“Yes,” Charlie answered. “I mean, I think so.” They made their way slowly toward the open door: Charlie breathed shallowly, trying to register the slightest noise over the pounding of her own heart. As they reached the doorway, she heard a rustling, like someone stepping on soft leaves. John and Charlie split up and stood on either side of the doorway, Charlie by the hinges and John by the knob, and slowly, he pushed the door the rest of the way open. Charlie saw the relief on his face before she saw what was in the room: a bed, a dresser, and absolutely nothing else, not even a closet. There was a window open, and John turned back toward Charlie. “I think we’ve got a way out,” he said. She smiled back shakily. “Stay back while I check,” he whispered, and before she could answer, he had pushed the door farther open into the room, and was moving stealthily toward the open window, keeping in a straight line through the center of the room. Charlie stayed in the hall, pressing the door open so she could see the entirety of the room.

Charlie watched nervously. Hurry, she urged him silently. Then as she thought it, she felt the door stop against her fingers as though something was blocking the way. Is there something behind the door? Slowly, noiselessly, she leaned to the side and put her eye to the crack in the door, along the hinges. Her heart stopped.

Another eye was looking back at her.

Charlie staggered back. The door wavered for a moment, then slammed shut. From inside the room something banged and crashed over and over against the wall. “John!” Charlie cried, and beat against the door. Suddenly, the house went still, and a few moments later the door drifted open and a figure glided out gracefully, stepping into the hall with care as though trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Charlie stared disbelievingly at her duplicate, her mind hazily registering all the tiny differences between them as she struggled for words.

“You’re not me,” Charlie managed to say, and her own face smiled cruelly back at her.

“I’m the only you that matters.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Is it working?” Marla asked, nervously tapping the device in her ear. Carlton sped up the car.

“Mine worked,” he said brusquely. He glanced at her; she was kneading her hands together, her knuckles going white. “I mean, you can’t really tell if it’s working until …”

“Until what?” Marla said.

“Well, until you’re in danger, and …”

“And what?” Marla seemed impatient.

“And you don’t die.” Carlton nodded reassuringly.

“So how do we know if they’re not working?” Marla’s voice had lost its energy.

“Well, if it doesn’t work, you won’t have to worry about it for long.” He smiled.

“Right.” Marla stopped fidgeting with the device and put her hand in her lap.