The Stolen Twin

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  But she didn’t take care of me. A year later she had disappeared, vanished, kidnapped by the fairies, leaving me almost dead in a sterile hospital room, never to fully recover. Not in body or in soul.

  Tears pressed against my lids. I opened my eyes in anguish, searching for her. But she had disappeared, along with everyone else. I was completely alone in the hallway.

  Chapter 3

  The bathroom door stood open. Empty. I tottered in, shutting the door behind me and collapsing against it. Silence. Not even the stereo. My ears rang in the stillness. What the hell was going on?

  My chest tightened, my breathing short and choppy. Fumbling, I reached into my purse for my inhaler. Take slow, deep breaths, I thought, sucking on the plastic instrument. Slow, deep breaths. Finally, my airways relaxed. Air rushed into my lungs, so sweet it hurt. I closed my eyes and would have toppled to the floor if the pain in my bladder hadn’t reminded me why I started this trip down the rabbit’s hole in the first place.

  Could it really have been Cat out there, alive and well, after almost fifteen years? No. Not possible. Yet she knew things even Cat wouldn’t know.

  Dreaming of fairies. Dreaming of churches. Dreaming of dying.

  I shook my head, trying to clear it. Everything was blurred and unreal, yet my drunkenness seemed to be draining away. Quickly. Frighteningly quickly. I needed another drink and fast.

  Maybe Cat really had been kidnapped by the fairies, and now a fairy herself after years of living with them, she had returned to warn me.

  But warn me of what? Impending danger? Death? I’ve lived with that my entire life. And what about this innocent thing? Saving the innocent? Right. I couldn’t even save myself.

  It’s the only way you can set yourself free.

  Sighing, I flushed the toilet and straightened my clothes. The place stunk of vomit, beer and urine. Stepping around piles of wet and suspicious-looking wads of paper towels, I twisted the faucet and glanced into the cracked mirror. Positively ashen. Oh God, I couldn’t deal with this.

  Someone banged on the door. “Excuse me, this bathroom is to share. It’s not for your own private use.”

  Another voice piped in. “The bushes outside are adequate for puking, you know.”

  I washed my hands in the rusted and chipped sink, washed the tears off my face, dried off, dropped my paper towel on the floor to join its brethren, and opened the door.

  Obviously I had suffered some sort of alcohol hallucination. That was the only rational explanation. The girl in the fairy costume probably had resembled Cat to some degree, thus triggering me to imagine the rest.

  Outside, the stereo blared Tears for Fears’ “Shout” mixed in with the dull roar of slurred voices. People were packed in the narrow hallway. A woman in a cat outfit with streaked black eye makeup gave me a dirty look before shoving past me into the bathroom. I blinked and tottered down the hallway, picking my way over and around the gaggle of bodies littering the area. Where had all these people come from? Or maybe a better question would be where had they all been a few minutes ago?

  My head spun. It was the alcohol. Just the alcohol. Never mind that I now felt completely, stone-cold sober. Never mind that I may have just seen my sister for the first time in fifteen years. Never mind that she looked like a real fairy. Never mind that she even sounded like a real fairy with her cryptic messages. I closed my eyes. Alcoholic hallucination, I chanted under my breath. Only an alcoholic hallucination.

  I crashed into a wide male back. “Sorry,” I said, attempting to step aside when I smelled it. That unmistakable combination of Irish Spring soap and clean sweat.

  Tommy.

  Oh no. I tried to back up before he saw me and promptly bumped into someone behind me. The person pushed back and I fell into Tommy again. I tried sidestepping away, but Tommy had already turned around, a beer in each hand.

  “Kit,” he exclaimed, throwing one arm around my neck, his southern accent even more pronounced than usual. Beer sloshed down the front of my shirt, the wet cold jolting me out of my haze. “Where the hell you’ve been? I’ve been look’n all over for you.”

  “Been around,” I said vaguely. Yeah, been talking to a fairy who resembled my kidnapped sister. Sure, I’ve been around. I decided not to think about it anymore. I studied Tommy instead.

