Twin Effect

by Ann Somerville

  He bolted away. Dylan had no chance of catching him, not that he planned to try.

  God, that had gone even worse than he’d feared.

  Chapter 5

  Dylan tried not to dwell on it, just as Lisa told him not to when he called her that evening, but it was an impossible thing to ask. He had things he had to do, his first lecture to give, the development partners to talk to, research assistants to direct, results to analyse, and designs to work on. He gave them all the attention they deserved during the day, but at night, lying in bed, he remembered Max’s lovely kisses, and Toby’s frightened, angry face.

  He missed Max.

  He wanted to help Toby.

  He wished Rachel was here to talk to. And his son to spend time with.

  And while he was wishing for things he couldn’t have, he’d like his real right hand back, and a body that wasn’t creaking under the strain.

  It would pass, this low period. It always did. He had been through so much worse. But he could have done without it, and Lisa agreed. His sister was worried about the stress on him. The habit of looking after her baby brother died hard, especially when he had done so much to worry her. But he told her that if the lorry that had forced him off the road years ago hadn’t killed him, this strange business didn’t have a chance. That reassured her a little.

  While the weather remained fine, he ate lunch outside. He didn’t want to admit it was so he had a chance of catching up with Toby again—not that he had a clue what he would say if he saw him. He didn’t know if the kid had actually started the term. Perhaps he should follow that up. He felt some responsibility if Toby had dropped out, though exactly what he could do about it, he wasn’t sure.

  But he didn’t see Toby all week, and the weather changed for the worse on Friday, confining him to his office and the labs. As he stood at his window, eating a sandwich, he peered through the rain at the rushing figures in the quad. One of them might be Toby. But none of them could be Max, no matter how hard he squinted.

  He stayed at the university until seven. The rain had cleared, so he could walk home instead of taking the bus. He needed the exercise. His route home took him down the High Street, but he wasn’t tempted to go into Waitrose or the inviting pub. He bought a ready meal from Sainsbury’s, and a bottle of red. He’d prefer a pint, but that would have to wait for another time.

  At the flat he stripped off his prosthesis, showered, and sat in his underwear to eat and drink his wine while watching TV. The exciting life of a confirmed bachelor. Lisa said he should make an effort to get out and meet people. Maybe when his latest effort wasn’t so painfully fresh in his memory.

  The door buzzer came as he was dozing off in front of the news, and set his heart rate rocketing. He struggled to his feet and went to the intercom. “Hello? Who is it?”

  “Dylan, it’s Max. I need to see you.”

  God. “Max, it’s very late—”

  “Please, Dylan. Please.”

  Damn it, the kid was crying. But this was so not a good idea.

  Dylan fetched his mobile phone, and kept it in his hand as he buzzed ‘Max’ up. He unlocked the door, but left it shut while he found a pair of trousers to put on.

  Toby—Max—came in. He was soaked, shivering, and still teary. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I...I didn’t know where else to go. Please help me.”

  “Sit down, Max. Let me get you a towel and something to wear. No, just sit down.”

  He flicked on the kettle on his way to the cupboard, fetching out two towels, and grabbing his dressing gown from the bedroom. Max was still slumped in the armchair when he returned. “Here, dry yourself off, and put that on. How did you get so wet?”

  “Been walking.”

  Dylan waited until Max started towelling himself off, then made two cups of coffee, extra sugar in Max’s. He had some biscuits somewhere. Ah yes. He put a few on a plate.

  “Are you dry yet?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then put the dressing gown on and come and fetch this.”

  He kept his tone brusque, business-like, trying not to excite any negative emotions in his potentially dangerous and unstable visitor. Max obeyed meekly, and returned to the armchair without needing to be chivvied.

  Dylan sat on the sofa and sipped his coffee, nodding at Max’s mug, silently urging him to drink up before the conversation started. Now he wished he had his prosthesis on, so he could hold the mug and still keep his good hand on the phone, but the hand wasn’t charged up. He’d have to wing it.

