“Feel your muscles relax, and your thoughts leave your mind, and focus in on my voice,” her voice is calm and low and a different tone from what it usually is.
“If you feel your eyes getting heavy, let them relax.” A few moments after she says this, they feel like bricks are on top of them.
“I’d like you to imagine a place—”
“What type of place?” I ask, but my voice comes out in a whisper.
“Where you’d like to meet.”
My eyes are closed now.
“I don’t know how,” I tell her honestly.
“Think of a place you’re familiar with. A place you know so well that you could mimic its design from the ground up.”
In less than a second, I’m in my house. My parent’s house. I’m in the living room. It’s so weird, almost eerie. Everything in its place as if I’m actually there. But I am there, and no longer in Helen’s office but standing right in front of my dad’s big arm chair.
“Do you see it? Are you there?” Helen’s voice sounds like it’s playing on a TV or a radio in another room.
“Yes.” I say, but there’s no one in the room but me.
“Good. Call him,” she instructs. “Just say his name.”
I look around my surroundings, and I’m at home—the one I grew up in. I’m no longer in Helen’s office in Chicago but in Madison, Michigan. I swear I even can smell fried pork chops. How is this possible? My stomach feels like jelly, not because this seems impossible or stupid anymore, but because it feels real, right down to the picture of Caylen sitting on top of my mom and dad’s fireplace. I swallow hard.
“Cal,” it comes out quiet, a little over a murmur and then I clear my throat.
“Are you here?”
“Look who it is.”
My stomach drops when I turn around and see me, standing in front of me. A version of myself. My hair longer, and I’m in dark denim jeans and a black T-shirt. A silver watch on my wrist gleams as the sun from the window pours in. Leaning in the doorway, his arms are folded across his chest and he’s wearing a condescending smirk.
“Chrissy boy. How are you?” he asks and I feel my face go hard. He puts both of his hands up in some sort of mock apology.
“Just kidding. You’ve got to take the stick out of your ass.” He walks past me and collapses into my dad’s chair, resting his feet on the coffee table.
“You’re quiet. I thought you’d be more talkative.”
“What is this place?” I ask still trying to get over the fact that I’m looking at myself in the flesh. He lets out a half-laugh and tilts his head at me.
“That’s the first question you ask me? Out of everything?” His face twists up in disbelief and amusement. I cross my arms and he shrugs.
“Our twisted up mind obviously,” he answers simply. He gestures to the seat across from him. “Why don’t you have a seat?” he says with a mischievous grin. I frown at him and sit across from him. “It took you long enough to get here.”
“Why did you pretend to be me?” I ask him as this is the immediate question that pops in my head. One of his brows shoots to the sky.
“I didn’t pretend to be you,” he chuckles low.
“Oh, so you tricked her?”
“We both know I don’t have to trick Lauren to do anything,” he says his tone low and his face hard even though it’s accompanied with a smile. “Look let’s not get into conversations that we’ll never agree on.” His expression goes serious. “I’m offering you a truce,” he says bluntly.
“Which means integration?” I ask him hesitantly. He shrugs one shoulder leaning back in his seat.
“Or co-consciousness. Has Helen told you all about that?”
“Where we share?” I ask him, and he laughs.
“Something like that.”
“You’d be willing to share?” I ask him skeptically. He throws his hands up and laughs.
“Why does everyone think I’m the problem child?” he asks, feigning innocence.
“Lauren said Collin wants us to integrate, so if he did say that, I’d assume that you are the problem.” His face immediately turns to stone.
“Collin is a manipulative, egotistical little prick,” he says, irritation cutting through his words. It’s my turn to laugh.
“Oh I see, so you’re switching teams?” I ask and his eyes narrow in on mine. “From my understanding, you and Collin have had some sort of agreement to keep me in the dark and that’s not working for some reason… so I’m guessing you need me now?”
“I don’t need either of you,” he says his jaw flexing.
“You must or I wouldn’t be here. I’m not that daft, Cal.”
“Collin could take over,” he says evenly, and I feel my blood go cold.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. He’s been in practice a lot longer. He knows more than we do and he’ll be in a perfect position if we don’t work together,” he says casually but there’s an edge to his tone. I give him a disbelieving look.
“You two are the alters. If we integrate, I’ll be the one left,” I tell him, but my voice gives away my unsureness and he shoots his body forward with a wide, sarcastic smirk on his face.
“Really? And why do you think that, Chris?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you think you’re the host? Because your parents told you?” he asks with a laugh. “After all we know how forthcoming and honest they’ve been.”
I sit quietly and swallow my nerves allowing him to say everything he needs to say.
“Has Helen ever told you that you’re the host?” he asks cocking his head to the side. “Let me ask you something. If I blocked out the memory of what supposedly caused our dysfunctional little trio… wouldn’t that make me the host?” I feel my heart starting to pace unevenly in my chest at all of his questions. “Or to be completely unbiased—if Collin remembers the most out of the three of us—wouldn’t he be? If we’re adding up reasons as to who was the first, the original will be the last one standing, my bets wouldn’t be on you Chrissy boy.” An amused dare is in his tone.
“You aren’t taking bets on yourself obviously or I wouldn’t be here,” I counter.
“Maybe I’m just tired of fighting. Have you ever thought of that? Ever thought that I might like to get to spend time with my wife and daughter without being on a time clock?” he asks again. “Wouldn’t you?” he asks this time with no sarcasm in his voice. My eyes trail to the photo of Caylen.
“One thing I’ll say—I know we love them.” For the first time, his voice sounds completely genuine.
“Collin doesn’t love. He borrows emotion from me, mimics parts of both of us, and that’s as human as he gets. If he somehow managed or decided that he doesn’t need us, that’s it. We’re gone. Not only that but the girls we love will be living with a psychopath—unfeeling, calculating, and only worried about his self-preservation regardless of the consequences.” His tone is ominous and I feel my nerves spike.