Elsewhere's Twin: a novel of sex, doppelgängers, and the Collective Id (Divided Man Book 3)

by Rune Skelley

  “Then I want you to go home,” Darryl said.

  “What? No, I—”

  “I can’t be responsible for the health of your baby, Rook. Go home and rest.”

  What the hell. “Okay. Thanks Darryl.”

  While walking to her car, Rook contemplated her unexpected afternoon off. Maybe she would drop by Binary Images and surprise Fin. But then what? She couldn’t hang out all day. He had work to do.

  And so do I.

  How would they ever find the jewelry unless she could get the location from Kyle?

  Maybe she and Fin could drive to Donner and search the compound. She dreaded the idea of going back there, even knowing that Kyle wouldn’t be around. Besides, the place was enormous. The main building was seven or eight stories high, plus the seminary building which she’d never been in, and Fin talked about an entire underground complex. It would take days to cover everything, assuming they could even get in. There were all sorts of electronic locks and alarms.

  Rook groaned. It was hopeless.

  Except it wasn’t. All the security codes were in Kyle’s brain. The layout of the facility, and the location of the stash, too. Everything they needed.

  She didn’t know where Kyle was, making all of this irrelevant. Rook brightened. Her ignorance, in this case, was bliss. Melissa checked him out of the hospital and left no forwarding address.

  Rook’s freshly minted smile faltered. Melissa probably moved him in with her at Severin’s house. Rook could picture Kyle in one of the ugly green sweaters Rainbow and her friends were so fond of, and knew she was right.

  Half an hour later Rook sat behind the wheel of the Nissan, chewing the black polish off her thumbnail, and staring at the hulking three-story house where her reputed father lived with his cult of technology fetishists, her comatose ex-husband, and Fin’s wicked stepmother.

  Walking into that house would be inviting trouble. Kyle probably isn’t even there.

  He probably was, though. Webster, nexus for strange occurrences, drew all Id-spawn together.

  From the spacious porch she read the sign beside the entry: Threshold Electronics Fabrication, Consultation by Appointment. The door hardware was vintage, probably original to the house’s construction in a previous century. She picked the lock in thirty seconds.

  Rook eased the door open. The cool air inside smelled antiseptic. Not like a hospital, but like a laboratory. Rook stepped through and closed the door, but kept her hand on the brass knob, ready to bolt.

  In her skull a low vibration joined in with Fin’s signal. Rook’s eyebrows drew together as she tried to place it. With a jolt it came to her: Kyle’s signal, made almost unrecognizable by the lack of unpleasant emotions. It wasn’t proprietary or erotic anymore, nor was it comforting like Fin’s. It was just there. A palpable sign Kyle was nearby. Rook would follow it to its source, accomplish her mission, and leave this place.

  She crept up the broad, wooden stairs. Kyle’s signal strengthened as she climbed. She paused and listened for movement on the second floor.

  Someone was snoring behind one of the closed doors. Staying on tiptoe, Rook hurried around to the next flight of stairs.

  Now each step brought a noticeable increase in Kyle’s vibration. He was definitely up here.

  Is this really such a good idea?

  It would be easy. All she had to do was get close enough.

  On the third floor a row of closed green doors presented themselves. Rook snuck past them until she reached the correct one. The second-to-last door before the corner.

  Rook pressed her ear against it but heard nothing.

  Her hand shook as she reached out to turn the knob.

  The door swung outward revealing a small, sunny room. Kyle lay on his back in a hospital bed with his torso slightly elevated, his eyes closed. He didn’t stir.

  Rook’s lungs froze and her heart thudded painfully. A thin veil of sweat glazed her body.

  Kyle inhaled.

  Blinking away tears, Rook eased into the room and closed the door. With her back pressed against it she stood and stared at the man who tried so hard to possess her.

  His hair was longer, almost to his shoulders, and darker. On his left arm, the sleeve of his blue cotton pajamas obscured a single IV line. A heart-rate monitor clipped to his finger drew a jagged line on a screen beside the bed. Rook expected all sorts of equipment, and for him to look frail and wasted. Apart from being somewhat paler, though, he looked quite robust.

