Deja Vu: A Romantic Comedy

by Sosie Frost

  “But…I’ve never had this before.”

  He laughed. “Sure you have. That’s not the best quality, but I know we’ve tried it.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember a lot of things.”

  “I’d remember that.” I pushed the plate away. “Must have been your other girlfriend.”

  “Maybe you tried it with your ex-boyfriend while naming the baby Gretchen?”

  A second fortune cookie battered his forehead. “I’m eating in the living room.”

  “Oh, come on.” He chuckled. “I don’t see you all day…”

  I took my plate and baby and headed for the couch. “So you come home and make fun of me?”

  “It’s the highlight of my day.”

  Clue was happy on her activity mat, and I snuggled in with Shepard’s iPad that, coincidentally, never returned to his house after I’d discovered it.

  “You know what the highlight of my day was?” I balanced my plate on my thighs. “You’ll never guess.”

  “Well, the apartment building is still standing, and I didn’t get any calls about residential disturbances.”

  I smirked, sneaking a sip of iced tea before broaching the subject. “What do you know about the mafia in this city?”

  His plate nearly toppled. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Evie.”

  “Relax. It’s nothing bad. I don’t think. But I found something.”

  “You found something?”

  “I went for a walk today, and I think I uncovered a front.” I leaned forward. “If we break this ring up, can I get credit for it? Get a movie like the Untouchables?”

  “Okay, Elliott Ness. What the hell did you do?”

  “I got some ice cream today,” I said. “From a truck.”

  Shepard laughed. “That’s my girl. Getting back on the horse…or in front of the truck.”

  “That’s the thing though. I found the driver who hit me.”

  Now Shepard’s smile faded. “You didn’t talk to him, did you?”

  “Of course I talked to him.”

  “Evie.”

  “And he had a lot of weird things to say.” I tapped the iPad, bringing up a map of the city. “He said that the accident wasn’t on Evie Street.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “He said he had to bluff, to move the location of the accident so that Frozen Frankie—”

  “—Who?”

  “Frozen Frankie. I think he’s the head of this ice cream ring. The driver wasn’t in his assigned territory. He was skimming from Frozen Frankie, and—”

  “I’m going to stop you there.” Shepard exhaled. “Yes, there’s some organized crime in the city. Hell, you sniff around city hall long enough and you’ll find more than enough corruption. But, Evie…ice cream trucks?”

  “He said it was bigger than both of us.”

  “He was teasing you.”

  “He was serious.”

  “Then he was crazy.” Shepard abandoned his chopsticks in favor of a fork. “I know you’re curious, and I want answers as badly as you do, but I don’t think this guy is a reputable source of information. Probably spent too many hours in the freezer and iced his brain cells.”

  “But he said the accident location was wrong.” I swallowed. “He said the police officer helped to collaborate it.”

  Shepard was silent. “Even if that were true—”

  “Weren’t you the responding officer?”

  “I arrived on the scene, but it was after the accident.”

  “Did it look like I’d been moved?”

  “No. It looked like you were goddamned labor. Who is going to shove a pregnant lady with breaking water into a speeding ice cream truck just to get out of some clandestine custard-related gang territory?”

  “You make it sound crazy.”

  “I’m just repeating what you told me,” he said. “Do yourself—and me—a favor. Don’t go chasing conspiracies. And don’t talk to that guy again.”

  “Why not?”

  “If he was the driver who hit you, you might complicate an investigation. If you ever need to reexamine the case—”

  “I’m not going to sue him.”

  “But you might need to one day. Let him be. If you need information, you can get a lawyer.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve seen people ruin cases this way. Believe me.” He shifted as his phone rang. He put the plate down and motioned that he was going to the other room to take the call. “Just forget about it. He was probably messing with you.”

  “Expensive damn trick.”

  He groaned. “You didn’t give him money, did you?”

  “Pleading the fifth. Take your call.”

  Shepard frowned, but the station never slept. He stalked to the other room to answer his partner’s call.

  I liked that I had a dedicated public servant of my very own—someone who took his job so seriously. He was…

  Ethical.

  Straight-laced.

  Important.

  Someone I wished I could be, and I’d do everything in my power to make sure Clue took after him.

  But that didn’t mean he was right. I tapped my finger on the iPad. The whole afternoon made even less sense now. They might have found me on Evie Street…but Darnell had spoken my name so…

  Authentically.

  Like even he believed it.

  And hell…I was starting to believe it.

  Evie Hamilton.

  It seemed like a good name. Not sure how Darnell invented the surname, but it was convincing.

  I opened the iPad’s browser and stared at the search bar. The letters typed in slowly, a tribute to my idiocy for trying something so stupid.

  But it got a hit. Quite a few actually.

  And the top post nearly stopped my heart.

  A Facebook page.

  My facebook page.

  “Holy shit.”

  The iPad crashed onto the coffee table, knocking over a plate of beef and broccoli and a glass of tea. I didn’t bother grabbing a towel. I tugged the nursing pad from my bra and tossed it over the mess.

  The picture on the screen?

