Flux (20 page)

Chapter 13

T
HOUGH NELLIE WATCHED
Deller suspiciously at breakfast, he showed no sign that her conversation with his double had leaked through to his dreams. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten her existence entirely. Eyes riveted to his breakfast, he shoveled eggs and toast non-stop into his mouth, managing only a few monosyllabic grunts at his mother before launching himself from the table and out the door. The screen door whirred back on its hinges and slammed shut, there was the thud of running feet, and finally a long drawn-out sigh as the house relaxed into quiet.

“Where’s he going?” Nellie scowled down at her own eggs and toast. It wasn’t that she
wanted
Deller nearby, but she’d assumed he would be around, bugging her every minute of the entire day.

“Gone off to his part-time job,” said his mother, standing up to clear the table. “He’ll be back for lunch, just before I leave for my afternoon shift. He works as a courier two mornings a week, delivering messages on his bike.”

“That old thing?” asked Nellie.

“It gets him around,” said his mother, carrying a stack of dishes to the sink. “And we’ve got our own work to do, you and I. C’mon
over here and help me with the dishes, and then there’s something I want to show you. C’mon now.”

Reluctantly Nellie shuffled to the sink and stood watching the dishwater rise in the basin. It had been a long time since she’d washed dishes, almost a year and a half. Tentatively, she held her hands over the soapsuds, letting them break softly against her palms.

“Go on now, the water won’t bite,” said Deller’s mother.

Nellie eased her hands into the water and felt the warmth nuzzle her skin. An early morning breeze wafted through the window above the sink, rippling the curtains, and she breathed in its sweet outside scent. Small trickling sounds came off each dish and cup as she lifted them out of the water. She concentrated, scrubbing each object carefully before handing it to Deller’s mother for drying. It had been so long since she’d washed dishes that she felt as if she was reaching back through time, scrubbing plates she and her mother might have used in the Interior. Being in a house again was doing strange things to her head. The last time she’d turned to hand Deller’s mother a freshly washed saucer, she’d actually seen her own mother standing there, smiling and reaching toward her ...

With a cry, Nellie let go of the saucer she was holding. Hitting the floor, it bounced and rolled a few feet, then tilted and spun on its rim.

“Never you mind,” said Deller’s mother, stooping for the saucer and dropping it back into the soapy water. “It landed on the rug. Nothing broken, not even a chip. Why, what’s the matter with you, child? You’ve gone white as a ghost.”

“Nothing.” Scowling, Nellie buried her arms in the dishwater and watched the soap bubbles rise above her elbows. For a moment she’d thought ... she’d seen her mother standing in the living room doorway, holding a gun. Why, would she be holding a gun? Her mother had been a schoolteacher, not a soldier. Frantically Nellie swished her arms in the dishwater, trying to wash the scene from her memory. Water sloshed onto her T-shirt, over the counter, and onto the floor.

“You’ve got some cleaning up to do,” commented Deller’s mother comfortably. “But that’s all right. The floor can use the wash, and I can wait with what I’ve got to show you upstairs until you get every inch of it spic and span.”

Nellie stopped sloshing and wiped up the mess. As she did, the image of her mother holding the gun faded slowly from her thoughts until it hung like a gauze curtain, there and not there, waiting at the back of her mind. Thoughts did this to her—came at her, tore open her brain and disappeared again as if they’d never existed. By the time the dishes were finished, the memory of her mother and the gun had vanished, and she clomped noisily out of the kitchen after Deller’s mother, following her up the stairs and into a bedroom with deep blue susurra flowers on the curtains and an ugly pink and lime afghan on the bed. Sliding open a dresser drawer, Deller’s mother pulled a measuring tape from a sewing basket.

“Now, Nellie,” she said, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips. “It’s time for what we call a rite of passage.”

“A right of what?” Slitting her eyes, Nellie took a step back.

“A rite of passage is something everyone experiences as they pass through life,” said Deller’s mother, smoothing the measuring tape between her fingers. “It’s a special moment that tells you that you’re growing up, getting older.”

“Oh yeah.” Nellie glared suspiciously at the measuring tape. She’d read about rites of passage in school—stories about virgins being offered to the gods, and young men sleeping naked on mountaintops in sub-zero temperatures. None of them had involved a tape measure from a sewing basket.

