Head Trip

by D. L. Line

  “And I get that. I’m right here,” Jake wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen.” He squeezed the back of her neck. It felt nice, safe. “It’s just Starbucks.”

  “I know.” The headaches seemed a little better, and the frequency of seizures seemed to have slowed down, so maybe nothing would happen. She hoped so anyway. “Not like I’m going to run into any heavily armed Russian agents. Well, despite the one who talks to me at home.”

  “Nope, no bad guys. It’ll be fine.” He pulled the door to the coffee shop open and ushered Shelby through.

  She stopped in the doorway just long enough to warm up and take a long sniff. “Ah, yes, coffee fixes everything.”

  “My treat. Have at it.”

  “Thanks, buddy.” Shelby leaned on the counter with both hands and placed her order. “Peppermint mocha, please.”

  The barista smiled back. “Whipped cream?”

  “Oh, yeah, hook me up.” Shelby stood to one side while Jake ordered a caramel macchiato for himself and dug his wallet out of his coat to pay for their order. Shelby got distracted by the display of coffee mugs for sale. She stopped when she spotted something in the corner of the shop that filled her with an eerie kind of dread. A woman, sitting alone at a table, writing furiously in a notebook. A chocolate-brown ponytail spilled down the back of her black sweater. “Oh, shit,” Shelby said quietly into the palm of her hand, which had somehow found its way up to cover her mouth.

  “Shel, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “What?”

  “Are you in pain? What’s up?”

  “Over there, in the corner.” She pointed toward the woman. “I just thought I recognized her.”

  “Who, the gal with the notebook?”

  “Yeah, I just thought…Never mind, it’s crazy.” Shelby needed to believe that. And she did, until the mystery woman in the corner turned around. There were the crystal blue eyes. Shelby gasped when she saw them, and she began to feel a little sick as she registered the rest of the woman’s face. Same eyes, same angular jaw, same crooked grin. It was Tasha.

  “Oh, shit again. Jake, get me out of here.”

  “But, what about…” He motioned toward the counter and their unfinished coffee order.

  “Now.” Shelby grabbed the sleeve of Jake’s coat. “Have to leave, have to get out.”

  Shelby felt a stab of pain in her head. “Not again.” She kept pulling at Jake’s coat, but now it was to keep from falling when the headache escalated and she realized what was about to happen. “Jake, help—”

  She never finished her sentence before darkness closed in again.

  *

  “Oh, shit. She shot me!” Shelby’s hand flew up to a spot on her forehead. She could feel the wound, red hot, surely bleeding freely. But her hand came away clean and dry. “What the fuck?”

  “Shelby. Shelby Hutchinson. Wake up.”

  A male voice. Shelby was disoriented. “What?” she asked through the fog of searing pain and confusion. “What happened?” She tried to sit up, but strong arms pinned her shoulders to the ground, keeping her immobile. “Where am I?” She felt around on the floor, trying to ground herself, figure out what happened. Her hands slid on something unidentifiable.

  “Shel, sweetie, lie still. You’re okay now.”

  Things were crawling back into focus. Shelby took a long breath and attempted to collect her wits. Not easy considering she still wasn’t sure why she was on the ground, rubbing at an imaginary gunshot wound. “Oh, wait a minute…” It was coming back. “Jake?”

  “Yeah, Shel, it’s me, Jake. Take it easy.”

  “I’m fine, all kinds of fine here.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Things continued to come into focus. Jake, his smile extending all the way to his dark brown eyes, loomed over her. Shelby relaxed a little and took a long breath to try to quell the deep ache in her head. “Ow.” Her head really hurt. “Jake, can you get me some—”

  “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” Jake turned around and accepted a cup of ice from someone Shelby didn’t recognize. Wait a minute. She did recognize her.

  “Oh, shit. Tasha.” Shelby scrabbled with her hands on the floor, trying but failing to move anywhere. She had to get away.

  But she wasn’t going anywhere. Apparently, Shelby had managed to pull the music display over when she went down. Her hands slid on the spilled disks, serving to escalate her panic. “Help me…don’t let her—”

  Jake grabbed her arms, pinning her to the floor, but Shelby was having none of it. “Calm down. No one did anything to you.” She continued to struggle in an attempt to escape, but he was just too big. Shelby wasn’t going anywhere. “You had another seizure.”

