Stardust

A striking similitude between the brother and the sister now first arrested my attention; and Usher, divining, perhaps, my thoughts, murmured out some few words from which I learned that the deceased and himself had been twins, and that sympathies of a scarcely intelligible nature had always existed between them.

—The Fall of the House of Usher, Edgar Allen Poe

     Caspian—who, after adjusting their personal nomenclature to something more befitting their taste, enjoyed, for the first time in their life, the occasional use of their full name—was having a rather introspective few days.

     They did not interact with July again following their stilted breakfast-table apology. She retired to her chambers immediately following the meal, not emerging even once that day, and Cas respected her desire for privacy.

     That did not mean they did not reflect on the interaction, thoroughly and perhaps even obsessively. Their itinerary for the day was packed—a post-breakfast workout in the gym, a psychiatric check-in with Ophelia where they resolutely refused to speak of anything of value, lunch with Jasper, a quick spell assisting Mels with folding laundry, a visit to Axel’s room for a violin lesson, relaxation time in the common room watching the children play Minecraft, a halfhearted attempt to scrounge up something for their dinner, and finally their turn to load and run the dishwasher—and yet all throughout, the matter weighed heavily on Caspian’s mind, obfuscating all other considerations.

     It was actually fairly annoying. As Cas finished loading the dishwasher and began rooting around in the sink cabinet for the box of detergent pellets, they let themself experience a flash of irritation.

     The problem was, before July so rudely thrust herself into the situation, Cas felt they’d almost begun to get a handle on their circumstances. They’d fallen into an easy routine, quietly observing their Dusty minders’ routines and gathering information—they felt they could, given time, begin to synthesize this information into conclusions, perhaps even allowing for an eventual escape route to make itself known.

     Recent events had thrown them entirely off-kilter. They spent the entire day prior locked in their room with Rhea, alternating between sobbing into her chest and unloading frenzied, umbrageous monologues as they paced around the border of their room like a caged animal. Their head was, to put it lightly, not on straight at the moment. It was only after they’d spent several hours performing this humiliating rite of hysteria that Rhea finally took their hands in her own and informed them that, regardless of her hesitance toward July interpersonally, they were acting like an utter ass, and punching one’s friend in the face was not an optimal form of conflict resolution.

     Cas finally located the detergent and put a pellet into the appropriate compartment. Once they were satisfied the dishwasher was appropriately performing its (rather loud) wash cycle, Cas flipped the magnet on its shiny steel door from the “dirty” side to the “clean” side, dried their hands, and made their way back to their room.

     They were the last person out of their room that night. Most of the other residents retired to their chambers early; there had been a strange, tense feeling hanging over the entire group since yesterday. It was still a couple of hours til curfew, however, and queer ambient light still illuminated both the common areas and the long corridor of patient chambers. The hallway felt eerie in the relative silence, broken only by the constant background hum of machinery.

     Cas hastily made their way to their room and tapped their patient ID against the locking mechanism. The door swung open to reveal someone sitting on their bed.

     At first, Cas thought July had somehow gotten into their room—but no, the girl on the bed had much longer hair, the same shade of blonde and straight, but spilling down past her waist and onto Caspian's bedclothes. The resemblance was striking, otherwise; she had the same round face with a small splattering of freckles, the same full lips, a similar stature, crouched on the bed with her arms wrapped around her knees. Despite being indoors, she was wearing a pair of black mirrored sunglasses.

     Cracks formed in the comparison when girl unfolded herself and stood up with her spine ramrod-straight, smoothing her palms over her neatly-pressed slacks in a decidedly un-July-like manner; before Cas could formulate a sentence, she said “I need your help.”

     “How did you get into my room?” Cas was approximately two steps behind whatever conversation the girl was having. Their eyes instinctively scanned the entirety of their small quarters—nothing seemed missing or out of place. Their pale blue comforter was slightly wrinkled from where she’d sat on it, but their dresser sat closed, the stack of novels and cloth-bound sketchbook on their desk undisturbed.

     Perhaps predictably, the girl did not respond to their question. She began to pace back-and-forth, body visibly tense, a rubber band stretched thin and quaking. “Caspian, yeah? You know July.”

     It wasn’t a question. Something large and uneasy began to shift in their guts.

     The girl ceased her frenzied pacing to face Cas with her hands out awkwardly, as if to say Look at me. “I’m June.”

     The thing in Caspian's stomach lurched and rolled.

     They felt as though they had been abruptly dropped from a great height and were now plummeting in endless free-fall; with what little breath they could sip from the suddenly-thin atmosphere, they laughed, faintly and humorlessly. “No, you aren’t.”

     “I am,” June said insistently, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, trembling, and she was not June, she could not have been July’s sister—but even her voice was similar, a husky tone heavy with vocal fry.

     Having still not reached the proverbial ground, Cas walked over to their desk, pulled out their chair, and sat down. Their head was airy, scattered thoughts chasing one another around freely without connecting; they tapped their fingers on the light wood of their desk in agitation, thinking wishfully about coffee.

