Her Last Memory

by C. A. Wittman

  “Hey,” Mara said, holding out the box. “Baby clothes and some of Lucia’s dresses she just grew out of.” Lucia was three. “I thought I’d swing by here first and see if you want a look.”

  “Oh, sure. Thank you.”

  “I’ll just set it down here, then,” Mara said, placing the box just over the door sill.

  “Would you like to come in?”

  “Oh. No, no, no, no. I can see you’ve got a pocket of quiet. I was just on this side of town, so…” She stepped back and gave Serene a quick smile.

  Serene nudged the box closer toward the dining room, feeling relieved. She was in no mood to chat, especially with Mara. Other than the kids, they had little in common.

  “Well, thank you,” Serene said again. “I appreciate it. I’m sure we’ll find some gems in there.”

  “And anything you don’t want, just feel free to give it to Goodwill, or whatever.”

  “Sure.”

  It was nice and cool outside and Serene followed Mara out the door, letting the breeze wash over her.

  Mara waved and headed down the cement steps, walking toward her car.

  Tall.

  Blond hair.

  Night.

  Julie.

  Serene’s hand floated to her mouth, watching Mara’s silhouetted figure climb into her car. Oh god. Julie. That night. Taylor.

  Serene’s arm tightened around her son’s sleeping form and she climbed back up the steps, the memory so clear. Julie, angry with Taylor.

  The smacking sound.

  Serene turned the knob and went inside. What she saw made no sense.

  “Oh good, you’re back,” a woman Serene had never seen before said and reached to take Jesse from her arms. Serene pulled her son away, looking down to find he wasn’t there. She was carrying a bag of groceries. A girl ran up to tell her someone named Cuppa had phoned twice and texted about the Earl Grey tea. Had she seen the texts?

  “Mom. Earth to Mom,” the girl said. This girl wasn’t her daughter. She wasn’t Barbara. Who were these people?

  “You okay?” The woman said, taking the groceries from her. She had very short hair and a muscular build. Where was Barbara? Why was this kid impersonating her daughter and where were Sara and Jesse?

  “Mom? Is something wrong?” For the first time, Serene noticed the teenage girl sitting on the sofa and the fact that her house was different. Everything was different from the floors to the walls to the furniture, and that girl. That girl over there, sitting on the sofa, she… was she Barbara, grown up somehow? And so, the other girl eyeing her must be… Serene stood frozen.

  “Dora,” the muscular woman with very little hair said. “Did something happen? You look like you’ve had a shock.”

  Dora.

  Oh, please god, no. Dora. Dora had made her disappear. Dora had done all this.

  57

  Serene - November 2019

  * * *

  Dora had robbed her of six years, too many years to process and no one to fill her in this time. Serene tried to fake it, tried to keep the terror from consuming her, everything she’d known and could count on dashed in a matter of moments, a matter of walking out the door and back in. Walking out of one world and into another.

  Barbara was still her same patient, helpful self, but she’d missed all the years of her daughter turning into a young woman. Sara and Jesse were unrecognizable, fully functioning beings. Steve. Her Steve, gone. He’d replaced her with a young brown-eyed woman, Tera, who dressed like a yoga teacher. And she had remarried. A woman. Well, Dora had, not her.

  Dora had a business that Serene had no idea how to operate. Always the entrepreneur, Dora. Dora ran every day, for miles, apparently. Serene learned this during the second day of her new life, bumbling around, pretending along like she always did, but this time the changes were too stupendous. She had gone to bed the night before like a zombie, lying in the arms of her wife––Erica, she was called, pretending exhaustion, pretending sleep, trying to sneak out of bed at five in the morning.

  “Have a good run,” Erica had mumbled and Serene had grunted back a reply, quietly opening drawers until she found the workout clothes to play the role, hoping they were hers and not her wife’s. They fit and she was out the door, heading she didn’t know where, exactly, just somewhere, anywhere that was away from this impossible nightmare that her life had become in the blink of an eye.

