AS I PICK MY WAY through cafeteria spaghetti, my conversations with Catalina and Tommy are all I can think about. Catalina thinks she and I can be best friends, and Tommy wants a partner to come clean to.
Why, though, are they both coming to me? I exude anything but self-help.
However, Tommy’s words do have an appeal. It would be refreshing to have one person to connect with, to share all my obscurity, and to know it comes with no judgment, only acceptance.
“Judgment.” That’s the word Catalina used.
I look across the cafeteria to Zach at the salad line and then over to Daisy sitting beside Hammond.
Zach and I have made a connection for sure. But somehow when I play things out in my mind, I don’t see him handling my dark side. Although he’d hide it well—I don’t see him walking away, but I do see him being repulsed. I’m sure he would urge me to “get help.” And he would constantly check in on me to make sure I’m “okay.”
It would be annoying.
Then there’s Daisy, who six months ago I would’ve never even contemplated but now find myself pondering. I think my sister’s hiding something, even if she doesn’t know what yet. Me opening up to her would perhaps unveil her own hidden desires that I most certainly don’t want surfaced. But me not talking to her might lead her down a path that she keeps hidden from me.
At this point I just need to watch her. Be there for her. Point her in positive, light directions. And hope beyond all hope she keeps buried whatever might be simmering in her.
Zach sits down across from me. “You look even more deep in thought than usual.”
I take in his too-healthy salad and curl my lip. “I’d give anything to see you eat a big juicy double-decker.”
He laughs. “I want to puke just hearing that.”
We both go back to eating, and a few seconds later Zach speaks. “I told my brother you and I are friends again.”
“Oh?”
“He was happy for me. For us.”
I nod, even though I’m not entirely sure I like Dr. Issa and Zach discussing me.
Zach shoves a mouthful of salad in. “He also cautioned me to take it slow. That you’re not a typical girl.”
Not a typical girl? Well, he is right about that, but I do need to make things clear. “Zach, I love being your friend, but you know that’s all we can be right now, right? Friends?” I can’t be anything else.
Zach laughs. “I know, Lane. Don’t worry. I’m not going to confess my undying love for you.”
I laugh too, feeling just a little stupid. “Okay.”
On Saturday I go to my Patch and Paw shift. I grab Corn Chip and a few others and head outside for a much-needed play session. But I’m completely preoccupied with tonight. Nine p.m., 2000 Ford Circle. It can go so many different ways.
My copycat might be there ready to take someone down.
Or my copycat could be there waiting for me.
Or M might be there expecting to meet with my copycat and gets me instead.
Either way I’m going to be early, scope things out. Wait. And I’m taking a weapon I’ve used for years in aikido and know better than anything—a bokken. As a wooden practice sword, it’s not sharp, but it’s deadly if used correctly.
I needed something new. I needed me. I’m not tranquilizer and knives. I’m aikido studied and trained. That is how I will bring my victims down. That is me. You need to come to terms with who you are.
Catalina said that to me. What she doesn’t realize is that I have.
“Lane?”
I turn to see Dr. Issa stepping outside. I give Corn Chip a good rub and throw the ball. He scrambles away.
“Heard you and my brother are friends again.”
Nothing like getting right to the point. “Yes.”
“It’s interesting; I go back and forth with you.”
“Meaning?”
“When I first met you, I was intrigued by you. Not in a weird way,” he quickly clarifies. “You were fifteen and so quiet and extremely intelligent and focused. I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”
He’s said as much before.
“There’s something about you I can’t figure out. You’ve got an old soul, and I truly believe you have the best of intentions. But—”
“Why are you saying all this to me?”
He pauses. “See—and that right there. You don’t like a lot of conversation. You’ve always been a blunt girl. You are the epitome of black-and-white. Right and wrong. You’re not afraid to just say it as it is. You’re very unique. But . . . I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you and Zach being friends.”
My heart pauses a beat. Am I that awful?
