Moongazer

by Mari Mancusi

I frown. How could he think that of me? "Of course I'm not-"

  Dawn waves a weary hand to silence my protest. "Don't bother," he says. "Even if you were a spy, what difference would it make? Even if I knew without a doubt that you had been sent here to destroy me, it wouldn't matter. To have you here, sitting by my side in my living room ... I'm powerless to turn you away."

  He hangs his head, staring at his hands. "I still love you. A part of me wants to believe you didn't have control over what you did. You were sick. If only I'd been able to help you when I first realized it. In many ways, this is all my fault."

  He looks so lost and lonely; my heart wrenches in empathy. I reach over and thread my fingers through his, hoping he'll find some small comfort in my touch, since at this moment it's all I can give.

  He looks down at my hand, strokes my thumb with his own. He closes his eyes and leans back, head against the sofa. "Do you know how many nights I've lain awake, too tormented by dreams of you to dare close my eyes and sleep? Wondering if I made the right decision by refusing to join you on Earth? We could have been rich, happy-maybe we would even have had children. But instead I gave that all up for an endless fight that we can never hope to win."

  His regret sucks the breath from my lungs and I struggle to swallow and protest. "You don't really believe that," I argue. "You know, deep in your heart, that what you did was the only real choice. You chose the unselfish path. You refused to run away. To me, that seems noble, brave, good."

  "Does it?" Dawn asks, his voice scarcely louder than a whisper. He looks over, instantly capturing my eyes with his own. They glow blue. "God, Mariah, it feels like I've waited an eternity to hear those words from your lips."

  I lower my eyelids, the hopefulness radiating from his stare too much for me to take in. I don't know this man. I don't remember him at all. But his desperate words, his earnest eyes, his soft touch are able to capture me all the same. The power in his look is indescribable, melting my resistances, my willpower, my soul all in one foul blow.

  The softness that brushes my lips is so light that at first it barely registers. Then there's added pressure. My eyes flutter open in surprise. Dawn presses his mouth against mine, lips caressing lips, eyes closed, face enraptured.

  I close my eyes again, wondering what I should do. This is nothing like the angry kiss he stole in the alleyway. That kiss was one of violent passion, domination, control-hate, even. This kiss is different. A caress, a fearful tenderness, it's almost as if pressing too hard will cause me to vanish into thin air. My stomach twists as electrified sprites dance over every membrane, tickling me and sparking a fire low in my belly. He feels so good. Smells so sweet. His lips are tender. Worshipful, almost.

  No, this is not a kiss of desire; this is a kiss of someone in love.

  But not someone in love with me.

  Sick and disgusted, I jerk away, pushing past him to rise to my feet. My knees buckle and I'm forced to take a moment to steady myself before taking another step away from the seductive scene. When I've found some semblance of my center, I turn to face him, looking down to get his reaction to my rejection. Guilt stabs my heart as I catch the pain in his eyes.

  He doesn't move. He doesn't protest. He doesn't even question why. He just stares up at me, devastated.

  And it's my fault.

  But it's for the best.

  "Dawn. .." I start, trailing off, not even sure how to begin. I mean, how do I get him to understand? Deep inside, with every fiber in my body, I want nothing more than to leap back on that futon couch and throw myself at him with wild abandon. To kiss him senseless, claim his mouth as mine, and never let go. But it's wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

  "Dawn," I start again, swallowing back the lump the size of a basketball that's formed in my throat. "I'm so sorry, but this isn't right. You know it's not, deep down. After all, you don't want me. You want Mariah. And even if in some crazy way I was once her, I'm not right now. I'm Skye Brown and we ... well, we barely know each other."

  Even as the words spill from my lips, I know that I'm protesting too much. After all, even though I barely know anything about Dawn, the connection between us is undeniable. There's a bond so strong it feels dangerous. Which is why, I remind myself, it's best to stay aloof. At least until we figure out what's going on.

  Because if I'm not Mariah-which, of course, I know I'm not-that means someone else is. And if I let myself succumb to Dawn's advances, fall for him and allow myself to care, then the real Mariah could someday come back to reclaim Dawn as her own. And then where will that leave me, the one who freely gave away her heart and soul to a man who loved her only because he thought she was someone else?