  “Jake, please.” She was desperate for him to understand how scared she was. “It’s her. Don’t let her near—”

  Jake took her by the chin and urged her to look at him. “Who do you see? What’s wrong?”

  She tried to focus through the pain and the frightening memory of the gun going off in her face. It wasn’t easy, especially considering she was now looking at the face of the woman who had pulled the trigger. Shelby wiggled her shoulders, freeing herself from Jake’s grasp. “Tasha.” She held a shaking hand up and pointed toward the woman. “She’s Tasha.”

  “What Tasha? The Russian spy?” He lowered his voice to whisper. “The one who talks—”

  “Yes. That Russian spy.” She closed her eyes in the hope it would drive the image of Tasha from her vision. When she opened them, Tasha was still there. Shelby started to cry. “Please, please, don’t let her hurt me.”

  “What is she talking about?” Tasha’s look-alike appeared to be as confused as Jake did. “I didn’t do anything.” Weird. Not a trace of Tasha’s Russian accent.

  Jake turned to answer. “I know you didn’t. She’ll be okay.”

  To make things worse, the manager of the Starbucks appeared behind Jake. “Is everything okay over here? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

  “No.” Shelby began to panic again. She didn’t want to go back to the hospital. “No ambulance. I’ll be okay.” She didn’t necessarily believe it, but all she wanted was to go home.

  Jake took care of it. “No, she’ll be fine in a few minutes.” The manager silently acknowledged Jake’s answer and went back to wherever he had come from.

  Something appeared in her peripheral vision. Shelby was such a mess at this point she tried to duck and hide.

  “Shel. Please, take it easy. It’s just ice.” Jake pointed toward the cup in his right hand. “And this kind person…” He motioned toward the Tasha clone. “What’s your name?”

  “Trish.”

  Jake took a long breath. “Trish here saw you were having trouble and she got you a cup of ice.”

  Head almost clear, Shelby took in every detail. Same chocolate brown hair, crystal blue eyes, everything identical. She sure looked like Tasha. Shelby still couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. She shrugged and gave a weak smile to Tasha’s doppelganger, who looked more than a little puzzled.

  “What did you mean by Russian spy?” The woman offered up her own version of the dumbfounded expression. “I’m not a spy.” She looked over to Jake for support. “Is she okay? I mean, did she hit her head or something?”

  Jake didn’t answer. He just stared at the woman and cocked his head. “She sure looks like the picture.” He turned back toward Shelby. “Doesn’t she?”

  “It’s uncanny.” Shelby still wasn’t sure how she felt. Maybe not quite terrified anymore, but definitely curious with a healthy dose of apprehension. “And you’re certain you’re not a Russian spy sent here through a rift in time from 1985 just to fuck with me some more?” Shelby winced, but it had to be said. She sat up, rubbed at her forehead, and accepted the cup of ice from Jake.

  “What?” Trish looked to Jake again. “Are you sure she didn’t hit her head?”

 
“No, I didn’t hit my head. I had a seizure because someone who looks exactly like you shot me in the head.” Shelby held the ice to the sore spot on her face and held up her free hand to Jake for assistance up from the floor. He obliged and held on until Shelby felt stable enough to let go. “No kidding. Fine and dandy here.”

  “Shot you in the head? What on earth are you talking about? Someone shot you in the head?”

  “Yes, well, sort of, not really, but it’s a long story.” Boy, was that an understatement.

  “I can assure you—”

  “Shelby Hutchinson,” Jake said.

  “I can assure you, Shelby Hutchinson, I am nothing but a simple writer for Chicago Weekly E-zine. I don’t know anything about Russian spies, and I certainly have no intention of, as you so eloquently put it, fucking with you.”

  Shelby cringed again, partly because of the way Trish had said her name, and partly because she had apparently offended Trish with her language. “Sorry about that.”

  “Apology accepted,” Trish answered with a single nod.

  “But you look exactly like her.” Shelby still couldn’t get over the resemblance. There had to be a connection. It was too bizarre.

