Sibs

by F. Paul Wilson

  "Well, you can't."

  Her lower lip starts to tremble. Tears begin to rim her dark eyes.

  "Mommy, I'm scared up here!"

  You try, but you can't keep the edge off your voice.

  "That's too bad. You'd better get used to it because you're going to have to stay here alone lots of times, starting now."

  You step into the stairwell and close the door behind you. There's a latch inside the door. You snap it home.

  As you hurry down the stairs, you hear her terrified cries as she bangs on the door.

  You beast! You bastard! How could you—

  "Enough! My patience is frayed. I can see that your child is going to be a terrible problem. Something will have to be done about her."

  Kara's voice is suddenly conciliatory.

  She'll be all right. She's just got to get used to this place. And when she gets into a school around here she'll be out most of the day. She's no trouble, really.

  "I'm sure everything will work out," you say.

  But privately you know that the present situation is intolerable. Despite whatever precautions you may take, it seems inevitable that the child will discover the reason for your multiple daily trips into the basement. And what about those times when you want to leave Kara's body and re-enter your own for brief periods, or return to some of the other bodies that you've used in the past? What will you do then? You will have to leave Kara in the padded cell in the office. What are you going to do with the child—hire a babysitter?

  No, this will never do. You need complete privacy in your house. Three's a crowd, as the old adage goes. You must be rid of Jill. Perhaps a private school in another state, a sleepaway academy during the school year and summer camp the rest of the time. Plenty of parents do it. That might work. And then again it might not. You need a solution you can be assured of, a permanent solution.

  And suddenly you know.

  Your fondness for the idea grows as you spoon the cereal into your mouth. Because it might solve the problem with Kara as well.

  And it can happen toady. You've already planned an 'accident'—a fatal one—for Detective Harris. Why not involve the child in that same accident? A tragic pair of deaths. And as a possible lagniappe—the breaking of Kara Wade. Witnessing the deaths of her child and her lover, watching her own hands cause those deaths and being utterly impotent to do anything to save them will break her will, crush her spirit. It has to.

  And after the accident, life within Kara Wade will be much more pleasant, and far more secure. Not only will there be no police detective sniffing around her, but the child will be gone. You will have your house all to yourself again. And Kara Wade will have learned to be a compliant, submissive hostess.

  Life will be good again.

  You glance at your watch. Detective Harris will be here soon. You'd better get upstairs and set the stage.

  ▼

  Jill opened the front door for him. Rob's throat tightened at the sight of her. His voice became husky.

  "Good—morning, Miss Wade. How are you today?"

  "All right, I guess," she said and turned away.

  Rob caught her arm and gently pulled her around to face him.

  "That was the most unconvincing 'all right' I've ever heard. What's up, Jill?"

  She sniffed. "I don't like it here."

  He went down on one knee beside her and put his arm around her waist. Touching her gave him a warm feeling like he'd never known. Her dark hair and complexion—they were his. He could see that now. Part him was part of her. The realization awed him.

  "Nobody likes a new place if they still like the old place, but there's lots of neat stuff here."

  Rob didn't care if she didn't like this house in particular, but he wanted her to like New York. Because he wanted her to live here and be near him.

  "Too many steps," she said.

  "For an energetic girl like you? Think of what good exercise it'll be for your legs. Why, in no time you'll be running—"

  "And Mom's changed."

  The rest of Rob's words twisted and tumbled and caught in his throat as a wave of arctic cold seeped into his spine.

  "What do you mean, 'changed?' "

  "She's not the same. Like she's a different person."

  The cold began spreading to the rest of his body.

  "When did she change?"

  "Yesterday. Just like in the movie. Except yesterday was Thursday."

  "What movie?"

  "Freaky Friday. I saw it at Aunt Ellen's. It's about a girl who switches places with her mother."

  "What kind of switch?"

  "She winds up in her mother's body and her mother winds up in her's. Only that didn't happen with Mom. I'm not in her body. Someone else is."

  Rob felt himself begin to tremble as his daughter spoke his worst fears. He could barely form the words.

  "Why… why would you say something like that?"

  "Because she talks different. And she yells at me."

  Rob forced himself to relax. Maybe Jill was feeling the disruption of being moved from place to place the past few weeks. From the farm to Ellen's, and now to the townhouse. And Kara had been under tremendous stress, so she might be a little short these days. Stir those kind of changes into someone at an impressionable age like Jill, add a movie like Freaky Friday or whatever it was called, and the result was a child who thinks her mother is someone else.

  A good explanation, Rob thought. Why doesn't it make me feel any better?

