Some Laneys Died: A Skipping Sideways Thriller

by Brooke Skipstone

  I listen to leaves and sticks crunch as Caden runs away.

  I’m in the park inside the blind during the day. How? When?

  I think back to my encounter with Caden yesterday during lunch. He was about to take a step toward me when Gibbs called. I answered. He stepped back and put something behind his back. Maybe that tube. I took a chance and ran past him. He could’ve hit me with the tube, but didn’t. I could’ve hesitated and not run.

  I think I’m in this blind because another version of me didn’t make a split-second decision to escape.

  How long have I been here? My shoulders throb in pain, as does my pubis. He’s used his torture routine on me several times.

  I hear footsteps stumbling back toward the blind. Then a fall into the leaves with a grunt. The zipper opens slowly with several stops. Light flows into the blind. Something is clumsily pulled over my head. Just before darkness covers my eyes, I feel a splash of liquid on my breast and glance at the blood.

  He’s bleeding and in pain.

  Panting heavily, I hear him drag something toward me—the backpack? Zippers open, something is removed and torn open. I hear liquid dripping onto the floor as he stifles a scream. Then tape being unwound.

  He’s bandaging a wound. Did he fall? Did someone attack him?

  Should I try to speak? But I realize this is not happening to me now, that events which already occurred have leaked into my mind from another Laney. I can only watch and listen.

  Muffled words emerge slowly through the tape. “My friend on the phone called the police. You’re hurt. Let me go before . . .”

  The side of my face explodes in pain as he slaps me. My chair begins to fall over, but the rope tightens and snaps my neck toward the ceiling. I’m choking. I can’t right myself. Panic boils in my throat. I gag, trying desperately to suck in air . . .

  * * *

  I’m jolted awake by a flash of light. I jerk upright, gulping air. My bedroom light has snapped on. I’m next to Gibbs, who still sleeps. The whole house seems to hum. The power outage is over. I almost call her name but decide to let her sleep.

  I think back to my other self, choking in the blind. Did I survive? Was anyone looking for me?

  Maybe Bailee?

  Why am I in the blind when Bailee is the missing girl?

  If Caden had captured me Wednesday during lunch, he would’ve tortured me for hours before . . . who injured him? I saw Bailee leave Cabela’s at about 4:30. She was reported missing the next day, Thursday, about noon. If she had gone to the park soon after leaving the store, she could’ve been somewhere near the trail or the blind by 5:30.

  Who reported her missing?

  Then I remember I’d felt an urge to drive to the park when I passed the intersection, which was at about the same time—5:30 or 6:00. I wanted to find Caden and hurt him, but I drove home. Another version of me made the turn.

  Is one version of me trying to rescue another version? Is Bailee after him too? My brain hurts.

  I hear the generator running outside when it’s no longer needed. My phone says it’s 9:30 am, local time.

  I slide out of the bed and turn off the light. However, most other lights in the house are on. I grab my jacket, stomp into my boots then open the outside door. The sky is clear and dark, full of bright stars. The moon shines like a white sun, forcing the trees, plump with snow, to cast dark shadows across the thick, white powder. I don’t need a flashlight to find the on/off switch on the generator. The rumbling noise coughs and dies. A distant generator still purrs for a few seconds then stops.

  The world is now entirely silent. Cold. Still.

  I notice Dad’s truck is gone.

  I pull out the cord plugs from the generator and bring them back inside. After a few minutes, I’ve reconnected all the original plugs then coil up the extension cords by the door. All the lights are off in the house except for the kitchen where I sit and think about what I’ve just done. I’m kind of proud of myself.

  A note from Dad sits on the table under a salt-shaker. Good job setting up the generator, guys. And thanks for letting me sleep. If you’re still sleeping when I come for lunch, that’s OK. The fire should be good until I get back.

  I check my phone for messages. Nothing. But I do see Bailee’s photo I sent to Gibbs. We look so much alike. I remember what Gibbs said about the surviving twin, that she feels the loss forever. Or another way to look at it is she feels the need for a sibling forever. Like I’ve always wanted a sister.

