Saturday, July 9

They left the motel at sunrise. Sophia woke up feeling lethargic and light-headed, so the first thing they did was track down some food. Sybill went to the convenience store down the road while Sophia picked the lock of the room next door. She found a man lying in bed with needles scattered around his bed sheets. She hung back in the doorway, not wanting to alarm him, and listened as his rattling breath gradually faded into silence. A few seconds later, the hideous bubbles floated out of his dead mind and into her parasitic one. She gasped at the impact and had to grab the door frame to avoid falling backward. It lasted longer than she thought it would; he had lived an unusually busy life for someone so young.

“How’d it go?” Sybill asked when they met at the corner a few minutes later. She was chewing her breakfast slowly, holding a half-eaten bagel in one hand.

“It was an overdose.”

“Simple enough, eh?” She saw the look on Sophia’s face and scowled. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I should have called someone, Sybill.”

“This again? Junkies are always on death’s door anyway.”

“People can come back from addiction, can’t they? I should have given him a chance. I should’ve tried to---”

“Stop.” Sybill took a big bite of her bagel. “You're not the one who jammed the needle in his arm.”

Sophia turned without answering and began to walk down the road. Sybill followed, finishing the rest of her bagel and licking the cream cheese from her fingers.

“I think we should get out of state,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What?”

“You wanna go to Ohio? See the capital? Is it Cleveland or Cincinnati? I can’t remember. Not like it matters, they’re both equally shitty. But they’d be far away from here.”

“We’re in that much trouble?”

“Better safe than sorry, right?”

“How the hell are we supposed to get to Ohio though?”

“Can you get a trucker to think we’re his best friends?”

“That might be hard to pull off.”

“Well, whatever, we’ll figure it out. Let’s just get to a gas station and wait for one. Then we can go from there.”

“But we don’t even know where the nearest gas station is. We could walk for hours.”

“So? It’s a nice day.”

Sophia felt all the energy leave her body as she huffed a frustrated sigh. They walked in silence for a while. The strengthening daylight bleached Sybill’s hair into white frost. Sophia glared at the back of her sister’s head, as if the power of her anger would extract the answers she needed from Sybill’s mind. She was told they’d been wandering around for a week, but she didn’t know if that was true. She didn’t know a lot of things these days. A dark well had been dug out in her mind, a bottomless cylinder of impressions she couldn’t define or name. Sybill said it was because she hit her head when she fell down. Sophia had no physical mark from this incident ---her skull was no lumpier than usual and her head didn’t even hurt---but she accepted the explanation because it made the most sense. What else could account for the large chunks of time she had lost? Sybill had promised to fill her in once they were “safe.” Safe from what? I’ll tell you soon, she’d said.

The last clear memory Sophia had was sitting in the living room with her mother and talking about something that had happened at school. It had been a sunny day. Bright light streamed in from the window behind Mom and washed the pale blue carpet into dazzling white. Sophia couldn’t recall when this conversation took place, but it didn’t feel like that long ago. She vaguely remembered the funeral, but only the sight of her mother lying in the coffin. She couldn’t remember where it had taken place or who had attended. There was a wide stretch of darkness before the next clear memory emerged: Sybill leaning over her, calling out her name and shaking her shoulder.

The landscape of darkness that lay in between those memories of her mother and her sister seemed to grow a little wider every day. Sometimes a few of memories dislodged from the blackness, and she caught flashes of images: redheaded girl, a moss-covered mansion, and a splintered windshield under a flickering streetlight. Other images came to her when she was asleep. She had a recurring nightmare about three people with blurry faces leaning over her as she slept. They watched calmly as she was disemboweled by a severed hand; it scooped out her flesh handfuls at a time, and then thrust itself into her hollowed remains and made her flop around like a puppet.

Sybill wasn’t much help when it came to filling in the blanks. When Sophia told her about the splintered images and her nightmare, her sister only shrugged. “Probably stuff you saw on T.V.”

“I’ve never watched anything like that.”

“Well you must’ve.”

Her ambiguity was frustrating. She didn’t know if Sybill was keeping something from her or if she had also suffered a head injury. The only thing she knew was that they needed to trust each other because nobody else in their life seemed to be around at the moment. Mom. Hannah. Javier. They were all part of the great black void in her mind.

***

They ended up walking all day. When the sun started to cast slanting lines on the sidewalk, Sophia turned to Sybill and said peevishly:

“We’re not gonna find a gas station before dark at this point.”

“I could’ve sworn there was one around here.”

“Let’s stop at a house tonight. I’m sick of these gross sex motels anyway.”

“You sure you’re up for that?”

“I think so. I mean, as long as it’s not a family or anything.”

“Okay. We’ll do a couple stakeouts.”

“We need to take a detour first.” Sophia put a hand to her head as she spoke; she was starting to feel light-headed with hunger. “Someone’s gonna die a few blocks down.”