  “I‘m sorry,” Max said after a couple of minutes, when he had drunk half his coffee and nibbled a biscuit. Dylan remained wary, but his unwanted visitor looked more tired than angry. “There’s no one else I can talk to about this.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I remember falling asleep here—I mean, I remember being in your bed, about to fall asleep—but when I woke up, I was back home. I thought it was my room.”

  His hair fell over his face, and he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  “Tissues next to you,” Dylan said. Max took one and rubbed his face with it. “When was this?”

  “Tonight. I thought it was the same night...but...I got up and turned a light on, and...it wasn’t my room. It was Toby’s. His books, his posters. I...I didn’t know what was going on.”

  He gulped more of his coffee, falling silent again.

  When it looked as if he wasn’t going to continue, Dylan nudged him. “What did you do?”

  Max looked up. “I, uh, went...I looked around. The house. I went to my old room, but...it was all changed. All my things are gone. And in the kitchen, the date said...it’s a week later, but I don’t remember anything since last Friday. How could that happen?”

  “I’m not sure.” Dylan’s good hand drifted to his pocket. “So you left the house?”

  “I ran out. I was scared. Then it was raining and...I knew you would help. You will, won’t you?”

  “I’ll try. Max, do you know where Toby is?”

  “No? He wasn’t in the house.”

  “Have you seen him recently?”

  “Sure. I...of course I have. I...last week, I saw him....” Max’s voice trailed off in confusion.

  “Do you remember what we talked about last week?”

  “About me being dead? That’s stupid, Dylan. I’m here right now.”

  “Yes, I know.” Dylan took a deep breath, knowing what a risk he took. “When you stayed last week—”

  “Can I stay again? Something’s wrong at home, and I don’t want to stay there.”

  “That’s really not a good idea.”

  “Why not? I won’t do anything. I can sleep on the sofa. Please? I can’t go back tonight.” Max reached over and grabbed Dylan’s arm. “Please, Dylan.”

  “Calm down. It’ll be okay, but you have to listen and stay calm. Max? Can you do that?” He kept staring at the kid until the agitation in Max’s expression died. “You have to listen. And stay calm because it’s important. You know I can’t handle you if you get agitated.”

  “Handle me? You think I’d...Dylan, I wouldn’t hurt you. I swear.” Max took his hand off Dylan’s arm. “I’ll stay calm. But you’re scaring me.”

  “Sorry. Hey, would you like some wine? There’s some left.”

  “No, I don’t like it much. Dylan? What happened last week?”

  “Okay. You fell asleep like you thought you did. When I woke up in the morning, you were gone. But Toby was in bed with me.”

  “Toby? What the...why would Toby be here?”

  “Max, do you have any scars? Something Toby doesn’t have?”

  “On my arm. I broke my arm badly when I was eight. They had to reset it and pin it. There’s a row of scars from the pins.” Max rolled up his right sleeve, baring his forearm, and showed Dylan.

  The skin was flawless.

  “Where are the scars, Max?”

  “There.” Max stared at his arm, then looked up at Dylan with bew
ildered eyes. “They were there. They should be there. Dylan, where are the scars on my arm?”

  His rising voice sent Dylan’s hand reaching for his phone. “Stay calm, Max. Remember I said you had to. Take a deep breath. Another. I said this would be difficult. Okay?”

  Max nodded, gulping. “Okay. Sorry. But what’s going on? Why is my arm...where are the scars?”

  “I said Toby was here when I woke up. But he was in your body, Max. It’s his body.”

  Max scrambled to his feet, backing away from Dylan. “Don’t talk crap!”

  “Max, calm down or you’ll have to leave. Sit down. Sit. Now.”

  The kid’s angry fear-face twisted, his hands wringing like he was at war with himself. But Dylan stayed where he was, his own expression bland and unthreatening as he could make it, and slowly Max uncurled.

  “Sit down,” Dylan repeated.

  Max obeyed, though he eyed Dylan as if he expected to be hit. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know. I’m confused too. Thing is, I met Toby by accident a few weeks ago, and then he came to see me at work. He’s adamant you were killed six years ago.”

