Chapter 6

Thursday, December 18, 2014, 9:55 p.m. Standing before the mirror in the bathroom across the hall from her bedroom, Rebecca stripped off her shirt and tossed it to the floor. She’d worn these clothes for two days now; she hadn’t bathed in that time, and she could smell herself. Her hair hung limp; worse, she had slept on it and not had a brush to get out the tangles. She grabbed up her brush now and went to work.

In the shower, she shampooed and shaved her underarms and legs, then rinsed her hair and applied conditioner. She thought about Leda, her two other selves, the enigmatic portal, Arcadia, and the 1000 years separating her bedroom from The Hall of The Gate. Why was the gate still open, anyway?

To be safe, she’d locked her bedroom door before crossing the hall to the bathroom, ready to play dumb with Mom if questions arose. She’d brought along clean underwear and her pajamas. Hair wrapped in a towel, she brushed her teeth; it was 10:30 p.m., time for her to go to bed. God, she hated school.

What bothered her about Arma? She’d asked that of her younger self, unsure what it was about the young maidservant that mystified her so. She couldn’t be a day older than 20; shouldn’t she be in college? Did they have schools in Arcadia, she wondered? Despite the retro furnishings of what Rebecca thought of as Leda’s suite, the palace didn’t lack technology. The dilating doorways, the suddenly appearing furniture, the translator which allowed Frieda to understand spoken English; all spoke of advanced technology. Where did indentured servitude fit into a scenario like that?

“Rebecca?” Mom tapped the bathroom door. Rebecca opened it, tense with stress. Had Mom tried her bedroom door and discovered it locked? Rebecca had tucked the thin key with the flattened end that normally resided atop her door frame inside the waistband of her pajamas bottom. Mom blinked in surprise, eyes popping.

“What happened to your face?”

Rebecca regarded her sheepishly. “All that noise you complained about...?” She automatically colored. “I thought I wanted to try gymnastics in school,” she said, touching her swollen lip. Mom’s eyes swept between her blackened eye, and battered mouth. “My younger self looks even worse than I do, believe me,” she admitted.

Mom blinked, momentarily tongue tied. “You did that to yourself?”

Rebecca nodded toward her bedroom door. “I tried some moves from a YouTube video. You know when you bend way over sideways and kick at the ceiling?” Rebecca went back into the bathroom and faux-demonstrated the kick. “Never do it over objects on the floor that can punch back when you fall, Mom.”

Mom gasped, horrified. “Oh, my God! I hope you learned your lesson!”

Rebecca grinned, and slipped past her mom, headed toward the stairs. She didn’t want Mom around when she opened her bedroom door, especially with a key. “Want anything from downstairs?”

Mom shook her head and followed, looking chagrined. “You need to see a doctor about that eye, I think. You could have retina damage and not even know it. I tell you to be careful, Rebecca; you never listen to me!”

“Of course, I don’t listen,” Rebecca said, reaching the middle level and turning left toward the kitchen. “I’m 16.” She ginned back over her shoulder, triggering an eye-roll and shake of the head from her mom.

“We’ll see how it looks in the morning. Everyone will think your boyfriend did it to you, you know that. Or your father.”

Rebecca staggered clumsily into the wall. “Dad would never hit me!” she blurted. “Maybe I shouldn’t go to school tomorrow, you think?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Mom agreed unexpectedly. Rebecca looked at her, blinking.

“Gunther didn’t do that to you, right?”

Stunned, Rebecca gasped: “Mom! I didn’t even see him today! I came right home after school.” She didn’t like the way mom eyed her suspiciously. “Gunther would never hit me anyway, Mom--he’s a wimp,” she lied.

Mrs. Bows nodded slowly.