Twin Spirit

by Matthew Thompson

  “My father would have liked to have seen this. Now… there’s somebody waiting for our splendid presence this very moment.”

  “Mother?” said Rose, beaming.

  “No… Isabella.”

  “But you said –”

  “I know, I know. However, this is important.”

  Lily’s jaw dropped, while Rose’s face fell.

  “But, so is finding your mother,” he added with urgency. “One visit, that’s all. Isabella must know that I, Stanley Hopkins, invented a teleporter with no restrictions. We can traverse the spirit world, branching out our very own network for interplanetary travel, and beyond!”

  Stanley took hold of the lever and gave it a pull. Another flash and they were back in Sector TU-939 at their precise co-ordinate of departure. He brandished his timekeeper and flipped the lid, revealing an image of beauty. “Isabella… here I come.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Pledging Love

  The fiery sun replacement was sunk halfway below the horizon of TU-939, casting a red tinge over the Italian sector. The twins and Stanley drifted on autopilot in Bella Air above the lakes, towns and villas.

  “Not long now, sis,” she said, admiring the feats of ingenuity from the vessel’s edge. “Maybe we should get some flowers, you know, for Mum. We could ask Stanley for some chocolates – do you think she likes chocolates? Lily… you listening?”

  “I don’t know,” she snapped. “I don’t know what chocolate tastes like, or what flowers smell like. I don’t know Mum.”

  Rose looked to her side. “Sure, but –”

  “I just want this to end. The sooner I’m free, the better.”

  “I understand, sis. I just –”

  “No, you don’t. You never will.”

  Rose collected her sorrowful thoughts. “Fine,” she said, and remained quiet, not giving away her teary eyes.

  * * *

  Seated in his most treasured rocking chair within the living quarters, Stanley cheerfully whistled, polishing a glass lens with warm breath and silk cloth. The invention, christened Tommy Transformo, was named after the Thompson sub-machine gun, as the device also featured a large circular drum. However, bullets were not included.

  He took hold of the smudge-free lens by the edge and slid the glass onto the end of the barrel; imperative that such a lens be spotless, or the consequences could be troublesome.

  A sound emitted, a short beep, causing Stanley to rise from his chair and activated a screen mounted on the wall. Text read: Incoming – 5598 – NY-334. White hair emerged on screen, along with a crinkly forehead.

  “Greetings, Pei, how are you?” asked Stanley.

  “Ahh… there you are,” said Pei, framing himself into shot. “The girls arrive, yes?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Ha-ha, you go find Mother, yes?”

  “On our way. How are the tests coming along? Have you found the reversal codes yet?”

  “Only two days! Not ready yet,” snapped Pei, glancing to his side in horror. “No chewing wires, Dribble Holy!”

  Stanley winced, observing Pei remove the bunny from the spaghetti of dangling cables. “When you have something, let me know. I accidentally transformed my umbrella into a mop.”

  “There, you safe now,” said Pei, facing the screen with the rabbit in his arms. “Ha-ha, silly Stanley, you’re too careless. You’ll transform yourself someday.”

  “Speak soon, Pei. And I want results.”

  “Yes, yes, and you tell the result of twins!”

  “If you insist…”

  “Say bye bye, Dribble Holly, bye bye,” said Pei, waving the bunny’s drenched paw.

  Stanley switched off the screen and raised an eyebrow, observing the Tommy Transformo.

  * * *

  Rose watched Stanley pacing to and fro on deck, brandishing an object that closely resembled a bazooka. At the vessel’s edge, he proceeded to aim at a bird, posed in a hunter’s position, ready to fire his weapon at innocents in flight.

  “Stanley!” cried Rose.

  Before her voice could be acknowledged, he had pulled the trigger. The sound was barely heard.

  “Oh, forgive me, Rose, it’s not as it seems,” said Stanley, turning to face the twins as the bird continued its solo voyage.

  “What is it?” asked Rose, stepping closer, while Lily took little interest, humming to herself.

  “Take a guess.” He leaned forward. “Here, feel the weight.”

  Rose took hold of the device. It sank in her arms. “Some kind of weapon? No, a miniaturiser?”