  A white blanket covered him from the waist down, so Rook couldn’t tell what sort of shape his knee might be in. She hoped it was bad. He’d earned the gruesome injury when he told Rook Fin was dead, when he tampered with her mind. When he raped her.

  For many minutes Rook stood and watched him. Apart from breathing, Kyle didn’t move.

  “Kyle,” she whispered.

  No reaction.

  Rook cleared her throat and said, louder, “Kyle.”

  Nothing.

  Reassured, Rook approached the foot of the bed and said his name again. When he still did not respond she swatted one of his feet.

  What now?

  The information that would allow her to locate the damned jewelry was right there in his head, floating tantalizingly close. She would need to find a way into his thoughts.

  Biting back panic, Rook stepped to the head of the bed. She watched Kyle’s eyelids for the darting movements that would signify REM sleep. They were utterly still.

  The vibration in her head felt quite strong now, but unfocused. Rook couldn’t get a handle on it to trace back to its source.

  She would have to use his eyes as a doorway like she had with Fin. Once inside she would know everything immediately. No reason for him to hide this knowledge inside his mind. She wouldn’t even have to rummage, would leave no trace. Assuming he ever woke up, Kyle would never even know she’d been there.

  Rook perched on the edge of the bed and fought to control her breathing. Hyperventilating would not help. She reminded herself he couldn’t do anything to her. He was in a coma. With a little sabotage from the inside, she could guarantee he stayed that way.

  She leaned forward, her right hand outstretched and poised to open Kyle’s eyes.

  “One,” she muttered.

  “Two.” Her fingers shook.

  “Three.”

  Rook pried Kyle’s eyelids apart and yanked her hand back.

  Thumper kicked hard at her bladder.

  Rook whimpered.

  Kyle’s green eyes stared, the pupils constricted to pinpricks.

  Rook waved her hand in front of Kyle’s face. His eyes didn’t track it. She very nearly poked him in the eye and he didn’t flinch.

  With her eyes closed, Rook turned Kyle’s face and repositioned herself. She took three quick breaths and opened her eyes.

  And plummeted into the bottomless green.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE UPSTAIRS ROOM

  REVIEW OF SOCIAL HISTORY

  Patient is 10 years old and lives with her mother, older half-brother, younger half-sister, and third step-father. Contact with father ceased at age 3 months. Patient has spent little time in a family unit. She has lived sporadically with her mother, and maternal grandparents, often without siblings. Patient reports infrequent alcohol use. Details — beer and wine. Denies cigarette and drug use. Denies history of physical or sexual abuse.

  HISTORY

  Patient’s mother and teachers report delusional ideation in the form of sisters named Princess Brook and Princess Bramble. Patient displays symptoms of depersonalization disorder (watching herself in the third person, haziness of surroundings and sensations, anxiety, not feeling in control of her speech and actions) comorbid with symptoms of Subjective Doubles Delusion and Clonal Pluralization of the Self (the ‘princesses’ are aspects of her personality she sees as separate). Patient has begun engaging in self-harm.

  Dr Gerald Wymbol’s case notes on Brook Bramble Parker

  The instant sh
e felt herself falling into the wasteland of Kyle’s ruined mind Rook tried to backpedal and escape. There was nothing to grab onto, nothing to push off from, nothing except onrushing waves of vertigo and buffeting currents of Kyle.

  This was a terrible, terrible mistake.

  Under ominous, leaden skies a forbidding jungle landscape stretched out in all directions. Patches of dense metallic fog hung in the stagnant air. Foliage of the deepest, darkest green grew in tangles around glowing shards of emerald glass, the same glass Rook had seen inside her own head.

  Around her in the vast emptiness Rook could hear a faint crackling sound, as if the glass splinters were breathing.

  The shards were wickedly sharp, and Rook was not dressed for exploration of such a hostile environment.

