Page 18

As they wound their way down the mountain, Eve stared out at the passing trees, her forehead pressed against the glass. The reflection of her weary eyes overlayed the darkening woods outside. And every little bump in the road sent a rippling tremor through her thoughts, pushing her deeper into rumination. Something was wrong. Well, of course, everything was fucked, but there was something else. Something she couldn’t quite place. Like a festering but crucial obligation long forgotten.

Eve sat upright and pulled Charlie’s locket out. “Found this hanging above the fireplace…”

Charlie side-eyed her. “One of their kids must’ve done it…” With her free hand, she took the locket and placed it in a cup holder.

Eve considered saying something more, but she switched on the radio instead. Static. She turned the dial. More static. She switched it off. Nestling into her seat, she reached into the back and scratched Shylo behind the ear. The dog let out a high-pitched yawn. Eve looked at Charlie and asked, “Do you think Paige is gonna sue us?”

Charlie hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “Sue us?”

“For the dog bite.”

“Nah.” Charlie clucked her tongue. “I doubt it.”

“She’d have a case,” Eve said.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve… listened to a lot of courtroom podcasts.”

“Uh-huh…”

Up ahead, a sharp corner approached. Charlie shifted into a lower gear, let off the gas. “You said the bite punctured his jeans?”

“Barely, but… it drew blood.”

They bowed around the corner until the road straightened out again. “If they come after us,” Charlie said, “we’ll countersue for window theft.”

Eve rested her head back against the seat. “Okay…” She shut her eyes. Minute by minute, the hum of the asphalt lulled her into a restless half sleep. Her mind floated through that liminal space, teetering back and forth on the edge of awareness, the drone of the engine seeming to grow louder and louder, until the tick-tick-tick of the turn clicker roused her. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, the remnants of another bad dream slipping away. How much time had passed?

Charlie said, “This work for you?”

Eve gazed through the windshield. They were pulling into the parking lot of the Kettle Creek Motel. The place wasn’t abandoned after all. In fact, closer up, it looked a little nicer than Eve remembered. Nothing fancy, not by a long shot, but as far as roadside motels went, it got the job done. Besides, at this point, she would have just about slept in a cardboard box to avoid spending another second in that house.

“Works for me.” Eve shrugged.

They parked beneath the bluish glow of the neon sign:

THE KETTL_ CREEK MOTE_

As they made their way across the gravel lot, Eve peered around. The surrounding woods whispered with the rain-like patter of melting snow. At the opposite end of the lot, half obscured by a green dumpster, sat a lone white hatchback. No other vehicles in sight. She looked up. The faint impression of the setting sun filtered through the gray clouds like a flashlight pressed against a wool blanket. All seemed calm. Calm and quiet—both things that only served to heighten Eve’s anxiety. When things felt right, it only meant there was so much more that could go wrong.

Stepping through sliding doors, they entered a low-ceilinged lobby. Wood vinyl walls, drab gray carpet, buzzing lights. At the far end, nestled between a dead palm tree and a Coca-Cola vending machine—the reception counter. Nobody there.

Charlie, Eve in tow, strolled over and rang the bell. DING. The sound hung in the air, fading into a long stretch of silence. “Hello…?” Charlie tried.

As they waited, Eve’s gaze wandered to the lobby’s back corner. There, a fire escape door was propped open with a cinder block. On the other side, frenzied moths butted against a stuttering light, their shadows casting a mad dance over water-stained concrete.

Charlie tried the bell again. DING…

Behind the counter, a red door creaked open and a middle-aged woman poked her head out. Sporting a beehive hairdo, she wore aviator glasses and a nightshirt. “Eh,” she grumbled. “What do you want?” She looked surprised to see visitors, annoyed.

“A room,” said Charlie.

Muttering something about patience, the woman slipped back into her cave, pulling the door closed.

Charlie glanced at Eve, brow raised.

From behind the red door, the sound of rummaging, drawers sliding open, slamming shut, until, finally, the woman reemerged, now wearing an oversized plaid shirt and blue sweatpants. She held a paperback novel, still reading as she ambled up to the counter and flopped down into a wicker chair. The scent of floral hairspray wafted from her, permeating the air. Charlie cleared her throat. The clerk raised a finger, “One second. I’m almost finished this chapter.” She continued reading.

Charlie and Eve shared another disbelieving look.

Charlie turned back and tapped a finger against the countertop. “Can we get a room…?”

“Please?” Eve added.

