The Stolen Twin

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  That did surprise him. His eyes behind his thin wire glasses widened. “Really?”

  “Yes. It’s been going on for several weeks now. I haven’t been able to focus on much else.”

  He pondered this. “Why didn’t you bring this to my attention before?”

  I studied him, chewing on my bottom lip. How open should I be? I decided to lay everything on the table. “To be perfectly honest, the deadline caught up with me. I haven’t been paying as close attention as I should have. It just sort of dropped in my lap.” I let my hands flutter helplessly to my side.

  “I’ve announced it a couple of times these past few weeks.”

  “I’m sure you have, but it just didn’t sink in. This guy, he waylays me after class. I end up focusing on ways to get from class to class without running into him. I know I should have brought it up before, but I really wasn’t thinking. If it makes any difference, I know I didn’t handle it right and I’m sorry.”

  Professor Markham picked up his pointer and tapped the table with it. “Monday,” he said at last. “By noon. My office. Do you know where it is?”

  Relief blossomed inside me. “Yes, yes I do. Thank you so much.”

  “Get it in by then and I won’t penalize you. Fair?”

  I nodded, thanking him again and turning away before he could change his mind. As I hurried to my next class, it hit me that now I had three and a half days to finish a book and a half and write a ten-page paper. Lucky me.

  By the time I had walked into the door of the apartment, I’d about had it with being an English major.

  Spending the afternoon skimming a book and trying to decipher my meager class notes was not my idea of fun. I finally broke down and bought the Cliff Notes. I hated to do it – I always felt like it was cheating, but there was no other way. On top of that, I appeared to be coughing more than usual, even with my day off yesterday. Not a good sign.

  I needed some fun. A party would do the trick. Maybe I would even run into Tommy. Although I didn’t want to get back together, I missed having him around. Maybe I could apologize and get us back on the friend track. Actually, I should apologize anyway; I knew I’d been a bitch. Tomorrow would be soon enough to start writing.

  Brandi sauntered into the living room just as I walked in. “Oh, you’re here,” she said. It didn’t sound like a good thing.

  “Yes. After all, I do live here, so it does make sense to drop in from time to time.” I made a point of examining her outfit. She wore her party clothes – tight jeans, red clingy mohair sweater, delicate gold chain. “Isn’t it awfully early to be all dressed up?”

  She looked uncomfortable. It was an odd expression for her. It didn’t suit her at all. “I’m heading over to the sorority house.”

  I was baffled. “Now? I’m not ready yet.”

  “Well … technically, you’re not invited.”

  My mouth dropped open. “I’m not what?”

  She picked some imaginary lint off her sweater. “Invited. At least not until this David thing gets sorted out. They don’t want David showing up again and causing a scene.”

  I gaped at her. I’d never not been invited to a party before. “I’m really not invited?”

  “Just until you get this David thing taken care of. Look at it from their point of view. They don’t want any trouble. Okay? I’ll catch you later.” Brandi brushed past me and headed down the stairs. Stunned into silence, I watched her go,

  How could this have happened to me? And so quickly? It didn’t even make sense.

  I headed for my bedroom for lack of somewhere better to go. Unable to sit, I paced my room, shedding my coat and purse between laps, becoming more agitated with each step. It seemed wherever I went or whatever I did, David lurked somewhere in the background. I hadn’t been paying attention to my classes because of him. I had started getting sick because of him. And now, he had managed to alienate me from my friends and roommates. What next?

  During one of my laps, I booted my computer up and logged on to check email. Surprise, surprise. A message from David. Exactly what I wanted.

  It was simple, just four words, all caps.

  WE HAVE TO TALK.

  Bullshit. I was done talking. Suddenly I couldn’t stand to be in my apartment for one more minute. I grabbed my purse and coat and stalked out of my room.

  This time I met Martha on the landing. She still wore her coat and had her books clutched to her chest. I breezed by, not saying a word.

  She watched me, her face a blotchy red, her nose running.

