The Stolen Twin

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  Crawling back into bed, I didn’t expect to fall asleep again after the horror of that nightmare – a nightmare that should have required copious amounts of alcohol to explode into existence instead of the measly half glass of beer – but almost immediately I dozed off. Dream free. Thank God.

  When I woke again, it was midmorning. I felt much better – still, I should go see Dr. Jones. I could already hear him yelling at me for not making an appointment sooner. But what if he threw me in the hospital? There I would be – helpless, exposed. Perfect prey. Perfect for David. No thanks.

  I left my bedroom in search for some breakfast and was greeted by a strange sight – Brandi and Elena in the living room, books scattered everywhere.

  “Morning,” Brandi said.

  “How’re you feeling?” Elena asked.

  “You mean, other than like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck?” I rubbed my chest. “Actually, I’m better. So, what’s up with the study party? Classes cancelled today?”

  Elena and Brandi exchanged looks. “Well, we’re both pretty behind, and we thought it’d be better to get caught up here than – ah – go to class,” Elena said.

  “I see.” I went to pour myself some juice. Stupid explanations aside, I had to admit, it did make me feel better knowing they were there.

  “Tommy’s coming over,” Brandi called out. “You called or something last night? He should be here shortly.”

  “Thanks.” Maybe I should take a shower before breakfast.

  “Kit.” Martha stood at the doorway. She looked terrible, her face as red and swollen as an overripe tomato.

  “Hey,” I said, not really sure what to say, but figuring that was safe.

  She looked down at her feet, her lank brown hair falling forward. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  I leaned against the counter, loaf of bread in one hand. “Go ahead.”

  She shuffled further into the kitchen. “I … I didn’t mean to make any trouble for you.”

  I folded my arms, awkwardly because of the bread. “Okay.”

  Martha raised her head, peeking at me from between strands of hair. “I spoke to the police. Told them everything. Even why I lied in the first place.”

  “Thanks,” I said, but inwardly I sighed. No wonder Detective Jenkins didn’t believe me, hearing words like “I lied because I wanted the problem to go away faster than it would through the court system. I lied because I wanted her to move out.” Still, she meant well. That counted for something.

  “Also, I … I didn’t mean to sound like such a bitch yesterday. I … I know you have Cystic Fibrosis. I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know, Martha. It’s okay.”

  Her puffy red-rimmed eyes stared at me a moment longer, then she started to shuffle out of the room.

  “Martha,” I called. She turned, hair still in her face.

  I smiled. “Hey, thanks. For going to cops, for putting up with all this stalking crap. I appreciate it.”

  She paused, staring, then smiled back. I sucked in my breath. Incredible. Her smile illuminated her entire face, making her as attractive as she had been last night, even without makeup and with disastrous hair.

  “You really should smile more,” I said. “You look gorgeous when you do.”

  She ducked her head, probably blushing although with her face so red it was a tough call, and shuffled out the door. I went back to making toast.

  After eating, I jumped in the shower. I made it fast so I would be ready when Tommy arrived. While getting dressed, I turned on the computer to check my messages.

  They took awhile to download. Probably got on some spam list. I pulled on jeans and a sweater, combed my hair and glanced at the screen.

  One hundred and fifty new messages.

  All from David.

  One hundred and fifty messages from David.

  Prickles of ice trailed down my arms. My breathing caught in my throat. He had sent me at least twenty just this morning. What did this mean?

  The doorbell rang. Tommy. At least it had better be Tommy. God did I want to see him. Dropping my comb, I hurried out of the bedroom and to the door.

  Brandi was in the kitchen fiddling with the coffee pot. Elena and Martha were nowhere in sight.

  “Kit, wait a second. I’ll go answer.”

  “It’s probably Tommy.” I rushed past the kitchen and headed for the door. “I’ll look through the peep hole first and let you know if you need to call 9-1-1.”

  “That’s not funny,” Brandi yelled.

  “It’s not supposed to be,” I called back.

  I peered through the peephole, but saw nothing.

  “Who’s there?”

  I pressed my face to the door. “No one.”

  Brandi appeared at the head of the staircase. “Get away from the door.”

  I backed up and she came down the stairs. “Here.” She handed me a canister of pepper spray. “It’s mine. You stay back, but be prepared to spray. I’ll open.” She unlocked the deadbolt, but left the chain on. Slowly turning the knob, she eased the door open a crack.

  Her face turned pale. “Oh, God. Jezzy!!!” Slamming the door shut, she slid the chain off and flung open the door. “Call the cops, Kit. How could he do this?! To a helpless cat who never did anything to him? Goddamn him!!”

  I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe. My eyes were locked on the small, bloodstained bundle on the front stoop.

  Definitely a cat. Definitely Jezzy. She had been stabbed repeatedly. Dried blood matted her fur. The knife used had been stuck through a bloodstained note, then jammed into her chest.

  Brandi let out a strangled cry as she bent to touch the cold, dead fur. One blank green eye stared unseeingly at the cold gray sky. Brandi’s fingers hovered above the animal, but couldn’t make contact. She jumped to her feet and ran past me.

