The only sound was Mr. Koake's labored breathing, after the soft humming of the computer died down. The room smelled of must; motes of dust rose and danced in the air when she lifted the test results out of the printer. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, but its few rays beamed through the window, illuminating Mr. Koake?s drawn face, his silver hair lying thinly on the pillow. She clipped the data to the foot of his bed, picked up her bracelet, and whispered, "You're all better," before gently closing the door behind her. Her white coat swayed slightly as she strolled down the corridor, black shoes clicking softly against the pale lavender floor tiles. People waved as she went by, ducking in and out of the patients' quarters. She started down the stairs, heading for the waiting room.
Mrs. Koake stood up as soon as she saw her, wringing her hands. "How is he, Dr. Ranulf? How is he?"
Amanda smiled. It was always a pleasure to report good news. "He's really a lot better, Mrs. Koake. There may be a little forgetfulness now and then, but we've got the perception pretty much cleared up." Arthur Koake had had the mildest case of Korsakov's syndrome she had ever seen, but still quite an episode in Red Creek, Wyoming, and Mrs. Koake had been frantic about it.
Mrs. Koake sighed deeply. "Thank you," she breathed. "You remember how he was . . . ?"
"He's fine, now, Mrs. Koake. Would you like to see him?"
She led the old lady up the stairs, and pointed to her husband's room. "He's right there," she said. "Stay as long as you like . . ."
She turned the corner and walked down the hallway, yawning. She had never been a morning person. Coffee would be nice. She shoved a two quarters into the vendor and pushed her cup under the dispenser.
Voices drifted into the hallway, speaking gravely.
" . . . pair of idiot savants . . . haven't had one like that since-since 1989."
Amanda choked on her coffee. 1989. The year she and-
"Better not tell Amanda," someone replied. It was Sasha. "She'd go ballistic . . . make trouble. Maybe go off and die like Allison. All that work and . . . just shoots herself for no reason."
Amanda clenched her fists. The nerve of Sasha! As if she could know what it felt like. Like she could feel the loss . . .
Amanda looked down abruptly. She'd flattened the cup. Coffee covered her white coat, staining the blouse beneath. She grabbed a napkin and started wiping it up, but Sasha was already walking in, looking intently at her companion. Her red hair flounced as she nodded seriously, engrossed in the conversation.
"Hi, Aman-" Sasha stared at her. "What did you do?"
"Spilled some coffee," Amanda forced out. Sasha started to open her mouth, but glanced once at the broken styrofoam, and closed it again.
"Heard you talking about a new case," she whispered. She tried to say it casually, but her eyes stung, and a howl seemed to wait behind her lips, ready to escape if she so much as spoke a word. Oh, God, Alais! Alais!
Sasha hesitated, twining her hair around a finger absentmindedly. "Amanda, you have a lot of things on your mind, with the Koake case, and-"
"Finished." Amanda pushed the sobs back down her throat. They were almost strangling her; they filled her mouth when she tried to breathe. Her eyes stung.
"What's wrong?"
Amanda bit her lip. Anger. She needed anger. She would show no tears for Sasha. How dare she!
"Wrong? Nothing?s wrong." Nothing is wrong to you. You unfeeling little . . . "Uh, what room number are they in? You know I like to check out the autistic cases."
"Amanda-"
Amanda raised an eyebrow, and set the remains of the styrofoam on the table. She did not glare-she was in no position to glare, in a sopping brown coat?she merely stared, serene, wrapped in silence. "You were saying?"
Sasha dropped her eyes. "Two fifty-eight," she said irritably. Amanda started off down the hall. "It's okay," Sasha called after her. "We know what to do. Separate them!"
Amanda stormed down the hall, her face rigid. Separate them. They couldn't! She wouldn't let them! Alais had died from it, died, and she . . . Well, there was something missing. There was something really big missing.
"We're both prime, Amanathiere. Unique."
"You were always unique," Lydia said. "They just didn't see it."
Amanathiere smiled. "Thank you, Ly-" She stopped. The door clicked open.
"Hi, girls." Dr. Sraile smiled. It was no different from her other smiles, but now Amanathiere knew. She knew.
"Oh, please don?t!" She clung to her twin, shivering. "Please! Oh, Alais!"
Trembling, Amanda pushed herself away from the wall. This was no place for that. She was at work, for God's sake! The doctor wasn't supposed to cry!
She wiped away tears and walked toward the elevator. No place for crying, she thought to herself. She punched the ?up? button , and the elevator opened to admit her. It was empty, luckily. She went inside, pressing the button for the second level. The elevator rose unsteadily, and the doors parted. She swallowed, blinking rapidly. This is no bloody place for crying!
