The Invitation

“Okay Emma, do you feel up to talking about that night?”

Emma changed position in her chair and stared at the fidgeting fingers in her lap.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Go ahead.”

“That night…. Uh, my friend Carlos was in a film production class at the U, and he had to make a five-minute movie for an assignment. There’s a group of us who are friends, and he asked me, Jen and Toby if we would be in it. Of course, we were drinking and high and said, “Yeah, that would be cool,” but after that Carlos said we’d be shooting in this old house out in the country that some people said was haunted. I was kind of freaked by that, but didn’t want to look like a coward in front of the others, so I pretended it was fine. Carlos sent us a script he’d written called “The Invitation,” and we all met at the Sander’s House that night to start shooting. I got a creepy vibe the minute we stepped in the place, but no one else seemed bothered, so he set up lights and his camera and we began shooting.”

“What creeped you out?”

“I felt like someone was…hovering around me, like some freaky guy at a party stalking me. Everything was okay for about a half-hour and then weird shit started happening, like a piece of the ceiling fell down next us and we thought we heard a door open and close upstairs.”

“What was Carlos’s script about, Emma?”

“It was a horror movie, of course, about an insane woman who murdered guests she invited over. Kind of stupid, really.”

“Who played the insane woman?”

“Me.”

“What happened next?”

“We were shooting a scene where Toby is sitting in a chair and I sneak up behind him with an axe. I raise the axe like this and start swinging, only I stop right when I get to his neck. Carlos had this mannequin head with blood all over it and we would cut from me to the fake head falling to the floor.”

“But it didn’t happen that way.”

Emma looked out the barred window as if searching for something. “No, it didn’t. Something happened to me as I was swinging the axe. I can’t explain it, but I lost control.”

“And you decapitated Toby.” Emma looked down again. “That’s enough for today. We’re making progress.” The doctor stood, went to his office door and opened it. “Nurse, you can take Emma back to her room.”

A large, scowling woman entered and clasped Emma’s arm, leading her to the door.

“Doctor,” said Emma as she reached the threshold.

“Yes?”

“You should come down and visit me sometime.”

A girl can't be too careful

“Someone did a background check on you,” read the subject line from a software security firm. Normally she would have sent the unsolicited email directly to the trash, but these weren’t normal times and something told her this could be worth looking into. A girl can’t be too careful these days.

An early December snowstorm choked downtown Minneapolis with a blinding, blustery assault, keeping would be Christmas Shoppers and Warehouse District employees inside for the afternoon. The lunchroom of Hobbs & Linderman, a large design agency in the Twin Cities, was busier than usual as employees grumbled over Lean Cuisine and stale sandwiches from the vending machines. Senior designer Alice Nolan and copywriter Conner Farmington occupied a small table in a corner of the noisy room.

            “Is that a new tat?” asked Conner.

            Alice lifted up her arm. “Yeah. It’s a butterfly with Jeffrey Dahmer’s face.”

            “Of course it is. The expiration date on this cinnamon roll is in Roman numerals.”

            Alice smiled. “Well, since you’ve eaten half of it, I hope that’s not a problem.”

            “I’ve had worse. Do you or do you not find it weird that most of the people we work with on a daily basis are total strangers? I mean, here’s an example. I interact with Janice Dempsey almost every day. Project coordinator. She’s nice, capable, good at her job, but I know exactly nothing about her. No wedding ring. Okay. Not married. A bit gamey and course at times, but not outrageous. Beyond that, nothing. Even though I converse with her probably more than anyone else in my life, I don’t know a damn thing about her.”

            “And this troubles you.”

            “I find it odd. That’s all. On a given workday, I spend more time with you than I spend with my boyfriend. Okay, more conscious time, yet I only know bits and pieces of your life, but it’s a whole lot more than I know about Janice. Do you not find that strange?”

            “I live with two cats who know me better than my parents. Go figure. You gonna eat that pickle?”

            “No.

            “The copy for Dow?”

            “Yeah?” said Alice with a twinge of dread.

            “Full of cryptic satanic references that will make fundamentalist Christians instantly evacuate their bowels when they read it.”

