by Bella Street
Seffy dropped the paper and marched over to Trent. She grabbed his wrist, pushed up his shirt sleeve and stared at the inside of his arm. The pale morning light revealed shiny pink pitting and scars. “My God.” Breathing hard, she released his arm and backed away. “Why didn't you tell me?”
He stood up and shoved down his sleeve with defiance, his gaze angry. “Why would I? It was a long time ago.”
“How long?”
He sent her a mulish look. “Long enough.”
“What, weeks? Months? Days?”
“I'm telling you I'm clean!”
“In which reality?” she mocked.
He compressed his mouth, his face brick red.
Seffy suddenly remembered his sweaty, disheveled appearance in the desert when they first met. “You were hooked when I first saw you!”
“Seffy—”
She shook her head. “Admit it!”
The deepening flush on his face was answer enough.
“So what, are you and Fenn tag teaming on the whole thing? You supply him from the outside and he cuts you in?”
“It's not what you think!”
“What the hell has been going on there? Is that why you're always trying to find secret passages? So you can smuggle in dope?”
Trent crossed his arms. “Stop it, Sef.”
Suddenly realizing she was stuck in close quarters with a junkie, she edged toward the door.
Trent shoved a hand through his hair. “Okay, I admit that I was...under the influence when we first met, but I was at the tail end of treatment. If the blast hadn't happened, I would've finished with a certain amount of ease. But my treatment was interrupted and I had to finish the hard way.”
She took another step backward. “There's way more here you're not telling.”
Trent stared hard at her for a moment, then broke the connection, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
Seffy watched him as memories surfaced in her mind. His addiction explained so many things. “How long have you been back on?”
He faced her. “I'm not on, Sef. I told you I'm clean.”
She shook her head. “So you expect me to believe that with an apparently abundant supply at the compound, that you aren't using?”
His eyes glittered. “That's exactly right.”
Taking another step toward the door, she lifted her chin. “Excuse me if I don't believe you.”
Trent strode across the room and blocked the door. “You're not going anywhere.”
Seffy glanced at the door, then at Trent's implacable expression. “So, you're going to hold me hostage even though you're no longer on drugs.”
“Like I said, I'm clean. And I'm not letting you leave because things are getting weird and it's my job to protect you.”
“Says who?”
“Seffy, go sit down.”
Still shaken by her own recent demise, she went over and collapsed onto the bed and scrutinized her so-called protector. His eyes were clear, his color was good...as it admittedly had been for some time. Okay, so maybe heroin was in his rear-view mirror, but how long could he resist when the leader of the compound was always shooting up? Trent had money, he had access, and he had craving—even if it was past tense. “Is this why you're so intent on helping Fenn?”
His nostrils flared. “That's part of it. I was...mostly helped by the methadone program, so I think it could be useful for him.”
“A year's worth of the drug is way overkill, Trent. You will be as tempted as Fenn.”
“Bottom line, we need him on his feet if we're going to figure out what's going on at the compound.”
She closed her eyes briefly, knowing he'd skirted the issue. But revelations were coming too hard and too fast to think with any modicum of coherence.
Trent crossed the room and shocked her by kneeling at her feet and taking her hands in his. “Sef, I know I can't make you believe that I'm fully recovered. But it's the reason why I know the newspaper article is wrong.” He licked his lips, his eyes pulling at something deep within her. “I know I wouldn't have gone back to heroin like it says, girlfriend or not. And I won't, not ever again.”
“Does that mean you're not really dead either?” she said quietly.
He held her gaze for the space of several heartbeats. “Let's just do what we need to do and get back to our own time and place.”
Seffy was suddenly struck by the irony of their twisted circumstances. She was tempted to avoid him because of a past addiction while he had accepted her in the throes of her infection. She looked down at his hands covering her own. Veins criss-crossed his fingers and his grip was warm and strong. And yet she still didn't know what pathogens were swimming around in her own bloodstream. She owed him some trust. And she could keep an eye on him—make sure he got help if he slipped up.
Seffy returned his steady look, hoping he discerned her tacit acceptance of their situation. “So what do we do with the articles then? What do they mean? Is it a coincidence that this happened so close to our time here?”
Trent dropped her hands and stood. He began to pace. “All I know at this point is that we won't have to worry about running into ourselves. And it looks like I'll miss my own funeral.”
“What about the others?”
“You mean like Gareth?” he said sharply.
She nodded. “And the girls.”
“What do they have to do with anything?”
“We should go see them. Let them know we're actually okay.”
“We can't do anything to upset the time line.”
She jumped up. “Are you serious? We're already doing that just by being here!”
“Wouldn't your friends freak if they saw you alive? Especially if they thought they'd buried you?”
She made a face, knowing it would be traumatic for them to say the least. Then she pulled in a sharp breath. “I remember some girls staring at me last night, saying 'it couldn't be her' and stuff like that! They must've been referring to Parallel Seffy.”
“Maybe your hair threw them off.”
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “Will you get over my hair, please?”
