Duality

by Nasser Rabadi

  The rest of the walk was short and silent. When they got into the house, Shawn briefly introduced her to his parents, then they went down to his room.

  “New plan?” Shawn asked, sitting next to Rosie on his bed.

  “Not much of one, no,” Rose said. “We just… need to do it during the day.”

  “The day? I can’t get one of the cars during the day!”

  “We’re stealing it, we just need to find a way. Any way.”

  “What’re you getting at, Rose?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, “but Mrs. Hart will be at the gym tomorrow morning like always, and Mr. Hart will be at work. They’ll both be gone by noon. We can just ditch school then we can light the fire and leave.”

  “Couldn’t we just leave?” he asked.

  “Are you with me or not?”

  “Yes. Yes—totally!” he said. “But I am second-guessing burning the house when we can just, you know, drive away.”

  “It started with fire and it needs to end with fire,” Rose said. “Isn’t that how it started? Carpenter started with fire. With innocent women dying. And Valerie and Shelly and all the others—they didn’t die by fire, but they were innocent women who died. We need to burn it. It needs to end with fire. Then we can be free then we can leave.”

  “Oh Val—Rose, oh.”

  “Trust me,” she said.

  Then she kissed him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A charmed fog wrapped around Carpenter the next morning, as if the town were truly hidden away as God wanted it. The cloak of white suffocated the town. A flush of filled Rose’s cheeks. She stepped out of Valerie’s room and headed downstairs for school.

  “Bye—bye Mom, Dad,” Rose said.

  Both of them smiled back and told her goodbye and that they loved her.

  Rose was more nervous than she ever had been. Outside in the fog, she felt a brief wave of relief. The cool air was soothing. She tried not to keep panicking. She just needed to focus on meeting Shawn, coming back, and burning the house down. Then they could focus on stealing the car. After that, they’d be on their way to Raven Hill.

  Even if Raven Hill is shitty, it won’t be as bad as Carpenter.

  She met Shawn at his house. He was waiting on the front steps for her. His face lit up with a giant smile when he saw her.

  “You look gorgeous,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Let’s go.”

  She took his hand. He led her down his block and to Anna Willess Avenue, a street that went on for miles. Anna Willess Avenue passed through to the abandoned train yard and somewhere beyond—but exactly what was beyond, nobody knew. The landfill in an open stretch of land—a big sweep below small hills—was twenty minutes down.

  “My note was perfect,” Shawn said. “Told them I was going to run away with Valerie, and I mentioned Anna Willess Avenue. I said by the time they read this note I’d probably be the first person to discover what was at the end of the street.”

  “Perfect, soon we can dump out our book bags along the side of the road and make it look like something bad might’ve happened to us. It’ll throw them off. They’ll come running this way, but we’ll be going the other way.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t find it early,” Shawn said. “Or we will be screwed.”

  “Big time,” Rose said. “I still have my note in my pocket—I didn’t want to risk them finding it before we lit the fire.”

  “Good call.”

  The mist lessened along the curving street. Then everything became surreal to Rose. She never in her life fathomed what she was about to do. The Harts’ house was a house she grew up next to, until the Hawthorns moved. And it was one she visited her whole life. She knew these people since she was born—she loved the Harts.

  But it needed to be done. That much was clear. Whatever happened after—well, fuck it.

  She didn’t tell Shawn—and she didn’t plan to—but she’d had a dream the night before that was as vivid as one of Valerie’s, and she now understood the pain and confusion Valerie felt.

  She dreamt that she was standing on the ashes of the burned down house. Then, red eyes appeared in the night and floated through the mist, which was much like today’s fog, and surrounded the remains of the house, but she was not afraid. The eyes worshipped her.

  The flames grew and their mystical light illuminated what was around her. The eyes were not floating—they belonged to people dressed in black robes. And they began to chant. It was unclear what they said at first; it was no more than a whisper. Then they inched close to Rose, and the chants were louder. All they said was one word.

