by Malone, Cara
Clark
Clark was sitting at the kitchen table, a laptop in front of him and his ID card printer to his right.
This was his third new identity, not counting the name on his birth certificate. This time he would be Mark Davis, a generic name he’d pulled from a quick thumb through the phonebook he’d found in the apartment when he moved in.
Before that, he was John Ferguson, which had turned out to be a waste of a perfectly good identity because he’d been entirely too impulsive. He never should have tried to take the girl on that stormy day. He wasn’t normally so fast to act. He studied all his potential friends first, got to know them, took his time to make sure they’d be a good match.
But when he picked her up, she was alone and wet, looking desperate, and there was just something about the storm that made Clark lose all his common sense.
She’d only been in his car for about ten minutes, and when the tornado siren started going off, the whole spontaneous plan went to hell. She ran away from him and he couldn’t even remember her name now. But just in case she remembered the one he’d given her, John Ferguson had to die.
At least it had been easy to ditch the car with so much chaos and destruction throughout the city.
Before John, he’d been Eddie Banks. Now, that name had served him well, like a lucky charm. It had brought Jenny to him, and before that, AJ and Belle.
Of course, all three of those friendships had soured in the end. He still hadn’t figured out how to keep the friends he made, but that was why he was trying again now. As his mother always said, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.
“I’m gonna get it right, Mom,” he said to the empty apartment as the completed photo ID popped out of the card printer. Best twenty bucks he’d ever spent at an auction for a school that had been closing.
He held the new card up to the light, scrutinizing it and trying to get used to the name at the same time. The forgery wouldn’t convince a cop if he got pulled over, but he knew from experience it was a good enough job to help him create a new rideshare account so he could start over.
“Hi, I’m Mark,” he said. “Mark Davis, Mark Davis, Mark Davis.”
He’d repeat the new name until it rolled off his tongue automatically. Right now he didn’t feel much like a Mark, but he’d never felt like a Clark, either. His mother had always loved it—he was named after Clark Kent, Superman, a legacy he never stood a chance of living up to.
But his mom wasn’t around anymore, and neither was Clark. He was Mark now, hopefully forever this time.
He slipped the new ID into his wallet. He needed to make a new rideshare account next, but the ID had taken most of the morning and he was hungry now. That step could wait until after lunch.
He disconnected the printer from his laptop and decided that while he tidied up and made lunch, he would scan the local news sites. He wasn’t worried about his latest failed friendship—good luck tracking down John Ferguson—but his mother had taught him to always keep a finger on the pulse of the city. When your bread and butter is illegal—counterfeit money for her, fake identities for him—you need to know what’s going on around you.
She’d let down her guard, got cocky, and now she was in jail. That wasn’t going to happen to him.
He found a website that was streaming the twelve o’clock news and watched while he tucked the ID printer into a kitchen cabinet with a false back that he’d built just for that purpose. Then he got out bread, lunchmeat and mustard and started assembling a sandwich.
With his back to the table, he listened to the newscaster talking about the week’s weather forecast: rain, like they’d been having off and on for weeks now. There was a call for volunteers to help clean up downed tree limbs at a playground, and then something that made Clark forget about his sandwich entirely.
“Have you ever considered whether your rideshare app is safe?” the newscaster asked. “We spoke with one woman who had a harrowing experience during the tornado three weeks ago. Sharon?”
Clark spun around, eyes glued to the laptop screen and his heart climbing into his throat. Don’t let it be her, he thought, let it be someone else…
The newscaster named Sharon was a blonde with 1980s hair, who was sitting on a set made to look like a living room. Across from her was the young woman Clark had picked up the day of the tornado.
Oh, fudge.
He tried to calm his racing pulse by reminding himself that she knew him by an alias he’d already discarded. She’d ridden in a car that he’d abandoned in a bad neighborhood, with the keys in the ignition. She couldn’t track him down. If there was a remote chance, he’d have heard from the police by now instead of seeing her on a news show.
