Alter Ego

14

Serena knew she was in the right place because of the red Toyota Yaris parked in the grass. It was night, and the nearest streetlight was a block away, so she had trouble seeing as she got out of her Mustang. She was at the southern end of Sixty-Second Avenue in West Duluth. Through the bare trees, she heard the whine of traffic on the elevated lanes of I-35 only fifty yards away.

Lori Fulkerson’s house was built of brick, but it looked unsteady, as if the wolf could huff and puff and blow this one down. It had been dropped onto a tiny, snowy crescent of grass. A narrow path had been shoveled between the street and the half dozen wooden beams that counted as steps. Serena made her way up to the storm door and rapped her knuckles on the glass.

She heard the buzz of a television inside.

Then she heard a scream that startled her and made her reach for her gun. She relaxed when Aimee Bowe’s familiar voice followed the scream, shouting out words that Serena had heard her say earlier in the day on the movie set.

“Save me, Evan Grave. Save me.”

Serena’s heart was still racing, but she smiled at her nervousness. With the movie people in town, it was hard to separate fiction from reality.

Inside, the noise of the television stopped, and Lori Fulkerson came to the door. Her brown curls were a thick bird’s nest. She wore a roomy Vikings sweatshirt over her stocky torso and shorts despite the cold. She held a cheap can of beer in one hand and a tiny Yorkshire terrier in the other. The dog barked wildly. Lori opened the door a crack and said, “What do you want?”

“I wanted to see how you’re doing, Ms. Fulkerson,” Serena said.

“I’m fine.”

“Do you mind if we talk for a minute?”

Lori opened the door wider, and Serena squeezed inside. The living room was small, barely twelve feet square. The house was a mess, literally buried in clothes, blankets, music CDs, newspapers, and old magazines. Lori never threw out anything. On the far wall, Serena saw a flat-screen television. Aimee Bowe’s face was frozen on the screen, paused in the middle of her scream.

“Sit down if you can find a place,” Lori said. She put the dog down, and it ran in circles and yipped at Serena. Lori slumped into a recliner, and her knee bounced nervously. Her feet had been pushed into leather moccasins.

Serena sat on a sofa on top of a six-inch pile of back issues of the News Tribune. She pointed at the television.

“Is that from the filming today? How did you get it?”

“Aimee Bowe sent me a web link,” Lori explained. “She wanted me to see it.”

“That must be hard to watch.”

Lori shrugged. Her jaw worked as she chewed gum. The house smelled of burned toast. The dog continued to bark at Serena with its little legs quivering, and Lori threw a rawhide chew toy into the small kitchen to distract it.

“I was impressed that you were able to talk about it,” Serena went on. “I’d never heard some of the worst details before. It was horrifying.”

“Didn’t Stride tell you about it?” Lori asked.

“Not the things you told Aimee. He never released any of that information publicly, out of respect for the victims.”

“So what are you saying? I should have shut up about it?”

“Not at all. You were a victim. That’s your call.”

Lori pointed a remote control at the television. She pushed a button, and the screen went black. “I hate the whole idea of the movie. I took the money because I wanted to move out of this place, but I wish I hadn’t. Maybe if I’d said no, it would have tanked the whole project.”

“Probably not,” Serena told her. “Chris would have just written it differently.”

“Yeah. Maybe he would have figured out a way to turn his father into the hero.”

“Actually, I think Chris Leipold hates Art as much as you do,” Serena said.

As the words left her mouth, Serena knew she’d said the wrong thing. Lori’s eyes turned to flame. “Not. Even. Close.”

Serena nodded. “Of course. I’m so sorry.”

The woman was silent, breathing hard and fast.

“Why did you help Aimee if you’re so opposed to the film?” Serena asked, trying to recover from her mistake.

“If they’re going to do it, they should do it right. And my mom bugged me about it forever. She thinks it will make me famous. Like I want to be famous for that.”

Serena looked around the living room and noticed cracks in the wall among the junk and a few photographs of Lori as a child, standing next to someone who was probably her father. Yellow flowered wallpaper peeled at the ceiling.

“Have you lived here long?” Serena asked.

“Ever since I came back to town. It was all I could afford, and it’s close to my job. Plus, I grew up on the other side of the freeway. I wanted to be back in my old neighborhood.”

“Does your mother live near here, too?”

Lori snorted. “No. When she left Duluth, she took me as far away from my father as she could. She always said she’d never set foot in this city again. She calls, but I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Is that your father?” Serena asked, gesturing at the photos on the wall.

