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

by Rune Skelley

  They’d stoked their courage to come here, and now the mundane, desolate place mocked them.

  *** *** ***

  Shivering and in pain, Rook woke and discovered herself alone in the bed. An erotic, comforting hum in the base of her skull told her Kyle was nearby. No need to worry, at least not about that. Worry about the pain instead. Pain like biting down on a loose tooth, the sharp stab fading to an insistent echoing throb, pain for which the cure is more pain, if only for an instant.

  This misery ran throughout her body and the cure would mean splitting herself in two.

  Rook groaned and hugged herself, wallowing in self-pity for a short while before getting up to look for something to wear. The penthouse was warming up, but she was cold.

  Dresses filled half of the walk-in closet. Rook tried to remember which Kyle liked her in best as she shuffled through the choices. Something blue, maybe, to bring out her eyes.

  Something blue.

  Something old, something new…

  Her wedding dress! He always liked her in that.

  Chosen by Kyle, worn during their wedding, it was a powerful thing. Maybe even powerful enough to fuse her fragmented psyche.

  A few minutes later she stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom, struggling with the zipper. Under the frothy layers of tulle she wore the bustier and garter belt, the white silk stockings and the satin heels.

  She donned relief along with each piece of her trousseau, every garment bringing its own narcotic to the party.

  Once zippered she pulled the pale blue garter into place on her thigh and pinned the veil into her hair.

  The pain was blissfully deadened.

  Rook smiled, twirling in front of the mirror. Her virginal cocoon fluttered and floated. So much better than an ugly ring tattoo!

  Passing back through the bedroom, Rook scooped up the teddy bear angel and held it in place of a bouquet.

  Recognition flirted with her as she walked through the dim penthouse.

  Usually at night the wall of windows into the atrium acted as a mirror, reflecting the tastefully decorated rooms like a cut-rate Versailles. Tonight the lights were all but out, and with the bright moon shining through the glass roof Rook could see a ghostly image of herself superimposed over the remains of Shaw’s Garden of Eden.

  The view over the balcony railing revealed dead palm trees, a few desiccated brown fronds hanging like skeletonized rib cages. Curious to see the extent of the neglect, Rook passed through the french doors and out into the cold, still atrium.

  Eerie silence greeted her. Before, this place was never quiet. During the day it teemed with ministry employees and visitors. At night it was full of the crash of the waterfall and the calls of the birds. Not anymore.

  Shadows blanketed much of the ground, but in the sporadic pockets of chill moonlight Rook saw withered plant stalks and a dry column of stained boulders where the waterfall should be. The pool at its bottom held a mass of algae.

  What happened to the birds? Had someone rescued them or, come daylight, would she see their fragile skeletons on the flagstones and in the flower beds?

  Rook couldn’t stop smiling. Life was perfect now, she and Kyle together with no distractions. Their empire had fallen, their kingdom was dead. Together they would rule over the wasteland. It was desperately romantic and unspeakably sexy. Rook hurried inside to find her husband.

  He was in the kitchen, naked, holding a spoonful of peanut butter and staring vacantly in the direction of the sink.

  “Kyle,” she purred.

  He blinked several times and regained himself. She clutched the angel bear in a parody of sweetness and fluttered her eyelashes.

  A lascivious smile crept onto his lips.

  “You seemed a million miles away,” she cooed.

  “More or less.”

  Holding his left hand in her right, whole hand, she guided the spoon to her mouth and licked the peanut butter.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She was famished, but eager to see whether her nuptial attire was powerful enough to prevent her dissolution during orgasm.

  “A little,” she fibbed. “I’m hungry for you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured, “but if I don’t eat I won’t be good for much.”

  Rook pouted for about a second, then got herself a spoon and scooped out a big blob of Jif.

  For a few minutes they munched in companionable silence, maintaining a low-level flirtation. When she moved to the fridge for a cold drink Kyle stopped her with a shake of his head.