  Did I have a vanishing twin?

  I send a text to Mom. Everything is OK here. I decide to say nothing about the wreck on the highway, the blinding snow, or the power outage. It’s still dark, but the moon is very bright. Outside is beautiful. I need to justify the question I want to ask without mentioning Gibbs or Bailee. How? Then I think of it. I had a strange dream on the plane, so I have a question for you. Was I a twin? Obviously, you didn’t have twins, but is there any chance you were pregnant with twins at the beginning?

  I stare at the phone, waiting for an answer.

  I go back to Bailee’s picture. Where is she? Then I remember I asked Gus to check the park. How do I contact him? I certainly don’t have his number. The school prohibits texting between teachers and individual students.

  I decide to contact Garrett. Can you please do something for me? I asked Gus to do me a favor yesterday, but I have no way of contacting him. I’m in Alaska. Can you ask him a question for me?

  Within a minute, Garrett replies. Gus isn’t at school. Mr. Lewis was at the gate this morning. Said he can’t remember a day when Gus didn’t show up.

  Suddenly, the house is freezing. I can’t stop shivering. Surely, Gus is just sick or . . . But I can’t think of any other possibility than he’s in trouble because I sent him to the trail.

  I text back. If you hear anything or see him, please let me know. Thanks.

  Sure. Then he adds a smiley face emoji. What the hell is that for?

  My brain won’t work. I go back to my room and climb into bed. Gibbs snores softly on her back. I snuggle up to her and try to stop shaking. My hand finds her baby bump, and I press gently until her warmth calms the demons in my mind.

  24

  “If you don’t get out of bed, you’ll miss all the light on your first day. And our Dutch Baby just came out of the oven.”

  I try to open my eyes, but I can’t lift my lids. My mouth is parched and open. The mattress sinks next to me as Gibbs sits down and touches my face. “I wish I’d known you all these years. So many things could’ve been different.”

  I stretch my legs and turn onto my back. A sweet smell of pancake and vanilla fills my nose. “Mmmm. That smells good.”

  “Dark brown, thick, and puffy, filled with blueberries and strawberries and syrup. You’ll love it.”

  My eyes open, and I see her smiling. “You’re going to feel jet lag all day,” she says. “Maybe you should take a nap after we go riding.”

  I sit up and close my mouth, trying to find some moisture inside. “Riding? Where? How?”

  “On a snow machine. After we eat.” Gibbs stands. “There’s coffee on your dresser. You like powdered sugar?”

  “Not in coffee.”

  She grimaces. “On your pancake, silly.”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. I’m setting plates on the table, so don’t be long.” She leaves.

  I stand and stretch, drink some coffee then check my phone. Dad has sent me a long note.

  Your mother called me this morning, pissing mad, asking me why I said anything to you about your twin. She said you sent a note about having a dream, which she thought was a lie. I never told Gibbs anything about Hannah being pregnant with twins, and I know I never said anything to you about it. So how did you know?

  I hit Dad’s phone number and listen to the rings. After several, he answers. “Did you just wake up?”

  “Yes. What time is it?”

  “One o’clock. You both weren’t moving when I left the h
ouse after lunch.”

  “Tell me about my twin,” I bark.

  “How did you know?”

  “Never mind. What happened to my sister?”

  He sighs. “Hannah had some bleeding around twelve weeks, so she went to the doctor. She did a sonogram and found two fetuses. One was smaller than the other. Hannah had it removed.”

  The back of my head throbs. “Why?”

  “Because the doctor told her the size difference might endanger the other fetus.”

  “Did you hear that, or is that what Mom told you?” My lips tighten, and I feel anger flooding into my chest.

  “Why does that matter now?”

  “Because Gibbs was pregnant with twins when she had her abortion. Yet both Gibbs and I have seen only one daughter—Bailee. Gibbs had a vanishing twin, and so did Mom, except she chose to remove it.”

