The Duplicate

Chapter Fourteen

Twenty minutes to ten, I lie down on the one couch in Dax's living room.

The very faint, hushed sounds of nightlife arise from the city: distant purring of cars, far-off sirens, soft bumps and voices from the residents around us, all settling down for the evening. I remember these sounds. Like the windshield wipers of a car, they used to calm me. They used to lull me to sleep every night as a child, as a teenager. I told myself I wouldn't miss them. But now, hushed by them, I realize I do.

Before my eyes droop closed, I catch sight of Trip stepping towards the shaded window in the kitchen. With the contrast of the darkened living room and the light blazing down on the kitchen, he seems to be standing on a stage. His eyes—gleaming, always gleaming—peer down at the street below.

He hasn't sat down. He's restless. Brooding. Back to whatever time and space he'd been wallowing in before.

I wonder where he is, what he's thinking.

My consciousness slips. 

It feels as though I have just closed my eyes when a pop! wakes me. I jerk, eyes fluttering open. The kitchen is dark, Trip is gone, and the only light in the kitchen is pouring from the open refrigerator door. Dax looks up from the can of Diet Coke he just popped open.

"Opps." A nervous laugh presses from him. "Sorry about that."

Disoriented, groggy, I sit up. My eyes, blurry with sleep, skim over the kitchen, the hallway, then behind me at the rest of the living room. All is still. All is quiet.

"What time is it?"

"About..." Dax checks his watch. "One-thirty."

Almost four hours I've been sleeping. It doesn't feel like that much time has passed.

"Where is he?"

Dax gestures at the front door. "He went out."

"He left us here?"

"He said he won't be gone for long."

"And—" my brow furrows "—you're here?" I'd been sure that the moment Dax saw an opportunity he would be scaling down the side of the building with tied off bed sheets to escape.

Glasses blinks a couple of times, staring at me as if I've grown a second head. "Well, yeah, I'm here." Then realization lights across his face. Quickly, he shakes his head. "Oh, no, no, no. I'm not stupid. He'd rip me in two."

Of course.

Trip wouldn't have left in the first place if he thought Dax would split. He wouldn't have left if he thought I would split either. He's got us both precisely where he wants us. Dax, scared to death of him. Me, scared to death and dependent upon him—the ice devil himself—for survival.

That thought makes me ill. Sighing, I ask, "Where did he go?"

"Not far. I know he wouldn't have gone far. He just needed some fresh air, I think. Being cooped up in here seems to make him... a bit tense. Maybe claustrophobia or something." Dax shrugs, seeming not to care where Trip is or what he is doing, as long as the devil isn't here looming over him right now.

I can relate. I guess it gives us some breathing time.

With his free hand, Glasses grabs another Coke from the fridge. "You... want one?"

"Sure." A soda sounds good right now. I stand from the couch and cross the living room into the kitchen. Taking the can from him, I offer another weak, apologetic smile—the same smile I'd offered earlier when we barged into his apartment. "Thanks. It's Dax, right?"