  “He hasn’t stopped,” she called after me.

  I stopped, my hands clenched into fists. Deliberately, I turned to face her. “Have you given your statement to the police yet?”

  She frowned. “I need to be able to study.”

  I folded my arms. “I take that as a ‘No, they haven’t called.’”

  She sniffed. “No, they haven’t called.”

  “Have you thought about calling them?”

  “Why should I do that?”

  I took a couple steps toward her. “Maybe because once you tell the police David’s been hanging around here, maybe they’ll take me more seriously and maybe they’ll jump on this a little bit faster. A little help here would be nice.”

  She sniffed again and shifted her gaze to her feet. This was just too much. I whirled around and stalked out of the apartment.

  I marched toward the State Street bar scene. Although early for the bars, it was late enough to be dark, but I didn’t feel the least bit frightened. So what if he’s following me. In fact, I think he should come after me. I’d love a chance to pepper spray his face and kick him in the crotch. Just you come after me, David. I dare you.

  I stopped first in Marshall’s and had a couple of beers. Then on to the Turn Key for a few more and a few shots to keep the beers from being lonely. Next I tried the ever-popular Bear Claw for a couple more. Finally, I ended up in Tanner’s, nursing a beer in the corner and brooding.

  I still couldn’t believe I hadn’t been invited. And all because of that asshole David. I was so sick of him affecting my life. Of no longer feeling safe. Losing my concentration. And, probably worst of all, being treated like a leper by my friends. Nothing to do with my disease. Oh no. All because of David. My new plague. One that seemed infinitely worse than my grinning decomposing companion. I was beyond tired of it.

  Worse yet, nobody wanted to help me. Everywhere I went, people greeted my story with skepticism. Even the cops and the university. Sure, I had registered complaints, but so what? Unless someone somewhere followed through, those complaints were worthless. And I had absolutely no confidence that anyone would do anything. Why would they – they clearly didn’t believe me.

  A guy who looked like a young Denzel Washington bumped into my chair, spilling beer all over my jeans. “Watch where you’re going,” I yelled as he melted into the crowd. I mopped up my lap, muttering to myself.

  The bar had started filling up – crowds of people who knew each other. Smells of perfume, beer and smoke saturated the air. All those people laughing and drinking and having a good time. Everyone, that is, except me. All alone in a bar on a Thursday night. All because of David.

  Suddenly I found myself getting up, shoving my way through the crowd, heading for the exit, without any clear idea of what I was going to do. Wrapped in a cocoon of cold fury, I just kept hearing the words “enough is enough,” over and over in my head. If nobody else would help me, then I would just have to help myself.

  If you need something done right, do it yourself. I had never appreciated the truth and beauty of that statement until that moment.

  Back at the apartment. Opening the door. I needed to get something.

  A weapon.

  But what weapon? What did we have in the apartment?

  A knife.

  Yes, a ki
tchen knife. Something sharp. Something big.

  For a second I was appalled at my thoughts. Was I really going to go after David? With a knife? Who was this person I was becoming?

  But I wasn’t going to hurt him, I told myself. I just needed something to protect myself. And to make sure he took me seriously. That’s all.

  I wasn’t really going to use it.

  It took only moments to select the perfect one. I also grabbed a dishtowel to wrap it in and a bottle half filled with wine. I knew I might have to wait.

  Close door. Lock it. Off to do what needs to be done. What should have been done long ago.

  Before approaching the security door, I located his window. At least I thought it was his window. Dark. Probably out looking for me. Let’s see how he likes having the tables turned.

  I checked the security door. Still not fixed. Perfect. Crossing the street, I stationed myself behind a couple of dumpsters, then opened the wine. Asshole. He had no idea what he was coming home to.