            “That’ll win us more work. Do you really want to know more about Janice Dempsey’s life? And if the answer is yes, why?”

            “My point is a simple one. I spend a lot of my life with a group of people I know nothing about.”

            Alice leaned in. “That can be a good thing.”

            “If you have a lot to hide, maybe.”

            “I wish. Besides, this is 2014. You can find out almost anything about anyone online.”

            “Please. That’s too much like stalking for me.”

            “Listen, you’re interested in the life of Janice Dempsey? In a half-hour of searching I bet I can find out a ton of information about her.”

            “Okay, but why?”

            “Call it a personal challenge.” Conner arched an eyebrow. “Okay. My life is so boring and empty even this sounds exciting.”

            The loft apartment reeked of burnt kale that was left in the skillet too long. Alice chewed on carrot stick and glared at the hardboiled egg sitting in a bed of salt next to her computer that would be her dinner tonight. Punishment for neglect. Janice Dempsey was turning out to be a bit of an enigma. People searches only turned up a Janice Dempsey at her current address in Minnetonka. Nothing relevant earlier than three years ago, when she started at Hobbs & Linderman. A common name, Google churned out hundreds of links related to Janice Dempsey, and the half hour she had originally scheduled for the search turned into an hour and then two. Janice Dempsey disappears after husband’s death. Janice Dempsey wins 100-meter breaststroke for Bemidji State. Janet Dempsey celebrates 94^th birthday. Janet Dempsey latest victim in string of Toronto murders. Janice Dempsey to speak at West Coast chiropractor convention. Janet Dempsey promoted to Vice President, Sales at Bennett Medical Supplies. The disappearing Janet Dempsey was intriguing and she went back to that story.

            According to the AP, in 2010, four years ago, Alice noted on a pad next to the computer, Janice Dempsey of Phoenix Arizona reported that her husband Kenneth had committed suicide. Police found Mr. Dempsey’s body on the floor of a bedroom in their house as well as several nearby empty vials of prescription sleeping pills. Mrs. Dempsey said she had gone out for the evening with friends and came home to find her husband unresponsive. An autopsy was performed and evidence was found of a blunt force wound to the back of Mr. Dempsey’s head. When police arrived at the Dempsey’s house three days later, there was no sign of Mrs. Janice Dempsey. All attempts to locate Mrs. Dempsey over the preceding six months turned up nothing.

            There was a grainy, shadowy photo of Mrs. Dempsey with the story. The woman in the picture had dark hair, but when Alice squinted and imagined her with blond tresses, she could see a resemblance to Janice Dempsey at work. The age was about right. Structure of the cheeks…Alice put a hand to her mouth. Oh my god, we may be working with a murderer.

            The next day Alice physically pulled Conner into a large coat closet. “She killed her husband.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “Janice Dempsey. Four years ago, she killed her husband and then assumed a new identity. And she’s working here.”

            “Look at me for a minute. If that’s true, she wouldn’t be calling herself Janice Dempsey. Am I right?”

            What little air there was in Alice’s argument whooshed into the ether. “Uh…okay. Yes, you are right. But…I hate you.”

            “Meet you in the cafeteria at nine-thirty.”

            “Right.”

            The next few days drifted by as days do. Alice licked the wounds to her ego and tried to forget about Janice Dempsey. Who cares? She has secrets, we all have secrets. Then Conner stopped at her cube with a disturbing expression. “Lunch room. Twenty minutes.”

            Twenty minutes later the two sat at a high table in a corner. “What?” asked Alice. “What is it?”

            Conner had to breath deeply several times before responding. “Okay, let me get my self together. I was in vendoland trying to decide what poison I wanted to ingest when Janice came in. We started chit-chatting, she has a Welsh corgi and I just adore Corgis…anyway, I asked her if she grew up here and she said, “No, I grew up in the Southwest. Phoenix.” Phoenix. Where the murderer Janice Dempsey is from.”

            “Holy shit. She admitted it. Wait. Nothing makes any sense. Why would she admit she’s from Phoenix and why would she not change her name?”