  "I'll straighten her out," he said, giving Jill an extra squeeze before releasing her. "Where's this freaky mom of yours, anyway?"

  "Upstairs. Listening to music."

  "Let's go see her."

  He took his daughter's hand and together they climbed' toward the top floor. He heard the music long before he reached her. He stopped on the second floor and listened to the booming basso males and shrieking falsetto females, all drawing their notes from deep within the abdomen, maybe as far down as the pelvis.

  Opera.

  The wave of cold hit him again.

  "Your hand's getting all sweaty, Rob."

  "Sorry."

  He wiped his palms on his pants legs.

  Your mother hates opera.

  Despite the bright sunlight outside, the third floor was dark. He found Kara lying back in the recliner, the opera blaring from the six-foot speakers around the room. Her face was relaxed, peaceful. She could have been asleep. He leaned over and spoke into her ear.

  "Since when are you an opera fan?"

  She opened her eyes and smiled, reached up with her arms and pulled his head closer. She kissed him on the lips, long and passionately. Rob began to respond, but he wasn't comfortable kissing her like this in front of Jill.

  "I'm glad to see you," she said when he pulled away.

  "It's mutual. But opera?"

  "There's so much of it here I thought I'd give it a try. The music's not bad. I just wish I knew what they were saying."

  "I can live without knowing. You said you needed my help up here?"

  Rob noticed how she used the remote control to turn off the stereo from her chair. She seemed right at home. Too at home.

  "Yes," she said, rising from the chair. "I want to take down those drapes from the rear windows and let in some light. It's like a mausoleum in here."

  She was right about the gloom. And it was a very Kara thing to do. She was always one for open windows and letting the air through. He walked over and pulled the drapes aside to take a look. The window was huge—three five-foot panes stacked floor to ceiling. The drapes were suspended from a heavy rod bolted to the ceiling.

  "This'll let in some light, all right. But how do I get up there?"

  "I thought we might try one of the ladders from the library."

  "Good idea. I'll get one."

  "I'll help."

  "That's okay. I can manage."

  Rob removed his jacket and laid it atop one of the record cabinets. He pulled his clip holste
r and revolver from the small of his back and folded them in his jacket. Then he headed for the stairs.

  ▼

  What are you up to? Kara asks as you watch Detective Harris descend to the second floor. Her words writhe with suspicion.

  "Nothing, Kara. Nothing at all."

  You love this room just the way it is—like a tomb. Why are you pretending to want to change it? Tell me!

  "It's very simple, really. Your detective friend is suspicious of you. That's why he keeps asking questions about your past together. I'm doing this to allay those suspicions. Seeing me making changes in the house will put him more at ease, make him more willing to overlook any gaffes I make as I pretend to be you."

  There is a lengthy pause. Then:

  I don't trust you.

  "I realize that. But it doesn't matter."

  You don't tell her what you're really planning. Better to let her learn as it happens. The shock will drive it all more deeply home.

  And it will happen soon. Very soon.

  ▼

  With growing unease, Kara watched Rob set up the ladder next to the window. Maybe Gabor truly was trying to allay Rob's suspicions, but somehow that didn't ring true. She had a feeling he was up to something.

  She had to admit, though, he was certainly acting like a devoted parent where Jill was concerned, whether for Rob's sake or to make up for locking her out of the cellar earlier, Kara couldn't say. But when Jill wanted to go downstairs, Gabor convinced her to stay, and even turned on the projection TV so she could watch Pee Wee's Playhouse.

  "She's not going to see much on that screen once I let the light in," Rob said.

  "We'll adjust," Kara's voice said. "I think opening this floor up to that southern exposure is worth the loss of a little daytime TV, don't you?"

  "I guess so."

  Rob locked down the spreader on the stepladder, checked its stability, then began to climb.

  "Want me to steady it?"

  "Nah. I'll be okay."

  But to reach the center curtains, Rob had to climb to the very top and perch on the head step. The ladder wobbled under him,

  "Maybe you'd better steady it after all," he said.

  Her hands braced the side rails as Rob reached under the valance and unhooked the left curtain. When he let it drop, blinding sunlight poured in on an angle through the five-foot sheets of glass. He looked down at her.

  "How's that?"

  "Great. Now the other one."

  As Rob worked on the right curtain, Kara noticed that her right hand had moved from the ladder's side rail to the front pocket of her jeans. It pulled out a key ring and began twirling the ring on its index finger.

  What are you doing that for?

  "I want to see if he notices."

  He will notice!

  "I hope so. Because I want him to know before he dies."

