Mayfly

by Rei Fletcher

  It wasn't me.

  But if she started down that road they'd definitely lock her up. No meds for knocked up sluts, she bet. What story could she make up to explain all the shit that the doppelgänger had done, when she didn't even know the half of it?

  "Just, why can't you try? Christ, I feel like we're doing all the work here. We're gonna have a family. You have to work at it, too, you know? We gotta be grown-ups, now."

  Like you whined and sat on your ass with your dad while we cleaned up your shit?

  "You, doing all the work."

  He sighed. "I know—"

  "You don't know shit."

  "Because you never talk!"

  "Like it takes a rocket scientist. If you paid attention for two seconds. Like when I found out about university. You knew how much it meant. I wanted to go so bad. Do you remember what you said?"

  He did, and felt guilty about it, or didn't, and felt guilty about that.

  "'That sucks.' That's what you said. 'That sucks.' You say the same thing about shitty movies."

  "I figured you'd find a way. You always do."

  "How? Everyone is so sure that I'll figure it out but no one ever has any goddamn suggestions. Just, whatever. She's fine. I wasn't fine. I'm not fine."

  "Mare, you have to calm down. This isn't good for the baby."

  Fuck the baby. Nobody gave a fuck before I was knocked up, and they don't give a shit about me now.

  It was brutally hyperbolic, and she didn't say it, but she wanted to. After a moment Bobby's anger gave way to a weird softness.

  "It's okay, Mare. I got you. I'll take care of you."

  He's happy to see it. See me this pathetic.

  It was a horrible thing to think, but it felt true. Like her mom being happy with a totally different her. One that was easy to understand.

  "People are willing to help you. You just gotta let them."

  You'll lie, and I'll lie and everything will be fine. That's how it works, right? That's how everything works.

  Chapter 18

  She had no idea how to answer when her mom asked her how dinner went the next morning. Really, she seemed to know less and less every day. She agreed that the stairs were very steep and nodded along when her mom enthused about the colour scheme in the nursery. Her eyes drifted to the window, still nodding absently.

  It looked like a cloud passing over at first. Maybe it would rain later. She pressed her forehead against the screen, nose full of the musty smell of the aluminium frame, trying to see. The sky was cloudless. She frowned. Above the trailer roofs, the light seemed to dim, where the gate might have been.

  "Marianne? Are you listening at all?"

  "Yes. No." She turned back to her porridge. None of that was her business anymore.

  "Did you take those vitamins?" She shook her head. "Honestly! They cost a mint." She got up to get them.

  "Mom?"

  "Hm?" She heard the rattle of pills in plastic bottles.

  "I don't want it."

  The rattling paused. "Vitamins are good for you."

  "Not that. I don't w—"

  "No. Marianne, don't even start."

  "Mom. Please."

  She saw her shoulders move. Just for a minute, for the length of a breath…

  When she turned back her smile was soft. Sympathetic. She put the vitamins down on the table. Marianne stared at them.

  "Honey, you're just scared. It's natural. I was scared sometimes, too. There are so many changes and it all happens on its own schedule. You must feel overwhelmed. I know I did. But then you came along, and it was amazing." She paused. "Give yourself a chance. You have all those books from the library. Reading about things always helped you more than what people said. They'll help you understand all the feelings you're having. Maybe it isn't what you planned, but oh, sweetie, when you hold your baby for the first time, you'll see. It'll be everything.

  "Now eat your breakfast and take your vitamins. I thought tomorrow we could go shopping. See what kind of budget we're going to need."

  She ate enough to satisfy her mom, then went to stare at the TV. She felt John looking at her, and that murmured tone and the murmured answer. Just emotional, of course. Of course.

  When they were gone she turned off the TV. It was so quiet there were only the birds and the wind to listen to. Like when she was out at night hunting.

  She swore. It was fucking over. This was real life. The whole true meaning of life bullshit. The boring part of the movie when the real story was done. The thing that came at the end.

