Alternity (14 page)

Dawn surprises me with a sympathetic look. “I know,” he says, coming over to sit down beside me. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh out there. It’s just frustrating, you know?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I look at you and I don’t know if I should kiss you or kill you.”

I swallow hard as his eyes meet my own. He looks so sad, my heart breaks for all he must have lost. No wonder he’s so bitter and angry. I wish there was some way I could make it all better. But what can I do?

Dawn shakes his head, breaking the moment. “Anyway, enough of that. Are you hungry?” he asks. “I don’t have much. Rations were cut again this week—surprise, surprise. But I have a few tins of beans. Some bread. Tea.”

“I don’t want to eat all your food,” I hedge. But my stomach chooses that moment to betray my intended martyrdom with a loud growl. Dawn chuckles, a soft, sweet sound that makes my stomach twist again. Not from hunger this time.

“It’s okay,” he says, reaching out to ruffle my hair. His fingers, scraping lightly against my scalp, send a tingly feeling down to my toes. What is it about this guy that makes me feel such longing? He’s beautiful, yes. But there’s something much more than physical attraction. Some kind of deep connection between us that I can’t begin to explain. Could I really have suppressed memories of a past relationship buried somewhere deep inside my subconscious? It seems impossible. Yet, how else can I explain the soul-wrenching pain inside me every time I catch a glimpse of his face?

Dawn heads over to the kitchenette, opening cabinets and pulling out drawers. “I have enough to spare. I just didn’t want you to be expecting some kind of gourmet adventure. We Dark Siders don’t exactly feast like they do in Luna Park.” He sets a kettle onto an electric stove. “Then again, I’m pretty famous for my stone soup around these parts.”

“Stone soup,” I repeat with a small laugh, thankful he’s willing to lighten the mood. “Sounds delish. I’d love a bowl.”

“Then you, my dear, shall have one. Sit tight. Brother Dawn Grey, Dark Sider chef extraordinaire, is prepared to work his magic.” He makes an exaggerated flourish and manages to drop the mixing bowl he’s holding. It goes crashing to the floor. “Uh, yeah,” he says, reaching down for it. “I meant for that to happen. You may think I’m a bumbling idiot, but really that was a vital part of my very complex and elaborate recipe.”

I laugh, clapping my hands like a good audience member. “Of course it was, oh chef extraordinaire.” I grin. “I must say, I’m extremely impressed so far, and am waiting with bated breath to see what kinds of wonders you will perform next.”

“Likely cutting my finger,” Dawn says, and chuckles. “But sometimes I like to mix things up with a burning-my-hand-on-the-stove number. I’m tricky like that.”

I lean back into the couch, watching him as he bustles about the small kitchen, pulling out tins and pans, opening packets and adding water. He walks over to the bookcase and pulls the lone book from the top shelf. I realize it’s not a real book at all, but a hollowed-out replica containing a secret compartment. He reaches in and pulls out a small sack, holding it up with a shy smile. “Black market herbs,” he says, his voice rich with pride. “We might just have a feast tonight yet.”

“Awesome.” I curl my feet up and under me, feeling warm and cozy for the first time since I got back to Terra. It seems hard to believe that less than an hour before I’d been running for my life. Under Dawn’s protection, I feel completely safe.

Dawn wanders back to the stove, and a few minutes later a rich, spicy aroma permeates the cave house. “Smells delicious,” I remark. Dawn tosses me a smile, then walks over to hand me a crude pottery mug containing tea. I take a sip, the sweet beverage warming my insides. “Mmm, thanks,” I say, wrapping both hands around the warm cup.

He walks back to the kitchen. “Dinner’s just about ready.”

“Do you need any help?”

“Nah. I’m good.” He scoops out ladles of soup into two bowls and brings them over to the coffee table. I dip my spoon into the broth and take a mouthful. My eyes widen at the taste. It’s fabulous. Like nothing I’ve ever eaten. I take another bite as Dawn brings over a small loaf of bread on a plate and sets it before me.

“What is in this soup?” I ask. “It’s great.”

He beams, the smile bringing a light to his face, making me realize just how beautiful he really is. “Secret recipe,” he brags. “It was always your favorite.”

My enthusiasm dampens somewhat as reality is shoved back into central focus. I’m not on some first date with a handsome stranger. He believes I am his long-lost girlfriend.
That’s
why he’s being so sweet to me. Not because he likes me for who I really am.

