by Rune Skelley
Fin gritted his teeth. “Yeah. It was.” He didn’t feel up to telling her he’d only known Rook two weeks before they married.
“That sounds familiar,” Mom said. Fin didn’t want to imagine her getting all googly with Brad. He ground his teeth some more.
“Now, your wife’s name is Rook?”
“Yes.”
“But is her real name Brook?”
Fin admitted it was.
“I knew her parents.”
“That seems pretty unlikely.”
“Ask her how Dragonfly is.”
Fin turned to his wife and said in a theatrical tone, “Rook, how is… Dragonfly?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t talked to him in ages.”
Fin boggled. “Rook, who is Dragonfly?”
“My brother,” she said, like they’d been over this a hundred times.
“You said your brother’s name was Bay.”
“Dragonfly Bay,” said Rook and Mom together.
“My mom knew your parents.”
“My condolences,” Rook said.
“Well,” said Mom. It seemed, suspicions confirmed, she didn’t feel comfortable with the revelation.
The conversation petered out, and ended with Fin not quite promising to call again soon.
Rook wrapped her arms around him and held him for a few minutes. Then she said, “Your shirt stinks. I think you need to do some laundry.”
Fin pinned her to the couch and tickled her, but caught an eye-watering whiff of his pits and had to agree.
On their way upstairs, he said, “I think I remember playing with Dragonfly. He was older than me and liked to throw things.”
“Sounds like him. His temper got him in a lot of trouble in high school, especially after he found out Mom was screwing his friends. He moved out after that.”
Fin looked at her in amazement.
“Maybe now you see why I don’t feel like talking to her.”
Back in their room, Fin dug around on the top shelf in the closet until he uncovered a cigar box held closed by a rubber band. The band fell apart under his fingers as he slid it off. It had been a long time since he’d looked in here, but this was where he expected to find Ember’s address. Now that he knew his mother was alive, looking at mementos of her shouldn’t be as painful.
He pulled out a small stack of photos. The top one was the last picture he had of her, taken at the mini-golf course on his 13th birthday.
“Look at her,” Rook said in a strange voice. “She looks exactly the same.”
“I thought you were the one saying we should believe Brad’s story.”
“It’s just weird to see the evidence.” She took the picture for a closer look. “Is that you?” she asked, trying not to laugh.
Fin grabbed the photograph and hid it on the bottom of the pile.
They went through the remaining dozen pictures until they got to the earliest one. It showed a group of hippies. His mom and Brad were sitting in the grass, laughing together while he, as a toddler, petted a black dog.
“That’s my dog, Komodo.” Fin said.
“Oh!” Rook pointed to a beautiful strawberry blond in a halter top and cut-offs, sitting beside Ember. “That’s my mom.”
Fin studied Rook’s mother. There was the same mischievous allure about her that Rook had. “I can see a resemblance. What’s her name?”
“Linda.”
“Well, Brook, we made a deal. I called my mom, so now you need to tell Linda we’re married.”
Rook stuck out her tongue at the use of her given name, but acquiesced.
She wound up talking to Linda’s answering machine.
“Hi Mom, it’s Rook. Yeah, I got married. And not to Marcus. Tell the Bug not to tattle. And don’t worry about me. We’re looking for a new place and I’ll get you the number when we’re settled. Bye.”
“We’re looking for a new place?” Fin asked.
“As far as she knows.”
*** *** ***
Marsh worked his way through a bowl of minestrone as he reviewed his spreadsheet, happy as a geek could be. Fresh data to analyze, and a beautiful genius to discuss it with. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving and he would be spending it with Rainbow at her parents’ house.
Melissa came into the dining hall holding her head. She paused and wobbled, then deliberately moved to the phone. Marsh wasn’t sure she wouldn’t pass out. He kept an eye on her in case he needed to catch her.
“It’s rude to stare,” she spat.
Marsh turned sheepishly back to his soup.
She lifted the receiver and dialed a long-distance number. She cleared her throat.
“Hello, Mother. I’m calling to wish you and Daddy a happy Thanksgiving.”