Lori glanced at the pictures. “Yeah. Those were taken at the playground near the freeway when I was six. It’s not even fifty yards away from here. It still looks exactly the same. Nothing ever changes in Duluth.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I do purchasing and accounting at an auto parts store over on Grand. I can walk to work in the summer.”

“Nice.”

They were silent for a while. The Yorkie in the kitchen gnawed loudly at his rawhide treat.

“So what are you really doing here?” Lori asked.

“Like I said, I wanted to make sure you were okay. The things you said to Aimee were pretty emotional.”

“And I told you, I’m fine.”

“The movie brings it all back, though, doesn’t it?” Serena asked. “I know it does for Jonny.”

“Yeah. It does. So what? Let me guess: Stride told you I have a gun. He’s worried I’ll blow my brains out. And he sent you over here rather than come himself, because he knows I don’t like him.”

“You’re exactly right,” she admitted.

“If you lived in this neighborhood, wouldn’t you have a gun?” Lori asked.

“Probably.”

“Well, there you go.”

“Why don’t you like Stride?” Serena asked.

“You mean, because he rescued me and I should feel grateful?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t see your husband as some kind of saint,” Lori said. “And every time I see his face, I’m right back there on the worst day of my life. So no, I don’t like him.”

“That’s all right. I understand.”

“You can tell him I’m not going to kill myself. You don’t need to worry about that. Your work is done, okay?”

“Okay.”

Serena stood up. There was nothing else to say.

“You can let yourself out,” Lori told her.

“Of course. Good night, Ms. Fulkerson.”

Serena headed for the storm door and went back out into the cold. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. As she took the treacherous front steps, she twitched as she heard Aimee Bowe screaming again from the television inside.

The voice sounded way too real.

“Save me.”

Cat did her math homework at the dining room table in Stride’s cottage. She played “Hard Times” by Paramore at a volume loud enough to fill the house, and she danced in the chair and sang along to the music. When she heard the faint ping of the doorbell in the other room, she switched off the song and skidded in her socks across the hardwood floor to the front door.

It took her a moment to recognize the woman on their porch. She wore sunglasses at night, as if in disguise, and she had the fur-lined hood of her coat tied snugly around her face.

“Oh, hey, you’re—” Cat began. “You’re Aimee Bowe, right?”

The actress glanced over her shoulder at the empty street. Her eyes were uncertain. “Yes. I was looking for Serena. Does she live here?”

“Serena and Stride are out right now,” Cat said, “but Serena just texted and said she’d be home pretty soon. You want to wait?”

Aimee hesitated. “Sure. If I’m not bothering you.”

“Well, Jennifer Lawrence was supposed to come over with Emma Watson, but I guess they blew me off,” Cat replied.

Aimee gave her a warm smile. “You really can’t count on those two.”

Cat let her into the house and squeezed the door shut. It was warped and usually stuck. The great space of the cottage was furnished with two red leather sofas, antiques, and bookshelves. A fireplace took up most of the far wall. Walnut steps led up to a closed door that led to the attic. Aimee followed Cat into the dining room, where Cat’s schoolwork was spread across the table. The actress undid her coat and took off her sunglasses.

“Do you want anything?” Cat asked. “Stride thinks I don’t know how to get into the liquor cabinet, but he is so wrong.”

“No. I’m fine.” Aimee glanced down at the open pages of the calculus book on the table. “Math, huh? That was never my subject.”

“I’m kind of wired for it,” Cat said. “I sort of see it all in my head. Like Sudoku. Serena can’t solve one of those puzzles to save her life. She hates it when I give it back to her all done in like thirty seconds.”

“Don’t let me take you away from your homework,” Aimee said.

“I’m almost finished anyway. I’m going to get a Diet Coke. You sure you don’t want something?”

“That would be great,” Aimee replied.

Cat grabbed two cans, and then she and Aimee returned to the great space and took up places on the sofas. The actress brought her feet casually under herself, and so did Cat. She watched Aimee study the artwork on the living room walls, which included a painting of Cornelius Vanderbilt and a century-old line drawing of Duluth city streets. On the mantle was a wooden plaque that said believe.

“It’s sort of Addams Family, huh?” Cat said. “Stride likes it that way. Serena keeps trying to slip in some new stuff.”

“I like things a little old-fashioned,” Aimee replied.