Sybill nodded. “Then we better hurry. Afterwards we can track down a diner and you can watch me stuff down a pile of pancakes with extra whipped cream. And strawberries. Or wait, no, oooh, I could get chocolate chip.”

“Yuck. Chase your bliss.”

“Do you miss having real food?”

“Not anymore.”

“More for me then.”

“Yeah, well, pace yourself if you really do get pancakes. I’m not dragging your fat ass across state lines. Super strength isn’t one of my things.”

Sybill gave her a none-too-gentle shove and Sophia fell into a nearby shrub. She swore and struggled to detangle from its clutching branches as Sybill took off down the road, laughing over her shoulder. By the time Sophia had managed to stagger to her feet, her sister was several feet ahead, and she had to sprint to catch up.

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After the “hunt” (as Sybill gleefully called Sophia’s hunger excursions), they walked on until they hit the Cultural District. Sybill thought they would be able to find some nice lodging there, but Sophia quickly lost hope once she realized that the living arrangement of choice was luxury apartments---all of which required entry via a fancy lobby guarded by a doorman or security.

“What about here, Soph?” Sybill asked. They paused outside a majestic sky rise and peered through a golden revolving door and into a spacious lobby.

Sophia shook her head.

“I don’t think so. I’d have to go through too many people.”

“Let’s keep looking, then.”

They headed towards Steel Plaza, and when they finally turned down Arthur Street, Sophia felt a surge of relief. The residential area was lined with an assortment of small but respectable-looking houses---and with no security guards in sight. All hail, middle-class America.

They took a couple walks around the block and watched people come and go from their homes. After a while they settled on a tall brick house located at the end of the street. Only one guy seemed to live there. He came out once to water the garden, then once more to arrange some furniture on the porch. The windows revealed no one else passing through the house. Sophia knew it was their best bet. It would be dark in a few hours.

The plan was to approach the front door under the guise of selling him something, but fate afforded an easier way to learn the man’s name. Just as Sophia was about to lead the way across the street, a postal truck pulled up to the front of the house. The girls watched the mailman get out with a bundle tucked under his arm. He shoved it into the man’s mailbox, chatting into his earpiece. Once he had climbed back into his truck and driven around the corner, Sybill ran across the road, opened the mailbox, and began to rifle through the envelopes. Sophia nervously kept watch, looking both ways down the street, until Sybill jogged back over to her.

“His name’s Francis Coppula.”

The name sounded familiar to Sophia, but she wasn’t sure why. “Okay, cool. I’ll get him to think we’re some nieces he hasn’t seen in a while.”

“What if he doesn’t have any siblings?”

“Then I’ll make one up.”

“Think you can handle that much?”

“We’ll see,” Sophia said, only half-joking.

They crossed the street, walked up the man’s porch steps, and rang the doorbell. After a long silence, the door swung open. He looked a lot younger up close. He was tall, bronze-skinned, and muscular. Even though there was a light dusting of grey in his dark hair and beard, his face was still unlined and tight with youth. He stared at them in polite confusion. Sophia smiled widely when his eyes met hers. The chords of consciousness in her mind reached out to his, and she concentrated on threading them together.

“How have you been?” she chirped. She laughed when his confused look deepened. “What, has it been that long? It’s Sophia!”

She felt his mind cave beneath her insistent prodding, like a gelatinous surface yielding to a pushing hand. She soared through his memories, scattering bits of herself and Sybill into every crevice, artfully spinning each fabricated moment into a vivid tapestry of experience.

“Sophia!” he cried, rushing forward to hug her. “I haven’t seen you in---God, it must be years!”

“Our big rebellious road trip is over for now. There’s no Wi-Fi on the open road,” she laughed.

“We?” His eyes finally fell on Sybill. “Is that Sybill?”

Sybill grinned and spread her arms. “The one and only.”

“How are you?” He hurried forward to hug her, too. “Come on in, girls. Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” Sybill said eagerly.

Francis Coppula ushered them into his house. The foyer smelled like apples and cinnamon. As they followed him down the hallway, Sophia located the source of the scent: a big bowl of potpourri was sitting on a shelf. They were led into a gleaming modern kitchen, and while he made lunch, Francis chatted aimlessly (at Sophia’s mental prodding) about old vacations, family gatherings, and the fateful day when the sisters had announced they were leaving home to go on a road trip. He placed a large basket of English muffins on the table. The smell made Sophia a little sick, but Sybill snatched one up immediately and shoved it into her face like she hadn’t eaten in months.

“I thought you were the biggest dumbasses for leaving,” Francis was saying, grinning over a cutting board full of diced garlic. “How far did you get before that crappy Buick broke down?”

“West Virginia,” Sophia said quickly, provoking another laugh from “Uncle Francis” as he turned towards the sink to empty pasta into a strainer. “But we almost made it to Wheeling.”

