The Third Twin

by Cj Omololu

  Zane slows and pulls into an open parking spot down the street from his building. “You have other plans?”

  “I shouldn’t have called you,” I say, regretting letting him in this far. If he wasn’t involved before, he is now. “If the police catch you helping me, you could go to jail too.”

  “I’d be pissed if I found out you were in this much trouble and didn’t call me,” he says, opening the car door. The street is empty this late. “Look, Dad’s not going to be home until morning. He’s been taking overnight shifts in the cab. It’s after one—there’s nothing else you can do tonight. At least come in and let’s figure out what our next move should be.” He tosses his keys into the storage space under the armrest and shuts the door.

  “You’re leaving your keys?” I ask as I get out and shut my door.

  He pulls the surfboard out of the back. “Yeah. I lose the car keys all the time—this way I know where they are. Nobody’s going to steal a fifteen-year-old van. And if they do, they’ll be doing me a favor.”

  I follow him onto the sidewalk, feeling like eyes are watching from every curtained window. “What if you get caught? What if the cops find me here?”

  Zane looks up at the building. Most of the windows are dark. “How are they going to find out? I’m not on your dad’s radar anymore, and it’ll be tomorrow before they can trace your phone calls.” He heads for his apartment. “And besides, where else are you going to go?”

  I hate to admit he’s right, so I don’t say anything, just follow him toward the apartment building. The metal gate to the courtyard clangs behind us and makes me jump, but there’s no other movement as we walk up the concrete steps to the second floor.

  “Come on in,” Zane says, unlocking the door and holding it for me.

  From the second I walk in, I can tell that only guys live here. Not that it’s messy. It’s just that it’s full of necessities and nothing else—no pictures on the walls, unless you count surfing posters and a calendar from last year. The main decoration is a giant bookcase against one wall that holds years of gold surfing trophies of all sizes, behind a plaid couch that’s probably older than I am. Zane looks around as if seeing the apartment for the first time. “It’s not much,” he admits.

  “It’s fine,” I say, grateful to have four relatively safe walls around me for the moment. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

  Zane puts the surfboard against the wall and takes a few steps into the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Do you want something to drink?” He’s suddenly strangely formal and uncomfortable.

  “No.” I look down at my pants. Even though I can’t see it, I know that they’re covered in dried blood. Eli’s blood. I choke back emotion as I picture Eli on the ground—I have to keep it together. If I lose it, I can’t help anyone, not even myself. “Can I … Do you mind if I take a shower?”

  “Sure!” Zane rushes into the hallway and pulls a faded red towel out of a cupboard. “There’s some shampoo and stuff in there already. Probably not what you’re used to, but it should be okay.”

  “I just want to get out of these clothes,” I say. “Do you have some sweats or something I could borrow?”

  “Everything’s going to be too big,” Zane says, walking into his bedroom. It’s surprisingly neat, and I’m a little shocked to find that his bed is actually made. He moves a heavy duffel bag from in front of the dresser and shoves it into the closet. “Here’s a pair,” he says, pulling some gray sweats out of a drawer. “You can roll these to make them shorter.” He dives back into the drawer and comes up with a blue T-shirt from a Baja surf competition. “This was always too small.”

  “Thanks,” I say, clutching the clothes and walking into the bathroom. After I shut the door, I realize that underneath the scent of laundry detergent, the shirt smells like Zane, and before I can stop myself, I bury my face in it and breathe deep. Like surfing and summer. And now safety.

  I turn the water as hot as I can stand it, steaming up the small room within seconds. Long after my hair is washed and the dried blood is gone from my legs, I stand under the pounding spray, my normally whirling thoughts a total blank. After putting on Zane’s sweats and shirt, I find a comb in the drawer and tease the knots out of my wet hair. I look like a wreck, but I feel a little better. Almost like I can handle whatever comes next. I pull my stray hairs out of his comb and am opening the drawer to put it back, when I notice a letter stuffed into the corner of the drawer. I pull it out and see the red-and-black logo of San Diego State.

