Charles De Lint - Dreams Underfoot

“Hello, Zoe,” Wolfe said as he joined them.

Zoe looked up at him, trying to find a physical difference. It was Wolfe, but it wasn’t. The voice was the same as the one on the phone, but people could change their voices; a good actor could look like an entirely different person just through the use of his body language.

Wolfe glanced at Hilary, raising his eyebrows questioningly. “You ... you’re Bob?” Zoe asked.

He nodded. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“You’re twins?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.” His gaze flicked to Hilary again. “How much does your friend know?”

“My name’s Hilary and Zoe’s pretty well filled me in on the whole sorry business.”

“That’s good.”

Hilary shook her head. “No, it isn’t. The whole thing sucks. Why don’t just pack up your silly game and take it someplace else?”

Rupert stirred by Zoe’s feet. The sharpness in Hilary’s voice and Zoe’s tension brought the rumbling start of a growl to his chest.

“I didn’t start anything,” Bob said. “Keep your anger for someone who deserves it.”

“Like Wolfe,” Zoe said.

Bob nodded.

“Your twin.”

“It’s more like he’s my other half,” Bob said. “We share the same body, except he doesn’t know it.

Only I’m aware of the relationship.”

“Jesus, would you give us a break,” Hilary said. “This is about as lame as that episode of—”

Zoe laid a hand on her friend’s knee. “Wait a minute,” she said. “You’re saying Wolfe’s a schizophrene?”

“I’m not sure if that’s technically correct,” Bob replied.

He sat down on the marble floor in front of them. It made for an incongruous image: an obviously wellheeled executive type sitting crosslegged on the floor like some panhandler.

“I just know that there’s two of us in here,” he added, touched a hand to his chest.

“You said you went to the tabloids with this story, didn’t you?” Zoe asked.

“I tried.”

“I can’t believe that they weren’t interested. When you think of the stuff that they do print ...”

“Something ... happened to every reporter I approached. I gave up after the third one.”

“What kind of something?” Hilary asked.

Bob sighed. He lifted a hand and began to count on his fingers. “The first one’s wife died in a freak traffic accident; the second had a miscarriage; the third lost his job in disgrace.”

“That kind of thing just happens,” Zoe said. “It’s awful, but there’s no way you or Wolfe could be to blame for any of it.”

“I’d like to believe you, but I know better.”

“Wait a sec,” Hilary said. “This happened after you talked to these reporters? What’s to stop something from happening to us?” Zoe glanced at her. “I thought you didn’t believe any of this.”

“I don’t. Do you?”

Zoe just didn’t know anymore. The whole thing sounded preposterous, but she couldn’t shake the nagging possibility that he wasn’t lying to her. It was the complete sincerity with which he—Bob, Wolfe, whatever his name was—spoke that had her mistrusting her logic. Somehow she just couldn’t see that sincerity as being faked. She felt that she was too good a judge of character to be taken in so easily by an act, no matter how good; ludicrous as the situation was, she realized that she’d actually feel better if it was true. At least her judgment wouldn’t be in question then.

Of course, if Bob was telling the truth, then that changed all the rules. The world could never be the same again.

“I don’t know,” she said finally.

“Yeah, well better safe than sorry,” Hilary said. She turned her attention back to Bob. “Well?” she asked. “Are we in danger?”

“Not at the moment. Zoe negates Wolfe’s abilities.”

“Whoa,” Hilary said. “I can already see where this is going. You want her to be your shadow so that the big bad Wolfe won’t hurt anybody else—right? Jesus, I’ve heard some lame pickup lines in my time, but this beats them all, hands down.”

“That’s not it at all,” Bob said. “He can’t hurt Zoe, that’s true. And he’s already tried. He’s exerted tremendous amounts of time and energy since last night in making her life miserable and hasn’t seen any success.”

“I don’t know about that,” Zoe said. “I haven’t exactly been having a fun time since I ran into him last night.”

“What I’m worried about,” Bob said, going on as though Zoe hadn’t spoken, “is that he’s now going to turn his attention on her friends.”

“Okay,” Zoe said. “This has gone far enough. I’m going to the cops.”

“I’m not threatening you,” Bob said as she started to stand up. “I’m just warning you.”

“It sounds like a threat to me, pal.”

“I’ve spent years looking for some way to stop Wolfe,” Bob said. The desperation in his eyes held Zoe captive. “You’re the first ray of hope I’ve found in all that time. He’s scared of you.”

“Why? I’m nobody special.”

“I could give you a lecture on how we’re all unique individuals, each important in his or her own way,” Bob said, “but that’s not what we’re talking about here. What you are goes beyond that. In some ways, you and Wolfe are much the same, except where he brings pain into people’s lives, you heal.”

Zoe shook her head. “Oh, please.”

“I don’t think the world is the way we like to think it is,” Bob went on. “I don’t think it’s one solid world, but many, thousands upon thousands of them—as many as there are people—because each person perceives the world in his or her own way; each lives in his or her own world. Sometimes they connect, for a moment, or more rarely, for a lifetime, but mostly we are alone, each living in our own world, suffering our small deaths.”

“This is stupid,” Zoe said.

But she was still held captive by his sincerity. She heard a kind of mystical backdrop to what he was saying, a breathy sound that reminded her of an LP they had in the station’s library of R. Carlos Nakai playing a traditional Native American flute.

“I believe you’re an easy person to meet,” Bob said. “The kind of person that people are drawn to talk to—especially by those who are confused, or hurt, or lost. You give them hope. You help them heal.”

Zoe continued to shake her head. “I’m not any of that.”

“I’m not so sure he’s wrong,” Hilary said.

Zoe gave her friend a sour look.

“Well, think about it,” Hilary said. “The weird and the wacky are always drawn to you. And that show of yours. There’s no way that Nightnoise should work—it’s just too bizarre a mix. I can’t see headbangers sitting through the opera you play, classical buffs putting up with rap, but they do. It’s the most popular show in its time slot.”

“Yeah, right. Like it’s got so much competition at that hour of the night.”

“That’s just it,” Hilary said. “It does have competition, but people still tune in to you.”

“Not fifteen minutes ago, you were telling me that the reason I get all these weird people coming on to me is because I’m putting out confused vibes.”

Hilary nodded. “I think I was wrong.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“You do help people,” Hilary said. “I’ve seen some of your fan mail and then there’s all of those people who are constantly calling in. You help them, Zoe. You really do.”

This was just too much for Zoe.

“Why are you saying all of this?” she asked Hilary. “Can’t you hear what it sounds like?”

“I know. It sounds ridiculous. But at the same time, I think it makes its own kind of sense. All those people are turning to you for help. I don’t think they expect you to solve all of their problems; they just want that touch of hope that you give them.”