Chapter 12: X: WHAT'S WRONG WITH LIBRAS?

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MARIEKA

LUCA TERRANOVA IS being sued for human rights violations. Again.

Marieka desperately wishes she was the one defending him.

She knows her husband, his institute and the law better than anyone else. It would be an easy case: all it would take would be a red herring. If she could get the focus off the defendant and onto the plaintiff, Luca would walk free. She could dig into the dirt of the plaintiff's past, find something real nasty . . . or maybe she could lie. She could make something up, something controversial and bound to raise eyebrows and a public outcry. Pay a crisis actor to cry sexual assault. Even better, pay several crisis actors to cry sexual assault. Accuse him of hate speech. Even better, accuse him of hate speech against Luca. Who cares if Luca Terranova purposely infected several hundred children with the Mara virus? The man raising charges against him's racist and sexually assaulted some of his interns!

Would her argument be morally upstanding by any definitions of the word? Absolutely not. But Luca is as guilty as they come. The way she sees it, a distraction is the only way to win the case.

Besides, you know how the saying goes. A lawyer is a shark.

Marieka Wu Terranova's a shark, all right. A total-fucking great white.

The Terranova Institute closed two hours ago. Aside from a handful of miscellaneous scientists working over-time, hoping for a raise that will never come, Marieka and Luca are the only people still in the building. The two of them are digging through the plaintiff's public records, trying to dig up some dirt on him so they won't have to invent any. Lying about a red herring is the work of a cunning lawyer; telling the truth about a red herring is the work of an intelligent one. Marieka knows she'll be far more likely to convince Luca's lawyer of her plan if they have something concrete to work with.

Marieka's in the middle of contemplating whether or not the fact that this guy's a Gemini would hurt him in a court of law when the doorbell rings.

Why would anyone be out there, Marieka wonders? This place isn't some walk-in emergency clinic. They take clients by appointment only. The police, again? Why would they bother showing up twice in one day?

Marieka glances up at the security footage playing on a little TV in the corner of the office. On it, in blurry black-and-white, she sees two figures, a man and a woman. The man's tall and tattooed and—Marieka thinks, squinting at the screen—maybe Asian? Despite the chill of the night, he's only wearing jeans and a tank-top. The woman's nearly a head shorter than he is, short-haired and Latina. She would have a good fashion taste if it weren't for the hideous five-sizes-too-big leather hunting jacket she has on. Marieka knows who that girl is.

"It's that fucking Mendoza girl again," Marieka mumbles distastefully, pushing herself out of her chair. "Looks like she brought herself a bodyguard. I'll go see what she wants."

Bianca Mendoza is dangerous. Opinionated, outspoken, and, worst of all, intelligent, she hasn't exactly tried to keep her hatred of the Terranova's a secret. She was the one that organized a nationwide protest against them, and she was the first of many to try to sue Luca. She was also the one that beat him up in a bar fight.

"Mhm," Luca distractedly mumbles, not looking up from his laptop.

Marieka kisses his cheek and leaves her office, heading towards the main entrance. And then she opens the door and, for a second, she's worried she's somehow entered some hellish Dreamscape. Because standing out there, hand-in-hand with Bianca fucking Mendoza, is . . . her husband?

But it isn't. It can't be. She just left him staring at his laptop. And Luca would never go so many days without shaving, or be within five feet of Bianca fucking Mendoza without threatening to call the police. He'd also never get a single tattoo, much less sleeves of them, or dress so . . . scruffily. Is that an earring?

Marieka is staring at someone that both is and isn't her husband. She knows it's him: the intensity in his dark eyes, the tiny white scar on his throat he'd gotten from an angry Mafia boss back in Italy. But how could this be him? He's wearing a Bernie Sanders shirt, the socialist that ran against Joan Baumhauer in the last election. He's a fucking Democrat.

"Bianca," Marieka says coldly, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you want?"

The man, Marieka realizes, seems just as shocked to see her as she is to see him. He's so taken aback that he drops his pink Starbucks frappucino. And then he speaks, and his voice is exactly like her Luca's: gilded. It sounds sweet and gentle, rich and warm, but there's something dangerous lurking beneath it, a heavy darkness. He even has the same fucking heavy-ass Italian accent as Luca. "Marieka?"

