Worm

by John McCrae

  “I travel for three hours to come here, and you won’t give me a chair?”

  “I didn’t invite you,” Imp said. “And for reals, this isn’t me being a jerk. Or it is me being a jerk, but that’s not the big thing here. This is about symbolism and shit.”

  “Symbolism and shit,” Cozen said, sounding unimpressed.

  “Language,” Charlotte admonished them. She subtly indicated Aidan.

  “I’ve heard worse words,” Aidan said, quiet. “When Tattletale’s giving me lessons and she has to take a call, she has the soldiers watch me, and they know lots of bad words.”

  Charlotte glared at Tattletale.

  Tattletale offered an apologetic half-smile, “I’ll quiz the young sir on who has been swearing around him, and heads will roll. Until then, let’s get back on topic.”

  “Symbolism and stuff,” Imp said. “There’s lots of seats, Cozy.”

  “Cozy?”

  “No fighting,” Tattletale said. She sighed. “Listen, this whole thing is really simple. Let’s do this right, Undersiders stick around, I say what I need to say on other business, five or ten minutes at most, and we’re done.”

  Cozen frowned, but she circled the table and found an empty chair by the far end of the couch.

  The last person to arrive entered without fanfare. The door clicked shut, and she walked with a quiet assurance to the nearest available seat, which happened to be the one opposite Tattletale.

  “You made the trip okay?” Tattletale asked.

  “I did,” Dinah responded. “I saved some questions for the day, but I didn’t need them to navigate.”

  “Then,” Tattletale said, gesturing toward the center of the table, “Forrest, would you do the honors?”

  Forrest stood, taking hold of the wine bottle Tattletale had brought out of the fridge. He removed the cork.

  “Temperature should be perfect, I think I timed it right,” Tattletale said. “Oh, forgot the glasses. One second.”

  It only took a minute for the setup to finish, the red wine poured and glasses distributed. Imp and Dinah received wine glasses of soda. Tattletale glanced at Aidan. “Will he have wine or soda?”

  “Soda,” Forrest said.

  By the time Tattletale reached her seat again, everyone was standing, ready.

  “A toast,” she said. “I had to think for a good while, to decide what fit.”

  “Oh man, is this shit going to be pretentious?” Imp asked.

  Tattletale gave Imp the evil eye as she continued, “In honor of everything and everyone we fought for and saved. In remembrance of everything we couldn’t save.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment.

  “Works,” Imp conceded.

  Glasses clinked. Rachel had a grim frown on her face, mingled with a trace of confusion as she brought the glass in the direction of her mouth twice, before discovering there were more wine glasses to touch hers to. She seemed relieved when she could finally down the contents and thunk the glass down on the table.

  “And,” Tattletale said, “Worthy of special mention, entirely separate from the ones we just toasted, because I don’t give a fuck about my floors, and because I’m not going to fucking get in an argument about whether we saved them or doomed them, I’m going to suggest a libation for those who have passed from this world.”

  “Libation?” Charlotte asked.

  “Yeah,” Cozen spoke. Without looking, she turned and poured a thin stream of her wine onto the floor to her left. “An offering. It’s why I’m here, since I was with him the most towards the end.”

  Tattletale looked at the empty seat beside Cozen. She’d guessed the number of guests right. Just the right number of empty chairs.

  She could only hope that Taylor hadn’t caught on, that in her final moments, she hadn’t found out about everyone she’d really lost, that Grue hadn’t made it off the oil rig.

  A white lie for a friend. Taylor would have blamed herself, maybe rightly, maybe not.

  “I like to think it’s a kind of payment, more than an offering,” Imp said. She shifted her chair a bit, then poured wine onto the carpet to her right, just in front of the crude doll with the white mask and silver crown that she’d placed in the chair. “You’re missed, dude.”