  She looked at the stack of books on the end table. The doppelgänger must have cleared out that entire section of the library, along with the pamphlets from the doctor. She picked up the first one and started flipping through, seeing the diagrams and drawings of reproductive systems, and alien-looking foetuses. Nothing she didn't know from sex ed. She continued flipping pages until she got to the pictures of bloating stomachs, stretched like balloons about to pop.

  She hurled it across the room. The hard spine cracked into the panelling, leaving a little dent.

  Guilt set in immediately. She got up and kicked the book under the chair, shifting a lamp in front of the dent.

  She couldn't do it to library books, but she gathered up all of the pamphlets and the vitamins and the pictures and papers from the doctor and pyjama thing that babies wore that was apparently a gift from Sharon to her cheerful, evil doppelgänger and carried it all out to the burn barrel. She dumped on the lighter fluid and threw in a match. It caught with a satisfying whomp. For a few minutes she watched the air turn noxious from the melting plastic, then backed away and sat in the grass.

  "Hey, ah, hey."

  John lurked at the edge of the gravel pit that housed the barrel. He took off his baseball cap and swept a hand over his head before replacing it.

  "You okay?"

  "Sure. Yeah."

  "Sure. Okay." He turned, then turned all the way around like an indecisive dog. "I should help you keep an eye on this burn." He sat down beside her.

  "Don't you have work?"

  "Busted cars aren't going anywhere."

  She smiled.

  "Rough situation."

  "I guess."

  "Your mom says that he's trying to do right by you."

  "Everyone seems happy."

  "Sure. Sure. Except you. Weird."

  She shrugged. "Can't do anything about it now."

  He eyed the burn barrel.

  "I haven't spent a lot of time with you. I wish it was more. You seem like an interesting person."

  "Thanks."

  He snorted. "So I'm gonna say something and hope you don't hold it against me that we haven't talked all that much.

  "Your mom, she wants to do the right thing. Thing is, when people say that they can't even help it, what they mean, a little bit, is that it's right for them."

  "They have it all taken care of. Place to stay and stuff."

  "Sure. Get you all set up, make a nurse or something out of you later."

  "I don't—"

  "Not your thing," he nodded, eyes on the rippling air above the barrel. "You know, I had a high school sweetheart. Holy shit, she was gorgeous. Smart. The whole package. I loved her like crazy."

  "Broke up?"

  "Got married, like everyone else. It was what you did."

  "What happened?"

  "I was happy. I thought she was, too. She never said a bad word about it, how she really felt. I guess she didn't know how. Divorce was out of the question. Catholic, you know. And it wasn't like anything was really wrong. Not like you could just point to something like it would make sense. She tried and tried. It hit me too late to do anything. Finally figured it out, that you can't feed someone when you're starving. Not for long." He looked back at the trailer. "Your mom's right and your right and my right, they're all a bit different. You know how long eternity is?"

  She blinked. "Forever?"

  "Sixty years? Seventy? That's all the eternity you get. L
ife is the shortest long time you can imagine. And there's gonna be a night, sometime out there, where it's you, alone in the dark, looking back at this moment. You gotta decide, and you gotta hope that what you decide now doesn't make you hate yourself then. Doing what other people think is right, that's going to be cold comfort. Maybe you don't have a good choice. Maybe you have two bad choices. Which one is easier to live with?"

  There was a thump from the drum as the metal changed temperature. They sat in companionable silence.

  "What happened to your wife?"

  "Doctors didn't really get anti-depressants yet. Or maybe they did, and she just made a mistake. Or...Well, Catholic, right? She just made a mistake."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Thanks. I appreciate it." He reached out and patted her shoulder. "That wasn't weird, right?"

  "No. It wasn't weird."

  "Better get to work. Came back to get my hat. Can't go to work without my hat."

  "Really?"

  "You ever get a sunburned head? I hate that. I keep my best stuff in there."

  She was about 90% sure he'd been wearing his hat when he'd left. She turned back to the fire, massaging the back of her neck. It felt like iron, not flesh.