"Who are you?" Marieka asks him, guarded, defensive. How does this man know her? She sure as hell doesn't know him! She turns and yells into the institute: "Luca! Come out here!"

"Oh, my God . . . " the man mumbles.

Bianca fucking Mendoza tugs on his arm. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea . . . "

"No," he tells her. "It was a perfect idea. I want to meet myself."

"Who are you?" Marieka repeats, frustrated. Why won't he listen to her? Why won't he fucking ANSWER HER?

"Can we come in?" he asks, like it's supposed to be an answer, and, God, she hates him.

Marieka steps aside, and the two cautiously enter. The door slams behind them with a BANG! just as her Luca appears in the foyer.

Upon seeing the odd pair, Luca stops in his tracks. His face is as smooth as marble, as emotionless as stone, but Marieka knows that seeing this man has to be unsettling for him, to say the least.

Kicking his charm up to the nth degree, the cunning bastard, Luca offers the strange man his hand. "To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

The man looks over at Bianca fucking Mendoza, snickering, and takes his hand. "You know there are different dimensions," he tells them, like it's a fact. Why won't this guy just tell them his fucking name? "Right? You do, don't you?"

"Yes." Luca says, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.

"Perfect. That makes this a lot easier." The man actually fucking smiles. Like this is amusing to him. "Look, we aren't exactly from here. My name's Luca Terranova."

"What the fuck," mumbles the real Luca. "I'm Luca Terranova."

"What the fuck!" exclaims the new Luca, the imposter. "I'm you from a different dimension! How fucking cool is that?"

"Yeah, ha, ha, ha, so cool."

And then this strange Luca ruffles up the real Luca's hair like he's a fucking child. "Man, what kind of nerdy-ass bitch are you, wearing a suit and shit? Are you some kind of lawyer?"

Marieka clears her throat. She's the lawyer in the relationship.

"Luca!" Bianca fucking Mendoza scolds, swatting the strange Luca's arm.

"Sir," the real Luca says. "Please don't touch me."

"Right, sorry."

"I'm confused." Marieka points at Bianca fucking Mendoza. "Are you two from the same dimension?"

Bianca fucking Mendoza nods.

"Oh, thank God." Marieka sighs. So the Luca from a strange dimension hasn't hooked up with the Bianca from the real one. "Wait, are you guys married?"

"No!" exclaims the strange Luca.

"Well, we're together," replies the strange Bianca fucking Mendoza. "Just not married."

"I'd rather die than . . . " the real Luca begins. Then he seems to notice that this strange Bianca fucking Mendoza is staring at him like she's about to bitch-slap him into another dimension—literally. He stiffens. "No offense. You seem lovely. It's just . . . the you of our dimension is kind of a bitch and a half."

The strange Bianca fucking Mendoza looks like she's about to start swinging for the real one. "Oh, does she take after you?"

"Bee, please. We need their help," says the strange Luca.

The strange Bianca fucking Mendoza gestures wildly in the direction of the real Luca. "He just called me a bitch!"

"I said you're lovely!" the real Luca argues. "I said that the you of our dimension is a bitch, not you!"

"Oh, my God! That's just like calling me a bitch!" The strange Bianca fucking Mendoza shoves her thumb in the direction of the strange Luca. "If I called him a bitch, wouldn't you take offense to that?"

"Well," the real Luca replies, "he does kind of seem like one."

The strange Bianca fucking Mendoza's eyes turn to slits. "Excuse me?"

And then the strange Luca decides to fuck it up even further. "Marieka, how long have you been out of prison?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

Nobody knows about that. Nobody. Not even her Luca knows about it. What? Just because they're married, he's supposed to know everything about her? Of course he doesn't! The six years she spent in a high-security Italian prison for drug trafficking isn't exactly what they talk about in bed.

"Get out," Marieka orders. "Get OUT!"

The strange Luca seems startled by her reaction. Obviously, he'd meant it as an honest question, not an insult. Somehow, that makes it even worse. Is the Marieka of their dimension still in prison? Is that why the strange Bianca fucking Mendoza and Luca ended up so different than the real ones? Why Luca's some radical socialist punk and, instead of wanting to kill Bianca fucking Mendoza, wants to kiss her instead?

"Can we all just take a deep breath?" the strange Luca pleads. "Please. We didn't mean any harm. We need your help."

"He called me a bitch, Luca, I don't want his help," mumbles the strange Bianca fucking Mendoza.