  “I’m glad we could do this,” Tattletale said. “We’ve been through too much shit together, and I was having trouble keeping us networked. I thought we needed to touch base. A little bit of ritual to remind us of the important bits.”

  That said, she held a glass out to her left, and she poured a splash out onto the carpet in front of the empty seat in the corner.

  Despite her best efforts, Tattletale couldn’t help but meet Dinah’s eyes.

  ■

  The teenager entered the mall. People were thick in the space, flowing in and out of a food court with a high-end veneer. Spinach pizzas were on display alongside a window displaying a wealth of cuts of meat for sandwiches a step above the norm.

  Once free of the chill of winter and the periodic blasts of cold from the mall entrance, the teenager pulled off both hat and scarf and undid the large buttons on the jacket.

  The old woman had commented on how the world was getting better. Hard to believe, but it was a nice thought. It was nice, even, that someone could believe it. The heavy clothing had been a sort of protection against the world, both against people and against the world itself. The protection felt just a fraction less necessary than it had before the discussion.

  Navigating the mall was easy enough. It was in the midst of an area with fancy high rises and major law firms, and everything here seemed to reflect that. Even the people.

  A brief feeling of trepidation.

  That feeling reached a climax as the teenager came to a stop.

  There, just around a corner, there was a point where a coffee shop sat opposite a small multilingual bookstore. A woman sat at one table outside the coffee shop, a bag placed beside her. Willowy, taller than the average man, she wore a high end dress suit, and her dark curls were long. She had a wide mouth that quirked a little as she read something, and her eyelashes were long enough that she looked like she was asleep, sitting there with one leg crossed over the other, her head lowered as she read the open book that rested on the table in front of her, one hand resting on a steaming paper cup.

  The teenager surveyed the area, wary, looking for threats and surprises.

  Nothing.

  No traps, at a glance.

  Easy.

  This is easy. Do it.

  One foot in front of the other.

  A rising sense of anxiety.

  The teenager paused a short distance away, almost paralyzed at the idea the woman would look up.

  And then what?

  Three more steps. Still, the woman didn’t look up.

  The teenager placed two hands on the back of a chair, just beside the woman.

  “May I?”

  The woman glanced up, and the teenager tensed.

  Only a glance. Her eyes returned to the book. “Take it. I’m not expecting anyone.”

  She thinks I want the chair.

  “I meant… is it okay if I sit?”

  Another glance, confusion.

  “Are you a former client, or-”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand. If this is random conversation, or solicitation for something religious, then I’ll respectfully decline. I only get an hour and twenty minutes for lunch, and I’d like to spend it quietly. Please.”

  “I know, I mean, I know about the way you read most lunches, or you go across the street to the museum and wander by yourself with headphones in. The private inves…”

  The teenager trailed off.

  “Private investigator?”

  “I’m doing this wrong.”

  “Just a little,” the woman said.

  The teenager sat, then shrugged off the backpack, letting it drop to the floor. “I- I’m your daughter.”

 
The woman frowned. Her eyes moved to the nearest exit, then to nearby tables and the barista inside the coffee shop. Checking for a way out.

  “I… I know that sounds a little crazy.”

  “I’m your mother?”

  “You’re my mom, but you aren’t my mother.”

  “I have two boys, and I’m pretty sure they aren’t… however old you are. So you weren’t switched at birth.”

  The teenager took in a deep breath. “I’m from Earth Bet. My name is Taylor Hebert, and my mother was Annette Rose Hebert. Anne-Rose.”

  Taylor watched with bated breath as Annette took that in. The realization and connecting of the dots was quick enough. Annette’s hand moved, and she lost her page.

  “Oh,” Annette said. “Wow. Wow.”

  “If this is too much, or if it’s inconvenient or awkward, just say so.”

  “But they sealed this world off. Someone on the other side, they used a device to close all of the doorways, because it looked like there was going to be rioting or war, with too many refugees wanting in.”

