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

by Rune Skelley

  Rook set down her fork and beamed at Fin. His glance flicked between Rook and Willow before locking onto Willow’s eyes and demanding to know that she was sure. She tried to throw him a confident look but only managed the tiniest, grimaced smile. He nodded slowly. Gradually his own smile grew to match Rook’s.

  Rook jumped up and flung her arms around Willow’s neck, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  *** *** ***

  “This day could not suck more,” said Marsh, hoping he was right.

  Rainbow massaged his shoulders. “Sure, it could. The whole House could have burned.” She climbed up to sit on the back of the sofa where his shoulders were easier to reach. She resumed kneading.

  The two of them were alone in the media room with the TV muted. The police were upstairs talking to the loyal few who remained with the TEF after the mass defections of the past months.

  “How could Severin do this?” asked Marsh.

  It was a question they’d been over many times since the discovery of Melissa’s body.

  After breakfast, Rainbow and Marsh spent the day in the garage workshop, tweaking the neural net modulator. The other six TEF members were there too. At 5:00, Wind went into the House to change Kyle’s IV and take a reading of his vitals.

  That’s when everything went to hell.

  Melissa lay dead on the floor. Long dead. Cold. No reviving her, even with the advanced equipment at the TEF’s disposal. She’d been strangled with Kyle’s IV cord, and Kyle was gone.

  While waiting for the police, Marsh and Rainbow went to the attic to tell Severin his girlfriend was dead. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Severin wasn’t there. Just evidence of his inept attempt at arson.

  “I can’t wrap my head around the attic,” Rainbow said. “I always assumed it was finished space, that Severin had some sort of disgustingly tacky love den, all faux fur and waterbeds and lava lamps.”

  “Nope.” Marsh shook his head in wonder. “Just a dusty, drafty attic full of boxes.”

  Rainbow shuddered.

  “You okay, sweetie?” Marsh asked.

  She slid down off the back of the sofa and curled up under his arm. “I was thinking about Gale and how she disappeared when Melissa showed up. I always assumed Severin dumped her, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Marsh sighed and nodded. “You don’t suppose he buried her in the basement, do you?”

  “Oh, I hope not. We should mention it to the cops though.”

  They sat in silence.

  “At least Severin’s gone now,” Rainbow said, looking for the bright side.

  “Why did he take Kyle?”

  The question of the hour.

  “Maybe Severin didn’t like having a competitor for Melissa’s affections.”

  Marsh snorted. “She ignored Kyle!”

  “Maybe she talked about him a lot or something. Who knows.”

  “So Severin gets pissed and strangles her, but what did he do with Kyle?”

  “I have a theory, but it’s gross.”

  Marsh raised his eyebrows.

  “I think he wanted to torture Kyle and take his time about it. He set the fire to cover up Melissa’s murder.”

  “Why did he have to kill her?” Marsh asked. “And why did he have to do it here? I feel like a terrible person for thinking this, Rain, but on top of everything else, he fucked up our research!”

  A tight, humorless smile played at Rainbow’s lips.

  Marsh blushed. “It’s tragic that a life was taken, of course it is. And had Melissa ever engaged anyone in conversation, we’d no doubt be more affected by her murder. But without Kyle, the Dream Machine is done. And I’m a dick for thinking this way.”

  “Make room in that handbasket for me.” Rainbow sat up and kissed Marsh on the nose. “We shouldn’t have to worry about funding, right? Severin put your name on the accounts?”

  Marsh nodded. “I can make sure everyone gets paid. Keep the lights on. Buy beer and microprocessors.”

  “Great! And if we’re smart — which we are — we ought to be able to use our new security clearances to further our private research.” Their new jobs with the Office of Communication Technology would start as soon as their clearances came through.

  “You don’t think the Dream Machine’s totally dead?”

  “I think it’s been dealt a stunning blow, but just might recover.”

  Marsh pulled her into his lap and hugged her tight. “I love you, Rain.”

  “I love you, too.”