  The best bad choice she could make. She'd had so much practise lately.

  Eighteen was old enough, wasn't it? She could go out on her own if she had to. Could they do anything to her? Could they stop her somehow? She didn't even know if the questions were stupid, let alone where to find the answers. Her mom would find out if she went to the doctor on her own. She wasn't a student anymore, even if the school nurse hadn't been a waste of time. Was there a health centre at the college? Maybe she couldn't see a doctor there but maybe they'd have different information. More information. Different bad choices.

  She felt guilty about the things in the barrel. The stuff her mom bought, anyway. What good did it do? Except make her feel vindictively good for a few minutes. She hugged her knees and waited for the burn to die away.

  She'd started keeping Sarah's phone number in a pocket of her backpack. She retrieved it from her room and smoothed out the napkin, butterflies in her stomach. Not flirting butterflies. Shoplifting butterflies. Getting into trouble butterflies.

  She looked at the clock. Her mom wouldn't be home for hours. There was time, maybe, to figure out something. She clutched the napkin to her chest and hurried down the hall.

  "Hello, Marianne."

  She ran for the drainboard. Before she could reach the carving knife the doppelgänger grabbed her arm and swung her around, pushing her backward, into the living room.

  "Take a seat. We need to talk."

  It pushed her again, landing her in the overstuffed big chair. The doppelgänger had a bandage on its shoulder where Marianne had injured it. Fresh blood was seeping out.

  "Time is ticking by. Things need to be done. Decisions need to be made." It perched on the arm of the couch, between Marianne and the door. "We can work together on this."

  "I don't want anything to do with it. With you and all of that. I'm done."

  "It isn't done with you." It smiled. "It never will be."

  "What do you want?"

  It shrugged. "Our needs haven't changed, and our offer stands. Take your place with him. I'll do our duty out here. I'll be a good little you." It cocked its head. "You're struggling, aren't you? Ah, I admit that I might have gone overboard with the happy happy joy joy bullshit. Sorry about that. It wasn't easy at first, being alive. I was just so excited about everything." It leaned forward. Marianne felt queasy under its gaze. "It's been a long time since you felt that, hasn't it? Excitement about the future. You used to have it. I can see your dreams of the future. But even before I came along, the doors started closing. It's been hard for you."

  "This is a lie. Like everything."

  "I don't, always. It served her purpose to tell you so, but I wasn't lying about what she did, nor why she did it. Can you honestly tell me that you didn't know that she wanted to destroy him?"

  Marianne remembered the excitement that rolled through Ash that night in bed. She hadn't even been able to hide it.

  "Ah, you do."

  "So?"

  "I suppose it doesn't matter. What matters now is you. Marianne, I am you, still. The longer I live, the more I'll drift, but I'm still close enough to know how unhappy you are. This is the solution to everything. The worry and fear. The pregnancy. The past. All of the things that you can't forgive. The grudges you bear against people you love. It won't matter anymore. The burden will be lifted. You'll have peace."

  She thought of the chipped paint on her windowsill, and her museum-knowledge of the house she still thought of as home.

  "It's important to remember."

  "And forgive. And move on. You can't do that. It isn't your nature. Our past has become an anchor. Now you'll have a chance to be free of it. I'll carry the burden."

  She looked down and closed her eyes. For a moment she recalled the joy of visiting the cottonwood tree. It'd been amazing. Blissful. She couldn't remember ever feeling that happy before.

  The bugs. The Unformed Beasts.

  "No. I'm...I'm not selfish enough to condemn the world to those things. So I won't feel bad anymore, and everyone else will? What shitty kind of offer is that?"

  It sighed and sat back. "I had to try, you know. It would be ever so much easier if you just gave in. I don't care about people, in general, but I can't help but feel a little attachment to you. Obviously."

  "That's it? That's why you came here?"

  "Ha! Yeah, right. That sounds so much like me, doesn't it?"

  "Then what?"

  "I'm willing to offer a trade."

  "Us trading places."

