Copycat

by Alex Lake

  But she kept silent. It was obvious Jean wasn’t seeking her medical opinion.

  ‘So can they?’ Jean said. ‘I suppose you already know, but I don’t. I could find out, couldn’t I? I have the perfect opportunity to do a little experiment. I mean, you’ll be trying to scream for sure, so I’ll definitely get my answer, one way or another.’

  She put a finger to her lips in a theatrical display of thoughtfulness.

  ‘Or maybe you’ll bleed to death. Or choke on the blood. Or on bits of your tongue. It’s not like I’m a skilled surgeon. I’ve never done this before.’ She looked at the knife, and then lifted her gaze to Sarah. The thoughtful expression was gone, replaced by a look of barely controlled fury.

  ‘But I will do it, Sarah. Trust me. I will hold your mouth open and slice your tongue out piece by piece. And I’ll enjoy it. So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to open the door and leave, and you’re going to be silent. If you so much as squeak, you lose your tongue.’ She smiled. It was a wide, flat, innocent smile, almost childlike. ‘Do you understand?’

  Sarah nodded. Her instructions were pretty clear. Insane, but clear.

  ‘Excellent. Then I’ll say goodbye. For now.’

  ‘Jean,’ Sarah said. ‘We can still stop this. It’s not too late. Let me go and it’ll all be forgotten.’

  Jean looked at her, an amused smile on her lips.

  ‘Why would I do that?’ she said.

  ‘Because we’re friends, Jean. We’ve known each other for thirty years. We were in kindergarten together, for God’s sake. Whatever you think I’ve done to you, doesn’t that count? For anything?’

  Jean thought for a second, then shook her head. ‘Not a thing,’ she said, and turned away.

  Sarah sat in the darkness. This was her world, she realized, and it was not going to change anytime soon. Jean was not going to relent.

  This was it, for now, and for as long as Jean wanted it to be, which could be what? Days? Weeks? Months?

  Years?

  Her breathing became shallower and her chest constricted. Days she could take; weeks even. But longer? It was unthinkable. She’d lose her mind.

  She’d read studies about the effects of sensory deprivation, about how effective a method of torture it was. Without sensory input the mind loses its bearings, becomes unmoored, floats out of itself.

  Time, space, distance, direction: all of them were constants in a normal life, the points of the compass people organized themselves around. I have to be here, at this time. I have one hour to do this job. I am looking left, because I heard the sound of a car coming from that direction.

  I exist, because all these things around me exist too. They were all gone. There was nothing, and if there was nothing, then how did she know she was still there, still alive?

  She pictured Ben and the kids coming home. Finding the note. Ben shocked and lost and unsure what to do. Tell the kids? How? When? He’d need support and guidance, from wherever he could get it.

  From Jean, if she offered.

  Involuntarily, she scratched the floor with her torn fingernails, hard, until she felt one come free and she yelped in pain.

  She did it again; she was glad of the pain; it centered her, brought her back to herself, to her situation.

  Which was grim. Hopeless. She was – and this was the worst of it – powerless. Jean had created another Sarah, a Sarah whom people believed was capable of killing herself. When they heard about her suicide note, a note in which she told Ben she couldn’t carry on, that she was leaving him and the kids and the world, they would nod their heads and think, Yes, tragic – but you could see it coming.

  As would Ben.

  And he would be angry at her and alone, and in need of help and support. And if Jean offered it, why wouldn’t he take it? And if she offered more, then why not take that, too? He’d be vulnerable, and Jean had already showed she was someone who knew exactly how to get what she wanted.

  And all Sarah could do was sit here, in the darkness, slowly going insane.

  12

  At least she’s here, Ben thought, as he pulled into the driveway. Her car was parked in front of the garage door – he noticed that the paint was peeling at the bottom; he’d have to paint it again, which was annoying, as he’d done it two summers ago. He got out and opened the back door so Miles and Faye could climb out. Kim was sleeping; he picked her out of her car seat and walked into the house.

  ‘Sarah,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘Sarah. We’re back.’

  There was no reply. He frowned, and listened for any noise in the house.

  Nothing.

  She was probably out for a walk. Or maybe in the kitchen, out of earshot of the front door.

