F Wilson - Sibs

Rob didn't care if she didn't like this house in particular, but he wanted her to like New York. Because he wanted her to live here and be near him.

"Too many steps," she said.

"For an energetic girl like you? Think of what good exercise it'll be for your legs. Why, in no time you'll be running—"

"And Mom's changed."

The rest of Rob's words twisted and tumbled and caught in his throat as a wave of arctic cold seeped into his spine.

"What do you mean, 'changed?' "

"She's not the same. Like she's a different person."

The cold began spreading to the rest of his body.

"When did she change?"

"Yesterday. Just like in the movie. Except yesterday was Thursday."

"What movie?"

"Freaky Friday. I saw it at Aunt Ellen's. It's about a girl who switches places with her mother."

"What kind of switch?"

"She winds up in her mother's body and her mother winds up in her's. Only that didn't happen with Mom. I'm not in her body. Someone else is."

Rob felt himself begin to tremble as his daughter spoke his worst fears. He could barely form the words.

"Why… why would you say something like that?"

"Because she talks different. And she yells at me."

Rob forced himself to relax. Maybe Jill was feeling the disruption of being moved from place to place the past few weeks. From the farm to Ellen's, and now to the townhouse. And Kara had been under tremendous stress, so she might be a little short these days. Stir those kind of changes into someone at an impressionable age like Jill, add a movie like Freaky Friday or whatever it was called, and the result was a child who thinks her mother is someone else.

A good explanation, Rob thought. Why doesn't it make me feel any better?

"I'll straighten her out," he said, giving Jill an extra squeeze before releasing her. "Where's this freaky mom of yours, anyway?"

"Upstairs. Listening to music."

"Let's go see her."

He took his daughter's hand and together they climbed' toward the top floor. He heard the music long before he reached her. He stopped on the second floor and listened to the booming basso males and shrieking falsetto females, all drawing their notes from deep within the abdomen, maybe as far down as the pelvis.

Opera.

The wave of cold hit him again.

"Your hand's getting all sweaty, Rob."

"Sorry."

He wiped his palms on his pants legs.

Your mother hates opera.

Despite the bright sunlight outside, the third floor was dark. He found Kara lying back in the recliner, the opera blaring from the six-foot speakers around the room. Her face was relaxed, peaceful. She could have been asleep. He leaned over and spoke into her ear.

"Since when are you an opera fan?"

She opened her eyes and smiled, reached up with her arms and pulled his head closer. She kissed him on the lips, long and passionately. Rob began to respond, but he wasn't comfortable kissing her like this in front of Jill.

"I'm glad to see you," she said when he pulled away.

"It's mutual. But opera?"

"There's so much of it here I thought I'd give it a try. The music's not bad. I just wish I knew what they were saying."

"I can live without knowing. You said you needed my help up here?"

Rob noticed how she used the remote control to turn off the stereo from her chair. She seemed right at home. Too at home.

"Yes," she said, rising from the chair. "I want to take down those drapes from the rear windows and let in some light. It's like a mausoleum in here."

She was right about the gloom. And it was a very Kara thing to do. She was always one for open windows and letting the air through. He walked over and pulled the drapes aside to take a look. The window was huge—three five-foot panes stacked floor to ceiling. The drapes were suspended from a heavy rod bolted to the ceiling.

"This'll let in some light, all right. But how do I get up there?"

"I thought we might try one of the ladders from the library."

"Good idea. I'll get one."

"I'll help."

"That's okay. I can manage."

Rob removed his jacket and laid it atop one of the record cabinets. He pulled his clip holster and revolver from the small of his back and folded them in his jacket. Then he headed for the stairs.

▼

What are you up to? Kara asks as you watch Detective Harris descend to the second floor. Her words writhe with suspicion.

"Nothing, Kara. Nothing at all."

You love this room just the way it is—like a tomb. Why are you pretending to want to change it? Tell me!

"It's very simple, really. Your detective friend is suspicious of you. That's why he keeps asking questions about your past together. I'm doing this to allay those suspicions. Seeing me making changes in the house will put him more at ease, make him more willing to overlook any gaffes I make as I pretend to be you."

There is a lengthy pause. Then:

I don't trust you.

"I realize that. But it doesn't matter."

You don't tell her what you're really planning. Better to let her learn as it happens. The shock will drive it all more deeply home.

And it will happen soon. Very soon.

▼

With growing unease, Kara watched Rob set up the ladder next to the window. Maybe Gabor truly was trying to allay Rob's suspicions, but somehow that didn't ring true. She had a feeling he was up to something.

She had to admit, though, he was certainly acting like a devoted parent where Jill was concerned, whether for Rob's sake or to make up for locking her out of the cellar earlier, Kara couldn't say. But when Jill wanted to go downstairs, Gabor convinced her to stay, and even turned on the projection TV so she could watch Pee Wee's Playhouse.

"She's not going to see much on that screen once I let the light in," Rob said.

"We'll adjust," Kara's voice said. "I think opening this floor up to that southern exposure is worth the loss of a little daytime TV, don't you?"

"I guess so."

Rob locked down the spreader on the stepladder, checked its stability, then began to climb.

"Want me to steady it?"

"Nah. I'll be okay."

But to reach the center curtains, Rob had to climb to the very top and perch on the head step. The ladder wobbled under him,

"Maybe you'd better steady it after all," he said.

Her hands braced the side rails as Rob reached under the valance and unhooked the left curtain. When he let it drop, blinding sunlight poured in on an angle through the five-foot sheets of glass. He looked down at her.

"How's that?"

"Great. Now the other one."

As Rob worked on the right curtain, Kara noticed that her right hand had moved from the ladder's side rail to the front pocket of her jeans. It pulled out a key ring and began twirling the ring on its index finger.

What are you doing that for?

"I want to see if he notices."

He will notice!

"I hope so. Because I want him to know before he dies."

Sick terror engulfed Kara.

No! What are you going to do?

"Watch."

Rob dropped the second curtain. More sun poured in.

"There we go. Now, you said you wanted the drapes—"

His eyes widened as he looked down at her. Kara could see his eyes fixed on her hand and the twirling key ring.

"It's you!" he said in an awed whisper. "God damn it, it's you!"

Kara heard her voice shout "Yes!" and then her hands were pushing hard against the stepladder. Before Kara could even attempt to hold them back, the damage was done. With all Rob's weight at the top, the ladder toppled easily, vaulting him toward the huge panes of glass. With a terrified cry, he grabbed a pleat of one of the side drapes but it pulled free and he crashed into the top pane. It shattered with a bell-like clang, and then all the glass was coming apart, in shards large and small, in squares, triangles and daggers, catching and throwing flashes of sunlight as they spun and tumbled in all directions.