Marieka tilts her head. "I thought I told you to get out."

"Marie, let's just hear them out," the real Luca suggests.

"Fine." Marieka jams her finger into his ribs. "But if they murder us in cold blood and hang our heads over their fireplace as trophies, I'm blaming you."

"Cain's missing," the strange Luca tells them. "He's . . . he's somewhere in this dimension. We think."

"But we don't even know where to begin to look," the strange Bianca fucking Mendoza adds.

Marieka and the real Luca look at each other, then at the two strangers.

"Who the fuck is Cain?" Marieka asks.

"Um . . . Cain?" The strange Luca answers, like that's supposed to clear everything up. "My son." He looks from the real Luca to Marieka. "Your . . . your son, too, I guess." He looks uncomfortable.

"Do you mean Carlo?" Marieka asks. They have three sons (four, if you count Mo), but none of them are named Cain.

"No, I mean Cain," the strange Luca replies. "Does he . . . does he not exist in this dimension? Seriously? Whatever. My point still stands. My son's missing, and I don't now what to do. We need your help to find him."

Marieka's finished with this conversation. "Talk to the police."

"I did! They told me he doesn't exist!"

"Then it sucks to be you."

"So you guys don't want to help us," realizes the strange Bianca fucking Mendoza. "Can you at least get us in contact with your dimension's me? Her address, phone number, something. I'm sure she'd be more willing to help us than you are."

"I think she works at Warwick Medical Center," the real Luca offers. "That big hospital in the middle of town."

"How do you know that?" Marieka asks, defensive.

"Look," interjects the strange Bianca fucking Mendoza, "it was nice meeting you two, but I think we're gonna go now."

Marieka passive-aggressively waves at them. "Toodles."

The two of them disappear, and the real Luca stands still for a moment, his eyes stuck on the glass door. He keeps rubbing his chin as if he isn't quiet sure it's still clean-shaven.

"Why do you know where Bianca Mendoza works?" Marieka asks again.

"I don't know."

"Luca." Marieka steps towards him. "Cosa c'è che non va?"

"I had a tattoo." Luca rubs the back of his neck. "I had a fucking tattoo and I supported Bernie fucking Sanders."

"Oh, Luca, have mercy." Marieka sarcastically drawls, draping her arms around his neck. She's almost as tall as he is in her heels. "That could've been you."

"Yeah, if I spent fifteen years behind bars." Luca pauses, tilting his head. His eyes glint with curiosity like obsidian catching the sunlight. "Speaking of which: why did you tense up when he asked you how long you've been out of prison?"

Marieka's entire body runs cold, turning stiff as a board. She feels chunks of ice hardening inside her veins. "I didn't."

"Marie . . . " Luca whispers, his words sardonic and dripping in honey. His expression seems so concerned, she almost believes him. "You can tell me anything, you know that?"

For a second, she lets herself pretend that she can. She lets herself pretend that they're happy and in love and can actually trust each other. She lets herself pretend that if one of their kids went missing, they'd search for him as intently as the strange Luca and Bianca fucking Mendoza were searching for Cain, and, for a second, she lets herself pretend that she can feel safe in her husband's arms. And, oh, his words . . . so simple, so mundane, but Marieka's not used to hearing anything akin to affection from him. For a second, she lets herself believe that he's being sincere, and . . . oof, he makes a woman melt like butter on hot cement.

For a second, she actually really does believe her lies. Maybe Luca really does love her.

He's a wolf in sheep's clothing, she reminds herself. His words might sound pretty, and he might act like he loves you, but this man only cares for himself. But so do you.

Marieka, you have to fend for yourself. No man can protect you.

For her to have any leverage in a loveless marriage with a ruthless and manipulative man, she has to play just as dirty as he does. Sometimes even worse. Because he thinks he has all the power when, in reality, it's just the opposite. Marieka doesn't have any right to cry about how he doesn't love her and he's just using her and blah blah blah he's such a horrible disgusting man when she's even worse than him.

So Marieka nods like she believes him, and she wills her tears to fall. "My brother Lou . . . he's in prison." The lie drips through her teeth, nice and easy. Really, Lou's the opposite of in prison. He lives in Michigan. "How dare he make a gibe at me about something so personal in my family!

