Alternity (21 page)

“So,” Dawn says, “the next time I saw her—you—was in that alleyway on the outskirts of Luna Park. Obviously I was more than a bit confused at that point. I’m sorry about my reaction.”

“It’s okay. I understand completely, given the circumstances.”

Dawn rises from his seat and stalks the length of the room. He takes the photo of him and Mariah off the wall and studies it closely. “It’s still not easy,” he says, looking back at me for a moment before returning his focus to the portrait. “You look like her. You smell like her. You walk and talk and have all of her mannerisms. But you don’t have her inside you. You don’t remember me. Our life together. You don’t remember all we had—what you threw away without ever telling me why!” His voice breaks on the “why,” and he slams his fist into the wall, punching easily through the plaster.

Empathy consumes me as I watch him lean his head against the wall. It’s impossible to comprehend what he’s feeling. His true love, discarding him like an old habit, betraying not only him, but everything they’d fought for. No wonder he’d acted so hateful toward me. I’d hate me too.

I approach him slowly. He’s shaking, hands still in fists. His face is crimson. His eyes narrow, and he’s still seething with anger. I’m half afraid that if I touch him he’ll hit me, knock me across the room with his superstrength. But at the same time, I know he needs me. On some base level, he knows it, too. And so I risk it, coming up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist, burying my head in his back, squeezing him tight, not saying a word.

At first he’s stiff, resists my touch. Refuses to accept my offer of comfort. But then he breaks. His muscles relax under my hold. I can feel his hard swallow, and a moment later he turns to face me. His eyes are rimmed with angry tears.

He reaches up and brushes the back of his hand against my cheek. A shiver flitters through me. “I should kill you,” he says. “For what you’ve done to me. For what you’ve done to the Dark Siders. And yet, I can’t manage to hate you. No matter how hard I try.”

His words break my heart. I can’t bear it—all this pain, all this hurt. If only there was a way to take it away. To draw it into my body and leave him with nothing but peace. Instead, I stand uselessly. Holding him. Giving him as much comfort as I can.

We stand there for what seems like hours, barely moving, just looking into each other’s eyes. The connection between us, the bond, is so strong it makes me want to cry.

“It’s late,” he says finally. “And you’ve had a big day, if not a long one. It’s best if you get some rest. I’ll take the couch.”

He breaks away, and emptiness consumes me once again. I want to run across the room and throw myself back into his arms, beg him to hold me for just five more seconds. Or minutes. Or hours. Or years. Instead, I head reluctantly to the bedroom and collapse on the bed, not bothering to flip on the light.

I’m so exhausted I assume sleep will take me immediately. But there’s too much swirling around in my mind. And it’s too hard to hear Dawn breathing in the other room. He’s way too far away for my liking. I contemplate my options for a moment, then give in to my desire.

“Dawn?” I call out. My voice sounds plaintive and hesitant.

In half a second, he’s in the bedroom. “Do you need something?” he asks, shifting from one foot to the other.

I swallow hard before nodding. “Yes,” I say at last. “Would you mind … I mean, I’m feeling a little uncomfortable and scared in here by myself. So much has happened. This is all so strange and—”

“Anything. Name it.”

“Could you come in and sleep next to me?”

I see his silhouette in the doorway; he both enters and retreats at the same time. “I …” he starts. “I don’t know if—”

“Look,” I say. “I don’t know about the past or anything, or all the things you think I did. But I do know that whoever I am, I need this. I’m not asking for anything. Just—I need a friend. I don’t want to be alone.”

He enters the room, shirtless, dressed only in a pair of flannel pants. His chest is as powerful as I’d imagined, all sharp planes of muscle, taut and toned. A few harsh scars mar the otherwise perfect flesh, but they only serve to make him more fascinating. He crawls into bed behind me, wrapping his arms around my body and spooning me close. He nestles his face in my hair and I can feel his hot breath gently tickling my earlobes. I snuggle closer so that our two bodies touch as much as possible, feeling warm, safe, protected. There’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to flip around, kiss him full on the mouth. Find out what it’s like to make love to this beautiful man. But I know this is not the time for that.

Right now, this is enough.

