candied peaches
“Mark! What are you doing?! Please, MARK!”
Gemma still felt it all. The plywood door, its bulletproof glass panel slamming against her burning palms. Her throat hoarse from screaming his name. She remembers the wild confusion, the rushing and waning adrenaline. His look of pure pity from the other side of the door, as if she were an injured woman on the street, not his wife. Then the redheaded woman who emerged from the other end of the hallway.
She looked sleek and fitted in her green blouse and navy pencil skirt. Dressed in that elegant, inert way Lumon employees always did. But her body was unconstricted, her eyes aflame as they met Gemma’s. She was alive , in every sense of the word. In another world, Gemma might’ve even called her beautiful. In this world, however, her existence felt like a bullet.
Whenever Gemma considered that memory, which she was doing more and more often these days over sleepless nights and sour shots of gin and whiskey, she wondered who dressed her. Gemma remembered dressing herself in the lower floors of that cursed office every morning, mechanically draping on the given clothing as if it were a costume. As if preparing her body to be a doll, a lab rat for Lumon to toy with. She wondered who dressed Helly R every morning. Who prepared her for work, and then shut herself into oblivion as she entered the severed floor. She wondered who Helena Eagan was. It drove her into obsession. She wanted to find that woman. She wanted to gut her and smash her head in.
The last thing she expected was for Helena Eagan to show up at her door.
𓃵
Helena Eagan sat up straighter in her car. She clenched and unclenched her aching toes under her black stilettos as she eyed the supermarket carpark entrance. Every now and then she checked herself in the mirror and fussed, readjusting her collar, unbuttoning and rebuttoning her blazer, prodding at her eyeliner. The eyes that looked back at her were cold and calm, just as she hoped for. The truth was that she no longer knew what she was doing.
From deep inside her leather laptop bag, her phone buzzed. The screen read, INCOMING CALL FROM NATALIE KALEN . She lifted it to her ear.
“Hello Helena, I’m so glad to reach you-”
“Natalie, I have some ongoing meetings and I won’t be available for the rest of the day. Please do not attempt to call me again.” She hung up and threw the phone into the backseat.
A familiar burgundy station wagon pulled into the carpark. Helena glanced at the digital clock on her car radio. She’s 12 minutes later than usual today . The wagon reversed into a lot, and out climbed Gemma Scout in a knitted jumper and jeans with a nylon shopping bag. Helena watched her enter the supermarket, then alighted from her car and headed in.
Helena never did her own grocery shopping. As a child, Father would never let her enter such public spaces without a chaperone, and it was only lately that she had entered a supermarket of her own accord. The rows of colourful products had baffled her to no end, the cold metal of the trolley giving her an elating rush she could not stop trying to feel. Over months, she bought cans and packets of bright, loud non-Lumon merchandise she had never seen before - candied peaches, instant ramen, strawberry milk and hid them in the top tier of her mini fridge like a display shelf. Father never opened her fridge when he came for visits, so he would never know.
Observing others in the grocery stores used to be an amusement, but with Gemma, it carried more. She told herself it was some perverse knowing she already had of her from watching the lab videos. Seeing her various innies, their different lives. In the store, Helena found herself mirroring whatever Gemma picked. She imagined what Gemma was going to cook by the ingredients she chose, how she would chop, slice, blend, mutilate in the kitchen, how she would eat or drink the end product. She would carry these imaginings into the next few days. What would she cook next, would there be leftovers? Would she eat them cold, or feed them to the birds? Before long, it became routine. She was returning every week, and so was Gemma.
Today, she followed her into the dried foods aisle and watched her pick out pasta from a distance. Gemma had hovered over fettuccine or shells, holding up one packet of each with both hands as she compared. She felt their textures carefully, moving her thumbs thoughtfully over the plastic of each packet as she stood next to her trolley, seeming adrift. Behind her slouching form and drooping eyes, she looked tired.
It seemed like she might get both at one point, making Helena wonder with a twinge if she were cooking for more than one. The idea felt prickly… and she didn’t know why. After Gemma made off with the fettuccine, Helena waited a good few seconds and went to pick up the abandoned pasta shells. The plastic crinkled similarly in her hands as she held it up. She moved her hands across it the way Gemma had, imagining her essence still lingering.
As she watched Gemma drive off later, she tore open the pack of pasta shells and put her hand in, savouring its rough, sandy finish in her fist.
𓃵
“Gemma, I think you need to take some time away-”
“Away from what? From my husband? Your brother . Who’s still trapped in there, unless you’ve forgotten.”
