot.”
Amara let out an exasperated sigh. “Terrific. I guess I’m failing this lab.”
There was an awkward moment between them as they just stood there, each quiet in her own thoughts in the abandoned biology lab. Finally, Sophie broke the silence.
“I can give you a ride home if you like? It’s getting kind of late.”
“Late? It’s only-” Amara looked out the window and for the first time realized the daylight was fading away and nighttime was fast approaching. “What in the hell?” She checked her watch and suppressed a scream. It was almost six o’clock. “What the hell?! How can it be going on six? The final bell only just rang a few minutes ago!”
Sophie had that scientist-examining-something look on her face again. Like she was trying to figure out Amara’s inner-workings. Or something.
“Come on,” she motioned toward the door. “I’ll drive you home.”
The ten-minute drive was silent. Amara watched as the streets of Santa Lucia drifted by like lazy buoys in the ocean. Lights beamed in shades of white and yellow from houses lining the streets. As the car drifted to the end of the cul-de-sac on Amara’s she found that her house was the only one not lit up from within. Sophie shifted the gear into park and switched off the ignition. Without the bright headlights illuminating the way before them the night sky seemed especially dark.
“Look, if you’re on drugs or something, I won’t judge you.”
“What?!” Amara exclaimed, incredulous at the accusation.
“It’s fine, really. I know many kids do.”
“Well, I don’t!”
Sophie held her palms out. “Okay. Neither do I. You just seem like you’re having some problems and-”
“I’m not having problems,” Amara interrupted in her own defense. “I just…” She had no explanation. “Seemed to have lost nearly three hours of time. That’s all. Why were you at the school so late anyway?”
“I volunteer in the office for work credit.”
It was Amara’s turn to look inquisitive. “Why would you do that?”
“Because it’s hard enough to get work experience in high school without working at some greasy fast food hell hole. Besides, it comes in handy.”
“Oh?” Amara feigned interest. She’d always had the impression that Sophie Parker was a nice girl. A bit socially awkward to be sure, but nice nonetheless. Maybe she was more awkward than social.
“Two women in the office have been out on maternity leave and there’s been a backlog of filing. I finally got around to it today and among the pile were two transfer student files dating back as far as the start of the year. You aren’t one of them.”
Really? Amara let out an exasperated sigh. So they would be addressing their awkward encounter after all? Fine.
“I told you, I’m not new. I’ve lived in Santa Lucia my entire life. You said you have a photographic memory, right? You must remember me in all that time?”
“Eidetic memory,” Sophie corrected. “I can recall auditory, tactile, gustatory and olfactory memories with precision-”
“What’s ‘gustatory’?” she interrupted.
“Taste. And none one of those memories includes your face or the name Amara Hargrove.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Amara shrugged. “Maybe I’m just not a memorable person. Or maybe you’re wrong?”
Sophie’s eyes bulged so far out of her eye sockets it startled Amara. She looked absolutely offended. “I am not wrong.”
Silence filled the car as both girls looked out their windows. The sky had darkened considerably since they left the biology lab, and the gurgling sensation in Amara’s stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. Ordinarily, she would have grabbed a snack upon returning home from school, but nothing was ordinary when she had lost three hours of her life.
She didn’t know what to make of that. Was it possible she fell asleep somewhere and just … forgot? When the bell rang she went from the classroom to her locker, her locker to the restroom, and then to the lab. There was no way that would take three hours.
“Are those your parents?” The strange tone of Sophie’s voice distracted Amara from her thoughts again. She had a look of strange disbelief on her face and when Amara turned to look in the same direction she was struck with it herself. Through the window that dominated the dining room and looked out over their perfectly manicured lawn her mother and father sat at the dining table, completely motionless. They looked like mannequins in a department store, completely devoid of movement, of life.
“What the…” Without taking her eyes off of the bewildering sight Amara opened the door and sprinted for her house. In one swift motion, she retrieved her set of keys from her jeans pocket and unlocked the door.
“Mom? Dad?” A hard left from the foyer and she was standing in the arched entrance to the dining room.
Her mother was suddenly standing in front of her with a big smile on her face. “Hi, Sweetheart. Did you have a nice day at school?”
Amara’s eyes shifted from her mother to her father, who was just as suddenly preoccupied reading his newspaper about the forest fire in Briar Woods.
“It was the same as usual,” she replied, eyeing her mother again.
