Whatever the Impulse

by Tina Amiri

“Ms. Hughes, you’re quite safe with us, right now, and you might just have to be late. You’re the only person who has seen this man’s kid since he fled from the restaurant. And if you have any reason to fear Andrew Shannien, then I advise you to make a statement now.”

  “Oh, I can give you more than a statement,” Lila chortled, shedding any residual show-quality. “Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you boys everything you need to know.”

  ****

  By now, most Oregon bus terminals had received appeals to look out for a nineteen-year-old male with light brown hair and hazel eyes who also happened to be deaf. Night shook his head at the poster on the main door as he assumed it was meant to depict him, but he could have stood beside it until morning and not a soul would have looked at him twice. In spite of the break Andrew granted him by skewing the details of his appearance, Night tensed when the driver paused and studied him during headcount. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone perceived his rich auburn hair as a dye job, but in the end, the driver must have concluded that a deaf person wouldn’t be chatting it up with some random traveler in the neighboring seat.

  ****

  The Newport deputy shuffled impatiently. “So you’re saying that this kid wouldn’t know the first thing to do if he was left alone in a strange place, yet you allege he just took off from some highway motel in the middle of nowhere?”

  Lila also became tetchy. “He definitely hadn’t been out much, so I can only assume that to be true. What I know for sure is that he didn’t want to go home. Maybe he managed to get a lift to another town. I don’t know. He could be anywhere…” Lila’s whole body twisted through her shrug. Lying was exhausting. She wondered how Andrew could do it so consistently and with so little effort. She was grateful that, at least for now, she was up to the challenge.

  “Ms. Hughes, at this point our primary objective is to apprehend Mister Shannien’s son, or grandson, or whatever he is, for his part in burning down an insured business. Anything beyond that will certainly be investigated when we find him. Now, so far, everyone at least agrees that he’s nineteen and if he wasn’t happy living at home then, as an adult, he wasn’t obligated to stay there.”

  Lila put on a mild act in touching her forehead. “I would hardly have gotten involved in all this if it were that straightforward.”

  The second officer gave his partner a nudge and mumbled in his direction. “He did say Night was a bit simple’ remember?”

  Lila shook her head in wonder of Andrew’s strategy for coming up with that line. “Yes, Night is ‘a bit simple’, but only because Andrew had this bizarre agenda to control his life and keep him that way. I told you about the marks I saw on his body, and everything that has happened in the last two days is proof that Night just couldn’t take it anymore and needed to get away—and Andrew isn’t pleased that I helped. So what are you going to do to ensure my safety, or will I have to run away too?”

  The interrogating officer pursed his lips. “Andrew Shannien is not only upstanding, but a model citizen in this area. He’s been nothing but helpful in this investigation and I don’t really want to say what I’m inclined to think about your story.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “First of all, you say Night isn’t deaf, but how would it serve Mister Shannien for us to discover that upon finding his son? Are you going to tell us, next, that Night doesn’t have light-brown hair?”

  She wanted nothing more than to tell them that, and prove Andrew a liar, but not at Night’s expense. “No, that sounds about right.”

  “Right… So, Ma’am, when we put all the facts together, Mister Shannien just sounds like a man who is desperate to find his son and has some cause to be angry. After all, he just lost his business, his son, and judging from your own account of things, his fiancé. Perhaps you’re just a little angry with him about some private matter and maybe you want to hurt him back a little?”

  Lila’s mouth dropped in genuine disbelief.

  “Call us back if you receive any serious threats or have some tangible proof that you’re in danger, but I suspect that Mister Shannien has more than enough on his plate right now and doesn’t have any plans to devour you too.” He grinned at his colleague shamelessly.

  Lila did catch the shadow of uncertainty cross the other man’s face as he offered her a few compassionate words.

  “We’ll pay Andrew Shannien another visit, and we’re here if you need us, Ma’am. Remember to keep your door locked.”