  Miles and Faye pushed past him and ran into the house. ‘Mom,’ Miles shouted – did he not see Kim asleep in Ben’s arms? – ‘Mom. We’re home.’ He walked into the kitchen. ‘Mom? Are you there?’

  There was nothing. Not only no reply, but no footsteps, no door opening upstairs, no flushing toilet.

  ‘Dad,’ Miles called, from the kitchen. His voice was high, almost worried. ‘Come and check this out. There’s a note from Mom. It’s kind of weird.’

  Ben hurried into the kitchen. He’d been planning to put Kim in her bed before doing anything else, but he didn’t want Miles reading any more of the note than he had already read. He grabbed it – a sheet of letter paper – from the counter and held it away from his son’s reach.

  ‘Hey,’ Miles said. ‘I was reading that.’

  ‘It’s not for you,’ Ben said brusquely. ‘Go and unpack. Or watch TV. OK?’

  Miles rolled his eyes. ‘Who made you the boss?’ he said.

  Ben didn’t hear him. The world had narrowed to the words on the page in front of him.

  And he couldn’t believe what he was reading.

  His legs felt unsteady, so he sat down, Kim cradled against his chest, and read what Sarah had written.

  Dear Ben,

  This is the hardest letter I have ever had to write, but it is nothing compared to how hard it was to make the decision that I am about to share with you.

  I needed space to work it out, which is why I needed you to leave the house with the kids. It’s selfish, I know, but it’s what I had to do. And it’s bad for me, too, because it means I won’t get a chance to say goodbye to you, Miles, Faye and Kim.

  I want you to know I love you. I love you, Miles, Faye and Kim with all my heart, and you need to remember that in the weeks and months and years to come. I am doing what I am doing not because of anything you and the kids have done. It is all about me.

  I cannot carry on, Ben. I think you have some idea of what I have been going through, but you cannot understand it all. You cannot understand the depths of my pain. Every day is a struggle, a constant fight not to give in to the voices in my head telling me it’s not worth it and I’m not worth it and I can’t carry on and I should curl up in a ball and die. There is no joy, Ben. No color. Just endless misery.

  And it is beyond me to fight any longer. I have no strength left. I’m tired. And so, I’m going to say goodbye to you and Miles and Faye and Kim. Goodbye forever, Ben. I have sleeping pills and vodka and I’m going to go somewhere on the coast – I won’t say where – and when the tide is going out I’m going to swallow the pills and drink the vodka and float out on the tide into oblivion.

  I’m sorry, Ben. Truly, I am. And if there was any other way I would take it.

  Lastly, and most importantly – don’t feel guilty. There is nothing you could have done. If it wasn’t for you this would have happened a long time ago. You gave me more years than I would have had with anyone else. You were the best man I could have married. But I could not go on. I’m sorry. Please tell the kids good things about me. I know you will.

  All my love,

  Sarah

  ‘Dad?’ Miles said. ‘Dad? Are you OK?’

  Ben looked at his son, then at the note, then back at Miles.

  ‘Ye
s,’ he said, slowly, unsure of what else he could say, not just then, but ever. ‘I am.’

  ‘Is Mom OK?’

  Ben paused, blinking, but before he could answer there was a knock on the front door, and then the scrape as it opened, and a voice called into the house.

  ‘Hello? Ben? Are you back? It’s Jean. I saw the car.’

  Ben nodded at Miles. ‘Tell her we’re in here,’ he said. ‘And Kim’s sleeping.’

  Miles walked to the front door; Ben heard him talking to Jean. A few moments later she came into the kitchen.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, then frowned. ‘What’s going on?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Have you seen Sarah this weekend?’

  ‘We had a drink last night,’ Jean said. ‘She seemed in a bad way. I wanted to check in with you.’

  Ben handed her the note.

  ‘Read this,’ he said. He was surprised at how calm he was, although he was pretty sure he was in shock. It wouldn’t last; he could feel the anguish building up behind it. ‘Read this. Tell me I’m wrong, Jean. Tell me I’m misreading it.’

  13

  The lock on the shelter door clicked.

  There was no warning that Jean was approaching. No footsteps. No sounds from the house. The bomb shelter had been well built; it was well and truly sealed off.