  Mesmerized by the horror, I knelt down, studying the torn and crumpled note. It was all black and red – blotches of red and smears of black ink.

  Look what happened to this CAT.

  Wouldn’t it be a shame if it happened to a KITten?

  I was so cold, so cold. As cold as the matted fur, the dried blood, the dead, unseeing eye. The knife glinted dully at me. I started to shake.

  “Kit. Come back inside.” Elena had her hands on my back, so warm, gently guiding me inside. “You’re sick enough. You don’t need to be out here making it worse.”

  “But the cat,” I said, my voice hoarse and cracking. “We have to bring it inside. We can’t leave it out here.”

  “I know. I’ll get it. It’s evidence so we don’t want to touch it.”

  Evidence? I shook my head. Not evidence, I tried to say, but I couldn’t form the words. It’s Jezzy. She’s cold. It’s not right to leave her out there all alone in the cold covered with her own blood. She was such a beautiful cat, such a proud cat. It’s undignified to leave her out there. Unseemly.

  Brandi stood at the top of the stairs, a warm breathing Jezzy in her arms. “It’s not Jezzy,” she said. “Not Jezzy!” She buried her head in the cat’s fur. Jezzy, however, appeared to be less than thrilled with Brandi’s open display of affection.

  “But.” I pointed to the door. “But … the cat … whose is it? Where did it come from?”

  “And how did he find a cat who looked so much like Jezzy?” Brandi asked darkly.

  Jezzy had had enough of Brandi and leaped out of her arms with a sharp meow. I caught a glimpse of disgruntled green eyes before she stalked off.

  “Kit, let’s get you all the way inside.” Elena steered me up the stairs. I let her do what she wanted, my body limp and mechanical – no thought, no control. And so cold. So very, very cold.

  Look what happened to this CAT.

  She wrapped me in a worn red blanket and sat me on the couch. So cold. Never
be warm again.

  “Kit, drink this.” Elena pressed a mug into my hand. Automatically, I took it and sipped, nearly choking on it.

  “Ugh. How much sugar did you dump in here?”

  “You’re in shock. Sugar’s good when you’re in shock. Drink up.”

  Grimacing, I took another swallow. What a way to ruin a perfectly innocent cup of tea. But, at least it had managed to break through my paralysis.

  By the time I had drained the mug, my shaking had calmed down. “Guess you were right about the sugar.”

  Elena smiled, but her eyes remained worried. “I’m right about a lot of things. Now if only people would listen to me.”

  “Gee, we don’t think too highly of ourselves at all,” Brandi said, her voice a pale, blurry copy of her normal sarcastic tone.

  Elena touched my forehead. “When you’re feeling a bit calmer, we should call the police.”

  “Why?” I said dully. “What’re they going to do?”

  “You have to report it.”

  I put my empty mug on the coffee table. “I’m sure there aren’t any fingerprints on … it. The police already believe David’s the victim. They might even think I did it and am trying to blame it on David.”

  Brandi sat down heavily on the chair. “I wish I could say you’re wrong, but after their reaction to this last complaint ...”

  I shrugged. “And even if they did suddenly start believing me, so what? Even if they give me a restraining order against him, what will that do? It’s only a piece of paper. It’s not going to protect me if he comes after me with a knife.”

  Elena twisted her hands helplessly. Her fingers were short and stubby, an odd contrast against the elegant way she carried herself. “Kit, you have to keep building a case against him. Eventually they’ll have enough to charge him with something.”

  “Would that be before or after he kills me?” I asked, my voice soft although I really wanted to scream.

  Silence. Neither Brandi nor Elena looked at me. Brandi started twisting her hair. Elena began straightening books and papers strewn about the living room floor.

  “Okay, Kit,’ Brandi said, breaking the silence. “Do you honestly think it’s going to go that far? I know the cat was bad, but it’s still a big jump to murdering a person.”

  I rose from the couch. “I want to show you something.” I led them into my bedroom and the hundred and fifty emails from David.

  At first, they didn’t say anything – just stared at the screen. Then Brandi reached out and started opening them.

  Why won’t you see I’m the only one who will ever understand you?

  Our shared past binds us together in ways no one will ever comprehend.

  Why do you keep fighting the inevitable? We belong together. Forever.

  I know you love me. Why won’t you just admit it?

  The same thing. Email after email. The same crap spewing out. But the last was by far the worst.

  If I can’t have you, well, you already know the answer to that, my love. We’re destined to be together. Forever.

  “Oh, my God,” Elena breathed.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Brandi said.

  “I think it’s safe to say he’s getting worse,” I said.

  “What’s all this about a shared past?” Elena asked. “I thought you said you didn’t know him before?”

  I collapsed on the bed. “I didn’t. We just have similar childhood experiences. His sister died of Cystic Fibrosis. I have Cystic Fibrosis and I had a sister kidnapped. As you can see, he’s deluded himself into thinking this means far more than it does.”

  “So, this is at least part of the reason why he’s so fixated on you,” Elena said.

  Once again I cursed myself for showing up at that Halloween party in the first place. “Unfortunately.”

  As if she read my mind, Elena said, “I’m so sorry I ever introduced you two in the first place.”

