by P. S. Power
At least she thought they would.
It would have to be clear to them that she hadn't done it to herself this time. Her parents could imagine that she'd beaten herself all they wanted, but stabbing herself in the chest would have been past what she could have possibly done, right? They weren't bad people after all, they just didn't want to be saddled with a freak for a daughter. Overall her parents hid it well, she couldn't fault them there. They'd really tried to be good, but it was clear to her that they wanted, and probably deserved, a life free of her problems. Normally she tried to give them that peace, but this was... Unusual, even for Gwen's life.
A man in a white coat came into the room, blond hair and gray eyes, she thought, she couldn't exactly tell for certain behind the glasses, thick wire rims holding even thicker lenses. He looked cute, in a slightly pale way. Not that Gwen was picky. Any guy not trying to stab her in the chest looked pretty good right now. She might even settle for a flesh wound, or being stabbed in the leg, if the guy could manage to hold his lunch while talking to her.
“Good afternoon, Miss Vernor. I'm going to have to have a look at your wound, I'm afraid. Nurse Rogers will stay in the room for your comfort of course.” His tone seemed very formal and professional to her, as if she might object to him looking at the stab wound. Like she'd care about him doing his job?
Realizing that he'd gotten her name wrong, she decided to corrected him gently, trying to stay polite, since he seemed OK so far, having bothered to smile at her when he came in even. Whoever these people were, they had top notch professionalism down in a way few ever mastered.
“Um, my name's Farris, Gwendolyn Farris?” She kept her voice soft. It sounded funny to her, not unpleasant, far from it. It just didn't sound like her.
She could tell her words took the doctor by surprise, he checked the paperwork again and looked at her closely, looking back at the picture several times.
“Are you certain? Your traveler's identification places your name as Katherine Vernor... The picture matches.” He leaned forward and showed her the image on the page he held.
The woman in the picture had curly brown hair, large light brown eyes, and a creamy, pale complexion. The nose seemed a little big to be an actress maybe... then again maybe not, she looked a lot like the sidekick off of the vampire detective show Gwen liked to watch on Thursdays, but no one with eyes could possibly confuse her with that woman. Most didn't even mistake her for a person.
She tried for baffled rather than her normal confrontational style, since they hadn't called her ugly, just confused her with someone much better looking, which was a first for her. Maybe she had a lot of damage to her face? She couldn't feel anything, no bandages or sore spots... Maybe they just thought that her normal look – the right side of her face swollen and misshapen, the left side slightly concave and lumpy, jutting out at the bottom of her chin suddenly, nose having been broken several times from different attacks – indicated fresh damage?
“I'm sorry, that's not me. I know I may look funny, but it's just the way I look. I'm Gwen Farris, not, what was the name? Katherine? Though that does remind me... the freak that stabbed me? He called me that. Maybe he has some kind of serial killer obsession with her? Though people like that... don't they usually pick women that remind them of their target, the person they're fixated on?” Being careful not to let her head turn, she tried to give them a small smile, so they wouldn't freak out on her when they realized that she really looked this bad all the time.
Instead of saying anything, the nurse went to the hall and came back a few moments later, handing the doctor a silver colored hand mirror that looked to be made of real silver, slightly tarnished on the back. Real metal, not plastic.
He held it in front of her, so Gwen could see herself.
The woman in the mirror wasn't her.
She'd love to look like that, but she knew, from thirty-four years of living with it, that her face resembled a lumpy sack of potatoes someone had taken an ugly stick to and not spared effort on, not the plucky sidekick from a television show.
She moved her face and the woman in the mirror did the same things. She wanted to touch it, but her hands couldn't reach that high, it hurt too much when she tried. She'd have figured it as a dream, except for her chest ached too damn much for that. Trying to reach up to her face anyway sent a wave of pain through her that made her stop. Definitely real pain at least.
“That's not my face. I mean, I admit the face in the mirror seems to be reflecting my image right now, I'm not stupid or denying that the image is tracking, but I don't look like that. I can't look like that. The doctors told me that they'd already done all the corrective surgeries possible years ago. Besides, even if someone could afford that kind of massive work, which I can't, why make me look like someone else that's that different? Wouldn't it be easier to find someone that looks like her, Katherine, already and start from there?”
The doctor took the mirror away, handing it to the nurse without even looking at her, the woman taking it away smoothly, like a runner passing a baton in a relay event.
“I...see. Well, this could be any of a number of things. It could be that you're suffering from shock of course, in which case I'm sure you'll recover your normal self soon. Just in case this is something else, I'd like to bring in a specialist. Nurse Rogers... could you get in touch with Doctor Professor Grainger at Western University? Please ask that he come quickly and bring the full kit. He'll understand what that means, I believe.”
The nurse left and no one mentioned her odd appearance again after that, they did bring her a few tiny sandwiches and tea after a while. The white bread had a thin spread of very bland cheese inside, with spices Gwen thought, but not enough to make it taste like much. The tea was a basic green, like the Lipton she had at home in her cupboard. Unsweetened.
