They scrambled to pack their stuff quickly and ran to the car, leaving the room key on the bed. Noah almost peeled out driving away. They got back onto the highway, once again headed in the direction of Charlottesville.
Noah drove the entire way back, stopping only for refueling and food, which they took on the road. They arrived back at their apartment well after dark, both exhausted. Jenna was restless. This time she had good reason as she took the mysterious envelope out and stared at it. It felt pretty thick, making Jenna wonder what could possibly be inside.
She felt guilty for not telling Noah the full truth, since it was obviously risky that someone from the Program had been that close to them. He should know that their undercover status was in jeopardy. Now she didn’t know how to handle it without upsetting him. She considered just throwing the whole thing in the trash and forgetting it, but something was eating at her. Her desire for knowledge was insatiable.
Jenna took the envelope into the bathroom and shut the door. After standing completely still long enough to be sure Noah wasn’t going to wake up, she rested her back against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor. The tile was cold on her skin, even through her pajamas.
Without wasting another second contemplating, she ripped open the envelope and pulled out a thick stack of folded papers. Her initial suspicions were correct. This was something from her mother, handwritten and addressed to Jenna. It smelled heavily of her mother’s flowery perfume and had her customized header at the top of each page.
From the Desk of Judy Andrews.
Seeing the words and knowing it was from her mother gave Jenna a creepy feeling of being watched. She separated the pages and double-checked the envelope to be sure no obvious tracking devices were inside. Then she almost laughed to herself, thinking how someone had easily found her without any tracking devices.
Jenna was still angry with Jim and Judy for taking her away from her real family, for putting her into that weird experimental project, for lying to her. But most of all she was hurt, unsure if they’d ever really loved her or if everything was just one big act. She picked up the letter and started to read, hopeful that whatever words it contained could somehow bring healing and closure.
Dearest Jenna,
By now I know you’ve learned the truth. There’s nothing I can say or do to change what happened to you, but I do want to give you the rest of the story that you probably didn’t read about in your file. I believe I owe you the entire truth. Just know that your father and I love you very much. For us, nothing has happened to change the way we feel about you. You’re welcome to come back home anytime you want. This is your story.
You were a little girl, just four years old, when I met your mother at the grocery store. She was outside asking for money, appearing to be down on her luck. You were with her at the time. When I saw you, my heart melted. I took you both inside the store and bought a month’s worth of groceries, then drove you home. Your neighborhood wasn’t a good one, and I worried non-stop after dropping you off there. I found myself going back and keeping an eye on you, every day, for months. I started to worry more as I saw signs of drug addiction from both of your parents. There were so many times I wanted to call the police, but I never had the guts.
One day, when I was outside your house watching, I saw your parents leave without you. Of course, I feared they had left you inside alone. So I approached the door and knocked, and you opened it right up. You looked at me like you remembered me. There I stood, faced with a beautiful little girl left in a very dangerous situation. I don’t know why I did it, but I just grabbed you and ran. I’m aware that I should have driven you to the police station and filed a report, but it didn’t work out that way.
For many years, Jim and I had tried to have children of our own, but we were never successful. Then I found this precious little gift from God who was being neglected by her real mother. It seemed like it was meant to be for me to meet you that day at the grocery store, and to be there when your mother abandoned you.
Jim came home while I was giving you a bath. He walked in just as I was drying you off, and we both saw it at the same time. You had a special mark on the center of your back. I recognized what it was immediately. As you know, I work for the Registry Department, but I wasn’t completely honest about what I do there. My job is a little more undercover than I told you. Jim was obviously upset with me for taking you, but when I explained what the mark was and what it might mean for you, he agreed to let me help you, to keep you.
At work, they’d just launched a new initiative called Project Chameleon. The objective was to select a group of small children, change their given marks, and observe if they could adapt. I knew you’d never be admitted with your real mark, and I didn’t want to raise suspicions about us taking you from your birth parents. So I waited for them to select the candidates; then I switched your records with another child, an orphan named Ramona Christenson. She was an original murder mark, which wasn’t ideal, but it was a risk I was willing to take.
I never actually knew your real name or your biological parents’ names, but I don’t think they ever reported you missing. You never cried for them or even asked for them, not once. Almost immediately, you began calling us Mommy and Daddy, all on your own. We told our friends and family that we adopted you, which we did legally two years later.
When you were accepted into the Program, I quickly took you to the Sub. I had connections there because of my job, so I was able to have your original mark removed. They helped me by giving you a fake murder mark to match the real Ramona’s profile. When that one healed, the Program orientated you by removing your murder mark tattoo, giving you the assigned medical mark tattoo that you have now. You’ve been closely monitored since you turned twelve years old. It was gut-wrenching to put a small child through all of that, but I did everything because I thought I was helping you. Your situation was dire.
