Point Horror: Identity Theft Part 12

"No." I leaned down to grab my books, all too aware that Matt's greeting had given me what Keely always used to term the tinglies. b.u.t.terflies raced through my stomach, and I couldn't help but think of the way he'd kissed me across the kitchen table on Sat.u.r.day night.

"Want to grab coffee? We can call it a study date so it won't be like we're really slacking."

I shook my head firmly. "I can't," I said, a little too loudly.

"All right. It's cool. No need to bite my head off. Why are you so freaked out?"

"I'm not. I'm just in a rush."

"A rush to where?" Matt asked.

"A doctor's appointment, okay?" I was on edge, and I knew it. "Okay ... whoa. It's cool. I won't bother you." Matt rolled up his window and I slid into my own car.

Don't think.

It was odd the way my mind gave me orders. Usually, it was to think more, dig more. Now, it was the opposite. The only way I could possibly make it to the bookstore was to be incredibly detached.

I inched along the traffic-filled road, crowded with SUVs dropping kids off at the elementary school. Even though it was only the third week of September, Main Street was already decorated for Halloween, with cobwebs twined around the iron lampposts and pumpkins sitting outside the Bainbridge Sandwich Shop, the Laughing Lotus Yoga Center, and the Ugly Mug, all ready to be decorated for the community carving contest.

I burst into the empty bookstore and hurried down the stairs two at a time.

"Mom?" I called, bursting into her office. Cow meowed indignantly, and Mom looked up from her laptop, her gla.s.ses pushed haphazardly onto the top of her head.

"Hayley, what are you doing here this morning?" she asked as the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile. She stood and crossed toward the coffee-filled French press.

"I'm not here for coffee," I erupted. "Mom, we need to talk. Now."

"About what?" she asked, stopping midstep and turning to stare at me. For the first time, I noticed how different her eyes were from mine. They were bright blue with yellow flecks toward the center. Like the eyes that had locked with mine across the auditorium in that second when the lights had come up.

I shifted, causing the wooden beams beneath me to creak. Cow arched his back and nuzzled my arm, desperate to be petted. The bas.e.m.e.nt felt too haunted-house-creepy for this conversation. We needed people. Sunlight. A place that didn't feel too dark and foreboding.

"Not here," I decided. "Somewhere else. It's important."

"All right." Mom followed me, childlike, out the door, where she flicked the cardboard sign in the window. It read: THERE IS A TIME FOR DEPARTURE, EVEN WHEN THERE'S NO PLACE TO GO. BACK IN A SECOND; 10% OFF IF YOU NAME THE QUOTE AUTHOR! I'd never thought about it before. I don't know if I'd ever even read the quotation, but today, I could only see hidden meanings behind the words. Mom didn't even bother locking the door.

"Let's go to the park," I decided. Years ago, when I was a child and would be forced to accompany her to a shift at the store because she couldn't afford a babysitter, Mom would bribe me by promising to bring me there once she was off. Although it had a small play structure with a slide, swings, and monkey bars, I never wanted to climb. Instead, I loved sitting on the park bench, feeding the ducks that crowded the pond.

Wordlessly, we walked up the street and into the park. This morning, the playground was swarming with toddlers, while their mothers were sitting on the benches around the perimeter of the park, drinking lattes and swapping stories about bad babysitters, annoying things their husbands had done, and how to get their child to sleep through the night. As we walked by, I realized that I had no memories of her ever sitting on one of the benches with these parents. Instead, she'd always be sitting next to me, throwing bread into the water and laughing along with me when two ducks began fighting over one crust. She'd been my best friend - my only friend. My heart softened slightly. Maybe the whole time I felt like I was protecting her, she'd been protecting me in her own way.

I sat on the bench and pulled my knees to my chest. A few ducks waddled over.

"We should have brought food," Mom said thoughtfully. I wondered if she had the same memory as I did. Her hair blew in the September wind, and, except for the slight lines around her eyes, she looked like she could have been my age.

"Do I have a sister?" I blurted. I pulled out the letter and smoothed it on my knee, followed by the sonogram photo.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed the photo from me, causing a rip down the corner.

"You looked through my things. They're private. Private, Hayley."

"I need to know. Because she's here. I've seen her. And so have other people. I know she's around. She's the one who's been going through your things. She put up a photo on the refrigerator, and she found a letter you wrote to your parents. She's been spying on me ... been spying on us! And I need to know who she is. I need to meet her. Do you think you can find out where she is through James?"

At the name, Mom's eyes widened. She blinked, looked down. Blinked again. Clenched her fingers so tightly around the paper I thought for sure she was going to crumple it, but she didn't.

"What else did you find?" Mom said quietly.

"I need to know the truth," I pressed. "I need to know. Why did he ... leave? What happened? And were you really planning on giving me ... us ... up?" I tried to soften my voice, to try to get my mother to react, to stop clenching and unclenching her fist. I needed her to take care of me, to let me know the truth.

