Conjoined, p.13
Conjoined, page 13
A flush crept across his cheeks. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Allyson’s body shook from amusement. “I’m just messing with you. Thank you for being considerate, though. Anyway, yeah, like I said, she’s the leader, and I’m forced to follow. It’s caused a lot of problems for me. I blame her for my mental health issues and almost every bad thing that’s ever happened to me. She is a sociopath with no remorse for anything she’s ever done and always gets away with everything!”
“Like what?”
Allyson hesitated. “Stuff.” Sucking in a sharp breath, she continued. “She has to be the center of attention and the first at everything. You wouldn’t believe how pissed she got when I discovered art while in therapy as a teen. She didn’t find her talent until she saw my work and wanted to prove she could do it better. Our mediums wound up being different, but she wouldn’t have picked up a charcoal pencil if it wasn’t for her need to be the best at everything.”
“She’s a bit histrionic, huh?”
“Uh, yeah. Like the gold standard. I could fill ten car rides with stories about her quest for being recognized as the best, like how she tried to drown me once in the ocean because I found more seashells than her. Or the time she stole my mom’s credit card and charged up five grand in one day, then blamed it on me. Pa took me shopping after I was released from treatment. I needed new clothes due to a growth spurt, and Patricia was too busy to take me. It was an amazing day until Andrea ruined it with her jealousy and determination to one-up me. It’s not like I was trying to compete!”
“Patricia? That’s your mother, right?”
“Yeah. Once she had me committed, I refused to call her Ma.”
“Wow, I’m sorry. You don’t think she got you treatment because you needed it?”
“Patricia was a lot like Andrea. She never did anything that didn’t benefit her in some way. Even having us was for her benefit. She got pregnant while she and Pa were dating. Since he was raised in a strict Catholic household, he married her. I mean, she came from a good family and had the right pedigree, yet I always wondered if he would’ve married her if she hadn’t gotten pregnant first.”
“I never understood why women played that game. Speaking from the male perspective, if I’m not into her before kids, chances are I’m not going to be into her afterward. I appreciate how people can grow to love one another. Yet entrapment doesn’t seem like a way to get there. As far as Andrea goes, other than the whole attempted murder bit, your relationship sounds like any typical sibling rivalry,” Ram countered.
“Well, like I said, I could tell you all kinds of tales. But let’s keep it light. Simply put, she is not a good person. We all make mistakes and wish we could do certain things differently. Not her. She’s only ever desired more attention to feed her inner beast. She is literally the worst human ever.”
“Ouch. No wonder you are conflicted about doing anything while she’s missing.”
“Also, I feel like if she were dead, I’d have felt it somehow. That sounds dumb because I’m the biggest naysayer regarding twin superpowers. However, there have been times when we connected on an unexplainable level.”
“Do tell.”
Allyson hung her head. “Okay. Don’t laugh, but like when she’s near me, I can feel it. We both do. It’s hard to describe. It’s like a crawling sensation under my skin. Like all my nerve endings come to life.”
“Like when your foot falls asleep?”
“Yeah, something like that. So, it seems like if Andrea were dead, I’d perceive it somehow. I don’t feel anything either way. Not even a sense of urgency. I actually feel happier than I have in a long time. Maybe in forever.” Allyson pressed her lips together in a grimace before turning her attention out the window, trying to make out the passing landscape in the dark. Tapping her fingertips on the door’s armrest, she tried picturing her life without Andrea. “I talked to Dr. Dean about self-acceptance and getting over my antipathy to being a twin in one of our last sessions. I felt incredibly light when we finished. I’d never considered a life without her in it. There’s a piece of me who doesn’t want to find her. It would make being an individual easier. That’s why I’m at odds with her missing, to be quite honest.”
“Do you think you will ever accept yourself, regardless of Andrea’s outcome? Say you’re right about your hunch, and Andrea is not dead, but out there, somewhere,” Ram said, waving a hand in the air. “Can you embrace your identical twin-ness as something that makes you as unique as your artwork? Because you’re not like everyone else. Everyone else is boring. Trust me. I’ve met loads of people in my work. The majority have one or two exciting events worth celebrating in their life, and that’s it. We are all too busy trying to be ‘normal.’ You were born with two extraordinary gifts. Twindom and talent.”