She stalked down the hallway, shaking her now brownish white coat. Her blonde hair stood out against a black blouse, and her red skirt flared like a warning signal. Her blue eyes were ice.
"Amanda," someone called behind her, "I really don't think-"
She threw the door open so hard the silver '258' rattled, shut it, and locked it. She fell against the wall heavily and closed her eyes, ignoring the pounding on the door until it died down.
"Hello."
Amanda?s eyes snapped open. Two faces were peering down at her, curious green eyes shining like emeralds, hair in waves of spun gold. Golden twins. She had heard that said about her, before. Pure gold, inside and out. That was from her mother.
"Hello." She said it in her normal voice, not in the usual soothing, condescending tone that she and the others used. The twins smiled, and inclined their heads, trying to probe her. Her head tingled. It was simply a matter of becoming synchronized with that person, and then you could read him like a book. But she had forgotten that, now. It was lost to her, lost with Alais.
"I would ask you not to do that," she said. She expected the girls to be surprised. No one else would understand what they were doing, but they just nodded as if it were the most normal thing in the world. And it was, to them. The tingling vanished.
She stood up, taking in the room at a glance. Light shone in from a small window, falling on two beds, plump white pillows resting on crimson duvet covers. Two red chairs were near them, and two tables, and two little night stands with lamps on them. The twins themselves sat on a white carpet, wearing white blouses and blue jumpers. They had forgotten her already!
"What are your names?" she asked awkwardly. There really was nothing else to say. She had burst in here without thinking why. What was the point? It wasn?t as if Sasha were going to separate them that instant. It wasn't as if Sasha were even involved. Emotions. God, if I had just been two minutes more talking to Mrs. Koake . . .
The twins turned around, puzzled. The tingling began.
"I would ask you not to do that," she said again. The tingling stopped, but this time they spoke.
"Why?"
Amanda drew a deep breath. Perhaps she should go into the condescending tone.
"I like to keep my thoughts to myself," she said raggedly. "What are your names?"
"I'm Driella," said one twin, "and this is Kelilah."
"Well, I'm Amanda," she said. "I-"
Driella frowned, and looked up at her quizzically. "Amanda?" she said slowly, as if chewing on the words. "I like your other name. Amanathiere."
"No!" Amanda shouted. God, how could they know, she thought. After all these years, I still think of myself as Amanathiere. "I mean-my name is Amanda."
They stared at her. Like I'm the one with brain damage, she thought wryly.
"Okay," they chorused, humoring a small child. "1110100010011110101110 0111100101110."
"I don't understand that anymore," she said dully. "You have to speak English."
"You do speak it," Kelilah said, exasperated. "It's buried. They didn't take it."
Amanda gawked. So they knew about that, too. How much had they read? If they had seen that much, they must know about the separation. Why weren?t they afraid? Didn't they know it could happen to them?
"I have to go," she said. "I have to-I just have to go."
She walked to the door, and turned to say goodbye in the midst of unlocking it. The twins were immersed in their own world once more, talking in a jumbles of ones and zeros. Forgotten again, she thought ruefully, and pushed the door open.
"I think perhaps you shouldn't take this case," said a voice.
Amanda looked up. "Scott!" she exclaimed. Her employer! He stared down at her, a figure of authority, black curls hanging ominously over his head like storm clouds. "I was just-"
"You were just in a patient's room, with coffee all over you. Not a very good presentation as a doctor," he said, shaking his head. "Amanda, this case is important, and we will do our best for those girls, but-"
"Your best," she snarled suddenly. "Your best! Your best will murder one or both of those girls!" She glared up at him.
"Murder, Amanda" Is that what you think we did to Allison??
"Her name was Alais!" Amanda shouted.
"Alais, if you wish." He sighed. "But whatever her name, it was not murder. It was release. Release from this world. Do you think she was happy before her treatment, Amanda? She had never touched reality. When she did, it shocked her. You got over that shock, and look how much better your life has turned out! Don't you wish that for those girls?"
"Better I wish them dead," she whispered. Scott did not hear. "I'll go now."
She walked dazedly down the stairs, out of the hospital, and into her car. So they were going to separate them. Hadn't they learned anything? Did they really believe that Alais had died from shock? She had died from loss. She had seen this world before-they had both dipped into it while they were together-and she did not like it. So she died. And never a thought for me, she thought bitterly. Alais was her other half. That was what was missing. Alais was gone, and there was no way to get her back. I envy her, she thought as she pulled into her driveway. I envy her death.
