The Stolen Twin

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

He stabbed his toe into the frozen ground. “You had boyfriends before,” he said sulkily. “What’s wrong with me? I thought we had a bond. You said we did.”

  I closed my eyes. Why wouldn’t this guy get the hint? “David, I really need some alone time right now. Please. I’m asking you – no, I’m begging you – to give it to me. If you care for me the way you say you do, you’ll understand that I really, really need this.”

  He shifted his weight from one foot to another. “How much time?” he asked grudgingly.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a week or two.”

  “A week or two?” He looked aghast.

  “David, I need this. Look, I’ll give you a call in a week or so and let you know how I’m feeling. Okay?”

  He didn’t look happy. “I don’t have much choice do I?”

  I shrugged. “I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll call you in a week. All right?”

  He nodded. I smiled, a quick, cool smile, before spinning around and dashing over to Joe.

  “Everything cool?” he asked as we hurried down the sidewalk.

  I peeked over my shoulder. David was still there, standing in the same spot, staring at me. I couldn’t read the expression on his face.

  I faced forward again. He said he would leave me alone. I could only hope he would honor that promise. “Fine,” I said, although I swear I could feel David’s eyes burning into my back the entire way to my next class, long after the crowd and the landscape would have swallowed me up from his view.

  Chapter 12

  “So, you still think David’s romantic?”

  Elena wrapped a long red scarf around her neck. “Well, not in the conventional sense, anyway. Did he really attack you in the stairwell?”

  I rubbed my neck. “Have the soreness to prove it.”

  She shook her head. “Amazing. He seemed so sweet.”

  “I think the word you’re looking for is sour, not sweet.” We headed off to State Street in search of a different place for lunch. Elena had complained she was tired of Union food. It didn’t bother me to eat somewhere else, but I didn’t know what Elena would get out of it since she only ate salads. How different could a salad be?

  “The good news is that you found out about his, uh, other nature before getting too involved with him.” Elena clapped her red-gloved hands together. “Man it’s cold. I should have gone to the University of Florida.”

  “Yeah, but then you’d end up sitting next to giant cockroaches in class. I’ve heard they really mess up the bell curve.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “On a day like today, I would welcome even giant cockroaches if it meant being warm. Maybe they’d let me join their study groups.”

  A weak sunlight filtered down, no match for the biting cold wind. Elena’s copper-colored curls whipped around her face. I had pulled my dark hair into a ponytail, but the wind had jerked several strands loose, and they blew around my face.

  “You’re the one who thought a salad made by a different restaurant would taste better,” I said.

  “And don’t think I’m not regretting that decision.”

  A tree rattled its branches, making me think of the death clatter of old bones. Christ, I was getting morbid. Another thing to thank David for. Several curled up yellow leaves rolled past on the brown grass.

  “So, what was it you wanted to talk about a few days ago?” I asked casually, side-stepping around a bundled-up group of people coming toward us.

  Elena threw me a sideways glance. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Even nothings can turn into somethings. Besides, I’m sick of talking about my own problems and you’re probably sick of hearing them, too.”

  She didn’t respond. I kept my eyes off her. I didn’t want to put any more pressure on her. Instead, I studied Memory Library, one of Riverview’s many beautiful, venerable buildings. Two carved off-white columns wound their way past twelve floors and anchored themselves against a gray and black slanted roof. What appeared to be a sparrow was perched on the trim.

  “It’s just … I don’t know. I think I’m being silly.”

  “If you don’t say it, then we won’t know if you’re being silly or not, will we?”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Her voice trailed off. We left the campus and started walking up State Street. The mile-long street allowed no cars, only buses, bikes and foot traffic. Bars, restaurants and shops lined both sides of the road. The air smelled delicious – a combination of dozens of cuisines, from Italian, Thai and Vietnamese to Mexican and everything in between.

  Elena twisted her hands together. “It’s just … I think Brad’s losing interest in me.”

  I looked at her in surprise. “Losing interest in you? Why do you think that?”

  She studied her fingers. “Well, he doesn’t spend as much time with me as he used to.”

  “It is football season and he is on the team.”

  “I know, but it feels different this year. And when we are together, he doesn’t seem that interested in … anything.”

  “But, at the Halloween party, you guys seemed so into each other.”

  She shook her head, her curls swinging in front of her face. “I know. That was a really good night. Maybe I’m imagining things, I don’t know. He just feels … distant to me. Maybe part of it is that I thought we’d be engaged by now.”

  “What?” I asked, taken aback for the second time. “Why would you think that? You say it like there’s an expiration date on it or something.”

  She laughed a little. “I guess I am being silly. You’re right. There probably isn’t anything wrong. He just has a lot on his mind with football and classes and graduation coming up. No biggie.” She stopped in front of Giovanni’s. “How does Italian sound? They have a pretty fantastic salad.”

  I smiled, but I wondered why Elena had dismissed her suspicions so quickly. Although a bit of a worrier, she wasn’t prone to exaggeration. Maybe she did have something to be concerned about. Anyway it didn’t matter now, I wouldn’t get anything more out of Elena today. She had declared the subject closed.