Allyson didn’t answer right away. Instead, she shifted her gaze from the passenger window to the road ahead. “I’m not sure. I guess only discovering what happened to Andrea will fully answer that for me.”
“I think you already know the answer.”
“Shut up and drive, you quack.” Allyson gave Ram a playful shove before turning on the radio for a much-needed distraction.
“Hey, how about some casserole?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. It smells amazing,” she raved, opening the container and scooping some out to feed him. After tasting some herself, she continued, “Our housekeeper, Maria, would make something similar from time to time while we were growing up. However, Pa was big on integrating American culture into our lives as much as possible and didn’t allow too much Hispanic and Latino influence. It just made it that much more special when we did have something from home.”
“You guys are from Argentina, right?”
“Yeah. We came right after Andrea and I turned six. The Great Depression hit, and Pa thought it best to leave with his riches before the corruption could get him. My grandparents and uncles weren’t as lucky.”
“Your father is in mining?”
“Mmm. Hmm. How did you . . . Oh, yeah. Investigative reporter. Yes, Anselmo is a metallurgist by trade and has a knack for finding copper, which is important, especially in today’s battery-centric, technology-dependent world. I hear life is good for him these days.”
“So, you don’t keep in touch?” Ram prodded.
“Only through messaging, mostly. We’re all busy with our lives.”
“I get it. I’m glad we are doing this, though. I’m hoping we get some answers for you. Dr. Dean seemed to think it was a good idea too. What you felt earlier tonight when you needed to see him—that’s gone away?”
Allyson caught Ram’s expression. He seemed to be assessing her face in a clinical way. “Yes, for now. Don’t worry. I won’t slit my wrists on your watch. You seem to have a calming effect on me. No pressure or anything, but you may be stuck with me the way we are with Grace!” Allyson chuckled. “Although, don’t let that go to your head. Dr. Dean adjusted my meds, so the pharmaceuticals may be helping with the good vibes.”
Ram cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So, I talked to Irv, my FBI contact, before I picked you up. He told me Chief Constable Jordie Sutter was the Vancouver detective overseeing Andrea’s case. I’m hoping he will be a good contact once we do our own little investigation.”
“I’m half afraid, half excited by us going undercover,” Allyson replied, flipping the visor down and glancing at her reflection in the mirror.
“Undercover is a stretch. More like role-playing, similar to today at the hotel when you introduced yourself as my producer. I’d think you’d have more experience with this, though.”
“Why? Seeing as I’m an identical twin? Seriously?!” she snapped. “By the way, was I supposed to get a wig and makeup for this farce? Because news flash. Ha! I didn’t.”
“Nope. I asked our makeup person to help me out with that. I have a little kit in the trunk they put together for us. Nice pun, by the way,” Ram beamed. “Now, less talking, more feeding, woman. I’m starving.”
16
One Missed Call
{Andrea}
An arctic wind gust sucked the air from Andrea’s lungs as she opened the heavy steel door leading outside. The startling blast had her questioning her hasty retreat. As she spun back around to face her pursuer, the door slammed shut in her face. She grabbed at the handle, only there wasn’t one. She was locked out, dressed only in the shabby hospital gown and no shoes. Sharp, needling pain rocked the bottoms of her feet as she ventured onto the frozen concrete. The amount of snow and ice on the ground made it nearly impossible to know where to step, and the drifts stirring in the air filled in her footprints as soon as they were formed.
“It’s a goddamn blizzard!” she exclaimed, rubbing her arms to ease the cold. The nighttime dimness and the lack of security lights added complexity to her situation. Someone was bent on tormenting her, it was dark and freezing cold, and she was utterly unprepared. Her next moves were crucial.
