by Kailin Gow
“You are her,” I say, quietly. I’ve been wanting to tell her this for so long, but the time’s never been right. Now, with all the chaos going on, she has to know the truth. “Despite your hair, your changed figure, the way you carry yourself. I can tell it’s really you. I know because your father hired me to look into Xander Blue before you married him. I knew you way back then.”
“I would remember,” Jaymie says. “I know I forgot a lot, but wouldn’t I remember that?”
“I’m telling you, Marina, you were on that plane. That plane…”
“Don’t call me that,” Jaymie snaps. “I’m not her. And I know the crash you mean. When you told me about it I googled it. And the pilot? Was hired and employed by Gloria Tannenbaum. So even if I’m not Marina – hell, I know I’m not Marina – there’s still a major mystery to solve.”
“Is that why you’re looking into the Blue Room?” I ask her.
“I’m supposed to protect Staci,” says Jaymie, “and protecting Staci means knowing everything there is to know about Gloria Tannenbaum. Assuming the crash wasn’t an accident. Then what did Gloria Tannenbaum have to do with Marina Blue?”
“Believe me,” I say, “after all my experiences with that woman, there’s nothing I want more than answers, too. You’ve got me curious, too. After everything I’ve been through, Marina.”
“Jaymie,” she says sternly.
“Jaymie,” I say. “But maybe one day you’ll remember. Maybe you’ll be Marina again.”
“Why? What does it matter who I am? I’m one person today, another person tomorrow. Like Rita.”
“But Marina matters!”
“Why?”
“I’m hoping you will remember.”
I hang up. There’s still a lump in my throat.
So, she doesn’t remember. Not even now. I’ve tried to make her come to her senses, but this is the final blow. How can Marina not recognize me, remember me?
I grew up as a brother to her. The ward of Marina’s father. Or at least, that’s what he told people. The truth – that I was his bastard son – wouldn’t have played well in magnate circles. I found out later in life without Marina and my father knowing I knew. I doubt Marina even knew.
When I joined the FBI early on as a trainee, my father asked me to check out Xander Blue, to make sure he was legit when he began dating Marina. I thought it would be easy, just a favor to my secret father and my half-sister Marina to infiltrate Xander Blue’s life. He checked out right, except for his association with Gloria Tannenbaum, someone the FBI was investigating as well. What did Tannenbaum want with Xander Blue? What did Gloria Tannenbaum have to do with my future half brother-in-law which led me to stay on investigating him even after he married Marina.
When Marina went missing on that plane, I thought maybe I’d missed something. That the “all clear” I gave Marina’s father was a lie. That it was Xander who had orchestrated his wife’s death – maybe to get her money. So I infiltrated the Blue Tower. I tried to get answers. But then I got sucked in, like everybody else, to the world of the Blue Room. I even pretended to go along with Roni in order to get more answers, figuring I could save Staci at the last minute. But Roni played me, shot me, left me for dead.
When I woke up in the warehouse, the first thing I saw was a slightly familiar face. That of my sister’s face.
New hair. New body. She’d had surgery, and wore clothes Marina would never have worn. But I knew her. And I was so relieved Marina had not died at sea like everyone thought. She was alive and well. The only problem was, this woman who I was certain was Marina, did not remember anything about her past. She did not even seemed to have a past. But I was certain she was Marina. She just had to remember.
I hadn’t been able to tell her. I’d tried once or twice, but I was afraid she wouldn’t believe me, that she’d think I was crazy. I’d hoped seeing Xander would be the shock she needed to regain her memories. But hearing all of this, I’m starting to wonder, to worry. Will Marina ever get her memories back?
Chapter 2
Xander
Everything is going to shit
That’s the one thought blaring through my mind like a siren as we whirl down the highway, going so fast I’m surprised the police haven’t shot us on sight.
Everything is going to shit and this is the worst day in the entire history of human existence.
You know what? I think of myself as a pretty cool guy. A pretty calm guy. A pretty collected guy. Compared to, say, a hothead like Terrence, I’m far more mature. I’m far more willing to just let things slide, to say hey, you know what, let’s deal with this in a mature rational fashion like mature rational adults. Well, not anymore. Not any fucking more.
