The Thunderproof Sky

by Loretta Lost

  “It sounds like she was definitely heading in that direction, and you just gave her a little push.”

  “I took her life. I took her wallet and her identification. I took her name. I even took her fucking style.” Tears gather in my eyes. “That’s why I don’t have any female friends, Cole. Because I killed the last girl I really cared about.”

  “I’m so sorry you had to do that—but you were only trying to survive.”

  “Serena really loved her,” I say miserably. “She had survived so much crap in her young life, and then she met me. And I killed her. I loved her, but I killed her. I didn’t want to be the victim anymore. I would have done anything for Serena back then—her life was so fragile. If we didn’t have that name, then Benjamin would have found us. But he found us anyway.”

  “Snow?” he asks, for confirmation.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m so sorry all of this happened to you. I’m so sorry you had to do so much. But I’m just glad I met you, and I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Cole, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “You can tell me anything.”

  “Not this.”

  I place both of my hands over my eyes, with the palms sitting in my eye sockets. I breathe deeply a few times, trying to find the courage.

  “I’m afraid, Cole.”

  “You’re absolutely sure you’re not pregnant?” he asks again.

  “No. I’m not.”

  He sits up and looks down at me, squeezing my arm. “You’re making me worried, Snow. Anything you need to say, I can handle it.”

  “Not this. I can’t even handle it. And I’m the one who’s supposed to be able to handle everything.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I can’t marry you, Cole.”

  Removing my hands from my eyes, a few tears slip out as I fumble to remove the ring from my finger. I give it back to him, and return my hands to my eyes.

  “Why not?” he says in shock.

  “She’s not here,” I tell him. “I’m an imposter. You proposed to the wrong girl. You have been with the wrong girl this whole time.”

  “What do you mean, Snow?”

  “I can’t find her,” I say hoarsely. “I’m sorry. At first I was just pretending to be her. It was kind of fun, being in control all the time. Waking up with you instead of only falling asleep with you. I just meant for it to be until she came back—but she never came back.”

  “That’s why you were avoiding working on Luciana’s project. You can’t hack.”

  I nod.

  “I don’t know where she is, Cole. I can’t find her. I’ve searched.”

  “What are you saying exactly, Snow?”

  “I think Serena might be dead.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “How long?” Cole asks, pacing back and forth in the room. “How long has she been gone?”

  “Since the psychiatric facility,” I tell him. “I’ve been… awake since then. Except the few times that Sibyl popped out, like once, earlier today. But I was still conscious while Sibyl had control, this time.”

  “That’s why you kept saying you didn’t feel like yourself,” Cole remarks.

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me,” he says, looking at the engagement ring.

  “I’m scared, Cole. I’m so sorry. I won’t be able to help you design the security software for the tower, or even program the damn lightshow. I don’t have a university education. I don’t have a high school diploma, much less a degree in computer engineering. I’ve never done the dishes.”

  “Snow…”

  “Cole, I’m useless. I’m so sorry.”

  “Stop it,” he says, moving to my side. “You’re freaking out, because you’ve never done this full-time. But you should look at this as a promotion. It’s like you went from doing the night shift in the dinosaur section at the museum to being the curator of the whole damn building. You fooled everyone. You fooled Luciana, you fooled me, and you haven’t killed anyone yet.”

  “I put that one guy in a coma,” I grumble.

  “You’re doing great,” Cole says, squeezing my knee.

  “But what if she never comes back? I can’t just steal her body, steal her life”

  “She trusts you with her body, she trusts you with her life.”

  “I also stole her man, her proposal, and her ring. I feel awful.”

  “Snow,” Cole says. “What is wrong with you? All of these things belong to you, too. Why don’t you try to relax a little, and just enjoy being here with me? Just see what it’s like to be alive, one hundred percent of the time?”

  “I have been trying. But after that wedding today—I just realized that I couldn’t keep doing this without letting you know that you’re talking to the wrong girl, touching the wrong girl. I couldn’t let you be engaged to the wrong girl, marry the wrong girl.”

  “Snow, you’re the one who said I had to do it again, properly, with a cake and a dress—you’re the one who asked for that. You wanted to do right by her, give her that dream wedding. You’ve always been looking out for her. Your whole damn life has been supporting her, taking care of her. Why can’t you just relax and take care of yourself, for once?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask him.

  He sighs and climbs on top of me, lightly straddling my thighs. He grasps my hand and slowly slides the ring back onto my finger. “This belongs here, silly.”

  I look at him in confusion.

  “Cole—if Serena doesn’t come back, and it’s only me in this body, wouldn’t you prefer to marry someone else?”

  He bursts out laughing. He leans down and places one hand on either side of my head, and kisses me soundly.

  I kiss back, but then I break it off, and look at him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

  “Kissing the woman I love.”

  “I just told you I’m the wrong woman.”

  “You’re an idiot, Snow. You’re my fucking woman.”

  It takes me a second to process that he still feels the same about me, even without any trace of Serena in the body. Even if I’m not just a temporary installment, he’s not asking me to go away. He’s just here, on top of me, kissing my neck, teasing me and calling me an idiot.