The clerk exhaled an irritated sigh. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, she reached down, opened a drawer, pulled out a pink comb, slid the comb into the book, closed the book, and set the book on the counter. Unhurried, she started typing into a desktop that looked like it still ran on Windows 95. She used her pointer fingers to input one, key, at, a, time.

Charlie’s gaze flitted to the paperback. “Good book?”

The cover showed a blond-haired, blue-eyed princess sitting pretty atop a white horse. At her side, a literal knight in shining armor guided the horse down a redbrick pathway. Eve couldn’t see the title from her angle, but she imagined it was something like Knight of Love or A Hero’s Heart.

The clerk murmured, “How many guests?”

“Room for two,” said Charlie.

The clerk gave Charlie a long, studied look as if she’d just asked to borrow fifty bucks and a can of hairspray. After a slow blink, she returned to typing.

“Two beds?”

“One,” said Charlie.

Again, the clerk stopped typing. Her eyes flicked to Eve, to Charlie, then back to the computer. “One bed.” She continued typing away, shaking her head, muttering. She jabbed the space bar with a knuckle and crossed her arms. “That’ll be…” She adjusted her glasses and leaned in close to the screen.

“One hundred and sixty-seven dollars.”

Charlie blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“And”—the clerk squinted at the screen—“twenty-three cents.”

Charlie scoffed. “For one night?”

“One night, one room, one bed.”

Charlie opened her mouth, about to haggle on price, but—

Eve stepped in before she could. “That’s fine.”

With key cards in hand, Eve and Charlie trudged back outside. The sun had fully set now. Black shadows spilled out from the woods, pooling around the edges of the lot like some kind of liquid ooze. The blue neon glow of the motel sign bled into the night above, glistened off the wet gravel below. And the nocturnal song of a common poorwill cried in the distance, the bird chirping out its namesake over and over, poor-will, poor-will, poor-will.

“She absolutely upcharged us,” Charlie said, still grumpy about the clerk.

Eve shrugged, only half in the conversation. “How do you know?”

“A hundred and sixty-seven bucks? On a slow night? No shot. When I worked hospitality, we gouged anyone we didn’t like. Upcharge.”

Charlie broke into a surprisingly good impression of the clerk. “One night,” she grumbled. “One room. One bed.” She glanced over at Eve, at least expecting a smile. But Eve’s attention was elsewhere. Her eyes were back on the surrounding woods, scanning the darkened trees as if something might be hiding out there. Something only she could see. Sure, being away from the house was a relief, but…

At the room, Charlie slid the key card into the handle. It blinked red and gave a shrill beep. Frowning, she tried again, still no luck. Shylo let out another little whine.

Charlie checked the numbers. “Room nineteen…”

“Here.” Eve handed her card over. “Try mine.”

As Charlie continued fumbling with the door, Eve surveyed the parking lot, paranoid. Her gaze settled on that lone white hatchback, the windows dark. Was somebody sitting in the passenger seat? She strained her eyes. Just then, light from the road ribboned through the trees and swept slowly over the lot, illuminating the hatchback’s interior. Empty. The drifting light stretched long shadows across the wet gravel, until…

Eve looked over her shoulder. A vehicle crawled in through the entrance. Blinding headlights. Two white orbs. Eve held up a hand, shielded her eyes. For a second, she thought it was the family’s moving truck, but it pulled a slow U-turn, revealing itself to be a Highway Patrol cruiser. It drove off the way it came, leaving behind grooves in the gravel.

“Ah,” Charlie said, finally latching open the door. “Tenth time’s the charm.” She started inside, but Eve lingered behind, eyes still locked on the now empty entrance. Part of her still half expected the moving truck to shamble in, Thomas leaning out the window, grinning that perfect-teeth grin. Jeepers, he’d say, it’s a small world after all, huh?

“Eve?” Charlie’s voice, distant and vague, dimly registered. “Eve.” Charlie touched her arm, startling her.

Eve looked back, face clouded with repressed worry. “Hm?”

Charlie set a hand on the side of Eve’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of the cold.”

The room was about what they’d expected, a cramped space, barely wide enough to fit the bed. Yellowish wallpaper covered in repetitive floral prints. Green carpets, scratchy and worn, like overgrown moss. The textbook definition of a backwoods motel. Eve wasn’t complaining, though. Like she’d reasoned before, anything was better than another night in that house.