She doesn't know if he believes her or not, but what other option does he have than to pretend like he does? He can't call her a liar. What proof does he have? And why does it matter, anyways, if he believes her, if he trusts her? Their entire relationship is built on deceit and flattery. What's adding one more lie to the mix?

"If I ever see that man again"—Luca brushes back a strand of Marieka's bottle-blonde hair—"I swear to God, I'm going to kill him."

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BIANCA

GOING TO WARWICK MEDICAL CENTER, albeit in another dimension, feels like going home.

Bianca did her residency there. She would have gotten a job there, too, had she not established her own institution. She's been thinking of working again. Maybe she'll apply for a job at WMC.

WMC isn't actually located inside of Warwick; it's located about ten minutes outside the city limits, technically a part of Berlin. Bianca doesn't know why they don't just call it Berlin Medical Center. It's a confusing mess.

Visiting hours are over, and the doors are locked. They stand outside the hospital, waiting, for half-an-hour until someone finally leaves the place, and they slip in when he opens the doors.

Inside, the sharp scent of sterilization cuts into her nose like a knife, and she's greeted by a rush of cold air. The front doors deposit the two of them into the middle of a waiting room full of hard teal couches and plastic tables. In the center rests a giant fish tank. This late at night, nobody's in this part of the hospital, but Bianca can still feel the adrenaline pumping through the air. She can feel people hurrying, panicking, and it's making her uneasy. How peaceful and quiet this wing is sets her on edge. How dare this little nook exist so gently when there are people dying in the floor above them?

Bianca drags Luca to the other side of the room where a bored-looking white guy stands behind a receptionist counter.

"Hi," Bianca begins. "We're looking for—"

"Stop right there," the man orders. "Visiting hours are over. How did you get in here?"

"Excuse me, I wasn't finished speaking." Bianca clears her throat. "Anyways, as I was saying, we're looking for Bianca Mendoza."

The man tilts his head. "And as I was saying, visiting hours are over. Get lost."

"But we aren't visitors! I'm her sister!"

"So?"

"It's a family emergency! I need to speak to her!"

"And what might that be?"

"Their mom is giving birth," Luca says at the same time that Bianca says: "Our mom is dying of Naegleria fowleri."

The man arches an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Yes." Bianca nods. "Our mom is simultaneously dying of Naegleria fowleri and giving birth."

"And she was arrested!" Luca quickly adds, trying his best to help.

"She's a really unlucky woman," Bianca explains. "She's a Libra, you know."

"I'm afraid I can't—"

"Sir, my mother is dying and I need to see my sister!"

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to—"

"Listen to me." Bianca slams her palms into the counter so hard the poor man jumps. "You're either going to tell me where I can find my sister, or I'm going to search every inch of this hospital until I find someone that will. And I'll tell everyone I see that you let me in after hours. Hopefully, word will get around to your superiors, and . . . "

"Fine. Ugh." The man dramatically rolls his eyes, pulling up a computer screen full of data Bianca's eyesight is too poor to read. "She works here, doesn't she? Your sister? I've heard her name before."

"Yes."

"Bianca Mendoza . . . ah, here she is." He clicks on something, and the screen magnifies. "It looks like she's in the middle of an operation right now. It should take only another hour or two. You guys can go up to the ninth floor's waiting room to wait on her, if you want or whatever."

Bianca thanks him, and she and Luca head off towards the elevators. She presses the button labeled with an up arrow, and they stand alone in the hallway, listening to the elevator DING as it descends towards them.

"What's wrong with Libras?" Luca asks her. "I'm a Libra."

"My point exactly."

"What's that supposed to mean? What's your sign?"

"I'm a Virgo," Bianca replies. "We aren't compatible."

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THE IMPOSTER IS covered in blood.

Every part of this girl looks exactly like Bianca Mendoza. She's got the same coffee-colored hair (though it's longer than Bianca's, and she has it pulled into a meticulously styled bun), the same dark almond-shaped eyes, the same sharp jawline and mesa-brown skin. She carries herself the same way that Bianca does, confident and poised, her shoulders back and her chin tilted up. She's even got that same almost-constant cocky little smile, making her look like she knows something you don't. Even dressed in bloodied scrubs and dog-tired from performing brain surgery, her presence is commanding, overwhelming. Screw the Alpha Male Concept. Bianca Mendoza isn't an alpha male. She's the alpha female. Hell, Bianca's looking at a carbon-copy of herself, and even she feels intimidated.