The plate of fettuccine alfredo sat cold and uneaten on the dining table, bits of cream and fat already curdling into white spots. Devon stood abruptly from the table and went to the window, leaving Ricken crestfallen, and Gemma sulking with a glass of wine in her hand. Frustration weighed on her, and though her head was already swimming, she reached for a refill.
“That’s enough for tonight, Gemma.” Devon crossed the room and plucked the bottle out of her hands. “I didn’t say we were giving up. We’re still working with Cobel to find Mark, alright-”
“We know where he is, Devon! He is in that building as we speak and we are just sitting here like fucking idiots .” Eleanor’s infant cries pierced through Gemma’s yelling, obliging Ricken to leave the table. She blanched, feeling suddenly awful about her outburst. It was gradually overwhelming her, all of it. This madness they were living in. The sound of a screaming baby was just the perfect cherry on top.
“I’m sorry I woke her,” she blurted, her voice cracking.
“Oh, girl-” Devon took the wine glass from Gemma before pulling her into a warm hug. “She’s a baby. Babies cry. It’s nothing.”
She gave Gemma’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze as she pulled away. “Can you promise me that you’ll get some rest for a few days? And I’ll promise you that I’m working on some leads in the meantime.”
“Okay, thanks Devon.”
“Let me reheat this for you,” Devon made to grab the plate of pasta, but Gemma stopped her. She forced a smile out.
“It’s alright, I’d rather just get some sleep. I’m quite tired now.”
Devon’s eyes searched her face for a moment before relenting. “Alright, Ricken and I will leave you to it. I’ll put this in the fridge for you.”
As soon as Devon left, Gemma went back in and refilled her glass of wine. Then she refilled it two more times. Before this, Gemma had never been a heavy drinker, never understood the draw of being intoxicated. Now it was all she had to look forward to. She lay on the floor of her living room, gazing at the ceiling, desperately willing her thoughts to unfurl and stop. Her limbs and head felt heavier than they’d ever been, but somehow it seemed the bitter feeling in her lungs would never abate. She turned and smiled at the empty bottle beside her. Enough was enough, certainly. Devon didn’t need to know about the liquor she had before they’d even arrived tonight.
When she closed her eyes all she could see was white, stark hallways. Unending days under the fluorescent lights. Mark covered in blood. Fear returned, creeping like needles.
Before she knew it, she was in her car, haphazardly driving towards the Lumon office HQ.
𓃵
A ruckus jolted Helena out of her slumber. She’d fallen asleep at her desk again while looking over reports, something no one (certainly not Father) would have tolerated only a year ago. Since her infamous suicide attempt and live outburst, Lumon management had fallen into a funk on how to treat their CEO-in-waiting. Revolting well wishes and second chances increased. Slinky, ambitious executives who used to tell on her backed down, but she was sure they were only waiting for new opportunities for corporate scheming.
Straightening up, she realised someone had laid her blazer over her shoulders and flinched uncontrollably. A note on her desk was all the explanation she needed. Printed neatly onto a light blue card beside an individually wrapped Lumon breath mint: YOUR DILIGENCE DELIGHTS KIER AND ME. - FATHER. She swallowed the lump of anxiety in her throat as she glanced through all the glass surfaces around her to see if he was still around. It seemed he was not.
The ruckus that woke her started up again. It sounded like heated arguing and stumbling from downstairs. Curious, Helena picked up her blazer and stepped out to a parapet. In the far dark, she sighted two people struggling in the stairwell.
“Ma’am, you are trespassing and I am going to need you to leave-”
“Let go- Let go of me right now!” A woman’s voice shouted. They wrestled, ending in the woman stumbling into the light.
Helena’s eyes widened, her legs rooted to the spot. Gemma Scout was trying to break into the Lumon severed floor. Her shock was quickly overtaken by amusement. This woman really thought she could march her way straight in. If anything, she was persistent.
Gemma got up and charged straight back for the stairwell but collided against a security guard instead. He quickly caught her arms as she squirmed unsuccessfully in his grip. It was undeniably adorable. Helena let out a scoff and headed for the elevator.
She found the guard slowly and surely dragging Gemma towards the office exit and stalked forward to intercept them. What are you doing, Helena , she asked herself, but it was too late to change courses.
“Let her go, Judd,” Helena heard herself say. Steady, clear, just as she hoped for.
“I’m just getting her to leave.”
“I have to… have to get in,” Gemma slurred. Her entire body was sagging forward, her raven hair spilling as her head lolled. Helena could not believe her eyes. This woman was breaking into Lumon while shitfaced. She could barely stand.
“Should I call for back-up, Ms Eagan?” Judd asked, looking anxious.
Helena looked at Gemma’s slack face. Her eyes blinked open weakly.
“No, Judd. I’ll take care of this. You go home.”