Andrea was between a group of large buildings that encompassed the film studio’s campus. Dredging into knee-deep snow, she scrambled to different doors, trying each one. Her attempts were in vain, though. Most entrances required keycard access, while others needed a physical key or lacked an external lever at all, like the one she just exited. She kept moving to stay warm and away from her stalker while staying vigilant about any unexpected sounds. More importantly, though, she moved to maintain hope. She’d come this far since waking in the storage room all bound up, enduring all the strange obstacles and circumstances. It seemed silly to give up now. However, her optimism was fading as quickly as the feeling in her extremities.
“Who the fuck was chasing me? It wasn’t Allyson. She didn’t know my little . . . catchphrase. And honestly, she’s too clumsy.” She shook her head to clear the accumulating snow. “No, this person was not a mirror image, but a replica—like every other fucking thing in this place. Nothing here is real!” she shouted into the falling snow. Taking off in another direction, she continued to seek shelter.
Her body shivered violently. She would succumb to hypothermia if she didn’t find help or safety soon. Andrea walked in wide circles, disoriented by the blowing snow and low visibility. She yanked at anything resembling a door and even retried ones she’d already visited. Disillusioned, she dropped into a snowbank, closed her eyes, and murmured a plea to any supernatural entity who might be listening. “Please send help. I’d promise to be good, but you know that’d be a lie. I don’t want to die like this!”
Her respirations slowed, and her muscles relaxed. The unseasonably cold air combined with the heavy, wet snow was akin to a warm blanket rather than the stinging, prickling sensation she’d been trying to ignore since fleeing outside. Fragmented images flashed through her mind as if she was already dreaming. Their purpose was unclear as nameless faces and random scenery molded and dissolved like clouds in the sky. Then Roger appeared, larger than life. “If you fall asleep, you’ll die. Don’t give up, you coward.”
She peeled open her eyes. “I am not a coward,” she spat and staggered to her feet.
Moving away from the buildings, she proceeded toward the main road. It was her only hope. The employee and delivery truck parking lot was on the opposite side from her current position. It led to a gated exit. Perhaps a security guard was on duty. If not, a few trucks were always parked nearby, available for various supply runs. She might get lucky and borrow one.
Her joints creaked, and her skin crackled like a rusted tinman as she shuffled her way through the snow again. Andrea tripped multiple times, falling once face-first into a drift. The cold, wet snow didn’t even melt as she lay there wheezing. A sour taste developed in the back of her mouth, and as she tried to swallow it down, a painful lump in her throat blocked what little moisture she could muster.
Roger’s taunt rang in her ears, pushing her to keep moving. As she trudged along, she caught the sky shifting to pale pink as the sun peeked over the horizon. The sight lifted her spirits, and shortly after, she arrived at the lot where one lone truck stood buried. Trying the handle, she found it locked.
“For fuck’s sake!” she shouted.
Slipping and stomping to the passenger side, she found it locked too. Leaning against the truck, Andrea hung her head, shaking it in disbelief and holding back a sob. “Don’t you dare cry!”
Rather than succumbing to despair, she sniffled and wiped frozen snot from under her nose, then scanned the area for anything she could use to bust the window open. Everything was blanketed in snow. In an endless field of white, the sole thing visible was security light poles installed every thirty feet. The only tool at her disposal? Herself. Mustering all her anger and desperation, she threw her elbow into the glass.
“Fuck!” The window didn’t budge, and pain zipped up her arm. She bent over at the waist and held it against her until the throbbing subsided.
She tried again. “Owww! Motherfucker!” The window still didn’t budge. Pain tore through her entire arm this time. It took several minutes before she could muster the courage and strength to try a third time.
“Ahhh! Yes!” The glass finally gave way. Her exhilaration was short-lived, though, when she realized there was a deep slice along her triceps. “Oh, shit. Like I need another complication!”