Amanda drove up to the hospital, pulling into regular parking spaces instead of the employee's parking zone. She left her white coat in the car; it was still stained, with tan blotches dotting it. Besides, she was not coming here to work.
She got out of the car and walked into the hospital, pushing through its gleaming revolving glass doors. It was calm and quiet inside this early in the morning. The receptionist sat back in her chair, reading files and answering the phone.
Amanda approached the desk. "Laura, I'm taking a vacation. For a week. Scott'll understand."
Laura nodded. "Yeah, he talked to me. Don't get involved, Amanda."
"Oh, I won't," she laughed, but her stomach felt knotted. "I'll be upstairs-for about an hour or so. Just some personal check-ups on Mr. Koake."
She ran up the stairs, and peered into the corridor before she entered. Good, it's empty. She didn?t want anyone here as a witness, interfering or telling Scott. Certainly not telling Scott.
She opened the door carefully, and flinched when it creaked. Closing it firmly, she held her breath.
"No one's coming," she said loudly, but all the same she locked it.
The twins were sitting cross-legged on the floor, gazing intently at each other and swapping numbers?primes. She recognized the game: it was one of the many she and Alais created. One twin said a number, a seven-digit prime, and the other smiled and laughed, savoring it, after concentrating intently for a moment. They were picking flowers?number flowers?and exchanging them.
She sat down beside them, but they did not notice.
"Driella. Kelilah?"
They looked up and smiled. Huge, naive, sweet smiles.
"You said Kelilah," a twin commented.
Amanda narrowed her eyes. "What else would I call you?" she asked.
"They say my name is Kathryn, now," she said. "And they call Driella Ellen."
"I know," Amanda whispered. "Don't listen to them. Don't listen!"
But the twins had forgotten her again, and were talking in binary code.
"You have to talk to me!" she yelled at them, forgetting her secrecy. "I can"t help if you-"
"I'm sorry," Driella said, shrugging helplessly.
"You're in the fog, and I can?t notice you more if you won't let us see you."
"See me? You want to-oh, all right. You know why I?m here, don't you? Try to find something that can help us escape."
Her head tingled faintly, then it built up, stronger, until finally it was buzzing. She tried to think, but focus slipped away from anything she reached for.
"I can't," said Driella. "It's . . . blocked. I can pull something out, but you have to let me."
"Pull something out," Amanda muttered. "Fine, go ahead. I-"
Something was pulling at her, pushing. Black and silver flecks danced before her eyes, and she plunged into murky depths, a dark pool. Water filled her lungs, her eyes, her mouth: she tried to scream, but not even bubbles came out.
* * *
She floated above her body, watching it speak to a girl beside her. It urged her, coaxed her. She drifted toward it, pulled through the water, and they coalesced. She filled the body, spirit touching arms, legs, face. There was a faint clicking noise, and then she saw.
"Look at this!" she cried. "A seven!"
"There are lots of those," Alais said. "See this, though. A circle number. We haven't seen one like this for a long time. See how it's enfolded in on itself?"
"Yes," Amanathiere said dismissively. "But this is a green seven. We've only seen one of those in our whole lives. Purple sevens, and yellows, but green? Never."
Suddenly there was a calling from the fog world, and they swam to it together, dipping their faces out of the light. One had to go into the fog world if they were to stay in the real one.
"Hello," she chattered, looking up at Dr. Sraile through a veil of fog. Her twin echoed her. It was hard to say much more in the English sounds. And no one in the fog world that she had met could speak the numbers.
"What are you two doing?" Dr. Sraile asked warmly.
"We were picking numbers," said Alais. "I found a . . ." she stopped. It really was hard to explain yourself in English sounds. "Help me, Amanathiere," she said, reverting back to number speaking.
"Pi," Amanathiere answered for her, uncurling a tendril of fog from around her neck. "You call it 'pi.'"
Dr. Sraile nodded, interested. "What did it look like?"
"Blue," Alais said grandly. "It was . . ." She gestured, curving her hands together. "Blue and . . ."
Dr. Sraile cut her off. "Well, girls, that's wonderful. I've brought someone to meet you today." She walked out the door, calling for someone.
Amanathiere sighed. Neither of them enjoyed the fog world very much, and they liked to avoid as much as possible.
A woman came in, hair dark and stringy.
"This is Lydia, girls," said Dr. Sraile. "I want you to talk to her."