     June watched them do all of this intently behind her mirrored lenses. She back down on their bed, ankles crossed primly over one another, and said “Did she ever tell you about the road trip list?”

     Cas was silent, fingers continuing to tap as they stared at June.

     “We had a list of tourist traps we wanted to visit when we got old enough to drive.” June’s hands were still clenched in her lap; her knuckles were bright white. “We went to a private school ‘cause we got a scholarship. El—Mom used to sneak us into punk shows when we didn’t have school. July’s first crush was on a Muppet. Any of this convincing you?”

     “No,” Cas said. A flash of anger rippled over June’s face. Cas tapped another few times, loudly and rapidly, before resting their palm flat on the desk. “Looking at you convinced me. I do not know how you would fake that kind of family resemblance.”

     The rigid line of June’s shoulders drooped. Her fists unclenched; Cas noted thin, red crescent moons dug into her palms. Before she spoke again, she took a few deep breaths (in through the nose, out through the mouth—a blatantly self-soothing gesture). “She thinks I’m a hallucination. I didn’t know, I thought—I thought she was trying to hurt me on purpose, I said some shit I’d never—” Her lips contorted bitterly and she inhaled again, even deeper this time. “She isn’t going to believe I’m real.”

     “And you would like me to vouch for your material reality,” Cas supplied.

     “Please.” When June said that word, her face wrinkled up as if she’d taken a bite out of a lemon, rind and all; she practically spat it out.

     The family resemblance may have been undeniable, but if anything, this raised more questions for Cas—too many to organize on the fly. They looked June over again, searching for anything to help them narrow down their line of questioning; she squirmed under their gaze, but she did not turn away. Her clothes were neat and wrinkle-free, her hair obviously well-cared-for; there was a hint of lipstick on her mouth, and her nails were trimmed, filed, and painted bright red. “Did you just arrive at this facility, as well?”

     “What? No, I—” June's forehead wrinkled, and she gave Cas a tiny shake of her head, like a dog flicking water from its fur. “I’m not from this floor.”

     They took a mental note and bookmarked it. “How did you get into my room?”

     “I’ve been here for a long time. I have connections.”

     “What sort of connections?”

     Silence.

     Another tack, then. Cas leaned forward in their chair, propping one elbow up on their desk to rest their chin in their palm. “You need my help. I need many things, and you have… connections. Perhaps we can come to some sort of mutual understanding.”

     This seemed distasteful to June; she made a series of facial contortions that, on some reflection, Cas realized were the result of rolling her eyes behind her shades. “Or I could just find someone else. You think July would be happy about you extorting me over this?”

     “Quite frankly, I do not give a fuck.” June barked a short, sharp laugh; Cas allowed themself a tight-lipped smile before continuing. “I do not trust you, nor do I trust the circumstances; regardless of her feelings, I feel perfectly within my rights to secure an advantage for myself in this situation.”

     There was, once again, silence. June clenched one of her fists tight again, gaze traveling seemingly purposelessly over the room. She let the silence drag on for quite a while that time, til her clenched fist was shaking violently; then, finally, she wrung her hand out with a convulsive flick of her wrist and looked back at Cas. “What do you want?”

     “Information. Connections.” Cas was rather proud of how successfully they kept their voice steady. “The exact form I leave, quite generously, up to you; I require insight, knowledge, something I can use to leave this dreadful place.”

     June snorted. “There isn’t a way out. You should know that.”

     “I have seen the external structure of the fleet, yes.” It was initially distressing—Cas had wondered, for one brief, idiotic moment, if they’d be sucked out into the vacuum of space upon exiting the ship’s interior—but after the shock wore off, Cas found the concept infinitely fascinating. The architecture alone compelled them; its senseless, twisting roads to nowhere practically begged to be unraveled, the logic behind them deduced. “There must be some way out—or else the Dusties would not be able to easily traverse between their ships and Earth.”

     This put a thoughtful look on June’s face. She pursed her lips, sucking one side of her cheek in between her teeth; after a time, she nodded slowly. “Alright. I think… I think I can do something for you. It’s not—I can’t really explain it. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

     Despite the circumstances, Cas chuckled. “That may be difficult. I’ve already said I do not.”

     “Fucking Christ, just—” June sprang from the bed and began pacing back-and-forth again as she spoke, her voice rising as she went. “Look, it’s not information, not really, and I need to get Nea to help, I’ve never done anything like this before, but I promise you’ll get what you’re asking for. I promise.”

     It was, most likely, not the time to press forward with further questioning. Still, Cas noted the name “Nea” down for subsequent conversations.

     June spun around to face them again, pausing her mania to stare beseechingly at Cas. “I get it. You don’t trust me. But I can’t prove I’m telling the truth unless you give me a chance.” She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself, then— “If you’re not gonna do it for me, at least do it for July.”