There was a pause, and Marsh saw peripherally that Melissa was holding her head again.
“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just not going to work out this year.”
Another, shorter pause.
“No, it has nothing to do with Brad. As a matter of fact, that reminds me. I’ve left Brad.”
Marsh raised a few spoonfuls of soup and blew on them, while Melissa gave monosyllable responses for a while.
“Well, if you’ll forgive my saying so, none of that is really any of your business.”
Marsh took one last bite. To get the rest he’d have to scrape the bowl, and the noise would be lethally embarrassing.
“Mother, I’m an adult.” She tugged at the hem of her cardigan, once Marsh’s own. It would seem Severin had a fetish for short blonde women in green sweater dresses. What made it more disturbing was that Marsh and the rest of the TEF received no explanation for Gale’s departure or Melissa’s arrival. It was as if Severin thought they wouldn’t notice the difference.
None of them knew what happened to Severin’s hand, either. Consensus was he had, in fact, had two hands until recently. A small group of newbies speculated that the left had been a prosthesis all along, but Marsh knew that wasn’t the case. Would Melissa hold the answer? Marsh knew he lacked the balls to ask her.
Melissa leaned against the wall.
“Thank you, and sorry to have missed your call. No, I didn’t do anything special. Birthdays don’t mean what they used to. I forgot all about it until you mentioned.”
She sighed, almost moaned. “I said I was sorry, Mother. I haven’t been at the house. As I said, I left my husband.”
Marsh carried his bowl to the sink, glancing over to see Melissa move the receiver away from her ear, scowling.
“Have an extra slice of pumpkin pie for me, and tell Daddy I said I love him and he should have an extra slice, too. I hope you’ll get over your disappointment someday.”
*** *** ***
Rook stood at the bathroom sink and brushed her hair, watching in the mirror as her reflection did the same. Except her reflection didn’t have a hairbrush. Rook looked down. The sink was now a bed.
Kyle lay propped up on pillows, green eyes open but glassy in the sallow light. Another reflection of Rook stood behind his head, and reached out to stroke his brow. “Wake up, honey,” she crooned.
“Don’t do that,” Rook said. The woman at Kyle’s head patted his cheek. She moved to stand beside her twin, across the bed from Rook, and leaned down close to Kyle’s face.
“Don’t!” Rook said. The other Rook was staring into Kyle’s eyes.
“That’s not going to do anything,” said the first reflection. She climbed onto the bed and straddled Kyle. She pumped her hips, and kissed him.
“Stop it, stop it!” Rook shrieked. Her reflections looked at her, then at each other. They nodded.
The one on the bed climbed down, and both of the other Rooks stepped back.
Rook gave her duplicates a warning look, and slid onto the bed and threw one leg over Kyle. She felt his warmth through her panties.
Her reflections helped slip her underwear down. They pulled Kyle’s green blanket out of the way, and lowered her until he was all the way inside her. He was motionless, but
she felt a throbbing in his flesh as she rocked and ground her hips. Her climax built quickly.
“Now, do it now,” Brook and Bramble urged.
She leaned down to look into Kyle’s empty green eyes, moaning in pleasure.
***
Rook’s moan woke her.
Fin slumbered on. Vesuvius’s warm glow shifted between gold and crimson.
Rook squeezed her knees together and swiveled her pelvis. Arousal followed her from the dream, leaving her feeling frustrated as well as unclean. A familiar pattern. She crept from the bed and took her laptop over to the recliner.
This made twelve consecutive nights with at least one dream about Kyle, all sexual. She always woke on the cusp of orgasm. After typing a brief description of this latest episode, Rook scrolled through the file.
Perhaps they wouldn’t be as disturbing, looking back. She wanted to be able to laugh about them. It wasn’t time for that yet, though. Even the one where Fin baked her a cake that turned out to be Kyle slathered in green icing still creeped her out.
No matter how innocuously the dreams began, they always wound up pornographic. Rook would feel lost, knowing there was a job she alone could undertake, a catastrophe only she could avert, and it all tasted like Kyle. Other times she would be working hard to Complete him in some dream-logic way. No matter what, it always ended with rapturous fucking.