In case you’ve been in a coma for the past few pages, here’s a recap of how my day has been going.
A) The woman I love is engaged to another man.
B) The woman I used to love, my wife, who is dead, may not be dead. In fact, she may be a spy, or a PI, or just about every other woman or human being in my life, since she’s apparently capable of changing her face and voice and appearance just to fuck with me.
C) Everyone else in my life is doing the exact same thing, it seems, just to fuck with me.
D) My nephew is bleeding out in the back seat of my car.
E) The woman I love is missing.
Every now and then, even a man like myself – even a calm man, a cool man, a rational man, a man who prides himself on his ability to make the world turn on its axis for his own benefit – loses his shit. And as we speed down the highway, I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am very, very close to that psychological point. There’s a part of me that just wants to give up, that just wants to take the car by the wheels and whirl around the steering wheel, just give it a nice big good yank, and crash into the highway. Sometimes I think it would be easier. Oblivion. The unending blackness of ocean waves crashing over me, than nothing. Better than this pain. Better than this constant wondering what will happen next? Who will betray me next? What part of myself will I lose? What part of what makes me who I am will turn out to be a lie – this time.
“Keep holding on, champ,” Terrence is whispering into Danny’s ear. “You can do it. Hold on. I believe in you.”
But Danny doesn’t look too good. Even with the impromptu surgery, he’s lost a lot of blood. His skin looks like chalk. He is paler than anyone I’ve ever seen. Even his lips are white. Blood dribbles out of them. Could this be the end for Danny?
Hell, if it weren’t for Danny, I think, I’d just give up now. I’d let the ocean take me. But I have something else to do. I have another job to complete, and there’s no way in hell I’ll let Danny suffer for my misery. We’ve got to get him to a hospital. We’ve got to find Staci. Then, and only then, can I rest. Then, and only then, can I take stock of all the emotions running and shoving each other and screaming in my head.
Not now, I think. Hold on, Xander. Hold on for a little while longer. Then you’ll get your head together. Then –
My mind is all but blank by the time we get Danny to a hospital. It all happens like it’s in a dream: the nurses who come and get their clean white smocks covered in Danny’s blood as they take him out of the car, as they lift him and put him on a stretcher, as they take him away from us. It all happens like it never happened – like I’ve just imagined it. One second, Danny’s there. The next, he’s gone: whirled into an operating room. We’ll call you, the nurse says. But there’s nothing I can do. Nothing I can say that will change the outcome, one way or another. I just have to hope.
“I wish we could stay,” says Terrence. His eyes are dark with pain. I’ve never seen him look this serious…this agonized. I understand how he feels. His brother might not make it. And all he wants is to sit in the hospital waiting room, to wait, to pray, to hope. But we have something we can’t give up on. Staci might be in danger and we have to find her. We have to do whatever it takes to keep her safe.
“I know,” I say
. “I wish we could, too. But…”
“Staci…” Terrence’s voice cracks.
Then he throws his arms around me. His chest heaves with sobs. He squeezes me tight. It is the first time I can remember my nephew hugging me – or hugging anybody, really. But in this moment, with all this pain between us, our rivalry doesn’t matter. Our fights don’t matter. Our pain over Staci doesn’t matter. In this moment, we’re both Blues. We’re both family. And we’re in it – in all of it – together.
We hurry back to the Blue Towers. Terrence keeps nervously checking his phone – checking, I know, to see whether the hospital has called.
“Where’s Staci?” I ask as soon as I get there.
But Mrs. Walters looks up in confusion. “She left,” she says, pursing her lips. “With Skyla. A few hours ago.”
“What?” Terrence looks flabbergasted and panicked. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know where she went,” Mrs. Walters says. “I don’t know these things. Nobody tells me anything. Skyla was here and took Staci with her.”
Skyla – or Jaymie? We’re still not convinced that they’re not the same person. After what Ben told us, we can’t trust anybody. Skyla could have been impersonating Jaymie – or vice versa.
