Sibs

by F. Paul Wilson

  Jill nodded sagely. "Right." She turned and headed back toward the kitchen.

  "Where're you going, bug?"

  "To help him with the shrimp. He doesn't clean them as good as we do."

  "Well," Kara said.

  Jill rolled her eyes. "As well as we do." She cupped a hand around her mouth. "He leaves some of the black stuff along the back." She made a disgusted face.

  Kara laughed. "Then maybe you'd better help him."

  ▼

  After dinner there was coffee and Kahlua. When Jill left the table to use the bathroom, Rob turned to Kara. "What a great kid she is! I love her!"

  Kara kept a two handed grip on her coffee cup to keep it from shaking.

  "Thank you."

  "Even if she is bit of a spaz," he added with a smile.

  "Give her a break, Rob. She's never even seen chopsticks before!"

  "All right. But I'm giving her a pair to practice with. Next time you're back in town, we'll do this again and I expect her to be a pro."

  There won't be a next time, Kara thought with genuine regret.

  "What's on the schedule tomorrow?" he said.

  "Got an appointment with my editor—to see if I can get an extension on the deadline for my book—and then it's back to the farm."

  "Ever think of trying the city again? It's a great place for writers."

  Kara gave him a level stare and returned the ball to his court.

  "Why don't you open that restaurant you've always talked about? Lancaster can always use another good restaurant. And no matter how great New York is for writing, it's a lousy place to raise a child. Besides, I like writing at the farm."

  Rob sighed resignedly. "Got a title for your book?"

  Kara was grateful for the change of subject.

  "It's called Feminism and Fascism."

  He raised his eyebrows. "Catchy. What's it about?"

  "It's basically cautionary, showing how some of the movement's more radical methods and legislative drives may be turned around on us some day and do us harm instead of good. Right now I'm working on a chapter that shows why we shouldn't wail and moan about so-called 'sexual bias' in tests like the SATs. The whole purpose of the movement is to show we're just as sharp, just as smart as males, so how better to prove that than by outscoring them on any test males take? If we're equal, why should we insist on special treatment?"

  "I'll buy the first copy," Rob said. "When do you think it'll be published?"

  Before she could reply, Jill's high-pitched yelp came from the bathroom.

  "Whoa! Does this ever exploit women!"

  Rob's eyes widened and he leapt from his chair.

  "Oh, Christ! My Penthouses!"

  ▼

  "Can we see Rob again soon?" Jill said as they stepped inside Ellen's front door.

  "Oh, so it's 'Rob' now, is it?" Kara said, relieved that she had been able to get away without making any more promises to him.

  "He told me to call him that."

  "Well, you should still call him 'Mr. Harris.' "

  "Can we have him come down and visit us on the farm?"

  "Next time he's in Elderun," Kara said, "I promise we'll have him over for dinner."

  "Good! 'Cause I like him a lot," she said, and ran toward her bedroom.

  Kara bit her lip as she watched her daughter scamper away. Soon or later she was going to have to tell them. But when?

  So excited. Don't recall ever seeing him this excited. Thinks he has her now. Absolutely sure of it.

  Too bad. Because he's rarely wrong.

  Her only hope is to flee, to get as far away as she can. But she won't. They never do. He won't let them. Especially not this one. He wants her so very badly.

  Wonder why.

  He'd never tell me, even if I asked him, but think I know why. Because this one is the twin of the other one. So angry when he lost her. No one's ever gotten away from him before. So having this new one, this twin of the other, is just like having the lost one back again.

  That must be the reason for his excitement. Like a little child, really: furious when he doesn't get his way and euphoric when he does.

  I'd love to see him thwarted again. Wish I could find a way to warn the new one, but of course that's impossible as long as all my free hours are spent caged in this place.

  Must be a way. I'll have to work on it. Yes. That's my project.

  Of course, if the new blonde goes far enough away, I won't have to warn her. But think I'll work on the plan anyway. For I don't think she has a chance.

  February 13

  5:36 P.M.

  Ed Bannion had spent a lot of time in the New York Public Library since his visit with Kara Wade two nights ago. He'd checked out what books he could, and every spare minute of his free time during library hours had been spent pouring over psychiatric journals. He'd done an awful lot of reading on multiple personalities and had become adept at translating Psychobabble into plain English. Anyone who thought lawyers lived in doubletalk should try reading this garbage for a couple of days.

  And the more he read, the more he became convinced that the medical profession didn't know squat about the human mind. Right now he was studying the section on dissociative disorders in the DSM-III-R. Multiple personality disorder was listed there. He'd read it so often he knew the diagnostic criteria by heart. Diagnostic criteria for 300.14 Multiple Personality Disorder:

  A. The existence within the person of two or more distinct personalities or personality states (each with its own relatively enduring pattern of perceiving, relating to, and thinking about the environment and self).

