Sera

The rain stopped, and the wind outside had settled, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake. I didn't have a problem with the quiet. I liked it, in fact. But this was something a little different. This was uncomfortable. The kind of stillness that came from forced proximity to someone or something that made your skin itch and your stomach roil. The kind of hush that usually set in right before a devastating storm or a natural disaster.

He did this sometimes. Just sat across from me and stared. He usually wouldn't even say anything. I didn't think he expected me to say anything, either. He just looked. Sometimes it lasted a few minutes, just long enough to send that chill skittering up and down my spine. Other times it would go on for hours. He'd blink and breathe and fidget, but his eyes ... those remained locked on me, his unhealthy mix of sadness and lust and greed and anger crushing me to the point of breathlessness.

We were at it again, and I was just about out of patience. It was one thing to have been ripped away from my home, from my life, by that madwoman, Cora Anderson. It was another to have her poke and prod and use me as a science experiment. She'd altered my mind. Made me forget most of my life before the day I woke up a prisoner on the floor of her cold, dank cell. Those things were all bad, but having been "rescued" by this bastard and forced to stay by his side at all times? That was an entirely new level of torture.

"You're thinking about him again, aren't you?" His tone was acidic and his jaw tight. He had a temper, this guy. I'd seen it multiple times. He'd never done anything more than scream at me, but it was only a matter of time with people like this. I wasn't sure how I knew that, but I felt it in my bones. Maybe I'd known someone like him at home. Maybe it was just intuition.

"Yes," was all I replied. I found that simple, one-word responses went over the best. Or, more accurately, the worst. When I said too little, he grew agitated. He wanted me to talk to him, yet the things that came out of my mouth weren't ever what he wanted to hear. I didn't act like he'd hoped I would, didn't say the things he longed to hear. Some days he was determined to change me. Others, he was rabid, blaming me for not behaving like myself and demanding that I wake up.

Forget that I had no idea who I was.

"While it's not okay, I understand." He offered me a smile — a small, tentative twitch of his lips and gentle shrug of his shoulders. He was making an effort to be kinder today, going out of his way to speak softer and move slower.

That made me even angrier.

"You understand? Then my life is complete. All I've ever wanted was the understanding of a serial killer." Even if I hadn't been thinking about ... someone else, I would have lied. The fact that I wasn't focused on him, and him alone, drove Dylan — my savior, my captor — crazy. But the truth was, I was thinking of him. That other him. How could I not? Even if I didn't find myself missing him every moment of every day in an almost physical way, I wouldn't be able to put him out of my mind because he was technically sitting here across from me.

The only solace to be found during my captivity at the Infinity Division had been a boy named G. Like me, he'd been ripped from his home and experimented on. Like me, he didn't remember who he was or where he'd come from. We'd formed a strong bond. Kept each other sane in the midst of a torturous situation. Just hearing his voice made me feel safer. Knowing he was there — even if I couldn't see or touch him — calmed the terrible churning in my gut and allowed me to drift off to sleep at night. Then Ash, the foster daughter of our captor, and her friends had freed us, and I'd seen him for the very first time. He was beautiful, with dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. I'd gotten to touch him ...

It was brief, and it wasn't enough, and I hadn't been able to stop thinking about him.

"I am him," Dylan said. There was a hint of impatience in his voice. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have blamed him. He'd been telling me the same thing, over and over again, for the last three weeks, and that would be enough to drive anyone over the edge. Well, anyone who hadn't already gone over. Dylan had jumped the sanity line years ago, from what I understood. "You don't need to miss him because I'm right here."

The most twisted part of this whole mess? He wasn't technically lying. G — whose real name was apparently Dylan — was sitting right here. The face was the same, though G's was thinner. The voice was the same, though the pitch was different. G's was lower, while Dylan always sounded angry. G was scruffier, with slightly darker hair that brushed his shoulders. Dylan kept his hair buzzed close to his head. They were different versions of the same person. From different dimensions of the same place.

It made my head spin to think about it, but a scientist named Cora Anderson — most Cora Andersons, apparently — had invented a way to travel between dimensions. As Dylan put it, there were an infinite number of Earths just floating around out there. All different, if only slightly, from the next. Infinite versions of him and me playing at the same song and dance — one I wanted no part of.

"You're not him." My only joy in life anymore was pointing that out to him. Over and over, in as many ways as I could come up with. Because it was true. There were infinite versions of Earth, which meant an infinite number of Dylans — but still only one G.

Dylan jumped up, fists balled tight, and began stalking back and forth. All pretenses of his softer side evaporated. I was familiar with this. While he made an effort most days, it was always short-lived. His patience was nonexistent.

The motel room was small. Only eight by ten. And every time he passed, the temperature dropped a little. I didn't know if it was from the breeze he created as he moved through the room, or something darker, but it cut me to the bone and left me feeling hollow.

"What's so great about him?" He stopped pacing and stood in front of me, bending to grip the arms of my chair. Leaning in close, he said, "He looks and sounds exactly like I do. What makes him so different from me?"

"For starters, he wouldn't have kidnapped me." If Dylan lost his temper and killed me, then at least this would all be over. I wouldn't be stuck listening to his annoying comparisons. I wouldn't be subjected to his weird romantic overtures and attempts to win my heart. He was another version of G, and I was another version of his girlfriend, Ava. He'd lost her to an accident on his Earth, and it had destroyed his mind. Since then, he'd cut a bloody swath across the multiverse in search of another version of her — me. One he could claim as his own. "He wouldn't blackmail me into staying with him."

Dylan straightened and made a sweeping gesture toward the door. The corner of his lip pulled up and created the smallest hint of a dimple. On anyone other than this madman, it would have been adorable. I'd swoon hard if G had flashed it my way. On Dylan, though, it seemed almost sinister. "Go ahead, then. Leave. Get up and walk away right now if you feel inclined. I won't stop you."

I'd tried leaving once in the beginning, a few days after he'd taken me away...