by Ana Sparks
“I don't know why you'd want to talk to me,” I said, feigning ignorance. “I'm just the assistant set designer. Is the production company in trouble or something?”
My heart pounded like a war drum and nausea roiled in my belly. This was it. It was all over. Somebody had realized the money was missing, and now they were coming for Chelsea. And me.
“Ma'am, please don't make this difficult.” The man had a thick southern drawl, the kind that left no room for argument.
“How do I even know you're actually with the FBI?” I asked. “I'm not going anywhere with you.”
“They all say that.”
I jumped, startled at the sudden materialization of a woman behind me. She was dressed in the same dark uniform suit as her colleague, and her hair pulled back into a tightly knotted bun. Her sunglasses were almost identical to those of her colleague.
“I’m Agent Henderson. Chelsea Redfield, if you don't agree to come with us willingly, I'm afraid you're not going to like what comes next,” the woman said.
“You're mistaken.” I shook my head. “I'm not Chelsea Redfield.”
“Doesn't matter.” Henderson frowned. “You're coming with us.”
“No!” I shouted, trying to sidestep them. Henderson put her arm on my shoulder. “I'm not Chelsea, and I'm not coming with you!”
I was panicking now. I pictured my sister, probably sitting in Joel's office, waiting for him to come back from his trip to pick me up. If I could just slip away from the agents long enough to get back to the dock, everything would be fine. Chelsea and I would get our new faces, and then we could quietly escape the country, just as planned.
Unfortunately, my new friends were a lot more motivated than I had anticipated. As soon as I tried to pull my shoulder out of Henderson's grip, she performed some sort of maneuver that had my arm twisted painfully behind my back in the blink of an eye.
“They never go easily,” she muttered.
Greaves chuckled. “Ain't that why you love the job?”
The partners seemed impervious to my pleas as they dragged me over to the black SUV parked on the side of the road. They cuffed me and ushered me into the back seat, and I screamed at them the whole time.
I was a goner. I'd never be heard from again. All because I got sentimental and just had to have a photo of myself before the surgery. Why couldn't I have just left it? I could be with Joel right now, flying over the scenic landscape of the Bahamas and daydreaming about a new life. Instead, I was in the back of an unmarked car with the FBI, heading God-knows-where.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, kicking the back of Henderson's seat.
She turned and glowered at me. “Relax, Chelsea. We're just going to the police station.” She turned back, and both of them ignored the rest of the questions I asked.
Finally, resigned, I slumped back into the seat. The metal of the handcuffs dug painfully into my wrists, but I barely felt it. My thoughts were consumed by thoughts of my new future. I was going to spend the rest of my life in a jail cell, all because I looked too much like my goddamn sister.
Henderson and Greaves pulled into a small parking lot once we were back in town. The police station here was always quiet, so the arrival of two federal agents and a cuffed woman caused quite the stir with the officers inside. They all rubbernecked as we walked past.
Henderson's hand gripped my shoulder a little too tightly. I hoped there would be somebody else for me to talk to at the precinct. If nothing else, one of these cops would help me, right?
Greaves opened the door to a small, dingy interrogation room and gestured for me to take one of the chairs at the small table.
“Are you going to un-cuff me?” I asked.
Henderson looked like the thought hadn't even occurred to her until then. She reluctantly undid my handcuffs and slipped them back into her pocket, giving me a smile as she patted them through the fabric, as if to let me know they could go back on at any time.
Then, with no other choice, I began to talk to the FBI agents, hoping to explain myself and get out of this mess.
Chapter Eight
“You're not getting it!” I was practically screaming now, since over two hours had passed and I hadn’t gotten anywhere. “I don’t know where she is!”
Agent Greaves—who had loosened his tie and now leaned against the wall with a tired air about him—sighed. It had taken over an hour just to convince them that I wasn't Chelsea and was, indeed, Megan. Up until then, they’d thought I was Chelsea and had stolen Megan’s ID. Finally, after getting them to look up a photo of her and thoroughly inspect our different freckle patterns, they’d believed me.
Even with that being the case, they wouldn't let me go. They wanted to know where Chelsea was, and I wanted to keep her location a secret. We were at a bit of an impasse.
“I find it very difficult to believe, Ms. Redfield,” Henderson interjected from where she stood in the far corner of the room, “that your sister bought a ticket to come to the Bahamas, came to see you, but never told you where she was heading afterward.” She stalked toward the table and slammed her fist down on the surface. “You're twins, damnit. Aren't you supposed to have some sort of psychic link?”
“What my colleague means, is that we don't believe you,” said Greaves. “You do know where Chelsea is, and you're deliberately not telling us.”
“I. Don't. Know.” I levelled a glare at Greaves, then Henderson, then back to Greaves. “You can interrogate me until the cows come home, but it's not going to make Chelsea come back. She left. Didn't tell me where she was going. She said it would be safer for me that way.”
“And what?” Henderson smiled cruelly. “You just went back to work after hearing this bombshell announcement? You didn't go after her?” Her lips pursed into a fake pout. “That doesn't sound like something a good sister would do.”