  The three uniformed cops left through the front door. Detective Avebury followed them down the stairs, but came into the media room. In a plastic bag he held a handgun.

  “Either of you see this before?”

  “No,” they both said.

  “We found it in Mrs Tanner’s purse. It’s probably hers, but we’ll run the serial number to be sure.”

  Once more through the facts with Detective Avebury: Melissa and Severin got along well enough, but were rarely seen together. Nobody ever heard them argue. Melissa never mentioned being afraid, didn’t act scared. They’d never seen her taking drugs, prescription or street, but she drank. A lot. Severin never showed the least bit of interest in Kyle, and neither did Melissa once she’d brought him to the house. While in the workshop that afternoon, Marsh heard one of the vans leave, but attached no significance to it. He couldn’t pin down the time.

  Not wanting to bring any further disruption to the house, but wanting even less to potentially cover up a murder, Marsh brought up Gale’s sudden departure.

  Detective Avebury asked some questions and made some notes. Marsh showed him to the basement, but he returned quickly.

  “There’s no evidence of digging,” said the detective. “I’ll see about bringing in a cadaver dog or some sonar equipment tomorrow, but I don’t think she’s buried down there.”

  Rainbow sighed, relieved.

  “I know this is a long shot, given how secretive Mrs Tanner was, but do either of you know anything about her family? We need to contact someone, but the number associated with the address on her license is disconnected.”

  “I heard her say she’d left her husband,” said Marsh.

  Detective Avebury nodded.

  “I can’t remember what she said his name was,” Marsh continued. “I think she was talking to her mother. On the phone. We could look at the long distance records…”

  “That would be excellent, Mr Marshall.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  GARDEN OF EDEN

  WEBSTER — A woman is dead and her invalid son missing in an apparent murder-kidnapping yesterday at a downtown home. The female victim was found strangled in an upper story room at the house on Oak Avenue at around 5:00 p.m. yesterday. She was pronounced dead at the scene.

  Police say the prime suspect in both crimes is Severin Tenpenny, age approximately 60. “We believe that, after killing the female, he fled with the comatose young man,” said Detective Paul Avebury.

  Webster Daily Press, 4-21-2001

  In the chilly bedroom, Rook Tanner clung to her husband’s warmth, absorbing it along with his mental vibrations. It was glorious to be with him, skin on skin. She kissed him, long and wet and urgent, their souls entwining along with their tongues. She ran her fingers through his shaggy hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, until she had to come up for air.

  “Rook,” he breathed, his deep green eyes alive with longing.

  She knelt on the bed and coaxed him down beside her. Beginning with his throat, she kissed her way down his torso, sometimes licking, sometimes nibbling, inhaling his wild, dark aroma, exulting in every element of him. It was all familiar, but also brand new. She had never touched him with these fingers, never tasted him with this mouth, never taken him inside this body before today. In the past she experienced him at one remove. Now she was in control and the power was intoxicating.

  She moved lower.

  This act would be more romantic with the lights out, but her eyes were new and had not ye
t had enough of seeing him. Every detail meshed with her memory, but was more intense, more real, more Kyle, and Rook became giddy from sensory overload.

  There were two discrepancies between this flesh-and-bone Kyle and the one already fading from her memory.

  He had a scar on his right shoulder where Marcus shot him, and the thought of him taking a bullet for her broke her heart and revved her libido at the same time. She kissed the puckered flesh.

  The other difference was his right knee which carried fresh scars crisscrossing the faded ones in a complex map of pain. Rook didn’t like to think about her role in authoring that pain.

  Kyle rolled them over. Erotic deja vu overwhelmed Rook as he slid inside her.

  The discomfort of the cold, damp sheets contrasted wildly with the joyous heat of Kyle, and Rook struggled to reconcile the two disparate sensations. How could one body contain such extremes?

  Like magnets repelling each other, the halves of her psyche drifted apart. This delicious agony persisted long after the bed warmed up and the dueling sensations passed. Concentration was required to keep the rift from growing, and it also delayed her orgasm. Rook wrapped her legs around Kyle’s ass and bucked her hips to meet his thrusts.