  To study or to drink, that was the question.

  Although I really needed to get my butt in gear – I had papers to write, second midterms to cram for, even if I didn’t know the exact due dates – I also desperately wanted to go out, get drunk and forget about my reality for awhile.

  As I ambled back to my apartment, I tried telling myself that I should study tonight since I would be going to a party tomorrow night. But tomorrow seemed way too far away. Besides, maybe if I consumed enough alcohol, it would disrupt my sleep patterns and I wouldn’t dream.

  The music of Jane’s Addiction greeted me as I pushed open the door. Wonderful. I would get to enjoy the company of Martha.

  She stood in the kitchen, fixing Ramen Noodles. She jumped when she saw me. “Sorry. I’ll turn it down.”

  I smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

  She nodded, clumping out of the room. A woman of few words.

  Wandering around the kitchen, I studied her books spread out over every available surface. Both history and philosophy books. Maybe she was a double major.

  The volume lowered to a respectable level, Martha plodded her way back to the kitchen and her dinner. She ate standing up, leaning over the counter and peering at an open book.

  “So, how’s things?” I continued skulking around the kitchen, telling myself I should be studying too.

  She looked up, brown hair falling into her eyes. “Behind. Paper and a midterm next week. You?”

  “Behind. I probably have papers and midterms due next week as well.”

  She looked shocked. “You don’t know?”

  I had been running my fingers down her books, tracing the binding, but stopped when she asked that. “You know, that was supposed to be a joke. But I just realized I actually don’t know.”
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  Without thinking, I sat down, my mind in a daze. “I know what’s left to do in my classes, at least I think I do, but I don’t have any concept of when I’m supposed to do it.” My voice was filled with amazement. “Come to think of it, I have no idea what went on in any of my classes this week at all.”

  Martha looked at me like I had suddenly sprouted a second head. “How’d you make it this far?”

  I rubbed my face. “I don’t know.” Crap. How could I justify partying tonight when I had no idea what was going on in my classes? Damn Martha. Now if I did go out I would feel guilty, whereas before, with the week I’d had, I would have felt justified.

  “Oh, your boyfriend’s been hanging around,” Martha said in a dismissive tone, turning back to her books. Clearly I wasn’t worthy of her time.

  I, on the other hand, was now completely focused on Martha. “Boyfriend?” I asked cautiously, struggling to keep my voice neutral.

  “Yeah, boyfriend. The new skinny one, not the football player. Left something for you. On the coffee table.”

  My head spun, like it had turned into one of those tilting rides at the fair. Putting my hands to my temples, I ordered myself not to panic, not to give in to the spinning, but instead to think this through. Which do I react to first – boyfriend, package or hanging around?

  Carefully, I folded my hands in front of me, forcing my hands to move slowly as if that would also slow my brain down. “How do you define ‘hanging around’ exactly?”

  Martha’s expression changed to annoyance. “Just because you don’t care about your grades doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t.”

  I briefly closed my eyes. “Martha, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to keep you from studying. But this is important. He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Certainly hangs around enough to be one,” she muttered to her books.

  I must not have heard her right. “What? You’ve seen him here more than once?”

  She sighed loudly. “Every night.”

  I rose to my feet, my voice getting louder by the second. “Every night? Since when?”

  She glared in my general direction. “Are you going to let me study or what?”

  I marched up to her, slamming both my hands on her books. I leaned over and looked directly into her face. “Martha.” I kept my voice very soft. “This is important. All you need to do is answer a couple of questions and then you can go study until your eyeballs fall out. When did you start seeing David hanging around?”

  Martha gawked, her mouth dropping open. After a moment, she closed it. “About a week.”

  “What time?”

  “Don’t know. Late.”

  “How late?”

  She shrugged. “Two, three. You should know. After you finished fucking him.”

  It took every ounce of willpower not to scream into her face that I never fucked him. Instead, I straightened and took a deep breath. “He’s not my boyfriend, okay? We dated twice, but we’ve never had sex and we never will have sex. Just … just be careful if you see him, okay?”

  “Careful?”

  I rubbed my face. “He’s … not what he seems. I don’t trust him. I’m in the process of ending the relationship, so you shouldn’t be seeing him around anymore. Okay?”

  She nodded. I took another deep breath, then remembered the package in the next room.

  “One more thing?”

  Martha glanced up, annoyance creeping back into her face.

  I gritted my teeth and continued. “The package. Where was it? In the mail?”

  “The front door. Saw it when I got home. Now, can I study?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for everything. I appreciate it.” I left her alone with her books, deciding my sarcasm was probably lost on her.

  The package was a padded mailer, sitting peacefully on the coffee table, minding its own business. Just like the package with the jewelry. Only my name was written on the front in black marker.

  I paced around it, not touching it, then collapsed on the couch. It certainly looked harmless enough. Somehow I didn’t think I would find jewelry inside.

  My stomach rolled in knots, my head continued its wild spinning ride. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore and tore the envelope open.