  He was so gorgeous. Thick, wavy dark blond hair that curled around his neck, dark green eyes with startling long lashes, high cheekbones and a full, sensuous mouth (not to mention his lean, muscular athletic body without a trace of fat). University of Riverview’s star quarterback, breaker of several national records, rumored to win the Heisman Trophy this year. Despite his college successes, I thought him to be a bit too small for the NFL. The NFL, however, didn’t appear to agree with me as he had already spoken to scouts.

  In addition to his physical prowess, Tommy even had a brain, maintaining a solid B average. I privately referred to him as my Golden Boy, although due to our recent breakup, he wasn’t mine anymore.

  His gaze lingered on my body. “Cool costume. You look incredible.”

  I pulled away, feeling the familiar shivers tingle across my skin. Damn him. If he weren’t so good in bed, this breakup would be a lot easier. “Just keep in mind I’m armed.” I showed him my gun with a flourish.

  His eyes widened. “An armed woman. I think all my fantasies are coming true, right now.”

  “Oh, you fantasize about having your dick shot off?”

  He choked. “Well, actually, no. My fantasy doesn’t involve a gun going off.”

  “I see.” I made a point of looking him up and down. “So, what’s this depressed existentialist thing you got going?” He wore black jeans, a black shirt and had a black cape tied around his neck.

  He tried to look hurt. “Whad’ya mean? I’m Dracula.”

  I plucked one of his beers from his hand and drank. Christ that tasted good. Maybe I could get some of my numbness back. I still felt shaky and vulnerable. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Dracula has fangs.”

  “Can’t drink with fangs.”

  “You’re supposed to drink blood, not beer.”

  He grinned, wildly and lustfully. “Is that an invitation?”

  I tossed my hair back. “Hardly. Virgins are what you’re after.”

  He pondered this. “The blood of virgins. This definitely has some possibilities.”

  I finished his beer. His nearness both disturbed and excited me. “Well, before you set off on that virgin quest, Count, did you happen to notice someone wearing a pink fairy costume around here?”

  He frowned. “Fairy costume? How non-PC.”

  The music switched to a Duran, Duran song. I rolled my eyes. “Not that kind of fairy. A real fairy, you know, like in fairy tales? Wings and magic and everything.”

  “Oh, like Tinkerbell and shit.”

  Someone squeezed past me, forcing me to step closer to Tommy. “Something like that.”

  He thought for a moment. “No, no Tinkerbells.”

  “How about Tinkerbells wearing pink dresses?”

  “Nope, none of them either.”

  I sighed, deciding I had better get out of this conversation and over to the bar. Fast. “Okay, thanks anyway.”

  He grabbed my arm as I started to turn away. “Kit, wait a sec. I was hoping we could talk.”

  Not fast enough. I closed my eyes. “We’ve already talked.”

  His hand slid up to my neck, fingers brushing against my bare skin. I began to have trouble breathing. “I still don’t know what I did wrong. Or why you don’t want to see me anymore.”

  “Nothing. We just want different things, that’s all.”

  He leaned closer, his breath faintly misty and warm against my cheek. My stomach felt hot and twisty, like a nest of serpents had moved in and taken control. His hand kept rubbing my neck, slowly, sensuou
sly, sending delicious tingles down my body. “What’s so different about what we want?”

  The serpents squirmed about. My mouth felt dry and hot. “I told you. You want a relationship. I want to have fun.”

  “I want to have fun, too.”

  I opened my eyes. His face was so close it was out of focus. The want, the need to have him lead me out of here and take me to his apartment was so powerful it almost overwhelmed me. Not just for the sex, but for the connection to another human being. I felt so empty, so alone. So utterly and completely alone. I saw now how detached I was from the human race. Sure, I had plenty of friends, acquaintances mostly, but no one I could really talk to, really connect with. After Cat, after almost dying, I never allowed myself that luxury. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to hurt anyone the way I had been hurt. I refused to get involved. But now I could painfully, agonizingly, feel what I missed, and how desperately I wanted that bond.

