Twin Effect Page 7

  Max’s breath tickled his neck. “Me neither. I’ve been trying to work it out, but it doesn’t make sense. I remember the accident now, I think. I remember the car...a big black thing, like a Range Rover. I saw it coming towards me...and the next thing I remember is walking towards that pub, the night I met you.”

  “Nothing before that?” They hadn’t really discussed how long Max had been ‘back’, but Dylan assumed this sleep-existing had been going on for a while.

  “No? I don’t remember it. I do remember that I knew I had to go to the pub and see someone. You, I think.”

  “Me? But you didn’t know me.”

  “No. I knew there was someone there...I don’t know how...and when I saw you and your hand, I knew I’d found the person.”

  Okay, this was freakier than Dylan could have ever imagined. “That makes no sense. That has to be some kind of mind trick.”

  “Like me being dead and here.”

  “Um.” The kid had him there. Nothing in Dylan’s experience came close to explaining the inescapable fact of Max’s presence.

  His adult life had been ruled by facts, physics, hard data, hard science. He was an atheist and sceptic, had no patience with paranormal nonsense or alternative therapies. His father had been an engineer, his mother a GP. The resistance to pseudoscience went back to his earliest days. Lisa, raising him through his teenage years, had reinforced it.

  So he was utterly unprepared to deal with any of this.

  If Lisa was right, then this was purely a medical issue. If she was wrong, then he was in the realm of ghosts and spirits and things he profoundly did not believe existed. Should he try and find someone who ‘specialised’ in talking to the dead? But he believed—and could back up with evidence and reports—that psychics and mediums were either delusional or dishonest, using tricks and known techniques to fool the gullible. He couldn’t bring himself to approach someone like that, let alone take them seriously.

  “Dylan?” Max touched his face to get his attention.

  “Sorry, just thinking. I don’t know what to do.”

  “What did Toby say?”

  “He said to talk to you. Find out what you want. He’s happy to timeshare his body with you, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “He’s tired and getting worse. I can feel it. I try not to be awake too long, but our body feels...worn out.”

  “Mentally too. This isn’t normal. Two people in one brain.”

  “What can I do? I can’t control it.”

  Dylan tightened his grip. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do, except not, like, go running marathons at night while he’s supposed to be resting. Maybe you both need to give it some time, see where this...whatever it is...is headed. You don’t want to take him over—”

  “Never! Dylan, you tell him I said that.”

  “Calm down. Yes, I will. But maybe you’re back for a reason. Maybe he needs you to be here for a bit. Maybe you could try and talk to each other, but limit the amount of time.”

  “Using you?”

  “Or messages like you have been.”

  “Your phone!”

  “Yeah, that would work.”

  “Um...will he mind if I come visit you?”

  “I don’t think so. But I would mind if we do more than talk. It’s not fair.”

  “Guess not. But cuddling is okay, right?”

  Dylan didn’t know for sure, ethically. “Don’t think he’ll have a problem. But if he does, then no cuddling.”

  Max rolled around to face Dylan, and kissed him gently, politely, on the lips. “That okay?”