“Do you really and honestly believe I’m Mariah?” I ask at last, deciding it’s time to broach the subject, even if it does destroy the intimacy we’re sharing. “I mean, couldn’t there be some other explanation as to why I just look like her?”

Dawn swallows his mouthful of bread. “You don’t just look like her,” he corrects. “You sound like her. You smell like her. You walk and talk like her.” He pauses, then adds, “You
are
her, whether you want to believe it or not.” He takes a sip of tea. “I mean, just because someone has amnesia, it doesn’t mean they’re suddenly a different person altogether.”

“But I don’t have amnesia. I remember everything about my life. Who I am, where I live, what I do. I have family and friends, and memories of birthday parties since I was five years old. If I’m Mariah, where did all that stuff come from?”

“A memory serum, most likely.”

For some reason my mind flashes back to my dream. The one where I was running through a tunnel, pursued by uniformed men. I didn’t know where I was or who I was or what I was doing there. Then they caught me, pinned me down, injected me with some kind of concoction. Could that have been …

No. I shake my head. I refuse to believe it. There’s no way everything I know and love has somehow been implanted into my brain. My memories are real. My family. My friends. I absolutely refuse to believe they’ve sprung from some kind of total-recall cocktail.

“Tell me about your life on Earth,” Dawn suggests, bringing me back to the conversation.

“Okay,” I agree. “Well, I’m eighteen years old and I live in the city of Manhattan. Best city on Earth, really. It’s got everything you could ever want.” I take a sip of tea. “I go to college during the day and after school I work on this amazing video game we call RealLife. I think it’s going to revolutionize games as we know them.” I shrug. “Well, who knows, but it’s pretty awesome, anyway. My boyfriend, Craig, says that I …”

I trail off as I catch Dawn’s face. Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned Craig. Now the poor guy’s going to think that not only did his precious Mariah betray him by going to Earth in the first place, but once there she hooked up with some random guy while he’s been sitting around pining for her.

But what am I supposed to say? I’ve already told him I’m not Mariah.

“Sorry,” I mutter, mostly because he looks so hurt.

He swallows hard. “It’s okay. I need to hear it straight. Even if some of it isn’t pleasant,” he says. “What about your memories? Do you remember growing up on Earth?”

“Well, sure. I grew up in New York. I have a mother and father and older sister. My dad’s a doctor and my mom’s a lawyer.” I trail off, my brain going fuzzy at the edges. Why does my life story suddenly seem so clichéd and stereotypical?

“Tell me a memory you have,” Dawn suggests. “A real one. I want to hear about you and your experiences, not just a listing of your family tree.”

“Right. Sure. Well, there was one time—” I stop. What story was I about to relate? I try to think of something funny, but I keep drawing a blank. I know we went cross-country as a family when I was seven, but I can’t remember any of our specific adventures. I know I broke my wrist when I was twelve, but I can’t remember what I did to cause the break. It’s like I remember everything about my life on Earth, and yet suddenly it’s all feeling like some foggy dream.

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “My brain’s totally dead tonight. Too much stress most likely,” I rationalize, pushing the frightening alternate possibility to the back of my brain. After all, having trouble recalling cute family anecdotes doesn’t necessarily mean my whole life was syringe-injected to prevent me from remembering that I’m truly a revolutionary leader who bailed on redeeming a postapocalyptic world.

Dawn reaches over to stroke my head, probably jumping to the same conclusion I’m trying to avoid. He wants nothing more than to believe my memories were indeed implanted. Fabricated. So, how do I convince him it’s just not true? Especially when I’m not quite sure of that myself.

“My life’s not made up,” I insist, knowing my argument sounds weak and unsubstantiated.

“Don’t worry,” Dawn says. “We’ll get this whole mess figured out soon enough. Tomorrow we’ll go visit the Eclipsers. I’ll take you there this time—no more leaving you alone. They have doctors on staff. Maybe they can tell you what’s going on in your head.”

He lowers his hand to my cheek, caressing it with light, feathery fingers. I close my eyes, relaxing under his gentle touch, breathing in his musky scent, wondering if I should pull away, resist the tender advance. It feels so good. So right. And yet, I still have a boyfriend on Earth. Would this be considered cheating? Of course it would. Yet for some reason I can’t seem to summon an appropriately guilty feeling. Maybe it’s because right now life on Earth seems so distant and foggy, while this moment on Terra is richly detailed and real.

