Vicarious (37 page)

“What if it didn't work, and I never figured things out, oppa? Were you going to pretend to investigate my sister's ‘murder' forever?”

Gideon rests his head in his hands. “If this didn't work I was going to try to tell you everything again—to prove it to you with ViSE recordings, even if it made you unstable. Even if it meant you had to go back to the hospital.”

My neck and shoulder muscles go taut. “I don't want to go back there.”

“I know you don't. I've been doing a lot of reading. Plenty of people with dissociative disorders live normal lives. Maybe we can try going to therapy together. Or there are some support groups for people who have lost loved ones that we could join.” He lifts his head. “I've also been looking into some residential programs for people with issues like yours. Nice places. More like college campuses than hospitals. Just so we can consider all the options.”

My face falls. “You want to ship me off to some boarding school for crazy girls?”

“No, Winter. I want to be the man I should have been years ago, the family that you needed. I thought I was protecting you, but instead I failed you horribly. I failed both of us. I want to do better.” Gideon's phone buzzes. He checks the display and swears under his breath. “Your friend Mr. Lynch is on the way here. Do you think he'd mind if I rescheduled our meeting?”

“That was fast,” I say.

“Yes. He seems unusually enthusiastic about sharing his football experiences with the masses,” Gideon says. “But it can wait a few days.” He swipes at the screen of his phone.

“No, it's fine,” I say. “Go ahead and meet with him. I could use a little time to … think about things.”

Gideon nods. “He and his agent are coming here. I'll be in my study if you could show them in when they arrive?”

I flinch at the thought of seeing Andy, but I nod. “Wait.” I reach out for Gideon's arm as he turns away. “How did she die?”

“One of Kyung's men caught me trying to sneak the two of you out of the hotel. Your sister attacked him, and he stabbed her. She died so that we could live.” Gideon squeezes his eyes shut as if that will block out the memory. “I didn't want to leave her. I wanted to die by her side, you see? But she made me promise beforehand that I would never let anyone hurt you.” He presses his fingertips to his temples. “It seems I've failed her in that as well.”

When Gideon opens his eyes, they are wet with tears again.

*   *   *

I grab
the ViSE equipment and the file of documents from the kitchen counter and take it all to my room. Rose's—my alter's—ViSEs are sitting on my dresser, taunting me. It's like I've been living half a life, sharing my body with a stranger.

My eyes skim past my collection of snow globes until they find my reflection in the dresser mirror. The girl who looks back at me is the girl I've always known myself to be. “Where are you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes, leaning close, trying to see some facsimile of my dead sister lingering beneath my skin. All I see is her silver necklace, hanging above my heart. “Why are you doing this to me?”

No answer.

I raise my right hand so I can see the reflection of my cross-shaped scar. Then I press my palm against the mirror.
Fingers to fingers, thumb to thumb.
The girl looking back at me is still identical, but in this position she feels like Rose.

A tear trickles down my cheek. “You made me into a freak. I want you to go away and stop hurting me.”

I would never hurt you.

I freeze, unsure if I heard the words out loud or in my head. I watch my lips in the mirror as I reply: “What?”

All I ever tried to do was help.

“Help?” My insides seethe with rage. “You turned me back into a whore.”

No,
the voice says.
That isn't true.

But the ViSEs all crash down on me at once—the dancing, the switch parties, Andy, Jesse. “Bullshit. I'm tired of people lying to me.” Pulling my palm from the mirror, I rear back and slam my fist into it. The surface cracks and a handful of jagged shards fall like silvery tears to the top of my dresser. Curling my fingers around one of them, I study the scar carved into my palm. My eyes trail upward, the flesh of my wrist looking like so much blank canvas. Gently, I touch the broken fragment to my skin, but the edge is too smooth. I trade the piece of mirror for one of my throwing knives, its tip deadly sharp.

No.

I imagine a flower of blood opening on my wrist. It would be so easy.

You promised.

“Shut up,” I say. “Get out of my head. Get out of my life.”

We will make you stop, if we have to.

“Who the hell is
we
?” I ask.

No answer.

I press the blade against my skin. “Tell me.”

You promised!

“I didn't promise you anything,” I say. “You're not her. Quit pretending.”

But you promised her. Don't let her death be for nothing.

Other-me shouldn't be talking. Other-me shouldn't even exist. But she does. And whoever—whatever—she is, she's right. Hurting myself would dishonor my sister. I pull the knife away from my wrist and tuck it into the pocket of my hoodie. “So what now? How am I supposed to live like this?”

No answer.

“How am I supposed to live without Rose?”

You have me.

“But you're not Rose.”

I can be the Rose that you need.

I'm not convinced of that, but I won't let my sister's death be for nothing. I need to know exactly how she died. I need to know who killed her so I can make him pay.

But first I need help.

I dig through the top drawer of my desk until I find a business card with Dr. Abrams's name. With shaking fingers, I dial her number.

Her receptionist picks up right away. “Greater Midwest Mental Health. This is Shelly. Can I help you?”

“Hi, Shelly. My name is Winter Kim. I'm a patient of Dr. Abrams. I need to come in for an appointment.”

“One second while I access your file. Looks like you haven't been here in a few weeks.”

“Yes. It's definitely been too long.”

“When would you like to be seen?”

“The sooner the better.”

The receptionist pauses. “Is this an emergency, Winter?”

“No,” I say. “No emergency. But is Dr. Abrams available? I wanted to ask her a quick question.”

“I believe she just got out of a session. Let me check.”

A couple of minutes later, Dr. Abrams picks up the phone. “Winter. So good to hear from you. How are you doing?”

“Did you know?” I blurt out. “Did you know I had a separate person living inside of me?”