Dr. Issa shifts a little, making it obvious he’s uncomfortable with this conversation. “The thing is, Zach is about the sweetest kid I know, and he has so many feelings for you. I don’t think you realize that.”
I turn to fully face him. “Are you saying I’m not sweet? That I’m not good enough to be Zach’s friend?”
“I don’t know what you are. But in the long run, no, I’m beginning to think you won’t be the right thing for Zach.”
Tears unexpectedly press my eyes, and I force them to stay dry. His words hurt, but I won’t let him see it. “You feel that way, then you tell Zach. I won’t.” With that I walk off.
“Lane?” he calls.
“Go to hell.”
I don’t avoid Dr. Issa the rest of the day. In fact, I get right in his way. Let him be uncomfortable with what he said. I’m not.
Although . . . I really am.
I thought Dr. Issa and I had a connection, if only a little one; it was there. I’m sure of it. Maybe he’s ashamed of what he and I did, and he’s lashing out at me. Or maybe he’s seen something in me that he previously didn’t, and it scares him.
Either way, I’m not avoiding Zach. We’re friends again. I need his friendship.
I sign out of work and head straight to my Jeep. It’s six o’clock. I have three hours before I meet whoever I’m supposed to meet at 2000 Ford Circle.
I slip my key into my lock and immediately recognize my door is already open. I never forget to lock my door. Someone’s been in my Jeep.
I search the front, the back, under the seats, the glove compartment. I go around the rear and open it. Just my aikido duffel, as usual.
I pick the carpet up, and right beneath, snuggled in its usual spot, is my old kit. The one I threw away. Complete with Taser, zip ties, cargo pants, ski mask, and tranquilizer gun.
Son of a bitch. Not only did someone see me throw this away, but they retrieved it, kept it, and have now planted it back in my Jeep for some reason.
To mess with my head or to play a joke or to frame me . . .
That’s laughable. Framing me for basically being me.
I look around but don’t see signs of anybody. Catalina’s admittedly been following me, but after my run-in with her, I’m still not sure what I think about her. What I am sure of is that this is the work of my copycat or M. At this point they are the only two who would want to mess with me.
I truck it back into Patch and Paw and to the cremation room. I crank up the furnace and throw everything in. In the back under the ashes I see a chunk of Tommy’s charred laptop that I must have missed. On my next shift I’ll empty this thing out and clean it.
Yes, my copycat and/or M is definitely going down. Tonight. One way or another it’s going to happen.
I still have hours, and I’ve already done recon via Google maps, but I drive on over to 2000 Ford Circle and scope things out in person. It’s a deserted convenience store. Boarded up. Graffiti. Kind of out in the middle of nowhere. Not a bad part of town, or a good one, just out there. Works for me.
I drive around in circles, crossing neighborhoods, all the while keeping an eye on my rearview. I don’t see any cars trailing me.
At eight p.m. I park a half mile down the road and get myself together. I slip into my new cargo pants and long-sleeve tee, bigger than the old ones and meant to mask how skinny I am. My new ski mask is lighter, made of neoprene, and easier to breathe through. I slide my bokken into its strap along my bare back and down inside my shirt, hiding it from view. The new zip ties and pepper spray I bought I tuck into my cargo pockets.
I wedge my fingers into my gloves, climb from the Jeep, and jog the half mile to the abandoned convenience store. Slipping the ski mask down over my head, I find a spot in the shadows behind an empty Dumpster and wait.
A dog barks. A chilly breeze flows past. One car zooms by.
Still I wait.
8:45. Nothing. Not even the dog barking.
8:55. Still nothing.
9:05. A car pulls in, sits idle for a few seconds, and then the dome light goes on. It’s a couple, and they’re looking at their GPS.
Seconds later they turn around and head back the other way.
9:15. Nothing. Maybe this was all a hoax. Or whoever sent the text realized it went to the wrong person and aborted whatever meet-up they had.
9:25. Nothing. Five more minutes and I’ll—
A prick stings my side. I jump and whip around, see another ski mask. And then my whole world goes blurry to black.