by Portia Moore
“Like he’s in the military or something?”
“He’s in federal prison,” he says as a waiter appears with two bottles of wine—one red and the other white—and pours me some of both.
“Figures,” I say, picking up the glass full of rich red liquid and swallowing just a sip. I want to be in my right mind but my anxiety is starting to spike.
“How long is he in for?” I’m only mildly curious. I’m still not sure if I’m even this guy’s kid.
“He’ll be out sooner than publicly expected.”
“Look, how do you even know if your dad is my dad?” I ask him, tearing a piece of bread into my mouth.
“All of that has been confirmed,” he says with a sureness that catches me off guard.
“What do you mean confirmed?”
I’m not the smartest woman in the world but I know for a fact a guy like this wouldn’t leave speaking to someone so candidly about his family unless he was absolutely sure. And I don’t know how he’d be that sure without a DNA test, which I’m expecting him to whip out at any moment.
This time he doesn’t say anything but takes another drink from his cup.
“I have access to things that the average person does not,” he says, almost as if attempting to sound humble.
“You already did a DNA test?” I’m more impressed than offended that this dude pretty much invaded my privacy. I let out a sigh. I’ve dealt with rich guys a lot—mostly blackmailing them and singing for them at the club—and no one has ever intimidated me or made me feel green. But this guy in front of me does, and I guess it’s because those men underestimated me. I don’t want to do the same with this guy, who could possibly be my brother.
“Well I’d like to have one just for my own piece of mind,” I tell him defiantly and he nods as if granting me my request.
“I guess congratulations are in order,” he says, his eyes gleaming with smugness. I frown at him.
“Your nuptials. Ian Cage, correct?” My stomach drops. I glare at him.
“You’ve been stalking me?” I ask in disbelief.
“No, only checking in on my little sister,” he replies. I scoff and fold my arms.
“What else do you know?” He smiles as if he’s been waiting for this question ever since I sat down.
“I know about Megan. I know that she’s not just an alias and that you most likely suffer from some form of a dissociative disorder.” This time there’s not a hint of smugness or amusement in his voice. I swallow hard.
“How would you know that?” I ask, not missing a beat.
“Because I’ve done my homework.”
“You couldn’t have come to that conclusion by just having me followed and checking records. None of my doctors gave a shit enough to ever figure it out,” I tell him.
“One did. Even if he wasn’t able to make an official diagnosis,” he replies simply and my thoughts drift to Dr. Gavin.
“Also, you wouldn’t be the first person in your family tree with an affliction like this Alana.” There’s a hint of empathy in his tone. I narrow my eyes on his to see if he’s joking but from the little time I spent with him, I don’t think he would about something like this.
“You?” I ask him quietly.
“No.”
I hate myself that I was almost hopeful that it was him. Not that I’d wish this on my worst enemy, but to know there is someone else who understands, who knows what this is like.
“Someone quite close to both of us suffers from Dissociative Identity Disorder,” he says, maybe reading the disappointment in my tone I wish wasn’t there.
“I helped him, and I believe I can help you.” My head snaps up to meet his gaze now.
Help.
God yes that’s what I need, but I fight down my hope and optimism.
What is help?
I don’t even know this guy. This could still be a sick twisted joke for all I know. But as three waiters approach our table, laying out a spread of almost every item on the menu, I can’t think of anyone with enough money and resources to pull in a guy like this for the sake of what, making me cry?
When the waiters are gone I grab a piece of shrimp and pop it into my mouth. It’s the only thing my stomach can possibly hold right now.
“Your husband…does he know?” he asks as he slices into one of the most beautiful steaks I’ve ever seen.
“No,” I say, more honest than I thought I’d be. He doesn’t scold me how Blue did; he only nods almost as if he expected my answer.
“Does anyone know?” he continues.
“A friend does,” I say, clearing my throat and sipping the red wine again.
“Do you plan on telling him?” Dexter asks.
“I don’t,” I say quietly, but Dexter’s expression doesn’t read of judgement or disdain.
“This other person who...is like me…” He nods for me to continue.
“Are they still…did you fix them?” I ask. My cheeks feel hot.
“When you say fixed…”
“Is it just one? One fucking person?” I blurt out, snappier than I intended.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to get a grip on my emotions.
“It’s okay Alana,” Dexter says.
“No. It’s not about erasure, it’s about compromise syncing.” He meets my eyes and my chest tightens.
“Compromise, no. Fuck no. That would never work. I’m not trying to share my life or make her live mine. I don’t want her in it. If anything I’d rather she just get her own!” I say loudly. I see people start to look at us but I don’t give a damn.
“I understand that this is frustrating, but that’s the ultimate goal—and trust me, I’ve been down this road before.” His voice is warm and kinder than it was, but I don’t want his kindness or his pity.
“I don’t want that kind of help. I want the kind of help your resources could give me, keeping things as separate as I can.”
“You mean you want help hiding your life from your husband?” he asks and this time I hear a note of frustration in his tone.
“That’s the kind of help I want. You’re rich as fuck, you could help me do that,” I tell him tightly.