  “I know,” Taylor said. Except the device wasn’t on the other side. “Yeah. But they sent back everyone that belonged here, and a few of us slipped through before the doors closed.”

  “Oh. Sometimes I’ve idly wondered, ‘what if I met the other me’, but you don’t really think it’s going to happen.”

  “I know. You should know, just so I can give context to this whole thing, the other you is dead. She has been for six and a half years. A car accident.”

  “My condolences,” Annette said. “I… it feels wrong to give condolences for my death.”

  Taylor smiled just a little. “I think it’s allowed, to feel weird about this. I just, um, forgive me for being selfish, but I kind of wanted to see your face. Or her face.”

  Annette nodded. She exhaled slowly, almost but not quite whistling.

  “If you want me to go, I’m gone. Your life returns to normal.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” Annette said, her voice quiet. “But I don’t think it’s fair, doing it like this. I want you to stay because I’m curious, while you have a very real, very profound attachment to me… to the other me. I’m worried I’ll hurt you.”

  Taylor nodded. “I can live with that. Don’t worry about me too much. I’m tougher than I look. I’m willing to satisfy your curiosity, answer any questions.”

  “You’re…?”

  Taylor took a stab at answering the question. “Taylor. Eighteen.”

  “I would have been in college.”

  “You were. She was. She met a magnificent dorky guy with a warm heart and an awful lot of passion. He worshiped her, and she… I think he gave her permission to do what she really wanted to do in life, at a time when her parents were being controlling. Her mother never really forgave my dad for luring you off the track she’d set for him, getting you pregnant with me so early in life.”

  “And my dad?”

  “Gramp liked him, but not enough to admit it to Gram.”

  “Oh. My mother refused to let my children call her Gram.”

  “I think my mom and dad encouraged it with me as a kind of subtle payback.”

  Annette smiled. “What did she end up doing?”

  “Teaching. She was a professor at a University, teaching English.”

  Annette’s eyes moved to the books, but when she responded, it was a negation. “I can’t really see that, I’m afraid.”

  Taylor nodded.

  “Your father?”

  “He came over to this earth with me. He’s picking me up in a short bit, we’re staying at a hotel for a bit while he does some job interviews, and then we go back to Boston if he doesn’t have any luck. I brought up the subject, and he said he didn’t want to see you. He might try to sneak a peek when he picks me up, if the opportunity arises, but losing her broke him. He and I, we’re both mending a bit, on a lot of levels.”

  Annette nodded. “Some news from over there made it over here… it’s impossible to believe. We took some damage, but it was comparatively minor. If you can call a death toll of five hundred million minor.”

  “No, it was comparatively minor,” Taylor agreed.

  “I’m… I admit, I’m finding myself more and more lost for words, as my curiosity is sated. I feel like I should say something meaningful, so you didn’t spend all this time trying to find some woman without anything to say. It would be easier if I knew what you wanted. It makes it hard to tailor my response.”

  “I’m not expecting anything profound or special,” Taylor said. “I thought I’d visit, refresh myself on what she looked like. I… I’m sort of in the same boat as you. There’s a lot I want to say and explain, when it comes to me, I want to raise ideas that have been crossing my mind lately, but I’d have to tell a really long story before I could even begin, and I’m not sure I’m brave enough to tell that story.”

  “Do you want to try?”

  “Telling the story?”

  “Or raising the ideas.”

  “A lot happened. My mom died, I had a hell of a time with high school, I fell in with a bad crowd and my dad and I parted ways. Over and over again, I’d think back to the advice my mom gave me, for a compass, or for a way to frame it all. Don’t- Don’t worry. I’m not expecting that kind of thing from you, I don’t want to put you on the spot. Thing is, now it’s all over, and before I came here, someone asked me to make a choice.”

  “A choice?”

  “Life and death. Or so I thought. I chose death, and she gave me life, and I’m still trying to reconcile why.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. Does this have something to do with,” Annette waggled her fingers, “Powers?”