  “Yeah,” Dylan whispered. Oh, he’d missed the kid.

  ~~~~~

  He was still cuddling a warm body when he woke. The owner of the body was already awake and looking at him. “Hi,” the cuddlee said. “It’s Toby.”

  “Oh...hi...sorry, I didn’t mean....”

  But Toby resisted Dylan’s attempt to disentangle himself. “No, it’s fine. It’s nice. I, uh...haven’t had a lot of physical affection since...Mum and Dad aren’t the same.”

  “I can imagine. How do you feel?”

  “Okay. Good, actually. Like I slept really well. Did Max not come out then?”

  “No, he did, but he settled down pretty fast. He said he can feel how tired you are. Your body, he meant. He’s worried. He told me to tell you that under no circumstances are you to hurt yourself. He was adamant about that.”

  “Wasn’t planning to,” Toby said, bottom lip protruding ever so slightly. Dylan wanted to kiss it, and felt like a creep for thinking it.

  “He, uh, also wanted to know if you minded about this. Cuddling...and so forth.”

  “So forth?”

  “Um...kissing...and so forth.”

  Toby grinned. “He’s entitled to his own relationships. Still worried about my bodily integrity?”

  “Don’t make fun of a confused old man, you brat. Want breakfast?”

  Toby hesitated, then nodded. “I won’t hang around, though.”

  “It’s fine. I’m not busy today. To be honest, I’d like your company.”

  “Wow.”

  “Wow?”

  “Not many people feel that way about me.”

  Dylan struggled out of bed and found his trousers. “Maybe they do, but you don’t give them a chance to say so.”

  “Or maybe people don’t like depressed mental patients.”

  “I like you.”

  “You mean, you like my brother.”

  Dylan found a jumper and pulled it on. “I’m going to make tea. Bring your self-pity out to the kitchen and you can have some toast with it.”

  His guest took his time wandering out. “Maybe I should just go,” Toby said, hovering near the table.

  “Sit down and drink your tea. And don’t sulk. I can’t handle sulking in the morning.”

  “I’m not sulking.”

  “No, you’re being pitiful which is even worse. I’m telling you, kid, I’m the self-pitying champion in this establishment, so get off my turf.”

  “What I said before about not minding you cuddling me? I’ve changed my mind.”

  Dylan gave Toby and his snotty expression the finger. “Here, take the tea. Put bread in the toaster before you come over.”

  “Bossy arse.” But Toby did as he was told.

  They ate toast and tea in companionable silence. Dylan hadn’t done this in years. It was nice. It made him miss Rachel all the more.

  Toby finished his tea, and set the mug down. “I guess I’ll see you next week, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Do you want to meet in the pub or come straight here?”

  “Here, if that’s okay. Um, Max might come over anyway. Before, I mean.”

  “He might, but now he knows what’s going on, I think he’s going to try and let you rest in the evening. Just leave him a note.”

  “I wish I could talk to him.”

  “Want to see the message he recorded for you?”

  Toby shook his head. “Thanks, but it’s not the same.”

  “I suppose not. I, uh, did some reading about DID, and apparently they use hypnosis. I wonder if—”

  But Toby was already shaking his head again. “I can’t be hypnotised. They tried it a few years ago. I thought about it too. Best I can hope for is that Max keeps trying to make contact with me, and he manages it.”

  “He said something...he said that when he saw me in the pub, he knew I was the one he had to speak to. But I don’t know what I can do that anyone else can’t. I’m nothing special.”

  Toby gave him a look. Dylan screwed up his nose in response.

  “I’m not fishing for compliments. Why he would pick me out when he’d never met me before?”

  “I have no idea. I’m glad he did though. You’ve been incredibly tolerant.”

  “I just want to help. I like the two of you.”

  “You just wish there was only one of us.”

  Toby was hard
work sometimes. “Only insofar as it would make you happy,” Dylan said, infusing his voice with over-obvious patience. “But I’m not sorry there are two of you here.”

  Toby pushed his plate away. “Thanks. I better go, let you get on with your weekend.”

  “You can stay if you want.”

  “I don’t want you to get tired of my company.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. Ring me if you need me. Any time.”

  “Thank you.” Toby rose and kissed his cheek before he left.

  After he closed the door, Dylan checked the clock on the microwave. Lisa should be up.

