The Stolen Twin

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  ***

  “I did it,” Elena crowed in my ear.

  I rubbed my eyes with my fist. My entire body pulsed with pain. “What?”

  “What do you mean, what? You know what. I can email it to you but it may be easier if you were able to see a print out. Do you think you could get the hospital’s fax number?”

  Fax number? Blurrily I stared at the clock. Nearly nine. I shook my head to clear it. “Hold on. I think I’m waking up.”

  Last night, security had stuck me on a cot in an empty room. While the empty room was nice, the cot was not. I should have stuck with the waiting room chair.

  Groaning, I eased myself up. I hurt more this morning than I had last night. “So, you got something.”

  “With phone numbers. Philip Marlowe would be so proud.”

  At least somebody was liking this private detective crap. I limped my way to the desk. “Could I have your fax number?”

  The woman behind the desk glanced at me, frowning. “Why?” She wore a deep blue sweater over her white uniform, blonde hair pulled severely back in a bun.

  “Because I need to receive a fax.”

  Her frown deepened. “This isn’t a hotel, you know.”

  Christ. How did I always end up with the hard asses? “Look, you know I’m a victim of a crime here. This fax has to do with my case. Can you help me out?”

  Her expression softened a touch. “Faxes cost us money, you know.”

  “I’ll pay for it.”

  She pondered. “All right,” she said, rather ungraciously I thought, and rattled off the fax number.

  While I waited for the fax to come through, I went in search of a restroom to clear out my lungs.

  Green mucus. Streaked with red.

  I went numb with horror.

  Red. Blood.

  I could have pulmonary bleeding. Or a punctured lung. My lungs could be filling up with blood right now.

  Or it could be from my mouth. No blood in my lungs at all.

  Or it could be pneumonia. Blood-tinged mucus was a sign of pneumonia.

  See, all sorts of reasons for coughing up blood that didn’t mean pulmonary bleeding. No reason to get myself worked up. No reason at all.

  I closed my eyes and breathed as deeply as I could. David was here. I had to stay calm. I couldn’t get worked up. Think healthy. There’s nothing seriously wrong with me. Nothing.

  I washed my face, forcing myself to relax. Just think of solving the case. That’s it. Just solve the case.

  When I felt I was control, I went to get the fax.

  ***

  “You should see the other guy,” Tommy joked weakly.

  I decided to refrain from mentioning that I was the one who stabbed the other guy. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He shrugged. “Looks worse than it is.”

  I found that hard to believe. One side of his face had swollen up and his right arm was in a sling.

  Right arm. Throwing arm.

  His eyes followed mine. “Yeah, football’s out for me.”

  “Oh, Tommy.” I put the faxed sheets on his nightstand and sat on his bed, near his left side. “But you can still try out for the pros, right? I know you haven’t been playing well, but they should understand … ”

  Tommy brushed his fingers across my lips, silencing me. “The pros are out, Kit. They don’t want a college student who’s already injured. They have enough injuries to deal with as it is.”

  “But … ”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be fine.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “No, it’s not all right. This is your career, your future. And I’m ruining everything. I’m the reason you were playing badly in the first place, and now this. It’s all my fault.” I covered my face, struggling to keep the tears from falling.

  Tommy sighed. “Kit, you just don’t get it. You’re the one I want. Why else do you think I’m here? Football’s all well and good, but it doesn’t mean anything if I can’t have you.”

  I peeked at him from between my fingers. “But, Tommy, it was your future … ”

  “You’re my future.”

  I dropped my hands. Tears glistened on my palms. “What are you saying?” Could he be saying what I wanted so desperately to hear?

  “Just this. I know about your disease. I know it’s bad. I know you may not live long or even if you do, you may not be healthy a lot of those days. But I’d rather be with you than not be with you – whether it’s six months or six years.”

  Our eyes locked. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe. All I could do was drink in the passion of his eyes, the emotion, the caring, the love.

  I don’t know who moved first, but all of a sudden we were kissing, his one good arm locked tightly around me. His lips were so warm, so right. Nothing had ever felt so good.

  “Tommy, I’m so sorry … ” I started to say.

  “Shh,” he whispered, kissing me harder. “It doesn’t matter now. This is all that matters. Only this.”

  I have no idea how far it would have gone if a nurse hadn’t interrupted us.

  She clucked her tongue. “I’m glad to see you’re both feeling better.” She moved around the bed, checking his vitals, taking a few notes. I used the time to down more cold medicine.

  “By the way,” the nurse said, putting the file back. “In about a half hour, the doctor will be here to discharge you. Thought you might want to know.” She winked at us as she left.

  Tommy locked his gaze with mine. “Well, this probably isn’t the best spot for it anyway.” His eyes sparkled with wicked promises.

  I grinned back, the answering heat whipping through my body. “Yeah, and neither one of us is in the best shape for it either.”

  He sighed. “Ain’t that the truth? Ah well. I’ve waited this long. I guess I can wait a little longer.” He reached for a glass of water, saw the fax. “What’s this?”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. My big news.” I grabbed the sheets and started waving them. “Tommy, I think I figured something out.”