Just relax, Clark, err, Mark, he told himself as he sank down into his chair again, pulling the laptop closer to himself.
“You’ve asked not to be named because your attacker is still at large,” Sharon said. “Is that right?”
Clark’s would-be friend nodded. “That’s right, thank you.”
“No, thank you for sharing your story,” Sharon said. What a suck-up. Clark rolled his eyes. “Please, tell us what happened.”
If there had even been a shadow of a doubt in his mind that this was the same girl he’d picked up, it was obliterated as he listened to her tell her version of events. The chronology and the details were the same—but her perception was all wrong. She told Sharon about the terror she’d experienced, how much danger she’d been in, and not just from the tornado.
How could she misunderstand him so badly? Why did they all misunderstand him and fight him until something bad happened?
“He grabbed me… abducted… screamed for help… thought I was going to die.” Clark was only partly listening now, but none of the things she was saying made sense and he was stunned to hear her side of the story.
Yes, he knew that his friends wanted to live their own lives. He knew Jenny hadn’t wanted to stay in that storage unit and that this girl had resisted when he tried to bring her to an abandoned building he knew of where they could weather the storm. But he also knew better than them.
Jenny had been a drug addict. She needed to detox and the only way it was going to happen was if Clark helped her.
And this girl was too stupid for her own good. She didn’t even have the sense to take shelter in the middle of a tornado!
He was helping them, damn it.
He was grinding his teeth by the time the interview ended with Sharon offering up tips for safe ridesharing. It was dumb stuff, like comparing the details on the app to the person who shows up. Stuff that wouldn’t have helped any of Clark’s friends because he was a legitimate rideshare driver. The news wasn’t actually meant to help people—it was entertainment with a side of shock value. Sharon didn’t care if her viewers practiced safe rideshare tactics. In fact, it was better for her reporting if bad things kept happening to people.
When Sharon turned things back over to the studio, the anchor asked, “Do the police have any leads on this rideshare imposter?”
“No, it seems he signed up under a false name, and so far there’s been no luck tracking down his car,” Sharon said. “One good thing is that the rideshare company has been notified and his account has been suspended.”
Sure, John Ferguson’s has. Clark never actually bothered to check—he just assumed it would be shut down, and even if it wasn’t, it would be too dangerous for him to use again. It didn’t matter to him at all, though. In a few hours, Mark Davis would be ready to hit the streets.
He’d just have to be more careful this time, choose his friends more wisely and take his time.
He’d get it right eventually.
16
Simone
At the end of week three, post-tornado, things around Fox City were finally starting to feel normal again. Simone had headed up the playground clean-up project that was one of the last items on her firehouse’s to-do list, and between the probies and an army of volunteers who’d show
ed up, it hadn’t taken long at all.
Of course, those who had lost loved ones, personal property, their homes, were on a much longer path back to normalcy.
But at least things weren’t feeling so grim anymore. The sun had even started to shine again after a very long rainy stretch. That was what inspired Simone to call Amelia in the evening when the playground clean-up was complete.
“What are you doing tonight?” she asked when Amelia picked up.
“Nothing so far, but I have a feeling you’re about to change that.”
“Only if you’re up for it,” Simone said. “I know you’ve been crazy busy at work, but I do have an idea to help you blow off some steam.”
“I like the sound of that,” Amelia answered, and Simone grinned.
She’d seen the playfulness in Amelia’s eyes when they were at the firehouse and Simone had coaxed her down the fire pole. Amelia may have put up a fight at first and objected on the grounds of her wardrobe, but there was a little kid inside her begging to come out and play. And that was exactly what Simone had in mind.
“What time do you get off work?” she asked.
“In half an hour,” Amelia said. “What are we doing?”
“It’s a surprise,” Simone said. “Wear something casual, pants. And no heels.”
