The One You Love
by Chris Morey

 

 

He didn’t recall Jennie ever throwing a party, but he’d been looking forward to this one. She was that oddity in his life, a platonic female friend. Not a high-school sweetheart: they’d never even kissed. But at some level, they’d clicked. They hadn’t consciously chosen the same college, and a familiar face among the crowd of indistinguishable freshmen had been a welcome thing. Even as they’d branched out, socially and sexually, their friendship survived intact.

Jennie unwound herself from a tall Black guy and came up to him.

“Damian, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. She’s a little unusual, but I think you’ll like her.”

“Okay,” he said.

She led him to a darkened room, where two girls sat close together.

“Carla, this is my friend, Damian Hartman. Damian, Carla Mortensen.”

Carla smiled and nodded. It looked like the other girl was sitting on her lap, though as his eyes adapted to the dark, he could see she wasn’t. Carla was clearer now, petite and pretty: nothing odd about her at all. Her friend, though...

The thump of music from next door gave him his cue. “Would you like to dance, Carla?”

Her brows knitted. “Well-l... Can I explain something?” She patted the seat beside her. “Sit down here.”

He sat. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Ah – that’s what I need to explain.”

But she didn’t. “Go on,” he encouraged her.

“She’s not my friend, exactly.” She looked at him quizzically. “Would you call yourself unshockable?”

“Pretty much, I guess.”

“The fact is, we’re conjoined twins.”

Involuntarily, he recoiled.

Her hand on his arm restrained him. “Don’t run away. We don’t bite.” She gave him a feeble smile. “Let me talk a little, then you can make up your own mind.”

He sat again. He didn’t want to look like a complete dick, and get into Jennie’s bad books, too. She’d had confidence in his self-possession, and he’d better live up to it.

“You mean like Siamese twins?”

“We don’t use that term nowadays, but yes. Identical twins are quite common. Nearly always, they separate fully. If they don’t, usually neither twin is viable. But sometimes...” She pointed to herself.

She wasn’t just pretty, she was a certified beauty: heart-shaped face, retroussé nose, demure yet bewitching smile. One with a fascinating story to tell.

Something occurred to him that he’d read in the news, or maybe in some trash like the National Enquirer. “Can’t they, like, operate? To separate you?”

“Sometimes that’s possible, but we’re joined at the trunk, like a ‘Y’.”

 He could see that now, the division just above the pelvic area.

“So it’d be an incredibly complicated surgery, and only one of us would survive,” she went on. “Mom wouldn’t dream of having either of us killed. Or both of us – she refused an abortion when they offered. Oh, I’m being rude, this is Helen.”

Helen didn’t speak, or react in any way like she’d heard.

“Is she, ah...?”

“She’s as much of a normal girl as I am. Mostly, one of us tunes out and the other has control. Tonight, that’s me. We take turns, it’s the only way. Can you imagine if I wanted to go right and she wanted to go left? We’d end up doing the splits!”

He couldn’t help laughing.

“It’s not an issue. When we’re alone, we can talk together, and sometimes it’s like we can read each other’s minds.”

“So how...?”

“How do we live? Well, I don’t want to bore you...”

“I’d like to know, if you don’t mind telling.”

“Sure. Mom home-schooled us – she’s a teacher – and what with online resources, we’re at high school grad level, easily. There are plenty of jobs we can do from home – telephone support, some kinds of admin, even stuff over Skype or Zoom as long as we’re careful with camera angles. We don’t often get out, but we can stream movies. There’s Amazon for books, and all kinds of online stores, of course. I think we’re keeping FedEx in business. We work out a little to keep fit – we have an elliptical at home. And our folks are angels, always willing to help with anything.”

He had a lot of questions, and Carla seemed happy to answer them. Time flew by.

Outside, it sounded like the party was winding down. Jennie reappeared.

“Hi, guys, looks like you’re getting on well. Carla, I’m too drunk to drive you home. Do you mind crashing here?”

“No probs.”

“Thanks. I’ll find some bedding.”

Carla turned to him. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you, Damian. Thank you for spending the time with me.”

“I enjoyed it, too. Could we, maybe...?”

“Meet again? Are you sure?”