            “Honestly, I don’t know, but this is some crazy circumstantial evidence, don’t you think?”

            “Sometimes killers actually get off on taunting the police, leaving clues, like the Zodiac guy.”

            “Yeah, but this seems so blatant.”

            ‘Okay, okay. Let me think. We need to do a stakeout.”

            “What?”

            “A stakeout. Watch her place. See what she does at night.”

            “Why?”

            “Why? Have you never watched a freaking movie in your life? If she’s a killer, she probably has some very strange habits, like going to nightclubs at midnight or walking around the park at—“

            “What park?”

            “Loring Park.”

            “Honey, this is Minneapolis in the middle of winter. Even the craziest killer isn’t going out in this weather…unless it’s to shop.”

            “Hey guys.” It was Janice holding a steaming bowl of something from the microwave. “Mind if I join you?”

            Smiles erupted. “No,” said Alice. “Please do.”

            The two conspirators tried to hide their nervousness. “So are you busy?” asked Alice.

            “Always. Not enough hours in the day. You?”

            “Yeah. Probably going to have to stay late tonight.” Alice immediately regretted volunteering that information.

            “I probably should, but I’m meeting a couple of friends for drinks.”

            “They must be good friends to get you out in a storm like this,” said Conner.

            “Fortunately, we’re meeting at the Republic which is only a two block walk from my place. No driving involved.”

            “Ah, so you live in Uptown,” prodded Alice.

            “Right across from the Lund’s. It’s a fun area and I’m kind of a party girl.”

            Alice gave Conner a quick sideways glance. The conversation turned back to mundane work-related topics. Alice returned to her cube and saw she already had an email from Conner.

            “She’s wearing a wig.”

            Alice tried to distract herself that evening with TV, then a book, and finally her guitar, but she could not get Janice Dempsey out of her head. She was obsessing. It was a trait of hers that she’d always hated, and that had led to her heart being broken more than once and struggles with drugs and alcohol, but it happened whether she wanted it to or not. The truth about Janet Dempsey was her latest all-consuming quest.

Sitting with rigid intent in front of her computer, Alice began searching deeper into Janice Dempsey’s background. From clues in the news article about the murder, she was able to trace Janice back to a wedding announcement in the Phoenix Herald. Her maiden name was Gorman. This led to Arapaho High School where three years earlier senior Janice Gorman was a cheerleader and a member of the track and field team. She graduated with honors. The only other piece of information Alice could find was a police report about responding to a domestic violence situation at the Dempsey house six months prior to the murder. All that this told her was that Janice Dempsey was in a bad marriage. Then she turned her attention to Glenn Dempsey, the murdered husband. He too had gone to Arapaho High where he played football and lettered in several sports. She found an article indicating he had joined the Army after graduating and spent a year in Iraq before returning to Phoenix, where he must have reconnected with Janice. Maybe he suffered from some kind of post-traumatic disorder, thought Alice. She finally gave up, closed her laptop and got ready for bed.

Snow was still falling the next morning and the commute to work was a sloppy nightmare of ice-clogged wipers, spinouts and blaring horns. All that Alice could think about was Janice’s declaration that she was “kind of a party girl.” It was hard to concentrate on her work, and by noon, she’d made up her mind.

“You’re going to stake out her place?” asked Conner.

“Yep. From dusk ‘till dawn. It’s Friday, she’s a party girl, and I’m going to find out what she’s hiding.”

“Maybe we’re taking this thing a bit too far. Maybe she did murder her husband, but that was years ago. She could have turned over a new leaf and put that all behind her. Maybe her husband was abusive and deserved it. We don’ know.”

“And maybe she’s looking for her next victim. I’m not calling the cops. Yet. Why is she wearing a wig? No one wears a wig anymore.”

“Cancer?”

“She admitted she was from Phoenix. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

“Alice, I just don’t think it’s a great idea. You’re going to sit in your car freezing to death while she’s up in her bedroom sleeping. What is the point?”

“I thought you were with me on this.”

Conner looked down at his salad and sighed. “Call me if you find out anything.”