They arranged for Simone to pick Amelia up at her place at six. That gave Simone the perfect amount of time to go back to her apartment, shower and change into something a little less utilitarian than her station uniform. She ended up in a pair of jeans and a V-neck tee, with an olive-green bomber jacket draped over her arm just in case it got cold.
She drove over to the address Amelia texted her, which turned out to be a classic-looking two-story farmhouse in a suburban neighborhood. It was a far cry from the ten-story apartment building Simone lived in within walking distance of the firehouse, and it reminded her of their ten-year age gap. Not that it was a bad thing—Simone had dated women who were younger than herself, who did not have their shit together, and she wasn’t looking for that kind of drama anymore.
She just hoped that Amelia was into whatever drama Simone brought into her life.
She pulled up the drive and rang the doorbell. When Amelia answered, she was in a striped T-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, looking elegant and gorgeous as always. Simone took her hand, then pulled Amelia closer. She wrapped one arm around the small of her back and greeted her with a kiss.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for an eternity,” she sighed when the kiss ended.
“I’m glad you did,” Amelia answered. “So, am I dressed appropriately?”
“You look perfect,” Simone said, offering Amelia her arm. They walked down the sidewalk to her car, and once they got back on the road, Simone commented, “That’s some house you’ve got.”
Amelia’s cheeks colored. “It’s too much house, honestly. I love it, but I don’t think I would have chosen it for myself.”
A little surge of jealousy rose in Simone’s belly as she imagined Amelia with some other woman, in some past life, house shopping and settling on that farmhouse. “Did a previous partner choose it?”
Amelia laughed and shook her head. “No, nothing like that. It’s the house I grew up in. When my parents passed, they willed it to my sister and me. We both agreed that we couldn’t bring ourselves to put it up for sale, and since I still live in the area and my sister doesn’t, I bought her out.”
“Oh, I’m sorry about your parents,” Simone said. “How long ago did they pass?”
“It’s been about ten years now,” Amelia said. “Dad went first, his heart, and Mom passed a few years later. I think she missed him too much.”
“That’s morbidly sweet,” Simone said. “They were deeply in love, huh?”
“Yeah, my sister and I were lucky to have them as an example. She’s happily married now, and I’m married to my work,” Amelia laughed. “Tell me about your family.”
Simone snorted. “Nothing so fairy-tale as that. My folks divorced when I was in middle school. Dad moved away, I talk to him a few times a year. Mom still lives in the area, and she’s remarried now. She’s happy.”
“That’s good. Siblings?”
“Just me.”
“Sometimes I wished to be an only child when I was younger,” Amelia admitted. “Little sisters are such a pain in the ass. But we get along well now. Anyway, where are we going?”
Simone smiled wide. “I had a sort of corny idea, but I hope you’ll like it.”
“I like corny,” Amelia promised.
Simone told her about the clean-up efforts at the playground, and by the time she finished explaining, they’d arrived. It was dusk, the new saplings the volunteers had planted just visible in the diminishing light, and Simone parked on the street to avoid drawing attention to themselves.
“Full disclosure,” she said as she opened Amelia’s car door for her, “the playground closes at sunset so we’re technically doing something illegal. If you’re not feeling like a rebel tonight, we can go to a restaurant and have a more conventional date.”
Amelia took Simone’s hand as she stepped out of the car, and didn’t let go. Her skin was soft and warm, and there was a glimmer in her eyes. “Let’s walk on the wild side.”
“Are you sure?” Simone teased. “I wouldn’t want to be a bad influence.”
“I think it’s a little late for that,” Amelia said. Then she released Simone’s hand and took off running. “Last one down the slide’s a rotten egg!”
Simone laughed and gave chase. While Amelia scrambled up a rope ladder and headed for the top of the slide, Simone took a shortcut and ran up the bottom of it. They met in the middle, where Simone planted a sloppy kiss on Amelia and promptly lost her footing. Amelia shrieked and grabbed her, and they somehow made it to the bottom with life and limb intact.
