The Day My Life Ended (Editing)

Chapter Thirty-Two (Revised)

There's nothing wrong with what I'm doing. This is all perfectly natural for a person in my position. When a man is trying to kill you, you switch places with your twin sister. She's always been better with knives. If the man is stupid enough to attack again, she'll handle him before I have to. This is why twins were invented.

Or maybe this is why I invented my twin. It's hard to define things so strictly right now. There's a time table here.

"That's not how that happened."

I went back to my notepad. The framework made sense on the flowchart. It's not working alongside the info graphs. A few bullet points need to be corrected, then things are back to working order. The only issue is a gathering of supplies. The right mental suggestion can get my sister on the right track. Maybe I could even warn Twilight? No, no. That's impossible.

"So you admit something's impossible for you?"

You know what? This week has been strange enough. Let's try this method.

"This isn't going to work."

"I like to believe in myself."

"I have watched you every day of your life, and I know that's not true."

It's not fun when the voice in your head makes fun of you. It's less fun when she's a literal whole other person. This can be considered torture in other universes. I'm being mentally tortured by a delusion. Since when was that ever fair?

I stared up at the woman. She was familiar now. Delilah Patterson, a complete delusion. She didn't even have the injuries from when she died. It's the image I saw most often of her. It should've been the look my subconscious chose for her. She stands in front of me clean of bruises or cuts, with her hair perfectly combed and no blood anywhere on her clothes. The expression she wore was the only thing unfamiliar.

Well, unfamiliar from her face, but I am very familiar with the actual expression. Folded in eyebrows, a heavy frown, and her hands on her hips. She's annoyed and angry with me. Mrs Spencer had been giving me that look since I was four years old, when Jimmy Cipes and I brought mud into the house. The look almost slides off me with water off a duck.

To even say I looked up at her was wrong. This place doesn't have things like 'up' or 'down'. We aren't anywhere physical. It feels more like empty space. An abstract dimension no human can reach. A stop gap between worlds, forming because of my presence. It makes more sense to see a delusion here in a world without the laws of physics. Delilah Patterson is as real as the notepad in my hand.

"Listen, the plan has weak spots, but it's also the best solution." I explained. "She's not dead anymore so she's fully entitled to a body. That one doesn't exist yet means I need magical help. There's ingredients I need."

Delilah snorted. Her eyebrow rose up higher. "How are you going to tell her that? You don't even exist."

"No. You do though." I countered.

"You're ready to acknowledge my existence? That's fast of you." Delilah 'sat' down. We were at a desk, and also not at a desk. It kept blinking out of existence and repairing, same for the chairs. Yet neither of us fell when it disappeared.

"Hey. Are you like wifi? Do you need to be close to Darcy for it to work, or can this distance work for you?" This part mattered for the equations.

"I'm a portion of an abstract immortal soul, and you're asking if I'm equivalent to the human invention of wifi?" Delilah asked, almost incredulous.

"Well? Are you?" I asked.

Delilah considered it. Genuinely considered it, frowning down at her own hands. "...maybe?"