As Charlie brushed her teeth in the bathroom, Eve sat on the bed, staring at a blank TV screen—a boxy tube set resting on a dresser at an odd angle. Next to the TV was a framed Bible verse:

For God so loved the world

that He gave His only begotten Son,

that whoever believes in Him

should not perish but have

eternal life

John 3:16

Eve leaned over and flipped the image face down with a decisive CLACK. She settled back onto the bed, took a deep breath and let it out. You’re okay, she told herself. Despite everything, each minute spent away from that house felt better than the last. Normality was returning. Shylo clambered onto the bed and curled up near the headboard, grumbled. In the corner of Eve’s eye, Charlie spat toothpaste into the sink and rinsed out her mouth. She started back toward Eve. “Room’s a winner, huh?”

Eve forced a laugh out her nose, flopped back onto the bed, stared up at the white stucco ceiling.

Charlie stepped around her. As she sat down next to Eve, the bed dipped and creaked. Grim silence followed, underscored by the hum-buzz of a rickety air vent. Outside, another sweep of headlights. They beamed through the window, shadows slinking by, everything seeming to tilt and spin before slowly plunging back into darkness.

More silence lingered between them until Eve said, “Do you think I’m crazy?”

Charlie snorted at the question and glanced down at her. “Who isn’t?”

Eve sighed and looked away. More silence.

“Is this about the window?” Charlie asked. “?’Cause I saw it too, which means we’re both losing it.”

Eve shook her head.

“The attic person?” Charlie nudged.

Eve shrugged. Maybe…

“Eve,” Charlie said, “we’ll look into it tomorrow. Hell, we can call the authorities out, if it comes to that. Okay?”

Eve nodded, her eyes locked to a random speck on the ceiling. She drew in another long breath, let it out.

Pensive, Charlie ventured, “It was a rough day. Anyone would’ve lost their mind being trapped with that family…”

Eve tensed her jaw, released it.

Charlie shuffled closer and lay beside Eve. She reached over, tucked a strand of hair behind Eve’s ear. “You’re not alone, okay? I’m here. Always.”

Another wary silence. Finally, Eve spoke suspicions that had been crawling around in the back of her head since Thomas told his story by the fire. “I… I think what happened to Alison is happening to me…”

Charlie considered this before saying, “Because of the window…”

Eve gestured up at the ceiling, as if the stucco were the problem. “Because of—fucking everything, I don’t know. I just…” She trailed off again, rubbed her temples. “I saw that kid holding my phone, I saw it, the screen was cracked, and then—it wasn’t and…”

“You’re under a lot of stress. Everyone makes mistakes—”

“This wasn’t a mistake. That was my phone. I would bet my fucking life on it. Either I’m losing it or the phone changed…”

“There’s a lot more possibilities than—”

“And this motel, I could’ve sworn it was abandoned when we drove by it the first time—”

“Hell, we both thought that. People misremember things every single—”

“No, this is different. This is— I haven’t even told you about the rest of my day, and—”

“Eve, trust me, if you were losing it, I’d be the first to point it out.” That was true. And it actually comforted Eve, if only a little. Her heart rate slowed; her breath deepened. Maybe she just needed a good night’s sleep. She turned to face Charlie and—

She isn’t her, a voice in Eve’s head whispered. This wasn’t the voice of Mo; this was the voice of something different, something far worse. Something all-knowing and ancient. A mouthless, eyeless presence leeching off the chemical fear that poured out of her amygdala. This isn’t your Charlie.

The notion was so sudden, so improbable, Eve almost laughed, but…

Despite the fact that Charlie looked just as she always had: the short black hair, the mismatched eyes, the light freckles dusting her cheeks…

Some half-remembered version of Thomas’s words played in her mind: Alison thought everyone around her was an imposter, that the real versions of us had somehow been replaced. So… she tested us, asked us questions about the past, desperate to know if we were actually her family, or…

“Eve?” Again, Charlie cut into her spiral. “What’s going on?”

Eve sat up, and looked at Charlie in the TV’s reflection. “How did we meet?”

“W-what?”

“How did we meet?”

“Eve, do you seriously think I’m—are you testing me?”

“Please,” she almost begged. “Charlie, just… I know it’s fucking stupid, but please humor me. The whole story, from the top.” Despite the absurdity of the request, Eve’s voice was filled with grave severity.

Charlie sat upright. “Okay…” She slid her feet off the bed and faced the window. She took a deep breath, let it out. “Eight years ago, my roommates wanted to go see a movie. Spirited Away.”

“Which theater?”

“Seriously?”

Eve looked over her shoulder, met Charlie’s eyes.

“The Dryden Theatre,” Charlie relented. “Rochester, New York… Do I pass?”

Eve grunted noncommittally. She turned back to the TV screen reflection.

