by Teri Terry
She smiles, bends down, and pets my cat.
“His name is Chamberlain,” she says, and I’m shocked: she spoke to me? I should go in, close the door—but I don’t want to lose Chamberlain.
Somehow I find my voice. “Is he your cat?” I say, and I’m sad. She’ll take him away.
“No,” she says. “He’s his own cat. He comes and goes as he pleases. He must like you, to come here.”
And I smile at Chamberlain, and at her. She smiles back.
“I’m Shay,” she says.
“I’m Lara.”
“Pleased to meet you.” She holds out her hand, and I hesitate, then hold out mine. She shakes it, and her hand is warm and firm. She hesitates to let go but then does.
“I was worried about Chamberlain, so I came looking for him. Is it all right if I come in for a little while?”
I look nervously at the door. What if Cepta comes back? Would she be angry?
Almost like she hears my thoughts—even though there is no sense of a touch from her mind in mine, like I can feel with Cepta—she shakes her head. “It’ll be all right. I promise.”
And somehow I believe her. “Okay. Come in.”
I switch on the small lamp, and she comes in, and this feels…odd. I’ve never had a guest of my own before, and today I’ve had two: Chamberlain and Shay. We sit on the sofa together, Chamberlain at our feet. He looks back and forth between us, as if sizing things up, then jumps up and sits half on Shay and half on me.
“Well, thanks a lot, Chamberlain,” she says, “giving Lara the end that purrs.”
I laugh and scratch by his ears, and he rewards me with a purr like she said, but he doesn’t look sleepy anymore. He gets up a minute later and starts prowling around the room, looking in shadows and behind chairs.
“He might want to play,” Shay says.
“With what?”
“Is there anything he can chase, like some yarn or something?”
“I think there’s some string in the kitchen.”
“Perfect.”
I go in and find it, cut a length off with a knife. I dangle it in front of Chamberlain’s face, and he looks at it but doesn’t move.
“Let me try?” Shay says. I give her the string, and she dangles it by his feet, then walks around the side of a chair so the string disappears. He crouches down, intent, then suddenly springs after it. She runs around the chair and he chases the string, and I smile.
“Your turn,” she says, and gives me the string. And I do the same thing, around the back of the sofa, and it works! I run around the room, dragging it over chairs and tables, and he chases me all the way. He skids on a table and falls off it and looks so startled that we can’t help but laugh.
“What’s going on here?” I spin around, and Cepta and Xander are both standing in the doorway.
CHAPTER 6
SHAY
I STAND BETWEEN LARA-WHO-IS-CALLIE and the two adults. She’s scared for a split second, then calm washes through her—it’s Cepta who does this to her, and I’m furious that she forces emotions she wants Callie to feel inside of her. I try to hide it.
“We were playing,” I say. “With the cat.”
“Yes,” Lara says. “With Chamberlain,” she adds, like she is proud to know his name.
“Go to your room, Lara, and stay there,” Cepta says, but she doesn’t just say it, she forces Lara to move her feet, one step after another, until she is in her room and has shut the door.
“You were told not to come here,” Cepta says to me.
“I was looking for Chamberlain.”
“And just happened to find him here.”
“Yes.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
I say nothing, arms crossed.
Xander holds up a hand. “Peace. I don’t care how Shay got here, or whether it was before or after the cat. All I saw was my younger daughter looking happier than she has in months with that stupid cat and her disobedient sister, and however it happened, it’s obviously done her good.”
Cepta is shocked—deeply. It’s all through her aura.
Chamberlain also looks affronted.
“I’m sure this stupid cat is smarter than most therapists,” I say. I can feel Cepta’s fury now. “He probably hasn’t played like that since he was a kitten, but somehow he knew how to make Ca—Lara, sorry—smile, and he did it.”
“And so did you,” Xander says. He approves. “There is another bedroom here, is there not?” he says to Cepta.
“Yes, but—” Cepta says.
“Have it made up for Shay. They can stay here together.”
More silent arguments.
He shakes his head. “Make it so,” he says coldly, out loud, a moment later.
Take that, Cepta. I didn’t even have to suck up to you or anything. I say that silently, to myself, but Cepta’s eyes narrow. Maybe I didn’t screen that quite as well as I should have.
“Sofa is fine for tonight,” I say.
Cepta regains her composure. “We will talk tomorrow. We have to establish parameters that you must stay within. She may have seemed better tonight, but you could easily provoke a relapse like you did before if you aren’t careful.”
Xander agrees with Cepta on that, so I nod and say I’ll meet with Cepta to discuss it tomorrow.
Finally they go.
“Lara?” I call out at her door.
“Yes?”
“Do you want to sleep now, or come out and talk to me or even Chamberlain for a while?”
There is a silent pause. “I can’t come out of my room,” she says at last. “Cepta said so.”
I roll my eyes. “Can I come in?”
