Alex
I had crossed the foyer and just passed through the door into our open plan area beyond, when Steve collared me.
He was one of our better Technical Managers, very good at his job, well liked, and he always managed to get his guys to deliver on time. His problem was that he lacked confidence, and even though he nearly always already had the answer, he just had to run it by me first. I liked him a lot, but it irritated the shit out of me that a guy like Steve could be so indecisive.
He had probably waited the whole hour for me to get out of the meeting, and yet had he acted, the problem would probably have gone away by now.
I smiled at him as I said, "Problem Steve?" But a loud bang, and a commotion behind me took my attention away from him. I turned and looked back through the glass panel in the door leading to the foyer, and there he stood, the man from the ninth floor. He was in the middle of a throng of people, many of whom seemed to be berating him, presumably over his overly enthusiastic entry from the stairs given the commotion by the stairwell door.
He on the other hand, ignored them all, and seemed to be quickly scanning the faces that stood around him. Just as quickly he turned back to the stairwell, starting to leave.
I had stopped breathing again, but this time I was sure my heart had stopped, too. Sarah what have you done to me? was the thought that flashed through my mind as I pushed the door open and walked out into the foyer.
The very instant the door moved he turned back again, looking straight towards me, straight into my eyes.
The look was questioning, imploring even, and I knew that it was me he was looking for, and that Sarah's ‘What happens next’ answer had been far to close to the mark.
###
David
I turned back towards the stairwell, she was not one of those in the foyer. I had to get to the next floor. Then suddenly it came again, from behind, someone was watching me, and I knew it had to be her. I turned back and our eyes met. Oh, it was Carthia alright, she was different somehow but it was her.
I walked towards her as she stood in the doorway to one of the open plan offices.
The look on her face was not one of fear, as I had expected. Strangely she looked thoughtful, almost hopeful, almost as if I was expected.
###
Alex
He walked directly towards me, slowly but purposefully, Christ he looks so angry.
This was getting way too far fetched. “Sarah if this is your doing I will get you for it,” I said under my breath. I regularly talked to my sister, but not usually out loud, and never in public.
I always played both parts, hers and mine, and it was my honest belief that wherever she was now, Sarah’s side of the conversation really came from her, not just the words but the tone and feeling too. Sometimes Sarah’s responses would have me in genuine fits of laughter, just as if she had really been there with me, and had said it herself.
Was that what all twins felt? We had been so very close and, for me at least, we still were.
Anyway, I had said it out loud, and the look of puzzlement on his face said that he had somehow heard me. He stopped just a few feet in front of me; the anger was still there but seemingly held in check, replaced somewhat with a look of confusion. He had chased me from the ninth floor, finally caught me, and now did not know what to say or do. I felt much the same way.
Steve, behind me saved the day, "Alex," he said, "I really need to go through this with you, it —"
But before he could finish, my prince said, "So your name is Alex?"
I nodded to him as I said, "Sort it, Steve, I’ll be back in a little while. You know what to do, you always do. You don’t need me to decide for you, you never have done. Just get on with it." The words used sounded like a rebuke, but I hoped my gentle tone conveyed my true meaning, ‘Please, I am out of my depth here, leave me alone to figure it out’.
Steve to his credit turned and walked back into the office. Others, in the foyer, looked on at this turn of events, where the rude guy who shoved people aside, had quietly walked over to me. But at that point I did not care. This was different, this was more in keeping with what Sarah and I had expected life to be like – full of surprises and bordering on the strange. Just like me, I suppose.
I can't explain why I did what I did next. Here I was standing in front of a complete stranger, an obviously angry stranger, who had called me Carthia, and chased me down seven flight of stairs.
And yet I took his hand, steered him back towards the stairwell and out of the building. And all I could think of to say was, "We need to talk."
We walked from the building towards the town centre. "Do you fancy a coffee?" I asked, and other than to order drinks, those were the only words spoken until we were sat opposite each other.
The conversation that followed after we sat, was the strangest that I had ever had – at least with the fantasy brain storming session Sarah and I used to have, I was not expected to believe that they were true. He seemed so very angry, and it was all aimed at me. He had tried to hide it as we walked to the café, but sitting opposite him I could see that the anger was still there. In the foyer it had been open on his face for all to see. Now he kept his face in check, but his eyes still blazed with it. He watched me intently as I began to speak.
I introduced myself and was about to ask why he had called me Carthia when suddenly I found myself angry, irrationally angry. How did this man know of Carthia? It wasn’t even a real name as far as I knew. Carthia only existed in our book, and only Sarah and I knew of the book, let alone the name Carthia.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
How did he know, had he somehow gotten hold of the book and read it, and why was he so angry with me?
I blurted it all out, demanding that he explain. And somehow, my anger defused his.
The anger in his eyes evaporated and a hint of a smile appeared on his face, touched his eyes even.
“Your anger suits you,” he said, and after a pause, “I’ll tell you all you want to know, but you probably won’t believe a word I say. I’ve only told three people my story, and two of them agree that I am seriously disturbed and am very much in need of help."
“What about the third? You said that you told three people," I asked.
He smiled again, a grin really, almost as if what he would say next was some kind of private joke. “She believed me. All of it. But then, she is my mother."
