by Alison Evans
I choke on a breath and my cup falls out of my hand, spills on the doona, but I don’t care.
‘Mum!’ I manage to get out, words scrabbling at my throat. I throw off the covers and run at her. We hug for the first time in five years and I bury my face in her shirt. It smells like her coconut deodorant, the material is soft and she’s warm even though the house is so cold. With my arms around her, she feels the same as ever. I can feel the tears start and I know I won’t be able to stop them, they’re too much this time. I’m sobbing, heaving, and it’s painful but the tears need to get out, fat and rolling down my cheeks.
‘Ida!’ Mum says, her chest vibrating as she speaks. She strokes my hair. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ I tell her. ‘Everything. I’m fine.’ I cling to her like she’s going to disappear. ‘I just missed you.’
‘I was just downstairs.’ Her voice is gentle and maybe a little worried, but not patronising.
I let go of her so I can look at her face. There are a few more grey hairs, but she looks the same. Five years has been nothing to her because she doesn’t know.
‘What happened to your face?’ she asks. She gasps, a small and barely there intake of breath. It sucks in through her teeth, her lungs expand. ‘You’re bleeding.’
‘Oh.’ I can’t think of anything to say, the words have left my mind. My mother is here, right here, and I can see her and feel her and I don’t have to leave ever again.
‘Ida?’ The way she says my name is safe.
‘I just went for a walk,’ the words pop out of my mouth and I hate how easy it is to lie to my mother. ‘Your roses,’ I say as I remember my brother in the garden. ‘They need a prune.’
‘Well,’ she says, drawing up one side of her mouth. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up, come on.’
She takes me to the bathroom and I sit, waiting, on the red stool. Mum gets a pearl-green face washer out and wets it, smooths the blood off my face. I can feel the cuts stinging under her touch and I wince.
‘Sorry,’ she says, concentrating on my face.
I watch her, moving slowly, gentle. ‘Don’t worry.’ I have to consciously remember how to breathe. In, out, in, out, that is how my lungs work. Breathing does not stop just because mothers come back from the dead.
She searches in the cupboard for a moment and gets out a spray bottle of disinfectant. ‘Close your eyes,’ she says, and I obey. The liquid is cool after the first sting, and already I feel lighter. I can feel the pulse in my skin.
‘How does that feel?’ she asks, setting the spray down. ‘None of the cuts are deep enough for Band Aids.’
‘Better. Thanks, Mum.’ My voice skips on the word, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
‘So how about that movie?’ she says, smiling and the skin around her eyes crinkles up.
I open my mouth to say yes, but then everything is gone.
The space is dark. The space is so dark. I’ve gone blind. Where’s the lightdark? Why is it only dark? It’s cold but I don’t shiver, not in this place.
I begin to spin, slowly at first, but then faster and my arms feel as though they’re going to leave my sides. I don’t want them to. Not in the cold.
I want to scream, cry out, something, but there is no voice here. I’m sick, spinning, can’t stop.
And then I’m halted, but my insides keep spinning. My arms almost lift off, I can feel my fingers begin to peel, but then everything stops.
I’m lying in my bedroom, alone. The room is dirty, too white and, as I cough, I see I haven’t vacuumed in a long time.
‘No!’ My voice cracks, breaks my vocal cords and the blood spills out, covers my whole room, gushes through the windows and pours into the valley.
The tea stains are back, more of them spread out further than I’ve seen yet. I go to the wall and stare at the grain of the paint under the tea.
‘Why?!’ My throat aches. ‘Why are you here?!’ I smash my fist against the wall, again, again; my bones hurt but what does that matter because my mother is gone again, how can I do this again? ‘No!’ I scream again, my knuckles split and blood splats against the wall. I slide down till I’m on the floor again, trying to breathe through the sobs. When I breathe in, my hair gets in the way and I cough, try and get it out of the way, but there’s too much. I rub my hand and the blood spreads, thick and sticky. It’s too red, it’s too real.