  ****

  Nothing Night had been introduced to in Oregon compared to what he saw when he woke up in San Francisco. He had to close his eyes to prevent a repeat of what had happened the first time he went into town with Lila. Every manmade structure was gargantuan, there were no forests in sight, only some unrecognizable forms of vegetation, and his introduction to the freeway nearly shut all his systems down.

  He quickly trained himself to breathe through the panic, to welcome novelty—and just in time. The bus driver made the announcement that they had arrived in L.A.

  Night tripped from the bus that had taken him almost one thousand miles from his former life into a world of stewed sunlight, heat and car exhaust. He threw on his sunglasses, now exceptionally glad to have them. Taxis dominated the street and he climbed into the front seat of the first car that rolled forward.

  “Fine address,” remarked the driver after Night recited the street name to the young man who he couldn’t help but notice had the darkest skin he’d ever seen.

  Night tried not to stare.

  “You live there?” the driver persisted.

  Night nodded then flinched at the fellow’s explosive reaction.

  “Get outta here! I would have sworn you’re only visiting L.A. I can always spot ’em. Hey, you know that guy, Frederick Dahlsi…he’s running for District Councilman? Did you know he’s from your neighborhood?”

  “Yes. He’s from my house.”

  “No shit. You ain’t Morgen Dahlsi by chance? I never got a real good look, but your band was doin’ some gig at The Stardeck one time. You guys got something goin’ on—I mean, that place was packed!”

  Night gazed through his tinted lenses at the young driver. This was truly how it felt to be without language. A single question registered with him, so Night responded to that one.

  “Morgen’s my brother.”

  “No shit! Well here…” The driver handed him a business card. “I’m J.P. Maybe you’ll send me some tickets to see his band when he really hits it big…since you and me are practically friends now.”

  Night stared at the card before mindlessly putting it away in some side compartment of his luggage. He turned to look out the passenger window while the cab driver talked on and on. They rolled into a residential area and the atmosphere inside and outside the car became more serene. Houses grew fewer, but more stately. Climbing ivy sprawled over most of these pale houses, often behind a defense of mature trees or huge fences. The driver slowed down in front of one such home—not the biggest one by far, but definitely an elite home. It too had vines that fanned diagonally toward one-half of the house and all along its flowered base. He could see an alabaster statue of a man close to the end of one of the two brick driveways. It stood on the lawn as though guarding the property.

  “This driveway the one you want?”

  Night had no idea, but he pulled out two twenties and didn’t wait for his change.

  “Man, you sure you from around here?”

  Night couldn’t stop his hands from shaking as he fumbled with the door handle, not saying a word.

  “Don’t forget about them tickets,” J.P. called out through his open window as he sped off.

  The taxi had barely turned the corner before another voice, with yet another accent and strange vernacular, accosted him from inside the front gates.

  “Morgen, where you been, man? I been trying to call you for days.”

  “Why are you calling me Morgen?” Night blurted, clutching the strap of his duffel
bag against his shoulder with both hands to control his shaking. In contrast to J.P.’s short afro, this tanned-looking fellow’s black hair fell shiny and long in a gleaming tail down his back.

  “Why am I calling you Morgen…?” There was a long pause. “Well, you got real mad the time I said Asshole.” Though grinning, he recoiled. “Are you high, my friend? And what did you do to your hair?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No! I mean it looks great. I jus’ didn’ know you were changing your look. You’re acting funny, my friend.” He walked past Night and opened the pedestrian door to the garage like he lived in the house. Night followed him past a white convertible, to the back of the room and up a narrow staircase that led into the upper level of the house.

  At the top, one more door stood between Night and…he could hardly wait to see. The south hallway they entered eerily reminded him of his house in Oregon, but when his brother’s friend threw open the last door on the left, they stepped into a realm that no longer resembled anything he had ever known. Night removed his sunglasses and glanced around. He couldn’t decide if this was a living room or a bedroom, and then he noticed adjoining rooms on each end.

