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Officially, I was retired. Nobody reached out to Tattletale for help, or advice. I didn’t want to be found. They thought that because I wanted them to think that, and it suited me fine, for now, but I was never all that good with this kind of thing. Staying away, out of sight. Sure, I liked to pretend I was good at it, but people kept tracking me down.
That really said more about their ability than mine, but I’d been at this long enough to develop at least some humility. There were only so many excuses to give before I needed to level with myself and admit this just wasn’t my strong suit—and that wasn’t so hard anymore, not with the several reminders of my latest failure skittering across my scalp. They hid from the wind, using my hair as a shield, while she kept her full attention on me.
It would be so much easier to blame everything on Taylor—but she didn’t know any better. She only existed because of me and the enemies I’d made, and I only put up with her out of misplaced guilt. But that didn’t matter right now because I had a job to do; something to distract myself with. On just another boring day, on just another boring Earth, a package had arrived, and I’d been expecting it. This was the excuse I needed to escape the apartment, to get just one moment to myself.
Walking down the sidewalk of the moderately busy streets, I took my time navigating back home from the post office. The package was safe in my arms, held in front of me. I made sure not to send any deliveries to the apartment itself. We’d only just moved here, and I wanted to be absolutely sure we weren’t discovered just yet.
I turned the corner and strode closer to my building, ignoring the suspicious itch on my shoulder. The post office wasn’t too far away, within a block of the apartment. Close enough to prevent a worst-case scenario while still allowing the illusion of privacy for tasks like this. Just for a moment, I could be alone, I told myself. Nobody would watch me. Nobody out here would care about Lisa Wilbourn, or Tattletale. I could be someone unimportant to anyone. It was a nice fantasy to hold on to, just for a moment.
The insects following my every move made it hard to believe, even when I had a job to do.
I opened the door, climbed the steps and pressed the key into the slot of apartment 4A. And there I was, back in our new place, in the kitchen. Covered in dozens of bugs.
Home sweet home.
Almost everything was still in boxes, a consequence of the hurried move. And now, another box was here to join the collection. There never seemed to be enough time to unpack anything before moving to the next place, but that didn’t stop us from trying.
Presently, Taylor was in her bedroom putting her knick-knacks away. I heard the sounds of her shoving boxes across the floor, opening and closing drawers, and just generally organizing everything. She wanted to beat my expectations—to surpass what she thought I’d approve of and go the extra mile. That was precisely the problem with her, but in this case, it was mostly harmless.
I wondered, just for a moment, if she’d been doing that the entire time I was away. A quick glance at the door to my bedroom told me it’d been opened while I was gone—against what I’d asked her to do.
Shaking my head, I looked back down at the package. There wasn’t a point in getting upset with Taylor since she literally couldn’t stop herself. That was literally the point of everything I’d been doing for the past few months—but soon she’d have the tools to fight back against her programming.
Reaching over the counter, I grabbed a box cutter and pressed it into the sides of the package. All noise in the apartment abruptly stopped—the low droning cut to an eerie silence—in response to the ripping sound it made. Three or four of the spiders on my arms crawled down towards my hands in curiosity, wanting to see what I’d brought home.
“No, Taylor. Not yet,” I told them. “Keep busy in your room for now.” I didn’t pause my cutting, making quick work of the box.
Taylor’s door opened, and she stuck her head out.
“Lisa?” she asked.
I couldn’t help it; I rolled my eyes. She was really pushing it. Always testing my boundaries to see what she could get away with. I knew I shouldn’t let this go.
“Fine, fine,” I said, giving up anyway. There wasn’t a point in hiding anything from her.
She smiled as she fled her room and scampered to my side, like a puppy just so happy that her owner was home. “What did you pick up?”
“Just a little something.” Turning her way, I put on one of my favorite smiles. One that was just slightly playful, telling everyone I had a secret to share. “Tell me, Taylor: Have you been following your rules?”