“Well, then I'm a bad sister.” I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair.
Yeah, I didn't appreciate my sister getting me into this crap. And yeah, I was going to give her hell the next time I saw her—if I ever saw her again—but she was still my sister, and I wasn’t going to give her up.
“Did your sister tell you why she stole the money?” Greaves asked.
I sat up. “No.” It was one of the only truths I'd told that day.
Henderson slid back into the chair next to her partner, smiling like the cat who ate the canary. “I thought sisters talked about everything, I thought twins knew everything about each other...” I rolled my eyes. I'd been putting up with this woman's shit for hours now, and I was well past taking it well.
“I wonder why Chelsea didn't tell you what happened at Brinkman Tech...” She turned to Greaves. “Do you think she was embarrassed?”
Greaves gave a tired shrug. I found it somewhat comforting that he was clearly a little too tired for his partner's games, too.
“Just spit it out,” I told Henderson. “I think we're all ready for this day to be over, and you're making it unnecessarily long and annoying.”
My comment ruffled her a little, but she tried not to show it.
“Your sister was screwing her married boss,” Henderson said with a cruel lift of her brow. “He ended things with her, and she got so upset that she decided to take it out on the company. And on you.”
The statement hit me like a blow to the chest. I opened my mouth to let out a snarky retort, but it dried up on my tongue.
“You're lying.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “You're just trying to get a rise out of me.”
“She's not lying,” said Greaves. “We have Donald O'Malley's statement, if you'd like to read it.” He began shuffling through a folder on the table, and pulled out a signed statement from Chelsea's former boss.
It was just as Henderson had said. Donald and Chelsea had been seeing each other secretly for a few months, and he had ended things with her when his conscience had gotten too heavy. A week later, Chelsea had hopped on a plane to the Bahamas. The rest was history.
“Believe me now?” Henderson smirked.
“Whatever. Believing you or not believing you won't help me figure out my sister's location through the power of wishful thinking. She's gone, and I don't know where.”
Greaves let out another, longer sigh.
Henderson merely worked her jaw and glared daggers at me.
“I think we're all getting rather tired here, don't you?” Greaves asked, pushing himself away from the wall.
“I agree. Let's pick this up tomorrow.” Henderson swiped at the loose strands of hair on her forehead.
“Tomorrow?” I blanched. “You're just going to let me sit in a cell for the night? I told you, I don't know where she is! Waiting until tomorrow isn't going to help.”
The smile Henderson gave me this time was positively devious. “You won't have time for a cell,” she said. “You've got a flight to catch.”
“What?”
She nodded. “We're extraditing you back to home soil. Once we're there, we'll have expert interrogators work you over until you speak.”
“She makes it sound like they're going to torture you,” Greaves interjected. “But it's much more boring than that. You won't like it, though.”
“You can't do this!” I said. “I've got rights!”
“As far as rights are concerned, we have every right to take you back to the States, and to continue to question you until there is no possibility that you’re withholding information.”
The pair swanned out of the interrogation room, leaving me in the uncomfortable metal chair with a new understanding of the word helpless.
What was I going to do? What was Chelsea going to do? Why hadn't she told me about what happened with her boss? I didn't want to believe it was because of what Henderson had said. What if Chelsea had been too embarrassed, and knew what she'd done was wrong? I couldn't think of any other reason for it.
My sister didn't know where I was, and even if she did, would she do anything? A few hours ago, I would have said that she absolutely would, but now, I didn't know what to think.
Then again, maybe Henderson was right. Maybe I just didn't know my sister anymore.
“Ready to go?”
I looked up and saw Greaves standing in the doorway. I'd had my face pressed against the cool metal of the table for the past fifteen minutes, and had almost been able to convince myself that this was all some sort of horrible dream.
Almost, but not close enough.
“Actually I have a few errands I need to run before we leave,” I said tartly, rising from the chair.
Greaves chuckled humorlessly and walked behind me, pulling my hands back and snapping the cuffs back around my wrists.
“This would be a lot easier for you if you'd give up your sister,” he murmured. “What has she done for you? Nothing. You're up to your neck in shit because of her, and where is she?”
I swallowed down a bitter retort. I didn't have the energy to argue anymore.
“Just take me to the airport. I'm tired, and I'd like to see somebody else's face for a change.”
“Whatever you say.” Greaves led me out the door, then down the long hallway.
Apparently, my star factor hadn't decreased during my time in confinement. The officers in the precinct still stared at me like a circus attraction on my way through. I stared at the floor.
Henderson was waiting outside, smoking a cigarette. She sneered at me as Greaves loaded me into the back of their SUV.
We rode the bumpy drive in silence. Greaves and Henderson had nothing left to ask, and I had nothing left to say. Not that I'd had much to say in the first place. I stared out the window at the scenery, wishing I could be anywhere but here. The Bahamas had been my paradise not long ago. In fact, the tropical environment had afforded me one of the best nights of my life—one that I would never forget.
But I was alone now, in the back of a car with tinted windows, so I couldn't even feel the sun.