His mouth quirked. “I can't. I had a chance to snuggle up with you last night and I couldn't run my fingers through it.”
Heat spread to her cheeks. “You are so weird.”
“Dead people have that luxury.”
Seffy shivered, wishing the momentary humor hadn't disappeared so quickly. “Ugh.”
“Well, I'm going to take a shower and figure out what to do next.”
She watched him grab some clothes from a bag he pulled out from under the bed. When he closed the bathroom door, Seffy went back to the window. For the time being, she was willing to accept that Trent had it together, addiction-wise. Aside from their early, disastrous interaction, he'd appeared healthy. For his sake, and hers, she hoped he was truly clean.
With that issue more or less dismissed, she was left with the idea that Gareth and the girls might be out there somewhere. She wondered if they'd be listed in the phone book, then decided against it. They weren't listed in the regular world since they all just used their cell phones instead of land lines.
A cell phone! Maybe if the security number at the clinic was the same, then their cell numbers could be too. How could she get to a phone? There might be one at the convenience store. But if she called and they recognized her voice, what then? No, she had to do this secretly. She needed Trent to make the call for her.
She just wanted a glimpse of them. That was all. Seffy shook her head, unable to believe that she was dead. That she'd had an agent and a job. What did parallel Seffy have that regular Seffy didn't? And why was it stolen away? Had the apocalyptic blast actually saved them both from certain fates? How much of a parallel were the two universes?
She wandered over to the bed and sat down, her mind spinning. At her feet, she noticed a bag of clothes. She realized Trent must've bought some when he was out this morning, though she didn't know what ki
nd of clothing store would be open that early. Deciding to check for stray methadone or needles—just in case—she reached down and grabbed it.
Seffy peeked in the bag and found it was empty aside from what appeared to be a card in a pink envelope. What in the world?
Seffy opened the envelope, which wasn't sealed. The front of the card had an adorable picture of a flat-faced Persian kitten, its little ears slightly bent. She smiled at the image. When she opened the card, her smile faded. Printed in pink curlicue script were the words I Love You. Blood rushed to her face as she pressed her fingers to her lips.
Suddenly she heard the rattle of the bathroom doorknob. She looked up in a daze when Trent came out of the bathroom, his hair damp and tousled. She watched his gaze flick to the card, watched as his face darkened.
He planted his hands on his hips. “Uh, yeah, you weren't supposed to see that...yet.”
Seffy looked down at the card and didn't have a clue what to say. He'd told her he'd loved her before, but she thought he was being his usual manipulating self. This was...too bizarre to handle. Especially today. There'd been too many upsets as it was.
Trent cleared his throat. “You probably don't remember, but...”
Seffy flipped it over and saw the company logo. Hallmark. She bit her bottom lip, struggling for something to say. “I remember.” She didn't know if this was yet another angle he was trying with her. They had some seriously murky water under the bridge already. How could she ever trust him enough to believe anything he said?
He cleared his throat. “Do you at least like the kitten?”
Seffy nodded, unable to meet his eyes.
Trent walked over and slowly slid the card from her fingers. “Let's pretend this didn't happen today, okay?”
Seffy peeked at him. The morning light on his face showed lines of strain around his eyes and mouth.
He stood up and put the card back in the bag. “So back to the matter at hand.”
Swallowing hard, she looked up at him.
“Do you still want to see if we can find your friends?”
Surprised by his acquiescence, she nodded. “Not to reveal myself, but to find out if they're here. I...thought I could try their cell numbers from a pay phone, or you could call, so they don't recognize my voice.”
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his Levis. “That's one idea. But what are you hoping to gain by knowing they're here?”
“I guess just to make sure they're okay?”
“Where did Gareth work?”
“At the Gap.”
“And the girls?”
“Lani works at a spa and Addison at Gold's Gym.”
“Since they don't know me, we could go by each place and make sure they're okay. How does that sound?”
She clasped her hands together. “Good.”
“Who would you like to start with?”
Seffy paused, knowing he wouldn't like her response. “Gareth.”
His mouth tightened slightly. “Okay, let's go. Maybe we can find out something helpful before we have to go back to the rendezvous point.”
She stood up, hoping her calm expression belied the pounding of her heart. Could Gareth be here in Alternate-land? As she followed Trent out the door and down the stairs, she tried to sort out her muddled emotions. Death, heroin, unrequited affection...it was a lot for a time travel girl stuck in the wrong universe and all.
Outside, the sun shone and all the colors were bright. It made Seffy wistful for the old days when trouble was being late for work or over-extending her credit card. As Trent hailed a cab, she scratched her nose and looked at him. “Hey, thanks for getting the bread and stuff. It really helped.”
He glanced at her as a cab pulled up. “Sure. I needed to make sure you were coherent this morning.”
They got into the cab. Trent told the driver to head to the Gap.
So, how to make chit chat after everything that's happened? “You mentioned you expected something to be in the paper today?”
He leaned his head back on the seat, his mien weary. “You don't remember anything?”
“I remember those girls I mentioned. And dancing with a guy who turned out to be not so hot on me.”