  Talia.

  “Talia,” they chanted over and over again.

  “Talia?” Rose said. “I’m not Talia.”

  The chants soared through the air.

  Talia, Talia, Talia.

  A strand of fire swirled away from the rest and drifted into the air and painted the sky. It painted Talia.

  Oh my God, I look like her.

  More strands of fire flew into the sky and acted out a play for Rose. It told of Talia—a legend that went so far back nobody knew where it began. Talia was a princess in a nameless land surrounded by shining waterfalls that were dappled by the stars, and whose water fell away into winding bays that sparkled against blue mountains. She was worshipped by all the men of the land—they all wanted her. And on the day she became queen, an unknown person poisoned her.

  The funeral was the next day. Talia wore a flowing blue dress and even in death, she looked stunning. It was dreamlike. Rose felt nervous. It was as if she were looking at her own cryptic funeral.

  They closed the coffin and sent her body off a waterfall.

  In the following days, the townspeople all claimed to have seen Talia again. People claimed to see her wandering the streets at night, but when they rushed to her, she was gone.

  Rose had heard variations of similar stories from all around the world. Who even knew what the original version was. But all these people with their red eyes surrounding her, all of these people worshipped Talia, and to them, Rose was Talia.

  They were coming for her.

  “Rose?” Shawn said.

  Rose snapped out of her own little world and jerked her head up from staring at the ground.

  “Rose?” he said again.

  “Oh, huh?”

  “I was talking to you.”

  “Sorry, Shawn.”

  “We’re here,” he said. “There’s absolutely no going back. You know that, right?”

  Rose looked at the street. They were near the landfill. “I know, and I never want to go back.”

  And with that, they each took off their book bags and scattered the textbooks, notebooks, and pens all over the street. Then, they threw their book bags onto the hill.

  “If we’re staging this for when they come looking, wouldn’t they wonder why we brought school stuff with us? Wouldn’t they wonder why they’re not finding wallets or—”

  “They’ll just be happy they found somethin’.”

  Rose smiled. “Yeah…”

  At noon, while the fog was still heavy and clinging to Carpenter, Rose put the key in the knob and unlocked the door. Shawn was at her side and looking around.

  As they walked inside and up the stairs, a thought came to Rose: For the first time, I feel like I’m me again. I’m Rose for the first time since Valerie died. I feel free.

  The house felt strange all around. It felt angry. It knew what was planned—and it didn’t want to go. Every light in the house flickered when Rose grabbed the handle of the dresser drawer that had the gasoline inside. She looked at Shawn.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Shawn said, then opened the drawer. “Let’s do it.”

  He grabbed the container from the top drawer, and as he shut it, the drawer at the bottom, in front of his feet pushed open swiftly and knocked him down. The container slipped away from his hands, and Rose knelt over him.

  “Ohmigod a
re you okay? Does it hurt? Ohmigod—”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I‘m okay.”

  Then Rose saw the big gash on his ankle. “You’re bleeding.”

  Rose hurried out of the room, saying, “Let me find you peroxide and stuff.”

  At that same moment, the closet doors opened and the carpet began to drag toward it, as it had done previously. Shawn thrashed his arms and tried to claw the carpet away from himself, but there was no budging. It wouldn’t let go.

  “Rose!” Shawn screamed.

  Rose looked back into the room from the hall and saw Shawn being dragged. “No!”

  “Don’t come back in!”

  “But—”

  “We had a good run, Rose.”

  “Don’t say that don’t say that! I can’t lose you, you shit! You’re coming with me to Raven Hill!”

  The carpet crawled backwards slowly into the abyss which was the closet’s mouth. Rose had time. She dashed down the stairs. It should have been easy to find a lighter—Mr. Hart smoked six or seven packs a month. But it took turning the kitchen upside down to find one—probably the only lighter left in the house. She took it, went back upstairs, and, looking in from the doorway screamed Shawn was almost to the closet’s lips.

