The Girl Who Would Be King(111)

And along with remembering my dead parents and dead Bryce I also know that I have a brother, Jasper, and I’m in love with a boy named Clark, and my friends, Liesel and Ben, expected me back, probably days ago, maybe more – I don’t know how long it’s been. But most importantly, I remember there’s a girl named Lola and she’s just like me – but twisted, like looking at a reversed version of myself. And all that can matter now is finding her and stopping her, making sure that everyone I have left is safe from her – and maybe more than that – maybe making sure that everyone everywhere is safe from her.

But where to begin? I’m no detective. Having superpowers hasn’t made me Batman.

No matter. Now that my path is clear there is nothing that can move me from it. In some bizarre way I feel I owe Lola some thanks for killing me. In killing me my memory was lost and when it came rushing back it was so easy to see what was important. Clark. Liesel. Ben. Jasper. The memory of my parents and of Bryce. Doing what’s right. Finding out who and what I really am and doing exactly what I should have been doing all along.

Lola has no idea what she has unleashed.



•

Bonnie’s drowned face swims in front of me. Ever since I killed her she’s been showing up in my dreams. So far it’s always just what I did to her, over and over again, with a few added effects I don’t understand. The horror on her face is real though, just as it was. I’ve wished a lot of times since I killed her that the water hadn’t been so clear that day, or that I’d held her lower so that I couldn’t see her face. In the dream, after I’ve drowned her for the millionth time, she’s still not dead. I watch her come alive, rising from the water, thick black eels writhing at her feet. I spring on her again and drive her deeper into the water. Across the river I see the old woman, oblivious to us, washing dark red clothing against sharp rocks. The sky fills with crows, nearly blotting out the sun, their wings beating madly above us. When Bonnie dies again, when I see the light wink out of her eyes, the crows fall from the sky like rocks, like a giant sheet of rocks. Hitting the water and the beach with incredible velocity. The eels float lifelessly to the surface all around us and I feel short of breath. And as I drag myself back to the riverbank exhausted, she stands up again.

The dream is on an endless loop.

I look around the strange room and remember where I am – the new loft apartment in the warehouse. Liz and I moved in yesterday. I picked a few of the slightly more gifted henchmen to be my ‘management team.’ And after a rough patch, in which I had to kill a few more of them for insubordination, we’re about ready to take the training wheels off.

But I dream of Bonnie every night. The bitch just won’t go away. And I’m starting to think it’s more than just guilt or something. Like maybe it’s a sign. Like a sign that she’s not all dead and decomposing in the Hudson River. I stumble out of my dream and my room, pulling open the sliding wall separating Liz’s bedroom from my own.

“I think Bonnie’s still alive,” I say, plunking myself on the edge of the bed. Liz kicks at me and I slide off the bed and onto the floor.

“G’way,” comes from under the fluffy duvet.

“Liz. Get up,” I say, yanking the covers away from her.

“Lola. Stop. I’m tired,” she complains, curling herself into the oversized Lakers t-shirt and a small corner of the sheet (she forgot to get a nightgown at the mall).

“Liz, did you hear me? I don’t think Bonnie’s dead,” I say, sitting back on the edge of the naked bed. Liz kicks at me again fruitlessly and then sits up with a dramatic sigh.

“Why do you think she’s alive?” she asks exasperated.

“I’ve had these dreams about her – all the same, or at least similar.”

“It’s probably guilt,” Liz says, pulling the duvet back onto her from the floor.

“It’s not guilt,” I say.

“You sure?” she asks muffled again.

“Yes. Why would I feel guilty? No, it’s like a sixth sense or something.”

“Okay, whatever, it’s a sixth sense then,” she says. “Go back to sleep.” She offers unhelpfully, closing her eyes and curling back up tight like a bug. I chew on my lip.

“You don’t believe that.”

“No, but I’ll pretend to if you’ll shut up about it,” she says smiling grimly.

“Bitch,” I smirk, slapping her ankle lightly.

“Ow,” she says, as I leave the room. I grab a Clif bar from the kitchenette and nibble it while perching on a stool. I jump up and go to the edge of the balcony. Gigantor is on watch at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the railing, one hand resting on the machine gun hanging from his shoulder.