“You need treatment. I can give you more of a support system than you have. I’m offering a family,” he says and I feel myself begging to tremble.
“A family,” I scoff. “Ian’s my family, and if you can’t help me keep him I don’t need to be in yours.” I get up from the table and he stands.
“Alana, please.” I’m already gone from the table. I can feel the tears burning at the back of my eyes. I run out of the restaurant and speed across the street to the parking lot where I left the car. When I get in I slam my hands on the steering wheel, tears pouring from my eyes.
“I hate this!” I scream and close my eyes. I’m trying to pull it together. But I’m losing control…and that’s the worst thing I can do.
14
Kam
I’m sitting in the apartment, waiting for the phone to call like I’ve been ever since Megan left, when Katie comes bursting into our apartment.
Tears are streaming down her face. My first thought is that she’s heard something about Megan, but when she collapses on the sofa dramatically, I know it’s got to be something else.
“Katie?” I ask cautiously. “What’s going on?”
She buries her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking for a moment before she finally rubs them across her red cheeks and looks up at me miserably. “I screwed up, Kam. Like…bad.”
“What did you do? And where’s Blue?”
That sets off a fresh wave of tears. When she has herself under control again, she shakes her head. “He’s never going to forgive me.”
“For what?”
“I cheated on him,” she confesses through sobs, her voice choked. “It was just a couple of times…he’s been gone a lot lately. I was lonely, and I met this guy at the bar…his name is Terry. We just started hanging out…I didn’t mean for it to go anywher
e, I swear! I know it was wrong…”
I stare at her, momentarily not comprehending what she just said. “Are you serious, Katie? You’ve got to tell Blue. I can’t believe you would do something like that!”
She covers her face with her hands again, letting out a wail and something incomprehensible.
“What?”
“I said he already knows,” she mumbles, sniffling as she rubs at her face again. “He ran into us this morning. I thought he was out of town…I was going to tell Terry I couldn’t see him anymore, but then he started kissing me, and…”
“Alright, I get the picture.” I hold up a hand, not wanting to hear anymore. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I never thought Katie, of all people, would cheat—and especially not on Blue. They’ve always been so in love.
Maybe you don’t always know who people really are. The thought makes me grit my teeth because it reminds me of Megan. Maybe I didn’t know who she was the way I thought I did. Maybe none of this has been what I thought.
But I can’t believe that. And as shocked and upset as I am at Katie for what she’s done, I can’t bring myself to tear into her. She’s devastated, still crying into her hands. “I’ve lost him,” she mumbles, and I get up and cross the room to where she’s sitting, gingerly rubbing her back.
“Maybe not,” I console her. “Just give it some time. Maybe the two of you can fix it.” Realistically, I’m not so sure. I can’t imagine how I would feel if Megan cheated on me, or how I would come back from it. But I know that’s what Katie needs to hear right now, and I want to be supportive.
“I saw Megan,” she says through sniffles. “At the diner.”
I freeze in place. For a moment I wonder if I heard her wrong, but there’s no way to mistake that. My first thought is that Megan is alright. My second is why hasn’t she come back? And then why hasn’t she called me?
“Megan…you…you saw her?”
Katie nods, looking up at me with reddened eyes. “She was at the diner,” she repeats. “With Blue.”
So why hasn’t Blue called me? I clench my hands next to me, anger replacing the shock. Why would she be with Blue? Does Blue know something he’s not telling me? I try to grasp for something that makes sense, because everything feels as if it’s spinning out of control. But nothing does.
I reach for my phone, dialing Blue’s number first, but it goes to voicemail. “Blue,” I say tightly into the phone, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth feel like they might crack. “Katie is here. She said she saw you with Megan. What the fuck is going on?” I feel Katie stiffen next to me…
I try Megan next. “Megan, please call me. Katie said she saw you. I’m not upset, I just want to know what’s going on. Please, just tell me where you are. I’m worried about you.”
I try, again and again. Voicemails, texts, to both of their phones. But there’s no answer. At some point Katie wanders off, saying something about taking a shower, and I’m left sitting on the couch, waiting to hear something…anything.
After three hours of doing anything I can to fill the time—half-watching a football game, vacuuming the living room, making lunch—my phone finally rings. I grab it and see Blue’s name on the screen.
“Blue? What the hell is going on? Why in the hell is Megan with you? And why in the hell didn’t you call me immediately?” I’m almost shouting into the phone by the end, but I don’t know how to calm myself down. I’ve been worried sick for days, and the idea that Blue might have known where she is for any length of time is infuriating beyond belief.
“Kam,” Blue says, clearly trying to calm me down. “It’s not what you’re thinking. Megan is okay. I only just found out where she is. She’s going through a lot right now, and she needs some space, okay? She needs some time to figure things out.”
“Where the fuck are you?” I hardly even hear what he says. All I can think of is that I could know where Megan is, and I don’t. And someone else…my supposed friend does, and he’s not telling me.
“Hey!” Blue’s voice takes on a harsher tone. “Calm down, man.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! Where are you?”
Blue’s voice is tight and angry when he answers. “I’m not telling you where she is, because she specifically asked me not to. She doesn’t want you to know. She’ll explain when she sees you.”