  “What is this…is it all one house? Do you live here?”

  The Hispanic fellow just stared at Night for a few seconds. “Morgen is going to freak.”

  Their matching gazes suddenly turned to the west end of the room where a human form emerged from another doorway and complacently came over to complete a triangle.

  “I never knew you had a brother, man.”

  “Guess that makes two of us.”

  If Morgen’s response was intended to be a pun, he certainly didn’t care if anyone knew it. His attention transferred to Night.

  “Before you say anything, let me save both of us a lot of time. I’m not interested in the tales of my long lost twin, and I don’t foresee that changing in this lifetime, so if you’ve come from any sort of distance, I recommend you have yourself a blast in Hollywood for a couple days. Go check out the Walk of Fame or Magic Castle or whatever turns you on, but don’t mistake me for someone who might join you.”

  Night could hear his brother’s blast of contempt but he couldn’t digest a single word. Here stood his blanched replica, his reflection with the identical pale eyes, and the inexplicable ivory hair, the image he had seen in the ornamental crystal ball, the one that pestered him at the end of every day, and never allowed him to experience a simple dream—his lifelong nightmare!

  “You’re my brother,” Night stated, “and I need your help.”

  “How ’bout I see you later, Steve?”

  “No way, man. I wanna hear from your brother—”

  “Steve… Get the fuck out!”

  Once he did, Morgen’s tundra-like stare fell back on Night. “Look, I’m not interested in your story, but you can crash here if you’d like. There’s a bathroom through that door at the back and a guest room on the other side of it. It all connects, so there’s no reason for you to show your face outside this suite. All I need is for someone to see you and end up in the middle of some big family drama.”

  “Morgen?”

  “I said you can crash here…no questions, no debate.”

  “Aren’t you wondering…if you’ve seen me before?”

  “No. Never seen you.”

  After Morgen retreated to his bedroom, punctuating his declaration with a slam of the door, Night became acutely aware of the waning light outside the common room window, and how his time here might be just as fleeting. Was this really it? Following nearly two decades of visits from his brother’s turbulent energy, countless appeals from the essence of his platinum-haired twin to acknowledge its tangible source—all from across the almost impassable expanse of lies that Andrew had surrounded him with—did it all amount to nothing but a bout of hot air? The heat that climbed Night’s face induced images of the restaurant inferno everywhere he looked. Morgen hadn’t even asked him his name, but with or without an invitation to share, his brother was going to know it.

  But right now, he just needed to pee. As Morgen had offhandedly described, the bathroom separated his common room from an extra bedroom, which he had just offered to a complete stranger. Clearly, his brother’s life wasn’t governed by an Andrew.

  He couldn’t believe how this normally utilitarian room outshone the rest of Morgen’s suite in swirling grey-green marble, from the floor, up some steps, and down into a sunken tub that resembled an oceanographic whirlpool. Morgen appeared to have it good, in all ways, and it begged the question: why was his brother so miserable?

  Adding to the noise of the toilet flushing, Night ran the faucet over the sink. When the temperature was right, he leaned forward to wash his face, but he froze when somebody knocked on the door on the common room side. His mind started to race, wondering what Morgen had come back to say, but the voice that followed belonged to a young female who spoke his brother’s name.

  “Yes?” he answered, cringing.

  He heard a short giggle on the other side of the door. “Are you coming down for supper? They want you to eat with us tonight, and you can’t say no. I’m supposed to tell you that.”

  “…All right.”

  “Good. And don’t take forever.” The pleasant-sounding intruder finished with another tiny laugh. Something about his answers elicited this reaction.

  Like he’d been doing it all his life, Night ran to warn Morgen, who he nearly collided with when he opened the door.

  “What the fuck just happened?”

  “A girl asked if you were coming down to eat so I said ‘yes.' But it’s okay. She didn’t see me.”