  He actually likes me.

  “To be perfectly honest with you,” Cole whispers in my ear as he unbuttons my pajama top. “I always liked you better, anyway.”

  This makes me blush a little. “Cole,” I say shyly. “If she’s still somewhere in here, she might be able to hear you.”

  “Snow is my favorite,” he says again, loudly, as he undresses me. “I have always found her to be sexier, tougher, crazier, more unpredictable and intense. And the sex is way, way better.”

  I laugh softly. “Cole! Are you trying to piss her off so much she comes back?”

  “Worth a shot,” he says with a shrug.

  “I’m sorry that I lost her. If there was anything I did that made her want to leave…”

  “No,” Cole says, “It could have been me, making her go to that psychiatric facility. Either way, maybe it just became too difficult for her to handle. Too difficult for her to remember. Maybe she needs a break.”

  “A break is good. A break is fine. If she found a way to take a vacation inside her own mind, more power to her. Even though we’re on a pretty awesome vacation right now,” I say, gesturing to the room around us, “and she’s missing out on all of this.”

  “There are no destinations in the real world that can rival the imagination.”

  “True… but my worst fear is that it’s not a vacation at all.” I look at Cole nervously, before closing my eyes. “Serena always wanted to give up, when things got hard. She always wanted to die. What if what happened with Benjamin was so painful that she couldn’t take being anymore, and she found a way to kill herself inside her own mind?”

  Cole just stares at me, and does not respond. But I see the glimmer of fear in his
eyes.

  “She didn’t really know me, before. Maybe she wouldn’t hurt the body anymore, knowing that we share it. But what if she could… destroy her own soul? What if she could die on the inside, without really dying out here? Is that possible?”

  “I don’t know,” Cole says, and he seems unsettled. He brushes some of my hair away from my forehead. “We need to get you some proper therapy, with someone who knows what they’re doing. Maybe it can help bring her back, or bring her out. At least let her know it’s okay to come out, if she wants to, but we probably shouldn’t force her out, if she can’t handle it.” He pauses, looking at me. “Snow, don’t get me wrong—we don’t need to bring her back for us to work, for us to live, and be happy. I will still love you, no matter what.”

  “I will do the therapy,” I tell Cole. “Whatever it takes to get her back. The literature Luciana gave me was very interesting, and I’ve been trying to apply some of the information. Maybe that’s the reason I could remain almost-present when Sibyl took control, and not just wake up with a gun pointed at you.”

  “That’s an improvement,” Cole says.

  “I am dangerous,” I tell him. “I know that Liam said it’s not dangerous, and that’s just a stigma from movies or whatever. Maybe most people with this illness aren’t dangerous, but I know that I am. You know that I am.”

  “I agree. And I’m glad that you want to explore things. I’m dangerous, too,” Cole says, kissing my ear and nibbling on the earlobe. “Want to see?”

  I roll my eyes skyward, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Sure. Go ahead and show me.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dawn is beautiful in the mountains. It colors the white peaks all rosy.

  It looks like an ethereal painting.

  I woke up extremely early this morning. Especially considering that I’d had a lot to drink the night before, that we’re not required to meet up with everyone until noon, and that satisfying Snow is a pretty exhausting full-time job. I left her lying facedown, naked and tangled up in the bedsheets, in the glow of sunrise reflecting off the mountains. I only snapped a quick photo or two as a keepsake of a beautiful memory.

  Okay, and maybe I’ll send one to Roddy to brag a little.

  But I exited the room pretty early, and have been pacing up and down the halls of the chalet. I went to the kitchen area where the caterers (courtesy of Helen’s dad) have already prepared coffee and croissants, among other delicious breakfast items. I am not the only one up at the crack of dawn, for David is in the main area of the chalet, where the glass windows extend to a towering height, and the view is magnificent. He has an easel set up, and he is painting the mountains.

  He looks quite somber and focused, so I don’t really want to disturb him, but I can’t help being drawn to the stunning pigments on his canvas. I hope that peeking over his shoulder won’t disturb his method.

  “That’s incredible,” I tell him. “You’re truly gifted.”

  “Thanks,” he says, without turning around. “This mountain, right here, is called the Matterhorn. One of the highest peaks in Europe. I took a few pictures, too, because the light can change really fast. But there’s just something therapeutic about painting the live object. It’s almost spiritual. Not that mountains are alive, or have spirits—but you know what I mean. Or do you? Sorry if I’m rambling. The girl I’m in love with just married someone else right in front of me last night, so I’m in a weird mood right now.”

  “That’s understandable,” I tell him. “And with the way you paint, the mountains do look like they are alive, and have spirits.”

  He inhales deeply, and then exhales as he continues painting, quick, confident brushstrokes. “The worst part is knowing I made it happen. I tricked her into coming here, told her I wanted to paint the mountains. So, I might as well paint the fucking mountains, right? I don’t have a right to be upset or sad when I brought this on myself. She was perfectly happy with me, and I could have left things well enough alone. What was I expecting? That she would choose me, over him?”