  She was, but she wasn’t having any of it. “Dylan, stop. I can’t talk to you any more about Toby. It’s unethical. You’re trying to use me to treat him by proxy, and I can’t do that.”

  “But he’s not sick. You need to listen, Lisa.”

  “No. I’ll hang up if you don’t stop. He needs to speak to his doctor. That’s my last word on it. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

  “I realise you’re in a difficult situation.”

  “I’m fine. He’s the one I’m worried about.”

  “He has his own team to support him. But you could talk to his parents. They could persuade him to see his psychiatrist.”

  Toby would never forgive Dylan if he did that. Dylan would never forgive himself. “Maybe,” he lied. He changed the subject to Ned, then Lisa had to go, and the call ended.

  Bugger. He understood Lisa’s dilemma, but she hadn’t seen or heard what he had seen and heard.

  It was like he was some kind of medium, able to hear and talk to dead people—one specific dead person, at least. But he didn’t believe in mediums or ghosts, and nothing about this situation sounded like any haunting he’d ever heard of.

  There was nothing more he could do this weekend. He wished Toby had stayed, because he hadn’t been lying about the company. But Toby had left, and Dylan had things to do, however boring.

  Maybe he could ask Rachel about it when he called that evening. Though normally she had no more patience for paranormal bullshit than he did.

  With all the credulous, new age, spiritualist and woo-woo worshiping people in the world, why on earth had Max decided to pick him to come out to?

  Chapter 7

  He had no time to mope that week, with semester in full swing and students starting to discover their weaknesses and workload. Being that busy was a good thing, but meant he didn’t do any of the research on multiple personalities and haunting that he thought might help. Rachel had bluntly told him that he was dealing with a mentally ill kid and to follow his sister’s advice, which was well meaning of her but not very helpful.

  Dylan did manage to email Toby and ask him how he was doing. Toby had replied, “Busy, exhausted, frustrated.”

  Only to be expected. Dylan emailed back and suggested they meet at the university on Friday evening and go back to Dylan’s flat together. Toby sent a quick “Okay” and that was the last Dylan heard from him.

  But at six on a bitterly cold and threatening-to-snow Friday evening, Toby turned up in Dylan’s lab, looking a little like the Michelin man in his padded coat. Dylan introduced him to the grad students, all on their way to the pub, but when they had all departed, Dylan took a closer look at his visitor. “You look like crap.”

  “I know. I’m tired,” Toby mumbled.

  “You look sick. Are you coming down with something?”

  “No...don’t want to talk about it here. Can we just go?”

  “I was going to suggest a meal at the pub but....” Toby’s expression made it clear that was more than he could cope with. “But I bought some ready meals just in case.”

  “Thanks. Sorry. I’m really shattered.”

  Despite the cold, Dylan had also been going to suggest walking back to his flat because he wanted some exercise. But his companion looked as if the exertion would kill him. So instead, Dylan quickly locked up, got his coat and briefcase, and led the way to the bus stop.

  “Christ, it’s cold,” Toby muttered, huddling into his coat.

  “Yeah. I like this kind of weather, though. Better than rain.”

  “Me too, usually.”

  The silence went on.

  “Has, uh, Max been keeping you up?”

  “No. I have. I’ve been trying to catch him. I keep...almost...you know when you’re falling asleep and you think you hear something, so you jerk awake? Like that, over and over. All week.”

  “Jesus, Toby. You can’t do that to yourself. He wouldn’t want it.”

  “It’s not like I can stop myself. I feel so close to hearing him. But then there’s nothing. Nothing except the nightmares.”

  Dylan put his hand on Toby’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Can you stay over this weekend? I think it might help.”

  Toby looked up at him. “I’d like that. Better than worrying Mum. She’s beginning to notice something’s wrong.”

  Not surprised. “There’s the bus.”

  Toby said nothing on the short ride back to the flat, nor as Dylan led the way upstairs. The central heating was welcome though Toby seemed reluctant to shed his heavy coat. “I can get you a blanket or a spare jumper if you like,” Dylan offered.

  “Blanket would be good. Sorry. Cold’s really getting to me this year.”