I start to shout something into the phone, but he’s already hung up.
I grit my teeth and throw my phone across the room, my whole body tense with anger and frustration. Luckily, it falls onto one of the armchairs and bounces harmlessly to the ground, but I hardly even notice. I’m so angry that I can barely think. The only thing that will help, I think over and over again, is if Megan will just call me. If I can just talk to her, we can figure this out.
But in the back of my head, I keep hearing my uncle’s voice, and remembering my visit to the club. There’s something else going on here. But I can’t bring myself to admit it.
The next few days pass in a blur. Megan doesn’t call, and neither does Blue. Katie hardly comes out of her room, and I hear her leaving voicemails—most likely on Blue’s phone—but she doesn’t hear from him either.
It’s three days after Blue called me when our parents show up at the apartment. I don’t know if Katie called them, or if they were just worried when they didn’t hear from us, but my mother makes a beeline to Katie’s room after giving me a hug, her face creased with worry. I can hear them talking through Katie’s open door as she dissolves into sobs again.
“Look, honey, you made a mistake but eventually Blue will come around, even if it’s just so the two of you can talk things out.”
“Do you think he’ll take me back?”
“I don’t know sweetheart,” I hear my mother say honestly. “But all you can do is explain. Until then, though, you’ve got to get out of these pajamas and get some fresh air. Get in the shower, and then I’ll take you out to lunch. I have some shopping to do. You can help me pick something out for the charity lunch I’m hosting.”
Their voices disappear into the bathroom and my dad sits down heavily on the couch next to me, his face a study in concern. “I’ve been worried about you, Son,” he says, looking at me.
“I’m worried about Megan,” I say flatly. “Blue saw her, and so did Katie. He knows where she is and he isn’t telling. And I can’t get ahold of her.”
My father presses his lips together tightly, as if considering something, and then leans down to open his briefcase. “I brought something. We need to talk.”
He pulls out a file and I feel my stomach sink. I know immediately that it must have something to do with Megan.
“I found information both on Megan and the girl who worked at the club that George remembers—Alana.” He hands me the file and I open it, my stomach queasy. I don’t know why I’m afraid of what I’m going to find in it.
I see three things that stand out to me immediately. The first is how exactly alike they look—but also so different. In Megan’s photo she’s a teenager, wearing jeans that are too big and a bright pink t-shirt that hangs off of her. Her hair is in her face and she’s not looking at the camera. Underneath that photo are psychiatric records, pages upon pages of them, and intake sheets from her foster homes.
Alana is clearly older. She’s looking defiantly at the camera, wearing black jeans that look painted on, knee-high boots, and a crop top that barely comes below her breasts. Her navel is pierced and she looks as if she wants to punch whoever is taking the photo. The pages on her are her employment at the club, which I’ve already seen, and court documents for petty crimes. I look between the two photos again and again. There’s no way they can be the same person. They look so much alike…but this isn’t my Megan.
“Kam, Megan has been receiving psychiatric treatment since she was very young,” my father says gently. “You need to not rule out the chance that they may be the same person, and that she may have problems you have no idea about. I know you love her but please, be smar
t about this. Don’t let it cloud your judgement. I like Megan, but there’s a lot here that seems really damning.” He takes a deep breath as I close the file. “I believe that Megan may have been using Alana as an alias to commit crimes, Son. The Megan you know…she may have any number of psychiatric conditions. Bipolar…schizophrenia…”
“There’s nothing in here about a diagnosis,” I say firmly. “You can’t just throw stuff like that out there! She doesn’t know her family. Alana could be her twin sister,” I insist, but even I know it’s a thin thread to hold onto. I saw the records. Megan and Alana are both listed as having no siblings. What my dad is telling me is a much more logical conclusion than Alana being a secret twin of Megan’s. But I can’t believe it…I just can’t. Nothing about it makes sense, not with what I know of Megan.
But with no news from her—no calls, no texts—it’s harder and harder to cling to my convictions. I love her. That hasn’t changed. I know I should be thinking about what I’ll do if the worst is true, how I’ll handle it, but I can’t bring myself to face it. I call Blue again and again, but there’s no answer.
And then, the next day, my friend Jason calls me and tells me he saw Blue in class that morning, on campus.
I know I should stay calm, try calling Blue again, or let it go. But I can’t. Everything that’s happened is crushing me, and it feels as if I’m losing everything that matters—the love of my life, my friend…even my sanity. If I can’t trust someone who I thought I knew as well as I knew Megan, who can I trust?
So I drive to Blue’s apartment. I almost turn around twice on the way back, knowing this is a bad idea, but I keep going. I have to know what’s going on. I can’t keep going on like this.
He answers the door on the second knock, his face darkening when he sees me. “Hey, Kam,” he says rigidly, not moving to let me in.
“What the fuck is going on?” I say, my voice rising as soon as I see his attitude. He’s acting as if I’m in the wrong here, wanting to know where my girlfriend is. “Katie wants to talk to you,” I say, knowing it’ll hurt him. I’m too angry to want to do anything else but make him as hurt as I am.