  “Don’t take him!” she said. She ran her thumb over the wheel on the lighter, igniting a flame. “I’ll burn you down if you do!”

  But the room did not care. It still dragged Shawn.

  “Go before it gets you!” Shawn said.

  “I can’t! Not without you!”

  The angry red eyes of the closet were spellbound on Shawn. Shawn felt a soft heat radiating from the closet as if it were breathing. The closet doors twitched in eager anticipation of swallowing Shawn—

  Thud!

  The bolt of the front door opened downstairs. Mrs. Hart was home early. And the carpet stopped moving. Shawn ran away from it, and when Mrs. Hart heard the footsteps, she screamed.

  “Valerie?” she said. “Valerie is that you? Are you home?”

  Rose didn’t answer. She grabbed onto Shawn and held his hand, her breath coming in short, desperate spurts.

  Valerie’s mom yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Who’s there? I’m calling the police!”

  “What do we do?” Rose whispered.

  “Now or never, Rose, now or never!”

  Shawn began to dump the gasoline.

  “With her in here? She’s—she’s been a mother to me!”

  “She can run out,” Shawn said, “just like we’re about to do!”

  Once the room was drenched, it rumbled. It was angry. As the two ran out of the room, they saw the items in Valerie’s room begin to move on their own. They spun in the air and crashed into the walls in a flurry. The candy and lamp on Val’s desk flung off and hit the walls first, then the dresser fell over. Her room was in a rage.

  As Mrs. Hart screamed again, Rose threw the lighter from her safe spot in the hallway. She and Shawn raced down the stairs, and once they reached the bottom, Rose looked back up—she looked as if she wanted to run back in there. She froze. Shawn pulled her off the final step, and said, “Let’s go!”

  Mrs. Hart stepped in front of them—realizing that something terrible was happening—and put her hands on Rose’s shoulders. “Valerie? Shawn? What is this?”

  They pushed past her and into the kitchen. She chased after them.

  “Get back here! What did you do? Oh my God, that smell—the smoke! Holy shit—”

  She tripped over Rose’s mess from when Rose searched for a lighter, and her head smacked into the corner of the kitchen counter. She collapsed on the ground and her body convulsed. Blood gushed out of her head and drenched her. She was unconscious.

  Rose stepped towards her.

  “No,” Shawn said. “We don’t have time.”

  “You’re right…” Rose said. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hart. I loved you… and so did your daughter.”

  The fire spread quickly. From the lawn, they saw half of the house engulfed in gorgeous red flames. Smoke billowed higher and higher. It was sickening how the smoke simply blended in with the disgusting black sky above Carpenter.

  There was no time to admire the roaring flames. She left the note in the mailbox then they took each other hand in hand and ran. They ran all the way to Shawn’s house, then hurried to the shed in his backyard and hid behind it. His parents were still home.

  Rose grabbed him and cried loudly into his shoulder.

  “Shh, they’ll hear you,” he whispered in her ear, holding her to calm her down.

  She hugged him tightly.

  “Rose—I’m sorry about Mrs. Hart. It’ll be all right.”

  “It’s—it’s not her,” Rose said between heavy sobs.

  “Then what—”

  “That journal was all I had left to remember her by,” Rose said, “and I forgot it in her room.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rose and Shawn held each other close behind the shed; Rose still cried into Shawn’s shoulder. For a while, she felt disconnected from reality. The seriousness of what they had done tormented her. They were beyond the point of no return. The house was burned, and the note was left. Now they needed to hurry up with stealing the car.

  The dismal sky looked down at them.

  The sound of a car door opening echoed from the driveway. Mr. Porter was heading to the store. He started the car, then drove away. Shawn and Rose watched. They just needed to steal the keys and rush away with Mrs. Porter’s car. That was all. Simple.

  Once the car was out of sight, Shawn walked away from the shed and toward the house, then turned back to Rose who was a couple feet behind him.