Having watched what time Janice normally left over the past few days, Alice was lying on the front seat of her car as Janice drove by toward the parking lot exit. Alice followed behind cautiously, thankful the falling snow acted as a bit of camouflage on the drive from downtown to Uptown. Finally, Janice turned onto a narrow side street and parked her car. Alice drove by and then doubled back. After several minutes looking for an open space, she found that the parking lot of Lund’s grocery store offered the perfect vantage point for observing both the apartment building and the suspect’s car. She opened the thermos she’d brought with her filling the cabin with the comforting aroma of coffee. An hour passed, then another. Lights were on in several apartments, others were dark and lifeless. Alice had to turn the car on every ten or fifteen minutes to whisk the snow off of the glass. It was now ten o’clock and hers was one of only a few cars still in the parking lot. She began thinking that, as much as she hated to admit it, Conner may have been right. This was an exercise in futility. And it was damned cold. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel. There were three sharp wraps on the window next to her. Alice jumped and turned toward a dark face only inches away. She screamed instinctively, but covered her mouth with her hand when she recognized the face belonged to Janice. Not knowing what else to do, she rolled down the window.

“Hey,” said Janice smiling. “I thought that was you.”

Squirming, digging deep for something logical, Alice stuttered. “I…yeah…wow…I…only store in town that carries my brand of…olive oil.”

“You’re cooking this late. You must be a night owl like me.”

“I am. When I can’t sleep, I’ll just cook something. You know?”

“I’m just coming back from a club. As long as you’re here why don’t you come up for a drink.”

“Oh, thanks but—“

“Just across the street. Come on.”

Alice smiled and nodded. She followed Janice across the icy street and into the faux Mediterranean stucco apartment building. On the third floor, Janice pulled out her keys and they entered the dark apartment. Alice was both anxious and full if anticipation. She was going to get a glimpse into Janice’s private life, something that never would have happened otherwise. She rationalized that even if the woman did kill her husband, she wasn’t necessarily someone who killed innocent people. There was probably a good reason for her one dramatic act of violence, as Conner suggested.

Lights came on and Alice absorbed her surroundings like a sponge. The living room was sparse, with two large brown leather chairs and a couch. A modern glass coffee table sat on a tan accent rug. It was oddly….

“So,” said Janice, throwing her coat on the back of the couch. “What would you like? I’ve got wine, vodka, some gin…”

“A glass of wine would be great.”

“You got it. Sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

Alice did as she was told. Janice bustled around in the kitchen. There was an odor lingering in the air that was oddly musky.

Janice set the wine glass on the side table next to Alice’s chair and returned to the kitchen. “Wow, I still can’t get over the coincidence of running into you across the street from my place. Weird.”

“Yeah, weird,” said Alice, picking up the glass and taking a sip of wine. “Mmm. This is good.”

“Oh, thanks. I dated someone once who was very into wine and I got spoiled on the good stuff.” Janice came back into the room with a glass of something clear and sat down on the couch.

Alice took another drink. “Was that in Phoenix?”

Janice smiled. “No. I hate to admit this, but I told our friend Conner a little white lie.”

The temperature in the room suddenly flared up and Alice was sweating. Her hands started trembling. “A lie?”

“I’m not really from Phoenix.”

Panicking, Alice realized her vision was starting to blur. “Wait. What…what’s going on?”

“Actually, I’m Canadian,” said Janice, who reached up and pulled off her wig, revealing a head of short-cropped, coarse black hair.
             Blinking furiously, clawing at the arms of the chair, Alice tried to remain conscious. Janice pealed off her eyelashes.

“Grew up in Toronto. Great city.”

Muscles went limp and the sound of glass shattering on the hardwood floor was the last thing Alice ever heard.

           

           

           

            

Karen

Putting your hand into a garbage disposal is about as brassy as modern day life gets, picking and poking with soft, vulnerable fingers around the steel teeth designed to grind bone and gristle in seconds. For whatever reason, it didn’t bother Ian Ogelvy at all. Being an electrical current away from bloodshed and disfigurement was actually invigorating, although he would never admit it out loud. This was the suburbs.