  It was me.

  Evie Hamilton.

  A beautiful, smiling face, bordered with natural curls and white framed sunglasses pushed down on her nose peeked back at me.

  “Shepard!” I shouted. The word stuck in my throat. My hands trembled as I reached for the iPad. I touched the screen, clicking the link. “Shepard, come here!”

  The Facebook page flashed, but the goods were hidden. I’d marked the page as private, and only friends could see more than my profile name and picture.

  But it was me.

  I was right there.

  Darnell had told me the truth.

  The shock ripped through me.

  What else had he told me? What else was true?

  I pinched my eyes closed.

  The pain ripped through my temples.

  “What happened?” My hand trembled as I squeezed the phone. “Where is she?”

  “She…she was arrested.”

  “Arrested? For what?”

  “Possession of marijuana.”

  No fucking way.

  “She’s eighty-three years old,” I said. “She never smoked a cigarette, drank a beer, or done anything illegal her entire life.”

  He spoke slowly. Like that would help. “An officer found a bag of weed in her house.”

  “What were they doing in her house?” I knew the answer as soon as I asked the question. “Did you let them in?”

  “It must have been someone else’s stash.”

  “Obviously.”

  “They’re charging her with possession.”

  “That’s ridiculous, and you know it!”

  He breathed deep, but even he couldn’t hide the truth for long. “There was a gun under the couch too, Evie. Unregistered.”

  No, no, no.

  I groaned, banging the phone off my forehead. This was
n’t right. This wasn’t happening.

  Not to Granna.

  “It belonged to one of the boys in the neighborhood,” I said. “You know it’s not hers. She takes care of everyone in the community. Anyone could have hid it there while getting something to eat.”

  “I know.”

  That didn’t make it any better. “Fix this.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “No.” The words seared through me. “You’re the reason this is happening.”

  Damn it.

  I rubbed my temples. The headache didn’t dissipate.

  And the truth it left behind formed a narrative I no longer wanted to learn.

  I stared at the Facebook page. Could I guess my email address and password? Was it possible to hack into my own life?

  I had to try. I could find out everything with one click of the mouse.

  Who I was. Where I was from. What my plans had been. How my life had gone.

  What happened to Granna.

  But maybe this was enough. Shepard was a cop. The station had to have some sort of software that could access Facebook accounts. I wasn’t asking for the entire NSA to reveal their secret cloud storage. But if a pimply faced intern with a fresh computer science degree could tap in a few passwords?

  “Shepard!”

  I backed out of the Facebook page, searching for other social media. Maybe the Instagram or Twitter was public?

  “Jesus.” Shepard stalked the hall with a smirk. “I’m working on an arson case, and you’re bellowing like there’s a murder. What’s wrong?”

  My eyes darted to the iPad before answering.

  And my heart stopped.

  The Facebook page wasn’t the only hit for me. A newspaper article had my name emblazoned on a headline.

  It wasn’t anything I’d have read out loud.

  I clicked the link, staring at a familiar face, but this one wasn’t smiling, and she didn’t have that carefree look to her.

  It was me—a much younger me, but me.

  And I was holding a sign.

  Evie Hamilton. A number. The height scale behind me.

  A mugshot?

  “Evie?” Shepard called. “What is it?”

  “I…” I shrugged my shoulders despite every bone turning to concrete. “I…thought Clue was crawling.”

  He glanced at the mess on the coffee table, the broccoli scattered and dripping tea. “She skipped crawling and started kickboxing.”

  “Yeah. Right.” I backed out of the article and exited the browser. “She’s a little tornado.”

  “Everything okay?”

  I lied through my teeth and bared them in a pretty grin. “Absolutely. Never better.”

  But for how long?

  Evie Hamilton. Single mother. Amnesiac.

  Felon?

  No wonder I had forgotten everything in my past. I had nothing good to remember.

  And the instant Shepard realized I was a criminal would be the moment I lost everything

  Again.

  19

  The alarm rang. Shepard rolled away to shut it off.

  The bed instantly chilled without him next to me.

  I supposed I should have gotten used to it. God only knew what would happen when Shepard found my mug shot.

  I hadn’t slept at all—not with all the scenarios blitzing through my mind.

  I couldn’t have him suspecting anything, so I left the iPad and all its answers in the living room.

  All night.

  At least I had eight hours of peace before I discovered the damning truth.

  Like if I were some sort of horrific cheerleading massacring, clown-impersonating, skin-stealing psychopath.

  If I didn’t remember what crime I’d committed…it had to be bad.

  Worse than puppy theft. Destruction of kindergarten projects. Fishing without a license.

  My few memories painted a terrible picture. No happy little clouds or mountains in this landscape. If the hood had been painted—acrylic, like our fingernails—then our artist switched from Bob to Rick Ross and those pretty trees and scrubs hid drugs and prostitution.

  None of it screamed have a family with me to the most upstanding and ethical police officer that had ever existed.

  “I might have to crash at home tonight,” he said. “We’re close to solving this case, and I’ll probably be really late tonight.”

