The Stolen Twin

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  Relief had replaced my anxiety, and I was suddenly aware of just how exhausted I was. All those nights of broken sleep. No wonder. I decided to go home and study. Maybe take a nap first. In fact, once I got myself and Evelina settled on the couch, I realized a nap was definitely in order.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Startled, I tumbled off the couch, flinging my book across the room. Oh, God, David has just shot me.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  No, he’s shooting his way into the apartment. I fumbled for my noisemaker and pepper spray, trying to clear the sleepy cobwebs from my brain. Have to get help. Have to scare him off. I went to pull the pin, my fingers big and clumsy from sleep.

  “Kit? It’s me Tommy. Are you in there?”

  My hand froze. Was David impersonating Tommy to trick me into opening the door? But, what about the gun shots? Does Tommy have a gun? Now what do I do?

  Luckily for Tommy, I finally woke up enough to piece everything together. No gunshots, no David, just me being paranoid and Tommy banging on the door.

  “Kit?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” I called out. “Hold on a second.” I stumbled to my feet, skirt tangled around my legs, attempting to straighten myself out. Not enough time to go to the bathroom so I glanced in the mirror Brandi had hung in the hallway.

  Evelina had landed right there. I scooped it up before opening the door.

  Tommy stood there, his red and blue ski jacket thrown over a rumpled Packer jersey, his manner uncertain.

  For a moment we just stared at each other. He broke the silence first with a hesitant voice. “I was thinking … maybe if I saw those letters, I might have some ideas about what’s going on.”

  I couldn’t answer him right away. The bright, shining edge of relief had cut through my doubt, my anxiety. Did this mean he would accept my disease, could accept my disease? Did I dare hope?

  “You think?” I asked, attempting to sound casual. My knees felt too weak to hold me up. I leaned against the door, trying to mask it.

  He tilted his head, studying me. Then he smiled, brilliant and golden, lighting up his whole face. My breath caught in my throat. “Yeah. I think.”

  ***

  “Any bright ideas?”

  Tommy studied the items laid out on the kitchen table: the note that came with the confetti, the letter accompanying the dead rose, the tiny message I found in my jacket yesterday and the rose pin. He shook his head. “Nothing immediately springs to mind.”

  I moved to stand next to him, breathing in his scent of snow and cold and Irish Spring soap.

  Tommy fingered the first note. “‘Kit Cat. First there were two, then there was one. Soon there will be none.’ It sounds to me like she thinks something’s gonna happen to you.”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of what I got out of it.”

  “But, it also sounds like you can stop it. Discover the truth. What truth do you think she’s referring to?”

  I shrugged. “Not really sure. Maybe who kidnapped Cat? Although why that would stop anything, I don’t know.”

  He pulled one of the chairs over, flipped it around and straddled it backwards. “What do you know about your sister’s kidnapping?”

  “Not much.” I started pacing. “It happened while I was in the hospital. I had pneumonia and a pretty high fever. Don’t remember too much about that period in my life.”

  “What did your parents tell you?”

  I didn’t answer for a moment, instead leaning over to rest my elbows on the dark yellow kitchen counter. “Would you believe nothing?”

  “Nothing?” Tommy sounded puzzled.

  My hands squeezed into fists. I pushed them against my forehead. “We never talked about it.”

  “Never?”

  “Oh God, Tommy, don’t make this harder than it is.” I straightened, resumed my pacing.

  “I’m not, but I am confused. I mean, this is a pretty important event, and families generally discuss important events.”

  “Not mine.” I paced around the counter, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. It felt strange, unnatural almost, to be talking about this, but I had promised I would tell him everything. “My first memory after being sick was lying in the hospital bed and asking my mother where Cat was. She had a strange, almost despaired expression on her face and told me we’d talk about it later. A few weeks later, when I was home recuperating, I asked her again. She told me Cat had been kidnapped. Then, her face just … .shut down. Closed off. I never asked again.”

  Tommy stayed silent. I kept walking. How could I explain to him the emptiness I felt watching my mother’s face flatten? At that moment I knew, knew with absolute certainty that in my mother’s heart, the wrong child had been kidnapped. The pain had been unbearable. I had also understood (or sensed) that my mother would always take care of me – make sure my illness stayed under control, that I did my homework and didn’t stay out too late – but in her heart, I would always be second. A far, distant second. I would always be the sick child. The wrong child.

  Folding my arms across my chest, my back to Tommy, I blinked back tears. We had never spoken about it because I couldn’t bear to hear her say what I had known all along. Because once said, it would harden and crystallize, shattering my already bruised heart.

  Taking a few deep breaths, I wrestled my emotions under control for the second time that day and turned back to Tommy. “Anyway, that’s the long way of saying I don’t know much.”

  Tommy studied me, his expression full of sympathy and something else I couldn’t read. He opened his mouth, closed it without saying anything, then angled his head toward the notes. “Well, I guess it’s one place to start. What happened to Cat, I mean.”

  I nodded, making my way back to the kitchen table. He continued to examine the objects. “As for David, have you filed any sort of formal complaint yet? To the school or the police?”