Cat took a sip of Coke. “Just so you know, I’m working really hard not to go all fangirl on you. Part of me wants to sneak out my phone and stream it live so everybody at school can see. But I won’t, don’t worry.”

“I appreciate it. You want a selfie together before I go?”

“That would be great! I mean, really, this is so cool, having you in my house. The whole idea of the movie thing happening in Duluth is just wild. Usually for us, freighters going under the lift bridge is about as exciting as it gets.”

“That’s sweet. You’re Cat, right? Is that short for anything?”

“Catalina.”

“What a beautiful name. I like it.”

“Thanks.”

“Serena shared some of your background with me,” Aimee told her. “You’ve had a rough time. I hope you know she’s really, really proud of you.”

“Oh, yeah. Serena and Stride are both great. My mom got killed when I was six, so I feel like I got a second chance with Serena. And Stride is Stride. He’s more than a dad. To me, he’s like the best man in the universe.”

“You’re lucky.”

“I know. I just wish I wasn’t such an idiot sometimes.”

“For a teenager, I think that’s part of the job description,” Aimee said. “Believe me, I’ve done a lot of stuff that I regret. And not just as a kid, either.”

Cat never knew what to say when people told her that. She twisted the tab on her can of Diet Coke until it came off and then played with it between her slim fingers. On the coffee table, her phone sang with a snippet of lyrics from Train’s “Bulletproof Picasso.”

“Hang on, that’s Mom’s text tone,” Cat said. “She got shot a couple years ago; did you know that? But she made it. I always tell her she’s bulletproof.” Cat read the text and said, “Serena stopped at Beaner’s for coffee and now she’s at the Zenith Bookstore next door. That means she’ll probably be a while. Do you want me to tell her you’re here?”

Aimee shook her head. “It’s not important. I’ll see her tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I just wanted to tell her that I felt bad about Haley Adams. I heard the news. Can you pass that along?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Aimee got off the sofa. She hadn’t touched her Diet Coke. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Cat.”

“Same here. Can we do that selfie now?”

“Sure,” Aimee said, smiling.

Cat opened up her phone, and the two of them pushed their faces together as Cat snapped several photographs. When they were done, she scrolled through them as if she couldn’t believe it. “This is amazing. Hey, before you go, do you mind if I ask you something? It’s personal, though.”

“Go ahead.”

Cat chewed her lower lip and tried to figure out how to say it. “I’m a math person, but I believe in other stuff, too. Spiritual stuff. I never used to buy into any of that, but after everything that’s happened to me, now I do. And Serena told me about you — that is, how you said you sense things. I was wondering, is that really true? What is that like?”

Aimee’s face had a serious expression. “It’s true. At least, I believe it, which is the only thing that matters.”

“Is it something anyone can do? Or do you have to be special?”

“I think only a small handful of people are sensitives. Which is why most people don’t believe it’s real.”

“How does it work?” Cat asked.

“Truly, I have no idea. There are moments when I just see things or feel things. I’ve learned simply to let it happen and not question it.”

“I like that. I like thinking it’s possible. This will sound weird, but do you sense anything about me?”

Aimee hesitated. “I don’t like to talk about those things. It freaks people out.”

“Please? That sounds like you do sense something.”

“It’s just feelings, Cat. It’s not specific. Most of the time I have no idea what any of it means.”

“Come on, tell me,” Cat urged her.

Finally, Aimee sighed. “I sense you doing something very foolish,” she said.

“That sounds like me.”

“And also very brave,” Aimee added.

“Oh.”

“That’s it. That’s all I know.”

“Thanks,” Cat said. “That’s really cool.”

Aimee followed Cat back to the front door, and Cat labored to get it open again. When she did, the winter air stormed the house with a cold, blustery slap. Cat clicked on the porch light, illuminating flurries in the wind.

“It’s snowing!” she said.

Aimee stared at the silver swirls as if she were hypnotized. “Beautiful.”

“I love the snow,” Cat said.

“Me, too. You’ll give Serena my message?”

“Absolutely.”

“Save me,” Aimee said.

Cat stared at her in confusion. “What?”

“I said, you’ll give Serena my message?”

Cat shivered in the cold and felt little needles spreading across her skin. “I will. I definitely will.”

“Thank you, Cat. Good night.”

Cat didn’t say anything more. She watched Aimee Bowe walk down the steps toward the street and disappear into the darkness and snow. She had no idea what had just happened.