  “Exactly like whom?” Trish offered a timid smile. “I’ve got a table in the corner. You could tell me your long story. And your boyfriend too. Unless you need to go, what with the seizure and all.”

  “No…I mean yes, thank you. And he’s not my boyfriend, despite being a boy and my friend.” She rolled her eyes. “Sitting down is probably a good idea.” Shelby still felt a little like she was listing on the deck of a boat in a storm. “Haven’t quite got my sea legs yet.” Jake held her arm to steady her as Shelby wobbled a little.

  “Whoa there, kiddo. I’ve got you.”

  “Thanks.” Shelby turned to look at Trish, but found she still couldn’t make eye contact. It was just too weird. “This is Jake, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Jake extended a hand toward Trish, who shook it as she introduced herself in return.

  “Patricia Aronoff. My friends call me Trish.”

  Shelby studied Trish’s face, noting there was something there that Tasha didn’t have. There was a warmth to her smile that Shelby found comforting. Jake helped Shelby to a chair, got her situated, and scurried off to get their drinks from the counter. She still couldn’t look Trish in the eye.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You, um, went down pretty hard,” Trish said.

  “No, I’m okay. It happens once in a while. Don’t worry about it.”

  “But you said something about me shooting you in the head, whatever that means. What were you talking about?”

  Shelby adjusted the cup of ice on her forehead. “It’s like this: I took a virtual vacation, things didn’t work out right, and you shot me in the head. Well, we’ve established that in reality it wasn’t you, but damn, you could be her twin.” Shelby finally braved a closer look. She found another difference. Trish’s eyes were the same clear blue, but they weren’t cold like Tasha’s. “Your eyes are a little different.” They were warm and inviting, and Shelby thought, trustworthy. Oh, shit. Not again.

  “A virtual vacation?”

  “Have you heard of it? They implant memories of fantasy vacations.”

  Trish furrowed her brow. “Do you mean Head Trip?”

  Shelby was a little surprised. “Yeah, Head Trip. That’s the place. Have you been there, taken a vacation?”

  “Early last week.” Trish leafed through her notebook until she found what she had been looking for. “Tuesday afternoon, for a piece I’m working on. I talked to a guy, a technician with blond hair—”

  “Andrew?” Shelby said.

  “Yes, Andrew. Squirrelly sort of guy.”

  “Yeah, that’s him.” Shelby sneered. “Rodent.”

  “You know, he struck me that way too. I was researching the virtual vacation phenomenon, so I went as far as to do their mapping procedure, but the whole thing kind of freaked me out. Since I had enough information for my article, I decided to forgo the vacation.”

  Shelby set down her cup of ice and rubbed idly at her forehead. “I should have skipped it too.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  Shelby wasn’t exactly sure what motivated her to want to tell Trish the whole sordid tale, but she did. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  “Yes, I do, unless you don’t feel up to it.”

  “Feel up to what?” Jake asked as he returned with Shelby’s coffee.

  “Trish wants to know all about Head Trip.” Trish found a clean page in her notebook. Shelby tentatively began to tell the tale of her Head Trip vacation, the shooting, and the rude awakening when it was over. “It’s been several days now, and I’m very obviously still having some problems.”

  “I noticed that.” Trish offered a timid grin. “The thing I’m still unclear about is how the character in your vacation looked like me. I did the mapping but I never agreed to allow them to use me in anyone else’s trip.” She got a funny look on her face. “Exactly how much of me did they use?”

  Shelby felt the blush begin to creep its way up her neck.

  It’s again time for truth, Shelby Hutchinson.

  Shelby gritted her teeth and answered under her breath, “Yeah, I know.” She struggled to explain. “Um, pretty much, you know…” The blush kept rising. “Everything.”

  “Everything?” Shelby saw the metaphorical light bulb when it flashed on over Trish’s head. “Everything, as in—”

  “Yep, everything.” Shelby stared into her coffee.

  “I’m not sure I believe you.” Trish scratched her head. “They wouldn’t actually—”

  Shelby lobbed a grenade. “You have a freckle on your right shoulder blade,” she said and pointed toward her right hip, “and a scar, here, from I don’t know what. I just assumed it was probably from a knife fight.”