Lydia sat down in a chair, pursing her lips as her dark eyes flickered across the room. Alais started probing her, but the woman's thin face snapped around, and she said sharply, "Don't."
Alais shrugged, but glanced at Amanathiere through worried sea-blue eyes. Amanathiere probed her.
She was a number seer, Alais thought at her.
Amanathiere nearly gasped. Lydia certainly did not act like a number seer. Amanathiere pulled into light world, and sure enough, Lydia was fully in the fog. But she was on the edge, not immersed in it, and instead of the light world being gone, it was there, near the fog, but a barrier had been shoved between her and the light.
"Hello," said Amanathiere. It was surprisingly easy to talk to her; it was not number-speaking, but Lydia seemed to pull words out of her mouth that she had not known were there.
"Hello, Amanathiere, Alais." She had a brisk voice, rather like the crack of a whip. "I am told you speak in binary code."
Amanathiere nodded. Binary code? Where had that come from? And yet she knew the word-it was the fog world's name for number-speaking.
"Who are you?" Alais asked. Deprived of probing, they were as ignorant as the fog dwellers.
"My name is Lydia," she said, in that snappish voice, "and I once was like you."
"Yes," Amanathiere said vaguely. "We know. Tell us something new."
Lydia peered at them from under thick, red-rimmed glasses. "My name-was-Lyrannia," she said finally. "I am supposed to tell you about . . . about an offer." She swallowed. "They think that maybe you'll understand me better because I used to be like you. You see, you're autistic."
Amanathiere stared. Autistic? But she knew what that meant, too. The fog world's word for those who dwell in the light world. Not just the number world-it included those who dwelt in the art world, too-the ones who could paint and draw more beautifully than any fog 'camera.' And she connected something else to the word: stupidity. Did Dr. Sraile think she was stupid? She glanced at Alais, who had the same glazed look as she must have. She had noticed it as well. What did people think of them?
"They . . . they want me to ask . . . Do you want them to cure it?"
Amanathiere threw herself backward as if she'd been hit. Cure it. They think it's a disease, she thought. A sickness. Despite Lydia's request, she probed her again. A disease. She rifled through her thoughts. Lydia's main thought stood out, shining like a beacon. Autism. How to cure it . . . ? And there it was.
"No!" she screamed.
Lydia gazed at her through black pools, dark and unfeeling. "Why not?" she asked finally. "You would finally be able to participate in this world . . . don't you want that?"
Amanathiere shook her head. "Be in the fog world forever" That would be horrible. To never see the light again . . . That's what they did to you, isn?t it? Ripped you away."
Lydia blinked. "You are lost to reality," she said, her voice flat.
Alais snorted. "A fine reality you have here. I read you. You don't like it either."
"We could bring you back," Amanathiere added. "You can come to the light again."
"The fog world is a trial," Alais quoted. "Not your life."
"This world is reality," Lydia said stubbornly, but her mask slipped, and under the fa�ade Amanathiere saw a little girl, stretching for the light and finding it gone. "Very well. I will tell Dr. Sraile your answer. But you can always change your mind."
She stood and walked out, the door snapping shut behind her.
* * *
"My God," Amanda said breathlessly. "I saw-the light was there again-it was real, Kelilah, filling me and-" She stopped herself. "How long did that take?"
"A couple minutes," Kelilah answered. "Why?"
"It felt like an hour. I have to go back in an hour. They might come in here."
"We will tell you if you need to go back," Driella assured her. "Did you find anything?"
"No . . . Let me go back. I can find something. I will. Wake me up if I don?t come back in half an hour."
She melted back into the pool, but now it was illuminated, and she fell freely, willingly, breathing the liquid like air.
* * *
"Why would she even suggest it?" Alais asked, when they were in their beds.
"She's been changed."
"Maybe we should-"
"No, Alais. We can't bring her out of the fog world unless she wants to come."
Her mind drifted, wandering in a field of dreams.
Amanathiere woke up with the fog clouding her eyes. She started into the number world, but Alais shook her.
"Get up, Amanathiere. Get up!"
She brushed the fog from her eyes. It was Lydia standing over her, not Alais. Alais sat on her bed, sipping orange juice.
"What . . . ?"
Lydia sat back in the chair, pushing that stringy hair out of her eyes.
"You don't want to be cured," she began.