Stretching her arm inside, avoiding any further mishaps with the leftover shards, she hit the unlock button and ran to the driver’s side to get in. Ignoring the ache from her slow, oozing wound, she bumbled inside the cab and snuggled into the cold vinyl seat as if it were a plush mattress. She took a moment and sat still, closing her eyes and releasing the frenzied emotions she used to get this far. Pine scent filled her senses. “Must be an air freshener,” she grinned, relaxing into the moment and temporary safety. A slight breeze blew into the cab from the broken window, stirring the pine smell and tickling her nose while snowflakes landed softly on her face. The sensations triggered yet another memory.
Andrea stared at the black flip-phone in her hand as if she could make it ring by pure willpower. It was bound to, sooner or later. As a phone, its whole purpose was to ring! At least the kind one bought at the convenience store and loaded with minutes.
“The minutes!” she cried out. “Are there enough?” She flipped it open and scrolled through the options. “Yes. Yes. Plenty.”
Next, she ensured the ringer’s volume was audible, and she had service. It only displayed two bars. That was more than she could hope for in the rural area where she resided. Andrea snapped it shut and dropped it on the countertop, only to lift it immediately to ensure her carelessness didn’t damage it. She was wound tighter than a guitar string.
“I need to relax. I gotta take something!” she said, patting her pockets. When she found them empty, she tried the drawers and cabinets. When those didn’t deliver results, she ran to the bedroom and into the bathroom, rummaging through all the places she would stash her feel-good supplies.
“Fuck! Nothing,” she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. Placing her other hand on her hip, she let out a long sigh and looked to the ceiling in a silent prayer. She promised herself self-medicating was no longer healthy. Drugs were crutches, masking her problems. And benders always ended in fuzzy memories, late appointments, and missed important phone calls.
Heading back to the main room, where the windows opened to a broad view of the property, Andrea stopped to appreciate the snowflakes floating lazily toward the ground. Only a few at first, then more and more. They were hypnotizing. Their gentle beauty brought back childhood memories. Innocence. Pure. Unique, unlike her and her sister, who were nature’s clones of one another.
“No!” she snapped, turning away and gathering her sketchpad. She flipped through its pages, determined she could distract herself with work.
A loud gurgle sprang from her stomach, followed by an uncomfortable twisting feeling. The only thing she’d been consuming was wine and potato chips. Glancing around the kitchen, she counted the empty bottles, the stained stemware, and the crumpled bags lying around the trashcan, which was overflowing and stinking. Dried wine in a deep red color lined each dirty glass. It reminded her of blood, and she licked her lips. Another hungry growl snapped her away from those dangerous thoughts.
Rummaging through the fridge, Andrea discovered bacon, a fresh loaf of bread, and some vegetables free from rot and mold. “When did I last do a grocery run?” Scratching her head, she grabbed the contents and set them along the counter one at a time, then returned her gaze out the window. The yard was covered in at least a foot of snow, and there was no sign of footprints. When would she have been able to go anywhere?
“When did I get here, and how long have I been waiting for you to ring?” she asked the phone sitting nearby. She furrowed her brows and nibbled her bottom lip.
Selecting a serrated knife, she focused on slicing a tomato, pausing to study its red juice seeping onto the white marble counter. She appreciated the rivulets trickling along in a path of least resistance. The sharp knife’s edge glinted in the light as she slid it through the thin tomato skin to observe the phenomenon again.
“Stop it!” She pressed her lips together in a slight frown and tried concentrating on assembling the meal. As a further distraction, she hummed a little tune, swaying her hips as she listened to the bacon sizzling in the pan. She grinned, imagining each sandwich component having its own particular melody. She didn’t smile often, which had her bursting with a sudden giddiness.
“I’m . . . happy?” She tilted her head and gave a short laugh. “Yes! I’m happpyyyyy!” she shouted as she pirouetted in her sock feet, then danced, plate in hand, to the small breakfast table overlooking the west side of the house. Tucking a leg under her, she sat and scooped up her sandwich.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Her mouth hung open in mid-bite.
“What the hell was that?”
Holding still, she waited to hear it again. A peek outside showed the snow blowing wildly and the large evergreen limbs swaying. Attributing it to the wind, she resumed taking her first bite when it happened again.
