The Landovers by Frederick K Foote

I’m Lloyd Landover (aka Low), and this is the first day of high school for my twin sister Linda (aka Falling Down Girl) and me.

Our Mom is Lidia Landover, and she works with numbers for the federal government. She’s not a mathematician, statistician, physicist, astronomer, actuary, or accountant.

Mom doesn’t solve math problems. She doesn’t create theories based on math. She plays very intently with every level of math, and somewhere in the results are stuff the government really wants. She calls her work “math doodling.” 

Mom is a national security asset, and we have 24/7 government security.

You know what’s so weird is Mom is not really that good at household or everyday math.

Our dad, Horace Landover, split when my sister and I were three.

Dad disappeared shortly after he deserted us. The traitorous bastard.

We usually walk a mile and a half to school along with other kids from our neighborhoods.

Our security rolls along behind us like a shadow in their black SUV.

“Okay, you two know you are my pride and joy, and I know you will make every effort to be the best students you can be. I love you so much.”

And then Mom kisses each of us on the cheek, leaving bright red lipstick prints. I hate this ritual.  

We scrub the lipstick off each other and dash for the front door before Mom showers us with more kisses and hugs.

Linda promptly trips on the doorstep and tumbles down our three steps. She bounces up with, “Yippie-yo.”

“Sis, how come you never break your face or bones and just end up with a few scratches and bruises when you fall?”

“Low, you ask me that all the time. I lean into the fall. I release myself into the fall. And the fall protects me, okay. That’s the last time I’m going to answer that question from you, brother.”

“Sis, I keep asking, because I never really understand your answer.”

Linda will fall at least three more times before we reach school. Hence her nickname, Falling Down Girl.

Here’s what Linda told our shrink about her falling down just two weeks ago.

“Dr. Shroder, when people fall, there is an instant when they recognize they have lost control. It is an absolutely amazing moment when anything is possible because we know that we control nothing. We are responsible for nothing. And I’m like an astronaut; I’m exploring that magic few seconds. That’s why I fall.”

“Aahh, Linda, that is extraordinary.  And what do you expect to find in your explorations?”

Linda turned briefly to me and turned back to the doctor and said, “Our father and maybe the origins of the world. Everything, I will know everything.”

Weird, right? I mean, what can you do with that?

“Sis, what happens to you when you find Dad and the meaning of everything?”

I asked that in the same therapy session.

Linda smiled at me and said, “Why should anything happen to me?”

And I knew in that instant that if Linda discovered the meaning of everything, it would be the end of atoms, space, energy, time, everything. I looked at Doctor Schroeder, and he knew it too.

I locked eyes with my sister, and she understood that I realized that she knew her discovery would end everything.

She said, “Oh my, gee, our time is up.” And we left.

Sometimes I know things. I don’t know how, but I do.

We reached campus, where my sister splits off to the science building, and I head to the arts building, and, as always, she grabs my arm and kisses me on the cheek just like our mother does.

I hate damn cheek kisses. She and Mom know I do.

One time Linda did this, I grabbed her breast.

She said, “Oh, Low, if you like me like that, you have to tell me so I can wear appropriate clothing.”

What am I supposed to do with that?

I looked up, and there was this girl walking directly toward me. She was not a White girl. She was not a Black girl. She wasn’t a member of any ethnic group, or a mix of ethnic groups, that I had ever seen.

My family is Black, White, and Southeast Asian. And she didn’t appear to come from any of our ethnic group mixtures.

She was about 5 feet 8 inches tall with brown skin and hair, blonde eyebrows, and lashes. She had deer eyes, plump lips, and a long face.

“Hi, are you Low, Falling Down Girls’ brother?”

“Yeah. Who are you? Are you new here?”

“I’m Nord. I’m new to you, but I’m very old. But I have a message for you that is timely. An important message.”

“From who? Who sent you?”

And I had one of my feelings again; I didn’t want to know who sent her. I desperately did not want to know who or what had sent her.

She smiled, and I grasped that she knew that I didn’t want her to answer that question.

“You are going to confront great evil. Prepare. Be alert.”

“That’s the message? When is this going to happen? What is the evil? Who are you again?”

“Soon, probably in the next 24 hours.”

“You can’t just drop that kind of H-bomb on me. Who are you?”

“I’m just a messenger, Low. Hey, would you tell your sister she has many followers across the universes?”

“What! What the—Nord, you have amazing eyebrows. They look like comic book bolts of lightning.”

What happened? I jumped off topic. I must be losing my mind.

“Thank you, Low. Good luck confronting evil.”

“Wait, wait, you said Linda has followers across universes? Is that what you said?”

But Nord was fading away in front of my eyes.

The rest of the day blurred by.

Walking home with Linda, she said. “Today I had two, not one, but two excellent falls. Are you proud of me?”

“Did you know you had followers across universes?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“No, Linda, I’m for real. I heard you have followers in different universes.”

“I do. Who was that odd-looking creature you were talking to this morning?”

“What?”

“The universe jumper. What was it doing here?”

Linda tripped on an uneven bit of sidewalk and face-planted on the concrete. Blood was everywhere.

Our security guards rushed us to the emergency room. A split lip, a broken nose, a chipped tooth, five stitches on her forehead, and a concussion.

The hospital admitted Linda after she slipped into a coma. Mom and I split two-hour shifts there.

During my 2:00 AM watch, I dozed off for a moment and jerked awake to see our father sitting on Linda’s bed, holding her hand and stroking her hair.

“Hello, Lloyd. I’m dead, but you already know that. The government ‘retired’ me after they split your Mom and I up. I’m here to tell you Linda is almost there. She’s nearly understanding everything. You know what that means.”

I pinched myself. I closed my eyes. I opened my eyes. I pinched myself again, and he was still there. Of course, I knew he was dead. I just could never admit it to myself.

“It’s your decision, son. It’s up to you. I would do it, but she has too many followers and too much power. Your mother can’t do it. She tried.”

“Mom didn’t try to kill Linda. She would never do that. Never!”

And, of course, I knew he was telling the truth.

“My sister is the evil that I have to confront? She’s not evil, Dad, never.”

“You’re right, Son. She’s riding a track that she can’t get off. No matter how hard she tries. But you, you have a choice, and that makes you the evil you have to confront. There’s a scalpel on the tray by the bed. She won’t fight you–much.”

Now what am I supposed to do with that?

My family’s not religious. I don’t even know how to pray.

I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I do know that at this moment I have the evil in me.

I can kill my own defenseless sister.

It’s not fair that I have to make this decision to kill someone I love. It’s not fair at all. I don’t want to do evil.

But I know I can.

Later, Nord shows up and tells me what I had guessed. My sister sent Nord to warn me.

In my own mind, I like to think that I am not an evil person; even if I did evil, it was for a good and necessary reason.

However, Nord says most of my followers across the universes disagree with that assessment.

I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with that.

Frederick K Foote

Image by Adam Brożyński from Pixabay— A steel scalpel on a black background