  Kyle smiled mischievously. He pinned Rook’s wrists to the bed above her head and slowed, teasing her. She stared into his eyes, floating in their warm green ocean and drawing strength from him to hold herself together.

  Funny to think that the Completer needed a Completer of her own.

  Rook did not doubt Kyle was the only man for the job. He’d stood on the Threshold of Elsewhere and enfleshed her, bringing her forth from the vast, roiling nothingness to be his bride. Her life and body created by and for him.

  Her oh-so-recent birth was overtaken by their first, frantic fuck as quickly in memory as it had been in actuality, there in her father’s attic lair on the edge of Elsewhere, and it threatened to unmoor her.

  That first fuck had been as necessary as breathing. The moment she opened her eyes she’d needed him. Without him inside her she’d feared she would slip back into the Elsewhere and be lost amongst the bubbles of light.

  As she focused on that chaotic memory her orgasm began to build again. Kyle shifted his grip from her wrists to her hands, lacing their fingers, reminding Rook forcefully that she was not whole.

  The amputation site did not hurt, but it left her with a void both physical and ethereal, deeper and more dangerous than mere flesh. It felt like her tether had snapped. She had to fight to not be washed out to sea, and that terrible drowning sensation was rooted in her missing finger.

  Kyle’s desire was manifest in her very existence, so why remove the digit where she wore her wedding ring? Rook pictured the perfect golden circle, and saw its inky shadow, the tattoo connecting her to Fin. Covering that tattoo with the ring of their own bond hadn’t been enough to counteract it, leaving Kyle no choice but to disfigure her so they could be together always.

  “I love you,” she murmured.

  “I love you, too.”

  Eyes locked, their pace increased, each striving for release.

  What if the tattoo had been the force keeping her integrated? How ironic that by breaking that connection to Fin, she and Kyle might lose each other.

  It’s not fair!

  The first wave of her orgasm crashed and her mind was riven. Pain and pleasure mingled and she cried out. Her climax triggered Kyle’s in a storm surge of bliss that left them both exhausted and soaked with sweat.

  *** *** ***

  Kyle lay on his side and watched Rook sleep. He had dozed after their housewarming fuck, their bodies pressed together against the chill in the apartment. The room was warmer now, almost comfortable.

  He got up and went to the kitchen. Before he fired up the generator on their way in, the place had been without electricity for ages, but lots of edible material could be in the cupboards.

  He was surprised by the diversity of the salvageable items, even though not much of it went together in any appealing way.

  The glasses in the cabinet were free of dust, cleanliness verging on the surreal amid so much decay. Kyle ran himself a drink of water, then another, his thirst far stronger than the flat metallic taste of the tap water. Fluids replenished, he spooned up a large glob of peanut butter. There was also honey, which he thought would be more enjoyable in the bedroom. Thus preoccupied, he stood naked mouthing peanut butter off the spoon.

  Kyle Tanner, greetings and felicitations.

  The voice occurred inside his head, feeling almost like a memory, but all the same Kyle glanced around to find the speaker. Its tone was cordial, perhaps even awestruck if Kyle wasn’t reading too much into so few words.

  “Yeah, what?” he said, his own voice sticky.

  We are pleased to see you restored to health. It is good to have an opportunity to speak with you.

  Kyle ate more peanut butter. He had not been wrong about the gushiness.

  We need your help with our mission. Now, when we at last understand what we must do, our power to effect such changes is diminished almost to nothing. It is fitting that we be helped by one of your kind. That you, Kyle, will help lead your race into the next phase of its evolution.

  Kyle swallowed and asked, “And what phase is that?”

  A glorious unity transcending anything you ever imagined. A wholeness like our own, but far greater! We, singly, are but lowly automata, while you are already marvels each on your own. In your united form, you will be such a flowering as even we cannot comprehend.

  “How am I involved?”