  He leaned over, trying to look at the papers as I shook them in my excitement. “Looks like a Wisconsin map with a few cities highlighted.”

  “That’s it exactly.”

  He picked up his water. “And this means … what?”

  “Just that I think I know the location of my church dream.” I rattled the pages triumphantly.

  Tommy didn’t look impressed. “Uh, Kit. Hate to impose a bit of reality here, but this is a dream we’re talking about. Dreams don’t have locations in real life.”

  “Ah, but this one does.” I jumped up and started pacing. “You see, the dream always starts the same. I’m in the car with my parents driving to Milwaukee when we veer off the main highway and into a small town. Last night, I called Elena. She faxed me a map of all the towns between Riverview and Milwaukee and a list of phone numbers of town officials. I called them to ask if they had a church in their town like the one in my dream, only I didn’t say I dreamed about it. I said I’d visited there some years before and wanted to return but couldn’t remember the exact town. And, lo and behold, Emmitsville has a church just like the one in my dream.”

  Tommy sat back. “Okay. So, let me get this straight. Based on the fact that somebody in a town called Emmitsville said they had a church similar to one you dreamed about means the dream is real?”

  “No. The dream is real because Cat told me it’s real.”

  “Cat? You mean the dead girl in the photo told you the church dream is real?”

  “No. I mean, yes. Will you stop being so damn logical for one second and go a little on faith?”

  He sighed. “I’ll certainly try.”

  I stopped at the foot of his bed and held my hands up. “Okay. You know I’ve had basically two dreams all my life. The church dream and
the dream where the fairies kidnap Cat. As it turns out, the fairy dream is real. Cat was kidnapped by the fairies, otherwise known as the Terrys, an easy mistake for a child to make. So, now in the last church dream, Cat told me ‘It’s all real.’ Now, do you understand?”

  Tommy twisted the sheet. “Kit, what you’re arguing is absurd. The fairy dream isn’t real. Cat wasn’t kidnapped by the fairies, we’re not even sure she was kidnapped by the Terrys.”

  “Semantics, like I said.”

  “All right, even if we go with that, which is a stretch, that still doesn’t make the church dream real.”

  “It is, Tommy. It always starts the same. We’re in the car, driving to Milwaukee, and we stop at this little town with a church in it. In Emmitsville, a town between Milwaukee and Riverview, there is a church exactly as I dreamed it. The man I spoke to said I had an excellent memory, my description was so perfect.”

  Tommy stared at the ceiling, sighed. “I think I’m going to regret asking this. Let’s say the church dream is real. What are you proposing?”

  I paused, took a deep breath, coughed a little. “We go there. Today.”

  Tommy shook his head. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “It’s the key, Tommy. I know it. Maybe Cat was kidnapped there or something. I don’t know. But it’s the key. We have to go.”

  “Kit,” Tommy said gently. “If all this is as you say it is, you said you’ll die there. How can we possibly go?”

  You always knew you had come here to die.

  Thoughts cascaded through my mind, all at once.

  Coughing blood.

  David running at us brandishing a knife.

  Green mucus. Fever. Toxins oozing through my body.

  David grabbing me by the throat.

  If my disease doesn’t kill me, he will.

  I stared straight at Tommy. “I have to find the truth. I have no choice. We have to go.”

  Tommy glared back. “Oh, and I have no say in the matter? Kit, look at me. I can’t protect you. Hell, I’m not even sure if I can drive.”

  “I’ll drive. It’ll be okay. You’re not in the church dreams so if you come the outcome won’t be the same.”

  Tommy made a face. “Somehow, that statement doesn’t have the ring of reassurance I’m sure you were going for.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed. “We’ve come so far. I know this church holds the key. Don’t you want to finally know the truth?”

  He stared at me - blew air out of his cheeks. “What are we going to tell the cops? They called this morning, they want a statement.”

  I smiled, knowing I won. “We’ll give them one when we return. We’ll come back today. Just out to Emmitsville, then back. Won’t take long at all.”

  Tommy shook his head. “Ha – that sounds familiar. My words have come back to bite me.”

  Chapter 35

  For all my bravado, the closer we got to Emmitsville, the worse I felt.

  I could feel my fever growing, burning hotter. My coughing continued, despite the cold medicine. Blood poured from my lungs. Toxins flooded my system. The disease was drawing strength from the dream.

  It knew it had the upper hand. The medicines were all but useless.

  I spent what little energy I had hiding my worsening condition from Tommy.

  He had insisted on driving.

  “Didn’t they give you something for the pain? Something that would make you drowsy and unable to drive?”

  He shot me a look. “I didn’t take it because I knew this was on the agenda, thank you very much.”

  I saw beads of sweat already forming on his upper lip. “Driving in pain isn’t exactly brilliant either.”

  “Hand over whatever it is you’re taking for your pain and I’ll be fine. I’ve played football in pain, I think I can drive.”

  “You have only one arm. You played football with one arm?”

  He glared at me. “By the looks of it, you’re walking around with pneumonia. You want to tell me you’re in better shape to drive?”

  Point and match. I handed him the keys.