  Gibbs calls from the kitchen. “Laney. Come on. Let’s eat.”

  “Why did Mom not want me to know?”

  “I guess because she thought you’d blame her.”

  “Did you agree with her decision?”

  “No, but she didn’t want to have twins.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she and her brother were twins. She said it was too hard on her parents, but I think she didn’t want you to experience what she did.”

  “Laney!” yells Gibbs.

  I’m about to explode. “Was she trying to protect me or herself?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe both.”

  “I’ve got to go. Gibbs has lunch ready.” I end the call and stare into the mirror. Was I really bigger, or was my twin simply unlucky? Another version of Hannah didn’t remove her. Was the girl I met walking out of my house another version of me, or my twin?

  Or maybe the doctor in another universe chose to remove me instead, leaving Eddie’s future lover intact.

  Too much to ponder, but the ache of a lost sister squeezes my heart.

  Gibbs comes to my door. “What’s wrong?”

  “Mom aborted my twin. I wonder if all our lives, Bailee and I have been trying to find each other. A week ago today, I saw a story on the local news that the remains of two girls had been found in Onion Creek. A few days after that, they reported the girls were twins. The police couldn’t find any missing person reports to connect them. No one knows who they were or why they died.”

  Gibbs’ eyes turn red and moist. “Could they have been the twins who were never born?”

  “I think they were Bailee and me.”

  “How?”

  “What’s the last thing I told you before I fell asleep?”

  “Going out with a boy to watch meteors.”

  Shit! I realize I haven’t called about Gus. “I need to call someone.”

  “Do it in the kitchen so we can eat something.”

  She guides me to the table where I find a beautiful puffy pancake in a skillet filled with fruit and sugar. I sit down while she cuts a wedge of the treat and slides it on my plate. She does the same for herself. I start to punch in numbers, but she stops me.

  “Eat two bites before you call. Please.”

  I take a bite, and it’s delicious. My stomach groans for food. I’m starving. Within a few minutes, I’ve dragged the last bite of pancake through smears of maple syrup and shoved it into my mouth.

  Gibbs hands me a glass of orange juice. “Drink some then call.”

  After I drain the glass, I call the main office of my school. Ms. Chase answers. “Hello, this is Delaney West. I need to contact Gus. Can you send him a message for me?”

  “Hello, Delaney. It’s possible, but we haven’t heard from him.”

  “Before I left school yesterday, I asked him to check out a trail in Falls Park because I had a hunch about the missing girl.”

  “What missing girl?”

  I tell her what I told Gus and ask her to call the police. I also give her my phone number and ask her to share it with Gus if she hears from him. “Somebody needs to check that area. I’m afraid Gus is hurt.”

  Gus would never neglect to call the school about missing work. He must be in trouble—or worse. I check the Amber Alert message and hit the phone number. “Is the alert still active?”

  “Yes.”

  I tell her what I know and ask her to contact me if Bailee is found.

  Gibbs has put another pancake wedge onto my plate. “Eat this then we’ll go riding. It’s going to be dark soon.”

  I try to focus on Gibbs and praise her for the food, but my mind fills with worries about Gus and Bailee and the two dead girls. We eat until nothing is left except some crust stuck to the skillet. I stand, pick up my plate, and start toward the sink.

  “Just leave them, Laney. We’ll clean up when we get back. Go dress. Do you have long underwear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Put them on. Dress as warm as you can. Be ready in five.”

  “OK.” I hurry back to my room and find my clothes. As I pull on my thermals, I think about the bones of the two girls found at the same time and same place. How? Were we ever in the same universe? If I’d accepted Caden’s help in finding Dad three years ago, he could’ve assaulted me. Perhaps even killed me, but how would Bailee’s body be with mine?

  I pull on my snow pants and tie my boots. Then I remember the vision of me listening outside a tent while a girl groaned. That could’ve been Bailee. Was I really there, or just skipping in my mind?