I reached toward her hand. She s.n.a.t.c.hed it away, then interlaced her fingers together, the oversized silver ring she always wore on her middle finger catching the light and causing rainbow patterns to dapple on the faded denim of her jeans. She closed her eyes and looked as if she were praying. But she wasn't religious.

"Mommy?" I prompted in a small voice. Mommy? It'd been years since I'd called her that.

"Clearly, the adoption didn't happen." She puffed out her cheeks and slumped down farther on the bench. "And yes. You did have a twin." Her voice was devoid of emotion.

"Tell me her name. Tell me something," I demanded. "Where does she live? With James? With my dad?" The word felt foreign in my mouth, with the d's b.u.mping against each other. I imagined a man with slate-gray eyes and a love of literature, someone who could connect all the unknowns about me until they made sense.

"She's dead," Mom said shortly.

"What?" The word dead rang in my ears, my stomach twisted in horror. "How can she be dead? She's not! She can't be!" My voice rose, more and more hysterical.

"Hayley, please." Mom put her hand on my hand. It was cold as ice, and I yanked my arm away.

"How did she die?" I asked. "You're lying. She's not dead." She wasn't. She couldn't be. She's here. She was at the Ainsworth. She was at the Kennilworth hospital. She was here, in Bainbridge. My brain screamed short, methodical statements, the sentences flashing as urgently as road caution signs on the side of an icy highway. And then, I thought back to the birth story I loved so much: Mom had hitched a ride from the bookstore to the hospital and had been all by herself in the room as I came into the world. Maybe it really had been like a fairy tale - complete with a horrible and b.l.o.o.d.y death that had been edited out, just like Mom always used to tell me the story of the little mermaid without telling the truth: that she doesn't end up with the prince, but turns into sea foam instead. Had everything I believed been a lie?

"What happened?" I pressed again. "I need to know." If my twin was dead, then who was the girl who'd been in the auditorium? Who had been making out with Will?

"We had a couple lined up, ready to adopt a set of twins. It was all planned. You were born first. The doctor hadn't come yet. There was so much pain, and then a cry. And you were perfect."

The word, once so comforting, now felt like a slap. I wanted to scream, to jump into the pond or run into the parking lot in front of a car or throw myself on the ground and kick and pummel my feet into the earth. But I sat still, pinching my wrist with my fingernails to keep from moving.

"What happened?" I asked again, my voice thin and strained.

"It was the hospital. They didn't have the right equipment. And then with the snow, and the roads, and the doctor ..."

"What happened?" I screamed, desperate to get to the center of the story.

"Hayley, be quiet!" Mom pleaded. She grabbed my arm, and I resisted the urge to squirm away.

"There were a few moments. It was just the two of us. The room was so quiet, and I couldn't believe that you were here. You stopped crying almost immediately, and you just began to look around, as though you were trying to make sense of where you were. And then, you looked at me."

"Then what?"

"Then she was born."

"And what?" I asked, feeling a deep sense of dread. I knew what Mom would say. But I needed to hear it. The wind whipped up from the water. The ducks quacked contentedly.

"She was dead. Your umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck."

Blood rushed to my brain and thrummed in my ears. I saw spots in front of me, felt my heart and my stomach thud to a halt before jackhammering in double-speed that made me sure I was about to throw up.

I had a twin. My twin was dead. The two ideas b.u.mped up against each other. They didn't make sense. And yet ...

"You're saying I killed her," I said dully.

"No!" Mom shook her head, but she didn't look at me. "There was nothing that could be done. You were alive, and that's what counted."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would I have?" Tears streamed down her face, but she didn't make a move to brush them away. She didn't look at me. "What would I have said? It was the worst and best day of my life. The adoption fell through, and I was glad. I wanted you. I wanted both of you. But you were there, and you were alive, and you were mine. And since the moment you were born, I made it my mission to never let you know, to make sure you were raised in happiness and peace. Because what good would the truth do?"

"I don't know," I said quietly. A cloud pa.s.sed over the sun and I shivered. I had a million questions. Why didn't you tell me? Why is she haunting me? What can I do now?

"It's a lot. I didn't want you to know. Don't you see that sometimes, some secrets are just better left unsaid? And James couldn't deal with any of it. He couldn't handle the fact that she'd died. He couldn't handle a lot," she said bitterly.

I wasn't listening. I couldn't believe that I'd had a twin. And that she died. Maybe, even in utero, I'd been jealous, had killed my sister so I could live. And maybe now, my sister was enacting her ghostly revenge.

I twisted my bracelet around and around my wrist. I wanted Mom to hold me, to say everything was all right, to tell me that I was still perfect. Instead, she stood up and pulled her cardigan around her shoulders.

"I haven't thought about this in a long time. It's hard for me. Especially now, with Geofferson ..." Mom's face twisted. "I have a chance to be really, truly happy. Can you understand why I want to forget the past?"

"Yeah," I said in a strangled voice. But what if she's haunting me?

"I care about you so much, Hayley," she said softly.