            “Babe, let me get a plumber,” called his wife Karen from another room.

            “Thanks, Hon, but I’ve got it.” And one more stab later, he had it. Whatever was stuck in the disposal was dislodged. He flipped the machine on and off a few times, relishing the metallic scream and smiling triumphantly as Karen entered the kitchen.

            “Wow,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling herself to him. “You are the man.”

            He put his arms around her. “That’s right. And never forget it.”

            They kissed, and hands began searching, kneading….

The doorbell chimed. Ian and Karen reluctantly separated, giving each other “later” smiles. Not concerned with security on a bright, warm Saturday afternoon, Ian didn’t bother to check the peephole, but twisted the brass knob and pulled.

            A man stood on the front porch looking in at Ian. Not a stranger or a strange man, but a familiar man…who looked a lot like Ian.

            “Ian Ogelvy?” said the man, in a disturbingly familiar voice.

            “Yeah?”

            “I think…holy shit, now that I see you…”

            “What is this? What’s going on?”

“I think you might be my brother.”

            Ian couldn’t take his eyes off of the man. “Brother?”

            “Wow. Sorry. This is so fucking weird.”

            The man’s face captivated Ian, because it was his face, if he didn’t shave for a couple of days, gaunt and angular with a thin nose and a small cleft in his chin. He thought he might be in the midst of a nightmare, sleep paralysis, but the things he touched were real and solid even if the rest of the experience wasn’t. Before his mind fully resumed functioning, he invited the man into the house.

            “Who are you?” asked Ian.

            The man stood awkwardly in the entryway, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. “I’m Michael…Mike…Carver. I live in Indianapolis and work at…I’m a sales manager at a Chevy dealership. My mother, well I was adopted so stepmother, passed away 6 months ago. While I was cleaning out her apartment, I found a picture in one of her dresser drawers.” Mike pulled the dog-eared photo from a pocket and handed it to Ian. A man dressed in hospital scrubs stood next to a window holding two newborn babies in the crooks of his arms. The one glaring oddity about the photo was that the man holding the infants was not joyous or even smiling, but wore a grim expression more suitable for a wake than a birth. Ian looked up.

            “What does it mean?”

            “Look at the date on the back.”

            Ian flipped over the photo. “May 13, 1990. That’s my birthday.”

            “Mine too. I’ve spent the last five months trying to figure out this mystery. I won’t bore you with details, but I discovered that I was born a twin, an identical twin, and that my brother and I were given up for adoption not long after birth. Why we were sent to different homes, I don’t know, but I was able to use online sources to track down the brother I never knew. And that brought me here.”

            Feeling dizzy and overwhelmed, Ian sat down on a bottom stair step wearing an expression of absolute astonishment. “Are you saying that I’m your brother? Your twin brother?”

            “My favorite movie is Scarface. My favorite TV show is The Walking Dead. My favorite meal is lobster drenched in butter. I drink Blue Moon beer out of a bottle and I never learned to like coffee. I wear briefs not boxers. I golf and read crime and mystery novels in my spare time. Any of this sound familiar to you?”

            “It all does.”

            “And I’m guessing you have a job that has something to do with automobiles.”

            “I run a parts store in town.” Ian’s eyes watered and his face flushed as the realization started to sink in. Before either one of the men could warn her, Ian’s wife Karen came out of the living and took three steps toward the front door when she gasped and dropped the laundry basket to the floor. Ian got up and went to her.

            “Hon, this is Mike. You’re not going to believe this, I’m not sure I do yet, but Mike thinks he’s my twin brother.”

             “No way,” she responded.

            Mike stepped toward Karen with his hand out. “Sorry to upset you.”

            She weakly took his hand, looking between faces as she shook. “I’m not upset. Shocked, dumbfounded, but not upset. This is blowing my mind.” She turned to her husband. “You didn’t have any idea you had a twin brother?”

            “None. Not a clue. I mean, there have been times during my life when I had this vague feeling, like some part of me was missing, like I didn’t have all my fingers or I didn’t have two lungs, strange sensations like that.”