Charlie, blurred in the glass, went on. “I almost didn’t go, had a big exam coming up, but my friends were persistent, so I caved… Once we plopped down in our seats, I look to my left and one empty chair down, there was this girl in a lime-green hoodie. She was all by herself, and… You should’ve seen her. Sure, looks aren’t everything, but she was by far the prettiest girl in the whole dang theater…” Charlie trailed off, as if giving Eve a chance to retort, but thus far, dumb joke aside, all was accurate.

Charlie carried on. “This girl though, she was a little strange, kept glancing over at me, and every time I glanced back, she’d look away. I think she wanted to ask me something.” In the TV reflection, Charlie looked toward Eve, but Eve didn’t look back…

Charlie continued. “So the movie ends, lights come up, credits start rolling, and the hoodie girl stays behind. Who sits through the credits, right? My friends left to go smoke, but me? I stay behind. A lot of hard work went into making that film, may as well pay my respects…” She shrugged. “I think about halfway through the credits, I clumsily ask this girl if she goes to movies alone often. After a long silent pause, I started to kick myself for being such an embarrassment, but… then she finally said—”

“?‘Yeah, but this time wasn’t by choice.’?” Eve finished Charlie’s sentence then, as if the memory were playing out right there in the dingy motel room—Eve kept talking. “?‘Somebody stood me up.’?”

“Somebody stood you up?” Charlie replied. “Dang, they must be important. What’s their deal?”

Eve shrugged. “He’s in a worship band.”

“Lead guitar?”

Eve shook her head. “Mallet percussion.”

“What’s that?”

“Xylophone, triangle, marimbas.” Eve gave a half shrug, looked back, and met Charlie’s eyes again.

“Damn,” said Charlie, “you must be devastated…”

Eve almost smiled. “Chetley’s a winner for sure, way too good for me.”

“Wait, Chetley? That’s his name? You’re fucking with me.”

“Hey, don’t be mean.”

“No, I’m not, that’s, it’s a good name—I just didn’t picture it for a… mallet percussionist.”

Eve snorted.

Charlie added, “Anyways, I gotta run, but if you ever wanna go to the movies with friends…” Charlie paused, mimed reaching into her pocket, pulling out a business card. “That’s my number…”

Breaking character, Eve said, “That was smooth…” She thought back to that day they met, Charlie handing her a Charlie’s Portrait Photography business card. She still remembered the texture of the engraved font on her fingertips. The smell of movie theater popcorn. The way the cleaners had started wandering the aisles before the credits finished rolling. And the way Charlie’s crooked smile, even back then, made her heart skip a beat and…

Eve pushed up from the bed, strode over, wrapped her arms around Charlie, and hugged her tighter than she ever had before. Her Charlie. For a moment, all the strange occurrences of the day seemed trivial again, overblown. Almost…

Soon after, they were cuddling on the bed, watching a cable rerun of The Maltese Falcon. Between midnight infomercials and prosperity televangelists, this was by far the best choice. But around the time Bogart went to Cairo, Charlie dozed off. Eve, calmer but still rattled from the day, continued watching. Escaping into a different world until, at last, she dozed off as well.

Bzz, Bzz, Bzz…

Eve stirred awake to the sound of a vibrating phone. The TV was still on, soundlessly playing some nature documentary about Venus flytraps. Bzz, Bzz, Bzz… She cast her eyes across the room. It was coming from Charlie’s green backpack, a rectangle of blue light seeping through the fabric. Eve glanced at Charlie, still sleeping. She looked at the bedside clock: 3:06 a.m.

Who would be calling this late?

Quiet, Eve slipped free of Charlie’s arms, crept out of bed, and wandered to the bag. She dug through it, retrieved the phone, and…

On the screen:

Eve Palmer calling…

ACCEPT DECLINE

Eve’s stomach dropped. Somebody had her phone—back at the house? She glanced over at Charlie, considered waking her, but…

… for reasons unknown, even to her, she strode to the bathroom, pulled the door half-shut, and tapped accept.

On the other end, a voice, shaky, terrified. “E-Eve, are you alone?”

Charlie’svoice…

Somewhere at the bottom of Eve’s mind, a rising swell of chemical dread burst open like a bloated sac of spider eggs. Countless terrors spawned, each of them swarming a different corner of her thoughts. She opened her mouth to respond, but only a short, stuttering wheeze escaped.

“Eve?” the voice prompted. “Is— Is that you?” The signal was weak, choppy.