  “Power’s been off for months.” He opened the pantry and brought out a bottle of champagne. When he popped the cork the bottle erupted and foam slid down over his hand to splatter on the floor.

  He raised the bottle, said, “To us,” and took a swig before handing it to Rook.

  “To us,” she agreed, and took a long drink. A pleasant fuzzy feeling spread through her body. They each took another quaff before Kyle wrapped his arms around her from behind, nuzzling her neck through the veil.

  He bent her forward over the granite counter and raised the back of her skirt, running his hands up her thighs.

  “No panties,” he whispered with approval and parted her legs.

  It felt so damn good, and Rook was desperate to have him inside her again, but she managed to say, “Wait.”

  “Why?” he asked, his fingers stroking and prodding.

  “Not here,” she gasped. “Balcony.”

  Kyle chuckled. “Bring the champagne.”

  *** *** ***

  Kyle smirked at memories of his debauched wedding night with the other Rook. That one participated enthusiastically enough, and she didn’t even like him. Not really. Not like this one did. All he’d done to overcome the other Rook’s reluctance was enter her mind and tweak a few factory settings. This one had no reluctance, but it could still be fun to see what her mental landscape looked like, maybe make a few modifications.

  He lifted her onto the rosewood railing and she clung to his neck as he cleared her voluminous skirts out of the way and thrust himself into her mind as well as her body.

  At first it looked like the other Rook’s. Same starry sky, same dense pines. Her core tower stood in a clearing, rising from the blanket of pine needles and raven feathers like the one he remembered, but this structure was a composite entity, just like his Rook. Half was rough, black rock, the other half opalescent glass, shimmering with rainbows even in the starlight. The two materials zippered together in a jagged seam that ran diagonally from the base to the roof, bleeding together in a disconcerting ombré. Both halves were studded with luminous green shards. He smiled to know he was incorporated into the very fiber of her being.

  Encircling the tower, binding the two halves into one perfect whole, were silver chains like metallic ivy. The links clinked against the tower in the breeze.

  At the base, a warm light glowed through folds of deep pink curtains in a peaked archway. As Kyle approached he felt Rook’s desire more strongly and knew the root of her arousal waited inside. He pushed through the warm, clinging draperies and into a pleasure grotto.

  The walls were marble in undulating reds and flushed pinks, slick with moisture running down their faces to pool on the ground. The sultry air smelled like sex. In the center of the circular chamber stood a round bed, obscured by a canopy of vines draped with flowers so voluptuous they would make Georgia O’Keeffe blush. A ring of candles lit the space.

  Kyle parted the floral canopy, releasing a burst of pheromonal pollen.

  On the balcony, Rook moaned.

  Atop red satin sheets Kyle found his prize. Surrounded by white flower petals and wispy black feathers, two Rooks sprawled, the two halves that together made the exciting woman in his arms.

  The Brook half lazed against black fur pillows wearing a white bustier and frilly panties, looking radiantly innocent. The Bramble half lay beside her, masturbating. She wore only a leather collar, silver rin
gs in both nipples, and her tattoos. A length of chain snaked from her collar down off the bed.

  Both women looked at Kyle with half-lidded blue eyes.

  Kyle joined them on the bed, slipping straight into Bramble’s ready wetness as he gathered Brook into a deep kiss.

  Rook’s response was immediate and overwhelming, and for a giddy second Kyle feared she might topple backwards off the railing. Instead she clung to him as she spasmed through a shattering orgasm. It was beautiful to watch her enjoy herself without ripping herself apart. Kyle congratulated himself on healing her while she leaned on him, trying to catch her breath.

  He lifted her down, turned her around, and bent her over the railing. As he took her from behind he focused again on her libidinous internal twins.

  Gentle persistence and the untying of many satin bows coaxed away Brook’s lingerie until she lay upon the red satin wearing nothing but her shy blush. Kyle pulled out of Bramble and positioned himself to deflower his virgin bride. With his thrust her eyes flew open and she gasped.