"Well, you have an odd way of showing it. Lying to me? I can never trust you again! What mother does that?"

Mom set her lips into a tight, angry line.

"It's so messed up. You're so messed up. You expect me to be okay, after that. What am I supposed to do? I wish I'd been the one to die!"

Mom looked at me as though she'd been slapped. She grimaced, her mouth twisting. Then, as though she had to force herself to do it, she reached toward me.

"No!" I yanked my arm away from her. "Don't touch me! Leave me alone."

Mom nodded. "Fine. Fine, Hayley. I love you. But I can't ... you need to stop. Before you say something you'll regret."

I didn't look at her. I hugged my arms to my body, wrapping my frame in my sweatshirt. I wanted her to tell me everything would be okay. But it wouldn't be. It wasn't.

I heard the sound of leaves crunching underneath Mom's feet. I didn't look up. Didn't move. And when I finally did, she'd disappeared. The playground had also emptied, and the only sign of life was a group of ducks cutting a V along the dark pond water.

I'd killed my sister. Yes, it was an accident. Yes, it had happened before I was born. But the fact remained that there had been two of us, and I'd survived. That fact was as much a part of me as my drive and determination. It was the dark shadow part of me that woke me up in my sleep, that made me pull away when Matt kissed me. And whether that shadow self was the actual ghost of my twin or the ugly, twisted part of my brain that caused me to go to parties in my sleep or imagine people that weren't there, it didn't matter. This shadow was out to destroy me. And unless I did something fast, it would succeed.

I sat on the bench for hours. There, I didn't have to think or react. I didn't have to run. I could sit.

"Hey," I said, looking up at the sky. I thought back to when I used to go to sleepovers at Keely's house. We'd hold seances and I always was pretty sure Emily was not-so-secretly pushing the planchette so it'd land on Yes when she asked if her crush liked her. We'd scare one another, but it was the good kind of scared that made us push our sleeping bags together and giggle into the night. This fear was heavy and made it hard to breathe, made me hope that something would happen. "If you're here, you should, you know, show yourself."

I paused. How did you talk to a ghost?

"I know you're here," I tried again. "And I want to say ... I'm sorry. For anything I did. Just know that. But that doesn't mean you should be punishing me."

Punishing me? I sounded like a kindergarten teacher. I coughed. "Just please tell me what you want me to do. Seriously."

I closed my eyes and waited. Nothing.

Then, I heard footsteps. Felt a tap on my shoulder.

I screamed.

"Whoa! It's all right!"

A police officer shined a light at me. I blinked and realized another cop was standing behind him. I couldn't decide whether to be relieved or annoyed.

"What are you doing? Waiting for your boyfriend?"

"No." I shook my head, my eyes adjusting to the artificial light in my face.

"So you're just sitting here all alone?"

"I was thinking," I said in a small voice.

"Just thinking," he repeated. "All right. Well, the park's closed now. Locks up at dusk. So it's best to do your thinking somewhere else."

I trailed behind the officer. Beside me, the trees lining the winding path formed shadows on the concrete beneath my feet. She - my twin - wasn't here. Of course she's not, because she's dead.

"What?" the officer asked.

"Nothing." Had I spoken out loud? I mashed my lips together and stared at the ground.

"Where's your car?" the officer asked as he clicked the padlock in place on the iron gate. The parking lot was empty except for a lone squad car.

"Just down the street. I'll be fine."

He nodded and I headed to where I'd parked, hours earlier, on Main Street. I slid into the front seat and headed toward the house. It was time to face the inevitable.

The lights were on, but Mom's car wasn't in the driveway. There was a note on the rough-hewn table. I grimaced, relieved when I saw my mother's familiar handwriting.

Dear Hayley, I tried calling you a few times, but you didn't answer. I know it was a tough conversation, and it was one that was hard for me, too. I wish I could support you right now with your feelings, but the conversation brought up so much in me as well. I'm going to be staying at Geoff's condo. I'm worried if we're together we both might say or do things we'd regret. And that would destroy me. After all, you're all I have.

I love you. Remember that.

Mom I picked up the paper and crumpled it in a tiny ball. At my feet, Sadie chased her tail in circles, the way she always did when she expected a treat.

I grabbed a dog biscuit from the cupboard, broke it in two, and threw the pieces on the floor. Sadie gobbled them up eagerly, licking the linoleum floor for good measure.

"That's a sweet girl," I murmured. I looked up the stairs to my bedroom. The stairwell looked dark and foreboding and I felt my stomach clench in dread.

It was now or never. If something was going to happen, it would happen. Or it wouldn't. I took a tentative step on the stairs. The wood creaked and I jumped. It's nothing. I took another step, and another.

"h.e.l.lo?" I called loudly as I walked across the threshold into my bedroom. I flipped on the light and glanced around. Everything was the same as it had been on Sat.u.r.day morning, before the Ainsworth interview. There was a half-drunk mug of coffee. The messy pile of interview outfits. My laptop.