  Jean came in and shut the door behind her. She switched on the headlamp. The glare stung Sarah’s eyes.

  ‘Well,’ Jean said. ‘I saw Ben. He’s home. He found your note.’

  ‘No,’ Sarah said. ‘Please, Jean. Don’t do this anymore.’

  ‘He got back from Boston two hours ago and there it was. I went over as soon as he was back to check everything was OK. It wasn’t, of course. He was sitting on the couch, reading the letter. By the way, it’s a different one to the one you read. I had to adjust it now the plan has changed. It told him how you planned to take a bunch of sleeping pills and vodka and swim away on an outgoing tide last night.’

  Sarah pictured him sitting there, reading the letter, his face gray and slack with grief, then calling Miles and Faye and Kim to him, folding them into his arms and whispering that Mummy was gone. She heard their wails, felt the rawness of their loss.

  ‘What about the children?’ she said.

  ‘He didn’t tell them. Kim was asleep and he put Miles and Faye in front of a movie. I guess he’ll do it tomorrow.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll let you know how it goes.’

  She leaned down and picked up the packet of cigarettes. She put one in her mouth and lit it; the smell of smoke filled the basement.

  ‘He was devastated,’ she said. ‘Kept saying he couldn’t believe it. I stayed with him for two hours. He drank quite a lot of whiskey, but he didn’t get drunk.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe there are circumstances when even the demon drink can’t numb you.’

  Sarah stared at the floor. She had nothing to say. She didn’t want to ask any questions, didn’t want to hear any more from Jean. Didn’t even want to look at her.

  ‘I told him I’d be there for him,’ Jean said. ‘I’d help with the kids, help with meals. Whatever he needs. You know what he said?’

  She paused, waiting for Sarah to answer.

  ‘You know what he said, Sarah?’ Jean repeated, a note of glee in her voice. ‘Go on, ask me what he said.’

  Sarah didn’t reply.

  ‘Sarah,’ Jean said, speaking slowly and deliberately now, in the way Sarah had heard her speak to Daniel and Paul. ‘Ask me what he said.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Sarah whispered. ‘What did he say, Jean?’

  ‘He said he would be grateful for any practical help I could give, but the main thing he needed was someone to talk to. You know me, he said. I’m going to have to process this somehow, but I don’t want to talk to some stranger. I’m British. I couldn’t think of anything worse. It needs to be someone I know, someone who knew Sarah, who can understand what I’m going through.’

  Jean chuckled.

  ‘It was exactly what I wanted to hear. It couldn’t have been any more perfect. I lost Jack, so I understand how he’s feeling. And we share our grief at your loss, Sarah,’ Jean said. ‘And that’s what brings people together, isn’t it? When they share things. And the kids had to go through losing their father, so I have experience with kids in this situation too.’

  ‘What about Carl?’ Sarah said. ‘Isn’t he going to miss you?’

  ‘Carl?’ Jean said. She laughed. ‘Carl never existed. I made him up. I needed a reason why I was out in the evenings when I was preparing all of this stuff.’ She shook her head. ‘You know, this was so much easier than I’d expected. You fell for the whole thing. Next time you’ll know what to look out for. But of course’ – she dropped the cigarette butt to the floor then ground it out and turned to the door – ‘there won’t be a next time. You’ll be in here for—-’ she paused, as though considering it for the first time – ‘for a while longer. Then you get your choice. Your final choice.’

  ‘Jean,’ Sarah said. ‘How did you do it? The letters? The photos? The books from Amazon?’

  ‘It was easy,’ Jean said. ‘I know your Amazon password. I watched you type it in one day. Red front door, all one word, R, F, D capitals. I remembered it and stored it away for when I needed it.’

  ‘And the photos on Facebook?’

  ‘I took them from your phone. Let’s say we were on the beach and you went for a swim: I grabbed your phone, emailed myself the photo I wanted and then deleted it from your sent items. I didn’t need many; just enough to create my fake Facebook Sarah. And you never noticed, but then why would you? You didn’t even look.’

  ‘And how did you know when I’d found it?’ Sarah said. ‘You – Fake Sarah – sent me a friend request the same day.’

