Chapter 7
Taking the time he had before Brenda made her appearance to snoop around, Sam found himself standing by the mantle in Bobby’s home, his eyes moving over photos in their frames.
A wedding photo of Bobby and Brenda sat in the centre, flanked by one of an older couple—which Sam assumed was either Bobby’s or Brenda’s parents—and one that was curiously face down. He lifted it, finding a photo of a young Bobby and his parents, along with… Sam’s eyebrows rose as he saw that there were two identical teenage boys in the photo, one of whom was Bobby and the other was, evidently, a twin brother.
“Huh…” he mumbled as he looked down at the black-and-white photograph, wondering why it had been hidden like that. So, Bobby had an identical twin. Al had never mentioned that. Not that he’d had the chance to give much information before unceremoniously losing his signal.
“Think you’ll get a call from him?” came Brenda’s voice. Sam turned to see her standing in the doorway, yawning.
“What?” Sam said, placing the frame back on the mantle, upright this time.
“Before you leave,” she continued. “Assuming he’s not dead or something.”
“Dead?!” Sam studied her casual demeanour. This was obviously something they’d spoken about many times, but he wasn’t sure exactly what she was talking about.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply he was dead,” Brenda said, waving a hand. “Don’t look at me like that! I just thought that maybe, as a loving brother, he’d have the common courtesy to at least say goodbye to you before you ship out. But maybe he’s still afraid you’ll track him down and get him put away for dodging.”
Sam turned his eye back to the photo, a moment of clarity dawning on him.
Oh, of course, he thought. The draft lottery was based on birth date. It was clear that both twins would have been chosen for service. So, he surmised, was Bobby’s brother then a draft dodger? In hiding? Jeez, I wish I’d leaped into him instead.
“Well, I hope he does,” Sam said. “Call me, I mean.”
Brenda shuffled towards the kitchen. “If he doesn’t, I think you should disown the bastard,” she snarled. “Oh god, does my head hurt. I’m gonna take an aspirin.”
Sam narrowed his eyes, studying the twins in the photo.
The plot thickens, he thought, wondering just how this missing twin might fit into his leap. And he had an inkling, now, why the photo had been facing down. One twin on his way to war, while the other went AWOL. Bobby must have been furious with… whatever the brother’s name was.
Sam found himself empathising with both brothers. In his current state of mind, he would probably run too, given the opportunity. But to do so when you knew your own twin was going to stay and face it? That was a low blow. Especially if he just dropped off the face of the Earth with no forwarding address.
The parents of the twins were probably none too pleased about it, either, he figured.
But, he thought, Al hadn’t said a thing about this situation, so Ziggy therefore mustn’t have calculated odds high enough for her to think it had something to do with the leap. Right? And the last thing he needed was to complicate things by trying to solve everybody’s problems without it being necessary.
No, he’d just keep his head down, just like Al had said. No need to make waves.
So why did the thought of doing that make him feel so uneasy?
Behind him, Brenda wandered back into the living room with a bottle of Bayer aspirin in one hand and a hip flask in the other.
“What’s in that flask?” Sam asked, giving her a suspicious look.
Brenda looked down at the metal bottle, bewildered. “What do you think?” She held up both of the items in her hands. “My hangover cure. Hair of the dog to wash down my aspirin. Same as usual.”
“Usual?” Sam said. “How often do you… you know, need to cure a hangover?”
Brenda looked at him like he’d grown another head. “Bobby, what is this all of a sudden? You got a problem with my drinking, Mister Pot-calling-the-kettle-black?”
Al didn’t mention this either, Sam thought as he opened his mouth to argue. He shook his head. “You know what, never mind.”
There was no point in getting too involved in this guy’s life. He was only here to stop his death, and make sure this woman had someone returning to her from the war. She could figure out her health later. She was still young. Lots of people drank their way through their twenties and turned out okay.
And the nagging instinct in the back of his head, he thought, could shut the hell up any time, please.
As Sam opened the front door to collect the rolled-up newspaper on the doorstep, the sound of static filled his ears, and a ghostly vision of Al appeared on the lawn.
“Sam, I don’t know how long I’ve got,” his distorted voice said urgently. “We’re at critical power usage. Can you hear me?”
“Not well, but yes,” Sam said, sighing.
“What’s that? Speak up, Sam. I’m hearing other voices, I think.” Al was squinting. “And I can’t see you at all.”
“Other voices? The interference?” Sam wondered aloud. “Yes!” he yelled. “I hear you!”
“What?” Brenda’s voice called from inside the house.
“Nothing, honey!” Sam shouted back to her. “Just saying ‘hi’ to the neighbours.” He closed the front door behind him in an effort to give himself a little more privacy from her.
“Al,” he said loudly, “Bobby has a twin brother. Got anything on him?”
“Bobby has a what?” Al asked. “A thin mother? Okay, but how big are her—”
“No, a twin brother!” Sam said, his frustration mounting as he scanned the suburban street for people staring at him.
“Oh!” Al said, and began tapping at the handlink. A moment later, he looked up, his brow furrowed. “What’s that?”
Sam screwed up his face. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I coulda swore you called my name,” Al said, shaking his head. “Well, anyway…” he returned his eyes to the handlink. “Yeah, Sam, you’re right. Guy named Richard Deleon. He went missing when he got drafted, only to turn up in a… in a drug?” he batted at the handlink. “Oh, a drug raid. A drug raid on some hippie commune. Waited out the war in prison after that.”
“Hippie commune? Where?”
“Sam,” Al said in a warning tone. “It’s got nothing to do with your leap, at least according to Ziggy.” Al turned around, squinting with confusion. “What? Sam, I don’t know what you’re… hey, slow down, alright?”
“Al? I didn’t even—”
“What kids?” Al continued, seeming to be hearing something that Sam definitely could not. “Outhouse? What the heck are you talking about?”
“I could ask the same of you,” Sam said. “Who the hell are you talking to?”
“What? I thought I was talking to you.” He tilted his head back, shouting. “Gooshie, something’s gone all funky again!”
“Oh my god,” Sam moaned. “Just go fix the problem already. I’m sick of this.” He turned on his heel, pointing a finger back to Al. “And don’t come back until you have this time. I don’t need this.”
As he headed back in the house, he heard Al say, “I don’t think we can keep this up any longer, Sam. I think Albuquerque’s about to have a brownout thanks to this. But I’m glad to hear you’re in a better mood. Take it easy, awright? I’ll be back when—” and then the hologram fizzled out again with a burst of static.
Sam closed the door, brow furrowed. Better mood?