  As she picked her way through the devastated landscape, Rook remembered venturing into Fin’s mental desert in order to heal him. Fin’s mind had retained a very few elemental building blocks with which she began his healing. Perhaps Kyle had something similar. It might contain the information she needed about the jewelry.

  Behind her the clinking crackle intensified. Rook turned as quickly as she dared.

  A few yards away a big black bird circled. It wanted her to follow.

  The bird waited for Rook to make her careful way through the dense undergrowth and needles of glass. The leaves and vines were the same deep, oily green as her shame crystals. There was no emotion in the plants, just a trace of clinginess. The bright green splinters, on the other hand, were suffused with Kyle’s essence. Every time she scratched or poked herself she got a jolt of his cocky self-assurance.

  The rook flew in a tight circle and cawed. As Rook approached the indicated spot, it rose higher and soared in a wide arc, keeping a beady black eye on her.

  Rook squatted and began to peel away layers of vegetation in search of whatever the bird wanted her to find.

  Under several inches of glossy, evil-looking foliage Rook uncovered a human skull encased in a brittle helmet of green glass razors. After staring at the unsettling thing for a while, Rook searched the surrounding area and found seven more skulls, each sheathed in jagged splinters. Each vibrated at an inaudible pitch, something Rook felt in her sternum but could not hear.

  They felt familiar.

  She could not bring herself to touch them.

  Rook stood and massaged the small of her back. This was futile. Nothing here would answer her questions. She should go.

  With growing horror, she discovered she didn’t know how.

  Would she be stuck forever in this treacherous hellscape?

  A rustle of feathers swooped in from above and blotted out everything.

  *** *** ***

  Severin took his time tucking in his shirt, surreptitiously monitoring the baleful expression on Melissa’s face. Her fuming amused him. They’d just copulated, and it was a tie. This pleased Severin well enough, but Melissa was more competitive.

  Once presentable, Severin went down the steps. Something drew him, a mystical vibration like the scent of blackberries and cinnamon.

  It was in Melissa’s son’s room. Severin licked his lips and turned the knob.

  On the bed lay the invalid. Beside him, with her back to Severin, sat a young woman in a flimsy purple dress and tall white boots. His daughter, Rook. Severin eased into the room and closed the door. With her potential escape route covered, he called softly, “I am happy to see you again.”

  The girl didn’t stir. Severin stepped closer, until he could touch her black hair. He stroked it, and she remained still. He moved around to face her, and saw her commanding blue eyes locked onto the comatose boy’s unseeing green.

  Severin stroked her hair again. He traced her jawline and her delicate throat with his index finger. His hand trailed down onto the slippery fabric of the dress, tracing her cleavage. He leaned close, resting his stump on her bare thigh for balance. His hand slid lower, over her abdomen.

  He stopped. A distinct bulge in her belly was apparent to his touch, although the drape of her garment concealed it from view.

  Damn! Always too late!

  Severin stepped back from the bed, snarling. His breath seethed through his bared teeth. His hand closed into a fist.

  No. Not this time. He wouldn’t wait his turn. It wasn’t fair.

  Severin stormed out of the room, slamming the door and executing a u-turn to go back to the attic.

  Melissa huffed at his abrupt return, but didn’t look up from her magazine.

  Severin approached his table. It felt potent, invigorated by his daughter’s proximity. Feeling this wave of power, Severin knew Rook would be of much greater utility in regenerating his left hand.

  He raised a corner of the sheet with his stump and reached in with his hand, immediately finding a few small objects. Dice, three of them. Closer examination showed they didn’t have the traditional spots, but letters. One had only Xs, while the other two bore both Xs and Ys. Turning them over in his palm and contemplating the possible combinations, Severin pondered the identity of the man responsible for Rook’s gravid state. Was he the one laying in the bed? Did that account for her visit to the House? The presence of a third die held salacious implications.

  Ultimately it didn’t matter. Her womb must be readied to accept his seed. Waiting for nature, settling for second-hand power, proved unsatisfactory with Willow. Severin learned from that miscalculation, and this time he had a clever and elegant solution.