I swallow back my hesitation and allow myself to submit to his touch, folding myself into him, hyperaware of his flushed skin against my own. He does not disappoint, wrapping his arm around me so I can cuddle my head in the nook between his shoulder and chest. He strokes my shoulder with a gentle, slow touch.

“Tell me about Mariah,” I suggest, after a few moments of comforting silence. “Maybe it’ll jog some memory or something.” Now that I’m feeling warm and safe, I’m able to broach the topic without an overwhelming suffocating fear pounding through my brain.

Dawn’s fingers pause for a moment, then continue their caress, weaving gentle threads of warmth through my entire body. It takes everything inside me not to literally purr.

“Mariah was passionate. Determined. Extremely intelligent. She rallied the Dark Siders effortlessly. She had an uncanny power to convince anyone to do anything, with just a quick smile or wink in their direction,” he says. “Hell, she had me wrapped around her little finger.”

“But you’re angry with her now,” I say, opening my eyes to study his expression. His face clouds and I can almost see the hurt wash over him.

“Yes, because you—sorry, she,” he corrects. “It’s so hard to look at you and say ‘she.’” He shakes his head. “Because she—Mariah—betrayed us all. She who started the Eclipsers and the campaign for a better life for Dark Siders sold us out to the Senate and then abandoned us. The very night that should have been our ultimate victory instead became our worst nightmare. All thanks to her.”

“I don’t understand. What exactly happened?”

“It wasn’t an overnight thing. Originally Mariah started Moongazing to figure out what the government was up to. She wanted to find out if it really was the be-all and end-all our glorious Circle of Eight was advertising.” He snorts. “She insisted that if they’d really found a Garden of Eden on another world then it should be opened for everyone to enjoy. It wasn’t fair that only those with disposable income could pack up and move to paradise while we poor bastards down below were stuck in hell.”

“Well, that sounds like a pretty noble cause,” I venture, wondering where everything went wrong.

“Sure, I guess,” Dawn says. “Until she started getting addicted to the drugs.”

I frown. “I still don’t get what drugs have to do with all of this.”

“You need ‘em to ‘Gaze,” Dawn says. “Something to do with the brain needing a cushion for travel.” He shrugs. “Mariah started getting addicted to the ‘Gazers the more she traveled back and forth from Earth. It happened slowly. I noticed small things at first. A few white lies as to where she’d been. But then it started getting worse. I soon realized that she was out of control, running away to Earth every chance she could get. And the revolution—all the plans we had started putting into place—began to suffer from her absence.”

“What did the Eclipsers think?”

“They didn’t know. Stupid me, I covered for her. I didn’t want her to lose all she’d worked so hard to get. I told them she was sick. And she was, in a sense. So the Eclipsers pushed on without her, moving ahead with preparations for our Moongazing seminar sabotage. The idea was to incapacitate the guards and change the program—sending Mariah onstage to inform the gathered Indys of all the atrocities the Senate was performing right under their very noses.” Dawn sighs. “But Mariah never made it to the seminar. That afternoon she made the jump to Earth and left us all with useless best-laid plans.”

“Why couldn’t someone else just get onstage and give the same spiel?”

“There was no one else. It had to be her,” Dawn says. “After all, she was born of royal blood. Destined to become one of the Circle of Eight. Hearing the message from her would have convinced the Indys of its legitimacy. Rather than just a random Dark Sider spouting off wild conspiracy theories.”

“That makes sense,” I say. “I suppose that’s why the Eclipsers need her back so badly.”

Dawn nods. “The Eclipsers refused to believe that Mariah ‘Gazed of her own free will. They insisted she must have been tricked or forced by the Circle. And because I was hiding the signs of her addiction, my explanation of what really happened fell on deaf ears.”

“But how can you be sure? Maybe she
was
kidnapped or something.”

“No,” Dawn says firmly. “She went of her own accord. The morning before she disappeared, she came to my house. She told me she’d found happiness on Earth and begged me to come with her. She wanted me to go to Earth and start a new life.” Dawn scowls. “I asked her how she was going to pay for this pilgrimage. Moongazing’s not cheap, and she’d already used up most of her family’s trust fund to start programs to aid the Dark Siders. She just smiled at me—this sick, sad smile—and said it was all taken care of. At the time I didn’t know what she meant.” He squeezes his hands into fists. “But that night, when the government soldiers swept in at the seminar and stopped us in our tracks, I realized the truth. There was only one way they could have been so prepared for us. Mariah sold them the information in exchange for her trip to Earth.”