  Sick terror engulfed Kara.

  No! What are you going to do?

  "Watch."

  Rob dropped the second curtain. More sun poured in.

  "There we go. Now, you said you wanted the drapes—"

  His eyes widened as he looked down at her. Kara could see his eyes fixed on her hand and the twirling key ring.

  "It's you!" he said in an awed whisper. "God damn it, it's you!"

  Kara heard her voice shout "Yes!" and then her hands were pushing hard against the stepladder. Before Kara could even attempt to hold them back, the damage was done. With all Rob's weight at the top, the ladder toppled easily, vaulting him toward the huge panes of glass. With a terrified cry, he grabbed a pleat of one of the side drapes but it pulled free and he crashed into the top pane. It shattered with a bell-like clang, and then all the glass was coming apart, in shards large and small, in squares, triangles and daggers, catching and throwing flashes of sunlight as they spun and tumbled in all directions.

  Kara heard Jill shriek in terror behind her. Rob's body twisted and contorted within the flying glass, one hand still clutching the side drape, the other grasping at empty air. He fell out of sight, pulling the drape after him. A silent scream ripped from Kara as she saw the fabric catch for a second on the edge of the window frame. She thought it might hold, then it too slipped from sight.

  NO!!!

  ▼

  You watch the detective fall to his death. It's a three-story drop. And if the fall in itself isn't enough, there's a patio below ringed with a wrought iron fence. The fence is directly below the window. It's not spiked, but it will break Detective Harris in two when he strikes it.

  But now for the second part of the plan: the child.

  You turn and see her horrified face as she runs up to where you stand. All you have to do is grab her arm and propel her the rest of the way through the shattered window, to follow her father down in death. She's at your side now. You reach for her arm—

  There's movement at the window. It catches the corner of your eye. You look. It's a hand—bloody, but rising over the corner of the floor-level sill, grasping the side of the frame.

  The detective didn't fall all the way!

  He's alive! Kara cries. Thank God!

  You rush forward and see that he somehow managed to grab hold of the cornice that runs along the back of the house at the level of each floor. And now he's climbing back in! He's got to be stopped! He's barely holding on by his fingertips.

  "I'll remedy that!"

  A quick slash or two at his hands with one of these glass daggers littering the floor should send him down to where he should already be.

  Don't! Leave him alone!

  You pick up a slim, sharp shard of glass. This should do it. As you shift it in your hand it slips. You grab for it with the other hand and feel a piercing pain in your palm—

  —and suddenly the world is dark and your body is bloated and thick and small and your limbs are scrawny things that you can barely move. "NO!"

  ▼

  Kara's knees suddenly went out from under her and she fell forward, nearly tumbling out the window herself. The pain in her palm was blinding. She turned her hand to look at the bloody glass dagger protruding from both sides. All the way through! Pain blazed anew, higher than before as she pulled it free.

  And then Kara realized that she had turned her hand, she had removed the glass—not someone else.

  "I'm free!" she screamed aloud. "Oh, God, I'm free!"

  But how? Why? Her mind raced. Kelly had got free of him—and Kelly had a deep bite mark on her shoulder. Lazlo had got free of him—right after being knocked down by a car.

  Rob had raised his head and shoulders above the sill. He glared at her with a mixture of fear and fury.

  "Pain, Rob! Pain! That's the key! Pain cuts the contact, breaks his control!"

  As he levered himself over the sill and onto the floor, Rob looked at her with confused eyes, full of mistrust.

  "It's me, Rob! Really me! I'm free of him!"

  God, it was wonderful to speak her own words, have control of her own limbs. But for how long?

  She, picked up a piece of glass in her good right hand and stared at the left's bleeding palm. There might be a way to hold Gabor off. She clenched her teeth and drove the point of the glass into her injured hand. She screamed with the burst of renewed pain.

  "Kara!" Rob shouted. He was inside the window now, staring at her with horrified eyes. "What the hell—?"

  "It'll keep him away!" she said, gasping through her teeth. "God, it's got to!"

  "Then it's true? Gabor is behind this whole thing?"

  His eyes were wild, as if he still didn't believe any of this was really happening. But he'd mentioned Gabor. That meant he knew!

  "Yes! Gabor—the monster!"

  "Where is he?" he said.

  Kara could hear Jill behind her, sobbing, scared half to death, calling her name.

  "In the basement," Kara said. "Behind the paneling. Get down there, Rob. Kill him!" Those words sounded so alien, but she knew it was the only way. "Kill him before he comes back. Don't ever
let him do this to me again! Please!"

  She plunged the glass into her hand again.