by Dawn Brazil
“One night,” Brian says. “My parents stole me out the back door of our house and into our car. I knew we were leaving. I didn’t know where to as we drove for hours. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, we were here—in this foreign universe. All I could think about was my best friend and girlfriend back home. My grandparents had also come with us. My grandmother was sick, though, and died after being here only two months.”
Ian clears his throat. I snap my head up to look at him. “You’re being rude. Let him finish the story.”
“This isn’t the easiest story.” Brian throws his hands up, aggravated with Ian. “I’m trying to get it all out. Believe me, Ian, I’ll get to that part.” Ian smiles but offers no commentary.
“Like I was saying, she had been sick, my grandmother. At the time, I didn’t understand she had been born with the mutation. My grandfather had tried to remove it, but the procedure killed her.”
“What?” I remember the story he told me the first day I met him. A shudder runs through me.
“Of course, I already told you how that ended.”
Brian sits quietly for a moment. “You didn’t mention Ian,” I say. “You two obviously knew each other before you came here. How?”
“Oh, he was my other best friend,” Brian states. “And my cousin.”
“You were?” I ask, having a difficult time imagining them as close as Stacey and me. “You don’t seem that friendly with each other now. Stacey and I could never behave with each other the way you two do. And you’re family.”
“Ian’s upset at me for something I had no control over,” Brian states.
“Wow. Really. Well, you might not have had control over what happened to Grandmother, but when I saw you, you could have been more forthcoming about it.”
“Why should I have? My dad told you everything when he saw you.”
“You weren’t just my cousin, Chief. You were my best friend. You knew how close I was to her.” He bends his head and swallows hard. “You should have told me.”
Neither of them says anything else for a while. “It seems that neither of you had control over what happened. It’s best to let this hostility go.”
“Chief’s petty. He can’t let anything go.”
Brian laughs. “Wow. Really? You’re the one upset still.”
“Anyway, Brian, I’m following part of the story, but part of it I don’t get,” I say.
“Yeah, he’s getting to that part. Really slowly,” Ian snickers.
Brian reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He takes out a dated picture with creased edges and hands it to me. I handle it cautiously because it’s old, ragged, and folding at the corners. A girl about twelve or thirteen years old is standing in front of a large, red brick building with many windows, maybe a school. She’s smiling into the camera. The girl in the picture is me.
“How did you get this picture of me?”
“It’s not you. It's Tiffany,” Brian says. I can feel the bulge in my eyes as I stare at the picture, then at Brian, then at Ian.
Ian hands me another picture that’s not as ragged. “This is what she looks like now. This was taken last year.”
Tiffany is my twin. Or maybe I should say, I’m her clone. The thought sets my stomach on edge. I don’t know why I didn’t piece together that we would look identical. Or that my clone-sister, Tiffany, is also his Tiffany.
I understand. Brian knew this the first day at school. He knew what I was. “You knew, didn't you? When you first met me, you knew?”
“Honestly, not at first, I thought you looked like her and I wanted to get to know you. I thought maybe it was a sign. When we talked that first day, something I said made you angry. You turned in your seat, pulled your hair over to the side, and put your head down. I saw the strawberry birthmark on your neck. I didn’t know what to think. I knew you weren’t Tiff, but I didn’t think researcher. I didn’t know much about researchers as a kid, and I never knew Tiff was born with the mutation. I didn’t put any of it together until I saw Ian.”
“That's why you didn't want me to talk to him?” His odd behavior toward him for the past couple months makes sense now.
“Yes,” he says. “I asked him to give us more time to be together.”
I struggle to find the appropriate words. “Then you're not in love with me.” A mass fills the back of my throat but I rush the words past it. “You're in love with Tiffany.”
Chapter 17
I can’t find it in me to be angry with him, even when I know he’s not really in love with me. I only feel pity for us and the weird circumstance we find ourselves in. The pain over this realization will come later, but the way everything’s shaping up, I may not be around long enough for my heart to understand.