“Sure.” The word came automatically.

“Like I said, it’s not easy to go out, but if you’d like to come to my home, we’ll watch a movie, or I could fix you a meal. I’m not a bad cook. Here’s my number.”

He got it entered into his phone just as Jennie returned, arms full of quilt and pillows. Carla and he shook hands, and he gave Jennie a hug. When he released her, he averted his eyes from her appraising glance. Then he found his coat and left.

 

 

 

Well, he couldn’t have predicted that was how the party would go. But the warmth of Carla’s personality made it easy to put aside the strangeness of her body. He was glad he’d taken her number.

He called her the following week, and she invited him for dinner. Her apartment was well-located, with a view of trees and a small park. A sign taped to the door read, ‘Courier: please leave package and ring bell.’ That made sense.

He’d prepared himself for what they’d look like in normal light, so it wasn’t a shock. Helen could just have been sleeping upright. Both were smartly, even elegantly, turned out, a full, patterned skirt complementing Carla’s royal-blue frilled shirt and Helen’s black top with sparkles. He wished he’d chosen something better than distressed jeans and retro T-shirt.

He went through to the kitchen to talk to Carla while she worked. She moved around deftly in the small space, despite the width she and Helen took up.

“Can I help?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. Wait, you can set the table, if you like. The dishes are in that cabinet.”

Facing them across the dining table, he blotted out the silent figure at Carla’s left shoulder as best he could. Don’t stare. But Carla was certainly easy on the eye.

Her vivacity gave no hint of any underlying nervousness, even though this might be her first-ever date. They got to after-dinner coffee before he asked her about Helen.

“It’s like being asleep, or in a trance. Then when she’s in charge, I shut up, which as you probably realize isn’t easy for me. But mostly, we’re alone together, and then we’re just twin sisters. You always have to accommodate yourself to the people you live with.”

He thought of his dorm and apartment-sharing experiences. He supposed it was true, though their lives had scarcely impinged on his.

“Thank you for a great evening,” she said as he left, holding his hand a fraction longer than necessary.

“Likewise,” he replied.

 

 

 

After that, they saw each other about once a week. Carla raised the topic on their third date.

“Damian, would you mind if Helen joined us, over meals, or when we’re watching movies or listening to music? I mean, she’s my sister, so it’s odd that you haven’t gotten acquainted. It’s my fault, I didn’t think.”

“I thought…”

“Of course, she’s always there in body. But not in spirit. She’d love to meet you, properly. There’s no harm in that, is there?”

“None at all. I’d like to get to know her, too.”

He meant it. It wasn’t fair that Helen should be left out.

Helen, awake, was self-evidently Carla’s twin, but – naturally – with her own personality, making their evenings together lively and stimulating. It wasn’t always easy to tell who was speaking unless he was watching their lips.

 

 

 

Carla was upfront about the limits her body placed on her. “I love having you around, but I’ve no right to stop you from doing things I can’t share. And I promise not to get possessive. Friends cut each other a little slack, don’t they?” He knew she was okaying his scoring other girls, and he’d never had any problems in that department.

At a party on the weekend, gorgeous Marsha-Jo near enough dragged him into a spare bedroom. His hands roamed her naked body, drawing small gasps and squeals.

Then it wasn’t happening. Her questing hand outed him.

“Something on your mind, honey? Tell me about it. Those Psych courses I took must have some use.”

“Uh, I guess… I don’t know.”

Liar. She lives on Elmtree, in the 6000s, and it’d hurt her if she knew what you were doing. Even if she gave you permission.

“Well, let’s see what I can do.” Marsha-Jo’s head burrowed under the covers, her agile tongue bringing him to life. She pulled him on top of her.

Afterward, he reflected. A mechanical act, as involuntary as a sneeze between the legs. God knew he’d done that enough times, but it had never mattered – until now. He felt wretched, and knew he deserved to.

 

 

 

For Thanksgiving, the twins laid on a big meal, roast turkey with all the trimmings and pumpkin pie to follow. Jennie was invited, too, smiling benevolently on her friend’s new romance.

“How did you get to know Jennie?” he asked Carla afterward.