Terrence slams his fist down on the table in fury. “How could you do this?” he cries. “How could you let her go?”
“What are you talking about, sir?” Mrs. Walters raises an eyebrow. “You hired Detective Strong. I assume she’s trustworthy. Why on earth would I have any reason to suspect otherwise? Really, sir…” There’s a faint note of condescension in her voice – and with good reason. How are we supposed to explain the truth to her – that we think Skyla might secretly be Jaymie? She’ll think we’re crazy – if she doesn’t think that already.
“Never mind,” Terrence grumbles.
He turns to me and takes me aside. “Look – there’s only one way we can reach Skyla. Remember Danny’s publicist, Yolanda? She said Skyla was her cousin. Obviously she’s either telling the truth – and Skyla’s who she says she is – or she’s lying and they’re in on it together. There’s only one way to figure this out. Get in touch with Yolanda.”
That’s when the phone rings.
“It’s Danny!” exclaims Terrence. Relief floods his face. “Thank God – I was so worried…”
“Hello?”
“Hello, brother.” Danny’s voice is weak but unmistakable. “Looks like I’m okay. Not great….but okay.”
Tears of relief are streaming down Terrence’s face.
“I’d have been pretty pissed at you if you died.” Terrence tries to laugh, but I can see the true joy and pain in his eyes.
“Not planning on it anytime soon,” says Danny.
“Well, stop whining and pull yourself together,” Terrence says, the fake half-grin still on his face. “It’s only a flesh wound, right, big brother?”
“Right.” I don’t have to see Danny’s face over the telephone to know that he’s smiling. Terrence has a way of making every situation feel manageable. Even one as intense as this one. Sometimes his insouciance drives me up the wall. But today, I think, I’m glad for it. I’m relieved that someone can keep a smile on their face.
“Okay,” says Terrence. “Here’s the deal. If Skyla and Jaymie are the same person, there’s one person who would know for sure.”
“And who’s that?” Danny asks.
“Her cousin. Or so-called cousin. Yolanda. Your publicist. Is she reliable?”
“100%. I’ve known her for years.”
“Any idea how we can get in touch with her?”
“Yolanda…” Danny considers. “Of course. That would make sense. Let me get the two of you in touch. Why don’t I text you her number at once? Then – uh --- if you don’t mind….”
“What?”
“I kind of need to get some sleep. The pain meds, you know, they’re making me pretty woozy…”
“Jeez, brother,” now Terrence’s grin seems more genuine. “Get it together already.”
“I know, I know,” Danny jokes. “I was always the wuss of the two of us. But I’m seeing double – hell, I’m seeing stars…”
“Well, text us Yolanda’s number when you get a chance,” says Terrence. Then his voice goes hollow. “Love you, brother.”
A pause on the other end of the line. A pause almost of surprise. “Love you too,” Danny says.
“Right,” Terrence turns to me. “So we just call up Yolanda and ask?”
“I mean, what else are we going to do?”
The phone beeps. Danny’s texted us her number.
So I pick up the phone.
“I’ll do it,” I say.
She answers the phone at once. “Hello.”
“Hi – uh, Yolanda,” I say, trying to get the words out without sounding like a psychopath. “How’s it going?”
“Uh, good?”
“Good, good.”
“Is everything okay, Mr. Blue? You sound – distracted.”
“It’s just – it’s about Skyla.”
“Skyla? Is she okay?”
“No, it’s not that. I mean – yes, she’s okay, we think. It’s just…”
“What?”
“How well do you know her?”
‘What that’s supposed to mean?”
“If someone were impersonating her, say?”
“Like, over the phone? Or via email? Has her email been hacked?”
“Like, in person.”
Yolanda bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry Mr. Blue. It’s just – I don’t know what you’re talking about. Skyla and I practically grew up together. Our families lived next door to one another. If anything was wrong – if anything was out of the ordinary with Skyla, I’d know.”
“Oh.” I say. “That’s – good. I guess.”
“Sure, Mr. Blue.”
She thinks I’m high. Or crazy. Or both.
“Uh, thanks anyway, Yolanda.”
“Anytime, Mr. Blue.”