I close my eyes, try to find a decision I can go back to, but nothing happens. I close them harder, scrunching up my whole face, so much it’s painful. Muscles tight around my eyes, my cheeks, my forehead, they all protest. I can feel the blood in my face, red like on my hands. There’s nothing, the lightdark won’t come. I can’t see her again.
I lean my head back and stare out at my room and I wonder if there’s any point to all this. The apple is here again. Rotting, wrinkled, next to my bedside table. Crawling over, I pick up the fruit, smudging blood on it. It’s soft. I squeeze it, weigh it in my hands, and throw it against my bookcase. Its skin splits like mine did, but no blood. Juice doesn’t spurt out; it rests on the second shelf from the bottom.
‘Fuck you!’ I scream at the apple. It’s ridiculous, it’s fucking pathetic how I am but I don’t give a shit. ‘Fuck – oh.’ The apple. The tea. They’ve been in every universe. They’ve been the one constant. They must have something to do with the fixed point.
I pick up the apple and see some juice has seeped out, covering the books behind it. One of those books, I realise, is the notebook I found in the bathroom. Tiny, squished between two bigger ones so I would have barely noticed it at all. The doppelgangers must have moved it once they knew I found it. Inside, it’s still filled with things I don’t understand, but there’s got be a decoder somewhere.
A doppelganger appears to the right of me. It looks to the bookcase and back at me, its eyes wide. It opens its mouth, whispers sneak out too quiet to understand. It reaches out for the book in my hands and I back away. The doppelganger closes its eyes.
Everything is cold. I’m pulled in a direction I don’t know and I’m thrust back.
The book is on the shelf again. I nudge the apple aside and grab a hold of the spine. The doppelganger reaches out and I can feel there’s a warmth where our arms would be touching, but I jerk my hand away, still holding the book.
I move away from the ganger and outside of the window, there’s something. It’s dark, but the moon lights up the backyard, and the shed. When I went in before, it was filled with diagrams and other things I had written but hadn’t – a decoder would be in there, sure enough.
There’s a ripping sound.
It’s the same as before; cold and dark. Something finds my way for me.
The book is on the shelf and I grab it and run downstairs without checking if there’s a ganger with me. There’s no one else in the house, no lights are on downstairs. I run through the dark and manage to stop myself before running into the door. I unlock it, run outside and my feet are cold, wet, from the damp grass.
I wrench the shed door open and turn on the light. It flickers, illuminates the papers and diagrams. I go through everything on the workbench, but nothing looks like it could be a decoder. There are boxes of papers, but again, nothing. As I’m searching the last box, a doppelganger comes in and leans against the wall, watching.
I don’t look at it and bend down to see the shelf below the bench, and there’s a metal box on top of some papers. The doppelganger moves closer.
I pick up the box and run a hand over the top. It’s not dusty like the other things on the shelf. There’s a keyhole in the front of it and I try to lift the lid, but of course it’s locked. The decoder has to be in this box, it’s not anywhere else in the shed. There’s no key anywhere.
The hammer’s in reach so I grab it and hit the box. It makes no dent. If the lock were external, then I could smash the damn thing off, but I need a key. I don’t know how to pick locks; I should have got Daisy to teach me.
But no, there is a key. Daisy an
d I were having pancakes outside, the key I found when I was looking for the teapot. It’s in the drawer with all the useless shit.
I put the box back where I had found it, stand up and start to walk back to the house. There’s a doppelganger standing just inside the back door, it’s waiting for me as it stares out through the window. The one from the shed walks beside me. I let my eyes slide over both of them and continue on my way.
Turning on the light when I get inside, the doppelganger turns towards me and I’m pushed out.
I’m spinning, the temperature remains the same as I try to steady myself somehow, all the time my eyes screwed shut.