  “But I’m not dead!”

  “I know. At least, you as a person aren’t dead. But your body...Max, your body’s gone. You and Toby are in the same body. That’s Toby’s body.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “I know. I don’t understand how it can be. But it explains why you were in his room, doesn’t it?”

  “No. There has to be...I’m not dead!”

  “I know. Stay calm.”

  “I’m cold, Dylan. Can I sit next to you?”

  Dylan hesitated, then nodded. His left side was still free if he needed the phone. Max scuttled over next to him, and Dylan put his arm around his shoulders. The kid was shaking like an earthquake simulator. “That help?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologising. I know how confusing this is. The thing is—Toby isn’t coping. He went through a bad time after your...accident...and was in a mental hospital for a long while. He knows you’re...around. He found notes in your handwriting. I told him about meeting you. He didn’t take it well. He needs help. So do you.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “Medical help. My sister—”

  “You think I’m nuts. You think I’m Toby, pretending to be me.”

  “No, I—”

  “I’m not! I’m me. Max Symonds. Me. Wood carver. I remember things that Toby doesn’t even know about.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like...like when I was in hospital with my arm. Mum had been up with me, visiting, but then she had to go because Granny was expecting her. I couldn’t sleep because I was a bit scared, and the bed was strange, and my arm hurt. I was lying staring at the ceiling, wishing Mum would come back, when someone came over to my bed. It was my Granny. I was so happy. She hugged me, and told me I was a brave boy to cope on my own, and that Mum would be back in the morning. She sat with me until I fell asleep. Anyway, the next day, Dad came, not Mum. He said that she had something important she had to do. He looked sad, but I didn’t know why until Mum came later in the day. She said her mother—Granny—had become very ill suddenly, and had died the night before.”

  “Christ.”

  “Yeah. She cried, which scared me. So I told her Granny couldn’t be dead, because she’d come to see me. She made me tell her the whole thing, and then she said that Granny must have come to say goodbye. But she said it might upset other people if I told them, so it should be a secret just between me and her. So I never told anyone, not Dad, not Toby. How could I remember something that Toby never knew about?”

  Dylan sat completely stunned. He was so sure he was dealing with multiple personality disorder. Lisa had been sure, and so had her husband, Ned. But how could they explain this? “I don’t know,” he murmured.

  “I’m not crazy. But I want to help Toby. I have to talk to him.”

  “You can’t, Max. If he’s awake, you can’t be.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Dead. Yes, I know. But you’re still two people in one body, and you can’t both be in charge at the same time.”

  “This makes no sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But you see why I can’t let you stay. When you wake up, you’ll be Toby, and Toby’s really not happy with me right now. He thinks I’m lying or trying to trick him. I’m worried what he might do if he wakes in my bed for a second time.” Dylan removed his arm from Max’s shoulders, and laid the stump in his lap. “I’m not exactly up for a fight.”

  “He wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “A scared, angry person will do a lot of things they wouldn’t normally do.”

  Max bit his lip. Dylan ached for him. With Max right there, it was impossible to believe he could be dead—or just a facet of Toby’s personality. He was so...alive. And real.

  But so was Toby. And Toby didn’t want anything to do with Dylan right now.

  “I know what to do!”

  Dylan blinked in surprise. “Yeah?”

  “I’ll leave him a note. He’ll have to believe you if I tell him I’m me.”

  “Uh...Max, he already saw a note from you in your handwriting.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I forgot.”

  “But there’s something we could try—I could record a message from you to him.”

  “On a CD?”