  “You work too much.” Catching criminals like me.

  “Do you have a doctor’s appointment today?”

  “Neurologist.”

  “Call me when it’s done. Let me know what Rory says.”

  “Sure.”

  He gave me a quick kiss and left. I waited thirty seconds before I bounded from the bed, tangled in the sheets, and landed square on my knees.

  God, I hoped that wasn’t a sign of what I was about to find out.

  I scrambled through the hall, tip-toed past a mercifully sleeping baby’s room, and dove for the iPad.

  What was it going to say?

  Exotic animal poacher?

  Diamond thief?

  Election fraud?

  Computer Hacking?

  Murder?

  I held my breath and opened the newspaper article. The air escaped in a whimper.

  Local Teen Arrested In Cross-Dressing Santa Christmas Disaster

  I blinked.

  That…rang a really confusing and unfortunate bell.

  I read from it aloud, diving into the words. “After a week of intensive investigation, the Ironfield Police Department arrested eighteen-year-old Evie Hamilton for the vandalism of Piersport High School’s Christmas display, in which officials describe the traditional Santa Clause mannequin as ‘stripped, manhandled, and inappropriately adorned in less-than-reputable holiday decor.’”

  The police officer dropped a plastic baggie on the table.

  I didn’t talk, but the bright pink thong sure as hell didn’t belong to the rookie hard ass interrogating me. Cutting his teeth on a hood girl who played a practical joke?

  Yeah. That’d earn him some real cred.

  “You cross-dressed Santa Clause,” he said.

  His partner snickered. “Made him look like a hoe, hoe, hoe.”

  I said nothing. The rookie smirked, leaning close.

  I didn’t know they made cops that hot.

  Or that I liked blue eyes that much.

  “Look, Evie. I’ll cut you a break. Admit it was you, and I can get you off on community service.”

  Community service. Christ, Granna was going to kill me.

  “For giving Chris Kringle a little junk in the trunk?” I laughed. “You’re kidding.”

  “School already expelled you.” He frowned, glancing over his folder. “What the hell are you doing, Evie? There’s only a handful of kids in that school that can make something of themselves. You belong in college, not in some gang.”

  “Oh yeah. There’s a group of us assaulting holiday mascots.” I snorted. “This spring, we’re tie-dying the Easter Bunny.”

  “I’m trying to help,” he said. “You’ve got a bright future ahead of you. Don’t let a senior prank fuck you over.”

  “No. That’s your job, right?”

  He tossed the pink thong towards me. “Looks like you’re doing a good job on your own.”

  Community service.

  I remembered twenty hours in a community park because Santa got his groove back after I introduced him to a panty-line free alternative for his crushed velvet suit.

  Justice had been served.

  I sighed. At least it wasn’t arson.

  But this? Christ.

  I’d never live it down. All was fair in love and amnesia.

  Now that I had a name, everything could change. We’d find out who I was. Where I was from.

  And life would…

  Begin again?

  What was I even starting from?

  The headache only worsened. I showered in a hurry, fed the baby, and got her ready for my appointment t
hat afternoon. It was a good thing I was seeing Doctor Owens today. Rory had been nothing but supportive through the entire ordeal, but even she had been disheartened by my lack of progress.

  A name and a handful of memories would make her day.

  And maybe, with that information, she could start to uncover whatever my head kept hidden.

  Rory welcomed me into her office with a smile, though she plucked Clue from her stroller and gave her a hug. She pointed a smug finger at me.

  “I heard from a little birdie that someone is remembering a bit more.”

  As far as I could tell, Clue hadn’t learned to talk. Shepard must have crossed her path in the elevator this morning.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m getting more flashes. All these thoughts and images are bombarding my mind, but…I can’t make sense of them.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “Just tuck them away—keep them locked in that brain of yours so we can piece it all together once we find that triggering cipher. I think we’re on the verge of something big.”

  She had no idea how big. “I’m getting headaches.”

  “Really?” Rory grabbed the penlight in her pocket. She was the only person I knew who greeted people by checking pupils instead of shaking hands. “All the time? Sporadically?”

  “Right before a couple big flashes.”

  “Before the memories come?”

  “Does that make sense?”

  Rory scanned a chart and shook her head. “Nothing about your case makes sense. But, if I had to guess, the headaches are stress from concentration. You’re forcing it. Giving yourself a tension headache.”

  “But I have to. They’re fleeting. For as many as I’ve remembered…they flutter away without me really grasping them…like when you wake up from a dream.”

  “It’s a good sign they’re coming though. I know it’s frustrating, but write them down. Sit and meditate. Focus on what you’re feeling when you experience them instead of stressing yourself into remembering every little detail.”

  She sounded like Doctor Clark. “Easier said than done.”

  “We’re on the verge of a breakthrough,” Rory said. “As soon as you think those memories are coming back, I want you to call me. Day or night. I don’t care if I make a house call. It’s a benefit of being neighbors, right?”

  Oh, there was the guilt.

  My beautiful apartment, bought and paid for by a lovely charity trying to help a single mother.