  But I knew I never could. It wasn’t meant for me.

  I tried to lean back, tried not to show the devastation in my eyes. “You want to get serious, too.”

  “I told you we can go slower. We can go as slow as you want.”

  Like the beer he splashed down my neck earlier, that one sentence shocked my senses, broke through the enchantment he had been weaving around me. It didn’t matter how slow we went, the ending would be the same. I wasn’t normal. I would never be normal. He was the Golden Boy with a Golden Future. I had no future. I could not, would not, let myself drag him down.

  I backed out of his grasp. “You win. We can talk, but later. Right now a beer’s calling my name.”

  He stepped forward. “I’ll get it.”

  I waved him back, deftly stepping into the crowd. “My name, my beer. Now’s not the time to talk anyway. We’re supposed to be having fun.”

  “But, Kit,” he called, looking so plaintive, so forlorn. I hardened my heart and gave him a cheery wave, trying to put as many people between us as fast as possible. He started toward me, but then one of his teammates grabbed him by the neck. I slunk into the crowd.

  He would get over it, get over me, soon enough. There was no shortage of golden girls with golden futures who would be more than happy to console him. He could have his pick. He would be fine. Never mind how hollow, how ill I felt to think of him with another girl. This was for the best. I knew it.

  “Hey, Kit. Wow, you look fab. Have you checked out Brandi?”

  The fresh, wholesome, all-American and apple-pie face of Elena beamed up at me. “What?” I said, inwardly giving myself a shake. Enough about Tommy. Time to focus on the present.

  She grabbed my arm and swung me around. “See? Brandi.” She pointed.

  My mouth dropped open. “Oh, God.”

  All hips and scarves, Brandi swayed seductively to a song I didn’t recognize, although I suspected it wasn’t from the eighties. It looked like some sort of snake dance – actually more of a cross between a snake dance, belly dance and striptease. She had managed to capture the attention of more than a dozen drooling and panting boys, but she had eyes for only one – Chuck.

  “What’s Violet think of all this?” I asked, as Brandi wrapped one of her scarves around Chuck’s neck.

  “Well, I’m no psych major, but I don’t think she’s a happy camper right now. What’s your diagnosis?” Elena nodded to the side, her words slightly slurred. Violet stood by herself, eyes glued to the Brandi and Chuck Show. She appeared to be turning as violet as her name.

  “Yeah, no happy camper there. That’s my official diagnosis anyway.”

  Brandi blew Chuck a kiss as she swung her hips for the next salivating guy. “She’s gonna get him back,” Elena said.

  “Think so?”

  Chuck clapped his hand to his heart and mock staggered back. Brandi tossed her head, one gleaming lock twirled in its own dance, and whirled away.

  We looked at each other. “Oh, yeah,” we both said at the same time.

  Elena noticed my empty hands. “Where’s your poison?”

  “On my way to refill.”

  Elena’s gray-green eyes widened. “What? You’ve been reduced to getting your own beer? I don’t believe it. Why haven’t you snared some unsuspecting guy to fetch it for you?”

  “Because they’ve all been snared by Brandi.”

  Elena giggled as she swallowed and ended up in a coughing fit. I pounded her helpfully on the back while Gloria Gaynor belted “I Will Survive” out of the speakers, which I knew wasn’t from the eighties. Brandi switched to “tough yet sexy girl” and started acting out the beginning of the song for Chuck. I wondered if she had promised the DJ a little something special at the end of the night – these songs seemed a bit too perfect for chance. Not to mention from the wrong decade.

  “Come on, I’ll get my snared guy to bring you a beer,” Elena said when she could talk. “At least I will unless he’s fallen under Brandi’s spell.”

  “So far, so good,” I said as Brad picked his way through the crowd toward us. “At least for the moment.”

  Elena gave me a dirty look. Her curly, copper-colored hair had been replaced by a black, straight-haired wig that didn’t work at all with her skin tone. She wore a black leotard covered with some sort of silky material, high heels, and a sign that said “Do you believe in life after love?” When she turned to plant a passionate kiss on Brad’s lips, I saw the sign that hung on her back. “Gypsies, tramps and thieves.”