“I made one of your favorites for dinner tonight. Chicken in a white sauce…” Amara watched as her mother detailed the menu, noticing the subtle movements of facial muscles beneath the skin that animated her face. There was something off about it, but she couldn’t quite place the strangeness. Her eyes had a glassy quality to them that left Amara unsettled. They didn’t look right. She looked and sounded like the mother Amara loved so much, but there was an uncanniness that disturbed beneath the surface.
When she stopped speaking she smiled, and it was in that expression that Amara noticed the movement didn’t reach her eyes. She’d learned in drama class that a real smile lifts the muscles around the cheeks which brings the eyes down a bit. But there was no such movement on her mother’s face; no smile in her eyes.
“Your mother’s been working on that meal real hard today, kiddo.” Her father smiled up at
her from his seat at the table. There was no smile in his eyes either, just the curvilinear line of his mouth.
For the life of her, she couldn’t remember if they’d always looked like that or if there really was something wrong. The ball of panic welling up in the pit of her stomach was evidence of her suspicions. Something was not right in the Hargrove household.
Why had they just been sitting there, completely motionless until… Until she came home. But how could that be?
“Oh, you know, I just remembered,” she stammered, scratching at her head absentmindedly. “I left my backpack outside. I’ll just go get it.”
“Hurry up! You don’t want your dinner to go cold,” her mother sang.
Amara took another long glance at each of them before heading back to the front door. She quietly shut it behind her and crossed along the pathway leading from the door to the perfectly green lawn. The grass muffled the sound of her footsteps as she skimmed along the walls of the house. A bush trimmed in the shape of a ball that looked more like a lollipop topiary obscured her body from view as she ducked down and peered up through the window. Her parents were standing where she left them, her mom in the foyer, her dad motionless with his newspaper at the dining table. Like well-dressed mannequins. Or pod people.
“Hey!” Amara jumped with a yelp when she heard Sophie sneak up on her from behind. “You left your backpack in my car. Why are you spying on your own house?”
“Look at them!” Amara whispered to Sophie as she pointed her fingers to the window. “They were perfectly still and when I walked in it’s like they came to life. Now they’re dormant again. This is really weird, right? I mean I’m not just hallucinating this am I?”
“Not unless I am too,” Sophie murmured. “Are you adopted?” she asked after a moment.
Amara turned to Sophie, incredulity straining her face. “Are you kidding me right now?”
Sophie seemed to understand the look Amara shot at her and shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry! There’s nothing wrong with being adopted. Or surrogacy.”
“I wasn’t adopted,” Amara sighed as she turned back to watch her house like it was a diorama. “Why are you even bringing it up?”
“Because you look nothing like your parents.”
Those seven words brought a chill to the back of her neck. How could she not look anything like her mother and father? Not that it mattered in that moment. There were more pressing issues at hand. Still, whether she meant them to or not, Sophie’s words stung Amara.
“Do me a favor? Stay here and watch my parents. I’m going to go in and talk to them for a second, then head upstairs to my room. Just watch and see what they do, okay?”
“You got it,” Sophie agreed. She seemed to be in a perpetual state of inquisitiveness. Was there ever a moment she wasn’t fastidiously observing and taking mental notes?
Another question for another time. Amara grabbed her backpack and headed back inside. Her mother smiled and motioned to a plate of food with a hot pad.
“I’m just going to put this upstairs. Serve me a plate?”
“Don’t be too long!” her mother smiled.
Taking the stairs two at a time Amara was up in her room in seconds. She dumped her school books and notes out onto her bed and held the empty backpack in her hand, staring down into it, completely dumbstruck.
What was she doing? Hours of lost time. Phantom tornadoes in the science lab. Stepford parents in the dining room. It wasn’t all just another ordinary Thursday; this was alternate-reality strangeness. Nothing ever happened to nondescript Amara Hargrove of Santa Lucia, California, and she liked it that way.
This Thursday was different, and something inside of her was telling her to pack what she could into her backpack and make a run for it. But that was crazy, wasn’t it?
Not willing to disobey her instincts she threw an extra tee shirt, a pair of socks and underwear, and a small cosmetics bag into the bag, followed by her phone charger and wallet. After zipping it shut she double checked for her phone in her pocket, switched off the light and closed her bedroom door as quietly as she could.
On her way to the stairs, she passed her parent’s bedroom and noticed the door was ajar. A weak stream of light filtered in through the window and it was enough to cast a pale glow in the room. Amara did a double take. It was completely empty.
The absence of the ordinary bedroom furniture that should have been in the room startled her so fiercely she quickened her footsteps, undoubtedly aided by a fresh rush of adrenaline. Once downstairs again she set the backpack down just out of view beyond the dining room entrance but stopped just short of entering. Every instinct in her body was telling her to run, to grab her backpack and get out of the house as quickly and quietly as possible.