  I shake my head. It's better to resist.

  "You're right," Dawn agrees at last, a slight quivering of his lower lip giving away his unhappiness. "Of course you're right." He rises from the couch, stiff and slow, and heads to a small cabinet at the far end of the living room. He pulls it open by its handle and grabs a pillow and blanket from a shelf. He presents them to me. "It's late," he says. "Let's call it a night. Go ahead and take my bed. I'm fine out here on the couch."

  I take the pillow and blanket from him. "Don't be silly," I protest. "I can sleep on the couch. I don't want to take your bed."

  "I want you to have it," Dawn says, in a voice that leaves no room for argument.

  "Okay, thanks," I say, giving in. I gather up the bedding and head into the adjoining room. Like the rest of the apartment, it's a small cave-and there's no room for anything but the full-sized mattress on the ground. I wrap the blanket around me and lay my head on the slightly musty-smelling pillow. Once still, I can hear Dawn in the next room, still shuffling around.

  An ache of emptiness fills my stomach and a small fear twists up my spine. If only I could call out to him. Invite him into the bed. Not for some tawdry sexual encounter. No, at the moment I just want to curl up in his strong arms and let him cuddle me to sleep.

  I force my mind away from his imagined warmth. It isn't fair to lead him on. To make him hope for a future that we cannot share. I have to be strong for the both of us. And tomorrow, we'll figure things out. Somehow.

  I close my eyes and slow my breathing, begging for sleep to take me quickly. The goddess of slumber ignores my pleas and so I lie awake, in the dark cave bedroom, and content myself to just listen. Listen to Dawn collapse on the futon, listen to him toss and turn. Listen to his breathing slow until he finally falls into a restless sleep. Listen to him cry out, as if in pain, over a nightmare from which he can't awake.

  And through it all, I lie still, resisting the temptation to crawl out of bed and rouse him from his nocturnal terror. To comfort him and tell him everything will be okay. That he's just having a dream.

  "Mariah!" he cries out, anguished and uncensored in sleep. "Oh God, please Mariah!"

  I sigh and roll over, pulling the covers over my head, feeling helpless and sad and oh so alone.

  9

  As the name implies, there's no sunlight down here in the Dark Side to draw me gradually into wakefulness. Instead, a nudge at my arm, a presence over my bed, snaps me awake. I open my eyes and find Dawn standing above me, dressed in a black jacket with a high collar, a tight black T-shirt cutting across his chest, and a pair of low-slung black pants hugging his lean hips. He looks fresh and awake, as if he's been up for hours. Maybe he has.

  "I'm sorry to wake you," he apologizes, "but the Eclipsers are asking for you. There's a major event scheduled for tonight that they've been organizing, and they're hoping to get the day's business squared away first, so they can finish up the party plans."

  "What ... time is it?" I ask. Besides the artificial light streaming in from the living room, there's no indication. It could be midnight. It could be high noon. Or somewhere in between.

  Dawn glances at the watch on his wrist. "Five o'clock," he says.

  "It's ... early." Unless time in Terra does not work the same way it does on Earth.

  "Actually, it
's late. Five in the evening."

  I sit up in bed, shocked. "I slept all day?" I ask, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

  "You slept two days. Nearly twenty hours. But you looked so peaceful, lying there. I didn't want to wake you until I absolutely had to."

  I can't believe I've been out for so long. Though, I guess it's not surprising. After all, it's not like I was getting much shut-eye back on Earth for the last few months. My body must have just collapsed. Thank goodness it picked a place where I was safe. At least, I think it's safe here.

  "Did they come looking for me?" I ask. "Duske and his men, I mean."

  Dawn shakes his head. "We haven't seen signs of them. I'm sure they'll be here soon, though. Which is why we need to get you together with the Eclipsers so we can discuss our strategy. Then we can get you settled back into your old house. No one will find you there."

