Me & Her

Her

Sometime after sunset, when they've dragged themselves inside, I take control.

By this time, Mum's already gone to bed, with a cup of recently drugged tea clutched in her hand.

Last night, I had to do a little extra work on the pill front to make sure both of them stay asleep tonight. Crushing pills into the tea bags, the coffee mixture. Replacing them with food colouring and hardened kitchen roll.

Dr. Light is much harder to convince, but eventually he takes a cup of tea to bed with him.

Brill. Now I can get on.

I'm tempted to create one of those to-do lists, with the glitter and post-it notes of every colour of the rainbow. I don't have time for that tonight.

Originally, I wasn't going to use the sedatives on them tonight, but that was before I saw the van.

It's hidden surprisingly well, shoved in the bushes at the side of the house, covered with a dark green tarp to create the illusion of undergrowth. I wouldn't have noticed if my other self hadn't tripped over the carpet in the living room. Being a clumsy twit does have its advantages. If all goes well, everyone will think I am a permanent twit. They'll never know that I am strong, I am smart. I am everything.

After the slight Doctor Steele scare, I'm back living the dream. Even though my lungs burn.

If Doctor Steele had crawled out of that dumpster by himself, he would've alerted the Foundation. Then what? I still have no idea what they want from me or why they've done what they've done. That does leave the possibility that someone else moved him, which isn't too comforting either.

Never mind, I need to focus. First order of business: the cashbox. Last night, I remembered storing a cashbox somewhere or other.

Furthermore, I need to sweep Dr. Light's room, since last time, I ran into...difficulties. Those noises on the other side of the door still prey on my mind, each one a constant echo.

I know there's something wrong with him. Thin painting, thin painting. He's about to crack.

Perhaps it would be better for everyone if I killed him tonight.

Crawling toward his door, I press my ear into the divots. No sound – nothing. Not even a sliver of movement. Wonderful.

As my hand closes around the door handle, something inside me stops, considers. Stop it! Stop acting like a fool.

Shaking my head, I shove the door open and stride into the den of the dog. That's what he is. The dog of the Janus Foundation. Better yet, he's the errand boy. He probably reports all my little misgivings. Well, all her little misgivings. Our misgivings.

I suppose, after everything, we're not so different after all.

Anyway, moving on.

The room has been tidied, in fact, it's now immaculate. Nothing like the den of unwashed clothes and strewn paper I saw before. Everything is spotless, except the man himself. Technically, he's more of a boy, wearing a man's suit.

When he's asleep, with all those hard lines removed from his face, he looks almost my age. Whatever my age is. I'm guessing it's around sixteen to seventeen. Sixteen and a half? He's at least in his early twenties, but his mind must be over a hundred.

Mumbling, he turns over, the duvet falling off his back. His shirt is ripped slightly.

Gripping my now preferential weapon of the dinner knife, I step toward him. It's better this way. She won't be able to get hurt if he's dead. This is what I have to do to keep us safe. She would understand too if she wasn't so wrapped up in pesky things like morals and compassion. Which is why I lower the knife and sigh. There's something just so wrong about this, so unfair. He can't fight back and... It's almost like killing myself. I was – we were – helpless in that facility, and now he is.