Chapter #111The Twins, Again by: imaj   “I’m not angry at you,” says Rosalie for about the third time, twisting round in the passenger seat of Maria’s hire car to speak to you. “It was an honest mistake. And it was Joe that kissed you remember.”
“I don’t know what came over me,” you sigh, looking out the window as the streets roll by. “He just seemed so pathetic looking and I thought ‘I have to cheer him up’.”
“That’s the sort of thing I do. Are you sure you removed all me memories,” Rosalie asks, a touch of worry clear in her voice
You check your collection of imagos quickly and nod. “This is really awkward.”
Rosalie’s mouth forms an O shape. “Oh my god,” she squeaks. “You have a thing for Joe. You totally have a thing for Joe,” she titters.
“I do not,” you protest hotly, your cheeks colouring. Maria’s eyes flicker to the rear view mirror and you have the feeling she’s watching you unhappily. You suddenly remember her giving Hal Swann quite the bawling out after Margaret’s funeral. “He just caught me by surprise.”
“If you say so,” she teases. She seems a lot more relaxed when she’s talking to, well, herself you guess. “Oh this is going to be so cool,” she squees. “Maria said she was going to take me to get my hair styled afterwards too. We can do that together as well.” Her enthusiasm wavers as she turns to Maria in the driving seat. “Is that ok Maria? Can Will come too,” she asks nervously.
“I had only booked for one of you,” says Maria a little tetchily, her voice lightly accented. She sighs audibly, and perhaps a little overdramatically. “Very well, I will see if they can do you both.
“Thank you,” you and Rosalie say in unison, which only serves to send you both into a fit of giggles.
*****
You wander about the department store, clutching a swath of bags close to your chest. Working in the Crystal Cave back in Saratoga Falls had earned you a little money and Kali had generously given you an allowance when you reached Olympia. A lot of that money is gone now, spent on the presents in the shopping bags: A fancy pen for Kali to write her stories with, a bottle of whiskey for Rick and a set of scarf and gloves for Maria, who has complained about the cold every five minutes since you left her car. Some of the others you aren’t so sure about, so you’ve stuck with the kind of meaningless gifts you used to buy your parents every year – ties, boxes of chocolates, that sort of thing.
It almost makes you nostalgic for home and for a few seconds you ponder what the double that has been filling in for you back home is getting your family for their Christmases. Then you push the thoughts to one side as you feel tears start to well up in your eyes.
You seem to have lost Maria and Rosalie for the moment though. That’s not a bad thing – it gives you the chance to buy a present for Rosalie. Looking around, you notice that you’ve walked into the jewellery section of the store. Girls like jewellery don’t they? The prices here are a little more than you had hoped to spend on anyone, but something tells you that’s ok for Rosalie. After all, you are the only two Sulvae in the Stellae – that makes you close, right?
You browse through the necklaces. Rosalie already has a necklace, you’re sure of it. You’ve caught the odd glimpse of it here and there, peeking out from underneath her clothes. Sometimes she has a habit of grasping at it. Now that you think about it, Rosalie’s necklace is a bit old and worn out – it’s made from stained wood and chipped in places. A replacement would make for a nice gift.
“Can I help you,” asks a sales assistant suddenly hovering next to you. She’s maybe in her thirties and expression is one of carefully pasted on politeness. The assistant watches your bags carefully.
“I was looking for a necklace for my… uh… sister,” you say. “Twin sister actually. She looks just like me,” you add.
“Uh huh,” replies the assistant. “And how much were you willing to spend?” You tell her, it is a pitifully small amount compared to some of the most expensive items here. “I see,” replies the assistant. She directs you over to a shelf of simple looking necklaces. Nothing very expensive, almost costume jewellery really.
“Silver,” you ask nervously. You aren’t sure why, but the metal seems appropriate. The assistant sighs and shows you another shelf. This one is more expensive but still affordable. You settle on a simple chain with a trio of small red gems hanging from it. The sales assistant is mildly surprised when you count out the cash to buy it. Her surprise grows when Rosalie appears at your side just after you’ve placed your purchase with the rest of your bags.