“Let me guess, when you were little, you were the kid with perpetually skinned knees who was always trying to do a three-sixty loop on the swings,” Amelia said with a laugh.
“Nailed it,” Simone said. “And now I run into burning buildings for a living, so I guess I haven’t changed all that much.” She was in no hurry to get off the slide and out of Amelia’s arms. “What about you? What were you like as a kid?”
“Guess.”
“Hmm…” Simone trailed one finger up Amelia’s thigh, over her shorts and up to her waist. “I bet you were the kid who brought a book to recess.”
She dug her fingers into Amelia’s side, tickling her. Amelia squirmed beneath her, body pressing against Simone’s in a dozen tantalizing ways.
“Well?” Simone asked, not letting up on the tickles but demanding an answer anyway. “Am I right?”
“Yes, yes!” Amelia relented in gasps that bordered on not-playground-friendly. That sound was giving Simone ideas for the rest of the evening, but before she could comment on them, Amelia tore out of her arms and popped to her feet. “Come on, I’ll push you on the swing set. We’ll get you over the top bar.”
She grabbed Simone’s hand, pulling her to her feet. Simone laughed. “It’s not possible.”
“Maybe not,” Amelia said. “But we gotta try.”
They took the monkey bars over to the swings, and it was really a treat to see Amelia completely let go of her serious, professional working woman persona. The more they played, the younger and happier she seemed, and pride swelled in Simone’s belly at knowing she was the cause.
Neither of them ended up making a complete loop on the swings, despite their best efforts. It was still, tragically, an impossibility according to the laws of physics. Once they’d tired themselves out trying, they ended up swinging lazily next to each other and just talking. Eventually, the conversation turned to work.
“I talked to Tom earlier today,” Amelia said. “There’s news on the Megan Hunter case.”
“Her family took her home, right?” Simone asked. “And you had Tom look into something to do with her eye color?”
Amelia had
been keeping Simone in the loop whenever her schedule allowed, although all that stuff about genetics and recessive genes and alleles that Amelia had tried to explain to her had gone over her head. She’d learned all that in high school biology, then promptly forgot it once the class was over.
“He had a hunch based on how they were acting in the viewing room that if Bill Hunter wasn’t Megan’s father, he might not know it,” Amelia explained, “so he made an excuse to speak to Nancy alone and asked her.”
“What did she say?”
“She got pregnant in her final semester of college, and even though she was monogamous with Bill when they were dating, they’d broken up over the winter break and there had been another guy,” Amelia said. “Bill popped the question when he found out, and she knew she wanted to marry him so she never told him.”
“Does she know which man is the father?” Simone asked.
Amelia shook her head. “Get this: she doesn’t even know the name of the other guy. They met at a party and she never saw him again. But guess who has brown eyes?”
“Cal Thomas,” Simone said.
Amelia looked impressed. “You could be a detective.”
“My talents are in the firehouse,” Simone said. “But a lot of people have brown eyes. I do.”
Amelia nodded. “Tom’s working on covertly acquiring DNA from Cal to do a paternity test. If he’s her father, we’ll know why she was at his house that morning.”
“Do you think he knew about her?” Simone wondered.
“He claimed he didn’t recognize her,” Amelia pointed out.
“It wouldn’t be out of the question to lie about something like that, though,” Simone argued back. “Your whole house gets ripped apart, you probably don’t want your wife and kid finding out that you have another child on the same day.”
“True, but Nancy Hunter seemed pretty motivated to keep her own husband from finding out,” Amelia said. “I bet she kept that secret pretty closely guarded.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time in the history of the world that a woman got pregnant and decided the father wasn’t dad material,” Simone said. She reached across the swings and took Amelia’s hand, squeezing it. “Okay, that’s enough depressing shit for our first date. Push me across the zipline and we’ll find out if I exceed the weight limit.”