  Kyle kissed Brook as he fucked her, then kissed Bramble, fingering her nipple rings. He brought the two women together to kiss. Brook was hesitant but Bramble knew what she liked and they were soon making out in a slippery, sweaty, wet dream come to life.

  It went on for what felt like hours. He alternated between the women, leaving no orifice unexplored. Some light bondage and plenty of girl-on-girl kept his interest riveted and kept Rook in near-constant climax. Choreographing the moves of their sensual ballet, Kyle lived out every fantasy, and in doing so strengthened his hold on Rook. Both halves of her wanted nothing but him, now and forever.

  And he wanted nothing but her.

  As his last act, Kyle gathered up the chain dangling from Bramble’s collar and tied the loose end around Brook’s neck. They were bound together, like the tower they inhabited, so Rook could stay whole.

  *** *** ***

  After the anticlimax in Severin’s attic, Rook withdrew deeper than ever. Fin wished they hadn’t gone, that he hadn’t been complicit in feeding her false hope. When they got home, he steered her to the sofa and eased her onto it, where she sat staring into the middle distance.

  His mother, by contrast, didn’t stop moving at all. Willow stalked the flagstones of the living and dining rooms, over and over, her hands busy scolding, clutching and strangling an endless bazaar of invisible items.

  Brad laid Zen down for her nap in Thumper’s nursery and sat at the other end of Fin’s couch, sadly tracing Willow’s movements with his eyes. His mournful gaze paused on Fin for a few seconds, drifted to Rook, then resumed its pursuit of Willow.

  Suddenly Fin heard his own voice, human speech alarming to his ears.

  “I have an idea.”

  Willow froze in mid-stride, and Rook’s head turned toward him. Fin jumped to his feet. He went to the radio and turned it on, then seized the TV remote and turned that on too. Every face in the room wore a baffled look, but he couldn’t slow down to compose an explanation. When he grabbed Rook’s laptop and started playing a CD to add to the jumble of noise, Brad threw up his hands.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Brad asked in a level and reasonable tone.

  “I’m going to talk to something,” Fin said. “And I need your help. All three of you.” Mild panic on Brad’s face, calm interest on the women’s. He presented the laptop to his wife. “Keep flicking from track to track, just randomize it. Mom, play with the tuning dial on the radio. I don’t care what kind of station it is, music, talk, commercials, just keep hunting around, and don’t settle on anything for more than a couple seconds. Dad, you do the same with this,” tossing Brad the remote. “There’s no way to do this wrong.”

  Fin caught himself about to clarify that it would be wrong if they went too slow, or if there was too much dead air. He could tell Brad picked up on the presence of unspoken qualifiers, so he smiled encouragingly as he sat down on the floor.

  “Okay, go!” The already head-spinning noise went through some hellish kitchen device and came out shredded, chopped, and diced. The disorienting effect multiplied, throwing together tiny snatches from dozens of sources. He closed his eyes and tried to let his auditory channels unfocus, like listening to a Magic Eye puzzle.

  Fin muttered under his breath, “We’re looking for our baby, do you have it?”

  A blast of canned laughter from a sitcom coincided with lulls from the radio and laptop. Nothing else felt like the personality Fin conversed with before. Everything was too disjointed to set up a flow he could access.

  Keeping his eyes squeezed shut, he gestured ‘slow it down’ with both hands. This felt like a good step, bringing things closer to the desired flavor.

  He repeated his question and picked up in reply, “All is well with the baby, baby, baby.” The voice, combining lyrics from three different songs, sounded blissful, frantically happy, and Fin trembled with mingled hope and outrage.

  After a deep breath, he whispered, “We love the baby. Can you please return it to us?”

  The pop-diva-of-the-moment exclaimed, “Oh, no! Couldn’t let go!” which blended into a random anchorman’s, “… assure the public that everything is under control.”

  Fin ground his teeth. He had expected indifference and was prepared to go to some lengths explaining how much it mattered. To find the thing so gleefully stonewalling placed him off balance.