“Well, we go way back, and I mean way back. Her mom and mine went to pre-natal classes together, and they stayed friends. We moved here five years ago, and Jennie’s coming here to college was coincidence. A lucky one, because it’s not so easy for us to make personal friends. And it’s not the same online.”

When he left, he took the gamble and kissed Carla’s cheek. Her smile lit up her face, warming him too.

He spent Christmas Day with them. In the afternoon, they played silly pencil-and-paper games, laughing at each other’s mistakes. They saw the New Year in together, with far too much to drink.

“You’re teaching us bad habits, Damian!” Carla giggled, as the chimes rang out and the three hugged each other, swaying.

 

 

 

At the end of one January evening, Carla didn’t let go of his hand. Helen had that dreamy look that said she’d disconnected. He put his arm around Carla’s waist, looking deep into her eyes.

For answer, she laced her arms around his neck. Their mouths met. Her lips were very soft, moving tentatively on his, and he didn’t press her further.

Her face was bright pink when they broke. “Oh, my God, I didn’t mean to do that!”

“It’s fine.” Daring, he added, “You’re beautiful.”

She flushed deeper. “Thank you. I can see why people get excited about kissing. You’d better go before I get totally carried away.”

Food for thought, he reflected as he headed home. After all, she was a healthy young woman, with appetites to match. What was so outlandish about it, barring the shape of her body? That was the crunch point. He’d better tread carefully, or someone might get hurt.

 

 

 

It wasn’t easy to accept Helen’s silent presence as he and Carla kissed and caressed each other with increasing intimacy, but she reassured him: Helen had switched off, she wasn’t aware of what they were doing.

He wanted to believe that, but was she right? He turned the subject over in his mind, fruitlessly. After all, Helen was fully a woman too. Was she supportive of her sister, or jealous? No textbooks, no phone support lines, no handy internet guides, existed to help him. He’d have to keep his eyes and ears wide open. Though Helen herself gave him no cause for concern. Toward the end of the evening, she’d say, ‘I’ll leave you lovebirds to it,’ and fade out, and he and Carla would sink into each other’s arms.

 

 

 

It was on one of those evenings – three or four months after they’d met – that Carla said what she, and perhaps he, had been thinking.

“You know, you’re a real sexy guy, Damian. I can hardly keep my hands off you.”

“And you’re a beautiful girl. Anyone else…” He bit his tongue. Their difference was a subject to avoid, always. He kissed the tip of her nose.

She went on. “I imagine it a lot – making love with you. I don’t see why we can’t. Helen’s cool with the idea.” She gave him a smile brimming with warmth and desire. “So maybe it’s time we tried?”

He didn’t answer immediately. When they kissed and held each other, when he fondled her breasts, his body burned with the urge to go further. But the whole situation was so outside his experience! – maybe outside anyone’s.

“You need time to think, don’t you, honey? It’s hardly surprising.”

He startled. “I guess.”

She buried her face in his neck. “My gorgeous man.”

The picture cleared over the next few days. Carla was a full woman: one he longed to possess completely, and for her to possess him. It was the natural thing. Though how the hell she’d manage it…?

 

 

 

The week after, she made them her take on coq au vin. After he’d helped her clear away, they settled on the couch. He knew, now, where to place his hands so he wouldn’t invade Helen’s space, though what was she thinking? He held on to Carla’s assurance that she’d disconnected.

Their kiss, full and deep, seemed endless. When they broke, she looked full at him, her eyes utterly serious. “What we talked about?”

He swallowed. His ‘Yes,’ came out a croak.

“It’ll be best if I get under the covers first. I don’t want to do it in the dark. I want to watch your face while we’re…” Her lips crinkled, then she cast her eyes down. “Give me five minutes.”

He allowed her a little more. Then he joined her, trembling with anticipation.

She lay on the left of the big bed, her heart-shaped face peeking out from a sea of mauve linen. On the other side lay a sheet-wrapped bundle that he tried to ignore.

She lowered the sheet to disclose pert rose-tipped breasts, the nipples proud. He sucked in a sharp breath, and the corners of her lips turned up at the compliment.

Urgency was suddenly upon him. In his haste, he fumbled the condom, dropping it on the carpet.