“I know this is all kind of messy. I understand how you’d think that, but you’re wrong,” Ian says. “I don’t like my best friend much these days, but I know he loves you. You, L—not Tiff.”
“How can you think everything we’ve shared was a lie?” Brian asks.
I don’t answer, because I assume this is a hypothetical question because my assumption is more than reasonable, given the information I’ve just received. “Don't you think I realize who you are? I saw immediately you two were different. Only the same in appearance. The more I’m with you, the more I find differences in your appearance, too.”
“Different is an understatement,” Ian says.
Brian pulls his hands through his hair. Norman glances up at him from the sudden movement, then rushes from his lap and onto my bed. He sits at the end of the mattress but doesn’t lie down. Instead, he stares at me like he knows something is happening. It’s unfathomable but sometimes I feel my Norman has more feelings than I do. I attempt a smile and he slowly lowers his head but keeps his eyes locked on me.
Brian starts again. “Familiarity enhanced my feelings for you at first. But I fell in love with the girl next door, with the school nerd, and the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, inside and out. The fact that you looked like someone I knew didn’t make a difference.”
“I felt I knew you when I first met you, too.” I glance over at Ian. “Could that mean something?”
“I’ve heard of some sisters sharing memories… so, yeah, I guess it’s possible,” Ian says.
I sigh. “Brian, thanks for sharing your part. I appreciate your honesty, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to die. I have to make a decision if I’m going to do that here on Earth, or on Remah.”
“You do have another option.”
“Chief,” Ian warns. “You might want to shut your mouth now.”
“I’m going to tell her because I can't live with the thought that she may have had another option and I didn’t utter one word of it.”
“You call this an option,” Ian says. “It’s suicide.”
“Just tell me.” I sigh.
Brian and Ian are locked in a stare-off. I feel the redness of my cheeks, and the heat all over me, as I reach the point where an expletive will cross my lips.
“There’s been a successful abstraction of the dura-processor chip,” Brian declares.
“Who performed the removal?” Ian asks.
“I don’t know the details. I only know there was a successful attempt and that this person lives here on Earth somewhere.”
“So who’d do the operation?” Ian probes.
“My father.”
“No. We’re not putting her at risk like that. We know firsthand of someone who attempted, unsuccessfully. I might be guessing here, but I’m certain Grandpa taught—or tried to teach—your father how to do it.”
No one speaks for a couple of seconds. I’m still lost in my thoughts. Brian’s words are only that—words. His not knowing who had the successful abstraction makes this a rumor at best.
“It's too risky,” Ian says, further defending his position. “No offense, either, but Unc isn’t a surgeon—he’s a scientist. He shouldn't be performing surgery on humans,” Ian sa
ys.
“Why don't you let Liz decide what she wants to do?” Brian says. They turn and look at me.
“You expect me to decide now?”
“Yes, we have a small amount of time left,” Ian answers. “You have to decide today, L.”
My eyes rush to Brian. I clutch my blanket between my hands, working a fine, loose thread between my thumb and index finger. The hope in Brian’s eyes dashes away the blunt response I have on the ready. I know what I have to do, and it’s the most logical scenario for everyone involved. But convincing him to allow me to go and die is going to be as difficult as Jason Voorhees not killing two teenaged lovers.
“I have to go back,” I mumble so quietly I can hardly hear my own answer.
Brian jumps to his feet. “What? You won’t even try for us? And you’re the optimist, remember?” He slings the door open and walks out without a glance back at us.
“He'll get over it, L.” I keep my eyes trained on the door, hoping he’ll come back—calm himself down and rejoin our conversation. The floorboards protest his exit, as his footfalls make a path down on the stairs. I sigh as the front door opens and closes.
I know what I’m doing is for the best. These words repeat in my head like a worthless mantra, but they don’t quell the ache in my chest.
“How long do I have?”
“You’re not asking the right question. Everyone’s different. I need to get you back at least within the next seventy-two hours, though. If you’re already having pain, it’s only going to get worse.”