The security entrance of the airport was desolate when we arrived. I supposed the two FBI agents didn't trust me around large groups of people, so they parked and unloaded me far away from the bustling departures entrance of the building. The door Greaves steered me toward was dull and gray, and I expected much of my trip back to the States would be the same.
The sound of squealing tires had all three of us snapping our gazes behind us. A sleek black coupe had just made a quick stop next to the agents' SUV, and I wondered idly if I was about to be kidnapped by Chelsea's former employer. The situation was certainly dramatic enough.
Both doors opened, and my mouth dried as I watched Joel get out from the driver's side. He appeared genuinely distressed to see me in handcuffs, my arms held tightly by the two agents. I was genuinely distressed that he had to see me like this, too. I wanted to tell him to leave, to go back to his plane and his practice and forget this day ever happened. I didn't want him to remember me like this.
“Wait!”
Oh, no.
Chelsea bounded over from the other side of the car. “She's innocent. I swear. I'm the person you want.”
Greaves and Henderson exchanged a look of surprise.
“You're Chelsea Redfield?” Henderson asked.
“Well, I'm certainly not her freaking clone,” Chelsea replied. “I'm here to turn myself in.”
Though I mentally congratulated Chelsea for the quip she directed at Henderson, I knew it wasn't going to bode well for her in the long-term.
Joel stayed beside the car, watching but not intervening. I supposed there was nothing he could do. He was a doctor, not a lawyer, and certainly not an FBI agent. I tried not to focus on him.
Henderson pulled out another set of handcuffs and gestured for Chelsea to turn around. “Come on. We'll miss the flight if we don't go now. We'll have to do extra paperwork now that there are two of you.”
Chelsea took a step back, eyes wide. “No! You have to let her go. Megan didn't do anything.”
Henderson's smile was predatory. “That's for the legal system of the United States of America to decide. You're both going to have to come with us.”
“You heard her,” Joel said, finally making his presence known. “Megan didn't do anything. Let her go.”
Henderson looked Joel up and down, clearly appreciative of his fine physique. “You should watch yourself, or I'll be taking you, too.”
“Your threats don't scare me.”
I'd never been more attracted to Joel than I was in that moment. He was standing up for me, even though he barely knew me. Even though he probably still had only the most basic understanding of what was going on here.
I wanted to kiss him. But I would probably never kiss him again.
“Come on, Chelsea.” Henderson rattled the cuffs. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back before I come over there and do it for you.”
Chelsea, tears welling in her eyes, looked to me. I gave her the tiniest of nods. Then, she turned and reluctantly held out her hands for the FBI agent, who roughly cuffed her and yanked her towards the security door.
“Thanks for the delivery, handsome,” Henderson called behind her.
Greaves turned me and nudged me toward the door, but I cast one final look behind me.
Joel was standing there still, eyes narrowed in an expression of deep consternation. It broke my heart to see him like that, just as it looked every bit as though it broke his heart to see me dragged into the airport in handcuffs.
Chapter Nine
The flight was short, but horrendously uncomfortable. Sitting in the same position for hours without use of your hands is something you wouldn't think would be that bad, but is actually that bad. Chelsea wasn't having any easier of a time, from what I gathered. Not that I'd talked to her. Since she’d arrived at the airport, we hadn't spoken more than two words to each other. I could tell that she was filled with guilt, but I was too devastated to care.
I didn't want to be upset with her, but I couldn’t help it. Fighting with my twin was li
ke fighting with a part of myself, and every second we spent in silence grated on me. Knowing what I did, I couldn't find it in me to forgive her. Maybe one day, when all of this was far behind us and the ache in my chest had subsided, but for today, she was my enemy, and that was that.
They transferred us to a humid, musty cell in the bowels of a Miami police precinct immediately after our plane landed. I barely got a glimpse of blue sky before I found myself curling up on a scratchy blanket on one of the room's two cots. Chelsea was on the other one, looking despondent.
Even though this was all her fault, it hurt for me to see her like this. We sat in silence for a few moments, but then I couldn’t take it anymore, and I asked her the question that had been echoing through my head since our flight.
“How do you think they caught up with you so quickly?”
Chelsea's eyes stayed glued to the floor. “I don't know.”
“I'm not asking you if you know,” I said. “I'm asking you what you think.”
She let out a long, weary sigh. “I don't know.”
That was frustrating. I gritted my teeth and sat up on the bed, gripping the sides of it and letting the cool metal soothe my sweaty hands.
“Why do you keep saying that? What are you not telling me?”
Chelsea had never been great at keeping secrets from me. That being said, this whole thing about the relationship with her boss had managed to stay hidden all this time.
“I may have...I may have had something to do with them finding us.”
The words buzzed in the air like great, fat mosquitos. I wanted to swat them down and pretend they didn't exist. I wanted to believe still that my sister had nothing to do with our untimely incarceration, beyond committing the crime in the first place.
But my anger was already sizzling, and hearing her admission only made it worse.
“What do you mean?”
She looked over at me, finally meeting my eyes, and grimaced. “You know that guy I hung out with during the blackout? Damien?”
I nodded. I didn't like where this was going.