Sybill leaned forward and whispered:

“You could’ve at least said Virginia.”

“I’m trying to make the story believable, Sybill. Like we’d ever make it that far in a Buick.”

Sybill grinned as Francis called over his shoulder:

“You guys want butter or margarine for the muffins?”

“Butter,” Sybill said. “Thanks, Uncle Francis.”

There was a brief pause, then he turned around, cocking his head to one side.

“What?”

“Butter.”

“No, what did you just call me?”

Sybill’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Then her eyes darted from him to Sophia, whose heartbeat quickened as she scanned Francis’ mind for any information that might tell her why he was suddenly looking at them like that.

“What’s wrong?” Sybill said, forcing another laugh. “You get into the booze already?”

“Did you just call me Francis?” His face had paled, and Sophia felt her hold on his mind slipping. A reality she couldn’t yet define was leaking through the cracks, brushing aside the cobwebs of her illusion. Suddenly she saw Francis’ real memories: the face of a man swam up from the depths of his consciousness. He looked a lot like the man who was cooking them dinner, but his face was leaden and still. He was laying on the ground with a single dark hole in his forehead. That man had been Francis. The one dicing garlic, staring at her with increasing hostility and suspicion, was named Xavier.

The dead man’s twin brother.

Shit.

The truth she saw revealed in his mind collided with her web of lies; it was too much for her to sustain and she felt his mind break free of her power.

Sophia jumped to her feet so quickly she knocked her chair over.

“We have to go,” she said, grabbing her sister’s sleeve.

“What?”

The man fell back into the sink, clutching his head and moaning. Sophia began to hurry out of the kitchen.

“Hurry!”

“What happened?” Sybill hissed as she followed her. “What’s---”

“He isn’t Francis, “Sophia panted. “The real Francis is dead---he must’ve lived in his house, that’s why his mail was here, I didn’t have time to---I didn’t realize---shitshitshit---”

Sybill suddenly cried out. Sophia spun around and saw that Xavier had grabbed her by the arm. His face was an ugly mask of anger and suspicion.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, twisting Sybill’s wrist as she swung her fist at him. She screamed.

“Don’t hurt her!” Sophia cried.

“Nobody has to get hurt, but you’re going to sit here and explain yourselves or I’m calling the cops.”

Sophia looked around helplessly. The odds of her making it out the door were pretty minimal; her head was already beginning to pound in weariness from the energy she had exerted on slipping inside this man’s mind. Besides, even if she could somehow book it, she’d have to leave Sybill behind.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t---”

In a movement that was so quick Sophia barely had time to see it, Sybill kneed the man in the groin. He yelled in pain and fell back. Sybill leaped around him and ran down the hall, shoving Sophia towards the exit. Their sneakers thudded on the carpet as they stumbled around the corner and reached the front door.

Then Sophia felt a rough, hot hand seize her by the hair.

She yelled, thrashing at the upside down face of the stranger. His eyes were bulging and frenzied. As he dragged her back, her flailing hands knocked against something hard and, more importantly, moveable. She grabbed it and flung it blindly into his face. There was a hollow thud. Xavier screamed, and her hair was released. She staggered forward, gasping, and saw the stranger writhing around on the ground, clutching his face. A spicy, floral scent reached her nostrils. Lying next to him was the spilled pot of apple-and-cinnamon scented potpourri.

“Let’s go,” she said breathlessly to her sister, but they had only gone a few steps when they heard the man speaking:

“There’s two of them and they just attacked me. They broke into my house---”

Sophia turned around. The man was sitting against the wall, breathing heavily, his cell phone pressed against his ear---and Sybill was running towards him. By the time Sophia opened her mouth to scream for her to stop, it was too late. Her sister had already seized the jar of potpourri and was smashing it down onto the man’s head.

The fifth time the jar collided with his skull, the pot broke into jagged shards. His cries turned to guttural moans. Then the moans turned into a silence that filled every inch of the world.

Sybill straightened up, panting. Her eyes were as flat and expressionless as granite. She bent down and looked at something on the body, then she started stomping wildly. It took Sophia a while to register that her sister was stomping on the man’s cell phone. Meanwhile, Sophia could feel Xavier still clinging to life; his memories trembled on the edge of his consciousness. It was a horrible feeling, standing there while another human being was struggling and clawing to remain in the world...their mind darkening…

Then she heard Sybill speaking, but her voice was far off, like she was yelling from the other end of a long tunnel.

“…dangerous to be here. I don’t know if the neighbors heard anything.”

Sybill took her hand, pulling her towards the door. Halfway there, she paused and then removed the blue lighter from her pocket. She toyed with it for a second, her brow furrowed. Then she quickly walked to the nearest room and was back before Sophia even realized what she was doing.

“Go,” she said urgently.

They ran from the house just as smoke began to fill the hallway.