  Dora.

  Who was Dora?

  The question prompted Serene to begin the jog. Something’s terribly wrong with me. The thought came like a lightning bolt of understanding. All these years she’d been trying to hide Dora when she should have sought help, professional help. This horrible thing she was experiencing was like that episode on the Oprah Winfrey Show Serene had watched years ago, about the woman who thought she was being stalked, but it turned out she was stalking herself. What was that woman’s condition? Something to do with other people living inside her. Serene had been struck by that story, Dora coming to mind, but seven years had gone by with no Dora and Serene thought she’d finally been rid of this bizarre alter ego that took over her life from time to time. She’d thought of seeking help way back then but had then dismissed it. Now, here she was, six years gone, obliterated, just like that. Her children raised by Dora. Her marriage ruined.

  Serene’s feet pounded the ground beneath her. It was amazing how in shape she was, how fast she was going without feeling out of breath. “In through the out door,” she muttered to herself, the cover of the old Led Zeppelin album flooding her mental imagery.

  * * *

  When Serene returned home, Mara stood on the front steps, hair pulled back in a ponytail, in fitness attire as well, holding paper bags of bagels, leaning in to kiss the air near Serene’s ear.

  “How many miles have you done today?”

  Serene stared at her blankly. What was she doing here with bagels, acting like they were best friends?

  Mara didn’t seem to notice Serene’s lack of response––she was already letting herself into the house, talking all the while. She went into Serene’s kitchen and said hello to the odd British woman, Cuppa, who also lived in Serene’s house. Serene was still trying to figure out how she fit in, exactly, with the family. Mara pulled out a cutting board to slice the bagels and pop them in the toaster, then rummaged around in the fridge as if she lived there, too. Did she?

  Mara, who used to be Julie, who changed her name the year following Tayler’s death.

  Mara the murderer.

  “… And I told him,” Mara was saying, “there are so many great clothes now for men, but it’s like Enzo’s stuck in the nineties. You’d think with him being Italian, how he always liked to dress well…” And on she went. Cuppa had left the kitchen, gone upstairs where Darpan used to live. Serene remembered renovating the apartment when Barbara was four. She and Steve, side by side, ripping up the floor, putting up the drywall to make two rooms out of the massive one bedroom, the shelves Steve had later lovingly constructed for Barbara’s book collection. Cuppa, the high-strung British woman, now lived in the spare room next to their eldest, and Mara of all people had become a close friend?

  Dora.

  Dora the thief.

  Had Dora taken over when Serene suddenly remembered what she’d seen that summer of ‘96 while watching Mara walk back to her car?

  Did Dora understand all the strife she’d gone through with the detectives and the courts, what they all went through? How could this other part of herself go buddying around with a woman who let her carry the suspicion for Taylor’s murder?

  Lie.

  “I’m not feeling well,” Serene said.

  “Oh.” Mara held half a bagel in her hand, topping it with a white fish spread. “Do you have a headache?”

  “Yes. And my stomach feels off.”

  “Oh god. I hope you’re not coming down with the flu.”

  “I’m just going to lie down.”

  “Yeah… okay.”

  Serene
left the kitchen before Mara could say anymore and went to her bedroom, closing the door. Go away.

  Footsteps coming toward her. Serene scurried to her bed and sat down. A soft knock.

  “Dora? Can I get you anything?”

  “No. I just need to lie down.”

  “Okay. I’ll let myself out then.”

  Serene didn’t respond. She could hear Mara’s footsteps receding and then movement above her, muffled voices, Mara talking to Cuppa. Finally, she heard the front door open and close and breathed a sigh of relief. Quietly, Serene let herself into the bathroom next to her room, staring for a moment at the woman in the mirror, the lean, in shape woman with long straight hair, a new puckering around the eyes. She turned away and stripped off her clothes, placing a shower cap on her head before stepping under the soothing warm water. When Serene returned to her room, she dressed and then set about investigating all she could of the life Dora left her with. Somehow, she had to seamlessly step back into her life, but this time she would get help. She would see a therapist. This time she would put a stop to Dora once and for all.