I’m in the dark. My eyes are as wide as they can go, but I see nothing. I reach the nearest light switch and flick it on, but nothing happens. Black out. There’s no noise except my own breathing and I try to keep it as quiet as I can, half-breaths that leave my lungs needing more.
I swallow. Tracing my hands along the walls, I feel my way into the kitchen and open the drawer where the matches are. I light one and the kitchen is illuminated; light bounces off the pots hanging on the wall.
The match goes out, stings my fingers. I light another and a face lights up in front of me. I yelp, drop the match. I crouch low, back up against the bench.
They can’t touch you, I tell myself as I try not to hyperventilate. My heart beats hard.
With the moonlight, my eyes begin to adjust. There isn’t just one doppelganger in the kitchen, there are many. Too many to count. A room full of ghosts.
There’s nothing I can do, so I stand because I need that key. I can feel the doppelgangers’ warmth, whispering things I can’t understand and their voices are like the wind through the trees. I shiver. None try to touch me and none move out of my way. They force me to walk through them. My head passes through another’s and, for the tiniest moment, there are thoughts that aren’t mine. Too quick to get anything, only a sensation.
I shake my head and so does the one I moved through.
In the drawer, the key is easy enough to find. I snatch it up and the room is closer than before, more doppelgangers are here and near-opaque. They’re all turned to me, watching, and I swallow before beginning the walk back to the shed.
Should’ve taken the stupid box in with me, instead of leaving it in the shed. There’s no point in beating myself up, though; I don’t think there’s much time.
My hand’s on the door handle when I feel a tugging in my bones. Something’s trying to pull me out but I resist, try to drag my feet forward but it’s like I’ve been slowed down. I gasp at the effort and, when it’s too much, let myself be dragged away.
The cold is back. I wince at the touch but it’s everywhere, surrounding me in the dark and then everything returns.
I’m standing in front of the drawer. I get the key and run to the back door, like I did before with the book. The back door’s unlocked and I sprint to the shed, but I only take a few steps before I’m ripped out.
I try again, running to the shed, but something pushes me out.
This time, I’m ready. I run and my head throbs with the effort, but I make it to the shed. I take a few steps into the shed but the presence in my head is too much and I am ripped out.
I’m panting now, and I clutch my head with the hand that’s not holding the key. I fall to my knees in the middle of the shed and I can see so many pairs of feet around me. I don’t look at them; I blink my eyes and stand, manage to get my hands on the box.
My skull beats to my heartbeat and it’s hard to see. My hands are trembling as I try to fit the damn key in the box. I drop the key and one of the doppelgangers reaches for it. The key begins to move slowly and the doppelganger’s fingers are scrambling. I reach for the key and take it easily.
Shoving it in the box, the lid clicks open. There are a few sheets of paper inside. I grab them and then there’s … something. I don’t know what’s happening; two sets of hands are in front of me. I close my eyes but it makes me want to vomit; my head keeps swimming. I try to concentrate on something that isn’t moving: the floor, anything, but my head is turned without my control.
I open my mouth but the sound catches.
I don’t want to scream right now. The thought is overwhelming and keeps everything in my throat. I don’t know where it comes from.
I don’t need the key; the thought is everywhere. But if I get the key, I can stop everything. Of course I need the key.
There’s probably nothing in the notebook, scribblings that don’t mean anything. I take a deep breath, the throbbing in my head continues. The car crash, I could go back to the car crash. That’s the fixed point.
Then I know that isn’t me, because the crash has nothing to do with any of this. I stand up and sway. I can feel the papers in my hands, but my hands are also holding nothing. I look down and I have four hands, like in the shower. Two of everything and nothing is mine but everything is.
I bite my lip and don’t and try to wrench free from the other me.
‘Let go,’ two sets of my voice say. The doppelganger’s voice is full of anger. I get an arm free from its grip and grab the workbench. I slice my palm open on a bit of metal poking out but I don’t loosen my grip. My blood is warm and that is my anchor.