She nodded. “I’ve done what you said—I haven’t spoken to anyone or attacked anyone. I kept most of my bugs to just us.”
That wasn’t what I’d asked her to do, but it was close enough. She had been good for the move, after all.
“Well, for such good behavior, I think you deserve a reward.” I pushed the open box into her eager hands. “It’s for you.”
She looked up at me, then down at the box, before reaching in and pulling out a camera; Polaroid, with film.
“Thank you.” She smiled as she began to fiddle with it, turning it around to take in each detail of her new toy. It had a neck strap that she eagerly wore like a necklace. “I love it!”
It was a simple gift. I didn’t have to think too hard about what to get her, considering her obsession. She needed to see me at all times, and I was determined to redirect this impulse into a healthier, more abstract outlet.
Photos. Pictures. Memories.
This way, she could rely on her photographs whenever I wasn’t around. We’d work together to recondition her, to overwrite her programming by exploiting a loophole. Hacking her brain.
Her orders were to know where I was at all times, and to constantly look for me when she didn’t. So from now on, instead of doing that, she’d have a different me. A photo—or several photos, given how happy she looked with her new gift. She held it in front of her, nervously feeling at the shutter button.
“Go ahead,” I told her, leaning against the wall, posing for her. “Take my picture.” I put my smile back on, only half realizing I’d let it drop.
Slowly, she raised the camera to her eye and held her breath. A moment passed, and a flash of bright light struck my eyes.
Click. Whir. Snap.
A blink later and Taylor was breathing heavily, watching as the film spat out an undeveloped photo. She let the camera dangle on the strap as she held the photo in her hand.
“How long will it take,” she asked, between breaths, “before I can see?”
“Around fifteen to thirty minutes, depending. Much quicker than traditional film.” And it was going to stay film. The last thing I needed were digital photos leaked online.
“Thank you so much, Lisa,” she said, looking back and forth between me and the photo in her hand. “This is spectacular! I can’t wait to see how it turns out.”
Obviously, it wouldn’t be the same as the genuine article, but this was step one in a multi-step plan. I was confident we could get this to work.
“How many pictures can I take?” Taylor asked as she dug around in the box for film cartridges.
“Eight per cartridge, and we’ve got five more of those,” I said as I turned away. This was such a good idea. Why hadn’t I done it earlier? It seemed so obvious, in retrospect.
Click. Whir. Snap.
Ah. Taylor was getting good use out of the camera already as she took a photo of my back. More precisely, of my ass. I really should have expected this. I had expected this, to an extent. I just overestimated her restraint.
“Wow,” Taylor whispered, before speaking up. “You look so wonderful, Lisa. I can’t wait to take so many more photos!”
Deep breaths, in and out, kept me calm.
“Don’t take too many at once,” I scolded her over my shoulder, as I opened the fridge, scanning for something to eat. Stress eating was my newest hobby. “And do you best to keep my thoughts in mind, too, alright?”
“Oh, I do,” she insisted. “You think lots of things, all the time. I want to capture everything you think—and feel. Every emotion.”
Arms wrapped around my midsection, pulling me away from the open fridge. Squeezing me tight. It felt nice, familiar. Comfortable. I closed my eyes and sighed.
Click. Whir. Snap.
“Perfect,” she whispered in my ear. “I can’t wait to see the picture.”
I should’ve pushed her away, told her no. Said this wasn’t how she was supposed to behave. But ever since that night not too long ago, I couldn’t do that anymore. I couldn’t lie to myself that this was all about helping her, that I didn’t want something out of this.
I was just using her, like I always did. With everyone.
“Alright, that’s enough of that,” I said with an even tone, burying my annoyance. To actually get her to listen, I’d have to bribe her. “Put the camera down, and I’ll let you hold me for a few minutes.”
She obeyed, placing it gingerly on the counter while still keeping one arm wrapped around my stomach. I raised a leg and kicked the fridge closed, before dragging Taylor along with me to the messy living room. The couch was the only thing not covered by anything, so I sat down, letting Taylor settle next to me.