  The more I drank, the blacker my thoughts became, stinking of garbage. The cold seeped through my jeans. Why didn’t I stop this before? Why did I let it get this far? Why the fuck was I letting him ruin my life? An icy numbness reeking of rotting food pressed against my face. I hunched my shoulders, sinking lower in my seat, trying to stay warm while not breathing in the stench. Occasionally I would stroke the knife, furtively, through the towel. At one point, I could feel the blade bite into the fabric, hear the delicate tearing noise. Yes, definitely sharp enough. Although I struggled to keep them under control, coughs continued to trickle out of me at odd intervals.

  I had finished the last of the wine when I saw a familiar figure trotting down the street. David. No question about it.

  Hands in his pockets, he waltzed up to the security door, opened it, and disappeared inside. I waited long enough to see the lights go on in his apartment – hah, I had remembered right – then crept across the street to the door, leaving the empty wine bottle by the dumpster. The streetlights glistened, soft and unfocused, casting strangely- shaped shadows.

  I held the knife under my jacket. My legs had stiffened during the wait, the cold settling inside the ligaments and tendons. The lobby tipped and swayed. I blinked a few times to clear my head, then pushed the button for the elevator. Amazingly, I felt calm and focused. My rage was so great it had vaulted to another level – sharpening my senses to a thin burning beam of light concentrated solely on one thing: David.

  Inside the elevator, the buttons danced a little jig. I had to wait until they were done before I could push David’s floor. I didn’t feel drunk, not at all. But I did feel strange, like I had just stepped into a different dimension. One where I was the victor and he the victim. He picked the wrong girl to screw with. In a few minutes, he would know it.

  Before I reached his door, I removed the towel and hid the knife behind my back.

  David opened almost immediately. “Kit. I didn’t expect to see you this late.”

  I tried to smile, but my face felt brittle, hard. Just seeing him started my anger boiling. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” He held the door open. I eased inside, keeping my back to him. While he shut and locked the door, I backed into the living room.

  He finished and came toward me, a bright smile on his face. “I knew you’d come around.”

  God, I hated that smug expression. I could taste my anger, my disgust, bitter and rotten. It was all I could do to not spit on his clean floor. “You’re right. I have finally come round.” I whipped the knife out, brandishing the tip at him.

  He stopped, the smile dying on his face, his eyes widening. “Kit? What the … ”

  “Ya’know, I think I’d like to talk right now.” I waved the knife and swayed toward him. The room tilted, black clouds buzzed around my head. My anger bubbled, boiling over. He backed up a step. “I’m gettin’ the idea you just aren’t hearin’ what I’m telling you. So I thought I’d come over and explain one more time. You see, I don’t want you ‘round me. At all. Period. End of story. That means I don’t want you sendin’ me roses, dead or alive, packages, letters, emails, nothin’ at all. It also means I don’t want you hangin’ ‘round my apartment, stoppin’ by my classes, followin’ me to parties or callin’ me on the phone. Is this makin’ sense to you?”

  He put his hands up, backing up more. “What are you talking about? I don’t do that.”

  The room dipped. Did I hear him right? “Excuse me?”

  He shrugged. “What you’re saying. I don’t do those things.”

  What the hell was going on here? “What do you call showin’ up at my classes? The Union?”

  “I happened to walk by while you were leaving class. And the Union- I was eating lunch there. You’re reading into way too many things that quite simply aren’t there.”

  “Readin’ things into … what about the emails I received? The roses?”

  “You’re right. I did send you roses once. But that was before we broke up.”

  I gawked at him, the room tilting again. “What?” This couldn’t be happening. How could he say such bold-faced lies?

  “Look, I know you’re taking this badly,” he said, his voice ever-so-reasonable. “I know you didn’t want to break up. But I told you it wasn’t working, and it’s not. You have to stop this.”

  My anger, white hot, ripped through my body. I advanced on him. “You did not break up with me. I’ve been tryin’ to break up with you! You’ve been stalking me.”

  His face twisted into an expression of sympathy. “If it makes you feel better to tell yourself you broke up with me, that’s okay. I know you’re hurt and I want to do what I can to help. But this other fantasy that I’m stalking you, you have to stop that.” He laughed in disbelief as he said the word “stalking.”