  I glance at the lock on the door. I really shouldn’t be snooping in his stuff, not when he’s been so great about everything. The envelope’s already open, so it’s not like I’m breaking and entering. This is just entering. Or removing. I pull the letter out and scan it quickly. Dear Zane … pleased to offer you … congratulations. I look at the letter in disbelief. He got in. And never even mentioned it.

  When I walk into his room, Zane’s lying on his bed watching the little TV that sits on the dresser. It’s a queen-sized mattress, but he’s so tall his feet still dangle off the end. When he sees me, he jumps up and clicks it off, but not before I see that he’s watching the twenty-four-hour news channel.

  “Is there anything about …?” I ask, staring at the black screen.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. He holds out a still-steaming mug. “I found some hot chocolate with the little marshmallows that you used to like.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” I say. “If I’m going to fix this, I need to know what they know. Was there anything on the news about Eli?”

  I can see Zane’s jaw tighten as he tries to decide what to tell me. I reach for the remote.

  “Okay. Okay,” he says. “I’ll tell you, but you don’t want to turn that on.” He sits back down on the bed. “They’re looking for you,” he confirms. “Had your picture up on the screen and everything.”

  I sit down next to him. Collapse, is more like it. I knew they were going to think it was me, but it’s still hard to hear. “What did they say?”

  “They didn’t show much—just a bunch of flashing lights. But they interviewed one of the detectives. Lex.” He turns to me, his face serious. “They said that you should be considered armed and dangerous.”

  I bite the inside of my lip. “That means they’re not even looking for anyone else.” I glance at the dark TV. “Did they mention you?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Rose would never give us up.”

  “We can hope.”

  Zane hesitates. “They …” I can see that he doesn’t want to tell me.

  “What? Zane, you have to be honest with me.”

  He swallows hard. “They showed video of Ava talking to the police. She looked really upset and was gesturing to the cops.”

  “Did they arrest her?”

  “No,” he says. “They interviewed her. On the news. It was quick, but she was asking you to turn yourself in.”

  I get back up and start pacing the small room. “Liar! After everything I did, she’s still going to pin this on me! I can’t … I can’t …” I’m so angry, I can’t even form words, just point to the darkened screen. “She’s right there! Talking to reporters like she’s totally innocent.” I tried to protect her, and look where it got me. I should have told the police what I thought before it was too late—they’ll never believe me now. The reality of what she’s done washes over me, and tears fill my eyes. I wonder if Eli saw her in the alley—if he thought for a split second that it was me who did that to him.

  I sit down and put my head in my hands, not even trying to stop the tears that flow through my fingers. Eli’s gone, and Ava’s the reason why. It almost feels like she’s dead too.

  What if Ava figures out I called you?”

  Zane smiles. “Honestly, we’re not that close.”

  “Seriously! What if—”

  “Stop,” he interrrupts. “Let me worry about that. We’ll be fine here until morning.”

  Zane doesn’t say anyt
hing more, just moves closer and puts his arm around me. When the shaking stops and the sobs are coming more slowly, I wipe my eyes on the edge of the T-shirt I’m wearing. I lean into Zane, feeling his chest rise and fall with every breath.

  “Eli seemed like a great guy,” he says quietly.

  “He is.” I sit up and wipe the last of the tears off my face. “He was. Which is why I have to find Ava and make this stop. I know it sounds crazy. I know that nobody will believe me—”

  “I believe you,” Zane says simply.

  I smile at him, his words dissolving the anger that was starting to rise again. He doesn’t have to believe me. He didn’t have to come get me. But he did, and I should be grateful. “Thanks. But now what do I do? The entire world thinks I’m a killer. Because the real killer looks just like me.”

  “Not just like you.”

  There’s something in his voice that makes me hesitate. “You don’t think Ava did this, do you?” I ask.