"I do not want to be cured, no," Amanathiere said indignantly. "I've already told you-"
"Then I suggest you listen to me," Lydia said quietly. "Alais wanted me to wait for you to wake up, but we haven?t much time." She hesitated, crossing her legs, then plunged on. "Dr. Sraile and the rest of the staff think that because you are both autistic and therefore incompetent, you cannot make the decision for yourself. You 'do not understand' the benefits of this 'cure.' But I understand," she said fiercely. She dropped the mask of calm, and her eyes blazed with anger. "They will take your life away, and then say you're feeling a little 'shock.' They will separate you, tear you apart, and say it will help you long-term. They will steal your life away, I tell you! They will steal your soul!? Lydia's knuckles were white, gripping the arms of the chair, and her chest heaved. "You have to believe me!"
"I do not-will not-believe Dr. Sraile would ever consider such a thing," said Alais. "That is evil, even if it were possible. You can't bring someone into the light world without her cooperation, so why should it be any different for the reverse?"
"I thought the same thing," Lydia said, smoothing her expression once again. "But I was proven wrong. I clung to the light as best I could, but they tore me away from it. You are no match for them."
Amanathiere started to defend Dr. Sraile, but then checked herself. Lydia could be right. Dr. Sraile, after all, thought she was an idiot. Just because I don't like the fog world. And Lydia, of course, used to be a number seer. How else could she have been blocked from the light world? One would never go willingly.
"What can we do?" she said slowly. Alais glared at her. I cannot take the chance of losing you, Alais. I would give up the light and all the green sevens to keep you. I cannot take the chance.
"There is a way out," Lydia said. "Come here." She moved to the back wall and bent down. "I'll pull this off," she said, "and you two can crawl through the vent. I have other clothes with me, so you won't be recognized as easily-and you should put them on now. We only have an hour, I think, before they come up.
"Go straight until there's a drop. Go down that and when you reach the end, go right at the first turn you see. Take the second left, and drop again, and go left immediately after that. It'll open in the woods."
"Do you expect us to live in the woods?" Alais asked skeptically. "See, I told you it wouldn't work. I-"
"From there, we'll move into Plum Acres. That's the next town over, right on the other side of the woods. We-I have . . . a friend . . . there, right on the edge of Plum Acres. She'll take you in."
"Won't they look for us?" Amanathiere asked. "They'll take us back if they can."
"Oh, yes, they will send out search parties, I'm sure, and perhaps they will go themselves. But not for long. A pair of morons in the woods . . ." Alais sniffed. "I'm sorry, but you know that's what they?ll think. They underestimate us." She clenched her fists. "If the searchers go as far as to search our friend's house, she can hide you."
"We have to do it, Alais," Amanathiere said.
"I know. But-would Dr. Sraile really . . . ?"
"No taking chances. Not with this."
Lydia threw them the clothes. They dressed in silence, putting on jeans and t-shirts and tennis shoes.
"We don't have the same clothes," Alais commented, tying her laces. "We're both prime, Amanathiere. Unique."
"You were always unique," Lydia said. "They just didn?t see it."
Amanathiere smiled. "Thank you, Ly-" She stopped. The door clicked open.
"Hi, girls." Dr. Sraile smiled. It was no different from her other smiles, but now Amanathiere knew. She knew.
"Oh, please don't!" She clung to her twin, shivering. "Please! Oh, Alais!"
"Stop it, Amanathiere. It's only clothes," Lydia said sternly, resuming her fa�ade in an instant. But Amanathiere now knew it held tears.
Alais took up the lie, shoving Amanathiere away from her.
"I'll give you the shoes if you want," she said, deliberately speaking English for Dr. Sraile's ears. "I didn't know you liked pink so much."
"It's my favorite color," Amanathiere said. "Even better than green."
"I thought they'd like some new clothes," Lydia explained, showing a bright smile toward Dr. Sraile. "If you'll just excuse us for an hour or two, I can show them the rest."
"I'm afraid that will have to wait," said Dr. Sraile. "We're going ahead with the plan a bit early. As in now."
"All right, just a half an hour to pack up and-"
"They don't need to pack, Lydia. Everything is ready for them."
Lydia groaned. "All right, Judith, but a few minutes to say goodbye, at least . . ."
"They can say anything in front of me, Lydia. Leave us, please."
Lydia turned, smiling weakly at them. "Goodbye, Amanathiere," she said softly. "Goodbye, Alais." She walked out the door, dragging her feet. They were alone.
"Now, girls," Dr. Sraile began, giving them a sickening, condescending smile. "We're going to cure you. We know you'll appreciate it later, and your mother would've wanted it. Maybe you'll even be able to go home. It won't take long; you'll be back together in a couple months, if this goes as planned. Say goodbye."
Amanathiere flung herself at her sister. "I love you, Alais," she said, lip trembling. "Always know it."
