The Stolen Twin

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  A cold, sick knot tied itself up in my throat. Trying unsuccessfully to swallow, I reached down for the envelope. It was plain white, my name and address either typed or printed from a computer.

  “What makes you think this is from David?” I flipped the envelope over. There were no other markings except for the stamp and my address.

  Brandi shrugged. “What makes you think it’s not from David? Of course, you could open it. Then we’d know for sure.”

  The knot swelled in my throat. I slid my finger under the flap, tearing it slightly, and eased out the piece of paper inside. With it came a shower of sparkling silver confetti.

  “Festive,” Brandi commented as the confetti blanketed the floor. “Wonder what the celebration is.”

  I unfolded the paper. The letter was fashioned like a ransom note with words cut out from magazines.

  Kit Cat. First there were two, then there was one. Soon there will be none.

  Kit Cat. Open your eyes and see, because the truth will set you free.

  The note was unsigned.

  “I’d say David needs a little help in the love-letter writing department,” Brandi said, reading over my shoulder. At some point she had moved to sit next to me, but I had no memory of when.

  I lowered the note so Brandi wouldn’t notice my hands shaking.

  Brandi continued to speak. “Did any of that make sense to you?”

  I flashed to Cat’s words Halloween night. You must save the innocent, because by saving the innocent you save yourself. It’s the only way you can set yourself free.

  I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. Terror had lodged itself in my chest, blocking my breathing. The glittering confetti winked at me from the floor, mocking me. I saw it then for what it was – fairy dust.

  Sprinkle a little fairy dust, cast a spell. Works like a charm. Now I was under its spell. Some strange, secret, mysterious spell.

  Brandi stood up. “You’ve certainly caught yourself a good one, Kit.”

  “It’s not from David,” I said, through parched lips and throat.

  Cat’s face taunted me from the Union, turning as it disappeared into the crowd. “This isn’t from David.” My voice cracked.

  Brandi eyed me. “Who do you think it’s from then?”

  “I’m not sure, but not David.”

  “Sooo … you have two people sending you strange and unexpected gifts now? Whatever. For myself, I’d want to keep the guest list small and focused, but if you want to start inviting new and strange paranoia in, then have at it.”

  I stood up. “You think I want this? Any of this? Newsflash! I want it all to go away.”

  Brandi put one hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow at me. “Then maybe you better do something about it.”

  Chapter 10

  I decided to study.

  I knew it wouldn’t solve my problems. But school I could control. Kidnapped-sisters-who-have-recently-returned sending me vaguely threatening letters and Dr. Charming/Mr. Asshole were an entirely different matter.

  I went to the Mary R. Black Library, also known as MRB, one of the few libraries I felt comfortable studying in. It had a lounge-like atmosphere and large windows overlooking the giant, winding Ohtawakee River – the “river” in Riverview. Faded lime green cushiony chairs, many with their springs broken, were interspersed with wide, straight-back beige chairs around circular tables. I wanted a cushiony one, but other people had already snagged them, so I settled for two straight-back chairs at one of the tables – one to sit on and one to stretch my legs over.

  All things considered, I managed to plow through quite a bit of Clarissa before Tommy interrupted me.

  “You look like you need a study partner.” He made himself comfortable at my table.

  I eyed him over my book. “You look like you need new friends, or at least more of them.”

  “Ouch, Kit. That wasn’t necessary.” He pulled a notebook and gnawed pen out of his backpack.

  “That’s reality.”

  “You’re making me reconsider my offer of friendship.”

  “Whatever.” I tried to go back to my novel but Tommy wouldn’t let me. Although technically a library, MRB had pretty lax talking restrictions.

  “What’s with the bad mood?”

  I held my book in front of my face. “No bad mood here. Just trying to get some studying done.”

  “Lover’s spat?”

  I lowered Clarissa. “Didn’t we already cover the David-and-I-aren’t-lovers thing a few days ago?”

  He shrugged. “Things change. And you are here all by your lonesome.”

  “By choice.” I tried to raise the book again, but Tommy nudged it away.

  “Are you and David having problems?” He had managed to arrange his features into a sympathetic expression.

  I let Clarissa fall into my lap. “Are you out of your mind? Why would I tell you even if we were?”

  Tommy looked hurt. “I’m trying to be a supportive friend here.”

  “What you’re trying to do is pry into something that’s none of your business.”

  Tommy dropped his gaze to his books, the picture of an injured little boy. Against my better judgment, I felt myself softening. I tried reminding myself that it was kinder to cut our doomed relationship off now, before things became even more complicated, but it didn’t work. Not with him in front of me, looking so sad, so confused. I sighed loudly. “All right. Look, we had two dates and he was very polite after both of them. Nothing physical has happened; it’s a very platonic relationship.”

  He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but then fixed his gaze back on his books instead.

  “Take it from me, there’s nothing yet about this relationship you have to be jealous about, okay?”

  His head snapped up. “Yet?”

  “You’ll be the first to know if or when there’s something to be jealous about.” I patted his hand. “Okay, maybe the second, or third, but I won’t keep you hanging. Agreed?”

  He nodded, studying the table and worrying a corner of his notebook.