  "Don't be stupid. You literally just turned that down. Try to keep up. No, I was thinking of you for Charlene."

  She went cold. "What?"

  "We went out for ice cream, as one does. Such a nice girl. Such a bright future. We talked about hopes and dreams."

  "Liar."

  "Not this time, sweetie." It took some Polaroids out of its pocket. When Marianne wouldn't take them it rolled its eyes and threw them on the coffee table. "Proof of life, so to speak."

  Her hand was shaking when she picked them up. Charlene stared out with wide, terrified eyes. She could see the confusion and the hurt.

  "Fuck you."

  "She even paid for the ice cream."

  It stood up. "I'd better skedaddle. If I don't get back in time she's going to die. No one wants that."

  "Where is she?"

  "Safely away from you."

  "The old house."

  It laughed. "I'm not a fool. I've tucked her away, safe and sound. Open the gate, Marianne. Take your place with him, as you promised. I'll send Charlene home, and she won't even remember. No trauma. No pain. She'll have a good life. We all will. Nothing but happiness. Won't that be a wonderful thing?"

  "Except things like you will get out."

  "Everything deserves a chance to live, Marianne."

  It left, humming to itself as it passed beneath the window. Marianne bent her head over the pictures, rocking forward and back, thoughts spiralling into panic.

  For chrissakes stop it. Get it together.

  She tried to quiet the hysterical bit of her mind. When she looked at the pictures she nearly lost it again. Charlene was so fucking scared. All she could think of was that picture from first grade, of Shirley Temple.

  All of the Polaroids were close up, and she couldn't see much detail behind her. On purpose, probably. Just some wood panelling. Or floor. Hardwood floors. Marianne's childhood home didn't have hardwood.

  She peered closer. It looked familiar. It looked...Where had she seen it before?

  She closed her eyes. The refrigerator hummed. The clock ticked. There wasn't much left to think about, really.

  After all the nights with Ash, and the nights dreaming of leaving, she knew what she needed. She packed quickly, ready for as many of the just-in-ca
ses as she could be. Finally, she got down on her hands and knees and pulled out the bag with the knife in it.

  Mrs. Peacock in the kitchen with a knife.

  She straightened up, then scrambled for the pictures again. It was a kitchen floor. It was the kitchen and dining room floor from Charlene's house before they redecorated. She remembered vividly the alien, chemical smells of the house during the work. That had been years and years ago. It didn't exist except as a memory. The doppelgänger was lying again.

  I can't leave her there.

  She called Sarah, tripping over her words as soon as she heard her pick up, trying to explain without sounding like a madwoman.

  "Marianne, calm down. Deep breaths. Please, I want to help, but I can't understand you."

  "Please, I need a ride somewhere, but I need you to not ask any questions. Please."

  There was a long pause. "Tell me I'm not getting involved in a crime."

  "No. Nothing like that."

  "Okay."

  "Wait, really?"

  "I said, didn't I? Do you want me to argue?"

  "No. God. Sorry, please. Thank you."

  "I'll be there as soon as I can."

  The rattle of the old Beetle preceded its appearance by a fair bit. She got in, thanking her again. Sarah's eyes were a little wide.

  "Do you want to...um...is this…Someone..."

  She was staring at Marianne's face and throat.

  "Kind of related but not what you think."

  She directed her to her old neighbourhood and stopped her at the corner of the cul-de-sac. If the doppelgänger was at the house she didn't want Sarah catching its attention.

  And if it isn't, I have to start looking somewhere.

  "Just here?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  "Do you want me to wait?"

  "I don't know how long I'll be."

  "If you need a ride…"

  "I'll call." She tightened the laces on her boots. The preparations stopped her hands from shaking and steadied her nerve. The corner of the rainbow air freshener stuck out of the broken glove compartment.

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Sure."

  "Did you know I was gay?"

  Sarah shifted, seat squeaking. "Not 100%. I mean, there isn't actually a radar. It's just how you looked, sometimes. And how long."