FOURTEEN

I wake up, still wrapped in Dawn’s arms. For a moment I don’t move; I just lie there, enjoying his warm body snuggled against mine. It’s so strange. I barely know this guy, yet I already have such a deep connection to him. I should be feeling overwhelmingly guilty, lying here in another guy’s arms. But right now, my Earth relationship with Craig seems so distant. Almost unreal. As if it were a dream I once had.

It’s going to be hard—torturous—to go back to Earth, I realize. To leave Dawn and all he’s beginning to mean to me. But in the long run, what choice do I have? We each have our own separate lives and destinies. And while, for a brief moment, the stars aligned and we shared something special, that’s where it has to end. An alternate reality one-night stand, I guess. And now, as morning breaks, it’s time to say good-bye.

I shift in his arms, rolling over so we’re face-to-face. He opens his eyes, mere inches from mine. A beautiful, sleepy blue, they sparkle like crystal from under his long sooty eyelashes. He smiles a shy smile and reaches up to brush a lock of hair from my face. My heart breaks at the simple gesture. How am I going to say good-bye to him?

“Good morning,” he whispers, kissing me lightly on the nose.

“Good morning,” I say. Wishing I could wake up this way every day for the rest of my life. But that’s impossible. I know it. He knows it. And we both need to stop pretending and face it.

After a few more minutes.

We lie there together, legs and arms intertwined, stroking each other softly, neither person very interested in moving away. At last, he grins sheepishly and sits up, running a hand through the long strands of his tousled hair. “Would you like some breakfast?” he asks. “I could go stand in line to see if they’re doling out egg-synths this morning. It’s a long shot, but you never know.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. I’m not hungry.” I’m actually starving, but I can’t bear the thought of making him go wait in line. Or even get out of bed.

“It’s probably for the best anyway. That fight last night—when I was bashing those guards’ heads together. I’m afraid one of them might have realized what I really am.”

My cozy thoughts fade as I remember all that had happened the night before. “What will they do if they figure it out?” I ask.

“Work to kill me, probably,” Dawns says with a shrug.

I sit up, horrified, worried. “No! They can’t! That’s … that’s …” I don’t know how to appropriately express my horror.

What difference does it make?
a voice jeers in my head.
Dead or alive, after today you’ll never see him again.

My heart pangs and I want to cry. I need to get back to Earth. I have to. But how can I leave Dawn behind? And I already know he won’t come with me. If he wouldn’t leave for Mariah, there’s no way he’d leave for Skye.

Dawn looks at me, a thoughtful expression on his face, then he rises from the bed. “Bathroom,” he says. “Then we get dressed and head over to HQ to assess the damage.”

“But what about …” Did he forget? Great. That’s going to make this whole thing even tougher.

Dawn stops at the doorway, shoulders slumped, frozen in place, obviously remembering. “You still want to go back,” he realizes aloud.

“Well, I mean, um, yeah,” I say, stumbling over the words. It’s hard to talk when everything inside me is begging that I reconsider. But no, it’s impossible. I have a life on Earth and I need to go back. I have responsibilities, commitments, family, friends. I can’t just abandon them all, can I? After all, isn’t that the same thing Dawn condemns Mariah for doing, going the other way?

Is what you have on Earth really so special?
the voice inside me nags.
Don’t you think you could do a lot more good by staying here?

“Fine,” Dawn says, leaning against the door frame. “I’ll drive you to Moongazer Palace instead. Let you get on with your life. Sorry to have kept you here so long.” But he doesn’t sound sorry. He sounds angry.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to shake off the ache that’s settled into my bones. “I’d appreciate that.”

Dawn stalks out of the room. A moment later, I hear the bathroom door slam shut. I curl into the fetal position on the bed, wracked with guilt. How can I do this? Just leave him? Leave the Dark Siders. Go back to my life and never return. Never even hear how their fight ends, if they eventually won equality or were resubjected by the government.

I try to remind myself of all that I’ll be going back to: RealLife—finally released to the public. Craig—poor guy, I’ve been so vacant of late. School, homework, my family. Why does it all suddenly seem empty and meaningless?

My troubling thoughts are interrupted as Dawn returns, standing silhouetted in the doorway. “Well?” he asks, his voice cold. “Let’s get a move on. I have a lot to do today after I drop you off.”