  “No. It’s about regret, and coming to terms with it all.”

  “You’re only eighteen. Why are you worrying about something like that at this stage?”

  “Because I’m done. My life is over, for all intents and purposes. No matter how hard I try from here on out, I’ll never do anything one ten-thousandth as important as what I was doing before.”

  Taylor could see people had noticed the emotion in her voice, the slight escalation in volume, and made a deliberate attempt to calm down.

  “I might have to hear the whole story before I could give you an answer,” Annette said, her voice as calm as Taylor’s wasn’t, “But I think a lot of people go through near death experiences and I’m pretty sure they feel something like you’re feeling.”

  “Ever since y- since my mom died, it’s been this constant, unending struggle to find some kind of peace, and the harder I tried, the further it went out of my reach. And now- now I’m here and it’s right there, waiting for me to take it and I can’t bring myself to.”

  “Because you can’t bring yourself to come to terms with whatever decision you made?”

  “It’s been six months. Fuck, you’re just a stranger, and I’m burdening you with this shit you don’t understand. I don’t- I-”

  Taylor stopped, choking on the lump in her throat.

  Annette stood from her chair. “Come on.”

  Taylor shook her head. People were looking. She stared down at the table, and the upside-down book cover. “Y- you should go. I- I picked this spot because I knew you’d be leaving to go back to work, didn’t wanna keep you too long.”

  Annette reached down, taking hold of Taylor’s wrists, where she’d jammed her hands in her pockets. She stopped short as one hand came free and clunked against the side of the chair, limp and dangling.

  “Hav- haven’t gotten used to it. Had a better one,” Taylor mumbled. “Before. Embarrassed ‘self on the train. Nearly dropping my bag on some lady’s foot because I used the wrong arm, hurt.”

  Avoiding looking at Annette, self-conscious, she used her left hand to try and jam the artificial arm into her jacket pocket, failed, and then partially stood, to get a better angle.

  Annette took advantage of the movement to fold Taylor into a hug. Taylor stiffened.

&n
bsp; “I think,” Annette said, “You have plenty of time to find that peace you were talking about.”

  Taylor didn’t move, with her face mashed into Annette’s shoulder.

  For just a moment, she could let herself pretend.

  For a moment, she was eight years in the past, and all was well, even the evils and disasters of the world were fringe things. Endbringers in other countries, bad guys who she never had to pay attention to.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Annette murmured. “I’m almost afraid to ask. But I don’t think you can let one decision you made in a time of stress cause you so much grief.”

  “Thousand decisions,” Taylor mumbled.

  “What?”

  “It’s not the one decision. It’s all of them, pressing down on me. I’m- I was a monster, Annette.”

  “Looking at you right now, I find that hard to believe.”

  It wasn’t the right answer. It didn’t make Taylor feel better. Just the opposite.

  “And your dad, if he’s with you now, he clearly doesn’t think that either,” she whispered. “I think I see him. He looks very awkward and out of place, and he’s trying very hard to look like he’s not paying attention.”

  “That’d be him,” Taylor said.

  She pulled back, but she kept her hands on Taylor’s shoulders. “If you want to stay, that’s fine. If you want to go, that’s fine too. I wish I had better answers. My boys are only seven and nine; the hardest question I have to answer is why they can’t have pie for breakfast.”

  “Be easier to give answers if I could articulate the question better,” Taylor said.

  “I think it was pretty clear. You said they offered you a choice, you picked death, and they gave you life. You were talking about wanting peace… I think you had that peace in your grasp. Am I close?”

  Was she? Taylor nodded slowly. When she spoke, she could barely understand herself. “It shouldn’t be this easy.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying so,” Annette said, “I don’t think this looks easy at all. Going down any road labeled ‘death’ has to be the easier road.”

  Taylor went very quiet, using her left hand to wipe at her face. People were staring, and she couldn’t bring herself to care.