  He looks up at me, his brown eyes intense. “I don’t know,” he admits. When he sees the look on my face, he continues quickly. “But I know you didn’t—and that we need to find the person who did.”

  I want to agree with him. I want to nurture the tiny nugget of doubt that’s sitting in my heart and find out that Ava isn’t this person she’s become in my head, this stranger who is capable of things I never even considered possible.

  Zane sets his phone on the dresser. “It’s too late tonight, but I’ll text around first thing in the morning to see what people know. We’ll come up with a plan, I promise.”

  I feel antsy, like I should be doing something instead of just sitting here, waiting to get caught. “What about school?” I say. “I mean for you. I don’t want you to miss any on my account.”

  “I feel a sick day coming on,” Zane says. “Maybe a couple of them.”

  I glance at the envelope that’s still in my hand.

  “Where did you get that?” Zane asks, unable to hide his irritation.

  I gesture toward the door. “It was in the bathroom. I wasn’t snooping.” I hold it up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Zane leans over and takes the envelope out of my hands. “Never came up.”

  “After all my talk about not getting into Stanford, it never came up?”

  He shoves it into the bedside table drawer. “Doesn’t matter, because I’m not going.”

  “Not going? How can you get in and not go?”

  Zane turns on me. “I want to focus on surfing right now and see what happens with that. State will always be there.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “But you got in! To college.”

  “So?” He squints up at me, and the expression on his face hardens. “You didn’t think I was smart enough. You didn’t think that some idiot surfer could actually get into a university.”

  “I …” I try to refute him but as I look at him, I know I can’t. I know he’s smart. I just never thought he’d go to college.

  Zane slams the TV remote onto his bed. “You always have to put people into little labeled boxes.” His eyes are flashing in anger. “The pretty one. The smart one. The surfer. The jock.” He walks up to me so forcefully that I take a step backward. “The rock star. And your world is totally out of order if one of those people tries to step out of that box. Even you.” He tosses one arm out to the side. “You’re so busy being Stanford material that you can’t see what’s in front of your face. What’s been in front of your face for years—ever since we were little.”

  I look up at him—he’s easily a foot taller than I am. I’m not afraid, just a little confused. And ashamed—whether or not he goes to college is none of my business. “What are you talking about?”

  Zane reaches down and strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. The air around us is thick and humming, and for a moment I imagine him bending down to kiss me. “You really don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

  The tenderness in his voice makes my legs feel weak. Zane turns away, the tension between us broken, and I’m staring at the veins that run down his neck and into his collarbone. I want to reach out to him, to answer him, but suddenly I’m so tired, I can barely stand. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. They’re only two words, but they cover a multitude of sins right now.

  Instead of answering me, Zane turns and pulls the covers off his bed. A sense of anticipation runs through me as I watch the muscles in his back bend and flex under his shirt. Zane spends so much time in surf trunks that when he’s fully dressed, it looks a little staged, like he’s wearing a costume.

  “Get some sleep,” he says quietly, all traces of anger gone.

  I climb into the plaid flannel sheets, a mystifying sense of disappointment lurking inside.

  He pulls the comforter up to my chin. “I’m going into the other room for a little while, but I’ll be back soon.”

  “Okay,” I answer, burying myself into sheets that carry his scent. I hear the door close and think that there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep, but I’m wrong. I must have dozed off, because the next thing I know, the room is dark and the mattress is shifting with Zane’s weight as he settles in beside me. His motions are smooth and quiet, and I know he thinks I’m asleep as he slides one arm under his pillow just like he did when we had sleepovers at my house so many years ago. I can feel the cold few inches he’s left between us like an icy river. The warmth from his body radiates across the space, and I’m suddenly so sad and lonely that I ache inside. Zane hesitates as I push my back up against his chest, fitting my body into the space made by his, the rhythm of his heart beating against my spine. Just for tonight, I want to feel his warmth and share his strength. He pauses, motionless for a few seconds, then gently puts one arm around me, and I feel him relax as he pulls me toward him, the two of us pressed up against each other in the middle of his big, wide bed.