The nurse fed her patiently, interspersing tiny sips of the warm liquid when she asked. She decided to give the woman a rare third mental check mark by her name. That level of attention from a nurse was incredible.
She'd have liked to look in the mirror again, but couldn't move easily enough to get it from the table it had been placed on, next to the water. If the face in the mirror had somehow been put on her body, she wanted to keep it if at all possible. Even with her warped body, that face would be a godsend. Worth being stabbed in the heart to get, especially considering she'd lived through it. She'd been hurt worse with less to show for it.
Actually, most of the times she'd been hurt there'd been nothing to show for it at all, so this was a massive improvement. About time things started breaking even.
As darkness fell outside her window, the high kind that you couldn't see out of without a ladder, a man with silver hair came in, a heavy fellow, not fat, but stout or maybe beefy, who didn't smile or frown, looking at her curiously instead. He spoke softly, as if afraid she might be slightly deranged. Given what was going on it was a good guess, Gwen thought. For a few seconds she wondered about that possibility herself.
“Miss...Farris?” He said tentatively, standing well back, the nurse hovering behind him, watching what he did, it seemed to Gwen, not her reactions. “My name is Doctor Professor Grainger, your doctor, Schmidt, asked me to check out some things using my specialty of radiative effectives. The tests won't hurt and may tell us a lot about what's going on here, even if they don't make sense to you immediately. Is it alright with you if we do that?” He smiled then, trying to look encouraging she supposed, and failing slightly, at least to her eyes.
“Sure, I'm not doing anything else anyway. Where do we start?” She made herself smile, confused again for a second at how it felt, just flowing into place without stress on any of her facial muscles at all. Was this what regular people felt all the time? It was so easy to smile this way you'd think they'd do it non-stop, Gwen thought. Her opinion of average people dropping a bit suddenly. It was that simple for them and they chose to frown? What jerks.
Where they began seemed odd to her, everything
the man wanted seemed strange in fact. He had her hold two copper spheres connected by wires that ran to a small device he watched intently, while asking her questions. She held them resting by her sides. The man had reached over her to place the sphere in her left hand and the nurse took several steps closer for some reason, as if worried.
To protect her from attack? The big man, Grainger, actually seemed nice enough to Gwen. He certainly didn't act ready to harm her at all. No, that was different. Nice to have backup though, since she doubted that she could do much for herself at the moment.
He asked her name, then if she remembered ever being known as Katherine Vernor. When Gwen said she didn't he wrote something down and moved on, asking her favorite color. Green. If she liked reading books; yes, mainly mysteries and fantasy. Her parents' names, the names of her brothers and sisters, and where she lived.
She answered as simply and honestly as she could, in case this thing acted like some kind of a lie detector. After about a half hour of questions, he started asking everything again, with different phrasing. Kind of like on a police drama where they asked the same questions over and over, trying to catch people in a lie. She knew that they did that in real life too, having been examined that way after reporting attacks several times. This guy probably meant to do the same with her now. Well, all she could do was tell the truth, she didn't have anything else to give the man that made more sense, or she might have been tempted.
Then, digging through the large dark brown leather bag he'd brought, Grainger took out a complicated looking device made of wood, with a pendulum in the middle that looked to be made out of layers of copper disks with glass between each layer. Every couple of layers the glass, if it was glass at all, looked red instead of clear like the others. This made a clump that hung by a shiny white cord of some kind. Nylon maybe? Or silk, but most people didn't tie things up with silk thread as far as she knew.
After setting up on the table near her, moving it closer so she could reach it, he asked if she could possibly put her hand under the pendulum, palm facing up and open. It hurt, a lot, but she managed after a minute.
Obviously, this wasn't Kansas anymore. Or even Nebraska where she'd been when she'd fallen asleep. If this man could help her figure things out, then she'd help him do it, even if it did send shooting pains across her chest. Pain wasn't exactly new to her after all. The rest of this was.
Then the man asked her the same, or at least very similar, questions again. As she spoke, the pendulum moved, swinging one way then the other. Slow movements that had the feeling of one magnet being repelled by another, not just the back and forth movement she expected. At one point, when she tried to tell him what programs she liked to watch on television, it suddenly jumped straight up about an inch and hovered there for a second. Like something floating in liquid.
The big man stroked his mustache and nodded, asking her then to describe her daily life as completely as possible, not leaving anything out if she could help it.
“Well, OK. I work at home, Web-design mainly.” The copper and glass assembly jumped again. “Anyway, I get up in the morning, work for a few hours, then eat breakfast, I normally just nuke a bagel for a few seconds with some cream cheese...” It bobbed again.
Each time she mentioned an electronic device, and a few other things like cars, the pendulum reacted in a funny way, jumping up and bobbing around.