  “Fin?”

  Fin shot Vesuvius a quizzical glance.

  “You need to play more chess. With the new table.”

  Fin and Rook both turned their heads to glare at Vesuvius, then shared a momentary look of bewilderment.

  “Please,” Fin addressed the Id.

  “The first ten callers will get—” then a second of dead air, followed by, “Nothing!” capped off raucously with, “All day and all of the night.”

  “You have no right!” Fin declared in a constricted whisper. “Give our baby back now.”

  To this Fin got no distinct reply.

  “Don’t make me come in there,” he muttered.

  “I hear you knockin’ but you can’t come in.”

  Fin put his hands over his face and wept, his rage extinguished by a flood of grief. He had failed. There was no way to make a start against something so big and heartless.

  *** *** ***

  Willow watched Rook gather Fin up to console him, and her heart went to them.

  She glanced at the radio. While she’d played her part in Fin’s orchestra of chaos, she’d felt it tuning in more than electromagnetic signals. Without knowing the whole pattern, she nevertheless knew instinctually what she should do with the tuning knob. When to pause, when to go down the dial and when to go up, like she was cracking a combination lock.

  It felt, more than anything, like watching Severin use the table that first time.

  The difference was, there was nothing special about this radio, or about the television or the computer for that matter. The way Fin brought them together connected him to a massive font of energy, something staggeringly huge.

  And he talked to it like it was completely natural. Pride and awe at her offspring’s audacity were tempered by a frisson of motherly concern, and a faint, petulant whiff of obsolescence.

  Fin’s disappointment and frustration were understandable, but the longer she thought about it the more Willow saw a renewed source of hope. Her despair at finding Severin’s table destroyed now seemed silly. There were other ways to go about this.

  All she needed was a means to open a portal into the Elsewhere. Fin evidently had an ability to channel messages using found objects, but for Willow’s talents to serve she would need items that were themselves special.

  “Fin, Rook,” she called, “I have an idea. It’s going to be tricky, but I’m sure I can do it if I can get hold of what I need.”

  The kids looked at her guardedly, waiting for her to nail things down. She took a deep breath.

  “You know about the jewelry with the listening
devices embedded in it?”

  Their faces darkened. This wasn’t going to be fun.

  “Well, I know quite a bit about it. I’m the world’s greatest authority, I guess.” Dubious looks, now, still wary. “Because... because I invented it.”

  Fin looked away, his neck and ears reddening. Rook stared, a stare that made Willow nervous. Willow put her hand over her mouth, giving herself time to think before blurting out anything more.

  “You what?” came Fin’s voice, with forced calm.

  Willow sighed. “My last freelance gig. I guess it’s dishonest to say ‘invented,’ because someone else came up with the basic premise. All I did was get it working after they couldn’t. I was more midwife than mother. The blueprints just appeared under my pencil, like someone else — or something else — guided my hand. I know that doesn’t matter, and neither does this, but I had no idea what its purpose was. I’m sorry.” She paused, but not long enough for anyone to interject. “The reason I raise this painful subject is, that jewelry is what I need. I can use it instead of the table. The jewelry’s nanotechnology will let me open a portal to the Elsewhere, because that’s where it came from in the first place.”

  Fin turned to face her again, his color returning to normal but his eyes shining. Rook now looked hurt and confused.

  “I’m sorry,” Willow repeated.

  “I think we all understand you wish it never happened,” Brad said.

  “Okay,” Rook announced. “Okay. Let’s do it. At least once that stuff ought to be used for something good.”

  “Do we want to think about it a little longer?” Fin asked.

  “No!” Rook said. “We can’t sit around. This is our plan, and we’re going to make it work and we’re not taking any fucking shit from anybody!”

  Willow for one wouldn’t be trying to give her any shit.

  Fin looked at Willow. “How many pieces do you need?”

  Willow considered the question. “The more the better. Do you have any?”