  “Hey, Cher. You look fantastic for being a hundred and fifty years old.”

  She turned back to me and smirked. “The power of plastic surgery.”

  “Hey, we leavin’ or something? What’d I do to deserve that?” Brad asked.

  “Please get Kit a beer. There’s someone I have to introduce her to,” Elena said.

  Inwardly I groaned. Another setup. Exactly what I didn’t need.

  “Elena,” I started to say, but she pounced before I could get another word out.

  “He’s cute and he’s sweet. Perfect for consoling. Although, I haven’t figured out exactly why you need to be consoled, but that’s a discussion for another day.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  Brad shook his head. “Definitely gone. Don’t want to be anywhere near this.”

  “Just bring Kit back a beer,” Elena said.

  “Elena, really,” I said as the crowd swallowed Brad up. “I think I need a little alone time right now. You know, find myself and all that shit.”

  Elena snorted. “You? Right. Like I can see you sitting around smoking pot and listening to Nirvana or Pink Floyd and discussing the finer points of the meaning of life.”

  “Nirvana or Pink Floyd? We’re talking two distinctly different drug trips here.”

  Elena rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Let’s go meet David.” She took my arm and led me across the room. I thought again about protesting, but then I saw Tommy doing shots with a group of beefy guys and changed my mind. Maybe if I started seeing someone new, he would move on faster. Certainly worth a try.

  “Hello, David,” Elena cooed, tucking her hand in the arm of a werewolf. “I’ve brought you a special treat.”

  “Special treat?” I started to sputter, but then the werewolf turned around and I forgot my ire.

  Large turquoise blue eyes, high cheekbones, dark blond hair curling against his forehead and under his collar. I sucked in my breath. At least Elena had the cuteness part right.

  He held his hand out. “You must be Kit.”

  “And you must be David.” His hand felt cool and dry. “So, what nasty things has Elena been saying about me?”

  “I never,” Elena said indignantly.

  “Believe me, it was all good.” He still held my hand, eyes gazing into mine. I deliberately broke the grasp and leaned closer to him.

  “Don’t believe a word of it.” I smiled my mo
st enigmatic smile.

  He grinned back. “So, should I believe the nasty things then?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but something in his eyes stopped me. Maybe it was the angle, or a reflection of the light, but they suddenly looked like monster eyes – cruel and calculating, gleaming at me with a kind of hunger.

  There’s danger here, lurking in the shadows. It hasn’t seen you yet, but it will. Tonight. It will seize you in its jaws and never let you go.

  The room went eerily silent, exactly the way it had right after the fairy disappeared. My blood froze, my breathing stopped. My lungs felt like a huge icy hand was clutching them, squeezing the life out. Panic was like icicles exploding inside me, frozen particles imbedding themselves in my internal organs.

  Never let you go.

  “Kit, are you okay?”

  I blinked. The room swayed, came back into focus, smelling of sweat and smoke, sounding of laughter, voices and Michael Jackson. Normal. Completely normal. For the second time that night, I felt as if I had fallen into Lewis Carroll’s LSD-induced nightmare misleadingly named “Wonderland.”

  David was staring at me with more than a hint of concern. My breathing hitched in my chest and I coughed. “I’m fine.” I dug into my purse for my inhaler. “Just a little asthma attack, that’s all.”

  What was going on with me? Why would I have imagined David a monster?

  Why would I have imagined seeing my sister again, tonight of all nights?

  And why would she be warning me against some undefined danger?

  Alcoholic hallucination. That was the explanation. My breathing returned to normal and my insides thawed out. Alcoholic hallucination. Nothing else.

  I put back my inhaler and smiled. “So, now what were you asking me?”

  Chapter 4

  I awoke the next morning with a horrible headache and a sick feeling in my stomach that I regrettably couldn’t attribute only to alcohol. Pain is good, I thought as I often did when something hurt. Pain lets me know I’m alive. Sometimes that chant worked. It didn’t today.