“So soon? I'm not prepared for this.” I throw my head back and laugh at how absurd that sounds. Of course, I’m not prepared. Who’s prepared to die early?
“L, trust me. If I knew Brian's way would work… if I knew the person who’d had the operation, I’d recommend you rethink this. That option isn’t safe.”
I nod. “I know. What do we do? What do I tell my parents—and Stacey?” How can you say good-bye to someone without actually saying it? What is Crystal going to think about this new revelation?
“I’ve found the most effective method is to stage your death. A car accident, a fiery blaze that incinerates your body but leaves some DNA for investigators. It’ll hurt them terribly, but this way they won’t go looking for you forever. Eventually, they’ll heal.”
I blink a few times at him. “Wow. I guess you have done this before.” He shrugs.
As soon as Ian is out the door, I call Crystal and ask her to come over. She’s at my front door within fifteen minutes.
“I have some bad news, and I’m not even sure how to say it.” She leans forward on the bed toward me.
“Just say it.”
“Okay. We have to go back to Remah to die.”
She takes a deep breath and releases it. “Oh. Okay.”
That’s all she says, and I get it. She’s like me. Maybe if we were able to feel the weight of this, our reactions might be different. But we can’t feel this—not how a normal person might feel. I have a suspicion that this is an excellent thing.
“When do you go back?” Crystal asks.
“Right away, Ian said.”
“I’ll have to tell my parents about this.” She laughs. “Actually, I’m sure they already know. Maybe that’s why they never told me anything.”
“You’re okay with going back?” I ask.
“Not like I’ve got a lot of options or anything,” she says. We both shrug. “Okay. I’ll talk with my parents. Give me two days and I’ll talk with Ian. I don’t think we should wait any longer than that, with a homicidal killer stalking researchers who look like you. And if I’m going to die, at least I can do it with my best friend.”
For about five minutes, we sit and stare at the floor. She finally gets up and leaves. Norman crawls on the bed and sits in my lap. He snuggles in close to me.
I feel it in the back of my head, in the tightness of my chest, in the rapid breaths that exit my mouth… I’m frightened.
I don’t want to die.
Chapter 18
My hands are moist as I trudge up the last step. Inside my chest, my heart pounds away like a rock band on acid. I have to say good-bye to him before I leave. The world has opened up and become so beautiful because of him. He’s replaced the sun for me. His smile brightens my day, and his kisses tuck me in tenderly at night. Losing him will be difficult, but I don’t carry the burden of a reality without him. He carries that for the both of us.
I knock twice on his bedroom door. No answer. I tap once more, still no answer. I try the knob and it turns easily. I let myself in. The curtains are drawn, shrouding the room in darkness. The heavy scent of vanilla I always smell lingers from the plug-in beside his bed. I search in the darkness for the lamp; when my fingers curl around the button, I switch it on. I close the door behind me so we can have some privacy.
His room suits him perfectly. The walls are dark blue, with a large red horizontal strip in the center. Dark mahogany bookshelves cover two full walls—filled to the brim with an impressive collection of books. He hates eBooks, so he won’t buy them. In front of a bank of three large windows that looks out back sits a mahogany desk with a laptop and books strewn on it. Other than the books on the desk, the room is immaculate for a guy.
Brian’s under a mound of red blankets.
“Brian.” He doesn’t answer. “Please talk to me. I don’t want to leave like this. It’s not right. For me, can you please do this?”
Brian lifts his head from under the blankets. He’s shirtless, with only blue pajama bottoms on. His eyes are puffy and his usually sun-kissed skin is pale. Fear and shame grip me all at once. How can I make this right? I wrack my brain for the words to make him feel better, but I know none exist. We stare into each other’s eyes, not saying a word. I’m hoping the appropriate words will fall from the sky and spill from my mouth. But this is reality and not a fairytale.