  Morgen rolled his eyes and stepped behind a bar counter tucked in the corner between the main entrance to the suite and his bedroom door. Night noted that it was a much smaller bar than the one he’d set fire to the other day, but a bar nonetheless.

  “That was my sister, Beth,” Morgen disclosed. “I mean, she’s not really my sister. Mom can’t have kids, and we both know we’re adopted. That’s why I’m not exactly shocked about you.” Morgen squatted behind the counter to pull something from a shelf below. “But twins…separated at birth… There’s a cliché I wasn’t expecting.” Morgen’s hands reappeared on the surface of the counter in the process of wringing the cap off what was unmistakably a prescription pill bottle.

  “Why are you taking those? Are you sick?”

  Morgen balked and then threw a couple of pills in his mouth, swallowing them effortlessly before speaking. “Let’s just say, thanks to you, I now have to make sure I can get through dinner without being sick.”

  Night curiously observed as his brother pressed a small mirror against the countertop and sprinkled it with a ration of white powder. Using a small blade, he tapped at the substance diligently until he’d divided it up into little rows. Night flinched when he saw how Morgen ingested it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Oh please,” Morgen glanced up shortly. “Do you want some?”

  “No.”

  Morgen sniffed and straightened his back. “Then excuse me while I go ahead.”

  Night watched the familiar expanse of eggshells that he’d known in Oregon spring up between them, but somehow he didn’t feel the need to approach Morgen with the same level of caution as Andrew. Morgen was nothing more than his twin…not even equal in weight, and evidently not in health.

  Morgen threw his equipment, and the pill bottle, into a small box and carelessly tossed it all under the counter. “Gotta go. I won’t be long, but stay quiet until I come back.”

  They both stepped forward and almost collided, which only stretched the tension between them. It didn’t faze Night.

  “Morgen? Can you get me something to eat?”

  “Look, you’re not my problem… Oh shit!” Morgen shoved him out of the way to get to the phone. “I forgot about Steve! I have to stop him from blabbing about you to the whole world. Pray that he answers and, if he doesn’t, pray anyway
, because I will kill you if I’m too late.”

  ****

  It turned out all right, in terms of Steve, but Night missed his first California sunset while inspecting the details of his brother’s life. Morgen possessed a multitude of strange objects—the most intriguing being an acoustic guitar, which he carried back to the couch. It didn’t take him very long to figure out that the frets had a purpose, and that there was a correct way to hold the thing. He analyzed each twang produced by every string, in combination with every fret, and then, just as he had learned to do on the piano, he plucked out a few scales in major and minor until he got bored and turned to another interesting object: the television.

  The recent phenomenon of MTV captivated Night, as much as it had the rest of the world. Morgen must have watched him for some time before he sailed up beside him where he sat, only inches from the screen.

  “Didn’t they have MTV on your planet?”

  “No,” Night replied, detecting the insult only after it was too late.

  The image on the TV suddenly imploded and the whole screen went black.

  “Don’t spaz out,” Morgen said as he tossed the hand remote aside and then slid a cassette tape into an elaborate stereo system beside the TV. “There’s something I want you to hear. Tell me what you think.”

  Despite his belated introduction to pop music, Night quickly ranked this particular number above many songs he’d heard. “I don’t know that one yet, but I like it. I think I even like it better than most of them,” he said, enticing a genuine smile out of Morgen for the first time since they’d met.

  “It’s better, isn’t it? You haven’t heard it before because it’s only on my demo tapes. That’s me and my band.”

  Now it made sense to him, why Morgen had so many instruments and related paraphernalia that he couldn’t identify.

  “So, why aren’t you on…?” He motioned to the magic box on the carpet.

  “On TV? Yeah, it’s a crime, isn’t it? But keep watching. Our big break is coming.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we got a bite from the last batch of demo tapes I sent out. Morning’s Desire is going to be the opener at an amazing venue in just a few days.” His tone eroded as he added, “Last chance for me, but it’s all I need.”