  "I have a house?" I ask, surprised. Alternate reality real estate. Obviously Mariah was more efficient at saving up that old down payment than I've been. I wonder what it looks like. Is it a simple cave like Dawn's place? Or something completely different? Will stepping inside jog any revealing memories of another life? Or will it seem, as everything else in this world, completely foreign to me?

  "Of course you have a house." A smile plays at the corner of Dawn's lips. "Did you think you were homeless? Or that you lived with me, perhaps?"

  "I ... well, I guess I just never thought about it."

  "You have a very pretty apartment, well hidden in an old, abandoned building, deep underground in Stratum Three. It's small, of course. But you've done an excellent job making it homey and cozy."

  "Well, I can't wait to see it." I think, anyway. Or maybe not. I mean, homey house or no, the last thing I want is to be left alone in some abandoned apartment building deep underground in a post apocalyptic reality. Unless Dawn would stay with me. I wonder if he would. Would that be weird of me to ask?

  I shake my head. Time for those questions later. First I must meet with the Eclipsers, who will finally be able to provide some answers as to what the hell is going on here. I hope, anyway. Then again, they may be too busy trying to mess with my brain like everyone else, trying to get me to remember this supposed life I led as Mariah. Dawn even mentioned doctors. Ugh. I'm so not going to let some stranger in a white coat who claims to be an MD mess with my brain, not at the risk of me losing my real identity and being tricked into thinking I'm the person they wish I was.

  She's utterly convinced she's from Earth.

  I angrily push Duske's words to the back of my brain and firm my resolve. I'll go to the Eclipsers' meeting, hear what they have to say, ask my questions, then petition to be sent back home to Earth once and for all. Keep a low profile for a few weeks, until Duske and his men have given up looking for me, then go on with my real life and put this nightmare behind me. Renew my relationship with Craig, launch my video game-hell, I might even go try to visit my parents out at whatever national park they're currently trekking around in.

  One thing's for sure, this whole adventure has really made me see how great my life is back on Earth. It's so easy to fall into a pattern of unhappiness. To become bored and disenchanted and wish for more than you've been given. But now, having been taken away from everything I've known and loved and thrust into a nightmare from which I can't awaken, I am starting to realize how much I love my little life in New York. Wandering around Central Park, hand in hand with Craig on warm Saturday afternoons. Sipping wine with friends at that tiny Moroccan bar on Seventieth and Columbus. Dancing the night away at Luna down in the East Village. Even curling up under my aunt's homemade quilt in my cozy little studio on a cold winter's night. They're simple pleasures and joys I've taken for granted as I've gotten bogged down with work and stress. I need to start appreciating these things. Be happy for the good things that I've got.

  But first I have to figure out a way home.

  What will the Eclipsers say when I ask to go? They'll be disappointed, I'm sure. But they'll understand, right? I'll simply explain that no matter how much they wish I was Mariah, I'm not, and that they're just going to have to continue fighting their revolution without me. I mean, what can they really expect from me anyway? Charity only goes so far. And this isn't throwing a couple of quarters in a jar to help save polar bears from global warming. They're asking me to undergo a complete identity transplant and lead a revolution that I don't know anything about. Quite a lot to ask of a girl, no?

  Dawn shows me the bathroom and explains how to turn on the shower. There's only cold, rusty water drizzling from the showerhead, but really, that's not a hell of a lot different from what I'm used to in Manhattan. I wash my hair quickly, thankful they at least have sweet-smelling shampoos and soaps. From the black market, Dawn explained when he handed them to me moments before. He evidently went out and purchased some essential supplies while I slept, saying he wanted me to at least have a few comforts to wake up to. The fact that he did that, obviously at great expense, makes the soaps smell even sweeter and the cold shower almost pleasant. He really is a great guy. So sweet and thoughtful. Mariah's a fool to have left him.

  After bathing, I wrap myself in a threadbare towel, suddenly realizing I don't have any clean clothes to change into. My one outfit is soiled and caked with blood, reeking of sweat from my narrow escape. I'm so not interested in putting that back on.

  "Dawn?" I call out, peeking out from behind the closed door. "Um, do you have anything I could wear?"

  "One second." He appears in the doorway, a folded pile of clothes in his hands. He averts his eyes from my toweled body as he hands them to me. The consummate gentleman. "I borrowed an outfit from one of my neighbors. She's about your size."