I hang up the phone.
“Well,” I sigh. “Back to square one.” Only now, I’m more confused than ever. What is Ben playing at? And, more importantly, what is it that he is trying to hide?
Chapter 3
Staci
I’m not sure how I feel, bringing Skyla Strong out here. To my home, I’d said. Let’s go to my home. But the truth is – I feel more like a stranger there than I do anywhere else. The Tannenbaum estate, the sprawling mansions, the expansive grounds, the stables and the tennis courts and the swimming pools – they feel like a walled city, closed off to me. Sure, I own it. My name is on the deed. I’m the Tannenbaum heiress, after all. But does that mean that I really belong there? I don’t think I ever really will. The Tannenbaum name, the Tannenbaum legacy – there’s been too much pain, too much suffering, too much loss.
My own grandmother tried to have me killed. How, then, can I do anything but hate that place, that name, and everything it represents? I’m Staci Atussi – my mother’s daughter. Daughter of a mother who suffered her whole life long to protect me from the pain that blasted family inflicted on her. And now I’m supposed to – what? Take their name? Take their identity? Make their home my own?
But Skyla insists. We have to look for clues, she says. And the most important place to find clues is where it all began: in the heart of the Tannenbaum Compound in Beverly Hills.
What can I do? I want answers. I want answers even as I fear them absolutely. And in order to get the answers I need, I have to bite the bullet and go on it.
It feels so strange, just walking in. I don’t even need to say anything. The security guard at the car entrance bows his head slightly as I pass, like I’m some sort of princess. The head butler, Calvert, clicks his heels together, stands so stiffly, his spine rod-straight.
“Good day, madam,” he says.
I don’t trust him. Not his plummy English accent, not his stern face, not his impeccable posture. Calvert wor
ked for Gloria Tannenbaum – that much I know. Which means for all I know he could want me dead too. Same with the maids. Same with everyone here. Just like the Blue Room, I think. More people to mistrust.
Still, he doesn’t stop me entering – nor does he ask who Skyla Strong is or what she’s doing with me.
“I want to go to Mrs. Tannenbaum’s office,” I tell Calvert.
His white chalky skin turns just the faintest bit pink.
“Are you sure, madam? I’m afraid it’s in a terrible state – I haven’t been able to tidy it up since the lady of the house – ahem – passed on.”
“I’m sure,” I say. I note a faint blush of anger in his cheeks. Clearly there’s something in there he doesn’t want me to see.
“But madam…”
“I insist,” I say.
I’m the lady of the house now, I think. My word goes. It’s strange, surreal – and thrilling
“Come on,” I say to Skyla as we enter. “Let’s look for clues.”
We wander through Gloria’s wing of the house. Despite the modern California construction of the estate, Gloria’s rooms are all old-fashioned in style, something out of an old Tudor castle. Heraldry is everywhere – family coats of arms, Medieval tapestries, heraldic flags. But why? It almost seems like Gloria is obsessed with family – lineage – bloodline. The walls are covered with tapestries of royal lineages: the Windsors, the Habsburgs, the great royal houses of Spain and France. Is that why Gloria was so protective of her bloodline, I wonder to myself silently? Is that why she was so reticent to have her son have a child with a mere commoner? Was there royal blood in the Tannenbaum veins?
I look around, trying to take in everything about Gloria that I can. Part of me wants nothing to do with her – this woman who wanted me dead. But part of me is curious about my would-be murderess. After all, Gloria is my blood, too, as much as I hate to admit or acknowledge it. Seeing Gloria’s personal belongings all around me, room after room filled with beautiful objects so perfectly preserved they look like they’ve just come out of a museum – ancient and rare books bound in precious leather and calfskin, shining pristine silverware that looks like it belongs in some vault, oil portraits from the sixteenth and seventeenth century, all Elizabethan collars and tailored coats – it’s overwhelming. Clearly Gloria Tannenbaum was a woman of great taste – an admirer of real beauty. It makes me sympathize with her a little bit – against myself. It makes me wonder whether this austere and cold woman had an emotional, even a vulnerable side.