I relaxed against her, and before I knew it, Taylor had pulled me down until my head lay on her lap. One arm snugged across my chest, while another slowly shifted through my hair. She was petting me.
“Just five minutes,” I told her, closing my eyes.
Her fingers played with my scalp, easing some of the stress away. “Five minutes,” she whispered back.
Good. That was good. I exhaled, loosening my body, sinking into the warmth of the women next to me. I’d let myself enjoy this moment of peace, while it lasted.
Click. Whir. Snap.
Damn it. No matter how angry I wanted to be, I kept myself calm. I breathed deeply, in and out. Taylor hadn’t disobeyed—she’d listened and put the camera down—but I hadn’t told her she couldn’t take pictures at all. She found a loophole, like she always did, and used her bugs.
How had she done it? I thought over how she’d placed it down to face the couch. Had she planned from the start? Probably. Yes.
What should I do?
I wouldn’t do anything. I wouldn’t react. I just kept my eyes closed and focused on the tender touch, losing myself further to a sudden exhaustion that had settled over me. This was so tiring—dealing with Taylor was so much work; so much effort just to get her to do anything she didn’t want to do.
And all she wanted to do was obsess over me. Her programming made sure of that. She was—or had been—helpless. That was what this whole camera thing was about; I wanted her to channel that obsession into something else. So, with her taking these photos, it seemed to be working. This was the plan.
Only… was that what I really wanted? It was certainly the best option for Taylor; she couldn’t rely on me forever. It wasn’t healthy, for either of us. But I’d been living with her for at least two years now, and she’d worn down my walls. I let her touch me—hold me—in ways nobody had in a long, long time. These tender moments, where she’d comfort me, were something I’d come to rely on, despite my efforts.
If I was more honest with myself, I’d say what I really wanted was a more manageable version of Taylor. I wanted the same level of care and attention, but with less obstinance and anxiety.
I just wanted some alone time. Taylor needed to learn how to be away from me, at least for a little while.
Click. Whir. Snap.
Another photo. I was sure something about how relaxed I looked appealed to Taylor. She always seemed to enjoy these moments more than I did. I hoped the photo helped her, somehow.
How long has it been? I wondered. It couldn’t have been five minutes yet. I wasn’t ready to get up. Was there actually anything left to do today? It couldn’t hurt to let her play with my hair, just a little longer.
Still, I opened my eyes and took in the smiling face above me—Taylor’s long, curly hair, her thin lips, her brown eyes. She was so, so familiar. But also so unlike the girl I’d known before.
For one, Taylor’s glasses were different. And she had no scars, anywhere. Her eyes had this intense energy behind them, slightly off from it should’ve been. She breathed too deeply, too quickly. Almost inhuman. Wrong.
But still so much Taylor that it hurt.
Her hand stilled in my hair as my lips curled down into a frown. But her smile only grew.
“Beautiful,” she said.
Click. Whir. Snap.
“Taylor,” I said, sitting up. “That’s enough.” I didn’t bother hiding my annoyance. She’d taken advantage of my lapse of control to capture my moment of vulnerability. Forever; on film. I’d been sharing too much of myself with her lately. This was a good reminder.
“Enough of what?” she asked, grabbing my hand, now that her arms were free. I almost didn’t let her.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about—don’t play dumb with me.”
“Okay.” Her smile didn’t dim at all, but she narrowed her eyes. She’d taken my words as a challenge. Letting go of my hand, she surprised me by standing up and walking away without being told to.
I suddenly felt alone, which confused me. I was all by myself on the couch, and it felt like she’d abandoned me. I did my best to tamper down that feeling as I watched her grab the camera and put the strap back around her neck. She let it hang there, against her chest, as she turned back to stare at me.