  Lily twisted her neck and glanced over Rose’s shoulder. “A peeping-tom telescope for what’s-her-face.”

  “No… but I like your idea. I’ll store that one for –” Stanley lifted his top hat and scratched his head. “Hmm, erase that. Well, good efforts; your imaginations are in good shape. However, it’s better than all those. Allow me to demonstrate.”

  He entered the kitchen, rummaged through a cupboard and brought out an egg. On deck, he aimed the Tommy Transformo at the egg shell and squeezed the trigger. A red beam hit the surface, fusing over it. He then searched a net hung on the vessel’s edge. He took out a golf club and a golf ball, along with a tee. Aiming the device at the ball, he pressed down on the trigger, calibrated the settings and then shot it again. The tee was set down on deck and he carefully positioned the egg on top. Finally he recalibrated and shot the egg with his baffling bazooka.

  “Now watch closely,” said Stanley. He loosened his grip and shuffled his feet, eyeing the egg, then drew back the club. He held the pose for a second before swinging through and tinged the egg off deck, following the strike through like a pro. “Fore!” he shouted, observing the egg launch into the distance and disappear amongst treetops.

  “You turned an egg into a golf ball,” said Lily.

  “And…” uttered Stanley, taking the golf ball into his clenched fist. He tossed it into air and caught it, then drew back his arm, as a pitcher would prepare to ball out a batter, and threw it directly at Rose’s head. She grimaced, waiting for the pain to strike, but the ball shattered into fragments, its contents oozing down Rose’s face and dripping onto her wellies.

  Lily didn’t see the impact, though she heard it and imagined what had happened. “Egg on your face! Egg on your face!” she cried in fits of laughter.

  “That’s not funny, Stanley,” said Rose, withholding a smile.

  “Sorry, but you wanted to know,” he said, handing Rose a hanky. “It’s still a prototype, capable of interchanging properties. I’ve just started to gather biological material. Brunel’s DNA is stored. I shot a rat the other day at the yard. Vile things. Maybe I’ll turned the next one into an egg.”

  “Can we transform?” asked Lily.

  “Why, that would be far too dangerous. Though, perhaps…” he said, appearing to know more than he was willing to share.

  * * *

  Bella Air coasted over crops, hills and descended towards a quaint village, twenty-two kilometres adrift of Anton’s Riviera retreat. They landed amid a sleepy, moonlit landscape.

  Inside the living quarters, the twins watched their pilot brandish a key and stand in front of a painting hung on the wall. The picture featured a clutter of stacked money safes. He inserted the key into one of them, opening the entire painting. He then reached inside, taking a handful of silver tokens, before locking the secretive safe.

  Stanley then shimmered towards a wicker basket, where he reached for a green bottle and gave himself multiple squirts, similar to the smell of polish, which invaded Rose’s nostrils.

  Radiating with pride, he stood admiring his mirrored self. He wet the tips of his thumb and finger, twanging his moustache ends into a flourishing curl. He then combed back his sleek, monochrome hair, before donning his pristine top hat, slanted at ten degrees. “How do I look, girls?” he asked, polishing his medals to a sparkle.

  “Handsome,” said Rose, a sharp tingle of fragrance at the back of her throat.
“She’ll be putty in your (cough) hands,” she added, a phrase her father used when he spoke of dating her mother.

  Lily made a sound. She was looking for trouble.

  Stanley gave his eyebrow a lift. “Lily… I know you have a comment to make. So spit it out.”

  She glanced in his direction. “Your boots are too pointy, your hair is too long, you’re far too skinny. Oh, and from Rose’s reaction, you stink.”

  Stanley took a step towards her. “Well, if I need another judgement call, I know who not to ask,” he said, and gave his top hat a tug. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Stanley and the twins wandered through the stone built streets of a town situated within Tuscan-inspired hills. Some inhabitants caught a glimpse and stopped in their tracks, unable to divert their eyes, whereas others made their way indoors.

  The three climbed up narrow cobbled paths, sheltered by three-storey stone buildings. Each home was lavished with lush flowers, with the occasional glimpse of postcard vistas beyond.