“Easy, honey,” she murmured. “I won’t run away.”

He retrieved it and she helped him slide it on. He wriggled into bed beside her, all doubts forgotten.

“I’m a little nervous,” she admitted.

“I understand. I’ll be gentle.”

He’d never touched her below the waist before: soft and warm, growing moist under his caressing fingers.

“Mmm. I think I’m ready now,” she said. Then, ‘Oh! My God.”

“Did I hurt you?’

“Hurt me? God, no. Just keep on doing that.” She crushed her lips to his, her hands roaming his shoulders and back.

He couldn’t have lasted long, even without her encouragement. As his loins erupted, she clung to him, and he to her: a single creature.

“Wow!” she said when they had their breath back. “Now I see what all the fuss is about.”

“You didn’t come?”

“Not quite, but next time, maybe. If you want there to be a next time.”

How could she doubt it? “Take it from me, I want. You were awesome.”

“Thank you.” She grinned. “Maybe I’ll get even better with practice.”

After a while, and a burning goodnight kiss, he dressed and left. As he headed home, his mind turned to Helen. Surely she’d felt his movements inside their shared body, felt him convulse with his orgasm? Her self-control was almost inhuman. Under the identical sensations, Carla had whimpered and moaned with unfeigned excitement.

A strange enough situation, God knew. He hoped it wouldn’t make complications, because he certainly wanted to do that again.

 

 

 

He and Carla met more frequently now, making love at every meeting, attuning themselves to each other’s bodies. She had freshness and naivety – how could it be otherwise? – an innocent joy in pleasuring and being pleasured. Hesitantly, she became more adventurous in bed, and every step was a delight.

He lived for their dates, telling inquisitive fellow-students as much of the truth as they could handle: that he had a hot new girlfriend across town. Maybe it was part of the growing-up process, the desire to engage fully and exclusively with another, to be all three of companion, friend and lover. What had he missed by chasing easy lays and not troubling to explore a woman fully?

She began asking him to stay the night, and naturally they made love again in the mornings. Sometimes it made him late for classes, but his grades held up. Life was good – no, it was damn near perfect. Was she the girl he could spend his life with? He knew what she’d say if he asked.

 

 

 

Damian? Carla’s voice came as if from underwater as he floated between wakefulness and sleep,

“Yes?” He glanced at Carla – lips slightly parted, breathing in a sleeper’s regular rhythm.

It’s Helen. I know you can hear me. Think to me, Damian, so I’ll know we’re connected.

He suppressed an exclamation. How the hell did she get inside his head? Should he respond? Would he be able to? Helen, can you hear me? he thought, harder than anything he’d thought in his life.

I hear you.

How does this work?

I can’t explain. I’m psychic, maybe? Anyway, I have it.

Why don’t we talk aloud?

Carla might hear our voices. I can mask this from her. Listen, Damian. I want you. You’re like me, we could be soulmates. Think about it.

 

 

 

It happened every time he slept over. Helen would wake him and they’d talk: about him, about her, about Carla. He remembered Carla saying Helen could share her thoughts, so it didn’t seem so weird.

You’re the only one who knows I’m a person, she once told him. Apart from her.

Not your parents?

The doctors thought I wouldn’t live. They called me a ‘parasite’, like I was some kind of tumor on her body. Our parents called her Carla, they didn’t even give me a name. She chose ‘Helen’, threw it to me like a bone to a dog. She sucks my vitality. I hate her and I love her, and what the hell can I do?

The stuff about their parents was hard to credit, but who was he to contradict Helen? He certainly couldn’t ask Carla to confirm it.

 

 

 

Helen kept the pressure on. I could give you all Carla does, and more. I could be so sweet to you, if you’d only let me. There are no limits for a woman who’s really in love.

And again: She’s light, I’m darkness. She’s surface, I’m depth. You could lose yourself in me, explore me forever and never reach the end. Dare you try?

 

 

 

Over the weeks, her unspoken words wore away his resistance like water dripping on stone. The idea ceased to seem outlandish, not so much of a betrayal of Carla. Perhaps she was, well, shallow? A nice, uncomplicated girl that you could easily get to the bottom of, and maybe get bored with? There was nothing specific he could point to; that was the Devil in the equation.

