by Beth Goobie
Deller’s double scanned her face, his eyes still hooded. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “But I don’t feel Her. And I’ll never believe that ooly-gooly church stuff.”
Nellie scowled and stared up at the planes, hanging midair like thick gray thoughts. “But don’t you believe you’ll be a star when you die and go to live with the Goddess?” She paused significantly, then added, “And your father?” It was a calculated guess and she saw it hit home.
“Maybe,” Deller’s double said gruffly, avoiding her gaze. “As long as I don’t have to be one of those moons. I’m not into all this death stuff the priests are always going on about. It’s as if they think you can only be happy after you die. twin moons,” he said scathingly. “Dead moons.”
“But don’t you think you’ll be happy when you die and get to see your father again?” Nellie asked.
“Why can’t we be happy here?” asked the boy in the bed.
For a long moment Nellie stared at him, and then her suspicion unrolled like a ball of string. So Deller wasn’t a complete pagan. Even if he did have some odd thoughts about the twin moons, he did sort of believe in the Goddess. All he needed, really, was a little faith, some proof Ivana existed. It shouldn’t be too difficult to come up with something as simple as that. “I don’t actually go to church much,” she confessed eagerly. “Just sometimes in the afternoons. There aren’t any priests or priestesses around then—just a pack of old ladies praying.”
Deller’s double grinned. “And you.”
“And the Goddess,” she said firmly.
“Okay,” he shrugged. “Now I get to ask you a question.”
Nellie tensed, slitting her eyes. “Oh yeah?” she said guardedly.
“How’d you get out of the Interior?”
The question came at her like an acid-tipped arrow of moonlight. “With my mom,” she said carefully.
The double’s eyes narrowed and he straightened. “What happened to her?” he asked quietly.
Nellie shrugged and focused with elaborate intensity on the planes above her head.
“Well?” said Deller’s double in a waiting kind of voice.
Nellie shrugged again. A slow fist pounded, deep in her gut. If he didn’t stop asking this question soon, she was going to throw up all over the place.
“Okay,” said Deller’s double after a pause. “I guess it’s your turn.”
Nellie hugged the back of her chair, waiting for the fist to let up in her gut. “What d’you know about the levels?” she asked finally.
“What levels?” Deller’s double frowned slightly.
“Never mind.” Nellie paused, thinking rapidly. Why didn’t Deller’s doubles know about the levels if he did? But then she knew about them, and most of her doubles didn’t seem to. “Have you ever seen anyone who ... looks exactly like you?” she asked cagily.
“My brother Fen,” Deller’s double said promptly, then paused. “Well, not exactly. Sometimes people think we’re twins, if they don’t look at his eyes.”
“No,” said Nellie. “I mean, like ... well, like a double.”
“A doubling?” Deller’s double’s frown deepened. “I ain’t got devils coming through me, if that’s what you’re asking. Just because I don’t believe in the Godd—”
“What happened after the men heard you cough at the church?” Nellie interrupted hoarsely.
Deller’s double stared. “You were there,” he said. “We ran out. One of the men grabbed me in the courtyard. You threw a brick at him. He let me go and we got away. Why are you asking me?”
She shrugged, her thoughts scrambling. So events didn’t always turn out exactly the same in the levels. Things could happen differently in each one.
“I had a weird dream about it later, though,” Deller’s double continued slowly. “In the dream, the whole thing happened differently. Instead of me getting away, the men grabbed me and dragged me back. Then they beat me up.” His face twisted. “Real bad. I could feel it. I think I must’ve passed out because the next thing I knew, I was being dragged down a hall. There were sirens, as if there was a fire, and alarms. And then—”
“Yeah?” Nellie leaned forward eagerly.
Deller’s double spoke slowly, his face incredulous. “This guy shoved me out of the church door. He looked just like me, but he wasn’t Fen. Fen’s shorter than me, and like I said, his eyes are different and his face a bit wider. This guy was exactly like me. ‘You’ve got to run,’ he said, slapping my face. Then he ran back into the church. I’ve had that dream three times now, and it’s always the same. Why would I keep dreaming the same dream?”