  * * *

  The dress was not hard to find. It had hung in the back of Serene’s closet for years, a reminder of long-ago days, youth, her and Steve, burgeoning womanhood. Dora kept it rolled up tight, shoving it to the back of a drawer full of skirts. Serene recognized the material right away, snatching it out of the drawer. It would fit again, now that she was so slim. Unfurling the dress, the phone tumbled out. Serene picked up the small Nokia.

  A secret phone? Was Dora having an affair? Serene turned the phone on, navigating to contacts. There were none. Odd.

  A message from an unknown number.

  “Blessings, Dora. I look forward to seeing you Wednesday. Thank you for reaching out. Darpan.”

  What did Dora know? What Wednesday was he talking about? Hands shaking, Serene found the date of the message. This Wednesday. In two days, she had an appointment to visit Darpan. Serene’s mind swirled with the implications. Was she meant to find this phone all along? Had Dora somehow prompted her to search the room? But no, this is what Serene always did when she returned to herself: investigate, comb through the details of a life left abandoned and find a way to weave them into her own story. This scenario was different, though––much different than any of the other experiences. Like doppelgangers, Dora pretended to be Serene and Serene Dora. Serene gripped the phone, thinking. Maybe Dora was trying to communicate, tell Serene what she knew, tell Serene to be careful. Serene sighed. That didn’t make sense either. Why become Mara’s close friend? Yet, the night when Mara dropped off the hand-me-downs and Serene remembered, it was like a key opening the door into Dora’s world.

  * * *

  Serene didn’t tell Erica she was going. She booked a flight to Sonoma and a car with Dora Jones’ card, printing out the directions on Google Maps from the car rental company to San Quentin, her return flight made for later that evening. It wasn’t until Serene sat in the Nissan Sentra and heard the notification of the text on her iPhone––Erica at the store, wanting to know what she felt like having for dinner––that she noticed the app for Google Maps. A pleasant surprise. GPS in her phone. It had been easy to unlock the phone and to check emails; she and Dora used all of the same passwords and pins.

  San Quentin was almost fifty miles south of the airport. Serene drove in silence, lost in her thoughts. She had never thought she’d want to see or talk to Darpan again. We are love. The words floated up to her consciousness, creating an odd sensation in Serene, a metallic taste in her mouth, like she’d been chewing on steel wool. The phrase felt dangerous, wrong. Darpan had said those words to Taylor and Serene remembered that sickening feeling that came over her. Even now those words made Serene think of large groping hands, hot sour breath, muskiness, pain. A child had been crying, an older girl soothing the child. A neighbor? Was the sound of the crying child before or after Mara arrived? At some point after Mara struck Taylor, Serene had walked to Enzo’s, except she had no recollection of that part. It seemed one moment she was crouching behind the hibiscus bush and the next she was standing in Enzo’s kitchen, watching Bets and Kanani cleaning up, Enzo sitting at the table, brooding. Maybe Darpan would know something. In any case, however much Serene disliked Darpan, he hadn’t committed murder. He didn’t deserve to be doing time for a crime he didn’t commit.

  * * *

  Darpan sat waiting at a table in the room with other prisoners visiting their family and friends, all of them in blue. He’d aged. Of course, he’d aged, blue eyes faded to the color of pale beach glass, once long blond hair cut short and now a plain sandy brown, thinning on top and receding at the temples. His biceps bulged, bulky and rock hard, suggesting regular workouts. He still maintained some roundness in his moon-shaped features and when he saw Serene, he smiled the same sunny smile and waved. Darpan’s eyes locked with hers and held her gaze in that way that always made Serene feel uncomfortable, but this time she did not look away and Darpan was the first to break eye contact, his smile broadening, revealing once white teeth turned grey, the gums receding, bottom teeth sinking inward slightly.