  Dylan smiled. “No, something much better.”

  ~~~~~

  Two hours later, Max was asleep on Dylan’s sofa, and Dylan was lying in bed trying to calm down and convince himself this idea wouldn’t end up with him beaten up or worse. Max had recorded a ten-minute message on Dylan’s iPhone—a message which had taken over an hour for him to be happy with—and it sounded damn convincing. But at the same time Toby had dismissed convincing evidence of Max’s existence before, so there was no guarantee this would work. Dylan wished he had delayed this until he’d had a chance to speak to Lisa, but Max was too frightened to return home, and since Dylan would have to deal with Toby as a result, this was the only option.

  He slept fitfully, but during periods of wakefulness, he heard nothing from the front room. Didn’t mean much, but it wasn’t a bad sign, at least. Finally, when his bladder couldn’t wait any more, and the light through the curtains told him that the sun was fully up, he relieved himself, put his prosthesis on, and went outside.

  Max—Toby—was awake, sitting on the sofa, holding the sticky note that Max had put on his forehead before settling down, telling his brother not to panic. It seemed to have worked.

  “Hi,” Dylan said. It was a relief not to be confronted by anger, but Toby’s passive demeanour confused him, to say the least.

  “Hi. It happened again?”

  “Yeah. Listen, Toby—”

  Toby held his hand up. “You don’t need to explain. Or apologise.”

  “I wasn’t...do you want some tea?”

  Toby looked up, and nodded. “If you don’t mind. Um...I’m sorry for the trouble.”

  “You don’t need to apologise either. But we should talk. Please stay so we can this time?”

  “Okay.”

  Dylan frowned. Toby was suspiciously calm, even sedate, but he didn’t sound happy with it. This could go either way. He patted his phone as he walked to the kitchen to fill the kettle.

  But Toby hadn’t moved by the time he returned with a tray. The kid jumped up to help, which was nice of him, though Dylan could manage just fine balancing it on his forearm on the right side. “Thanks. Want some toast?”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  Dylan let him pour his own drink, and sat back to wait until Toby was ready. The kid sipped his tea, paying little attention. He looked even more tired than he had the other day, eyes dull, his hair a mess and with stubble on his chin. Dylan doubted the couch’s lack of comfort was behind it.

  The silence didn’t break, so Dylan said, “He recorded a message for you. Want to see it?”

/>   “No. I know what’s happened, Dr Gallaher—”

  “Dylan, please.”

  “Dylan. A month back, I went off my anti-depressants because I thought they were affecting my ability to cope with the preparation I was doing. Obviously that’s brought out...symptoms.”

  “But Max isn’t a symptom.” Toby lifted his head to look at Dylan, eyes narrowed. Dylan continued, though he wished he hadn’t started. “Toby, ask your mother about Max and your grandmother. In hospital.”

  “About Granny visiting him when he broke his arm? And being dead? Mum told me after Max died. I think she wanted to comfort me.”

  “So you know.”

  “Yeah. You thought...you believe he’s really Max? He’s me, Dylan. Just a pathetic bit of wish fulfilment. I’m back on the anti-depressants again. You won’t be bothered again. I’m really sorry you’ve been involved.”

  “Please don’t apologise. All I want is to help. You...Max, whatever he is. This must have been such a dreadful experience.”

  “Did you feel that? Losing your hand? Did it hurt?”

  Dylan wished Toby would stop talking about his bloody hand. “Yeah, though not as bad as other things. Phantom pain is the issue.”

  “Phantom pain. Yeah. That’s what your visitor is. The pain of something’s that’s gone forever.” Toby gripped his tea mug. “But when he died...I felt it. They say some twins can do that. The moment he died...I wasn’t there. I was in class. He was on his way home, after doing some shopping for Mum. This guy...drunk after some bloody office party...came racing down our road. He charged at a pelican crossing. Max...didn’t have a chance. I felt it like a knife in my head. I passed out right there in the lecture theatre. I didn’t wake up until I was in an ambulance being taken to the ER. I knew Max was dead. No one had to tell me.”

  “Christ, Toby. I’m so sorry.”

  “It was like I lost half of me. I still feel like that. That I’m half the man I was. Half the life, half the soul. I guess my brain is trying to pretend I’ve got that back, but it doesn’t work like that.”

  “But you and Max aren’t really two halves of one person. You’re you...and he was him. You’re still a whole person.”