  Luckily for us, the cops had brought our car to the hospital last night so we could leave right from the hospital.

  Once in the car, I kept twisting around, trying to see who was behind us. “Think David’s following?”

  “You told me you put a knife in his thigh. He’d first need medical attention, then he’d have to find us. I don’t think there’s been enough time for all that.” Despite his words, I noticed Tommy kept his eye on the rearview mirror more than usual. For my part, I alternated between watching the scenery, watching the passenger mirror and chewing on my lip.

  “You know, I’m not rich.”

  Startled, I looked at him. “What?” I had been trying not to think about the blood I kept coughing up.

  “Rich. I’m not rich. Nor does my father run a business. Actually, to be honest, I don’t have a father.”

  “Tommy, why are you telling me this now?”

  His hand tightened on the steering wheel. “Because, I … because you have a right to know.”

  Because I might not get another chance, was what he almost said. I could hear it in his voice. Loud and clear.

  Fear.

  I felt it, too.

  “Besides,” he tried to smile. “I thought it might distract you.”

  I firmly put coughing up blood out of my mind. “Okay, you’re not rich and you don’t have a father.”

  “Actually, to be perfectly honest, I do have a father, but he left my mother and me. Destitute, as it turned out. My mother ended up having to do whatever it took to keep food on the table and pay the rent.” He paused, switched lanes.

  I laid a hand on his thigh. “You really don’t have to tell me.” His expression had become hard. Chiseled. Granite.

  He threw me a quick look. “I want to. Believe me, I’ve wanted to for a long time.” He paused, sucked in another breath. “She became a high-class call girl. A hooker. Well-paid. But still, a prostitute.”

  I studied the scenery. The bare trees. The dead grass. “Tommy, I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s why I don’t talk about my family. It’s why I don’t go home much to visit. Hurts too much. To see what she did. For me. All for me.”

  I turned back to him. He stared at the road, his jaw hard, set. Now, I felt even more terrible. “And here I am ruining your chances with the pros. Not to mention your football scholarship.”

  “Kit, that’s not what I meant. I can find something else to do for living. And I can struggle through one more semester of schooling if they do yank my scholarship. That’s not the issue. No, I want you to understand why I’m here. I couldn’t help my mom. But I can help you. You’re what matters. Do you understand now?”

  We passed barren farms, dead but for a few stalks of dried wheat. I squeezed his knee. I didn’t deserve him.

  The least I could do for him was live. Really live. Not just drift, but actually live.

  That is, if I could make it through the church dream.

  You always knew you had come here to die.

  I was already having trouble breathing.

  ***

  The moment we took the turnoff, I knew it was true.

  I could almost hear my mother’s voice, directing my father down the road, my father spinning the steering wheel. Everything had a hazy, dreamlike quality.

  Like I had been here before.

  In one hand, I clutched my inhaler. The other I used to direct Tommy.

  Just like my mother.

  Just like my dream.

  Tommy said nothing, merely drove the car. But I could sense his amazement and disbelief as the dream I’d shared with him came to life around him.

  The church emerged, as if it had been waiting for us. All
these years. Waiting. To welcome me home.

  I sucked on my inhaler several times before stepping out of the car. Tommy had already gotten out and was gazing up at it.

  “Think it’s open? Looks kind of small to have a full-time pastor, but you never know.”

  “We don’t need a pastor,” I said, my voice dreamy and unfocused. “Everything we need is in the graveyard.” I began to walk, my legs moving without any direction from me.

  Tommy jogged to catch up. “I think a living person may be helpful in this matter. You see, graveyards are really good for finding dead people, but not so good at finding kidnapped people. Unless, of course, they’re being held in a graveyard, but I think we can safely rule out that possibility.”

  I continued to be drawn forward. “A little faith, remember? We’ve gotten this far on it. Besides, we can always find a living person later.”

  Tommy grunted. I felt my lungs fill with fluid, the coughs gather in my chest, ready to burst out. I kept waiting to hear the bell. Any second the bell would ring. The wolves would howl.

  And I would die.

  The wind whipped around us, bringing whispers of cold, of decay, of death. Anytime now the bell would ring. Any moment.

  I started coughing, blood trickling from my mouth. I slowed to get myself under control.

  Tommy stared at me in alarm. “Kit, are you sure … ”

  I held up my hand to silence him. The bell would toll any second now. I had to be ready.

  We approached the corner, began to turn. Any moment, the graveyard would appear, and with it, death. Here’s where death has been waiting for me. He’s been waiting a long time, but his wait is almost over. The perfect spot, really. Nothing to distract him. Soon, I would be in his embrace. Where I belonged.

  We rounded the corner, my breaths shorter and more labored. I had expected to see an open grave presided over by death and surrounded by people, but the graveyard was empty. Silent. Except for the wind rattling through dead and overgrown weeds.

  “This doesn’t look like it’s been used for years,” Tommy whispered.

  “I know,” I whispered back. Long yellowing grasses almost hid the gravestones. A broken down, rusted fence nearly obscured by weeds surrounded three-quarters of it. I wondered why I never noticed the fence before.