  B. At least two of these personalities or personality states recurrently take full control of the person's behavior.

  So why was he reading this again? Hell, why was he even here! It was Happy Hour on Friday. He should have been heading for one of his usual weekend haunts, like Nomura's, huddling with the regular crowd around the sushi bar, drinking Kirin and scarfing down California rolls. But he had no desire for that scene tonight. What was wrong with him?

  It was that woman, that Kelly Wade. Her tortured face before she went out the window still hovered about him.

  At least now he had an explanation. The second personality, the one named Ingrid, was the one that had picked up Phil and him. Ingrid had been the sexual acrobat. And then for one reason or another, Kelly had come back. She'd been shocked and repulsed by the situation in which she suddenly found herself. Must've figured out that her other half had got her into it. Right. The Jekyll half had suddenly awakened in the middle of one of Hyde's orgies and it scared the shit out of her. So she panicked and started bouncing off the walls looking for a way out. Unfortunately she found the window before she found the door. She probably didn't know the window was twelve stories up.

  Or did she? Had she seen that window as a way out of more than just the hotel room?

  Ed sighed and leaned back and rubbed his weary eyes. Whatever the case, he wasn't responsible. He and his brother had merely accompanied "Ingrid" up to her room for a little dirty fun between three consenting adults. What happened after that was not their fault.

  So why do I feel so damn guilty?

  He looked up and saw the librarians going from table to table, shooing everybody out. Closing time. Ed left the journals where they were and headed for the street. He hunched his shoulders against the icy wind as he pushed his way through the crowds clustering on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street.

  Getting dark. Friday night in the Big City. The tunnel rats and bridge brats from Jersey and Long Island were already making their entrance despite the cold. He studied some of the bright, eager, excited teenage faces, watched them puff their cigarettes, trying to look cool, look tough, trying to look like real New Yorkers but giving themselves away immediately with their Hard Rock Cafe sweatshirts. Ed realized with a start that he had twenty years on them. He wondered if he'd ever looked that young, or felt that alive.

  Feeling old, he hailed a
cab and pondered the guilt question as he rode home. By the time he stepped into his apartment he had given up on it. What did it matter? The woman was dead.

  He went immediately to the kitchen and poured himself a stiff Absolut Citron on the rocks. He was beginning to really like this stuff, actually looking forward to it, and that concerned him a little. Sipping slowly, he went over to the entertainment center that took up most of the inner wall of the living room. He browsed through his CD collection. He had a new multi-disk player and had bought a new pair of trimline speakers with fabulous bass, but could find nothing he wanted to hear. He turned on the TV. He had a built-in rear projection model with a 48-inch screen and full cable hook-up. Between MSG, ESPN and Sports Channel, there had to be something diverting on.

  Ah. The Knicks were on. He sat down, figuring to lose himself in bitching about why they weren't a better team.

  It didn't work.

  Kelly Wade was there, standing next to him, naked, looking down at him like he was some sort of roach.

  Ed closed his eyes. Maybe it wasn't all guilt. Maybe he wasn't feeling guilty so much as feeling dirty. He'd been humping a mental case and he'd liked it. Sure, he hadn't known then, but he knew now, and he still liked it. He saw her blond hair, her equally blond bush, the black garter belt against her creamy white skin, the tiny navel, the curve of her hip, her questing mouth…

  He wanted her again!

  But not just her, not just Ingrid. He wanted Kelly, too. He wanted them both, the good girl and the dirty girl, madonna and whore all rolled into one.

  Ed shook his head.

  What a pervo you're turning out to be.

  Which made him feel even guiltier. This was becoming a fucking merry-go-round.

  And the merry-go-round carried him toward the second twin, Kara. Wednesday night she'd looked almost as tortured as her sister. And when Ed had mentioned child abuse, she'd exploded and started talking about her father.

  This was heavy shit.

  He went over and poured himself another. Child abuse. What a world. He was glad he'd never had kids. He looked around the apartment. What did he have? He stared at the elegantly matched, cool-toned furnishings which so perfectly complemented the aloof, distant, abstract paintings, at the racks of electronic gadgetry that surrounded him. He was going to hit the big four-oh soon and what did he really have? A good income, yes, but from a career that had plateaued five years ago; no wife, no family, and an apartment that was more like a Sharper Image catalog than a home. Just a short while ago all of this had mattered so much. The apartment had seemed so full. Now it seemed barren, deserted.

  Empty even when he was here. Especially when he was here.

  Time for a change.

  Right. Easy to say. Could he change?