The truth is, you were born with a rare mark called the imiter. It’s a mark for mimickers, nicknamed the Imposter’s Mark. Luckily your parents never registered you, because if the government had ever found out that you had it, they would have terminated you, no questions asked. Your true imiter mark, and its consequences, is something they keep from the general population. Even telling you now puts us both in grave danger, but I do feel that you deserve to know. And I trust that you can take care of yourself, certainly better than I ever did.
That’s the horrible secret your father and I have kept from you for all these years. It was out of love, but probably not my smartest decision. I do want you to know you were absolutely not born to be a killer. Don’t ever let yourself think that. You never did anything wrong. It was all me, trying to help you, but failing so miserably.
After your first year with us, we really thought everything was going to be fine for you. We worked so hard to structure your life and watched you closely, not as a Program participant, but as our beloved daughter. Then something awful happened. For a long time, you never really made any friends, which always worried us a little. But when you were seven, you started a new school. You were nervous and stressed, which is when your father taught you meditation techniques. The first day you came home telling us about a new best friend in your class, and we were ecstatic. You talked about her so much, we could tell how attached you were to her.
A few months later we’d planned a camping trip, and decided to invite your little friend. After we got to the campsite, you were both playing outside, collecting sticks to put on the campfire. We heard a horrible scream and ran down to find your friend, bleeding badly from her head. Your father and I tried to save her, but she was already dead.
The next part I’m going to tell you may frighten you, but again, I feel like you’re old enough to have all the facts and determine what to do next. Part of your mark characteristics are that you look to consume others, to take on their mark’s associated traits, through various means. It’s the very reason the government fears imiters.
T
hat little girl’s name was Jenna. She was your first target, or, I guess, victim. We weren’t sure at the time if you meant to do it or not, but you did kill her. After that point, you quickly began to assume her looks and personality. Jenna was a driven, goal-oriented girl, as she’d been an executive mark by birth. Of course, you almost immediately had no memory of what you’d done. You seemingly forgot she ever existed, but demanded that we call you Jenna. Wanting to protect you, we staged an “accident” for her and told her parents she fell. After that, we moved from D.C. to a smaller town, where you could have a fresh start. That’s why you grew up in Westfield, and why we legally changed your name to Jenna.
For the next ten years, we worked even harder to guard you and protect you and others around you. We were so thankful that your new identity was a studious girl who didn’t want to make many friends. If you had asked to bring home schoolmates, we were prepared to move again. Our goal was to keep you away from others, to keep you from hurting anyone else. By the time you were ready for college, I think we’d fooled ourselves into thinking it would never happen again. We were blinded by your perfection and our unconditional love.
I’ve spent all these years trying to find a way to cure you. Through my own research, I’ve since discovered that people with this type of mark have a form of multiple personality disorder. Every time an imposter mark shifts to a new identity, he or she maintains some part of their previous self, even switching back and forth as they feel a situation warrants. I also learned that imiters are more likely to assume a new identity for someone who has a personality that they admire and envy, but also somewhat fear.
When you first started telling us about your college roommate Vivian, we became alert to the signs. Then, when a poor girl was killed on campus on that first day, we were terrified it was you. We remembered how you’d gone missing for a short time during the day. But when you returned, you were still acting like Jenna, so we weren’t sure. We didn’t want to believe you’d done it, but I had the story shut down in the media just to be safe.
I investigated Vivian and discovered that she was also in Project Chameleon, which was an unplanned and strange coincidence. Her records indicated that she was an original murder mark, so that led me to believe she might have been the killer. To my knowledge, Vivian never knew about the Program, but for some reason she’d changed her Program-designated theater mark to a medical one on her own, using the Sub. Of course, I didn’t want you around a murderer, fearing for your safety. I started working behind the scenes to have her removed from the university—not arrested, though, since we didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to the Program. I just wanted to be sure she didn’t hurt you, or maybe worse, that you wouldn’t assume her murder mark personality.
Before I could have her removed, something else happened. I’m not exactly sure what happened or how. I thought I was watching you so closely, tracking you on your phone, following you, but I failed. One day, you were at the library for hours, then Vivian showed up and the two of you left together to go to a party. I never thought you’d go anywhere with her, but for some reason, you did. I lost track of you at that party; then, when I talked to you the next day, something was different. I sensed that the worst had happened.
Jenna dropped the letter on the floor. Vivid memories flashed through her head, gruesome images of Vivian. They were at that party, and Jenna was drinking. She felt like she was going to pass out, so Vivian told her she would walk her home. They took the way Jenna loved, through the trees, because Vivian was trying to avoid people seeing them drunk.
Jenna remembered attacking Vivian for no reason, and then choking her with her bare hands. She saw herself full of unprovoked rage, pummeling Vivian’s dead body with her hands until blood splattered all over her face and shirt. Jenna watched herself through these memories like she was watching a movie. After her violent crime, she walked back to her dorm room in the dark, unseen by anyone. For a couple of hours, Jenna mindlessly went through Vivian’s belongings before falling asleep in her own bed.