     It was Caspian's turn to look away from her. Their gaze trailed over the wall closest to them; its blank white veneer had no seams, no stitches, no telltale lumps of stuffing beneath its surface. It was sheer, blinding, smooth white, so pure and even that Cas often wondered what material it could be made of—it did not feel like fabric, more like a sun-warmed rock under their touch, but somehow plush and yielding.

     This was, as best they could tell, July’s long-estranged sister. Her twin. Cas thought, briefly, of Avery being alive, coming to July, begging for her help to reunite with Cas—their stomach twisted sharply. No matter how suspicious the circumstances were, if she turned him down, if she refused to assist in their reunion—well. Cas would not take that well.

     They took a long, deep breath, sitting back in their chair. “Alright.”

###

     Cas knocked on July’s door, a leaden weight bearing down on their chest.

     It took her quite a long time to answer. When she did finally crack the door infinitesimally and peer out, clearly wary, Cas slammed a hand on the door to prevent her from closing it immediately.

     “There is something I need to talk to you about,” they said, tongue fat and heavy in their mouth.

     July cracked the door open slightly further, her eyes narrow and her mouth set in a stubborn line. She was in a state of undress—massive t-shirt and, as far as Cas could tell, nothing at all on her bottom half—and it made Cas instinctively want to look away. Their face grew hot.

     “What is it?” she said in a thin, dry voice.

     Cas pressed their hand against the door with a touch more force. “May I come in?”

     A beat, then July stepped back, allowing Cas to swing the door the rest of the way open and step through. They heard June step through behind them and close the door; they watched July’s face closely, but she did not react. Of course she wouldn’t.

     There was nothing for it.

     Cas squared their shoulders, lifted their chin, and met July's embittered gaze. “You are not hallucinating right now.”

     July's expression did not change.

     They stepped to one side and gestured toward June, who stepped forward—she suddenly had a meek, almost frightened air, her head ducked and one finger repeatedly wrapping a long strand of hair around itself, then unraveling. “This is June. She is real, she is not a—”

     But July gasped “June?” and stumbled—physically stumbled, as if she were punched in the stomach—her eyes flying wide open, her mouth gaping breathlessly. June stepped forward again, trembling like a newborn fawn.

     “It’s me,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

     “You can see her.” July's voice caught. It wasn’t a question—July wasn’t even looking at Cas, she was still staring at June, hands outstretched but not quite meeting her skin, as if she was afraid to touch her.

     Cas answered anyway, at a loss for what else to do. “Yes.”

     “I’m sorry,” June said quietly.

     July sucked in a sharp, quick breath, eyes flaring so wide her whites were fully visible from where Cas was standing. Her hands flinched back in the air, briefly—then the fingers of one hand brushed June’s face and June shuddered visibly.

     “I still love you,” July said, and something in the air broke. The twins fell on each other in a mad, tender embrace; they wrapped their arms around each other, murmuring unintelligible, frenzied fragments of sentences; July stroked her hands over June’s face again and again, pushing her sunglasses up to rest at her hairline, pressing her thumbs to the pads of her cheeks, running her fingers lightly over the full curve of her lips.

     Cas had to look away. Their intimacy was unbearable.

     “Oh, God—earlier—and before—” July choked, and June shushed her, and then—

     Caspian's gaze was fixed stubbornly on the wall, but they could not close their ears, could not shy away from the words falling from June's lips; “I didn't know,” she said, “I was angry—I'll fix it, I promise. I'll make it better.”

     But July's voice, like a compact disc stuttering and skipping, just continued to repeat “I still love you—it's okay, I still—”

     Unable to stop themself, they looked back over to see June pressing a lingering kiss to July’s forehead, lips moving soundlessly.

     The snakes took up residence in Caspian's guts once again, squirming with righteous vengeance at being denied for so long. Heart pounding in their throat, they blindly grasped behind themself, searching for the door handle—”You’re my heart,” June said, and July laughed, a broken, sobbing noise—they grabbed the handle and turned it, slid out of the room and slammed the door behind them.

     Cas leaned against the wall, staring down at their shaking hands.

     It was best to give the twins some privacy.

###

     Salt-wind sang brilliantly over your skin as you stood on the shore of the sea—the sea! The Sea!—the pitch-black foaming rush that rose and fell in verses of rhythmic sea-song, lapping gaily at your feet and pooling in inky jettisons on the silver-glowing sand.

     You tilted your face back, your sweet, sharp, brand-new face, and in the blue-black sky overhead you saw more stars than you’d ever seen in your tiny, insignificant life. They spilled across the sky like God had spilled a glass, sent the galaxies tumbling through space in an overwhelming, dizzying rush.

     And the sea sang to you, songs of how it cradled you, held you when you were nothing more than a frenetic, burning molecule, hot and lonely in the vast emptiness of the universe. It sang to you of salt-life, water-life, the deep and black abyss where slow-growing things came to be, and you did not understand.

     You did not understand, so you took your hands—soft, brown, so very new—and fell to your knees, plunged your palms into cool sand that felt like moonlight against your skin. There, you wept.