Petrified, Eve peered through the cracked-open door. Charlie was still in bed, blue TV light painting the side of her face, peacefully asleep…

“Eve,” the voice that sounded exactly like Charlie rasped. “She isn’t me…”

Eve whispered, “Who— Who is this?”

“Earlier, when I went to the h-house, I never—I’m still here. Whoever’s with you, she isn’t me— And the dog, it isn’t Shylo. Shylo is…” She trailed off.

Eve’s inner voice screamed. Was this a hallucination? A nightmare?

“Eve,” Charlie continued. It sounded like she was in pain, injured maybe. “I don’t know where you are, but you need to leave, never come back to the house. Get as far away as you possibly can and—and stay away from her. She—she’s going—she’s going to.” Charlie fell silent, sucked in a short gasp of air. Dead quiet. Holding her breath?

On the other end, distant footsteps, staggering, uneven, like a drunk walking the deck of a galleon. Getting closer. The sound was accompanied by… laughter? Or crying? Whatever it was, those vague whimpers were muffled, like hands clasped over a mouth. Wom, wom, wom… Closer. Closer. Closer, until—

BEEP.

The call ended.

Eve’s fingers trembled, had started to redial when a shadowy form slid into the edge of her vision. Eve turned. There stood Charlie—or is it Charlie?— looming in the bathroom doorway, a black silhouette outlined by the TV’s shimmering glow. Unmoving.

“Eve?” Charlie inquired. “Is everything okay?” Her face was masked in shadow, only the slightest glint of her eyes catching light from the bathroom mirror.

Still shaky, Eve glanced down at the phone and lied. “Yeah, I just, I was trying to get ahold of the contractor for the inspection…”

“At… three in the morning?”

Loaded silence. Eve cut it short with another feeble lie. “Yeah, I— I think, apparently, the contractor mixed up the dates? Told the inspector to come up S-Sunday instead of Saturday…?”

“Right.” Charlie’s head tilted, not buying it. “Maybe we can sort this out tomorrow?”

“I— I wish.” Eve exhaled. “Apparently it’s urgent. Like if I— I just, I’m gonna go deal with it outside, you can go back to sleep—”

Charlie reached for the light switch, flicked it on. They both squinted, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness and…

That was when Eve finally saw it. On “Charlie’s” left hand: her tattoo, the black triangle on her left index finger, was completely absent…

“Eve?” the doppelg?nger prompted.

Stomach twisting, Eve brushed past her, surged toward the door. Unthinking, she grabbed the keys, her wallet, and—

“Eve, where are you—”

“I— I’ll be right back.” Shoeless, wearing only sweatpants and a T-shirt, Eve rushed outside, slamming the door in her wake. Half running, she hauled across the parking lot and climbed into the truck. As Eve fumbled with the keys, trying to start the engine, “Charlie” burst out of the room, pulling on her boots, still dressed in her PJs. “Eve, hold on… Eve, what the fuck!” Her face was filled with terrified concern.

She’s going to put you in an asylum, that manic whisper, the voice that had replaced Mo, hissed. You’re going to die in a concrete cell—bash your head against the wall until your skull cracks, and your brains leak out.

“Charlie” drew closer, closer, until at last, the engine roared to life. Eve shifted into drive and stomped on the gas. The truck squealed to a lurching start, whipped up a hailstorm of gravel, tore across the lot, and nearly clipped “Charlie” in the process. Screeching toward the road, Eve was about to swerve leftward toward Yale, away from the mountain, but—

Charlie. The real Charlie. She was still back in that house. Same with the real Shylo. Eve wasn’t abandoning them. She couldn’t. She glanced at the rearview; the carbon copy Charlie was still in pursuit, arms waving, pleading, almost weeping, STOP, STOP, STOP…

Eve ripped through the entrance and veered to the right, barreling back toward the summit. Charlie and Shylo were everything to her, and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave them behind. That was her family. As she stepped on the gas, her eyes flicked between the road and the mirror. Every time she looked back, the neon blue sign had shrunk farther and farther into the distance, “Charlie” still running after her.

One hand on the wheel, Eve reached into her pocket, pulled out “Charlie’s” phone, and dialed her own number back. One tone rang out, then: “Sorry, Eve Palmer, can’t make it to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the—”

“Shit,” Eve hissed. She considered calling 911, but… best-case scenario, they’d throw her in a psych ward. With growing resolve, she constricted her hands around the steering wheel, picking up speed. The dark forest smeared into blurry shadows. Adrenaline coursed through her veins like ice water as everything converged into one singular goal: save her family. At any cost—

DING.

A warning chimed from the dashboard: Refuel now.

Fuck.