  “Chances are by the time that happens, you’ll be so wrapped up in some cheerleader you won’t even remember having this conversation.” Although my tone was light, a bolt of white-hot pain seared my heart. I covered my face with my book in case any of that pain was reflected there.

  Tommy muttered something and flipped open his notebook. I sighed in relief. Maybe we were finally done with this conversation.

  I had just reached a point where I almost cared about Clarissa’s problems when Tommy interrupted again.

  “Okay, I’m not trying to start a fight here,” he began, dropping his chewed-up pen on the table with a thunk.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes you are, or you wouldn’t have just said that.”

  “No, really. I know something’s wrong in your life.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Are you denying it?”

  “Since I don’t know what you’re talking about, it’s kind of hard for me to deny it.”

  “Well, I know things are … a little peculiar with David, and … ”

  I slapped my book on the table. “Where did you hear this?”

  At least he had the decency to look sheepish. “From Brad who talked to Elena … ”

  I shook my head. “I should’ve known.”

  “She’s just worried about you, that’s all. And so is Brad, which is why he told me. And how you ran after that girl in the Union –”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Elena is blowing this way out of proportion.”

  He laid his hand on my arm. “Then tell me how it really is.”

  “Why?”

  He looked at me like I was an idiot. “Why? So, I can help you. Duh.”

  That suggestion was so ap
pealing. To actually have someone to talk to. But where would it end? Would I find myself telling him everything? Could he handle it?

  “The David thing is a bit peculiar,” I said hesitantly. “That’s why I told you not to be jealous. But, Tommy, come on. Do you really think I can talk to you about it objectively?”

  “Point taken. But what about this girl? Elena mentioned something about her being dressed up as a fairy at the Halloween party. Is it the same person you asked me if I saw?”

  I sighed. “Yes.”

  “So, what gives?”

  I turned away, unsure of how to answer. A guy dressed in a faded, ratty sweatshirt stood up from one of the low-slung chairs and began an elaborate stretching routine. At another table, two girls with cropped shiny brown hair sat hunched over note cards, quizzing each other at a frantic pace. The guy at their table, dressed in a UW sweatshirt, dug through his backpack.

  “Kit?” His voice was so gentle, so full of concern that I allowed my eyes to meet his. I saw only sympathy and caring reflected in the dark-blue depths.

  “She was at the party,” I said. “We spoke for a few minutes.”

  “And … ”

  I propped my elbows on the table and buried my face in my hands. “It sounds crazy though to just say it. You’re going to think it was just a drunken episode.”

  “Try me.”

  I raised my head. “She … she warned me.”

  “Warned you? Of what?”

  “She just said I was in danger.”

  Tommy folded his arms across his chest. “From what?”

  “She didn’t say. But then a few minutes later I met David, and, well, I don’t know.”

  “So, you think she was warning you away from David.”

  “I don’t know what I think.”

  Tommy rubbed his chin, studying me. “And that’s it?”

  I sat back. “Isn’t that enough?”

  He didn’t answer right away, just kept studying me. “Then why do I get the feeling you’re holding something back?”

  “Maybe because you’re frickin paranoid.” I started shoving my books into my bag. How dare he say that to me? Tommy, the king of never opening up, accusing me of holding out. How rich was that?

  “Why are you getting mad?”

  The guy in the UW sweatshirt brushed past me gently as he ambled by. “Why do you assume I’m not being honest with you?”

  Tommy held his palms out. “Whoa. I said nothing about honesty, merely that I thought you weren’t telling me everything. And judging by your response, I’d say I was probably right.”

  I stood up. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll see you later.” I snatched up my coat and stalked to the door. Never mind that deep down I knew he was right. Never mind that I knew I was being irrational. Never mind that a part of me wanted to tell him everything. Waves of anger rolled though me. I should have stayed at the apartment.

  I shoved open the door to the cement steps leading down and to the outside. The building had eight floors altogether – the bottom four were part of the library and the top four classrooms and offices. I liked the fourth floor best because it had the nicest view of the river.

  It was almost as cold here as outside, so I paused to put on my coat and adjust my backpack.

  A hand seized my arm as I started toward the steps. “Tommy, I don’t want to talk to you right now.” I tried to wrench my arm free.

  “It’s not Tommy,” a voice said. I snapped my head around. David stood there, still clutching my arm, his eyes smoldering embers, his mouth a straight pinched line.

  “Oh, David. Sorry, I thought you were Tommy.” Could I sound any lamer?

  “Yes, I gathered that,” he said coolly. “Who is he?”

  “My ex.” I tried again, more subtlety this time, to free my arm, but David gripped it even tighter.

  “Your ex, or your current boyfriend?”

  I glared at him, exasperated. “He’s my ex. I don’t play those sorts of games. We’re still friends, that’s all. Now, if you’ll please let go of my arm, I want to go home.”

  He leaned closer, eyes blazing. “You lied to me.”

  “I did not.”

  “You said you had a study group.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Look, I don’t have time for your jealousy-overprotective issues right now. Let go of me.”