  There’s a phone ringing in the distance when I open my eyes the next morning. A feeling of dread has settled in my chest, and it takes a few seconds for what happened last night to tumble into reality—the club, the blood on my hands, Topsy’s Diner. And Zane.

  The light coming through the crack in the curtains is gray, and his room is still bathed in shadow as I sit up and try to get my bearings. His side of the bed is empty, and when I reach over, the tangle of sheets is cold to the touch. The phone is still ringing, and I can tell by the echo that I’m alone in the apartment. I creep out of bed and open the door a crack, just in time to hear the answering machine pick up.

  “Zane! What the fuck? You’re not picking up your phone—where the hell are you? Carlos called and said that you never showed up for the flight. They’re halfway to Tahiti by now … without you. Don’t blow this shit, dude. This is a big fucking deal! Call me. Now!”

  Whoever’s on the other end of the line slams the phone down, and I hear a loud dial tone until the machine clicks off. Tahiti. The tour! I try to remember when Zane said he was leaving, and then duck back into the bedroom and fling open the closet door. There on the floor is the duffel bag that he shoved in there last night. I pull it out and look inside. There are neatly stacked T-shirts and shorts, along with flip-flops and surf trunks. He was all packed to go. My heart races with panic. Where could he have gone so early in the morning? Did he change his mind and bail on me? What if he decides to turn me in?

  I dash out to the living room, grab the phone, bring it back to Zane’s room, and close the door. I stare at the receiver, knowing it can connect me to anyone in the world but that there’s nobody left who can help me. A tear falls down my cheek as I think about everything I’ve lost. About what Dad must be going through right now. I can’t help it, I have to talk to him.

  I dial the number to the phone he keeps in his office. At least if he’s not there, I can hear his voice on his message. I’m almost shocked when I hear his deep voice say, “Hello?”

  “Daddy?” I whisper, as if anyone who’s listening on the other end can’t hear me if I’m quiet.

/>   “Phil!” Dad says a little too loudly.

  “It’s Lexi. I … I need to talk to you.”

  “I know,” he says. “Yes, we’re all worried, but we have no idea where she is.” There must be someone else in the room with him. He pauses. “I know there are a lot of police cars on the street. I’ll see what I can do to get some of them moved for you.” I hear a noise as he cups his hand over the receiver, and muffled voices as he talks to someone. “Yes,” he says, back on the line. “The detective who’s here says that we can clear some of the cars away from the driveways. They’re trying not to inconvenience the neighbors too much.”

  “I didn’t do it,” I say softly.

  “I know, Phil,” he says. “Definitely. There are definitely a lot of police in the house. We’ve got the house phone and the cell tapped so that if she does call, we’ll be able to find her.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’ll be okay.” My voice quavers as my eyes fill with tears again. I wish I were there, sitting on the couch watching some stupid movie with him. I miss home so much.

  “You bet,” he says, his voice cracking.

  “I love you.”

  “You too, Phil,” he says. “You too.”

  The phone goes dead, and I toss it onto the bed. I can’t go anywhere near the house, he made that clear. I hear the front door open, and I freeze, wondering what time Zane’s dad is supposed to get home. There’s some rustling in the living room, and I’m about to duck into the closet when I hear Zane whisper my name as he opens the door. He’s fully dressed and looks like he’s been up for hours.

  “You’re awake!” he says brightly, then frowns at the duffel bag on the floor.

  I feel stupid for thinking he’d turn me in. He’s already given up so much. “When were you supposed to leave?” I demand.

  “For what?” He’s stalling. I can tell I’ve caught him off guard.

  “The tour.”

  He shakes his head but won’t meet my eyes. “Not for a couple of days.”