  I pulled a chair out and sat down. “No, not yet.”

  He reached out to the dead rose, but didn’t touch it. Instead, his hand hovered above it, like he was casting a spell. “Don’t you think it would be a good idea? I mean, this guy sounds like he’s threatening your life.”

  “Yeah, Brandi and I talked about it, I just hadn’t gotten over there yet.” It suddenly occurred to me that he had sent that rose on Thursday, only three days ago. It seemed a lot longer than that.

  Tommy’s hand then floated over to the jeweler’s box, hovered above it for moment, before snatching it up. Snapping open the box, he studied the pin, his face growing stiller by the second. “I thought you said you were going to return this to him.”

  “Christ, Tommy. I don’t see how you can be jealous right now.”

  He tossed the box back onto the table. “I’m not jealous. It’s just with everything that’s happened, I’m surprised you still have it.”

  “Oddly enough, it’s because I haven’t had a chance to return it.”

  He folded his arms across the back of the chair, staring at the open box, now lying on its side, diamonds glinting in the light. “It’s a pretty expensive piece of jewelry.”

  “That’s already been established.”

  He chewed on his bottom lip, eyes never leaving the pin, almost like the sparkling stones had hypnotized him.

  I rolled my eyes. “Tommy, what’s the problem here?”

  Arms still folded, he drummed his fingers against his bicep. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’ve spent the day telling me what a psycho this guy is, yet it somehow slips your mind to return an expensive gift to him.”

  “Tommy, what are you accusing me of?”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything. I simply don’t understand why you’d want a reminder of that psycho lying around.”

  “I don’t want a reminder of him lying around. I told you, I haven’t gotten around to returning it.”r />
  “The last time I looked, the post office was still accepting letters and packages for delivery.”

  I gaped at him. “You think I should mail it back?”

  “Why not? Then you wouldn’t have to see him, and you’d have one less reminder of him around.”

  I paused and took a deep breath. Then I sat back in my chair and crossed my legs. “Why does the fact I haven’t returned this piece of jewelry threaten you so?”

  His mouth dropped open. “What are you talking about? It doesn’t threaten me.”

  “Then why are you so fixated on it?”

  He threw his arms up. “Because if you really didn’t like this guy, it would have made sense to have already returned it.”

  “So, you think I might actually have feelings for David, after everything I’ve told you, based on the fact I didn’t return a piece of jewelry fast enough to meet your timeline requirements?”

  That stopped him. He paused, mouth half open to argue, and pondered my words. Then he smiled. “Okay. Maybe you have a point.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I have a really good point.”

  He leaned forward against the back of the chair. “All right, all serious now. You should definitely go to the police and the school and anyone else we can think of and file some formal complaints against this guy. Immediately. Tomorrow. I’ll go with you.”

  “You don’t have to go with me.” I said, but I was touched. I had spent so much of my life distancing myself from people, I had become used to doing the important things alone. Having someone offer to help felt strange but right at the same time, like trying on a new pair of shoes that you knew would feel great once you got used to them.

  “I’d like to help.” He locked his eyes with mine. Caring mixed with lust. The shivers started up my spine and I broke the gaze. Before we got involved again, I needed to make sure he fully understood my disease and all its implications. I didn’t think I could bear igniting our relationship again, only to have him leave because the disease demanded more than he could give.

  Tommy swung his right leg off the chair and stood up. “I should get going. But, I’ll see you tomorrow after classes, right?” He looked at me expectantly.

  I nodded. “Tomorrow. We’ll get it done.”

  “Right.” He scooped his jacket up, putting it on as I walked him out. I opened the front door and the cold wind rushed in, stinging my stocking-clad legs. Pausing for a second, he gazed into my face. His eyes were hungry, desperate to say something. But at the last moment, he changed his mind. “See you,” he said, and without waiting for an answer, disappeared into the night.

  Chapter 18

  Nibbling on my toast and peanut butter, I listened to Martha clumping around, getting ready to face her Monday. At least that’s what I assumed she was doing. So when she burst in the kitchen and started yelling, I was totally unprepared.

  “You said he was going to stop hanging around.”

  Oh, no. My stomach dropped to the ground – I could almost hear the sickening thud it made when it hit the tile. “What?” I asked, trying to pretend she meant someone else, an axe murderer maybe.

  Martha stomped toward me, her normally pale face flushed an unattractive pink color. Her mousy brown hair looked even more wilted than usual, flattened against her face and neck. “That guy you’re dating. You said he was going to stop hanging around.”

  Brandi chose that moment to saunter in the kitchen, a circular brush in one hand, hair still damp. “Shouting first thing on a Monday morning does not bode well for the rest of the week.”

  In the space where my stomach used to be, a cold knot of ice had formed. “He will.”

  Martha glared at me, leaning across the kitchen table, the flush staining her face now spreading down her neck. “How can you be so sure?”

  Brandi tapped the brush against her other hand, gazing at both of us. “Now, children, play nicely. What gives?”