There were no sounds coming from the dining room. Amara imagined her parents were still sitting there, fake smiles and all, waiting for her presence to come to life again. The thought made her want to vomit.
Without another moment of hesitation, she picked up the backpack and slung it over her shoulder as she opened and shut the front door behind her.
Sophie was still crouched by the lollipop topiary, her face illuminated by the light of her phone screen. Amara ran-crawled as fast as she could to join her.
“Please tell me you didn’t get distracted and start texting someone?”
But Sophie didn’t look amused. In fact, the inquisitive look that seemed to be permanently etched on her face was gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and a frown.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“They didn’t move an inch. It’s like they just stopped. You went upstairs and they powered down. Until I noticed something really strange.” She seemed not to notice the look Amara gave her. “They were completely still but their mouths were moving. It was like they were silently chanting.”
“Don’t tell me. You can read lips?” she asked in mock incredulity.
Sophia looked affronted. “It’s a very handy skill. Anyway, I couldn’t figure out what they were saying at first, but then I realized they were speaking Latin.”
“You can read lips in Latin? Wait … my parents don’t know Latin. No one does.”
“Natura enim, quae in servitium tribus. Una ex tribus. That’s what they were chanting.”
Amara shook her head. Nothing was normal or as it seemed. Mannequin parents chanting in Latin? She might think she were dreaming were it not for the thorn of a rose bush poking into her backside. “What the hell does that mean?” she asked as she moved positions away from the offending bush.
“Well, I’m a bit rusty on my Latin,” Sophie looked embarrassed to admit, “so I thought I misunderstood. But I put it through a translator and it turns out I was right. Which just makes it even creepier.”
“For nature, which is in service of the three. One made from three,” Amara read from the screen.
“I’ve seen this before,” Sophie said as she took her phone back. “The text was slightly different but close enough to be more than coincidence. In service of the one which nature made from three.”
That was it. Amara was completely and thoroughly freaked out. She flushed with what felt like fire as her eyes began to well up with tears. She felt her face contorting into the ugliest of expressions as she fought with whatever strength she had to keep herself composed.
It was all too much to handle. Weird she could handle but bizarre and unexplainable was out of the question. Had she woken up that morning in an alternate reality, or in someone else’s life? Someone else’s twisted and incomprehensible life?
And somehow Sophie Parker had been a witness to most of it. She couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, Sophie was a stranger or an acquaintance at best. On the other, she was someone who had witnessed the craziness of the past few hours. All the events she’d experienced couldn’t somehow be a fluke if another person was involved, right?
“Are they still just sitting there?” Amara was too freake
d out to look for herself.
Sophie looked up and screamed. “Oh, shit!” Amara jumped at the sound and looked up to see what had frightened her so. Before she could fully process what was happening she found herself falling backward and scrambling to get to her feet, her heart thumping furiously.
“RUN!” Sophie yelled as she got up and sprinted for the car. Amara didn’t need to be told twice. She picked up her backpack and ran full-on towards the car, banging her shoulder against the metal door as she slammed it shut.
In seconds the engine was ignited and Sophie was haphazardly shifting into gear. Amara looked up one final time to see her parents still standing together against the windowpane of the dining room window, unnatural looking smiles spread across their faces.
At least five minutes elapsed before Amara was breathing regularly again. Neither of them had spoken a word. She imagined Sophie was just as freaked out about what had happened as she was. At the look on her mother and father’s face. That creepy, uncanny valley smile they shared.
“I don’t … I don’t know what is going on,” she said finally. Sophie didn’t reply but Amara sensed she understood her. “I don’t know whose life this is, but I know it’s not mine. My parents aren’t creepy dolls waiting to be interacted with. They have furniture in their bedroom. And they certainly don’t speak Latin.”
“I have an idea about that. But…” Sophie stopped.
“But what?”
She sighed. “I should show you something first. We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?” Amara looked out the window and noticed they were driving on a private road. A few hundred feet ahead of them was a large gate with white twinkle lights wrapped around the metal work. It opened outward in two as the car approached, as though they were expected.
“My house,” Sophie finally answered.
House was a bit of an understatement. There were some beautiful homes in Santa Lucia that were owned by the wealthier families, but the home that sprawled out before them defied the word itself. It looked more like a resort. Spanish-Mediterranean inspired architecture with cream walls and dark terracotta tiles along every square inch of the roof. Along the expansive driveway lined in stonework, they passed a white bridge that traversed a lilypad-scattered pond surrounded by green grass embankments.