"I love you, too, Amanathiere."
"Go to the light world," Amanathiere said. "Go! Now!"
They jumped out of the fog, melting into the light world, clinging together in fog and light. She breathed it all in, the liquid light suffusing her with warmth and joy. It blinded her eyes with its intensity, and yet was as clear as glass. The numbers danced around them. Would they ever see those again? No more green sevens. No more orange nines . . .
"Hold on!" she screamed. Something was tearing them apart, pulling like wolves after their prey. She summoned all her strength and fought, baring her teeth, flailing and growling, punching and kicking and biting. She was a lioness, with all the resolve of one and the agility of eight, claws slashing, fingernails slashing. But in the melee, she had lost her twin.
"Oh, dear," Dr. Sraile said, sitting down on a chair. Her dead-white hair formed a ring of ice around her face, and her frosty blue eyes glittered. "One thing you must learn is to restrain yourself. You and your sister nearly cost me an eye."
"I hate you!" Amanathiere shrieked. "I hate you!"
"I don't think you know the meaning of that word, Amanathiere. Best not to use it unless you know. And about your name. For a new life, I suggest you use the name 'Amanda.' Your sister will be using 'Allison.' Go on, try saying it."
Inside her, the lioness cried about the loss of her sister. And Amanathiere wept as well, sobs rising in her throat. Tears streamed down her face, and she wailed, drowning out everything else. There was only the loss.
* * *
"Alais," Amanda whispered. "Oh, God, they did steal my soul!"
Kelilah and Driella regarded her somberly. "I'm sorry," Kelilah said.
Amanda drew a deep breath. "I don't think I need to convince you to leave," she said, her voice wavering. "I will take you to my old room, and you will go through the vent. I will go back to the waiting room so Laura will not suspect. Don't linger near the building; go on ahead into the woods. I'll find you somehow. Here."
She unclasped her necklace and handed it to the twins, fingering the aqua beads wistfully.
"This was Alais's gift to me," she said, "years ago. I can follow you if you drop these on your path. But not too often, or someone else will be able to follow you as well."
She unlocked the door and glanced out. Still empty. She tip-toed through the door, and motioned the twins to follow her, grimly noticing the echoing sounds as they walked down the tiled corridor. She peered at doorknobs and doors, looking for some mark of her room from so long ago. Was it even here?
"This is it," she said, stopping at a door. The tarnished doorknob still had the mark of polish that she and Alais had brandished it with, and a stain on the door from spilt grape juice. "Oh, no." She looked at the number of the room, a silver '239' hanging from a peg, and the clipboard in its container, holding papers together with her writing on them. "This room is occupied by Mr. Koake." She sighed. "I guess we'll just have to take a chance," she said, and pushed open the door, gesturing the twins inside.
Mr. Koake lay on the bed, his gray eyes polished, unreadable gems. Sun filtered through the shutters, creating a pattern of light on his head.
"Hello, Mr. Koake," Amanda said, closing the door behind her. "I need to ask you a favor."
"For you, Doc? Anything. You gave me back my life. You can't know how it felt . . ."
Amanda smiled, a little sadly. She did know how it felt. "Call me Amanda," she said. "Mr. Koake, I'm going to help these girls escape. The hospital doesn't always do good things; instead of giving these girls their lives back, they're going to take them away. I ask you not to say anything about it until we're gone. That's all."
"That's all, Doc? I'll tell them you flew to San Francisco if you want. Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
"Thank you, Mr. Koake," she said, gently taking his wrinkled hand between her own. "You are a good man."
"And you're a good woman," he said, his voice straining. "I'm sure what you?re doing is right, Amanda."
She walked over to the wall, and gazed out the window. The same woods she had seen thirty years ago. A green couch replaced the blue ensemble she had had before. She moved it aside, and there was the vent, dusty and rusted. She plied off the wire frame and looked inside. It was a black hole, and when she touched the interior it dinged and clanged, letting out metallic sounds that hurt her ears.
"They'll discover us right away," she said, sighing. "But we have to try."
"Don't you worry," Mr. Koake spoke up. "I'll say I'm playing a drum my wife brought me. They know I like music."
"Doesn't sound much like music," Amanda grunted, hoisting the frame onto the couch. "Now, you remember,? she said to the twins. "Straight until there's a drop, down that and right at the first turn you see. Second left, and another drop, and left right after that. Leave a path with the beads, but use them sparingly; there aren't that many. Stop when you run out of them." She glanced once at the necklace in Driella?s hand. "You go first, Kelilah, and Driella, hold on to that necklace. Put it on. I will go cover for you; I won't fit inside. Come on."