  Stanley moved as if listening to music. What kind of tunes, Rose hadn’t a clue, though his feet and hips were full of rhythm.

  He stopped to lean against a lamppost. “See the house with the terracotta window frames?” he said, giddy with excitement. “That’s where she lives.” He took a deep breath. “C’mon, let me introduce you both.”

  He dashed ahead, racing up a dozen steps to arrive at Isabella’s front door. Rose followed closely behind and was intrigued by the small front garden filled with cacti and blossoming petals.

  He paused before knocking, then peeked through a window. A large bouquet of orchids lay on the kitchen table, and there was no sign of anyone. He gave a sinister gaze, irritated at something. “Nonsense,” he said, and began to climb the wall lattice, clinging onto the ivory that covered her home like a green gown.

  “Careful,” whispered Rose, watching Stanley ‘Action Man’ Hopkins back on mission. “See anything?”

  He didn’t reply, but peered through the window. His expression told of horror. Within a blink of an eye, his grip loosened and he fell from the window. Rose could only watch as he plummeted to the ground. As did Lily, having forgot her ability.

  Thud!

  With legs reaching for the sky, Stanley squirmed within a flattened, spiky Golden Ball cactus. His squeal could have woken the mice deep in the burrows of the nearby meadows.

  The bedroom window opened. “Stanley, what are you doing here? You spying on me?” said the woman in her Italian accent.

  “Ah! I was just, well… Ah!” he babbled, clambering from his landing pad in considerable discomfort. “I had to see you, right away! I finished it. It works.”

  “Oh, Stanley…” she said with compassion.

  He stood as if he had been brutally attacked by a porcupine. Lily took her opportunity to help him by plucking out the spikes from a distance. “We can travel alllll over the world, just like weeee dreamt of.”

  “Stanley…” she said softly. “I never wanted you to find out this way. I’ve met someone. I love him very much, and he loves me,” she said, sounding confident and meaning every word.

  “You can’t,” said Stanley, “He’s… he’s… who the hell is he?”

  She continued in her unflustered tone. “He’s gentle, kind, honest, and comes without any boyish, egotistic competitiveness to get in the way.”

  Stanley’s arms flunked by his side. He stood motionless. “But… everything we’ve been through, just gone, like that?”

  “No, Stanley. What we had was special. I’ll never, ever forget that. Only now I’ve –”

  “Please…”

  “I’ve moved on. I’m so sorry, it’s for the best. You’ll understand, in time.”

  His head followed his slumped arms. He looked up at her once more, opening his mouth to speak, but the window closed, followed by the curtains.

  “Sorry to hear that, Stanley,” said Rose.

  “What’s that phrase?” said Lily. “Oh I know: there’s plenty more fish in the sea!”

  Stanley said nothing and walked back the way they came, dragging every step, while Lily plucked out the cactus spikes.

  * * *

  Returned to Bella Air, the twins witnessed a hollow man. Stanley didn’t whisper a word, though he failed to withhold his grief. Without hesitation, he reached for his healing potion.

  Rose shook her head in disapproval. “I know it’s not the best of times. But we can’t have a drunken pilot tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, pull yourself together,” said Lily.

  “Go to bed, you’ll feel better in the morning,” insisted Rose, which was something her father would say to her whenever she was upset.

  She pulled him away from the liquor stash, and led him to his cabin. He sat on his bed, po-faced, staring at the wall.

  “Goodnight, Stanley,” said Rose. “See you in the morning, for our big day. And thank you, for everything.”

  “Niiiighht, Stttaaanley,” yawned Lily.

  “Night…” said the broken man, barley waving a finger.

  Rose closed the door and turned off all the oil lamps throughout Bella Air. She then entered her cabin and slumped onto the bed, remembering to lie on her side for Lily’s sake. With the compass held close to her face, she stared at her mother’s portrait. The arrow twitched a millimetre.

  “Lily,” said Rose.

  “Huh?”

  “What do you think Mum will say when we meet her?”

  She didn’t reply at first, then she spoke in a drained voice. “I guess she’ll be happy to see us.”