I crawl out of bed, the cold air biting at my bare legs as I abandon the blanket. Dawn steps aside as I walk out of the bedroom, but I can’t help catch a glimmer of hurt in his eyes as I pass. It makes me ache inside, to recognize the pain he can’t completely mask. Obviously deep inside he’s been hoping, praying, that somehow, some way, I’ll magically transform into the girl he loves. The girl capable of leading a revolution.

But, I remind myself, even the illustrious Mariah left in the end. And now, through me, Dawn has to relive her betrayal, her exodus to Earth, all over again. Not that it’s fair, really, to compare the two scenarios. Not totally. She left her world. I want to return to mine. But for some reason, that doesn’t make me feel any less guilty.

“Before you go,” Dawn says slowly. “May I show you a few things?”

“Sure,” I say—probably too quickly, too eagerly, desperate to spend a few more minutes with him. But life on Earth has waited this long; it can wait a few hours longer.

“Okay. Go shower and get ready.” He sounds more cheerful already. “We’ll make a few stops before heading to Moongazer Palace.”

I shower and change, finding a closet stuffed full of clothes. Mariah’s clothes. I choose something simple: a plain pair of black pants, corset top, and trench coat. No need for frilly skirts and platform boots today, no matter how cute they are.

We head out of the apartment, across the water-soaked hallway, down the creaky elevator, and through the dismal lobby to where Dawn parked his hover bike. We get on the bike and zoom through the tunnels. I want to ask where we’re going, but I don’t feel much like shouting over the roar of the bike.

We stop at a small building, its metal facade built into the rock. Once inside, I recognize immediately that it must be some kind of one-room schoolhouse. A couple dozen Terran children of various ages sit cross-legged on the floor in front of a teacher who is reading from a tattered book. The children are dressed in rags and some of them wear soiled bandages wrapped around their arms or heads. All are terribly mutated. Extra fingers. Third eyes. Humped backs. They’re hideous in appearance, yet the light shining on their faces as their teacher reads makes them somehow more beautiful than a playground full of Gap Kids models.

“The government doesn’t allow the Dark Siders to go to school,” Dawn explains. “They figure a little education can be dangerous, so they banned it. Kids are supposed to go to work in the mines as soon as they’re old enough to carry rocks. But Mariah felt everyone should learn to read and write. She said the more knowledge we could acquire, the less helpless we would be.”

“That makes sense,” I say, taken aback by the sight of a child with an extra arm trying to write on a clay slate.

“So we rotate them in and out. One week mining, the next learning. That way there always appear to be children in the mines if the government comes down to check up on us,” Dawn says. “The problem is getting teachers. That’s one of the reasons Mariah was so desperate to bring more Indys to our side. Sister Anne here is one such instructor. She’s retired from her headmistress job in Luna Park and risks her life daily to come down here to teach. If the government knew of her behavior, she’d be punished for sure.”

I look at the teacher with newfound respect. “So, some of the Indys do help?”

“A few. Not enough. Not by a long shot. Most Indys are too blinded by whatever the government dangles in front of them. They spend their lives enjoying the restaurants and alcohols and shops. And now there’s ‘Gazing. Why help the people in your own world when you can hop over to a better one?”

Once again I feel that pang of guilt stab at my gut. Here I am, judging the Indys, when really, aren’t I just as bad? Wanting to go back to Earth, refusing to help these poor people, these destitute children whom I could easily teach to read and write if I wanted? When I’m back, will I be able to forget their faces? Or am I in for a lifetime of guilt, knowing I turned my back on them?

Bet you wished you chose the blue pill, Neo.

This wasn’t fair. At least Neo was given a choice. He wanted to know. I never asked to be dragged into Terra. To learn the truth of its world. I would have been totally content living out my days in the Matrix, innocent and unaware of it all.

But now that I’ve seen it, what can I do?

The teacher looks up from her book. Her face brightens as she sees us at the back of the room. “Mariah,” she cries. “Oh my goodness, children, look who’s here! It’s Sister Mariah!”

The kids break into applause and I can feel my face heat at the oh-so-undeserved praise. Here I am, standing, wishing I’d never met them, and they’re gazing up at me like I’m their savior.