  You are a marvel among marvels. We have vision, and we have power, but the task is too great for us. Your power is vast, more than you have even begun to suspect. You honor us by listening, and you will glorify all your kind by partnering in our mission.

  These must be Fin’s alien friends, his allies from the battle at the cathedral. They sounded ambitious, and evidently Fin was no longer in the picture.

  “Go on.”

  The aliens, thrilled to have this encouragement, explained how they’d been inspired by the Divided Man Prophecy, making sure to illuminate Kyle’s own privileged treatment in that tale. Kyle listened as they spelled out his destiny, as they described the miraculous future he would usher in.

  He forgot all about his peanut butter.

  *** *** ***

  Fin parked on a side street where they could watch the big, green house. The place looked deserted. Willow fidgeted in the back seat while Rook sat up front in a loose billowy dress. “So there’ll be room for Thumper,” she had explained.

  A miscarriage would be hard enough to accept. Their situation was made so much worse by the fact that Thumper was out there, alone and unprotected, stranded in the Collective Id. Rescuing the baby was a good reason to take some risks, and thanks to Willow they had a plan. A crazy plan, but that’s what such insane circumstances demanded. The sensible voice inside Fin’s head, urging caution, would have to go fuck itself.

  They ventured onto the porch. The front door was locked. Rook produced a paperclip and a safety pin from her jacket pocket and picked the lock with impressive ease.

  She crept in, followed by Willow. Fin stepped through the door and closed it quietly, then hurried to the stairs after the women. By the time the trio got to the third-floor landing it was obvious they had the house to themselves.

  Rook stepped wide as she passed the door with the yellow police tape, sneaking past like it was a sleeping tiger.

  Willow opened the door to the attic steps, revealing more police tape. She shrugged and ducked under, and Rook and Fin followed. The ancient wooden stairs creaked in their claustrophobic space. Fin’s heart thudded against his sternum. Entering this lair felt like the worst possible mistake, and he was powerless to put a halt to it from his position in the rear. Willow reached the top and disappeared. He crowded behind Rook as they took the final steps, so she couldn’t perform a similar feat.

  He wrapped one arm aroun
d her waist while surveying the attic for imminent threats. The most interesting thing he spotted was a hammock suspended from the beams. Otherwise it was just dim and dusty, its recesses crammed with boxes and crates. Stuffy, with a charred undertone. It made his old room at the boarding house look homey.

  Willow sank to her knees, whimpering, “No, no... how?”

  Rook knelt beside her while Fin acted as lookout, wariness returning.

  “What’s the matter?” Rook asked.

  “It’s gone.” Willow pointed across the broad room to a neat gray heap.

  The stale woodsmoke aroma grew as Fin neared the pile of ashes. Nothing else bore any sign of scorching, although everything about the attic suggested great flammability.

  “Someone burned it.” He looked back and saw Rook look pleadingly at Willow, who shook her head.

  Rook stood and walked stiffly to the center of the room. She paced within a small space there, a little room only she could enter. Her eyes hunted the attic, their intensity reminding Fin again how combustible the place seemed.

  He held out his arms, but she didn’t even slow her fitful marching. He went to Willow’s side and rested his hand on her shoulder as she cried silently.

  Rook burst from her invisible cage and strode to a corner where she took a small wooden box from an exposed beam. She yanked it open and rattled it, pawed through its contents, then slapped it shut and tossed it back before stooping to rifle the old clothes in a steamer trunk. Fin took a step toward her, but in seconds she proceeded to a stack of cardboard crates and began the same rough search. He watched for several minutes as her explorations took her halfway around the large space. In her wake she left things disheveled, but not upended.

  Fin yearned to show her how to ransack the place.

  Eventually she just stopped, facing away with her head bowed and one hand resting on a beam.

  Fin crossed the room as Rook furtively shoved her fist in her coat pocket. He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to be sneaky, that no one would care if she stole something from this drafty hole, but instead he enfolded her in his arms, and she sobbed. They held each other, and she burrowed into him to muffle her screams of frustration.