The imposter doesn't notice the strangers. She flops down on a bench across the hospital waiting room from them, burying her head in her arms. The move is practiced, like it's a routine.

Bianca looks at Luca. "Should we bother her?" she whispers. "She looks exhausted . . . "

"We didn't come out all this way just to stare at her."

They stand and cross the room. Bianca feels like she's moving through chest-high water.

The imposter, Dr. Mendoza, raises her head. "Yes, what is it?"

Bianca kneels so her other self can see her face. "Bianca, we need your help." It's weird to say her own name to address someone other than herself.

Dr. Mendoza shoots up, her bleary brown eyes snapping into sudden clarity. "Who are you?"

"How much do you know about the Terranova Institute?" Bianca asks.

"Girl, I'm not . . . " Dr. Mendoza's eyes travel up Luca's body as if she just noticed that he was there. She reevaluates whatever she'd been about to say, adjusting her posture, and asks a simple question instead: "Why?"

"Please," Bianca begs, "just answer me, okay?"

"I know that they're a pile of stinking capitalist shit claiming they're doing what they're doing for the good of the people, but they aren't. They're only in it for the money, the selfish pigs."

Bianca likes this version of herself, but that wasn't what she meant. She takes a deep breath and decides to try a different tactic. "How much do you know about the alternate dimensions? The Dreamscapes, they call them."

"I mean, I know that they're out there," Dr. Mendoza offers with a casual shrug. "But who doesn't, other than the skeptics that can't tell their asses from a hole in the ground? They think global warming's a hoax, I don't know why we expected them to believe in the multiverse."

Despite herself, Bianca lets out a short laugh. "Okay, great. So, look: we're from one of them."

"Oh, my God, do you work for TI?" Dr. Mendoza asks.

"The Terranova Institute? Fuck no." Luca shakes his head.

Dr. Mendoza looks up at him quizzically, squinting her eyes. After a second, she pushes herself to her feet. She's the same height as Bianca, five-oh on the dot, and Luca's a whole foot taller than her, but he still seems to shy away from her. Maybe it's the blood on her scrubs, but Bianca knows it's something else, something more. Dr. Mendoza is a boss lady.

It's kind of inspiring.

"You sound just like him," Dr. Mendoza criticizes. "You even look like him, if he didn't dress like such a prick. And you"—she turns her attention back to Bianca—"you look just like me."

"Mhm." Bianca nods. "I'm you. And he's Luca Terranova."

Luca adds an unenthusiastic wave. "Hi."

"Oh, my God!" Dr. Mendoza breaks out in a grin and just about tackles Bianca in a hug. "You're me! I'm me! I'm you! That's the coolest thing!"

Bianca's not usually a warm-and-fuzzy person, but, like, come on. The situation's once-in-a-lifetime, meeting another version of yourself like this. And Dr. Mendoza's effervescent energy, despite her obvious exhaustion, is completely contagious. Bianca squeals and clutches her back, jumping up and down with joy. "I know! I know!"

Dr. Mendoza pulls back, holding Bianca at arm's-length, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "So, why are you here? Is something wrong?"

"A little," Bianca admits. She slides down onto the bench, and Dr. Mendoza falls down beside her, the two women clutching each other's hands like long-lost sisters. Luca awkwardly sits down on the opposite side of Dr. Mendoza. "Luca's son is missing. We think he might be here in this dimension."

"And you want me to help you find him," Dr. Mendoza realizes.

Luca nods. "Me in this dimension is a total ass, and we don't exactly have anyone else to go to."

"Okay, okay." Dr. Mendoza runs her hands over her hair. "Have you tried the police?"

"Good one!" Luca laughs, humorless and dry. "They told us he doesn't exist."

"Fuck the police," Dr. Mendoza replies. "But did you tell them that you're from a different dimension?" Like it's a normal question.

"No, we thought it would be best to keep a low profile," Bianca explains.

"Mhm. And you already tried TI . . . I don't know." Dr. Mendoza shakes her head. "We can make missing person's posters, hang them up all over the city. We can put my address and phone number on them. Maybe someone will see him."

"But that could take forever!" Luca complains.

Dr. Mendoza responds with a question: "How old is he?"

"Sixteen," Luca answers. "Seventeen in August."

"He's old enough to handle himself; I'm sure he'll be fine. I don't know what else we could do."