Rook closed her computer and crawled back into bed, snuggling against Fin. She loved the way he smelled, like he blew out a candle in a coffee shop. Tuning in his idling mental vibrations, she failed to tune out Kyle’s. Whatever mental shrapnel she’d taken when Kyle’s mind shattered was embedded in her subconscious, infusing her dreams with that distinct Kyle flavor.
Fin gathered her in his arms, and she sighed. It was partly a happy sigh for the warm security of her husband’s embrace, and partly a sigh of dread for the next unpleasant dream.
But they weren’t unpleasant, which was the whole problem.
*** *** ***
“Both?” asked Rook. “Why?”
“The red’s for the housewarming,” explained Bishop. “The white’s for Thanksgiving.”
“Should we have a safe word so I can signal when I need to leave?” asked Fin.
Bishop shook his head. “You’ll do fine.”
Rook wished she shared Bishop’s rosy outlook. It had been years since she’d done anything family-oriented and she hoped this dinner at Willow and Brad’s new house would go smoothly.
The house was more of a cottage, the antithesis of the soulless suburban contemporary where Fin lived as a teenager. Where Kyle grew up.
The glass-paneled front door opened, emitting warmth into the frigid dusk. Willow grinned and enfolded Fin in an embrace. Brad stood right behind her holding the baby. He shook Bishop’s hand and gave Rook a one-armed hug. “Welcome, Rook.”
Rook watched tensely as Brad put out his hand to shake Fin’s. Fin hesitated, then cooperated. Brad pulled him in and clapped him on the back.
The group moved into the living room. A cheery fire crackled in the stone fireplace, but there was no furniture.
Bishop proffered the wine bottles. “From all of us. Happy Thanksgiving, and happy housewarming, too.”
The smell of roasting turkey made Rook’s mouth water. She and Fin had been subsisting on Ramen, and she was sure the promise of a full meal helped persuade Fin to attend tonight. He and Willow had continued their phone conversations and seemed to be on pretty solid ground. The terrain around Brad remained quite suspect, though, and where Zen was concerned, nonexistent.
Glossy red hair hung loose to the middle of Willow’s back. Rook studied the woman, confirming the idea that she hadn’t aged in twelve years. Her fashion sense hadn’t changed either. The baggy sweater and billowy skirt had a hippie flavor.
Fin kept sneaking looks at the baby in Brad’s arms, looks Rook couldn’t read.
Both Fin and Brad stood just over six feet tall, with the same lean frame and dark brown hair. They were handsome for all the same reasons, especially when they smiled. Fin wouldn’t like to hear it, but he looked a good deal like his father. So did Kyle. The brothers were portraits of the same man, done by different artists.
Rook wished she could stop thinking about Kyle, but he haunted her waking thoughts now that he dominated her dreams.
Life had become a grinding repetition of work, resisting sleep, and dreaming of the myriad ways she could fuck her husband’s evil half-twin. It left her exhausted and headachy.
She didn’t dare talk to Fin about it. That’s what the secret dream journal was for.
Fin’s stomach growled. With a laugh, Willow went to the kitchen to get things ready, and Brad disappeared with the slumbering baby.
Fin slouched over to the fireplace, and Rook joined him. On the mantel, an antique clock was flanked by two small jade horses. Lifting one, Rook said, “See how intricate these are?” She hoped to distract Fin from his darkening mood. The figurines were sturdy little warhorses with rippling manes and tails, their right forelegs raised, armored saddles on their backs.
He picked up the other horse and turned it over in his hands. “Yeah.” He trotted the animal along Rook’s bare arm to her shoulder, made it peek down her cleavage and give a horsey whistle.
“Fin!” Rook whispered.
Laughing, he put the horse back on the mantel.
“You look really pretty tonight,” he said, and Rook melted a little. He bent and kissed her cheek.
Willow called, “Turkey time!”
At least Brad and Willow did have a dining set, so they wouldn’t need to eat standing up. Willow claimed the chair beside Fin while Rook was across from him, between Brad and Bishop.