  "Thanks. I really appreciate that." The guy thought of everything, didn't he? This really is an alternate reality.

  I close the bathroom door and slide the beige jumpsuit up one leg, then the other. It's a bit scratchy and more than a bit ugly, but beggars can't be choosers, right? I wonder what clothes Mariah keeps in her closet. Do we share the same fashion sense? Would

  she mind me wearing her clothes if we do? After all, we'll be the same size.

  "Okay, ready," I say, appearing from the bathroom. I've tied my still-wet hair back in a messy ponytail and, of course, am wearing no makeup, but I feel fresh and clean and well rested. I slide on my boots and, on a whim, grab the sword belt and strap it around my waist, feeling more than a bit self-conscious about wearing a weapon. Especially one I have no idea how to use. But then I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. The jumpsuit actually fits. And there's a certain primitive style to it, I realize now-raw and powerful.

  I can feel eyes on me and I whirl around, catching Dawn giving me a once-over. "You clean up well," he says, a small smile playing at his lips. I can feel my face heat at the compliment.

  We walk out of the house and into the cave corridor, Dawn locking the front door with his thumb. It takes me a moment, as we head toward the town square, to adjust my eyes to the dim lighting. I think I would go insane down here long term. It's so depressing without the sun. My body lets out an involuntary shiver, cold. Dawn reaches over and rubs my back a few times, a much appreciated attempt at a quick warm-up.

  Dawn locates his hover bike behind a Dumpster, hands me a helmet, then gestures for me to climb aboard. I do, no longer uncomfortable with the idea of being forced to wrap my arms around his waist. In fact, I'm looking forward to it.

  Dawn revs the engine and the bike lifts off the ground. We float slowly through the Dark Side, residents coming out of their caves to wave to us, their faces alight and hopeful as they watch us fly by. Mariah must have been something else to garner this kind of unabashed worship. What happened to make her betray them all in the end? Was she really that addicted?

  We pass through the town gates and then pick up speed as we enter the underground aqueduct tunnels. The ride is as exhilarating as it was the first time around-fast, furious, the wind whipping across my face. I scarce
ly notice the cold as I hug Dawn tight against me, melting into the ride, giving myself over to the sensations of motion and speed, the curve of Dawn's arched back, and my breasts comfortably squashed against it.

  We zoom down the tunnels, the underground world unfolding in seemingly endless twists and turns. We pass through several other towns identical to the one Dawn lives in. Bleak, brown, tattered. My enjoyment of the thrilling ride is sucked away at the faces of the scrawny mutant children and browbeaten adults wandering the streets, without enthusiasm, without hope. My heart aches for them and their situation. How could the government let this underground ghetto exist while they thrive and frolic in a gaudy, opulent playground above? No wonder the revolutionaries are simmering with hatred.

  "Why are they all mutated?" I ask as we leave the third area's gates. "I mean, what happened to make them that way?"

  "There's radiation deep in the rocks that many Dark Siders are forced to mine," he replies. "It's amazing they can reproduce at all."

  "Forced to mine?"

  "The government needs crystals embedded in the rocks to run their supercomputers. So they keep the Dark Siders down here, work them as slaves to satisfy the needs of the high-tech, luxury-rich world above," he explains.

  The bike's motor and the wind blend into a roar as we pick up speed, drowning out any chance of further conversation. I settle back against Dawn, feeling an overwhelming sadness for the plight of these people. I couldn't imagine a life like they lead: stuck deep underground, forced to work a job that will poison not only your own body, but that of your future offspring. How could the government be so cruel? And how can the people aboveground tolerate it knowing their comfort comes at the expense of others'? But then I remember the Holocaust back on Earth. Are the Indys aware of what's going on beneath the surface of their world? They can't be. There's no way they could consciously so selfish, could there?

  After about a half hour of travel time and a ride across a colorless and dismal underground landscape, we arrive at a large iron gate looming in front of us with menacing spiked bars. Dawn lowers his bike to the ground and dismounts, walking over to the gate, pressing his thumb against the sensor.