Nellie sank back with a sigh. So even if they didn’t know about the levels, doubles could dream about each other. She had to be very careful here tonight, in case the real Deller dreamed about this conversation and remembered it tomorrow morning. But what would it matter? she thought, suddenly gleeful. He would be dreaming the thoughts of a double who didn’t know about the levels. So even if Deller did dream about this conversation, he would never figure out what was really going on.
“What were you going to do to me after you shaved my head?” she asked suddenly.
A weasely look crept across Deller’s double’s face, and his eyes hooded heavily. “I dunno,” he shrugged.
“Yes, you do,” she challenged.
“Not what you’re thinking,” he said quickly.
Nellie’s eyes slitted. “What am I think–?”
“Shh,” hissed the double, raising a hand. Soft footsteps could be heard coming across the hall. “Quick,” he hissed. “Under the bed.”
Flattening herself to the floor, Nellie slithered under the bed, straight into a mound of dustballs. Nose buried in her elbow, she listened as bedsprings jounced and creaked above her head. Deller’s double quieted, then abruptly rolled over, jostling the springs and muttering. A nightmare, Nellie thought admiringly. He thinks quick in a fix.
A light tap sounded on the door. “Deller?” came a muffled voice. Deller’s double stopped shifting. “Whaaaa–?” he mumbled, as if coming awake.
The door opened. “You all right?” asked his mother. Pressed to the floor, Nellie watched a pair of slippers approach the bed. “I heard you talking in your sleep,” the woman continued. “Lucky you didn’t wake Nellie. I checked and she’s sound asleep. That girl sleeps like a log.”
The springs above Nellie’s head went deadly quiet, the boy in the bed suddenly still.
“You’re sure you’re all right then?” his mother asked again.
“Yeah, just a weird dream,” muttered Deller’s double. “All right. See you in the morning.” The slippers padded back across the floor, the door closed and soft sounds retreated across the hall. Rigid and breathing only the tiniest of breaths, Nellie lay in the absolute stillness that followed, trying to read the mind of the boy that lay above her. Pressing her hands against the bottom of the mattress, she was about to scan his vibrations when he began bouncing frantically and she had to plaster herself to the floor to avoid getting flattened.
“So, what the hell are you?” he hissed as she came slithering out from under the bed. “A double? A doubling?”
“Course not,” Nellie snapped, scrambling to her feet. Her, a double? Brushing dustballs from her nightgown, she started backing toward the door.
“What would happen if I went down the hall right now and looked in on Nellie?” asked the boy on the bed, his eyes glinting. “Would I find someone who looks exactly like you?”
“Why would you want to do that?” Thoughts racing, Nellie fumbled with the doorknob. She’d left the gate to this level standing open in her double’s bedroom. That meant all she had to do was take off down the hall and—
“Where d’you think you’re going?” With a savage creak of bedsprings Deller’s double launched himself from the bed, and Nellie tore open the door and raced down the shadowy hallway. Dashing into the bedroom at the far end, she caught sight of her double in the bed, snoring loudly. Figured. Wi
thout hesitation, Nellie stepped through the waiting gate and sealed it behind her. There—easy as that, her troubles were over. Quickly she passed through the next several levels, sealing each gate, and finally reached her home level. There she stood a moment, eyes closed, breathing in the silence of the empty room. That had been way too close. But at least she’d learned one thing—Deller’s doubles were even more weasely than he was.
Opening her eyes, Nellie turned toward the bed and saw the girl. Seated cross-legged with her back to the wall, she was playing quietly with a pocketknife, spinning it on her palm. During Nellie’s absence the arrow of moonlight had shifted from its position on the floor, slanting up the bed so its tip now rested on the girl’s face. In its pearly light there was no denying she looked exactly like Nellie, down to the odd slant of her eyes and the frightened angry stubble on her head. The only difference was the gold-brocaded dress that ballooned about her in heavy shimmering folds.