"You don't understand. You don't know him."

"What, can't he take care of himself?"

"The opposite. While here, he's already committed arson and probably been arrested."

"What?"

"He's kind of a problem child."

"Look, I'm sorry that I can't be a better help. If my daughter . . . " She trails off, shaking her head at the thought of her daughter missing in a strange alternate universe. "I can't even imagine how worried you must be."

A daughter? Painfully, Bianca remembers Thea. She'd known what she was getting herself into when she decided to commence the Pasithea Project. She impregnated herself, then purposefully exposed herself to the Mara virus in order to infect the fetus with it. The purpose of the project was to study the effects of the virus on the developing human body. The institute had hypothesized that the child would be a stillborn, killed in the womb by the invasive parasite. They were wrong. When a baby girl was born . . . they promised it would stop one day. They promised she wouldn't be a lab rat. A few tests after her birth, a handful of them every year, and that would be all. She could have a normal life. They were wrong.

Thea was never a human to them; she was an experiment. But it wasn't like Bianca treated her any better. She was never a child to her mother; she was an experiment.

Thea, her own flesh and blood. Dead because of her. Dead because of Cain.

"Wait." Bianca gestures for her to slow down. "You have a daughter?"

Dr. Mendoza looks absolutely appalled. "Do you not?"

Luca is obviously thinking something very different than the two of them. His face shines with hope. "Oh, my God! Can you call her right now?"

"What?" Dr. Mendoza asks.

"Why?" Bianca wonders.

"Maybe Cain had the same thought as us," Luca explains. "Maybe he tried to look for himself in this dimension, and when he couldn't . . . "

"You think he tried to find Thea," Bianca finishes.

"Thea?" Dr. Mendoza asks.

"Bee, he misses her. I had to hack into his Instagram and block her old account on it. He kept scrolling through her posts while listening to ABBA and crying." Luca looks like he's about to start crying himself. He coughs into his arm, composing himself. "Maybe he's not just trying to find Rachel. Maybe he's trying to find her, too."

"Thea," Dr. Mendoza repeats. "Who's Thea?"

"Your daughter?" Bianca guesses.

"Her name's Callie."

Bianca's voice comes out a squeak. "It's Thea in our dimension."

Despite the name, what else is different about Dr. Mendoza's Callie? Is she anything like Thea? Is she everything like Thea? Is she how Thea would have been, had she not been born under the circumstances she was? Bianca hadn't let herself name her daughter, lest she got attached only to lose her. When she'd survived her birth, Bianca simply named her after the project. But Callie . . . she's always loved the name Caroline, but hated the nickname Carrie. Naming her daughter Caroline but calling her Callie would have been the perfect solution.

Callie. Huh.

For some reason, she's really hung up on this whole name thing.

"Okay." If Dr. Mendoza suspects something fishy's going on, she doesn't let it show. "Then who's Rachel?"

"My daughter," Luca answers quickly. "She's . . . she's missing, too."

"You need to get your kids on a leash," Dr. Mendoza bristles. "Why are you so intent on finding your son, but not her?"

Bianca expects him to get angry, but her sarcasm seems to deflate him. He keeps blinking and swallowing and wiping at his eyes.

"She's been missing for a long time," Luca explains, his voice high. "People think—people think she didn't make it."

"She disappeared when the rift collapsed," Bianca adds. "But Cain only went missing, like, a day or so ago. We think he came in here to look for her."

"I can call Callie," Dr. Mendoza offers. "Maybe he did go looking for her. Maybe he did find her. It's worth a shot." She pushes herself off the bench, dusting off her scrubs. As if the dust is her biggest concern right now when she's covered from head-to-toe in a stranger's blood. She pats herself down. "Shit. I left my phone in my car. Follow me." And she disappears down a long hallway lit so brightly even the colors seem sterile.

Luca and Bianca follow her, jogging to keep up with her brisk pace. Trailing behind this carbon copy of herself as she navigates a Labyrinth of hospital corridors, Bianca can't help but wonder if she's actually awake right now. This entire journey feels like it's been some vivid nightmare. Maybe she's not even alive right now. Maybe she died in her sleep, and this is the afterlife.

She knows it's plausible. She did shoot up some heroin last night, so maybe she overdosed.

Kidding, kidding! She ate Burger King's chicken fries. But it isn't like those are any better for your health.