  “So, Dora Jones,” he said by way of greeting, sizing Serene up. “A gift.”

  Serene knew him long enough to know he was referring to the meaning of her name and that the statement was meant as a double entendre. She took a seat at the table.

  “Why your mother’s name?”

  “What?”

  “Brenda Dora Wilson.” He smirked.

  Serene frowned. She never knew her mother had the middle name Dora. All the times Ramani talked down to Serene about pretending to be Dora, she never mentioned Dora was her middle name.

  “How do you know that?”

  Darpan cocked his head to the side. “You know me and names. Apparently, before Ramani made her way to Shangri-La and received her spiritual name, she preferred to go by Dora.” Darpan’s eyes lingered searchingly on Serene’s face. “Did she never tell you?”

  “Yes, I knew,” she lied, not willing to give him the upper hand.

  He leaned back, a coolness descending over his features. “You’ve held up well,” he said softly.

  Serene did not respond right away. Snippets of their neighbors’ conversations filled the void and the guard surreptitiously picked his nose.

  Serene leaned forward and a grin spread across Darpan’s lips.

  “We are love,” she said softly. “What do those words mean to you?”

  Darpan’s mouth twitched and his light blue eyes appeared almost translucent. “He is always with us, isn’t he?”

  Serene waited.

  A vein protruded at Darpan’s left temple, throbbing out his emotions. His lips twisted, but he couldn’t quite pull off the look of nonchalance Serene knew he wanted to portray at the moment. “You said you thought I might be innocent?” He asked instead.

  “We are love,” Serene said again. “What does it mean, Darpan?”

  Tiny beads of sweat gathered along his hairline. “Yeah,” he exhaled. “Bhagwan Bishnu, revered protector and master to all the children.”

  “Master,” she echoed.

  This time, Darpan’s gaze caught and held hers. “If you were a child in the land of perfection and beauty, then you knew Master.”

  Serene forced down the feeling of revulsion that came over her. She could almost smell the muskiness, feel the hot breath. She bit down on her lip to keep her jaw from trembling and tasted blood.

  “He hurt us,” she finally managed to say.

  Darpan’s nostrils flared. “They were hard lessons, but in the end, we came away blessed. You, Dora, are now blessed.”

  A hard shudder wracked her body, but Serene forced herself to stay seated to understand this piece of her past.

  “Is that what Ramani and Aarav believed?”

  “No. But most adults didn’t get it. The blessing was really for us children.”

  “Is that what you were trying to do that night? Bless Taylor?�
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  “Bless Taylor?” Darpan’s brow furrowed.

  “When you told her that. ‘We are love.’”

  His face cleared. “I was trying to help Taylor. Only ever trying to help her understand the relationship she had with her father and the deeper spiritual meaning behind what she perceived as a struggle. I suggested she find other fathers and we role-played, but only to help her grow. I would never have harmed Taylor.”

  Serene closed her eyes briefly, a wave of nausea threatening to force sick up her throat. She swallowed and, by sheer willpower, forced the feeling down. When she spoke, her voice was steady. “Taylor’s father hurt her sexually, Darpan, and Master hurt us the same way. I can’t remember what he did to me, but that part doesn’t matter right now. It was wrong. You must know this. How can you not know it was wrong?”

  Something flitted in his eyes––confusion, doubt? But then it was gone, replaced by that big sunny smile, his face lighting up with what Serene could only describe as fanaticism. He reached for her hand and Serene let him take it, too numb to pull away.

  “We are love, Dora. That’s the takeaway. All these years, locked up for a crime I didn’t do, it’s what sustains me. I see the master in my prayers, and I know he is waiting for us on the other side to give us all the love. There is always a reason. It was ordained that Ramani and Aarav pick me up hitchhiking, that I be another father to you, a child of Shangri-La, like myself, that I meet Taylor and that I come here. I’ve been helping other prisoners, passing on the spiritual teachings of Bhagwan Bishnu.”