She watched, biting her lip, as Kelilah slid head first down the vent, arms outstretched, and Driella followed her, the necklace snug around her neck. She refitted the frame, and shoved the couch back to its spot. She hesitated at the door.
"Goodbye," said Mr. Koake, "and good luck, Amanda."
"Thank you," she whispered back. "And Mr. Koake? My name is-I'm Amanathiere."
She ran down the hall, once again thankful for its emptiness. But each footstep sounded like an avalanche compared to the silence, and she nearly sighed with relief when she reached the carpeted stairs.
"What is that noise?" Laura asked. A series of thuds were running down the wall in the left-wing of the building.
"Uh-Mr. Koake, he's playing his drum." She flinched at the stupidity of her answer, and Laura looked at her skeptically.
"A drum?"
"Yes." She paused. "His wife brought it for him. He told me that much, but he wouldn't say where he keeps it. I guess he's afraid we'll take it away from him-you know how he loves music. But I can ask him to stop it." She grinned.
"No," Laura said dismissively. "But I do hope he stops soon. It hardly sounds like music."
"Oh, well, you know. He's been through the terrible ordeal of Korsakov's. That's always horrible, no matter how mild. We have to expect these things."
"Mmm," Laura said vaguely. "Well, I hope his music sense returns soon."
She smiled weakly. "Oh, it will," she lied. Anything to get away. "I'm off; I decided to leave the tests behind-leave everything behind for awhile. I'll see you in a week, Laura."
"We'll have them settled before you come back, Amanda. Later today. Don?t worry."
"Good," she replied, walking out the door. If it had been one more day . . . No, she told herself. It didn't happen. Don?t even think about it.
She drove around the building, parking her car where no one would see. She stepped out onto the moist grass, and shoving her arms into a jacket, she stole away into the woods.
She picked up the beads as she went, hugging them to her breast. They had been dropped about ten feet apart, and they shone brilliantly even with the feeble light of the sun dying down. Crimson was set across the horizon, and she could make out rose and tangerine clouds through the trees, accentuated by a purple sky. Night was falling. Where were they?
She felt the familiar tingling in her head; she stopped, and leaned against a tree to wait. The twins dropped down from the branches above her, landing with a thud on the dead leaves.
"Did anyone see you?" she asked quickly.
"No," Kelilah said, wiping off the twigs from her clothes. She smiled broadly. "You?ve accepted your name."
"Do you want to come with us into the light world?" Driella said.
She hesitated. The offer was so tempting . . .
"No," she said at length. "I have to lead you out of these woods, and light world . . . the light world will hinder us."
They trudged through the dirt and leaves, and Driella gave her back the necklace string. It still had a few beads on it, and as they walked she strung her collection back on one by one. Alais's last gift . . .
"Amanathiere," whispered a voice. "Amanathiere, wake up."
Amanathiere opened her eyes, and a face peered down at her. Golden hair framed her face like a halo, shining like sunbeams. Sapphire eyes, once so gay, now wrought with fear and sadness. But the face still smiled, and though it did not reach her eyes, it was Alais's smile. Her sister's smile.
"How did you get here?" Amanathiere gasped. "They have another person in our old room, so we couldn?t escape some way through there. They wouldn't tell me your room number."
"I have big ears," Alais whispered back. "I brought you this."
She held out a hand, and in it was a necklace made of aqua beads, bright and sparkling in the moonlight. The clasp in the back was made of silver, cool and pale.
"Thank you," Amanathiere said. "It's beautiful."
"I made it with the light," Alais said, hugging her. "It will shine even in the dark."
Amanathiere put it on, and the beads glowed like suns, making light dance on her nightgown. "I love it."
Alais turned to go. "Wait, Alais," Amanathiere called softly after her. "I have something for you. I didn't know when I'd see you again, but . . ." She reached under her pillow, and pulled out a gem, dark blue, yet shining with as much intensity as her necklace. "It is the circle number. I picked it last night."
"You took it out of the light world?" Alais asked, amazed. "Thank you, Amanathiere."
When she woke the next morning, Dr. Sraile was standing over her.
"Alais is dead," Dr. Sraile said abruptly. "I thought you should know. She killed herself. I found this." She opened her hand, and on her palm, the circle number glittered. "She had it near her heart, next to the knife. Do you want it?"
Amanathiere recoiled from the gem. "No," she said faintly. Sobs rose in her throat; she choked them back down. "Bury it with her." She moved a hand to unclasp her necklace and give that away, too, but she could not do it.
