Alternity (15 page)

“Wow, that’s horrible,” I say, trying to imagine how such a betrayal must have stung. No wonder he’s so bitter about his ex.

“Many good men and women died that night. And it set our rebellion back miles. Not to mention morale. We’d been working for almost a year to set up the sabotage. And it was over in one fell swoop because our great and glorious leader decided to betray us.”

I considered this; something still didn’t make sense. “But if Mariah did all this, why the hell do the Eclipsers want her back?”

“They don’t believe it was her. And when I told them what I knew had happened, they freaked out. We got into a huge fight. I’ve tried to avoid them ever since. I wanted nothing to do with their insane quest to bring you back. It’d be better for everyone if you just rotted on Earth.”

I wince, realizing he’s gone back to using “you” to refer to Mariah.

“So, you see how it is,” Dawn continues sorrowfully. “How I sit here, with you mere inches away, and yet you’re not here at all. How I want to blame you for crimes you don’t remember committing.” He stares off into space, his eyes unfocused, uneasy, pained. “Is there any Mariah still inside, deep down? Or have the ‘Gazers completely gutted your brain? Are you really here of your own accord? Or are you some sort of spy, sent by Duske to figure out what we’re up to and betray us all over again?”

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 a family someday. But instead I gave that all up for an endless fight that we can never hope to win.” He gives me a rueful look, his regret sucking the breath from my lungs.

“You don’t really believe that,” I find myself arguing. “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 and brave.”

“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. A kiss of violent passion, domination, control. This kiss is different. A fearful tenderness, almost as if he believes pressing too hard will cause me to vanish into thin air.

This is not a kiss of desire. Not a kiss of control. This is a kiss of someone in love.

But he’s not in love with me.

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 managing another step away from the seductive scene. I take a breath, turning to face him and 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, 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 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 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—that means someone else is. And if I let myself succumb to Dawn’s tenderness, fall for him and allow myself to care, then the real Mariah could someday come back to reclaim her boyfriend 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.

Reluctantly, 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, 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. No, not for the reason you think. 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. But 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. And eventually, 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 his sleep. “Oh God, please, Mariah!”

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

TWELVE

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 his watch. “Five o’clock,” he says.

“It’s early.” Unless time in Terra works differently than it does on Earth.

“Actually, it’s late. It’s five in the evening.”

I sit up, shocked. “I slept all day?” I ask, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“You slept two days. But you looked so peaceful, lying there. I didn’t want to wake you until I absolutely had to.”

I gape at him. I can’t believe I’ve been out for that 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. Um, Mariah’s house,” he corrects quickly. “No one will find you there.”

“A house?” I repeat, surprised. I guess I never really thought about where Mariah might live. I wonder what it looks like. A simple cave like Dawn’s place? Or something a little more upscale? After all, Mariah was royalty, though she abandoned her birthright. I wonder if stepping through the front door will jog any memories? Or will it seem, as everything else in this world has up until now, completely foreign?

“Mariah needed someplace to stay after she ran away from her parents’ house in Luna Park,” Dawn explains. “She found a very pretty apartment, well hidden in an old, abandoned building, deep underground in Stratum Three. It’s small, but she did an excellent job making it homey and cozy.”

“Um, great,” I reply, gnawing on my lower lip. He doesn’t plan to just leave me there, does he? I mean, homey or not, it’s still some abandoned apartment deep underground in a postapocalyptic world. Unless he agreed to stay with me. 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 hopefully be able to provide some answers as to what the hell is going on here. Though, of course, they’ll all be convinced that I’m Mariah. And will be trying their best to get me to remember a life I never led. To convince me that my true memories are nothing more than a drug-induced lie.

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, help launch the video game—hell, maybe I’ll even go clubbing with Suzy.

But first I have to convince the Eclipsers to help me. I’m sure they won’t be too pleased when I ask to go back. 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.

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 lot different from what I’m used to at the dorms. 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 from behind the closed door. “Um, do you have anything I could wear?”

“One second.” He appears in the doorway, a pile of folded 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.