“I hope we didn’t forget anything,” Willow said. “We were so rushed at the grocery store.”
“It smells wonderful,” said Bishop.
“Did you make pecan pie?” asked Fin.
Willow smiled. “Of course. It’s your favorite.”
Rook was bemused to realize she didn’t know her husband even had a favorite kind of pie.
The meal progressed with several further realizations for Rook: enough wine could make even the most awkward situation enjoyable; Bishop was skilled at steering the conversation out of danger zones; Rook liked Willow, and more surprisingly she liked Brad; Fin’s steel-toed loafers were not the best choice if he wanted to play footsie.
“How’s the freelancing?” Willow asked as she gathered dirty plates.
“Um,” said Fin. “Slow.”
That was an understatement.
“That’s the thing with freelancing,” Willow said. “It’s sporadic. Maybe you should look for something to do full-time while you get established.”
“That’s what Rook says,” said Fin. “But I think I should stick to it.”
Rook rolled her eyes.
“What do you do, Rook?” asked Brad.
“Well, I used to be a body piercer. Now I’m shelving books at the university library. Plus I do a little writing for a local tabloid.” Because at least one of us needs to make some money.
“Body piercer?” asked Willow.
“Eyebrows, noses, nipples, navels,” said Rook. “Um. Other places.”
“It’s quite a fad,” explained Brad. “That and tattoos.”
Willow shook her head in amazement. “I don’t think I need to hear any more about piercings. I do admire the artistry of your tattoos, Rook. They’re beautifully done. I don’t think I could stand the pain, though.”
“It’s not too bad,” said Fin.
“You have a tattoo?” Willow sounded alarmed.
“Counting my wedding ring I have five.”
“Five!” Willow turned accusingly to Brad, who looked guilty for some reason.
“If you count each of Rook’s birds separately, she has 156,” Fin said with pride.
Willow sat back and blinked, alternating her gaze between her son and daughter-in-law. “A lot changes in twelve years.”
>
Brad poured more wine.
Further conversation was derailed by Zen’s cries from the back of the house. Willow brought her into the dining room and sat back down.
“Zen is Mommy’s hungry girl, isn’t she?” cooed Willow as she lifted her shirt and positioned the fussy baby at her breast. Rook looked away, disturbed, and met Fin’s own uncomfortable gaze. They both widened their eyes in horror and tried not to laugh.
Brad announced he was going to clean the kitchen before serving dessert, and Bishop offered to help.
In a ploy to avoid staring at her mother-in-law’s chest, Rook excused herself and headed toward the hall bathroom. Amid the clinks and clatters from the kitchen she heard Brad say, “We moved him to Webster General without the media catching wind. We’ve got him admitted under a false name, too. They’re more interested in Spitz now anyway.”
Maybe I’m dreaming about Kyle so much because he’s closer now. Like it or not, they shared a mental connection.
“There’s no change in his prognosis?” Bishop asked.
“They’re running tests,” Brad said with a sigh. “Everyone has a theory. I visit almost every day, but it’s more for my benefit than his. He’s a much better listener these days.” Rook heard pain in his voice.
“That must be hard.”
“Wil comes along for moral support, but it’s awkward for her. She doesn’t know Kyle, and we’re always concerned Melissa will show up while we’re there. They say she called once but hasn’t been in.”
“I’d be happy to go with you sometime,” Bishop offered.
Feelings of betrayal sparked, but Rook tried to let them go. Bishop didn’t know the details of her ordeal with Kyle. He was just being a good friend for Brad, the way he was a good friend for Fin.
And for me.
Rook hurried along to the bathroom.
When she got back to the dining room, Brad and Bishop emerged from the kitchen armed with pie and coffee. Zen took that as her cue to make a horrendous noise in her diaper.
Brad set the coffee pot down and scooped the infant out of Willow’s hands. Talking baby talk and making airplane noises, he flew her out of the room.
Fin seemed nonplussed by Brad’s paternal display. He looked at Rook and shrugged, then started pouring the coffee into everyone’s mugs.