“Close your eyes,” Danny whispers.
Lila touches his scar. “Neither. Both. You have to choose.” Julian finds Danny at the warehouse gym, alone. The lights are off. Danny is sitting in the center of the floor, surrounded by hundreds of tiny spiders—crawling over his arms, his face, his open eyes. He isn’t moving.
He types back: It’s me. Both of me.
And for the first time, he isn’t sure which home he means. But the spider on his arm stirs once, then settles. And he knows—whatever he is now—he is no longer an enemy to himself. Julian walks down the city street. His reflection in a bus window does not follow him. It stands still. It smiles. Then it waves goodbye.
He tracks Danny to a warehouse gym on the south side. The air smells of sweat and rust. Danny is there, lifting weights, his back to Julian. When he turns, Julian’s breath stops. Up close, the resemblance is horrifying: same bone structure, same receding hairline, same slight asymmetry in the nose. But Danny’s eyes are feral. Julian’s are hollow. enemy pelicula
Julian kneels in the spiders. They don’t bite. They crawl up his wrists, into his sleeves, under his collar. He feels them in his throat, behind his eyes.
“Neither do I,” Julian says.
“You killed him,” Lila says. “Or you thought you did. The accident fractured you. You couldn’t live with what you’d done, so you split. One of you became the professor—the safe, moral, guilt-ridden self. The other became Danny—the reckless, surviving, unburdened self. You’ve been living two lives in one body, switching without knowing. Until the car crash last month. That scar—it opened the door between you.”
Julian stammers. “I—you’re me.”