Then, the telepathy must mean something…

Soulmates.

 

 

 

If only I could be free of her. I’ve always envied her, all the attention, all the sympathy. I never even had a birth certificate. I’m a legal zero.

Her silent voice vibrated with passion. I have my rights, and I’m going to fight for them. But I need your help.

He didn’t answer, half-frightened by Helen’s vehemence. He couldn’t imagine Carla showing that much spirit. But she’d always been the favored one. Maybe it needed adversity to draw it out.

On another night, after another session of lovemaking with Carla that she’d maybe felt too, Helen laid out her plan.

Suffocation’s the only safe way. Violence always leaves traces, even strangulation. Anything toxic risks killing me too – we share too much of a circulation. I’ve thought everything through. She won’t suffer.

But that’s murder! She’s your twin sister. Do you really want her to die?

We’re only ending her part of our consciousness. She’s had her day in the sun. Hell, she’s had twenty years of sun, with me in her shadow. I’m at least her equal.

You certainly are that, he thought to her. Increasingly, when he made love to Carla, it was Helen who gained ascendancy in his thoughts. Once or twice, he had to stop himself crying out her name at his climax.

Helen waited a week before mentioning the subject again.

Damian, I want all of you. I don’t want to share you with her. You have to help me escape this prison and realize my destiny – our destiny.

I… I…

When she’s deeply asleep, take a pillow and press it over her face. Then call 911, say there’s been a sudden death and a serious illness, the patient’s likely to die. They’ll rush me in and operate, as quickly as they can. The obvious thing would be to – excise her.

But what about you? Your body?

It’s a risk, but it’s the only way. I’ll need reconstruction surgery, and I’ll probably be paying the bills off for years. And my shape might not quite be a regular woman’s. But I’ll be yours, body and soul. Trust me, Damian. Keep the faith.

 

 

 

The scheme became more concrete the more Helen repeated it. And at some level, below consciousness, it was right. Helen’s dark intensity, not to mention the power and authority with which she shaped her plans, made Carla seem, well, insipid beside her. You could lose yourself in me, Helen had said. He didn’t doubt it.

When I’m over the surgery, I’ll be able to dance, ski, go to the beach, travel, all those things she holds me back from. I mean, we’ll be able to, together. Damian, only you can set me free. Damian, my love.

 

 

 

The bedside clock said three-ten a.m.

Now, Damian. She’s fast asleep. Here’s my spare pillow.

Mechanically, he took it, held it over Carla’s sleeping face.

Be strong, lover. This is the road to freedom, for both of us.

Closing his mind to what he was doing, he pressed down, hard. Speed would be merciful to her. He kept the pressure on until her struggles weakened.

She’s gone. I can tell. You can relax now.

He checked the pillow for stains, handed it back, pulled the sheet over Carla’s head, over her unseeing eyes. Hiding the evidence of... He shuddered, trying to blank his thoughts.

You did it! Exultation rang in Helen’s tones. Come and claim your reward.

They clung to each other, lips joined. Then she held him a little away from her. I want to look at my man – my own man.

As he did at her: unutterably beautiful, radiant with fulfillment.

Now, my love. Let’s seal it with the real thing.

Now? I already did…

I know how virile you are. I’m just as sexy as she was. And I need you so much more than she did. Damian, I’m burning up for you.

Her hand, softer than Carla’s, traced a line between his pecs, over his stomach. Oh, you hairy beast. I love it. Her fingers tiptoed down his body to their goal, gossamer-light, teasing his ardor awake.

Do you like that?

He drew in a sharp breath.

I’ll bet you do. Oh! You’ve gotten so big.

Moaning, he ground himself against her hand.

Easy, angel. Don’t get too excited. I want my pleasure, too.

She drew his hand between her thighs: slippery wetness, marvelously alluring. See? I’m ready.

He reached over the edge of the bed, toward his pants pocket.

No, don’t use one. I want to feel you flesh to flesh. And I’d love to bear your child.

As he slid into her, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him closer than he believed possible. The night seemed charmed, their bodies in absolute harmony, reaching for the same goal…

Then she spoke, her voice taut with passion. “Oh! Yes! Yes! Go on, keep GOING! – I’m almost there...” Her words became shrieks as she bucked and plunged beneath him. With a deep sigh, she fell back on the pillows.