“Yes!” she says, with eagerness all through her voice.
I open the door.
She’s in bed. Her eyes are shining. “Are you and Chamberlain really going to come and stay with me here?”
“You heard that, did you? Yes, we are.” On cue he jumps onto the bed and curls up next to her. “Didn’t anyone stay with you here before?”
“No. I mean, Cepta visits me all the time, especially lately. And before that I had a small house beside hers.”
“So you’ve been living alone?”
“Yes,” she says, and starts to stroke Chamberlain, then pauses, looks at me, eyes round. “Won’t Cepta make you leave—”
“No. Xander said I can stay.”
“But he’s not always here.” She’s troubled.
“But I will be. And Chamberlain too. We’re not going anywhere.”
“Really?”
“Really.” On impulse I reach for her and give her a hug, like I would if she were Beatriz—a girl much younger and one I know a little better, maybe, but it feels like the right thing to do. She’s stiff at first, like she doesn’t understand the concept, then droops against me, and when I start to pull away, she holds on a moment before she lets me go.
“Maybe it is time to go to sleep now,” I say. “It’s late.”
She obediently lies down, closes her eyes.
Stay with her, Chamberlain? I say to him, but I needn’t have bothered. He likes it there.
I start to walk out of the room.
“Can you leave the door open?” she says. “I hate closed doors.”
“Of course.”
So I leave the door partly open and angle the lamp across the room so it doesn’t cast into her room too much. I sit on the sofa, certain sleep will be a long way away for me tonight.
I had to hide it before, as much as I could—first from Xander and Cepta, then from Callie herself—but I’m absolutely furious.
I’m glad I followed Chamberlain to Callie tonight, ignoring their instructions to keep away. I’m glad that Xander could see things as they were, at least in that moment: that my being here with Ca
llie was the right thing.
I really do think that Xander cares for her, but what was he thinking—leaving Cepta in charge of her? And I don’t care what kind of nightmares Callie was having, or whatever other issues she has. It can’t be better for her to be half zombie, not allowed to feel her own feelings or make any decisions at all. She’s like a much younger girl than she should be—she must be thirteen by now, but she acts and talks as if she were younger than Beatriz.
And she was made to stay here, in this house, by herself? I can’t believe it. I’m stunned.
I don’t care if she was being monitored Cepta’s way, from a distance. It’s still wrong.
Poor Callie. When I got here, it was all through her aura: she’s been so very lonely. A girl without a family who cares to look after her, without any friends her own age. A girl who didn’t understand hugs.
I promise myself: things are going to change, more than they think.
But I have to take things slowly and carefully. Despite my instincts, I don’t know for sure what she’s been through or what is wrong. And if I upset Cepta and Xander’s world order too much, they may take her away.
And I can’t let that happen. She’s my sister—half sister, that is.
I’ve almost been forgetting tonight that she’s Kai’s half sister too; they had different fathers and the same mother.
Callie may be what links Kai and me together and what could bring him back to me, but at this moment that isn’t the most important thing. She’s my sister: I have to help her.
And I’ve been lonely too.
CHAPTER 7
LARA
WHEN I WAKE UP THE NEXT MORNING, there is a sense of excitement, of difference. Half-asleep, I lie there and wonder what it could be.
For one thing—Cepta’s touch on my mind, the one I wake to every morning—is gone. That is so startling I open my eyes wide when I realize it.
Then something moves beside me: it’s Chamberlain. Has he stayed with me all night?
And then I can hear some movement outside my door. And it’s not shut; it’s part open, just like I asked for it to be.
I smile and get out of bed. But when I go through the door, it isn’t Shay who is there. It’s Xander.
“Good morning, Lara.”
“Hi.” I come out and try to look around without making an obvious thing of it. She’s not here; she said she’d be here.
“Shay will be back soon, if that is who you are looking for; she had something she had to do. And I thought we could have a talk.”
“Oh. Okay.” And I’m nervous that Shay won’t come back. But then I realize she’ll have to: her cat is still here. I relax a bit and sit next to Xander when he gestures.
“What do you want to talk about?” I say.
“Do you want Shay to stay with you?”
I’m suspicious of this question; Cepta had a way of asking me if I’d like something before telling me I couldn’t have it.
I shrug. “I guess so.”
“Why?”
I frown, confused. “I don’t know. I like her. She can stay, can’t she? And Chamberlain too?”
“Yes, for as long as you want.”
“But you’re not always here.”
“No. There are other Communities I have to visit sometimes, things I have to do.”
“And when you’re not here, Cepta says what is what.”
“I see. And you think she’ll change things?”
I stay silent. I know she will.
“I’ll fix it. Don’t worry.”
“Okay.”
We have breakfast together, and then he says he has to go.
As he walks out the door and away from the house, little by little, Cepta’s touch moves back into my mind.