  I zip up my jacket and grab my mittens. A snow machine starts outside. Through my window, I see Gibbs place her knee on the seat, her other foot on the metal rail, and look over her shoulder as she backs the machine through clouds of exhaust until she’s closer to the side door. The headlight beam reveals swirls of smoke, turning to ice dust.

  The smell of gasoline and oil wrinkles my nose and tightens my chest as I close the door and walk toward her. She hands me a facemask and a helmet.

  “Put these on. They should fit.”

  The noise dampens slightly as I pull the helmet onto my head.

  “Sit behind me and hold my waist. I like to drive fast.”

  As soon as my hands touch her sides, she takes off with a lurch, forcing me to wrap my arms around her. She races down the driveway toward an orange glow barely above the horizon, the bright moon directly above us. The motor rips louder as she accelerates, reaching a higher pitch until she slows at the intersection, turns right, then thumbs the throttle again as we move around a corner. She slows and turns her front skis toward a trail through the trees.

  “Hang on. This is the fun part.”

  I grab her waist tighter, and she rips along the powder white path where limbs hang heavy with snow just above our heads. I’m in a tunnel, squealing as she pushes through turns and pounds over bumps. Then we drop down a creek bank, race along the ice for about fifty yards while the skis clatter before shooting up the other side, catching a little air before landing on a curve into an open field. No roller coaster ride has ever been more exhilarating. My heart pounds blood into every extremity, and I’ve never felt more alive.

  Gibbs stops, pulls off her helmet, and turns the key. “Listen.”

  Slowly, I remove my helmet and embrace the silence of a world smothered by feet of snow. I try not to breathe or move so I can hear the frozen whispers of the wind. A dead leaf rattles against a limb in the breeze, a lone remnant of fall months ago. Is anything alive here besides us?

  The giant black wings of a raven shred the air above my head as it flies toward the trees beyond the field. Then in the distance I hear the whine of invisible snow machines.

  The spell of death is broken.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “On the dike. It’s like a long, six-foot high dam between the river and the town. Or in our case, an elevated, super highway. Get on. We’re going to hit eighty before we go back through the trees.”

  “You’re a little crazy, Gibbs.”

  “Why go thirty when you can go eighty? That’s been my motto for years. Get on. I
’ll stop at the shooting range, and you tell me who’s crazy.”

  I pull on my helmet and straddle the seat.

  “You’re going to count seconds while I accelerate. As soon as you say Go, I’ll gun it. When I hit eighty, I’ll yell.”

  “OK.” I grab her waist. “On your mark, get ready, Go!” We surge forward. “One thousand and one . . .” I keep counting as I watch the world race toward us, the screaming whine of the motor rising in pitch until I think my ears will burst. “One thousand and five . . .”

  “Eighty! Five seconds,” yells Gibbs. “Woo-hoo!”

  I gulp in a breath and laugh. My heart lurches against my chest and flutters. I don’t think it beat while I counted. Totally, totally amazing.

  The dike curves to the left and runs toward an open log shelter. Gibbs slows and stops, flipping up her visor. “Tell me if I’m crazy.”

  “Oh my God! Can we do it again?”

  “On the way back. But maybe we should go a little slower.”

  “No way. Can you go faster than eighty?”

  “Yes. I’ve gotten to a hundred before, but even I get a little scared going that fast.”

  “One hundred it is. Why go eighty when you can go a hundred?” I hold up my hand for a slap.

  She gives it to me. “We’re going through the trees, to the gravel pit, then to the river, then back to the dike. You ready?”

  I flip my visor and grab her. We fly down the shooting range and into the trees, following a winding, undulating trail, soon lit only by our headlight. We juke and jerk, slow quickly and race to the next turn. The engine screams for two seconds, then slows, then screams again, as my stomach lurches into my chest then dives into my lap.

  Finally, we’re on the road from the river just past the tree line. Gibbs stops. Another snow machine has made a trail through the flat field below the dike along the trees.

  “High or low?” Gibbs asks.

  “What?”

  “We can follow this trail then curve up to the dike, catch some air and come down on the other side, or drive up the road and race down the dike.”