  “Wait here, Rosie. Okay?”

  “Huh? Shouldn’t I go with you?”

  “No. If she sees me I can just say I was sick. If you’re here, the excuse is harder to make.”

  “Okay.”

  Rose stayed hidden behind the shed and prayed. Eventually, she stopped hearing Shawn’s footsteps and he was inside the house.

  Shit, shit, shit, she thought.

  As Rose began to cry again at thought of Mrs. Hart, it started to drizzle.

  “Ma? I’m home,” Shawn said, then shut the door.

  His mom rushed into the living room. “What? Honey, why are you not at school?”

  Shawn sat down on the couch then noticed the car keys were on the table. “I don’t feel good, Mom. I’m in trouble.”

  “What trouble? Shawn? What is it?”

  “Nothin’ major, Ma,” he said. “But I need an aspirin and water. Can you—"

  She went to the kitchen to get him what he asked for. He quickly grabbed the keys—careful not to jingle them—and put them in his pocket. She came back not only with the aspirin and water but with a plate of fruit and a knife.

  “You look horrible,” she said. “Here, some fruit’ll make you better. I always take it when I’m sick, and it makes me better, honey.”

  He put the pill in his mouth then chugged the whole cup of water. His mom peeled an orange then handed him part of it. She set down the knife and had a piece of orange herself.

  “What is this trouble?” she asked.

  “I can’t lie to you, Mom,” he said. “There was a fire today at the Harts’ house… and I helped light it.”

  “Shawn—you what?”

  “You know Valerie, Mom?”

  “I do,” Mrs. Porter said. “Did she drag you into this? Listen—we can call your uncle and maybe he can get you out of this. He is on the—”

  “Mom, I don’t need him to do anything.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “You lit a damn house on fire, correct?”

  “I need to tell you more, Mom.”

  “Okay, tell me.”

  “Valerie and I are running away.”

  “What? No, Mister. No you are not. Are you insane? Are you kidding me?”

  “Sorry, I mean… we planned to. But that’s why I’m here. I can’t do it.”

  “Oh my
baby.” she hugged him. “We are going to get you out of this mess.”

  “I’m too far into this mess.” Shawn sighed.

  She let go of him, studied him. “What else did you do?”

  “It’s what I’m about to do,” he said. “I couldn’t do this without a clear conscience. I needed you to know.”

  “Shawn? You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry. Please know that I’m sorry.”

  “Shawn?”

  He grabbed the knife, then turned to his mother.

  Mrs. Porter screamed, “Shawn! Put that thing down!”

  He charged at her; she moved away, bumped into the table, and ran out of the room. Shawn paused for a moment with heavy regret. His mother sped into her room and slammed the door.

  Shawn thought, I don’t want to… but I need to.

  As he walked out of the living room and to his parents’ bedroom, he could’ve sworn he heard Valerie whispering into his ear, “Do it, Shawn. For me. Then we can be free and run away. If you love me, do it. Don’t you love me?”

  He stood in front of the locked door and pushed on it with his shoulder, causing the flimsy wood to crack. Mrs. Porter cried.

  “Come on, open up!”

  “Shawn—you are fucking crazy!”

  “I need to do it, Mom! Valerie said I need to do it to be free!”

  He pushed on the door again with his shoulder—it would break eventually if he tried enough times, but he did not have all day. Shawn went to the kitchen sink, ran the cold water, and washed it over his face. Then he opened the cabinet below it, which was filled with junk, and found a rusty hammer.

  He went back to her bedroom door, lifted the hammer, and slammed it down on the knob. It nearly came off in that one swoop. Again, he raised it, struck it down, and the knob fell to the ground.

  The door opened.

  When Shawn entered the room, his mom was opening the window. She looked over her shoulder with terror.

  “Shawn! No! No!”

  He ran with the hammer high above him, then buried it in her head.

  Shawn cried, kissed her cheeks, and said sorry again. “I love you.”