“What do you mean?” she asks slowly.

“I mean some girl who thinks she's my dead sister. Apparently she takes over my body when she feels like it.”

“She's not a separate person, Winter,” Dr. Abrams says. “What you're feeling is another part of you.”

“Are there more
parts
of me I don't know about? How could you not tell me any of this?”

“Winter, I had my suspicions, but I never saw direct evidence of Rose or any alter persona in our sessions. Mr. Seung told me about some of the things you were doing that troubled him, but it wasn't enough to say for certain that you have dissociative identify disorder.” She pauses. “The truth is, your collection of symptoms is quite rare and I wasn't sure what all we were dealing with. And I didn't tell you my suspicions because forcing reality on people often has negative consequences. We were working toward some realizations together when you started skipping your sessions. I've been hoping you would call me back.”

“Did you know what Gideon had planned?”

“We talked briefly a few weeks ago because he felt your behavior was escalating. I gave him some information about residential treatment facilities in case the two of you wanted to go that route. He told me he wanted to explore one last option first. I assumed he was going to try hypnosis, or perhaps returning to the scene of the crime.”

Not exactly. “Can I come talk to you?”

She pauses. “I can see you at six if you want to come in at the end of the day.”

“All right,” I say.

“Winter,” she says. “Are you alone right now? If this is an emergency, I can have my receptionist call 911 for you. The hospital can stabilize your condition until I'm finished seeing clients.”

“I'm fine,” I murmur. “See you later.” I hang up the phone and for a few minutes I truly feel, well, not fine exactly, but stable. If anyone can help me make sense of this, Dr. Abrams can.

Now to start filling in the gaps in my memory. Grabbing the music box, I separate the ViSEs into three piles—ones I've played, ones Jesse played, and ones with Andy. I'm starting with the third pile. I'm going to have to figure out how to explain this whole mess to him. But before I do, I want to know exactly how close we've gotten.

I slide the first recording into my headset and close my eyes, but I can't focus. It's too bright. I keep thinking about what's on the other side of the wall—Rose's room that was never Rose's room at all.

I gather the ViSEs together with my headset and duck out into the hallway. I knock gently on the door of the study. “I'm going down to Escape,” I say. “I need to go back through some of these recordings, but I can't concentrate here.”

Gideon opens the door a crack. His eyes are red, like maybe he's been doing more crying than preparing for his meeting. “Are you sure that's a good idea? Perhaps you could review them with your therapist.”

“I called and made an appointment,” I say. “For six. I can take the train there.”

He shakes his head. “Sebastian can drive you.”

“Fine.” I don't really want a ride from Baz, but I don't feel like arguing.

*   *   *

Baz
is waiting just inside the door to Escape when I arrive.

“Just get me from the security office when you're ready to leave for your appointment,” he says.

I arch an eyebrow. “That's all?”

“Was there something else?”

I'm less mad at him, because he's just a guy who works for Gideon, not someone who claimed to care about me. But still. “I know what you did,” I say. “I know everything now.”

“That's good,” he says, like I told him I just aced a calculus exam.

“Wow. You don't even feel bad, do you?”

“I don't feel much of anything, Winter.” His eyes flick around the club. “I did what my boss asked me to do. I can assure you I've done worse.”

I shake my head. “How do you live like that?”

He shrugs. “It used to be hard, but I adapted. The world is full of terrible people and I'm one of them. I've made my peace with it.”

Shaking my head, I turn away from him and duck into the nearest ViSE room. Reclining back in the chair, I try to prepare myself for the things I might learn. “It's better to know the truth,” I say. I just yelled at Jesse and Gideon for lying to me. I can't lie to myself anymore.

There are five ViSEs with Andy—two at the casino, two at dance clubs, and the one at his party. Other-me is flirty with him at the casino and kisses him once while we're dancing together, but none of that really means anything. I finish the first four recordings with a sense of relief. That just leaves one more. I slip the ViSE of the backyard party into the headset. I fast-forward past the hot tub and the time spent in Andy's bedroom. I start at the point where I storm out and see Baz out on the street, praying that I don't go back to the house.

Andy rushes up to me, pale faced, all apologies, begging me not to leave. “I need you,” he says. Slowly, he cajoles me back inside. He shuts the front door and leads me back to his room. “I'm sorry about tonight.”

“It's all right,” I say. “I'm not mad.” I flop down on the bed while Andy paces back and forth. I see tears forming in his eyes. “What is it?” I ask.

“I screwed up,” he says, sitting next to me. “I did this terrible thing and I feel like it's going to haunt me forever.”

I reach up to run my fingers through his hair. A ribbon of warmth twists through my body.

The tiny surge of desire I feel is terrifying. It's almost enough for me to stop the ViSE. But I have to know.

“Shhh. Whatever it is, it's all right. We all do bad things.”

“I've been gambling a lot,” he says abruptly.

“I'm aware,” I say. “That's how we met, remember?”

“Higher stakes,” he mutters.

I look up at him. “How high?”

“I got in a half a million. I offered to pay them double after I get my signing bonus, but they didn't want that.” His eyes get watery again. “They wanted something else.”

“What do you mean?”

“I threw the national championship,” he says. “The game was fixed.”

“What? How could you—”

“They threatened my family. It was the only choice I had.” He's crying freely now. “If anyone finds out, my whole career is over.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “Shh. No one is going to find out.”

He buries his face in my hair. My wig. Which slips slightly forward, obscuring my view. I feel his hand on the back of my neck. His fingers graze metal.

“Is that a headset?” Andy's voice goes cold. “Are you recording this?”

“I can explain,” I say.

But then a shock races through me and the ViSE goes dark.