  “Knife fight? What? No. Appendectomy.” Trish’s mouth hung open. “About ten years ago. And yes, freckle, right shoulder blade.” Her expression changed to one of horror. “How do you know this? Oh God, what did we do?”

  “Again, I say everything. You know?” The blush became so hot that Shelby feared her ears might catch fire. She wanted to crawl under the table. Trish looked like she did as well.

  “Really?” Just for a second, Shelby would have sworn Trish wasn’t totally offended by the idea. But then it was gone again. “Oh my God.”

  “The second time, we were both drunk, so maybe that helps.” Shelby rolled her eyes. Trish still looked horrified. “Or not.”

  Trish was ignoring her notebook. “The second time? Drunk?” She looked like she wanted to throw up. “I don’t even drink.” She also looked like she wanted to cry. “I feel so violated.”

  “I’m right there with you.” Shelby picked up her cup of ice and reapplied it to her forehead. “Not exactly feeling the love over this way either.”

  “I’m so sorry, but—” Trish stopped, apparently too flabbergasted to speak.

  Shelby was out of things to say as well. Jake broke the silence.

  “You’re a reporter or something like that, right?” He pointed to her notebook. “Can you do something? Tell someone?”

  Trish didn’t exactly look comfortable with the idea. “I’m not sure. I mean, I could talk to my editor.”

  For the first time since she got back from her vacation, Shelby felt a glimmer of hope. “Maybe if…think about this. What if something is going on there? You know, Andrew and his vermin vibe…we both saw it.” Trish nodded. “Every time I call him he says I’ll be fine. Other people were fine…blah, blah, blah…Well, anyway, maybe someone needs to talk to these ‘other people’ and find out if they are fine and dandy.”

  Jake jumped in and pointed at Trish. “And you’re the one researching the whole virtual vacation thing. Evil corporate bastards.”

  Trish rubbed her chin. “Sounds interesting, but how do you propose we get those names? I’m sure Rat Boy is
n’t going to be overly forthcoming with that kind of information. Know any hackers?”

  “Shel could do it.” Jake smiled as if it was the best idea he’d ever had. “She’s a whiz.”

  “No,” Shelby said. “I’m the director of Information Systems, not a random kid hacking into the Pentagon from his mom’s basement.” She stared back at Jake. “Besides, you’re the reformed hacker, not me.”

  “What’s the difference?” Jake asked. “She’s really a whiz,” he said to Trish.

  Trish looked to Shelby, a hopeful expression on her face. “It would make my job immensely easier, and it helps you at the same time. I seriously want to know what’s going on with these people.”

  It’s time to face your fear, Shelby Hutchinson.

  “Yes, you’re right.” She wasn’t certain whether she was answering Trish or Tasha, but the answer was the same either way. Shelby resolutely stuck out her chin. “I’m sure I could manage something.” She winced and returned the cup of ice to her forehead. “But it might have to wait until tomorrow.”

  “Sure, I understand. Are you sure you’re all right?” Trish’s hand came to rest comfortingly on Shelby’s arm.

  “Yeah, the headache is backing off, but I’m kind of wiped out.”

  Trish stuffed her notebook into her bag and stood. “Jake, you should take her home. Make sure she gets some rest. Here’s my card. I’m going to do a little digging to see what I can come up with. We should talk later when you are a little more yourself. Can I get your number?”

  “Sure.” Shelby scribbled her number on a napkin and handed it to Trish.

  “I’ll be in touch. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Shelby watched Trish walk out of Starbucks and wondered what the hell would happen next.

  She is a take-charge woman, Shelby Hutchinson. You like that, no?

  “Shut up, Tasha,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “I think Trish was right,” said Jake. “Let’s get you home.”

  Home sounded like a great idea. The comfort of her own four walls and no one trying to mess with her head. Well, no one but the imaginary Russian spy who lived there too, but who’s counting? Shelby hauled herself out of her chair, relieved that the world wasn’t spinning around her, and made her way to the door, well aware she was not the picture of poise and confidence Trish had been, but then Trish hadn’t been floundering on the floor in the midst of a corporate-sponsored seizure either.