“That’s my dress,” Nellie said hoarsely, taking a step forward. “You stole it from my shack.”
“Uh-uh,” said the girl, giving the knife a cool silver flick in the moonlight. “My money in the store—you stole that. The dress is payback.”
“I’ll get you some more,” Nellie said quickly. “Just give me back the dress, and I promise—”
Her double leaned over the foot of the bed and spat with venomous precision on the floor. “Your promises mean shit,” she said. “I’ve been watching you pass back and forth through the skins as if they’re nothing, just bits of air. And laughing at your possibilities, rubbing doughnut goop in their faces.”
“Possibilities!” Nellie gaped, dumbfounded. “They’re just stupid doubles, so stupid they don’t even know they’re doubles. Besides, I never hurt none of them.”
The girl on the bed watched her silently, walking the closed knife over the back of her fingers. Nellie stared back, her eyes slitting as she pondered the situation. This double was obviously smarter than the rest of them, and unpredictable. She looked as if she wouldn’t think twice about causing a ruckus. All in all, she looked kind of weasely.
“I need that dress to remember my mother,” Nellie said stiffly. “She’s dead.”
“So’s mine,” said the girl on the bed.
“But you have a dress like that in your own level,” Nellie snapped.
“Maybe I want two,” sneered the girl. “For Lulunar.”
Nellie’s eyes slitted further. She decided to change tactics. “Do you love your mother?” she asked softly.
The girl’s eyes narrowed and she said nothing.
“Then you know how much I miss mine,” Nellie continued, ignoring her silence. “When I found that dress on that laundry line, I just knew—”
“I found it,” said the double.
“No, you found it because I found it,” argued Nellie. “What happens to you happens because I do it first. The rest of you are like ... echoes.”
“I’m not your echo,” scoffed the other girl. “Do you carry a knife?”
Nellie’s eyes flicked to the pocketknife and she shrugged.
“I found the dress and you copied,” said Nellie’s double. “I was ready to rob a store and you moved in on me. I was living in my own turf, respecting the skins, but you invaded, so now you’re paying the price. One little dress isn’t much!”
“But it’s my remembering dress,” whispered Nellie.
“Mine too,” smirked her double.
Nellie fought the urge to fly at her and claw her eyes out. “What did you call the levels?” she asked slowly. “Skins?”
“Levels?” said the girl. “What are they?”
“What are skins?” countered Nellie.
“What you come through,” said her double with a look of surprise. “From there to here. The skins are all around us, they’re what keeps you from me. Most of the possibilities don’t know the skins exist. They think they’re all there is. Just a few of us can come through the skins and walk around in someone else’s turf.” She gave Nellie a sly grin.
“Tell you what,” said Nellie, chewing her lip. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have taken your money, so you can keep the dress. I’ll find another one. Why don’t we make a deal? You stay on your turf and I’ll stay on mine. I won’t ever cross into your skin to bug you, and you’ll stay in your skin and leave me alone.”
Her double gave a thinking hiss, flicking the knife blade in and out of its pocket. “No one tells me where I can go,” she said finally. “Why should I stay out of your skin if I feel like coming here? There’s no way you’ d keep your promise if you didn’t feel like it. And you need someone watching you. You’ve got a few lessons to learn about respecting other people’s skins.”
In a swish and shimmer of gold brocade, the double eased off the bed and turned toward the window. “Keep an eye out for me,” she said to Nellie over her shoulder. “I’ll be wearing your remembering dress and showing up when you least expect it. Just think of me as your guardian angel.”
Suddenly she disappeared. No gate opened, there was only a brief intense humming in the air, and then the other girl was no longer in the room. With a cry Nellie rushed forward, her hands raised, trying to read her double’s vibrations, but all she sensed were her own. Tuning into the molecular field, she scanned wildly but could find no gate in the place her double had vanished.