CHAPTER 8
SHAY
IT’S A GRAY. CLOUDY DAY; not raining yet, but the heavy feeling of the sky says it will. Cepta’s house is lit with slender candles that cast flickering shadows on the walls and draw my eyes.
“I’ve always preferred softer light, but I can turn on the lamps, if you like?”
“I don’t mind,” I say, but I’m not being entirely truthful. Since nearly burning to death at the air force institute, I’m less than comfortable with open flames of any sort.
“Come. Sit,” she says, drawing me to a chair by her desk. “We need to talk about Callie. She is still my patient, and she is still under my treatment. You need to be mindful of that and take great care with her. She’s fragile.” Cepta’s aura is calm and exudes compassion, concern.
“If you could explain what is wrong, what she is being treated for? Then maybe I could help.”
“She is your sister, and I appreciate you care. But perhaps this is beyond your expertise.”
“Perhaps you could try to explain anyway.”
There is a long pause, a raised eyebrow. A sigh. “Are you familiar with dissociative identity disorder?”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“There are different types. Callie had a mild form for years, but her identity diffusion intensified with adolescence. This isn’t uncommon. In simple terms, she dissociates into different identity states—Lara is one of them, and the one we promote for her welfare. Callie is, in essence, her true self, and that is what she is most afraid of. Occasionally other personalities manifest.”
“But why is she afraid of herself? I don’t understand.”
“Until she can face this and tell us, we don’t know.”
“But then shouldn’t we be encouraging her to be who she really is, to face whatever scares her so she can deal with it?”
“It’s not that simple. The terror blinds her to thought or reflection. She needs time.”
“If she needs such care taken with her, then why was she living alone?”
“She is never truly alone, day or night. She is monitored at all times. For example, Xander was with her when she woke up this morning, as you know. He’s left now to move on to other tasks he must attend to, but I’m in touch with her, even now as we speak. This is important, Shay. And essential to her safety and continued good health. Xander agrees with me on this.”
“Surely someone being with her physically has to be better for her.”
“If that someone is you?” Cepta smiles. “Even you need to sleep. Without a mind touch to keep tabs on her, you’d have to watch her all night—to wake her from the nightmares she regularly has. The longer she stays in the nightmare, the more trouble she has coming back from it.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“You already know to avoid her real name: Callie; also avoid any mentions of the past, before she came here. Other things? She’s afraid of confined places. Open flames. Also, intense emotions can trigger psychotic episodes like you saw the other night and must be avoided.”
“Is that why you damp down her feelings inside?”
She raises an eyebrow, a tinge of surprise in her aura.
“I could feel your presence in her mind, and what you did.”
“It is essential for her to avoid panic attacks to accept treatment. Do not disrupt this bond between the two of us, or the consequences could be severe.”
Her warning is clear.
* * *
The wind is picking up as I walk back through Community, and I feel as angry and restless as the storm that is nearly upon us.
Being monitored isn’t all that Callie needs. Lara, that is—I have to start thinking of her with that name, or I’ll mess up for sure. What about Lara needing someone to talk to, someone who doesn’t tell her what to feel and when to feel it? What about being tucked in at night?
And something else about all of this is troubling me.
Cepta talking about different personalities draws me back to another girl with the same problem: Jenna, who thought she was Callie. Why wou
ld these two girls have such similar-sounding conditions?
I almost turn around, go back to Cepta to ask her about Jenna: Xander said she was her patient too. But that would mean, well, talking to Cepta again. And I’ve had enough for one day.
The first heavy drops of rain start to fall just as I get back to the house, but I need to push myself—to do something physical, anything.
Lara is on the sofa, Chamberlain asleep next to her. Her hands are folded on her lap, and she’s looking at the floor when I walk in.
“Hi, Lara.”
She glances up, then back to the floor.
“Hi.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Fine.”
“Do you want to do something?”
“I don’t know. Like what?”
“I don’t know. Go for a walk, maybe?”
She glances at the window. “But it’s starting to rain.”
“I know! And the wind is howling too, but it’s not very cold. I’m going. Do you want to come?”
When I say I’m going, her eyes are back on mine, fear inside them. “Yes. I’ll come,” she says, but don’t leave me is all over her aura. Is that why she was being standoffish when I came back? She wasn’t sure that I would.
We wrap up and head out. The wind whips our hair around; cold drops start to fall harder.
“Where should we go?” I ask her.
“I don’t know.”
“Is there a place you like to walk that you could show me?”
“To the edge!”
“The edge of what?”
“Of the world. Come on.”
“Race you?” I say, and she hesitates, but then all at once takes off. I chase her, running in the rain, laughing, jumping in puddles, and part of me marvels at how much like a little kid she is, and another part of me is surprised how much fun I’m having too. This is something I missed out on by being an only child, maybe. And thinking of that and about growing up alone with my mum makes me ache for her, a pain that is never far away.