  ‘That was a bit of luck,’ Jean said. ‘Originally I figured you’d find it on your own and then mention it to me, your trusted friend. But then Rachel Little got in touch to tell me she was coming back to Barrow. She said she planned to contact you, but didn’t know which was your real profile. I told her to ask you, which she did. I knew, because she sent the same message to the fake Sarah Havenant as well, which, since it was my account, I saw.’

  ‘And the handwriting?’

  ‘A skill I have. Took a lot of perfecting, but it’s been very useful over the years. It was when I knew you’d seen the graphologist that I had to act, and so I set up the whole fake ER visit. Brilliant, no?’

  Sarah shook her head. It was something, for sure, but brilliant wasn’t the word. What Jean had done was find a way to inhabit every corner of her life, even the ones she had thought were secret.

  ‘What about Josh?’ she said. ‘The guy I had an affair with? How did you know about him?’

  ‘He told me,’ Jean said. ‘You weren’t the only person he was enjoying himself with. He had a thing for older women, it seems.’ She laughed. ‘He told me you dumped him. You were all apologetic – it’s me, not you, that kind of thing – as though you were worried he’d be heartbroken. The reality was, you were the only one who thought it was a relationship. He found it very funny. You think you’re so clever, Sarah, but you’re fucking clueless.’

  This whole situation was crazy, but perhaps the most insane thing about it was that it had been building for years. Jean had been constructing this edifice around her for God knew how long and Sarah had not had a clue. No idea whatsoever.

  ‘One more thing,’ she said. ‘How did you send the postcard to Ben’s parents’ house?’

  ‘It was a major pain,’ Jean said. ‘When you told me you were thinking of staying in London I had to find a way to make you see that nowhere was safe. So I got on a plane and came to see you.’

  Sarah stared at her, blinking in disbelief. ‘You flew to England?’

  ‘What choice did I have? You needed to know your stalker was there too, so you’d come home. It had the added benefit of finally convincing Ben it was all in your head, so when you got back to Barrow it was all set up for th
e ending. For this.’

  ‘Was it you? In the park?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jean said. ‘It was. I had to keep my face hidden from Faye, but it wasn’t too hard. And I enjoyed watching you, knowing your hopes of a new start were about to be destroyed.’

  ‘What about Daniel and Paul?’

  Jean nodded at the chains.

  ‘Left them in here,’ she said. ‘I gave them food and water.’ She tapped the headlamp. ‘And Daniel had this. I’m not a monster, Sarah. It was only a couple of nights.’

  And then she seemed to lose interest. She stubbed out her cigarette, closed the door behind her and was gone.

  Sarah stared at the patch of black where, a second ago, the door had been. Now it was indistinguishable from any other part of the bomb shelter.

  The bomb shelter where she might be staying for a long time. The reality was starting to sink in. At first she hadn’t known what to think – it was a blur, finding out it was Jean who had started all this, had impersonated her on Facebook, sent emails, books, postcards. And then finding out why: because Sarah had, in her mind, forced her into having an abortion that had left her infertile and struggling with depression, which had led to her missing out on college and all the things Sarah had: career, husband, family.

  And then the matchmaking, which had pushed her over the edge. Pushed her to do all this. Sarah shook her head; the resentment, the hatred, must have gone so deep, and yet she had never noticed it. She wondered whether other people had friends like this, or husband, wives, brothers, sisters. People who they thought were their friends, but who, secretly, were wishing for their destruction.

  A destruction she had already brought about for Karen – in the same way, with a fake suicide note as cover – as well as the man she had married.

  No – the abortion and the matchmaking and all the rest of the slights and insults that Jean claimed were nothing to do with her problems. Her problems ran much deeper. She was insane. Sarah didn’t have the exact diagnosis, but she didn’t need it to know Jean was seriously ill.

  But smart, nonetheless. She could keep Sarah here as long as she wanted. People had been imprisoned in houses like this one for decades, and this situation was even worse, because in those cases there were people out looking for them when they disappeared. In Sarah’s case, no one would be looking for her. There would not be any point; she had left a suicide note detailing exactly what she was planning to do, all of it entirely credible given what Jean had been up to.