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DR. MENDOZA THOUGHTFULLY CHANGES out of her bloodied scrubs, and the unlikely trio head out to the physician's parking lot. Her black Mercedes SUV sits almost menacingly at the entrance to a sea of Porsches and Toyotas. The spot has a parking label reading RESERVED FOR DR. BIANCA MENDOZA. $100 FINE.

Bianca thinks the label is absolutely ridiculous. No cars can even get into the parking lot without a hospital ID. Who's gonna park in the spot, a rogue doctor whose only purpose in life is making Dr. Mendoza's a living hell? Assigned parking spaces, really? It seems so elementary. Maybe she's just trying to ignore how violently she's started disassociating, looking at her name like that, but she's trying exceptionally hard to focus on how ridiculous she thinks the assigned spots are.

Dr. Mendoza unlocks the car and plunges inside. Despite the Mercedes' spotless exterior, the inside looks like something straight out of Hoarders. The cupholder protects empty Yoplait Light containers, official-looking documents cover the dashboard, and scattered under the seats are several maroon Starbucks cups. One of those little Bath and Body Works air fresheners and just about half-a-million Mardi Gras beads hand from the rearview mirror. In the backseat lays a giant gray bag overflowing with tights, leotards, hairspray, hairbrushes, dance shoes, and what looks to be tiny brown pairs of underwear with ten holes instead of two. There's also several McDonald's bags.

"Sorry about the mess," Dr. Mendoza mumbles, sounding not sorry in the least. "We practically live out of this thing. Well, it's more me than we now that Callie's moved out. I haven't had the heart to clear her things out of here."

She grabs a Coach purse from the floor and roots through it, proudly holding up an iPhone X in a bright red Otterbox. The phone-screen lights up, full of green message bubbles.

"Looks like you got a message," Bianca mumbles.

"Or two or ten . . . million," Luca adds.

Dr. Mendoza frowns down at the screen. "Callie's been spamming me," she admits, frantically typing something. "Saying to call her. That it's important." Finished typing, she shoves her phone against her ear, chewing on her lip.

The dial sound echoes out through her hair, and then Callie picks up, screaming. Bianca can't make out the words, but she can hear the panicked tone.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Dr. Mendoza insists, holding her hands up in a gesture of peace as if the screaming girl can see her. "Cal, baby, calm down. What's wrong? Are you hurt? Is Maya okay?"

As Dr. Mendoza listens to her daughter, Bianca watches her with interest. She tilts her head as if considering something, her eyes narrowing. Then she poses a question: "He said he's not from this dimension? . . . What did he say his name was? . . . Okay. What does he look like? . . . I don't remember Mo, that's not helping . . . Okay. Look, make sure to keep him with you. I'm going to talk to some people real fast, and I'll call you right back. Stay right there, baby, okay? I love you, California. Okay, bye."

She hangs up her phone, sliding it into the pocket of her jeans. "What did you say your son's name was, again?" she asks Luca.

"Cain."

"And he looks like you?"

"But wimpier."

Dr. Mendoza laughs, nodding and nodding and nodding and nodding. "I think I found him. Callie was freaking out 'cause, long story short, her girlfriend, Maya, got drunk and accidentally stole a cop car."

"How do you 'accidentally' steal a cop car?" Bianca asks.

"Your guess is as good as mine." Dr. Mendoza shrugs. "Anyways, there were prisoners inside, and they were claiming they were from a different dimension. Callie says she believes them."

Unsurprisingly, Luca looks thrilled to see that his son's been arrested. He bursts out in an embarrassing grin, seemingly on the verge of tears of joy. "Yep. That's him. That's definitely him."

"She also said that the kids were arrested for armed tampon robbery."

"Listen, nobody should be ashamed to rob some shitty convenience store at gunpoint for some tampons. It's a natural part of growing up and, honestly, Doctor, I find your opinions on the matter to be a little backwards." Luca folds his hands behind his head, looking very smug. "Apologize."

"No. Look, I can get you guys to her apartment," Dr. Mendoza offers, hopping into the driver's seat. She pats the car. "Come on in. I have heated seats."

"My butt's gonna be so warm," Luca says, excited.

[ ━━ ❝ ✧˚⋆｡☾✩˚⋆｡࿐❞ ━━ ]

this image is the Big Mood of this chapter