“Ouch,” he said, suddenly grinning.
“Exactly. And I woke up this morning with a hole in the knee of my brand new tracksuit.”
“That's much worse.”
“Definitely.”
He tilted his head toward her. “So you don't remember the part where you were screaming at the top of your lungs and then a guy with a shotgun shooting up the club?”
Seffy's eyes widened. “Are you joking?”
“Nope.”
She thought hard.
“You started screaming after you danced with your little friend. Was it because you found out he wasn't in lurve with you?”
Seffy furrowed her brows. Something hovered at the edge of her consciousness. Something icky. “There was a man. I recognized him.” Her gaze flew to Trent's. “Oh, God, I remember. It was Popov and his head was half blown off.”
He regarded her for a moment with obvious disbelief. “Popov.”
“Yes.
“Did he say anything?”
“No, he just stared at me. God, it's better when I block this stuff out. I don't want to remember him or Clay anymore.”
“What about Clay?”
“Well, he came to me, too. But we actually talked.”
“When?”
“The morning that I went to be hurtled into time and space from the computer lab.”
“Was that who you were talking to when I came in the room?”
She nodded, getting the creepy crawlies from the memory.
“What did he say?”
“He said that if I went back to the future, Gareth...would want to be with me again.”
Trent sighed. “So is that why you decided to do it?”
“Partly.” She looked out the window at the passing cityscape. “That and I thought a little trip to oblivion would be a nice distraction from the crazies. Plus if I helped Fenn, then, you know, I could earn my keep.”
“Such altruism.”
“I know, right?”
He snorted. “Seriously, we have to figure out why you keep having these weird visions. I don't think we can blame drugs anymore.”
“Maybe I'm just crack'd.” Verity had implied she was broken the last time they'd talked—right before the blast. Maybe it was truth and not just bitchery.
Trent smiled bitterly and looked out his own window. Soon the cab pulled up outside the mall. They got out and headed down the pedestrian path lined with potted trees and twinkle lights toward the Gap. Her heart began to pound. He could be here, anywhere. What if he saw her? What if she saw him?
“It should be you who goes in, right?” she said, plucking at the folds of her hoodie. “Just get a peek to see if he exists here.”
“I guess,” Trent said, obviously regretting his part in the plan.
Seffy scrutinized his outfit. He wore a dark blue tee over a white long-sleeved shirt, which went well with his jeans and Vans. But he required one more thing. “Sunglasses. C'mon, there's a Pacific Sunwear shop here. You're dead, too, and don't want to be recognized.”
“Do you think anyone even knows I'm dead yet?”
“Didn't the article say a friend talked to the police?”
“Yeah, I wonder who it was. Something else I wonder is about the whole heroin thing. I mean it when I say it wouldn't have happened. And still having a needle in my arm? That's Hollywood, not reality.”
Seffy shuddered, wincing at the imagined scene in her head. “We're in Hollywood. Anyway, it's just too awful to think about.”
Trent touched her shoulder. “Listen, even when I was addicted, I didn't go crawling behind dumpsters or back alleys. I used pure stuff, and not always with needles. It was a secret. Most people didn't even know I had a problem.”
“So you were a high class junkie instead of a white t
rash one. That's something.”
His lean cheeks reddened.
Seffy looked away. “Well, I never really got an acting gig, so maybe we should rethink the whole parallel universe thing anyway. It's more trapezoid, if you ask me.”
He sighed. “Here's the sunglasses place. You should get some too, you know.”
They entered the store. Trent tried on a few pairs, which Seffy dissed. She picked a red-tinted pair of aviators off a silver mannequin head for him. They perfectly fit his look and personality. Then he insisted on picking out a pair for her.
She looked in the little rectangle mirror on the display stand and scrunched her nose. “These make me look like one of the Olsen twins with their bug-eyed sunglasses.”
“That's the point—to make you unrecognizable. That and your hair should be enough.”
“Why do you get to look cool?”
“Sorry, babe, that just can't be helped.”
She snorted and followed him to the Gap after they paid for the glasses. Seffy waited outside the store as he went in, watching all the shoppers go by laden with shopping bags. She let out a jealous sigh. Oh to be carefree and on the hunt for the perfect outfit. Flirt with cute boys. Find new shoes to go into debt over. Bliss.
“Not here.”
Seffy jumped at the sound of Trent's voice. “You're back already?”
“When I didn't see him, I asked and the sales girl said he had the day off.”
“Well, crap.”
“Who's next?”
“Lani. She had a regular schedule at the spa unlike Addison who worked weird hours at the gym.”
“Okay, Lani it is.”
They grabbed another cab and headed toward Santa Monica Boulevard. Trent told the driver to park in the back of the building.
Seffy grabbed Trent's arm as they pulled up to the building. “That's Lani's car. Or it was in the Old Country.”
He paid the driver and they got out. Seffy approached the beat-up Suburu and peered in the window. Some mail was spread out on the passenger seat. “If this is her car, then she lives in Elysian Heights, not far from our other house.”