Duality

                    Duality

            By Maya Zauberman

            Reedsy Contest 211, Prompt 5

RING. RING. RIING.

The sound of the doorbell bounces off the walls, and I almost choke on my Sunshine tongue-patch.

I barely crack open the door before Maria barges in, her arms full of vodka and beer.

“Oh. My. God, Emily!” she screams . “It has been the LONGEST time since we’ve hung out.

I know, it’s been twenty four hours-maybe even less with all the texting”, I reply.

Hah. You’re funny. What are we watching tonight? 

Well, I thought “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde”--the classic version--would be nice.

Really? Well, I guess it’s in the spirit of Halloween. Anyways, I have some MAJOR news--”

BANG. BANG. BANG. 

Someone--likely a downstairs neighbor-- starts shouting, wondering who the fuck I’m talking so loudly up in there, and why the fuck I’m doing it again, since (apparently) I’ve been doing this for the past month or so. 

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To be honest, I probably wouldn’t know why I’m doing all this talking; probably wouldn’t remember doing it either, especially after I’ve had my daily dose. My mind is usually off traveling somewhere, someplace vivid, but quiet enough to keep under wraps, to “pass” as a “nice, quiet girl” in society.

Maria would probably remember doing it, but I honestly doubt she’d have given a singular shit in hell. Honest to God, that woman once told her own mother to fuck off; Mommy dearest had caught Maria and I in bed together, doing the dirty. 

No qualms, and no regrets as far as I can see in her tiny little pixie body (complete with the haircut). She never had for the infinite time I’ve known her--we’ve been riding and dying together since birth, and we’ll probably be that way ‘till we croak.

This non-caring  is definitely apparent when it comes to taking my shit. Even now, I can see her moving, shadow less, towards my little  lifesavers.

***********************************************************************************************************

We’re all settled in, the two of us, sitting criss-crossed on the floor with black and white figures flashing above us, having summarily told the neighbor to fuck off. We’re laughing, crying, sometimes both, as we collectively drain the patch baggies. Towards the end of the first bottle, right when that Jekyll guy starts chugging the potion down, she turns to me, hazy eyed and smiling. 

“You wanna know my news? Like really know?

What, you see dead people? Or did you split the “good” and “bad” sides of people into half?” I chuckle.

She grins. “Nah, those are fucking weird ideas.

If it’s not seeing dead people or creating new drugs, then no, I don’t want to know.

Fuck you, I’m telling you anyways.”

She leans in close to my ear, so close that I can smell the rum she clearly had for breakfast.

“I can remember the future. And the past too. But mostly the future.” She smiles and nods, as if to say “I told you so.”

“What? What does that even mean?” I ask her, in between my new laughing sessions

“It means I can predict the future using my brain.

I stare at her for a few minutes, waiting for her to laugh back--but, no, she has this stupid poker face on.

“Goddamn, woman”, I tell her. “I thought you were stoned beforehand, but this seals the deal.

I’m not kidding. Swear to God, I’m not.

Ok, so, if you can predict the future, can you tell me exactly what we’re going to be doing after the movie?

No, but I can tell you what I’ll do to you.

Which is what, exactly?”

Here, she takes a deep breath and a long pause.

“I’m going to kill you,” she says.”

I spit out my drink. “What?!?”

Seriously. You’re gonna die. Probably tonight-or not. Depends on when I feel like doing it.

Jesus, why?!?

I got told to do it.

Who--OK, you know what?” I throw my hands in the air at this point. “I’m not even going to ask who, or how. I’m going to get more acid, and when I come back, you better have a WAY better explanation than “the voices in my head told me to do it.”

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I honestly think that Maria was born without a filter. Even in kindergarten, she would constantly make jokes and quips while the teacher was teaching; usually, it was to me.  She’d also do horrible things with me, sometimes. Things like kicking the other students, messing up worksheets. Once, we even set fire to a nasty girl’s car, after the cuntbucket spread rumors about me being a crazy druggie. That one got us kicked out of school, and into a psych ward.

Teachers would usually turn around, and ask me who I was talking to, and why I was doing those things. I’d usually say it was Maria, and teachers would get confused and say something like “Maria isn’t here”, “Maria isn’t talking”, or even “There’s no Maria in this class”; Maria was very good at getting quiet, and hiding when she needed to. She usually needed to hide whenever parents or teachers asked who she was--I was supposed to keep the friendship a secret. She never told me why, and I never asked.

She’s also never said anything like this before. Not even while drunk or high as a kite.

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    There’s no trace of Maria in the living room. The blanket is folded nice and neat, the bottles cleared away; hell, even the baggie is sitting nicely on the TV stand. She might as well have never even entered the house, given that all the lights are off too.

Creak. Creak. Creeeakk.

Quickly, I snap my neck to the side, my heartbeat thumping like there’s no tomorrow.

“What the hell is that? Maria--is that you?”

Creeeak. No answer.

“M-maria?”

Creeakk. Again, no answer. 

The hair on my back stands up. I can smell her breath behind me, hear her inhale and exhale slowly.

“Maria, is this your idea of a joke?” I swear, I can feel the tears welling up.

No answer. Finally, after a few seconds, an exasperated sigh. 

“Fine”, I hear her say as she switches on the lights. “It was just a joke, killjoy.”

I feel the air leave my lungs, as I turn to her.

“Ok, good. I was so--HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THAT.”

Maria is standing there, brandishing a full butcher knife, pointing it at me. She’s grinning harder than a Cheshire cat, harder than the Mr. Hyde guy in the background, as he emerges out of Dr. Jekyll’s clothes

“The joke’s not over yet”, she says in the most sing-song voice I’ve ever heard. “Happy Halloween!”

She lunges, straight at me, as I side-step, almost tripping on my own feet.

She stops, amusement glowing from every pore. “Oh come on,” she says. “Relax. You’re just helping me make the future, that’s all. You want to help me make the future, right?”

I shake my head, as I back away from her, towards a mirror.

Emily’s face goes red. “What do you mean, no?” she screams.

“I’m not helping you with this.

Why not? You used to help me all the time, with the bullies. Remember?

That was to get revenge on bullies, and teachers we hated. Pure, innocent revenge. Not actually killing people!”

She stands still, glaring  at me with pure hatred pouring out of her eyes. Her lips purse together tightly, and she lunges straight at me, yet again. 

Somehow, we become one. A tangle, a web of pure fury and blood. Somehow, I grab a hold of the knife, and kick her off, pouncing on her. Somehow, I start stabbing. And stabbing. And stabbing some more, feeling nothing, absolutely nothing, not even as she transforms into a pure blob of red and guts. 

I only stop when my arms collapse with the weight of the knife, and the exertion becomes too much for my lungs. I look down, down at the bloody, still shell of a corpse, and I almost throw myself back.

“What have I done? Oh God, oh God! I think to myself.”

I turn back to the mirror, as if to ask it for answers. My face then contorts into a question mark.

That’s odd-- there’s no blood in the mirror. Or body.”

Quickly, I snap my head back to the horror scene in front of me. “Blood here; body here too. Did I imagine the whole thing?”

Only when I turn back to the mirror, do I notice it.

Blood where Maria’s blood should have been

Stab wounds where Maria’s should have been.

“Oh my god. She’s been in my head--”

Everything snaps into black; the maniacal laughing of the Hyde creature ringing through my ears.