“This particular rite of passage is just for girls.” Deller’s mother seemed to be fighting off an enormous grin. “I went through it too—a long time ago, of course. As each girl grows up she develops breasts, just as you’re doing, and that means she needs to start wearing a bra.”

Nellie’s arms glued themselves to her chest and she took another step back. “Actually, I’ve decided not to have breasts,” she said flatly.
“I’ve been sleeping on my stomach to squish them back inside. And I already tried one of them bra things. It didn’t work.”

Deller’s mother went into an abrupt fit of coughing and turned toward the dresser. “Why didn’t it work?” she asked in a muffled voice.

“It stuck out of me like two mountaintops,” Nellie complained. “Way out to here.” Ungluing an arm, she waved a hand helplessly in front of her chest, then glued the arm back again.

“Looks like you probably got a bra that was meant for me,” said Deller’s mother. “Bras come in different sizes. That’s why I need to measure you.”

Nellie took a flying leap backward and tightened her arms across her chest. Damn blobs. From the first moment she’d felt them growing, she knew they would be nothing but trouble.

“C’mon now,” said Deller’s mother. “I’ll do it over your shirt. That way no one’ll see your breasts except you. A girl needs her privacy.”

Hesitantly Nellie slid her a sidelong glance, then looked away again. “You won’t tell Deller?” she asked in a carefully bored tone.

“Deller’s not a girl,” said his mother firmly. “Only girls get to share this particular rite of passage.”

Nellie slid her another sidelong glance. “Will it stop them from jiggling?”

“That’s exactly what a bra is for,” reassured Deller’s mother. “Now if you’ll just straighten your T-shirt, I’ll measure you so I can pick out the right size for you at the store.”

Slowly Nellie unglued her arms, tugged stiffly at her T-shirt, then hung her arms rigidly at her sides.

“It’s easier if you hold your arms out a little.” The scent of tobacco descended upon Nellie, shutting out the rest of the world. Closing her eyes she stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped everything.

“That’s better,” said the voice above her head. “Now I’ll just slip it around your back and fit it snug across your front like this.”

The tape tightened gently around Nellie’s chest. Suddenly she was struggling for breath, fighting the scream that surged up her throat. White rooms, she could see doctors in white lab coats leaning over her, some kind of medical instruments in their hands ...

The measuring tape loosened and withdrew. Shuddering with relief, Nellie stepped back and crossed her arms again.

“Congratulations, Nellie, that rite of passage is over. Now that wasn’t too bad, was it?” A hand touched Nellie’s kerchiefed head. She flinched, and the hand withdrew into a moment of silence. “Hmmm,” said Deller’s mother. “My guess is you didn’t have a bath last night.”

“Yeah,” said Nellie immediately. “Sure I did.”

“Nellie, that smells like a lie,” frowned Deller’s mother. “I don’t like that smell in my house.”

“Okay.” Nellie heaved an enormous sigh and fidgeted her feet. “I just don’t
need
a bath every single night. I usually take one every three or four days in the brook, and mostly I don’t even need soap, so—”

“Off you go, straight to the tub this minute, young lady.” Deller’s mother pointed firmly to the door. “There will be a bath for you every night this week, no discussion. After that, we can start talking about every second or third night, d’you hear?”

Nellie’s mouth opened and she gaped soundlessly. This was something she’d forgotten about mothers. They took themselves very seriously and when they glared like that, there was no getting around them. This was definitely going to be one wasted morning. Slumping her shoulders, she slouched disconsolately toward the door.

HALFWAY THROUGH A
sandwich and a bowl of soup, Nellie sat across from Deller and watched his mother pause in the kitchen doorway before heading out for her afternoon shift. “Now, Deller,” the woman said, stubbing her cigarette into an ashtray on top of the fridge. “There’s yard work that needs to be done and the back fence
to paint. Supper’s in the oven. Just heat it up and it’ll be ready to eat. When I get back, you tell me what went on at the Jinnet.”

