The man with the gun passes an envelope over to the driver who’s not entered the door. He takes out the cash, counts it, then with a mock salute turns and walks off. A few seconds later, I hear the sound of an engine start, and then fade as the car drives off.
“Sit.” He gestures with the gun toward the bed.
Have my chances improved now I’m up against only one man? I think that they have. If I act compliant and string him along, then maybe I’ll be able to surprise him and get the upper hand.
He stands with his back against the door and folds his arms while I gingerly sit on the bare mattress, trying not to think about the origins of some of the stains. While his gun is no longer pointed my way, he’s still holding it tight. He’s examining me again, his eyes soaking me in, but not in any lascivious way. If I grow more uncomfortable, it’s the intensity of his focus that’s worrying me.
Silence isn’t getting me anywhere. “Who are you and what do you want?”
Instead of a direct answer, he sighs heavily and shakes his head. When I’ve almost given up on getting a response, he clears his throat. If I was pushed to describe his tone, I’d say it was emotional as he says, “What I want is what I’m never going to get. It’s what you’ve had that I missed out on. Nothing…” he breaks off, and now his mouth twists. “Nothing will ever make up for that.” I was never very good at puzzles, and my lack of comprehension must show in his face as he continues, “We were once as close as it was possible for two people to get.”
That gets my voice working. “You must have the wrong person. I’ve never met you before,” I object.
He snorts. “Yeah, you have. We spent a lot of time together.”
Now my examination is more thorough, but if we have, I just can’t place him.Someone from school?No, I would remember. And unless he’s changed considerably since those days, he’d have been one of the popular jocks and not someone you could forget. Unless back then he was a nerd who wore glasses and kept to himself.
Finally it’s me who’s now making a negative motion with my head. “If we’ve met, I’m sorry, but I can’t remember. Are you sure you’re not muddling me up with someone else?” What a joke it would be if this nightmare was down to mistaken identity.
He barks a laugh. “Oh, you’ll wish it was that. But no, I’ve got the right person. Rose Blakeney.”
Well, that’s another mystery in that he knows my real name and not the one I sing under. Not that it’s hard to find out if you do a bit of digging. But I thought I was being stalked for who’d I’d become, not who I actually am, which adds another level of intrigue to the situation.
I’m fed up with being in the dark, and by him having information which I haven’t got. Until I know what he wants, I can’t formulate a plan on how best to deal with him.
I stand, and the gun comes out to threaten me again. “Don’t try anything. Believe me, I’ll feel no remorse at killing you, and I’ll still get what I want.”
“What do you want?” I spit at him. “Why am I here? What the hell have I ever done to you?”
A change comes over him. Spots of red appear on his cheeks and he clenches his free hand into a fist. Lines appear as his eyes crease. “What have you done to me? You left me alone. That’s what you did. You left me to be abused and molested in ways no human should ever be, not least a little kid.”
My mouth drops open at the bizarre explanation that comes out of his mouth. I’m certain I’ve never met him before and though my heart breaks at the dreadful past he’s alluding to, I can’t see that in any way it can be my fault.Was he some kid I met in kindergarten?
“What’s your name?” If I knew his identity, maybe that would trigger some long forgotten recollection from the past.
“Thorne,” he answers with a wry twist to his mouth. “Rose and Thorne. Someone had a warped sense of humour.”
But the name means nothing.
My obvious lack of response has annoyed him. He lurches forward and grasps my arm, pulling me over to the mirror hanging on the wall. He points at his face, and then at mine.
“Same fucking nose, same creases around the eyes. Same fucking dimple.”
I screw up my eyes, trying to see what he means. Now he points it out, there is some similarity between us. Differences too, but before I can point them out, he spins me around, pushes me hard so I fall back on the bed, then his larger body comes down on top of me.
He’s going to rape me.
But any fear of being molested disappears when he says, “You’re my fucking twin. We shared a womb for nine months.” There were some things that compared, but we’re not that much alike. I shake my head to refute his declaration, but he anticipates my rejection. “Not identical, but siblings just the same. You were actually born first, so technically you’re the older, by fifteen minutes.”
I was right all along. This is a case of mistaken identity. He must have picked me because of my looks and some stupid notion I was his long-lost sister.
“You’re wrong,” I tell him. “I’m an only child. I’m not your sister.” I wonder whether there’s some way I can now get out of this. “But I could help you find her, if you want?”
There’s another of his unattractive snorts. “I’ve found her. She’s you. And don’t expect brotherly love from me as I fucking hate you.”
“You don’t know me!”
“No? I know you’re a spoiled brat who always had everything handed to her. You’re living the dream, and left me to live the nightmare.”