"That is a pretty necklace, Amanda," Dr. Sraile said. "Lovely. Where did you get it?"
Amanathiere stood up, hardening her heart. If she is dead, she is dead, she thought. I can do nothing about it. "Go, Judith," she said, her voice growing stronger. I will strangle you if you say one more word! "Go."
"Mind your tone, Amanda," Dr. Sraile said, chiding, but she cut herself off, glancing at her expression, and turned and went out the door, white coat trailing behind her. Amanathiere sat back down on her bed, fingering her necklace. "My name is Amanda," she told herself harshly. "It is time to face reality."
There was not much distance between Red Creek and Plum Acres: only a bike ride through the woods for a couple of hours. But it was well past midnight when Amanathiere, Kelilah and Driella finally got to a little cottage at the edge of the forest.
"I think this is it,? she whispered. "But we don't know who lives here now. Go hide, and don't come out unless I tell you."
She watched tensely as they vanished behind a clump of trees, and walked up to the door, steeling herself. The same person would surely not live here anymore. But she had to take a chance. She knocked.
A woman answered the door, suspicious light-brown eyes taking everything in. She had dark red hair, tinged with brown, and she could not be much older than Amanathiere. It was too much to hope, Amanathiere thought, sighing. But I'll try nonetheless.
"What the hell do you think you're doing at this hour! It must be five in the morning!"
Amanathiere forced a smile. "I'm sorry," she began. "I was looking for a woman named Lydia. I guess you're not her."
"Lydia?" The woman paused. "I knew her, once. Don't know if she's your Lydia, but anyway, she was my aunt's friend. Why?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"She was my friend, too," Amanathiere said. "Who are you?"
"Why do you want to know that?" she said. Her expression softened. "Oh, I'm sorry, just-my aunt and I never got any peace after my mother died. That's when I moved in with her. My sisters moved off to the hospital-they're the problem. Some doctor always wanting to know if I had any signs of autism. I'm Ellydera Ranulf. Call me Elle. Weird name, I know, but then I come from a weird family." She smiled, and outstretched a hand. "Who are you? Oh, tell me inside. It's freezing out here."
Amanathiere's eyes widened, churning, salty seas.
"Elle? My-" She gasped. A third person from her early life. Mother, Alais, and . . . Elle.
"Wait. I need your help, Elle." She waved to the background for the twins, who emerged, shivering, pulling leaves from their hair. She gathered them behind her.
"My name is Amanathiere, Elle," she said softly. "Can I come inside?"
Elle?s jaw dropped open. "Amanathiere? But you-Oh, my God, Amanathiere!" She pulled her into a tight hug. "What's wrong, Amanathiere? You are-what happened to your light world?" she whispered.
"I'll tell you inside," Amanathiere said, drawing back. "They need to go to sleep."
"Of course," Elle said. "Come on, girls," she said, leading them into the house. "You must be freezing! Amanathiere, whatever were you thinking of?"
Amanathiere followed her inside, gazing at the furniture and running a hand over the worn, scratched brown table, a relic her past. Soon they were sitting down to peppermint tea, Amanathiere's favorite from childhood.
"So Alais killed herself," Elle said flatly. "I'm sorry, Amanathiere."
"So am I." Amanathiere stared at the wall, remembering. "She couldn?t cope. I could, and I'm glad I did." She smiled brightly, falsely. "I love her, but I don't know if she really loved me-I mean, in the way I do her. She never tasted this world, truly, and yet she killed herself." She grimaced. "Without a thought for me. I am stronger, now. I was broken, but now I know I will never be again." She drew herself up. "And I find light in this world, too, Elle," she said softly.
Elle smiled faintly, deep in thought. "I am glad you find light in it. It may not be as perfect as your other world, but it is beautiful in its own way."
Amanathiere grinned. Something was coming; she felt it deep in her soul, something beautiful. She had tasted despair, and tasted the ideal world of her twin, and somehow she knew neither would compare to what was coming. Suddenly light hit her eyes, brilliant beams filtering through the window.
"The sunrise," she breathed. "The sunrise!"
She ran out the door, cold mist wrapping around her even as the sun warmed her. Crimson streaks ran across a honeyed sky, but it all dimmed in comparison as the sun's head peeked over the horizon, shining, radiating glory. She gulped the air, floated in it, and it filled her with life. Sweet life, aromatic and ethereal; not the fog world, not the light world, just life, pure and perfect, a celestial, golden dawn.