He pushes the blankets back further, and motions for me to get in. I drop to the edge of the bed. He caresses the small of my back while I take my shoes off. I inhale and exhale deeply. I climb in beside him. He yanks the blankets up once I’m situated.
My eyes take a moment to adjust to the lack of light under the blankets. I lay on my back, not moving. Finally, I turn on my side to face him, to get this over with.
As soon as our eyes meet, he gathers me into his arms and wraps his lips around mine in a kiss I never want to end. I try to catch my breath, to tell him to slow down. I want to talk. The words hide behind my desire for him. He rolls over so his body is on top of mine. Pressing me into the mattress, he continues his torturous, passionate kiss. I release the tension in my arms and shoulders and allow him to kiss me without guilt. This level of intimacy is new for us. I don’t interrupt as he explores areas of my body never touched by anyone other than me.
My heart races as his fingers skim across the skin beneath my shirt.
He kneels over me with his head angled to the side. “You’re so beautiful.” He leans forward and kisses my lips. His fingers tease across my skin as he slowly peels my shirt off and tosses it to the floor. I don’t stop him.
He presses his body to mine. Skin-on-skin contact feels amazing. A soft moan escapes my lips as his tenderness causes me to abandon all desires for us to talk. His mouth explores my neck, my shoulder, my chest… I’m powerless to stop him. As hard as I try, I can’t force myself to not want him as much as he wants me. I reason that I’ll never get this opportunity again. So I press my lips more forcibly to the love I’m destined to lose.
“Liz.” He whispers my name through his kisses and I whisper his back. I’m floating, and wave after wave of pleasure rips through me as he delicately unravels me. How can I stop him now?
He pauses between a kiss to my neck and my cheek. I catch sight of his eyes. They’re full of anger, and my snarky inner voice blares a warning. This isn’t what you want, and this definitely isn’t what he wants. He just doesn’t know it yet. “Brian.” I push at his chest. He doesn’t budge or
acknowledge my shove.
“Please, Brian,” I moan. “Stop. Let’s talk.”
“This feels right,” he says. He plants a kiss below my right ear. “Please let me have you.” He trails kisses from the slant of my ear to my shoulder. My eyes flutter closed. My snarky inner voice is mute as my love tangles my words and thoughts into knots. “I need you. I love you so much. Please.”
I’m lost in a sea of kisses, and the heat our bodies produces, even with my pants still on, is enough for me to drown in doubt. Do I really want him to stop? No. Yes.
“Brian, you don’t want to do this,” I mumble. He stops and looks at me.
“What?”
“The only reason you’re doing this now is because I’m leaving.” His brows pull together and he blinks down at me.
“Yes and no. This would’ve happened eventually.” He bends and plants a swift kiss to my swollen lips.
“So you’ve slept with other girls?”
“What?” His voice is laced with irritation.
I continue quickly, “Our relationship is ending, sort of, and you decided we should do this? What happened when those other relationships ended? Why didn’t you sleep with them?”
“Because I love you. I’ve never felt what we have with another person.” His answer is so simple that I feel foolish for thinking my question would slow him down.
I can’t fight him with words. Every look into his eyes strips away my resolute determination to remain a virgin. I’ve never felt so weak. With as much strength as I can muster, I scramble from beneath him, grab my shirt from the floor, and pull it on clumsily. My entire body shakes. He pulls himself up and sits beside me.
“You’re making this harder than it has to be for me,” I say. “I don’t want to leave, but I don’t have a choice.” He doesn’t say anything, but his features crease. “I don’t want to die; I didn’t choose this life. How can you be angry at me for this?”
“Is that what you think, that I’m angry at you?” He runs his hands through his hair. “I’m not angry with you. I love you more than I can even put into words. I’m angry with myself. I have problems with my emotions, too. I try to control it, but sometimes a problem presents itself that I can’t talk or think my way out of, like this. I’m frustrated because there’s nothing I can do. I have to stand by and watch you die, and as hard as I try to think about how this is affecting you, I’m inherently selfish, and all I can think about is living the rest of my life without you.”