He lay panting, half across her. Much more than a bout of sex, it had been an act of love. “That was out of this world,” he murmured.

No reply.

He stroked her cheek. Her head lolled, slackly.

His hand went to her neck. No carotid pulse.

The realization that he lay inside dead flesh struck him with thunderbolt force. He tore himself from her, groping for his clothes with eyes closed – no way could he look at that scene – scrambling into them anyhow, fleeing her bedroom, her apartment, not caring if the crash of the front door woke the neighbors.

Blindly, he ran until he could run no more, then bent double, taking racking breaths. Early traffic was already stirring; he’d better not make himself too conspicuous. He set out to walk home, treading the wet sidewalks carefully in the pre-dawn chill.

There, he slumped on the couch, his head a maelstrom of emotions: what he’d done, what he’d gained, what he’d so quickly lost. The other Helen came to mind, she whose beauty had driven men to their own ruin, too. Carla had named her well.

The bottle of whiskey, kept for emergencies. He poured a slug, downed it, poured another. After three, he stumbled to the bedroom, threw himself down.

He woke around ten from the latest in a stream of nightmares, sweating and trembling. Too late for classes, but he’d catch up. Then the remembrance of the night rose up like a slime-covered monster in a cheap horror movie...

Distraction. He flicked to Netflix on the smart TV, stabbing at random, unable to escape plot-lines with romance, or murder. Toward afternoon, he ate from the refrigerator, not knowing or tasting what he ate. Around nine in the evening, he slept from sheer exhaustion.

 

 

 

He was sitting over coffee next morning when the doorbell rang. A uniformed cop stood outside, looking idly around him.

“Mr. Damian Hartman?”

“That’s me.”

“You’re a friend of Ms. Carla Mortensen?”

He nodded, trying to hold himself steady.

“I’m sorry to tell you that Ms. Mortensen died unexpectedly on Thursday night. Would you mind coming down to the station to help us fill in some of the details?”

If I don’t, he’ll only arrest me. Then: How did they get onto me so quickly? Who gave them my name? Jennie, surely. She’s the only one who knows.

“Mr. Hartman?”

“I’m sorry, it’s somewhat of a shock. Let me get dressed.”

 

 

 

At the station, the cop ushered him into an overheated interview room, painted institutional battleship-gray and white. A detective, older than his father, with grizzled crewcut and seamed face, greeted him.

“Mr. Hartman? Please sit down. Sergeant Borowczyk. Now, right now we need information that we believe you can help us with. So I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Okay.”

“You know why you’re here?”

“Because I knew the – the deceased? Ms. Mortensen?”

“Yes. How would you describe your relationship with her? Friends? Close friends?”

He hesitated. “Close, I guess.”

“How long had you known her?”

“Ah – five, six months, maybe?”

Borowczyk consulted a piece of paper – Jennie’s statement, presumably – and nodded.

“When did you last see her?”

The time before. Keep your lies close to the truth. “Oh – last Sunday.”

“The twenty-third?”

He calculated. “Yeah.”

“That was at her apartment?”

“Mm-hm.”

“What did you do?”

“She fixed us a meal, then we watched some TV.” Then I made love to her – or to Helen? Things had gotten so complicated...

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes.” Couldn’t Borowczyk hear the tremor in his voice?

“Now, Mr. Hartman, you may be wondering why I’m asking all this. Ms. Mortensen’s physician assures us that she was in perfect health, apart from her, ah, birth condition. The autopsy found signs of trauma – inconclusive in themselves, but we need to investigate. You said you visited her apartment – maybe frequently?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Would you mind giving us a DNA sample? Just so we can eliminate you from our inquiries.”

They must have found the DNA I left behind, a big glob of it. Oh, Helen, who wanted my child. Oh, my dead loves…

He swallowed, then nodded. “I guess.” His voice caught, despite himself.

Borowczyk’s gaze drilled into him, conveying the intimate knowledge of human frailty that thirty years as a homicide detective must give you.

“Son, is there something you want to tell me?”

 

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