  I began wrapping myself in my blue and green plaid comforter, feeling cold again. “You and me both.”

  “Wasn’t Cat your sister’s name?” Brandi broke in.

  “Yes. And yes, that’s what he’s alluding to in that note.”

  “But you said he never knew you,” Elena said softly. “How would he know if she’s dead or not?”

  I wrapped my arms around my knees and started rocking. “Lucky guess. I’m sure she’s dead.”

  The doorbell rang. All of us jumped.

  “It’s probably Tommy,” Elena said, although she didn’t sound too sure.

  “I’ll get it.” I unwrapped myself from the comforter.

  Elena headed toward the door. “I’ll come with you.”

  She scooped up the pepper spray and phone in the living room, as well as insisting on going down the stairs first.

  It was Tommy. His eyes darted between Elena and me. “What the … ”

  “Oh, God, Tommy. It’s been a nightmare,” I said.

  “It must’ve been.”

  Elena recited the morning’s events as we trooped through the apartment.

  “Believe it or not, I found a couple of emails not from David in this mess,” Brandi said as we walked in the bedroom.

  “Are these good emails or bad emails?” I asked, curling up on the bed.

  “Well, one doesn’t seem too good. It’s from the university. They urgently want to talk to you about your complaint, especially with recent developments.”

  I slumped on the bed. “Figures.”

  “And, there’s this one. It’s from some anonymous address, but it seems to be a reply to one you sent.”

  Anonymous address? I sent something to an anonymous address?

  Oh God. Cat. I tore off the bed and threw myself in front of the computer.

  There are two kinds of death in the world.

  One is quick. That death is destined to be yours.

  One is slow. The body remains alive but the soul is dead. That death is destined for a new little girl.

  The clock is ticking. Tuesday is when the new little girl will meet her death.

  How long will it take for you to meet yours?

  The truth will set you both free. The truth about the first little girl.

  What are you going to do about it?

  The blood drained from my face. I closed my eyes, trying not to shake.

  Look what happened to this CAT.

  “We can do a trace,” Tommy said. “Find out who this person is. Find out exactly what the hell they’re talking about.”

  “That’ll take too long,” Elena said. “I don’t think we have that kind of time.”

  “What about a court order or something?” Tommy argued. “When are the cops getting here? Once they see the cat and these emails, they should do something.”

  “Ahh,” Elena said. “Kit, where’s your file?”

  I had rewrapped myself in my comforter. So cold again. I untangled my arm long enough to point to my book bag. Elena headed over to investigate.

  “What do you mean, ‘ahh’?” Tommy asked. “You did call them, didn’t you?”

  “Kit didn’t want to call the police,” Brandi said. “And after what happened the last time she called them, I can’t say I disagree with her.”

  “What?” Tommy whirled around to look at me. “What do you mean, you didn’t call the police?”

  “Tommy, they aren’t going to do anything.” I burrowed myself deeper in the comforter. Green and blue. Like the ocean. I felt like I was drowning in an ocean, except my ocean was a freshly dug grave and the howling of wolves. “They think he’s the victim here. I told you their reaction when I tried to report him hanging around the other night. He’ll have to actually attack me before they take it seriously.”

  “This is bullshit.”

  “Welcome to our justic
e system.”

  Tommy started pacing. “Kit, you have to report it. It’s stupid not to.”

  Maybe I needed another cup of tea. Why couldn’t I warm up? “What’s stupid is to keep depending on the police to fix this. If I want this fixed, I need to do it myself.”

  “So, what do you plan to do?”

  The phone rang. Everyone jumped.

  “Don’t answer it,” I yelled, flinging myself off the bed, erupting into a coughing fit. “Nobody answer it.” I coughed.

  I ran to the living room and stared at the answering machine. I was sure it was David. I wanted the call recorded.

  I heard the others behind me, but I didn’t turn. I just focused on the answering machine.

  There was a click, then Brandi’s voice inviting callers to leave a message. Another click. Then an unfamiliar voice.

  “This is Catherine Cook with the dean’s office. We need you to call us as soon as possible to schedule an appointment regarding your complaint against David Terry. It’s urgent we speak to you right away. It’s come to our attention that he’s placed a restraining order on you and that you’ve received extensions on four of your classes. Our office is here to help you. No matter what’s going on, we can help you get through it. Please call as soon as you get this message.”

  Silence, except for the clicking of the machine. I turned. Brandi, Elena and Tommy stared at me, mirror images of concern plastered on their faces.

  Elena broke free and rushed forward. “You could bring those emails and the … the cat. They’ll have to believe you then.”

  I had already started shaking my head. “You heard her. They’re already convinced I’m in the middle of some breakdown.”

  “But you can’t fake those emails,” Elena said.

  “Well, you could,” Tommy said. “If you knew how to log in as David.”

  Brandi punched him. Elena glared at him. “Tommy, that’s not helping,” Elena said.

  Tommy rubbed his arm. “It’s the truth. I’m just telling you what they could argue if they wanted to. Not that I’m saying we shouldn’t call the cops.”

  I turned back to the answering machine. A couple of coughs bubbled up in my lungs, leaving a trail of burning acid. My head pounded.