Crawling into bed, Nellie curled into a frightened shell. How could this be, a double that came and went into nothingness? If a double could do that, what else could suddenly step out of thin air? Whimpering, she tried to escape her thoughts by diving into sleep, but the arrow of moonlight was resting serenely on her face. With a sob she turned and squished herself into the crack between the bed and the wall, until all she could see was the darkness in front of her face.
Chapter 13
THOUGH NELLIE WATCHED Deller suspiciously at breakfast, he showed no sign that her conversation with his double had leaked through to his dreams. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten her existence entirely. Eyes riveted to his breakfast, he shoveled eggs and toast non-stop into his mouth, managing only a few monosyllabic grunts at his mother before launching himself from the table and out the door. The screen door whirred back on its hinges and slammed shut, there was the thud of running feet, and finally a long drawn-out sigh as the house relaxed into quiet.
“Where’s he going?” Nellie scowled down at her own eggs and toast. It wasn’t that she wanted Deller nearby, but she’d assumed he would be around, bugging her every minute of the entire day.
“Gone off to his part-time job,” said his mother, standing up to clear the table. “He’ll be back for lunch, just before I leave for my afternoon shift. He works as a courier two mornings a week, delivering messages on his bike.”
“That old thing?” asked Nellie.
“It gets him around,” said his mother, carrying a stack of dishes to the sink. “And we’ve got our own work to do, you and I. C’mon over here and help me with the dishes, and then there’s something I want to show you. C’mon now.”
Reluctantly Nellie shuffled to the sink and stood watching the dishwater rise in the basin. It had been a long time since she’d washed dishes, almost a year and a half. Tentatively, she held her hands over the soapsuds, letting them break softly against her palms.
“Go on now, the water won’t bite,” said Deller’s mother.
Nellie eased her hands into the water and felt the warmth nuzzle her skin. An early morning breeze wafted through the window above the sink, rippling the curtains, and she breathed in its sweet outside scent. Small trickling sounds came off each dish and cup as she lifted them out of the water. She concentrated, scrubbing each object carefully before handing it to Deller’s mother for drying. It had been so long since she’d washed dishes that she felt as if she was reaching back through time, scrubbing plates she and her mother might have used in the Interior. Being in a house again was doing strange things to her head. The last time she’d turned to hand Deller�
��s mother a freshly washed saucer, she’d actually seen her own mother standing there, smiling and reaching toward her ...
With a cry, Nellie let go of the saucer she was holding. Hitting the floor, it bounced and rolled a few feet, then tilted and spun on its rim.
“Never you mind,” said Deller’s mother, stooping for the saucer and dropping it back into the soapy water. “It landed on the rug. Nothing broken, not even a chip. Why, what’s the matter with you, child? You’ve gone white as a ghost.”
“Nothing.” Scowling, Nellie buried her arms in the dishwater and watched the soap bubbles rise above her elbows. For a moment she’d thought ... she’d seen her mother standing in the living room doorway, holding a gun. Why, would she be holding a gun? Her mother had been a schoolteacher, not a soldier. Frantically Nellie swished her arms in the dishwater, trying to wash the scene from her memory. Water sloshed onto her T-shirt, over the counter, and onto the floor.
“You’ve got some cleaning up to do,” commented Deller’s mother comfortably. “But that’s all right. The floor can use the wash, and I can wait with what I’ve got to show you upstairs until you get every inch of it spic and span.”
Nellie stopped sloshing and wiped up the mess. As she did, the image of her mother holding the gun faded slowly from her thoughts until it hung like a gauze curtain, there and not there, waiting at the back of her mind. Thoughts did this to her—came at her, tore open her brain and disappeared again as if they’d never existed. By the time the dishes were finished, the memory of her mother and the gun had vanished, and she clomped noisily out of the kitchen after Deller’s mother, following her up the stairs and into a bedroom with deep blue susurra flowers on the curtains and an ugly pink and lime afghan on the bed. Sliding open a dresser drawer, Deller’s mother pulled a measuring tape from a sewing basket.
“Now, Nellie,” she said, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips. “It’s time for what we call a rite of passage.”
“A right of what?” Slitting her eyes, Nellie took a step back.