  He grabbed my shoulders and shook me roughly. “You lied. You didn’t have a study group at all. You just wanted to get together with your football boyfriend.”

  My head snapped back, teeth clicking together painfully. I couldn’t believe this was happening. “Stop it. You’re hurting me.”

  He shook me again. “Answer me.”

  I tried to push him away. “Stop it.”

  His hot breath on my cheek smelled foul and stinking, like something rotten. I shuddered, struggling not to gag. He was such a neat freak – why was his breath so horrible? And where did all this violence come from? How could he be doing this to me? Me? We had a bond! How could this be happening?

  He jerked me closer, hissing into my face. “What? I’m not good enough for you because I don’t play football?”

  I gaped at him, the full meaning of his words becoming clear. “Football? I didn’t tell you he played football. You were following me.”

  He shook me a third time, sharp bursts of pain exploding in my face and neck. “I’m the one asking the questions here.” His bright-red face loomed over me, ugly and monstrous, his eyes hot and burning.

  He’s going to kill me.

  The words came out of nowhere, numbing all other thoughts in its path. My anger dissolved into terror – suddenly, explosively.

  “Let go of me,” I screamed and shoved him violently. My voice echoed crazily, bouncing insanely against the cement walls and steps, as twisted as my reality had become. He stumbled backwards, releasing his hold. Quickly, before he regained his footing, I spun around and fled down the stairs.

  Immediately I knew I had made a tactical error. I should have gone back inside, at the very least opened the door. And screamed. Tommy would have helped me. Now I had no choice but to outrun him.

  Above me, he swore and started the chase. His pounding footsteps echoed and boomed, sounding as though he had me completely surrounded. I would never escape him. The familiar bands tightened around my chest – my breathing began to hitch. Oh, God, not yet.

  The stairs were deserted. Where was everyone?! Just like a clichéd nightmare, I was alone and defenseless against the monster. Any minute now I would be unable to move, my body weighted down by unseen entities, forced to run in slow motion, struggling to breathe.

  The booming grew louder behind me as the coughing began to rise in my throat. I would never be able to outrun him …

  Where the hell was the bottom? I was only on the fourth floor. Why hadn’t I reached the first floor yet?

  Maybe I had passed it. Maybe I was heading toward the parking garage in the basement. Oh God. This was a nightmare. I had never been in the garage. Could I even find my way out?

  I had almost decided to turn around and run up a level when I spotted it: the outside door, on the landing below me. Thank God. My chest felt like it had turned into a fireball. Ignoring it, I summoned a fresh burst of speed and dove toward the door.

  “Kit,” David yelled, his voice taking on a sinister, eerie edge. “You can’t beat me. You know it and I know it.”

  I slammed into the door before remembering I had to pull it open. Struggling not to cough, I wrenched it open. David’s voice continued taunting me:

  “Kit, you know you can’t outrun me. You’re probably using all your energy to keep yourself from coughing. Just stop. All I want to do is talk.”

  I managed to stumble outside before surrendering to my coughing fit. But still I kept moving, kept going forward. Through the coug
hs. I couldn’t stop. My lungs had transformed into tiny, burning straws. Every breath was agonizing. Excruciating. But I couldn’t stop.

  This is how it must feel to die.

  The words tumbled in slow motion through my head. With incredible effort, I pushed them away. No, I would not die today. Today is not a good day to die.

  People moved in the distance, but no one was close. How could this be? Maybe I really was trapped in a nightmare.

  The Union loomed from across the street. Sanctuary. I started toward it, moving in a sort of shambling half-run. The wind whipped around me, icy fingers eagerly digging their way past my open coat to my sweating body underneath. This air was even harder to breathe. The bitter cold mixed with the fire in my lungs, and turned it into a scorching, blistering disaster.

  Uncontrollably coughing now, chest burning, I staggered to the street. Have to keep moving, have to keep moving, I chanted to myself. Although maybe it would be easier just to let him catch me.

  Shadows from the streetlights stretched around me, dark and twisted. Everything looked mutated. Distorted. Like I had stepped into a funhouse mirror reflection. David yelled my name again. I fought to run faster, terror and pain blending seamlessly.

  Cross the street. One foot in front of the other. Mind over matter. The pain wouldn’t kill me. Pain meant I was alive. Hold on a little longer. Almost to the Union. Find someone, anyone. Maybe I would get lucky and run into a campus cop. Oh, why couldn’t I bump into Tommy now?

  “Kit, I just want to talk to you. Come on, Kit. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Across the street. Finally. Now for one final flight of steps. A car sped by, its headlights flickering strangely off the trees and brick walls of the Union. Hopefully it would slow David down long enough for me to find some help.

  I hurled myself down the steps, flung open the door. A beefy guy passed me on his way out – finally a person. He didn’t stop, just eyed me a little strangely.

  “Kit,” David howled as I ducked inside. The warm air caressed my cheek, soothed my tortured throat. Still coughing, I wound my way around the hallway. Wasn’t there a campus police station in here somewhere? But where? I had never looked for it, never thought I would need it. Still, somebody should know. I could ask someone, maybe the person who sold the popcorn and ice cream. The bartender might not believe me, might think I’d had too much to drink.