“Oh, really?” Helena nodded, holding out her arm to take Gemma. Judd shifted her, holding her up by the shoulders for Helena to scoop around her waist. It was all happening too quickly. She had never been this physically close to Gemma before. Had only ever seen the lab videos, watched her from afar. Now she was startled breathless as the curve of Gemma’s body moulded itself against hers. But as coolly as she could, she nodded to Judd and began to make her way out of the office.
“You…” she heard Gemma mumble, “What are you going to do to me?”
Her lilting voice sent a chill down Helena’s spine. “Nothing, Gemma Scout. You broke into my office building. Now I’m sending you home.”
She spotted Gemma’s car almost immediately, but Gemma suddenly twisted violently, catching Helena by surprise. “Stay still!”
“No!” Gemma yelled defiantly like an errant child, “Where is Mark? I want to see him now!”
“Mark walked out of this office months ago and vanished,” Helena retorted, “If he is not returning home, that was his outie’s choice. We’re not responsible for that.” She pulled Gemma up and continued towards the car, but she tore away again.
“That is a fucking lie!” Gemma screamed, shoving Helena hard in the shoulders. The blow incensed Helena. In a rush of rage, she stepped forward and yanked Gemma in by the neck of her sweater until their faces were inches apart. “That is the cold, bitter truth, Gemma. Mark Scout is gone. Now if you want me to call security again, scream all you like. Otherwise, I expect you to behave while I personally get you home safely.”
Gemma never blinked once, her face seething yet calm. She cocked an eyebrow. “Those are my choices, huh?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Against her expectations, the corners of Gemma’s lips curled into a wry smile. Helena balked. “What?”
“Just didn’t expect the Lumon princess to call me ma’am.”
Helena loosened her grip on the woman, suddenly wanting distance. “Get in the fucking car.”
They drove in an uncomfortable silence, with Gemma fighting not to fall asleep to the car’s steady rumbling and Helena pretending not to notice. It was a bizarre arrangement, to say the least. Most things that Helena craved were.
Gemma’s car smelled of cheap air freshener, the citrus type that reminded Helena of orange soda. She could not help but like it.
“Do you ever feel her inside of you? Sometimes I think I do, with some of mine.” Gemma asked suddenly, surprising Helena. She wondered if Gemma would ever be speaking to her like this if she were sober. “You know I saw yours, right? When I left, you and Mark-”
“Helly R, you mean,” Helena cut in curtly, “Not me.”
Gemma rolled her eyes at the hostility. “No, not you. You two seem very different people. She actually seemed nice.” She seemed human , was what Gemma really would have said.
It felt like a knot clenching together in Helena’s chest. She knew the right thing to reply: Due to confidentiality, I am obligated not to discuss my innie, thank you very much. But Gemma’s words felt like a vine to that forbidden, unfettered half of her brain. Helena wanted her to continue. She was dying to know more. But she settled for remaining silent, focusing on the road, forcing all these faithless, sin-filled thoughts out of her mind. Disobeying Father’s preferences was one thing, but this- No, she couldn’t.
“I just want to see him again. If he’s still in there, it means your innie is. Somewhere in your mind, you might know if he’s really safe,” Gemma said.
It was several minutes later when she glanced over and realised Gemma had finally dozed off. Asleep, she always looked peaceful. Despite all the horrors (No, Helena was not averse to using the word to describe Gemma’s experience. Suffering is unavoidable for fulfilling Kier’s vision) Gemma faced, every night she wore such a saintly expression, unmissable in the lab’s CCTV archives. Seeing it up close was almost… sweet.
“Eyes on the road, Lumon princess,” Gemma said behind closed eyes. Helena turned quickly, her face growing hot. She turned into the driveway of Gemma’s house, a dull ache gathering in her.
“I’m not a princess.” She braked in front of Gemma’s house.
“No. You’re an evil CEO who kept me and my husband hostage and gave me residual substance abuse issues.” Gemma spit out her confrontation, looking straight into her eyes. Helena met them brokenly.
Was that a glint in her eye? Gemma thought. But it was dark out, nearly 3am. She convinced herself it was a trick of the street light. She waited for Helena to say something. To deny it, defend herself, become hostile. But she never did. At last, Gemma unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out. So did Helena.
It had been a far weirder night than Gemma anticipated and she was done with it all. She did not even bother to lock the car, just tumbled out and made for her front door. Helena could fuck off to wherever. But before she could take another step, a wave of vertigo seemed to descend and commandeer her brain. She saw her front steps tip over before her legs went out, and everything went black.
“Gemma? Oh my God.” Helena rushed over and lifted one of Gemma’s arms over her shoulder. “Gemma, can you hear me?”
Her vision fizzled back a little, only to see Helena Eagan gazing into her eyes. What the fuck .
