One of Those Faces (38)

“Hey!” he yelled, his voice fading against the thud of the music.

A wall of illuminated blue skulls shone down on a stairway to the basement. I ran down the steps toward the music drowning out the sound of the bouncer thundering behind me. In the dark room, light throbbing with the beat of the music, I slipped into the mass huddled around the bar, pushing in between two men. They scowled but just rearranged themselves behind me, letting me cut the line. Thank god for Midwestern chivalry.

I scanned the darkness for her as the crowd shuffled me forward to the bar.

“Drink?”

I turned back to the bar. The bartender tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter.

“Gin and tonic,” I said. There she was, dancing in a group of three guys and another girl, her sleek ponytail swaying with her body.

“Do you want to start a tab?” the bartender asked loudly.

I took the drink from the counter and leaned in as if I couldn’t hear him.

“Put it on mine,” one of the guys behind me said, stepping up beside me a little too closely. Before the guy could even slide his credit card over the bar, I dipped between a nearby couple and walked through the dance floor. I stumbled to a booth at the back of the lounge in the dim lighting. From my seat I could see her, still dancing, a little slower to a different song, now with a large blue drink in one hand.

I took a few sips of mine. Thankfully, it was strong. I sat mesmerized by her. We were made from the same ingredients—same hair color, eyes, nose, and lips—but she was brighter and better somehow. I was the first batch that you burned and tossed down the garbage disposal. I felt a deep longing root in my stomach. She was how I should’ve been. She had my life if my mother hadn’t died. If not for the accident. If I hadn’t run away. With one more long sip, my drink was gone.



I stood, staring up at her building. I didn’t remember the entire walk there, but I had fallen in step behind her, slowed down by the multiple drinks I’d downed over the last three hours. She had entered her key code before I could catch up, and I’d watched through the glass window as she’d disappeared down the apartment hallway.

As a young blond man opened the door, I rushed up behind him and caught it. He smiled at me as he headed to the elevator. “Hey,” he said, comfortably.

I nodded and followed him into the elevator. He had already pushed the buttons for the fourth and ninth floors.

“Late night again?” he asked, gesturing to my wild, windblown hair.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at me. I nodded and sighed with relief when he got out on the fourth floor, still looking back at me as the doors closed.

As the doors opened again on the ninth floor, I cautiously stepped out and saw her at the end of the hallway. She was leaning against the wall by her apartment door.

Her heels were haphazardly strewed on the floor beside her as she fumbled with her key ring. She dropped the keys and almost fell over as she stooped to pick them up.

I backed up and stood at the edge of the hall leading to the other apartment doors.

She turned and looked toward the elevator with heavy eyes. Then, she finally succeeded in unlocking her door and tripped inside, leaving her heels behind. There was no click of a lock as she kicked the door closed.

I crept down the hallway to her door and held up one of her heels to my foot. She wore a size seven and a half too. I dropped it back to the floor and stood there, staring at her door and the number printed over the peephole. 906. I leaned against the wall and fished my wallet out of my bag, digging for Detective Wilder’s business card. I held it up and dialed his office number. It rang four agonizing times.

What was I calling to tell him exactly? That I had stalked a girl who looked like the murder victims? And like me? For what reason?

It was weird. Maybe even suspicious.

I was drunk.

And it was 1:41 a.m.

I let the phone and my hand slide out from under my hair and ended the call. Within seconds it was ringing from an incoming call, a blocked ID like before. I sent the call to voice mail and walked back into the elevator.

Once I made it to the first floor, I ran out the glass doors of the apartment and choked on the open air. I bent over, hands on my knees, heaving bile onto the sidewalk. My phone buzzed again but with a text from Iann this time. I dismissed the notification, gripping the brick wall beside me and standing up straight, right as rain droplets hit my face and hair in quick succession. As more rain began to fall, I rallied and observed the streets. I was just north of the river. The sound of the screeching L in the distance drowned out the patter of the rain.



The rumbling of the train shook me awake. My eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lights of the train, taking in the empty car. My clothes were soaked through and clinging to my body. I peeled my jacket off and let it fall to the seat. I didn’t remember walking down the stairs or standing on the platform.

The motion sent my stomach churning again. I leaned my head back against the side and closed my eyes, the steady clattering almost deafening as we went deeper into the tunnel.

The train screeched to a halt, the eerie metallic wail reverberating in the car. I lost my balance and fell onto the seat beside me, my jacket following and landing with a soft clatter. The conductor’s voice boomed through the intercom: “We are currently delayed due to maintenance on the track ahead at the Division Station. Once we’re cleared, we’ll be moving along once again.”