I really did not know what to make of that, but he saved me from making some stupidly embarrassing comment by speaking first.
“You know, your resemblance to the woman I know as Carthia is uncanny, even your voice is the same. Something links the two of you… so perhaps if you do hear me out, who knows, you might actually believe a small fraction of what I say."
So he told me his story. Apparently Dave, who was a contractor, had been taken to another world somehow or other, and there he had met me, or at least, the woman Carthia who he said was me.
A great deal of what had happened to him, before and after he met the other me, he haphazardly edited as his story proceeded. Huge inconsistencies and gaps were apparent throughout.
The only things that gave any of it a ring of truth was that he never once hesitated with what he said; it all seemed to come from the heart.
And as fantastic as his story sounded, it was obvious that he himself believed every single word and expected me to believe it, too.
His story was so very far fetched, so unbelievable and yet I hung on his every word.
The story he told, the world he described, its people, its wonders and horrors, brought back to me all the wonderful times Sarah and I had together when we strolled through the fantasy world we had created. What he told me was like a dream come to life – our dream, Sarah's and mine.
He told me of Carthia, how they had met, how she had sent him back. He described her, continually making references to how much alike we were. Her hair was longer he said, the clothes she wore were more masculine, her stance more confident, self assured.
As he spoke, in my minds eye I could see the picture I had always held of Carthia, my sister’s heroine – the woman he described fitted that picture perfectly.
He held back though, there was something, something about his Carthia that he did not say. I did not know what, but I knew that it was the cause of his earlier anger when he first saw me.
I did not press him though, I just listened to his story – the questions could wait. Although I had barely met this man, this angry man who insisted such a fantastic story was true, I found myself liking him, and that was an emotion that did not come easily to me.
Once he'd given me the gist of his story, I realised that I had read about David before.
Some time ago he had made news by going missing in mysterious circumstances, and then a year later had reappeared after a car accident. The press tried to make a big deal over it at the time, but apparently he remembered absolutely nothing about the intervening year and after a while, given the lack of fuel, the story died.
What he was now telling me though, drove a huge rift right through the middle of what he had claimed at the time and what the press had been told.
Why had he suddenly singled me out to tell, what he now claimed, was the true story behind his disappearance?
Oh, I really wanted to believe what he was telling me, after all it was the stuff Sarah and I had grown up on. But my rational side kept interrupting, telling me how absolutely crazy it all was. I told myself that this was all some kind of really cruel joke – the world was a sick place, filled with sick and devious people and I had been too outspoken and upset someone, who, in turn, had set me up with this extremely elaborate and cruel joke. But then if that was the case, why did he keep referring to me as Carthia all the time?
Nobody else knew about our world. Only Sarah and I knew, and I had never spoken about it to anyone – it was our special place, where we went when things got tough, and since Sarah's death, it was where I went to visit her.
I knew also that it wasn’t just his story that fascinated me. From the moment we came face to face, there had been an overbearing protectiveness about him – he seemed to watch everything around us, everything that went on. Oh, he paid attention and listened to all I said, but some other part of him seemed to be on the lookout for something, alert, expectant, almost as if he watched for trouble.
And as strange as it sounded, instead of making me feel uncomfortable, the opposite was true – I felt safe somehow.
When Sarah had died I had shut myself off from everyone. I had never been good with people anyway, so being alone came naturally. I told myself I did not need or want anyone else, and eventually I put up walls to keep everyone out. But the walls were a front, deep inside I was lonely.
Loneliness was a pain that had been with me every waking moment since the day Sarah left. And yet now, in a matter of minutes in the company of this man, this complete stranger, that lonely feeling had evaporated, as if it had never been. It was gone, replaced with something else, a safe warm feeling, a feeling of belonging. It was so very strange.
Here I was with a complete stranger who was talking utter rubbish, and yet somehow I felt happy, content and safe. I had never thought about needing to be safe before, but this feeling was comforting, and I liked it very much.
I told him then, of Sarah, of our fantasy worlds, our book and of Sarah’s heroine, Carthia.
I cried as I spoke. He was the first – no one else knew of the things I told him, and I felt the weight of years of loneliness lift away as the tears rolled down my face.
When I was done I looked up at him. All signs of anger were gone from him now, completely gone, replaced instead with compassion, sorrow and something else – confusion.
After a few moments he went for a refill, and I used the time to compose myself, clear my head and try get my thoughts in order.
When he returned we sat a while, but through the silence I could see there was something else he wanted, he had a question to ask and did not know how to phrase it, or was afraid to ask.
“Spit it out,” I said. “Ask your question."
For a second he looked a little surprised, but then he said, “Your book, I know it must mean a great deal to you, but somehow it links our stories. May I see it please?"
I shook inside, somehow I had known that he would want to see the book, but this was a step too far. No one else had ever touched our book, and much as I warmed to this man, I could not let him have it. My flippant nature answered for me before I could stop myself. “Bloody cheek. Not on a first date buddy.”
Instantly I felt heat fill my cheeks, and I knew I must have gone as red as a beetroot. I could have died with embarrassment, should have died from it.
But then he laughed, a glorious laugh, an infectious laugh that echoed throughout the room.
Within seconds we were both in stitches, and I knew I had found a friend, someone I could trust. Someone who would keep me safe.