  Yes. Because he wanted to. The incident in the Plaza had changed his perspective. On everything. As if some inner clock had begun tolling childhood's end. It was time to get involved in something besides finding that latest hot bistro on Columbus Avenue. Time to grow up. Time to begin sharing his life. He was aware of a growing need, a deep yearning for someone else, not just to share his apartment, but his life.

  Maybe Kara Wade was the answer. She needed somebody, he could tell. And he was drawn to her. Maybe he should concentrate on her. He could help her. Really help. Maybe she would be drawn to him as a result. That would be nice. But even if it didn't turn out that way, maybe he could do something for her. Something that mattered.

  February 14

  5:42 A.M.

  Kara awoke in her own bed in her own house with the predawn light filtering through the frost on her own bedroom window. It was great to be back home.

  She hopped out of bed and padded across the cold bare planks of the floor to look out at the farm. Her farm. She rubbed the rime away and watched the rows of scotch pines on the south slope taking shape in the growing light. She opened the window and thrust her head and shoulders out into the cold, still air.

  The morning was hers. For these few minutes she owned it. No one was stirring except her. You couldn't do this in New York. She'd tried when she was there. She'd stayed up all night and she'd risen before the sun, but she'd never had the city to herself. Before the last of the all-night party people had gone home, the city's swarms of delivery trucks were up and out and clattering along the streets.

  But here at the farm the morning was all hers. And someday, when she paid it off, the farm would be all hers as well. She hungered for that day.

  She closed the window and rubbed her hands together, glad she had the weekend to whip this place into shape and get a little work done on her book. Come Monday morning Jill would go back to school and Kara back to her job at the hospital. It was time to put the ugliness of Kelly's death behind them and get their lives back on track.

  She glanced over at the Apple II+ on the writing table. She had bought it second hand as a word processor for her book and it was calling to her now. And well it should. The publisher had refused to authorize an extension of her deadline. They had the book scheduled for next spring's line up and didn't want to change their plans. She had to get cracking.

  But she'd been having trouble with the chapter on abortion. Intellectually, she was pro-choice. Emotionally, she was torn. She couldn't help but think that if she and Rob had ended differently—if he had beat her or otherwise mistreated her—she might have had an abortion rather than carry and deliver their child. And then Jill, wonderful Jill, would never have existed. A horrifying thought.

  But that didn't explain the conceptual problems she was having with the chapter. She had been deeply disturbed by the latest statistics from India: out of every 8,000 abortions in Bombay, only one of the fetuses was male. The Indian women were having amniocentesis, and if the child was female they were aborting it.

  Kara could see that as obstetrical advances filtered down to the over-the-counter level—now there were home pregnancy tests, and soon there would be oral abortifacients, and perhaps even a home amnio kit—the concept of abortion on demand became a two-edged sword. In India, daughters were expensive to marry off, so people were deciding by the thousands not to have daughters. What would a trend like that in the Western countries do to the woman's movement? And what would be the next to disappear? Freckles? Green eyes? Short stature? Mousy hair color? Where would it end?

  Maybe that was the approach to take—Where do we draw the line!

  Kara was suddenly excited. If she got to work right away, she could get a page done before Jill—

  "Mom! Mom!"

  Jill came racing into the room and threw her arms around Kara's waist and hugged her. She was trembling.

  "Jill, honey! What's the matter?"

  "Where were you last night, Mom? Where'd you go?"

  "I didn't go anywhere."

  "Yes, you did! I came looking for you last night and you weren't here!"

  "Don't be silly, of course I was. You must have been dreaming."

  Kara looked down at Jill. She was genuinely frightened. She looked as if she was about to cry.

  "But I wasn't! I thought I heard a noise and I got scared, so I came in to see you and you weren't here! I called and called but you wouldn't answer me, and I looked all over for you but you weren't here! I was so scared! I thought you'd left me!"

  "I was right there in bed all the time. Tell me what you did after that."

  "I went back to my bed and hid under the covers. I was crying. I… think I fell asleep again."

  "And then you woke up and now I'm here. It was a nightmare, Jill. You only dreamt you were looking for me." She hugged her daughter tightly against her. "I'd never go anywhere without you. You know that don't you?"

  Jill nodded. "But it seemed so real!"

  "I know." She kissed her. "The worst ones always do. But it's over now, and I'm here, so why don't you get into your robe and we'll go make breakfast."

  "Can we have scrambled eggs?"

  "Sure."

  "Good! I want to try my chopsticks
on them!"

  As Jill trotted off, Kara sat on the edge of the bed and fished around for her slippers. The mention of the chopsticks brought Rob to mind. He was another reason she was glad to be back at the farm. She'd spent most of the week holding her breath, praying he wouldn't see the resemblance between himself and Jill. How could he miss it? But he had, thank God.

  Well there was no sense in worrying about what might have happened. Right now, she had breakfast to cook and a book to write.