  Inside, a piece of paper was folded around something bulky. I grasped a corner, easing it out and over the coffee table. If it was something icky, I didn’t want it touching me.

  A few dried white petals fell out, piquing my curiosity. I cautiously unwrapped the paper and found a dead white rose, the petals curling and brown.

  I picked up the rose and studied it. Looked like your average, ordinary dead white rose. Odd. I took a second look at the paper and noticed it had something typed on it. I leaned over to read it.

  When is a rose officially declared dead? Is it when it’s cut from the bush? Or when it’s denied water? If it is when it’s denied water, how long do you think it takes for the rose to finally die?

  I fell back, my blood turning to ice in my veins. I couldn’t move, my body had frozen. I could only stare with horror at the dead rose. Was that blood drying on its thorns? No, just a trick of light. Or a trick of my mind.

  Martha chose that moment to clump out of the kitchen, arms filled with books. “Going somewhere where I can get something done.” I followed her with my eyes, the only part of my body I could move. Like a deer trapped in the headlights, frozen as death loomed in for a final embrace.

  As she passed by, she spotted the white rose. “Still sending you flowers. Can’t be all that bad.” She tramped down the steps, leaving me alone with the rose and Jane’s Addiction.

  Some time later, I have no idea how long, Brandi found me. I hadn’t moved, hadn’t been able to move.

  She stood in the living room, surveying the scene. I could smell her perfume, rich and musky. “Couldn’t Martha turn down that god-awful music? I swear, anyone who listens to that much Jane’s Addiction has to be a philosophy major.”

  I didn’t move.

  She studied me. “Am I interrupting something?”

  I didn’t answer.

  She took a step toward me, her body hesitant. “Kit, are you okay?”

  I still didn’t respond. She bent over to pick up the note. “You’re certainly getting your share of incomprehensible mail.” Her eyes flickered over the objects on the coffee table.

  “He’s going to kill me.” I was surprised at how calm I sounded.

  Brandi settled herself in the chair next to the couch, then crossed one leg over the other. “Kill you? Aren’t you being a bit melodramatic here?”

  “Dead rose. A note talking about death. How do you read it?”

  She studied me, wrapping a strand of hair around her finger. “I need a cigarette.”

  That broke my paralysis. “You promised no smoking in the apartment.”

  “When I made that promise, I didn’t foresee these exact circumstances.” Her movements deliberate, she uncrossed her legs, rose to her feet and strolled into the kitchen.

  I attempted to follow, but found my body uncooperative from sitting in one position for so long. “But my asthma.”

  “I’ll open a window,” she yelled from the kitchen.

  “It’s thirty below out there.”

  “It’s not thirty below, not even with the wind chill. Just turn up the thermostat. What do you care, we’re not paying for heat.”

  Finally, I got my limbs moving correctly and propelled myself into the kitchen. Brandi was perched on the window ledge, one jean-clad leg propped on the chair in front of her. Smoke from her cigarette curled in lazy spirals through the open window.

  “First of all, why do you think it’s from David, anyway? It wasn’t signed. Maybe it’s from your other anonymous pen pal, the one who sent you the confetti.”

  “No, it’s from David.”

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sp; She took another drag, the cold wind caressing her brownish blond waves. “How do you know?”

  “The rose. That’s why he sent the rose.”

  Brandi tapped her cigarette against one of Martha’s ugly sunflower plates, the ashes covering the petals like a gray cloud. “The man does have some sort of rose fetish going on, no argument there.”

  I yanked a chair from the table and dragged it as far away as I could from the smoke. “Plus there’s my gut feeling. And I saw him today.”

  She jerked her head up. “Really? Where?”

  “After class. He showed up again.” I told her about my encounter, but left out my dream and conversation with Martha. I couldn’t talk about those yet.

  She pondered my words, sucking in smoke, gazing outside. “Yeah, I’d say it’s starting to sound like you have a problem here.”

  I sagged in my chair. “What should I do?”

  Brandi shrugged, putting out the cigarette. “You could tell the police.”

  “Think that would do any good?”

  She picked up the pack and tapped another cigarette out. “Honestly? No. Nothing’s been done to you yet. Cops only get involved after the crime’s been committed, not before.”

  I leaned my head back against the wall. “Very comforting.”

  “However, when you register a complaint, you create a paper trail. A paper trail certainly wouldn’t hurt and probably would help in the long run. Same thing goes for collecting documentation.”

  I rubbed my temples. “Just don’t expect them to do anything, right?”

  Brandi lit a second cigarette. “Sweetie, I’m not even sure if you have enough to get a restraining order. You might be able to get him in trouble with the university, though. I suppose that’s worth a shot. Maybe he’ll decide it’s not worth getting kicked out of school.”

  “I can only hope.” I started redoing my ponytail. Brandi continued smoking, staring moodily out the window. Her hazel eyes were more green than brown, reflecting her dark green turtleneck sweater. With her long brownish blond hair fluttering in the wind, she looked like a piece of art. A painting – elegant and poised with just a hint of sadness. Her heavy gold necklace glinted between her breasts – a brush of brightness in the otherwise somber picture.