  “I think it will be the greatest day of my life.” She lowered her eyelids, imagining the first glimpse of green eyes, and envisioned her mother’s elated expression, overcome with joy, just like Stanley mere moments ago. “It’s really sad that Isabella doesn’t want to be with Stanley. He’s a good man, with a good heart. He deserves better.” Rose lifted her head from the pillow. “Lily… you awake?”

  No reply.

  “Night, sis,” she added, closing her eyes, ready to dream.

  * * *

  Rose woke to a sound. She strained to open her eyes and saw light coming from outside the cabin. Sounds of a melody played; the kind of song someone with a broken heart might listen to.

  “Lily…” said Rose, forcing herself up and glancing behind. “Sis… I’m getting up.”

  “Go to sleep…” she mumbled, ignoring the song.

  “It’s Stanley, we should check on him,” she said, placing her feet onto the chilled floor and made her exit.

  Half asleep, Rose made her way towards the sound of music. The slow tempo of ‘Pledging My Love’ played, accompanied by a faint hiss and crackle.

  She stepped down and into the living quarters to see Stanley seated in his beloved rocking chair, which was repositioned in the centre of the room. He faced away from her, arms wafting from both sides of the chair, as if conducting the song. One hand held a bottle, and the other a glass, half full of golden liquor. However, what caught Rose’s attention was the contraption placed upon his head. Steel arms rotated around his face, with pictures on display at the end of each one.

  “Stanley… Stanley,” said Rose, standing in front of the drunken captain. “You’ll be in no fit state to pilot. Listen to me, Stanley, listen.” She snatched the bottle from his grasp.

  “Hey, Rosie… look what I made,” he slurred, indicating to the rotating helmet. Six photos of Isabella spun clockwise. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

  “I don’t think she cares,” said Rose, bluntly.

  The song came to an end.

  “Again, Brunel!” ordered Stanley.

  “Pheeeew! Again! Again!” screeched Brunel, perched on the record player’s arm. He flapped his wings and lifted the needle off the vinyl, then plonked it back down at the start of the song.

  Rose sank her head into her hands. “I trusted you. I believed you could help us.” She gave him a look of disappointment. “Now look at you, you�
�re pathetic. You don’t deserve her.”

  Her words were heard. Rose knew from his change of expression.

  “I’m sorry, Rose. I’m not myself. I’m lost… like never before.”

  She took the glass from his hand and placed in down with the bottle. She then held out the compass and said, “Stanley, you’re better than this. So for me, Lily, and our mother, please stop drinking. We’re all counting on you.”

  He twitched his moustache and looked directly at her. “You… and Lily are the best thing to happen to me,” he garbled. “I’ll not let any of you down,” he added with sincerity.

  “Thank you. That means everything,” said Rose, then leaned forward and gave him a hug.

  “Sis…” mumbled Lily, “don’t go there… go back,” she continued, head drooped, lost in Lily land.

  “Let’s go,” said Rose. “Brunel, turn it off, please.” She took hold of his mechanical hat and put it on the floor, then pulled Stanley up to his staggering feet.

  Brunel placed a foot onto the on/off switch and gave it a push.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Amnesh drunk! Amnesh drunk! Oh boy!”

  Rose and Stanley weaved towards his cabin, colliding with furniture along the way.

  “I’ll feel better in the worning, don’t you morry."

  Rose knew from her father’s experience with alcohol that feeling better in the morning wasn’t likely. But she nodded anyway.

  "I shall pilot Bel– Bella… Oh, Bella,” said Stanley, leaning on the cabin doorframe for support. He slumped onto the bed as his head hit the pillow like a brick down a well. Rose gently closed his door and turned off all the lights – again.

  “Night, Brunel,” she whispered.

  “Pheeeww! Nighty night!”

  Rose returned to her bed. Within seconds of her head reaching the pillow, she finally resumed her dreaming.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Reunion

  Within the darkened cabin, Rose witnessed a slice of sunlight, revealing specks of dust in the air. And she was instantly aware of her jeopardy: pressure on her waist, her hands fixed, feet too, pinned together without an inch to move apart. She lifted her head to seek answers.