“Yeah, Mom.” Deller tilted back his chair and grinned at Nellie. He looked wind-blown, weasely and full of sun. Whatever had been bugging him at breakfast seemed to have passed, and his morning had obviously gone much better than hers. Scowling down at her sandwich, Nellie gave it a good poke.

“You remember what we talked about, son,” added his mother, picking up her purse. Deller’s grin vanished. His eyes hooded, looking inward, and he nodded. “See you later, Nellie,” she added, and then her footsteps crossed the living room floor, the screen door creaked open, and more footsteps clicked down the front porch stairs. Nellie listened to them fade into the hot blue afternoon, where the world was full of running and yelling places and no one telling her what to do.

“I’m not doing yard work,” she said, picking up her sandwich and chomping into it fiercely. “I’ve got significant things to do.”

“Me too,” said Deller. Shooting him a glance, Nellie found him hunched over his soup and watching her with hooded eyes. The hand with the missing finger rested beside his bowl, a bit of dried blood edging the bandage. “Take me through the gate,” he said abruptly. “To where they took Fen. I want to see it.”

Reluctance twisted Nellie’s face. It wasn’t right, taking someone else through a gate. If you weren’t a natural traveler, you didn’t belong in another level. It was just the way things were—the levels decided for themselves what they would reveal and to whom.

“Please,” said Deller, leaning forward. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Avoiding his eyes, she shook her head. The place he was asking to see was one gate away from the lab-coated men. They might be on the lookout for travelers, could even be lying in wait.

Deller’s face collapsed, and she watched him suck at a tremble in his mouth. “Please,” he said again. “I never got to say goodbye. He was just gone. All this time, I’ve been looking and looking. If I could just see the place they took him ... “

Nellie took a ragged pulsing breath. She knew about this kind of pain. If someone came up to her and said,
I’ve seen your mother. She’s alive. I can take you to her ...

“I’ll do whatever you say,” Deller added quickly, crooking his index finger. “Jinnet’s honor.”

Nellie assessed him through slitted eyes. Just for a moment she’d almost liked him, but now he was back to his normal weasely self. Scowling, she said, “If something happens and I say we have to come back before we get all the way there, will you listen?”

Deller’s face leapt. “You’re the boss.” A sheen of light slid down his bangs, into the muted green of his eyes, and Nellie felt a soft shuddering warmth pass through her. Jumping up, she bumped her knee against the table.

“If you’re ready, let’s go,” she said gruffly and headed for the stairs. Without further ado they passed into the thick upstairs heat of the house, Nellie leading, Deller following, the only sound the rustle of leaves at bedroom windows and the creaking of the floor beneath their feet. Nellie walked quickly down the hall, fighting the unease she always felt when someone was at her back. Stepping into her bedroom, she pointed to the bed and said, “Sit over there while I figure things out.”

For this was going to take careful thinking. She’d never deliberately taken anyone into another level. Crossing to the gate behind the bedroom door, Nellie stared at it. Her own passage between the levels was no problem, of course—by now she adjusted automatically to each level’s vibratory rate—but what about Deller? What if he got stuck out of sync again? And there was also his weasely doubles to think about. Screwing up her face, Nellie pondered. She could freeze each new level as she entered it, just to show everyone she was boss and they’d better not cause a ruckus, but then she would have to unfreeze it again, and the whole process was more complicated with Deller along. She took a long thinking breath. The best thing was probably just to wing it, and hope Deller could handle any trouble his doubles might kick up.

Sending her mind into the gate, she drew it open. “Can you see it?” she asked, looking at Deller.

“See what?” he demanded, squinting from the bed. So it was as she’d thought—the gate was so close to the wall even Deller couldn’t identify it when looking directly at it. Hopefully his doubles would be as clued out as he was.

“Watch me,” she said and stepped through the gate, then turned back to face the opening. In an instant Deller was there, peering through at her.

“I can see you,” he said. “Short and skinny with hatchet hair, like always. But everything behind you is a blur.”

Nellie wanted to slug him. “That’s because I’m still tuned to the level you’re in,” she said frostily. “Every level vibrates at different rates and you can only see the one you’re tuned to. Watch.” She adjusted her vibratory rate to the surrounding molecular field. Instantly Deller and their home level were transformed into an indistinct blur and the new level came into focus, their doubles standing across the room.