  He cupped his hand and rattled the dice, then cast them under the sheet, transferring the inconvenient child to the Elsewhere.

  As he let the sheet fall back into place a wave of spatial distortion rolled out from the table, warping the floor like the surface of a pond. Severin felt himself carried up one side and down the other. The wave reached the hammock, prompting a yelp from Melissa. The hammock swayed in the wake of the surge, probably due to the way Melissa tensed and kicked her legs in the air. Severin laughed, a booming thing altogether unfamiliar to his own ears.

  He couldn’t remember when he’d been so alive, and he had only greater fulfillment to look forward to with Rook.

  *** *** ***

  Kyle is dispersed, flecks spread throughout the drowsy world of the bubbles of light. He has no center. The bubbles swirl and drift and he mingles with them.

  One thing in this strange realm draws him, and he deposits there in a thin layer.

  Rook. He is with her, a little. Enshrouding her.

  The bubbles know it’s not really Rook. They know because they brought the dark sisters here in chains, bartered for them. They try to remind Kyle of the facts.

  But Kyle only wants Rook, so it’s Rook who wears him like a second skin.

  It’s Rook.

  A word resounds through the bubbles, and they swarm and cavort. Kyle is caught in their giddy currents and jostled into joining their dance, although he tries to focus inward, to dwell on Rook.

  Chimera! Chimera!

  The word passes through schools of bubbles.

  Chimera!

  The word grows, and echoes, and twists. It races to the highest and lowest extents of this place, and everywhere its touch brings a glittering radiance.

  Chimera! Chimera!

  The word means nothing to Kyle. He wants only Rook, but the bubbles give him knowledge.

  The chimera child, twins in one body. Here, like the dark sisters, but so much better.

  Kyle understands that they mean Rook’s baby. His baby.

  The bubbles’ exultant bacchanal froths around and through Kyle. They tell him the good news again and again, whenever one of his particles contacts a bubble of light.

  He can’t make them stop.

  *** *** ***

  The bird transported Rook to her own mind. Once both feet were firmly on the ground, she looked around. Tall evergreens surrounded the small clearing.

  A foul wind kicked up and swept through her forest. The twilight sky disappeared behind a sudden flood of screaming black birds as a
ll the rooks took flight from their roosts. Laughter more unhinged than any Rook ever heard resounded and surrounded her. With a frightening surge that electrified every muscle, she knew Severin had found her.

  Her real body was vulnerable and she had no idea what her father might do.

  The triumphant laughter slithered over her, fondling and molesting, before folding in on itself and leaving behind a terrifying stillness.

  Tears stung Rook’s eyes. She had no recollection of how she’d exited before, only the certainty she wouldn’t be free to leave until her job was done.

  “Fuck. I’ve got no choice, do I? I have to Complete him.”

  Rook blinked burning tears from her eyes, and swallowed hard. Far away in the sky above her she could see her namesake birds circling. She tried to tell them it was alright, the danger passed, but they did not heed her. This defiance enraged Rook. She was the boss in this place.

  The queen.

  After so many years of sharing her personality, emotions, memories, mind, her self; after so much time suppressing the undesirable parts; after all that time hiding and protecting herself from herself, Rook was unused to being solely responsible for her thoughts and feelings. With wonder she realized there was no authority but Rook.

  Gathering a sense of self-assurance she never before possessed, Rook yelled up at the soaring, panicked birds, “Enough!”

  One by one, then in small flocks, the rooks dipped down and settled in the dark pines. Soon hundreds of shiny black eyes were trained on her.

  Even without Brook and Bramble to influence her, knowing she would finally Complete Kyle felt right. She would fulfill her destined role and be off the cosmic hook.

  To the closest rook she said, “Take me to the shame tower.” Kyle could use a good, strong dose of shame. “The rest of you gather whatever’s left of Brook and Bramble’s prisons.”

  The other birds flew away. Rook followed her guide through the trees to another clearing. In the center lay a small ring of glossy, deep green crystals, merely the foundation of the tower that had been.