  David laughs, a self-deprecating laugh. His brush strokes become more aggressive, and the painting becomes more beautiful, and so lifelike that it could be a window to another world. “No one chooses a painter over a doctor. Especially when that doctor gave you the ability to see, or you wouldn’t even know what a painting fucking looked like. And especially when you’re pregnant with the doctor’s baby. I’m sorry. I don’t even know you, I shouldn’t be unloading all my pain on you at 7AM, before you’ve even had your morning coffee.”

  “It’s perfectly fine,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t be out here walking around in circles like a madman at this hour if I didn’t have some pain of my own.”

  David glances back at me then, only briefly, before returning his eyes to the canvas. “It’s Cole, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, what’s your damage?” David asks as he continues to add color and dimension to the canvas. “You have to tell me now, so I feel less awkward and humiliated for venting to a complete stranger—and a relative of the groom, no less.”

  “I’m hardly related to him. I am engaged to his biological sister, but we both just met him yesterday for the first time, really. You probably know Liam much better than we do.”

  “I wish I didn’t,” David responds as he chooses a darker color for the shadows, and makes the mountains look a little angrier. “Okay, so—what’s eating you this morning?”

  I exhale, not wanting to share too much personal information, but craving a listening ear. “Can I expect artist-patient confidentiality?”

  “Sure. This is a safe space, and anything said here remains between you, me, and the painting.”

  “Well, my girlfriend has been suffering from a very rare mental illness for as long as I’ve known her. I didn’t realize what it was, or what it was called—it was just her, and I loved it about her. It was almost like a superpower, her ability to change into a completely different person, if she needed to.”

  David turns around then, slightly, to look at me.

  “And I think it’s partially my fault for not getting her help sooner. She was so depressed and suicidal for so long. I tried my best to just make her happy, and it didn’t seem like doctors could or would do anything to help. Most of them wouldn’t even understand this. But it’s been mostly harmless, and mostly a benefit, something we could almost live with—until now. Now, I think things have gone too far. I took her to a psychiatric facility when she was seeing people who weren’t there—but they only made things worse.”

  “They tend to do that,” David says softly.

  “I thought she was perfectly fine for weeks—I thought she was getting better, healing. Now she tells me that I put a ring on the finger of the wrong girl, and the girl that she used to be isn’t even inside her anymore. She’s just gone. That crazy, soft, immensely intelligent girl I grew up with, who was addicted to hacking into everything, who helped me build my business from the ground up, who was so brilliant she got recruited by the CIA—she’s just gone. She’s gone, somewhere deep inside her own head—if she’s even still in there—and I didn’t even notice. And I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.”

  “Damn,” David says, shaking his head. “You’ve got real problems.”

  “A little bit. I hope that helps you feel better about Helen.”

  “Loads. My basic love triangle is basic.” David gestures to his canvas, and then to the scenery. “I can’t help you much, but you’ve done the right thing by telling the mountains. They are tens of thousands of years old, very wise, and they offer the best advice. Just listen closely, and they will provide the answers you seek.”

  “Well, that’s cryptic,” I respond with a chuckle. I don’t think I’ve ever met a painter before, but his technique reminds me of my sketches of buildings. It seems so strange to me, drawing something that will never be built—drawing something that is already built, by nature. Are painters like architects w
ho suck at math—or architects who do too much weed?

  “I’m sorry if I sound loopy,” David says. “I haven’t gotten much sleep.”

  “You should get a nap,” I tell him. “We’re supposed to be having this killer unbachelor party later.”

  “Ugh. Because that’s exactly what I need—to celebrate with Liam. I hope it is a killer party—in that I hope someone pushes Liam down the mountain and he dies. That would literally solve all my problems.”

  “That’s so funny—my girlfriend said something quite similar.”

  “Then maybe she’s not as mentally ill as you think, if she recognizes that Liam deserves to fall down a mountain and die. Or—maybe I’m more mentally ill than I realize.” David sighs and puts down his paints. “I should really go to bed.”

  “You should.”

  “I mean, it’s not cool to fantasize about making someone a widow when she’s been married for less than 24 hours, right?”

  “Not particularly cool, no.”

  “I thought so. I just need to lie down for a bit. Have a good night, Cole. Or morning—whatever.”

  “You too, man.”

  The poor bastard stumbles toward his room looking like a zombie—then he realizes he was heading in the wrong direction, and has to shuffle back the other way. I feel so bad for him.

  Moving to the breakfast bar, I pour two cups of coffee, and then hold them against me with one arm while I grab some croissants. I take a bite as move back toward the room I share with Scarlett, but before I can get there, I see Liam walking down the hall.

  “Good morning,” he says with a yawn. “Damn, those croissants smell good.”

  “There are lots just over there,” I say, with my mouth full, chewing. Then an idea strikes me. I think it comes from the mountains. “Hey, Liam, you know how you said you knew some mental health professionals?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry to ask this so early, but it’s a little bit of an emergency. Would you happen to know anyone who specializes in DID?”

  “Are you serious? No, but I can ask my colleagues.”