The doppelganger takes my other arm, the one holding the papers, and tries to keep it stuck to my side. I wrench that arm free and now I’ve got the workbench in both hands; the paper crushes beneath my fingers.
The doppelganger tries to plant something else in my head but I yank myself forward and the doppelganger is left where I was standing. I turn and catch its fuming face. I look down at its hands in fists. My vision blurs from tiredness and the constant throbbing, but I start to walk back to the house. I drag my feet, and I need sleep.
As I reach the back door, the tugging at my self makes me grit my teeth and I struggle on. I will not be pushed out.
Time slows and I can feel every single heartbeat with distinction as I walk through the lounge room like I’m under water. My head pounds and I clutch it with both hands, the paper crinkling; I fall to my knees and I feel the skin break on the brick floor.
As soon as I’m still, the pressure in my head gets worse. I crawl through the room and it gets harder to move at all. Minutes tick past and I barely move a centimetre … Something snaps and the pressure is gone. I collapse forwards, my face hits the floor in front of me and I breathe until my heart rate begins to slow down.
The doppelgangers surround me, looking on with their wide eyes and I stand up, dust myself off, and start walking up the stairs to my room. My whole body feels weak and there’s blood slugging down from my knees.
I lay the notebook on the carpet and sit in front of it, placing the decoder papers next to it.
It’s going to be a long night.
Holidaying
Damaris stands outside Adrastos’s building door. She walks in to find a new secretary, a young man. He smiles as he looks her up and down. Damaris rolls her eyes. ‘Adrastos in?’
‘Let me see …’ The man begins clicking away at the computer screen.
After a while, Damaris clicks her tongue. ‘Come on.’
He looks at her with contempt. ‘Yes. He’s currently in a meeting, will be for another hour or so. If you would like to wait I can make you a coffee or a tea?’
‘Thank you,’ Damaris says and she takes a seat. ‘Black coffee with no sugar. Strong.’
‘Coming right up.’
She picks up a magazine and pretends to flick through it until he leaves the room. She stands and walks down the corridor. With longer strides, the walk is much quicker than last time. She raps on the door with her knuckles.
‘It’s me.’
There are voices inside. They soon subside and then Adrastos’s voice rings out.
‘Come in.’
She turns the handle to find the room empty of people except for Adrastos himself.
‘Who were you talking to?’
‘Just some people.’<
br />
‘Right.’ Damaris closes the door behind her.
She sits, crosses her legs and folds out the creases in her pants. Adrastos begins pacing behind the desk.
‘I don’t like your new secretary,’ she says.
‘You never do.’ He’s grinning at her.
‘This one especially.’
‘He is pretty though, you must admit.’ He smiles, biting the tip of his tongue. He’s pretty too, when he wants to be.
‘I must nothing. I lost Ida, the proper one. I was halfway through explaining it to her when she looked at one of the doppelgangers. She can see them! She was switched out. The other selves are malicious. I’ve never seen one like the one I spoke to before.’
‘What did you end up telling her?’
‘The date that should contain the fixed point. She can figure it out.’
‘Right.’ Adrastos sits down. ‘She can figure it out.’
‘She should. She has enough information. And I don’t think I can find her again. Adding my switching in around hers won’t help. I couldn’t do it, everything was too slippery.’
Adrastos runs a hand through his hair. ‘So. You think she’ll be able to do this? Should I call it off?’
Damaris nods. ‘Yes. And even if we wanted to, we can’t get to her.’
He looks at her, unblinking for a few moments. ‘Okay.’ He nods. ‘Okay. I trust you.’
‘If the world ends tomorrow, you can blame it on me.’
He gives a small smile. ‘Much appreciated.’
‘I was also thinking we could recruit her.’
‘You think so?’
‘She’s adept at skipping universes. If we send her to another time period, she’ll be brilliant.’
This is why she’s so far from home, why Adrastos is. If they’re not where they should be, they don’t create doppelgangers. When they skip through past or future universes, it’s different than if they did it in their own time periods.