Normally, during lulls like this, I’d open my mouth and think out loud to kill time. I’d talk about the plans for the day, find something for Taylor to do, or figure out where we’d be running to next. But for once, I just sat there in silence—or as close to silence as Taylor allowed. There was always a low droning, some white noise. Nothing noticeable to those unaware, but I’d learned long ago how to notice when a swarm was under someone’s control.
“Lisa?” Taylor asked, breaking me from my thoughts. “Where should I put the photos, once they’re ready?”
“Anywhere you want them—within reason,” I said, already knowing she’d find some way to stretch that to the most ridiculous level. “But for most of them, you’ll probably need to make an album.”
The spider on my arm skittered in a circle, obviously happy with my answer.
“Will you help me with that?” she asked, quietly. She’d put a small tinge of uncertainty in her words, but I wasn’t sure how genuine it was, since she was still smiling just as wide. She stepped towards the nearest tower of boxes as she spoke, but kept her eyes on me.
“Of course,” I told her. “Should be fun. I’ve got some experience with album making.”
She suddenly went quiet. No; everything went quiet. The photos in her hand, still under-developed, were placed reverently on the closest box, before she fluttered her eyes at me and then back down at the floor in uncharacteristic shyness. Even the spiders on my limbs, and the bugs in my hair, went still.
“Do you—” she started to ask, fidgeting. “Do you have any old albums with you? With photos of… her?”
“No,” I snapped.
I didn’t need to ask who she meant, and I didn’t need to give an honest answer. The last thing she needed was more information on her original. That never ended well. And I didn’t owe her any of my own memories.
Every time she learned something new about her original, she’d force herself to match the new information out of some misguided attempt to please me. Sometimes it was a relatively small thing, like refusing to pick another name besides Taylor. Other times, it was something more serious.
A couple months back, she’d learned about her original’s exercise habit. That’d been annoying—seeing her act that way when she so obviously didn’t care—but Taylor had forced the idea, so she’d stuck with it. Mornings were still annoying, even now.
There was no telling what she’d latch on to, with a photo of Taylor Hebert. Or what assumptions she’d make. It was safer to just deny.
“Really?” Taylor asked. She sounded amused, like she was playing a game with me. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
She tilted her head, and her smile grew wider as she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper. Old printer paper, with color ink. Something from my room.
She opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, I marched into her personal space and snagged the thing from her hands.
She’d already seen it. She’d opened it, and then folded it backwards. She’d done it wrong and messed with the crease. One of the few images I kept on me, since I’d been on the run.
Unfolding it, carefully, I looked it over. It was intact, a candid photo of the Undersiders, way back when. All of us in costume: Me, Grue, Imp, Bitch, Regent… Skitter. Basically, an old wanted poster. Or an advertisement, depending on who you asked. I’d printed it out and kept it as a souvenir, all this time.
And now it was better kept in memory. I folded it closed, correctly this time, and shoved it in my pocket.
“I told you to stay out of my room,” I growled, turning to face the unrepentant thief.
She crossed her arms. “You lied to me.”
“You don’t get to do that, Taylor. You don’t get to turn this around on me.”
“I don’t get anything, especially not about her. You don’t let me.” She shined a grin at me, full of teeth.
That irritated me, so fucking much, and it was only compounded by the fact that she’d learned it from me.
“As if you ever do as you’re told,” I sassed, louder than before. “You never actually listen to me, Taylor. It’s just a game to you. All of it. You don’t care about why I tell you things, and you only pretend to follow my instructions while I’m watching!”
“Really?” she said, sarcastically. She was mocking me—she had to be. She’d heard me talk like that before, to others.
“Don’t even fucking start. You know what you did, and what you keep doing. You’re aware of each boundary you push past. And I let you get away with it because I care about you for—” I stopped, taking a breath, trying to calm myself down. I hadn’t been this angry in a long time, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to say anything else, out loud.