  I started shaking, the knife wavering back and forth. My ears burned with his lies. Who the hell did he think he was, making up realities to match his fantasies? How dare he stalk me and then pretend it was all in my head? “You know damn well what you’re doing. I am not livin’ in a fantasy world.”

  His face took on a long-suffering expression. “Of course you’re not. You’re just a little confused and hurt right now.”

  That did it. “You are stalking me. Admit it,” I screamed, flying at him. I slammed into his chest, pushing him against the wall, trapping him there. Jerking the knife up, I pressed it against the soft vulnerable skin of his neck. “Say it.”

  “Kit … ”

  I pushed the knife in deeper. A thin line of blood appeared at the tip. “Say it. Say you’re stalking me.”

  Our faces were close, so close I could smell his stinking, rotten breath. It stunk like the garbage had. I stared into his eyes and finally, finally, I could see it, almost hidden in his depths. Fear. Power surged through me, mixing with the burning rage, exploding inside me.

  I pushed the knife further. Blood trickled down his neck. “Let me explain somethin’ to you.” I dropped my voice to almost a whisper. “I will slice open your throat. Admit you’re stalking me and that you’re going to stop.”

  He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. The fear intensified, but I could see more. Humiliation. Rage – its embers burning in the depths of his eyes. Power gushed through me.

  “Well, what’s it gonna be? The choice is yours.”

  He closed his eyes. “I was stalking you.”

  I nudged the knife. “And?”

  “And I won’t do it anymore.”

  “Ever?”

  “No.” He opened his eyes. Rage flared again. “I’ll leave you alone from now on.”

  I studied the dark emotions swirling in his eyes. Would he really leave me alone? Or was he just saying it so I would leave? Maybe I should kill him. No question he would leave me alone then.

  A single drop of blood dripped down his ne
ck, staining his green sweater. Yes, killing him would solve my problems, wouldn’t it? I envisioned cutting into his neck, one flick of the wrist to slice through tendons, nerves and blood vessels. The blood would spray out of him, hot and thick. He would make a gasping sound, grabbing his neck with his hands, staring at me with eyes filled with shock and disbelief, even as he sank, dying to the floor. Satisfying.

  But what about the police? A distant, sober part of my brain stepped in. You really think you’re going to get away with it?

  I took a deep breath, coughed a little. To be honest, no. I didn’t think I would get away with it. Nobody believed my stalking story, so self-defense was out. Besides, I wasn’t a killer. Despite my feeling right now.

  Almost reluctantly, I stepped back from David. He didn’t say anything, simply put his hand to his neck and watched me. I wondered if he knew how close he had come to dying. I wondered if he saw death in my eyes, burning with a vengeance.

  I pointed the knife at him. “Remember what you promised. Stay away from me.” Not turning my back to him, I eased my way down his short hallway. The locked front door stopped me for a moment, I had forgotten about it, but I managed to undo it and step outside without turning my back to him. His body didn’t move, only his eyes followed me as I gently closed the door.

  Still on a high, I ended up at several more bars before returning to my apartment, consuming more than my share of beer and shots. I remembered mumbling to someone, some stranger, whose face remained perpetually blurry, that I was celebrating. I had taken care of an annoying problem. Need something done right, only yourself to depend on, or something like that.

  I don’t remember when I stumbled home, knife shoved in my purse. I crashed on the bed and almost immediately passed out, even with the bed violently spinning.

  Pounding woke me up. At first, I thought it was my in my head. Boom, boom, boom. Each boom exploded into sharp daggers that buried themselves into the soft vulnerable areas of my brain. Boom, boom, boom. Eventually, I realized the booms were actual noises coming from the direction of the front door.

  Wincing at the light, I stumbled through the apartment to the source of the noises. Peering through the peephole, I saw an older man with a mustache wearing a suit.