Rosemary and Rue
Page 59

“Gilly?” I whispered.
Her smile grew. “Hi, Mom.”
“Gilly,” I repeated, like I was trying to convince myself. “You’re here.”
“I hope you don’t mind?” She bit her lip, smile dying as quickly as it came. “I got your address off one of the letters you sent to Dad. I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind if I stopped by for a little while. Just to say Merry Christmas, and everything.”
“Mind? Why would I—no! I mean, no, I don’t mind a bit. You can stay just as long as you want.” The words were coming too fast, getting tangled around each other. I forced myself to slow down. “I mean, of course. Please, come in. Come in.”
Still smiling, she stepped past me into the living room. I closed the door, wanting to scream and laugh and cry and jump around. I settled for folding my hands behind my back, watching her avidly.
Gilly looked around the room, and frowned. “Mom? Are you okay?”
“What?” I followed her gaze to the couch and winced as I saw the mud and blood caked on the cushions. “Oh, that. Yeah, Gilly, I’m fine. I just got a little bit banged up at work and haven’t had a chance to call the dry cleaner, that’s all.” I hesitated. “Is it still Gilly? I mean, you’re a lot older now. Do you like Gillian better?”
She ignored my question, still studying the room. “At work? I thought you worked at a grocery store.”
“It can get pretty physical when you’re shifting crates in the stockroom.”
“Have you seen a doctor? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, honey, I’m sure.” I nonchalantly pulled my robe a little tighter, hiding the bruises around my neck. “It was just a little scrape that bled a lot.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, craning her neck to peer down the hallway. For a moment, I thought she sounded almost disappointed. “So, you live alone, right? Big place for just one person.”
“I got a good deal, and it’s rent-controlled. It’s just me and the cats. I like it that way. It’s peaceful.” I was lying, but I was hoping she couldn’t tell. I didn’t want to scare her away.
“Any close neighbors?”
“A few. I don’t really know them very well.” My shoulder was starting to throb. I tried massaging it with the palm of my hand. It didn’t help. “Can I get you anything? Milk? Coffee?” Do human teenagers even drink coffee? I didn’t know.
She shook her head, smile turning secretive. “That’s okay. I’ll eat soon. Can I see the rest of the apartment?”
“Sure, honey.” I started toward the hall, trying not to limp, and paused. Something wasn’t right. As much as I wanted this to be real, it wasn’t ringing true. “Gilly? Does your father know you’re here?”
“Oh, totally,” she said, looking toward to the kitchen. The cats had vanished, leaving their breakfast half eaten. That wasn’t a good sign. “He said I could come.”
“So he doesn’t mind spending Christmas without you?” Why was I finding that hard to believe? Oh, yeah. Because I’m not completely stupid.
“He’ll find something to do. He always does.”
Her tone was dismissive, and I frowned. There was something she wasn’t saying. “Gillian, what’s going on here? I’m flattered that you came to me, I honestly am, but are you in some sort of trouble?”
“Trouble?” She leaned against the couch, suddenly moving with a bizarre predatory grace. “What makes you think I’m in trouble?”
“It’s just strange to see you here like this.” I reached up to push the hair out my eyes, and froze. I wasn’t wearing a human disguise. I was still too dizzied by iron poisoning to spin one, and my hair wasn’t covering my ears. She could see me for what I was, really and truly see me . . . and she hadn’t batted an eye. Combined with the way she was moving . . .
My nerves started screaming “danger, Will Robinson, danger.” Mixed with the iron poisoning and the sudden feeling that something had gone terribly wrong, it wasn’t making for a pleasant emotional cocktail. I took a step backward, stopping when my shoulders hit the wall.
Gilly smiled, displaying far too many sharp white teeth.
“Gilly?” I whispered.
“Guess again,” she said, still smiling, and lunged.
She caught me without really trying, slamming me against the wall as she wrapped her hands around my upper arms. I felt a stitch give way in my shoulder, and fought back a scream. All the humanity had leeched out of her eyes, bleaching them to a flat, pale yellow.
“Doppelganger,” I spat, forcing myself to meet those alien yellow eyes.
“Good guess, mongrel,” she said. “Want to make a guess at what happens next?” Her face was still mostly Gillian’s. She still looked like my little girl. I shook my head, not answering her, and she tightened her grip, nails scraping the surface of my skin through the bathrobe. “Come on, Daye. Guess.”
“You’re going to get out of here and leave me alone?”
She laughed. “Oh, come on. You can’t really be that stupid, can you?”
“Actually, most people seem to think I can.” That’s right, October, mouth off to the monster. That’s a good idea. No, really.
The Doppelganger snarled, face twisting into something a little less human. Good. The less she looked like my daughter, the easier this became. “I’m going to kill you. You know that, right?” She dug her nails into my shoulders, and I moaned, fighting a scream. I didn’t need to alert my neighbors: they’d just rush in and get slaughtered by something they didn’t even know existed. “You’re a brave, stupid little thief. Tell me where you put the box, and I won’t make you suffer; I’ll just tear your throat out, and you’ll die quick, you’ll die merciful. Come on, thief. Tell me.”
So that was what this was about. I should have known. I closed my eyes, trying to focus past the pain, and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sorry.”
She let go of my right shoulder. I barely had time to stiffen before she struck me, nails slicing four shallow, parallel lines down the side of my cheek. I kept my eyes closed, feeling the blood run down the curve of my jaw.
“Do you bleed sweet, little thief?” she asked, running her tongue along the cuts. Her saliva burned like acid. I whimpered, trying to pull away. She put her hand back on my shoulder, holding me in place, and said crossly, “You should have screamed by now. It doesn’t taste as good when you don’t scream. Why won’t you scream for me?”