“But Lisa,” Taylor, sensing weakness, looking so relaxed while leaning against a tower of boxes, opened her mouth to say, “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You haven’t—are you serious?” Anger welled up from deep inside me, from all the frustration of the past few months, and each moment Taylor crushed my own feelings to soothe her own. “You want to learn, Taylor? Let’s start with boundaries, and how you’ve been stomping all over mine. There’s plenty to go over there. Like how you’re basically my live-in stalker. You’re always watching me, my every move. I can’t even use the bathroom alone!”
She stopped moving. “What’s important about the bathroom?”
I ignored her. “Do you know how fucked up that is, Taylor? Do you know how fucked up you are? You’re barely human—they didn’t even teach you how to breathe properly! You care more about knowing my exact location at all times than you do about breathing.”
“Sounds right.” She lifted the Polaroid to her face and peered at me through the viewfinder.
I tried to ignore her, but her words still hit me, feeding the flames of my anger. I was sure my face was red, and that my face was contorted into a scowl. But I didn’t care. I wanted to get this out before I thought better of it.
“You’re so shameless about everything. You leave clues deliberately, to let me know you’ve broken my rules. You want me to know. Because you’re fucking insane, Taylor. You’re obsessed with me beyond what’s naturally possible. And you don’t even want to get better. Not when you’re enjoying yourself so much, or whatever the closest emotion you know how to feel.”
Licking her lips, breath hitching, she tore herself away from the viewfinder to look into my eyes.
“I love you, Lisa.”
“No, you fucking don’t!”
Click. Whir. Snap.
And with that sound, the photo captured my anger, tearing it straight out of me. I deflated, stumbling backward, until my legs hit the couch and I sat down.
Taylor smiled at me, grabbing the photo from the camera, before lining up for another shot.
I was tired. Exhausted.
Click. Whir. Snap.
“That’s eight—a full cartridge,” she said, conversationally. Like I hadn’t just screamed at her. “This is the best gift ever!” The spiders on my arms spun in circles again.
She grabbed the final photo from the camera and set it down on the counter, which she’d migrated to while I was so distracted by my anger. All the photos were there, actually. Some of them were just about done developing.
Everything I’d said was true, but I’d forgotten the most important part: It wasn’t her fault. Taylor literally couldn’t help it, she wasn’t capable of understanding anything beyond her obsession. I couldn’t assign any intentions to her beyond what I could to a cell phone. And—unfortunately—I was the only one able and willing to help her become more than that.
It was a shit situation—and it was my fault. At the end of the day, Taylor wouldn’t have existed if I hadn’t made so many enemies.
So, I sat there and watched as Taylor sorted through the photos on the kitchen counter. I waited as they developed, and she picked out her favorites. I stayed still as she approached with them held tightly to her chest, and sat down next to me.
I listened as she talked into my ear, explaining the artistic merits of each moment captured on film. My strained smile, my ass, my perverse contentment or annoyance—my anger… and my tired surrender. Each moment mattered so much to her, for reasons I couldn’t really understand. I knew why, but it was so detached.
And then it clicked; this was my fault—and not just the whole clone thing—it was the camera. I’d thought it would train her to obsess over something else besides me, but instead, this encouraged her to see me as a subject to be documented.
I saw her as less than a person; she saw me as an object.
“I think this one is my favorite,” she said, drawing me back to the present as she shoved my angry, red face into my field of view. It was the moment I’d screamed at her—that I’d told her she didn’t love me.
“Why?” I asked.
She sighed, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and pulling me close. I let her, eager to feel the warmth. It would help me calm down.
“You were finally honest, even if you were mistaken.” She let the photo drop to my lap and twisted me around, pulling me onto hers.
I didn’t respond. There was no point. I just looked in her eyes, at the intense energy behind them, and waited for what I knew would come next.
Taylor smiled indulgently. “I love you, Lisa.”
There it was; the lie she liked to tell me. I felt a hint of that anger from before, still alive inside me, deep down. But this time, I just closed my eyes, and made sure my mouth stayed shut.