*****
A knock on the bathroom door snapped Jenna out of her trance. Noah sounded half frantic, half annoyed. “Are you okay, Jenna? You’ve been in there a long time.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m just finishing up. Be out in a minute.”
Jenna sat there, soaked in her own sweat, barely able to keep from screaming in agony. She wasn’t ready to tell Noah, though. Before she could figure out what to do next, she had to finish the letter and process everything.
We received confirmation of Vivian’s murder, so we feared the worst. Again, I had the story and investigation locked by the Program. We had a glimmer of hope because you were still answering to Jenna, but your personality had definitely changed. Then they found Vivian’s body, but you kept talking as if she was still your roommate. Maybe you didn’t take Vivian’s name because her personality was so mild, or maybe because you didn’t know her well enough. It was gradual at first; then it became more dramatic over the next few days.
You quit caring about your appearance, and you weren’t as interested in your studies anymore. Then you started dating Noah, and though we think he’s a great guy, we were terrified. We managed to convince you to come home for the weekend, to check on you. Surprisingly, you seemed completely like your old self. Still, your father wanted to take you and start over somewhere new, but I wouldn’t listen. I thought I could watch you better, but you kept slipping away. I just didn’t think you knew enough about Vivian to truly take on her personality, and that girl never even knew she was really a murder mark. I told myself that the mark theories and government findings about imiters were wrong, that you wouldn’t become a murderer.
One night, when I was following you, I saw you walking toward another student. She was alone. I stayed close behind you, but ducked into the trees when you stopped to talk to her. Then you pushed her down, got on top of her, and started hitting her. I yelled for you to stop, and you quickly ran away without looking at me. The girl was still alive, so I left when I saw others coming in our direction. Then the video of that attack ended up on the news, and I was distraught. This time, the Program rejected my request to leave the investigation closed. During the campus lockdown, I sent a Program operative posing as a detective to check on you in person, to divert your attention away from your own involvement. Then I tried to find you to get you out of there, but things got so crazy, so fast.
Jenna, I’ve tried to keep up with you, but haven’t always succeeded. I don’t know everything that you’ve done since you went on the run, but it doesn’t matter. I want to help you, but don’t know how with you so far away. You’re still my daughter, and I’ll do anything to make your suffering end. I know you’re a good person and don’t want to hurt anyone, especially Noah. Please come to me so I can help you. I only want the best for you.
I obviously know where you are, but I want this to be on your terms. When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.
Love,
Mom
Noah knocked again, this time telling her he really needed to use the restroom. She got up and quickly took off her clothes, wrapping herself in a towel. She opened the door and let him in. He looked at her and saw she was wet, so he stepped past her. She left the room and shut the door behind herself, under the guise of giving him privacy. The letter was hidden in her pile of clothes, which she stuffed into her bag.
When he came back out, Jenna assured Noah that everything was fine, though he didn’t seem to buy it. They planned their next big reveal for the next day. It was for a high school senior living thirty minutes away. Noah thought that would be a logical next step, someone that was nearby. Then they could spiral out from there, making the most of their road trips, keeping things moving.
He really is in this for the long haul.
They watched television until the late hours. Jenna struggled to fall asleep, as she felt conflicted over how to handle the letter from her mother. Inexplicably, she’d developed this overwhelming s
ense of commitment to Noah so quickly. She didn’t want to betray him, and she desperately wanted to disclose her secrets to someone, someone she trusted. But he was the only one.
Of course, she did have the option to take her mother’s deal and get life back to as close to normal as it could. Jenna longed for normal, but she was so angry about all the lies her mother had told her. All those years, she’d thought her mother was a saint, that she walked on water. Her mother’s perfection was always a source of jealousy for Jenna, but now she knew that woman was flawed. She had to confront her mother in person; it was the only way to move forward.
*****
Noah woke up to a note from Jenna saying she’d gone for a walk and would return after lunch. It advised that she might be a while, and he should just eat lunch without her. He went out for something to eat, and returned to wait for her the rest of the day. Evening came and night fell; still no Jenna. He wanted to be annoyed that they were missing the timeline he’d laid out in his plan, but there were too many other emotions, mainly worry. Noah had no way to call for help to find her. He couldn’t exactly phone in the police.
Several check-ins with the Sub revealed that no one had heard anything from her. Noah had an unshakable feeling that someone had captured her, but he tried to focus on other explanations. He finally fell asleep as dawn approached, exhausted with worry, and awoke to what seemed to be a dream.
*****
The aroma of coffee and breakfast cooking filled the air. Noah sat up and tried to figure out where he was, still not adjusted to this new lifestyle. Stumbling around the corner toward the kitchenette, he saw Jenna, making pancakes with her back to him. She had cut her hair short and was dressed in different clothing, with a frilly apron. Noah felt a bit of rage building over her irresponsible stunt.
“Aren’t you even going to apologize?” he asked angrily.
“For what,” she said in a monotone voice, without even turning around.
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