  “Go sit on the sofa. I’ll make some tea while the food’s heating. Hope you’re not vegetarian.”

  “No.”

  Dylan would have much preferred the hostile, snotty version of Toby he’d first encountered to this dull, apathetic creature. Maybe it was just the cold. He fetched out the spare duvet, and Toby buried himself in it immediately. Dylan wondered whether he should break out a hot water bottle. Maybe later.

  Tea and Waitrose lasagne warmed them both, and colour came back into Toby’s unshaven cheeks. Yet he was no more lively or talkative. Dylan thought about opening a bottle of beer, but decided against it. Alcohol was a depressant and Toby didn’t need any help in that direction.

  “Fancy watching something on TV? A DVD maybe?”

  Toby shrugged. “Whatever you like. I’m just here to sleep.”

  “Oh. I hoped you were here for the company too.”

  Toby didn’t respond to the ribbing. Instead he lifted those wide, hazel eyes that could flash with such life and humour when Max was driving them. “I’m dying, Dylan.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re tired, that’s all.”

  “No, I mean it. I can feel...me...the essence of me...slipping away. I think that’s what’s meant to happen. I’m leaving so Max can have this body. He can put it to better use than I can.”

  Dylan shook him more roughly than he meant to. “Knock it off! I told you I won’t listen to this nonsense.”

  “Can’t change the facts.” Toby pressed his hands to his temples. “I’m losing myself. I drift off during lectures, lose concentration. I’m losing time. He’s taking over. He’s not doing it deliberately, I’m sure. But we can’t both be in this body.”

  “Why the hell not? And why has it changed so fast since last week? You were fine when you left on Saturday.”

  “I felt fine. Better than I have in a long time, like the emptiness in my soul was starting to fill, a little. But then the sleep disturbances and the nightmares began, and it’s been getting worse all week. I guess things are building to a pressure point.”

  “But how will Max feel if you disappear? Don’t you think he’ll be cut in half like you were?”

  “Maybe. What can I do, Dylan? Just tell me. I’ll do whatever I can but I...I’m so tired of fighting.” His voice disappeared into a whisper.

  Dylan moved over to the sofa, slipped under Toby’s duvet, and wrapped his arms around the kid. “I know,” he said quietly. “But you’re still here, still real. I don’t think you’re going anywhere. You just need some sleep.”

  “And hugs.”

  Dylan grinned. “Yes. Max needs them too. Y
ou have a lot in common.”

  “Or maybe I’m becoming him.”

  “Doubt it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do,” Dylan said firmly. “Want some more tea?”

  “No. Just want to....” Toby yawned. “...sit here with you.”

  “Then you do that.” Dylan flicked on the TV, just to give his eyeballs something to do. He turned the sound right down though, so as not to disturb Toby who already looked almost asleep.

  The kid was a warm, lovely weight in his arms. Dylan sighed. If it was wrong to enjoy it, then it was wrong. He couldn’t help his feelings.

  He woke to the sound of someone talking. At first he thought it was the TV and fumbled for the remote, but turning off the set made no difference. He realised it was Toby, muttering.

  Only it wasn’t Toby. “Please, Toby. I can hear you. Can’t you hear me? I want to talk to you. Please try to hear me.” A few seconds’ silence, as if Max was listening. “Please, Toby. I’m so alone now. I’m scared. Dylan said you might hurt yourself. I need you. Don’t leave me.”

  More silence. Max turned his face against Dylan’s shoulder, and his body shook. The kid was crying.

  Dylan patted his back. “It’s okay, Max,” he murmured. “I’m here. Toby’s here. You’re not alone. Shhh, it’s okay.”

  Max jerked up, his wet eyes wild and staring. “He can’t hear me,” he choked out. “I’m afraid, Dylan. He’s afraid too.”

  “We’ll work it out. Shhh, calm down.” He did his best to comfort Max with his arms and his voice. Max clung to him, but his grief took a long time to ease.

  But when he finally quieted, Dylan kissed the top of his head. “Come to bed. You’re safe here. Toby’s safe. I won’t let anything happen to either of you, I swear.”

  “I trust you. But what if you can’t protect us?”

  “I can. I know I can. Believe me, Max. Believe in me.”

  Max nodded, sniffling. Dylan nudged him to encourage him to stand, but had to spend a minute or so himself making his stiff limbs respond. Max gave him a hand to help him up.

  “Getting old."