“Fuck off,” she mumbled.
“Ohh-kay.” Helena got to lifting her up. They struggled their way through the front door. Once inside, Helena was greeted by a stylish, mid-century modern living room. Exactly what she’d always imagined: beige sofas with warm throws, arrays of potted plants, stacks of hardcovers strewn around. She got them both to the couch and sat a shaky Gemma down. The drunk woman fell back, eyes immediately slipping shut again.
Helena straightened up and looked at her, perplexed. Sure, she had fantasized, and went about giving Gemma a car ride, seeing her up close. But she hadn’t expected to see her intoxicated, to be carrying her into her living room, and now… taking care of her? Where was all of this going? It terrified her, but deep down, she knew it excited her too.
Mentally, she reigned herself in. Tonight is a work night , she told herself. She quickly took out her phone and shot a text to her chauffeur to come pick her up. That would give her a solid twenty minutes to lose control. Then she would bury it all back in.
“I’ll get you some water, then I’ll leave,” she said rhetorically, more to herself or the room. Gemma was obviously out cold.
She knew what she wanted. To see the kitchen, the groceries she’d bought. Perhaps remnants of dinner, or dirty dishes. There was no more arguing against her usually iron clad self control (though she retained enough not to attempt seeing the bedrooms). She allowed herself the temptation. It seemed to her that since becoming severed, she was gradually coming undone. Like every brick of grit she had installed into herself since she was a child was crumbling.
The kitchen was annoyingly homely, tiled in cool whites with similar wooden tables and chairs and botanical platter offerings as the living room. Helena grabbed the first mug she saw and filled it with tap water, taking a survey of the other ephemera in the room, spotting cans, garnishes, fruits she had seen Gemma buy in the last few weeks. She could imagine Gemma moving about the cozy space as she cooked. Twirling, stirring, smiling. A quaint picture of marital bliss.
She opened the fridge and was quietly delighted when her eyes fell on the plate of fettuccine alfredo. The pale yellow noodles no longer brittle and hard, but limp and heaped in a pile on the plate, dotted with broccoli and bacon chunks. A rush ran down her spine, just like when she had first heard Gemma’s deep, velvety voice in the carpark. After a short consideration, she let herself reach in and pinch at a strand of fettuccine. It felt springy, greasy, slippery. It felt cold.
So Gemma liked her pasta al dente. Helena mused over the fact. She hadn’t had pasta in years. It wasn’t something she allowed herself. But imagining someone else cooking and eating it was often enough. Especially if the someone was – Helena thought it over. If the someone was pretty. And pretty in a way that looked kind. Like a fairy.
Helena found Gemma still fast asleep when she returned. She shook the woman’s shoulder lightly and was equally relieved and devastated that she stirred. “Drink some water,” she muttered, holding the mug of water under her lips. Gemma narrowed her groggy eyes at her, but took a few sips. She stiffened when Helena reached for a nearby blanket throw and draped it over her.
“Stop it,” she mumbled, half asleep.
“Stop what?”
“Stop being a person.” Helena’s hands froze a moment. She felt herself hurled back to the day she had tried to ruin everything. This vermin inside her head. She vividly remembered her burning hatred as she looked into the camera lens, as if looking into a mirror.
I am a person. You are not.
She shook the memory out of her head and tucked the blanket around Gemma’s shoulders.
“It’s autumn and I don’t need you freezing to death.” Gemma was falling back asleep again as she spoke, her long black eyelashes fluttering. Helena committed that detail to memory. To think about later.
“Who’s going to grocery shop with me if you die of hypothermia?” she added in a low whisper.
She watched Gemma sleep until her phone buzzed again to let her know the car was here. In those last few minutes, time seemed to stop.
𓃵
Gemma woke as incoming streams of sunlight flitted over her eyes. Her stomach and head churned with a dull, satisfying pain. For a time, she stayed lying down, thinking over the insane events of the night before.
She had been massively drunk for most of it, and whatever she could remember held a hazy edge. Did Helena Eagan really give me a ride home? she wondered.
She traced through her mind for more of what had happened. The encounter had only grown more and more bizarre. Gemma could not get the sight of Helena’s eyes out of her mind. They were sharp, astute, childlike even. She had been so gentle, helping her back in. No, it can’t be . Now sober, she recalled all of her hatred for Helena Eagan and Lumon. She could never forgive them, not for everything they had done to her.
Gemma wracked her mind again, questioning if she could have dreamt it all. Then she turned and saw the mug, still nearly full to the brim with water, and vividly recalled Helena feeding it to her.
She could not believe her mind. And then she could not stop thinking about it.
𓃵 to be continued 𓃵