“Hey Will… uh.. ow… uh… Willow,” says Rosalie, grabbing you by your arm. Inwardly you groan at feeble attempt at deception. “You’ve been busy,” she adds, looking at your bags
“Rosalie,” you reply with a smile. “I think I’ve got something for everyone now.”
“Great,” says Rosalie. She hooks her arm round yours and leads you away from the sales assistant. “Let’s go find Maria.”
*****
The hair salon is busy when you arrive, full of women and girls of all ages getting one last touch up before Christmas. Despite this, Maria seems to have succeeded in wrangling the extra appointment for you. Your bags are carried away from you and placed somewhere safe before a bored looking stylist leads you to an empty chair. She looks barely older than you.
Rosalie is in the chair next to you. She takes off her glasses and sets them on her lap as the stylist working with her, middle aged and with an obviously fake tan if you are any judge, wraps a cloth round her to protect her clothes.
Your stylist looks at you pointedly. “Can’t do anything with that comb in,” she says before blowing a bubble with her gum. It pops loudly and she draws the mess back inside her mouth with her teeth. You take the hint and draw the comb out yourself, setting it and your glasses on your lap.
“So honey,” says Rosalie’s stylist to her as your own wraps her cloth round you. “What’ll it be?” You glance at the mirror – with your clothes hidden and your hair down, you and Rosalie now look completely identical.
Rosalie looks frightened, almost as if she’s never had her hair cut like this. Given the way her hair looks you can’t discount the possibility. You, however, at least have some of Hélène and Arabela’s experience’s to draw upon. However, before you can interrupt, Maria walks over and starts talking very low and fast with Rosalie’s stylist
“Well,” says your stylist abruptly. Maria is still talking to Rosalie’s stylist, so it looks like you are on your own. With a little help from Arabela’s memories, you manage to cobble together a request. The stylist nods brusquely and gets to work.
You relax and let her do her job. To your side, Rosalie does the same. In the mirror, you can see Maria is now talking to the salon’s manageress, a cup of coffee in her hands. The odd thing is, she’s looking directly at you. You have no idea what you did to annoy her this time.
You close your eyes and let your mind drift. A memory from Saratoga Falls surfaces: Climbing down the circular stairs at Blackwell’s house, the weight of something across your shoulders. In the secret basement you drop your load to the floor. It is Will Shabbleman, and his head lolls uselessly as he lays there. Even though you purged her memories, a little Rosalie part of you squeaks at the discovery.
Your eyes snap open and you look at Rosalie. She’s sitting there, staring straight into the mirror with wide eyes as her stylist transforms her look. A strong current of guilt seeps from your stomach. You know the truth about her fiancé and you haven’t told her.
You breathe deeply and centre yourself, struggling to manage even such a basic part of your meditation exercises. It takes some effort, but you manage to push the thoughts of Will Shabbleman to one side and close your eyes again.
Another memory pushes its way to the front of your mind: A mask sinking into the face of Aubey Blackwell. You watch as his form melts into that of Jonathan Straussler. Will Shabbleman’s killer, or as close enough that makes no difference. You helped him escape. The tide of guilt washes back over you and you grit your teeth. It takes every fibre of your being, straining in concert not to yelp out.
A third memory arrives, this one far more recent: You and Rosalie talking in the truck on the way to Olympia. She asks about Will Shabbleman. She asks about Will Shabbleman and you lie to her. The sense of guilt washes higher and higher. You are sinking in it and you cannot bear it a moment longer.
Your eyes snap open again. “Rosalie,” you say quietly. She turns her head very slightly to get a better look at you. “I know what happened to your betrothed. I know what happened to Will Shabbleman.”
She says nothing for a few moments. “What,” she says in a very small voice.
“Professor Blackwell killed him,” you reply. You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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