Grainger saw it too and took extensive notes asking for particulars on some strange things.
Finally he called the other doctor in and explained his findings. That he had findings from what they'd done left Gwen feeling a little in awe of the man. Given everything she'd have just assumed that the crazy person was lying to her. This place obviously and sincerely wasn't home. The idea should have shaken her, but home, while being what she knew, wasn't that great. She'd deal.
“Miss Farris, and I do believe that's truly her name, seems to have been placed in this body somehow, probably some magical event from our world as her world seems to be largely without our kind of magic. They use “electricity” instead, a powerful force indeed – that being the stuff of lighting if I understood correctly – but how they make it do all she claimed... Still, she told no lies at all and the responses to those questions indicate a truly otherworldly origin. I have to say that this woman is indeed who she claims to be and is definitely not from our world, even if her body clearly is.”
A woman wearing what seemed to be a suit jacket, blouse, and mid-calf tweed skirt, all in a light brown, entered the room then, taking it all in carefully.
“Interesting,” she said to no one in particular, voice flat and devoid of life, “I wonder what happened to Katherine Vernon then?”
Chapter two
“Hello, Miss Farris is it? I'm Bethany Westmorland, Constabulary Detective, metropolitan division. With your doctor's permission I'd like to ask you some questions about what happened to you in the early morning last night. I can't promise that it will aid you in your other situation,” the tall golden-blond woman said, no trace of a smile or frown on her face. She looked... odd. Pretty enough, if a little thin, but her expression was flat, as if she wasn't really in the room with the rest of them somehow.
Gwen felt... observed, scrutinized by this woman in a way she'd rarely felt before, even when people had decided to attack her for being different, they rarely focused this kind of rapt attention. They glared angrily or laughed and nudged their friends, this... It felt a little unnerving, but she held her ground, since the woman didn't seem like she planned to attack from what she'd said and her body posture, while straight and stiff, didn't look ready to do anything but stand and talk.
“OK. What do you want to know? I mean, I understand you need information about the attack and all, how far back do you want me to go?” Gwen felt her skin start to crawl as the woman stared at her, everyone else felt a little uneasy too, she could tell by how they shifted and looked away.
The stare just seemed so direct and impersonal. Gwen didn't look away at first, but had to after ten seconds or so. Any longer than that and it would probably start a fight, if only an argument. Being laid up in bed like she was didn't promote confidence that shed win a fight of any kind, especially with a cop.
The officer, Bethany, looked... strange. Her clothing was nice enough, but slightly wrinkled, as if having been worn for several days. Her complexion, now that she'd closed in, looked pale, as if she hadn't slept in a long time, dark circles under her eyes finishing the effect. Her hair looked to have been cut short at some point and then allowed to grow without care, limp, greasy, and unkempt. Everyone else deferred to her, so Gwen figured she should do the same regardless of appearances. Different world, different rules. That at least, was clear. This was a different world. Somehow.
Or she was insane.
Constabulary Detective Westmorland regarded the woman in front of her, and seemed to consider her options for a few moments before speaking.
“If you could begin at the point you became aware that something was wrong...” Then she waited, without saying anything more, a sudden halt in speech that felt too abrupt and got some looks from the other people in the room.
Recounting the full tale as clearly as she could, Gwen tried to recreate the scene as she experienced it. She'd learned about this from some of the crime shows she'd watched over the years, how going over everything, no matter how small, especially scents and sounds could help a person remember the crime.
“I remember a smell, I tried to make note of it, but it isn't something I'm familiar with, like black licorice?” she told the detective. “I think I could describe the man that stabbed me to a sketch artist... I tried to commit the face to memory. Just in case I managed to survive somehow. Habit I guess.”
The woman stopped her there. Speaking without moving otherwise in a way that seemed highly eerie and more than a little off-putting.
“Excuse me please,” she said, speaking warmly enough, her voice rich but without a lot of inflection
. “What kind of an artist?”
Gwen paused, realizing once again that she somehow rested in another world. Well, she admitted to herself, that or she'd gone nuts like she'd just thought. Either way she'd go with it for now and simply hope that if she'd gone really bonkers, someone would lock her up so that no one got hurt. She'd made a plan to do that after reading a fantasy novel a few years before. The main character in the story kept messing up, because he thought he was insane, so the man refused to respond to what was going on around him, trying to pretend to be normal. He was, it turned out, mad as a hatter, but strange things were actually happening to him too, so he ended up letting other people and finally himself get killed through inaction. Gwen made a decision then that if she ever went crazy, or thought she had, she'd simply act as if the world was what it seemed. After all, if she really had flipped, people needed to know about it, right? Trying to hide it wouldn't help anyone at all.
“A sketch artist? Someone that will listen to my description of the man's face, then draw it, using their own drawing as feedback for me, so that I can narrow down what he looked like in a way everyone else can see?” Not getting a reaction to that, she sat quietly, waiting.