  Martha pointed her finger at me. Her nail was ragged, bitten off. “Her boyfriend keeps hanging around here.”

  Brandi’s eyes widened, the expression suddenly wary. “Boyfriend?”

  I stared at the white and gold plate, realized I still held the piece of toast I no longer had an appetite for, and made my hand let go. It dropped to the plate with a tiny plop. “Uh, she’s talking about David,” I mumbled.

  “David?” Brandi now advanced on me. “David’s been hanging around here?”

  “Every night,” Martha said.

  “Every night?” Brandi repeated, her head swiveling as she tried to keep her eyes on both of us at the same time. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Little over a week. She,” Martha pointed at me again, “told me that it would stop.”

  “She told … Kit, you knew?”

  “Uh … ” I started to say, but Brandi interrupted me.

  “And you didn’t think I might like to know about this?”

  “Well, actually, no,” I said.

  “No?”

  “Brandi, I thought he’d stop doing it. I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Have you reported him yet?”

  I looked at my plate again, the crumbs dusting the surface. “I will today.”

  “Oh. Translated, that means a big fat ‘no.’” Brandi began stalking back and forth across the kitchen.

  Martha’s stain darkened to a reddish pink. “You haven’t done anything yet to stop him?”

  “Look, I’m trying here … ”

  “How do you expect me to study?” Martha’s voice grew louder. “How do expect me to concentrate when every night I come home to find him lurking around? Even if you don’t care about your grades, you should show some consideration to the real students around here.”

  “Christ Almighty,” Brandi groaned. The ice knot tightened, twisting itself painfully inside me.

  “Last night too?” I asked in a tiny voice. The expression on Martha’s face was all the answer I needed. The ice knot suddenly doubled in size.

  “Kit, you’ve got to do something here,” Brandi said.

  I pushed back my chair, so abruptly it tipped over, hitting the wall with a bang. “I am. Today. I’m registering a complaint with everyone I can think of.” I scooped up my plate and walked to the sink, leaving my chair awkwardly balanced against the wall. “I’ll try to get a restraining order as well.”

  Brandi leaned over the counter until her head was in my field of vision, her hazel eyes hard. “You better,” she said, her voice quiet but full of steel.

  For a moment, I couldn’t move, the harshness in those eyes so intense it paralyzed me. “You knew David was following me. Why so surprised now?”

  She leaned closer. “Because now it’s my problem, too.”

  I stared at her, so shocked at her words, her attitude that I dropped the plate into the sink. It made a cracking noise that normally would have disturbed me, but these weren’t normal times. I didn’t even glance at the sink, instead pushing my way past Brandi. “I have to get to class.”

  Martha’s voice, even more high pitched, followed me out of the kitchen. “I can’t focus like this. Get him to stop. I need to be able to study.”

  “I said I’d take care of it. Quit worrying,” I shouted back, grabbing my coat and books and running out the door. I decided to put my coat on outside. That cold out here felt cleaner, fresher, more honest than the chill inside the apartment.

  ***

  “Now let me get this straight,” Detective Jenkins said, leaning back in his chair until it creaked, folding his arms across his substantial belly. The buttons on his untidy white shirt strained at the effort. “You’re saying a David Naughton has sent you these things.” He gestured to the dead rose and two notes. “But not this one,” his other hand waved over the confetti note.

  For the thousandth time that day, I
regretted bringing the confetti note to the station. At the time, I thought it might help my case, show that someone else thought David was dangerous. Just the opposite – it appeared to be weakening my already weak case.

  “Yes.”

  His chair squeaked again as he rocked forward. “How can you tell? None of these are signed.”

  I ran my hands through my hair, resisting the urge to pull a handful of strands out. The sounds of keyboards tapping clashed with the hum of human voices, everything from low murmurs to shouts to laughter, added to my headache.

  It hadn’t been a good day. I should have just stayed in bed. I had spent most of it devising avoid-David schemes that now appeared to have been a total waste. At first, I had thought they were working, but in retrospect it all seemed too easy. Like he hadn’t even tried to see me.

  I gestured toward the messages on the detective’s desk. “That note sounds like the same kind of warning I got from the girl at the Halloween party. And the other notes definitely sound more like David.”

  “So, it’s just a feeling then?”

  I wanted to scream. “It’s more than a feeling. I’ve had encounters with both these people.” My headache worsened. Everything about this place was making me crazy. It even stunk – old, burnt coffee and sweaty, unwashed bodies. Next to me, Tommy put a comforting hand on my arm.

  “I’ll take these and dust them for prints.” His tone clearly said he didn’t expect to find any. “Anything else to report?”

  “One of my roommates has seen him hanging around outside our apartment every night.”

  Detective Jenkins nodded, took a few notes. “Where exactly has he been hanging around?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.” I didn’t think I wanted to know exactly where.

  He wrote a few more things down. “Anything else?” He didn’t sound very convinced.

  I chewed on my lip. I had already told him about David following me to classes and attacking me in the library stairwell. “Isn’t that enough?”