            “I know exactly how you felt,” said Mike. “Because I had those too.”

            “So you came to Minneapolis to see Ian after all these years.”

            “I’m not even sure why, but it took me awhile to get up the nerve to meet him face to face.”

            Ian turned to his wife. “It’s amazing. We have the same favorite movies, TV shows, foods…freaking unbelievable. “

            “Well, come on in, Mike,” said Karen. “Would you like a soda or tea or a beer?”

            “A beer would be great.”

            The three sat in the living room talking for hours, with Mike and Ian discovering and marveling at the incredible parallel events in each other’s lives. During a lull in the conversation, Mike stood up and stretched.

            “Well, I should be heading to my hotel. Ian, maybe we could do lunch tomorrow.”

             “Hotel? No, you can stay here. We’ve got a guest room that’s already made up.”

            “I really don’t want to impose on you like this.”

            “Not a problem,” added Karen. “You’re family, as weird as that is to say. I’ll get you a clean towel.”

            Ian and Mike walked to the door.

“Bags in your car?” asked Ian.

“I took a cab here. I haven’t actually checked in yet, so…” He opened the door and picked up a worn backpack resting on the porch. “I’ve got everything I need here.”

“Great. Let me show you the room.”

Later that night, Ian and Karen lay in bed with their iPads.

“Wow. What a day,” said Ian. “I have a twin brother.”

“Mind blown. Seems like a nice guy.”

“I’d hope so.”

“Drank four beers, though.”

“Yeah?” Ian gave her a quizzical look.

“I don’t know. It seemed a little…”

“What?”

“I’m not sure how comfortable I’d be sitting down with people I’d just met and drinking four beers. That’s all.”

“I’m not following you. He wasn’t drunk.”

“Okay, I come from a small town and I know I can be a bit conservative. It’s just…a minor breach of etiquette. That’s all.”

“Etiquette? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before.”

“Never mind. It’s no big deal.” Karen turned over and switched off her light.

The next evening after dinner there were new rounds of stories. Karen finally stood up.

“I’ve got to get up early tomorrow for a meeting, so I am going to head upstairs.”

It was Ian’s cue. “I’m just going to stay up a little longer. I’ll be there soon.”
            Karen smiled, but was a bit disheartened that Ian didn’t come to bed with her. The stories were getting tiresome, but she reminded herself, she wasn’t related to Mike. And how long was this guy planning to stay in their house? She’d have to bring that up again.

Ian returned from the kitchen with two new beers and set one down in front of Mike. He then plopped into a leather chair.

“It’s too bad we don’t know more about our real parents and why they gave us up for adoption.”

“Yeah. And why to different families? For some reason they didn’t want us to be together. Identical twins. Go figure.” Mike pulled a small joint out of his breast pocket. “Smoke?”

“Wow. Haven’t smoked pot since college. Sure.”

Mike lit the joint and passed it to Ian. They talked as they smoked. Karen come down the stairs in her bathrobe, glare at Ian for a beat, and then hiking back up to the bedroom.

All he could do was shrug. “Good stuff,” said Ian, experiencing a pleasant buzz he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Yeah. Some pretty tasty shit I picked up in Colorado.”

A short time later, Ian took a last long drink. “Listen, I’ve got to hit the sack.”

“Sure, sure. No problem. See you tomorrow evening.”

There was something in the way he said, “See you tomorrow evening,” that even the stoned Ian caught, a certain texture that subtly conveyed the idea that he might be planning to stay many more evenings. He could just ask Mike how long he was going to be in town, but felt as if it would be sending the wrong signals. Ian filed this episode away and floated upstairs to the bedroom, relieved that Karen was asleep and the lights were out. He reluctantly turned on the bathroom light to undress.

“I really don’t want you guys smoking pot in the house.”

“Why? It’s practically legal. Besides, you smoked in college.”

“We’re not in college anymore. Take it outside next time.” She turned her back to him.

He loved Karen, but it irritated him when she donned the tiara of the small town homecoming queen and became judgmental and priggish. No one but her would have problems with the two men smoking a joint in the living room.

Returning home from work the next evening, Ian stepped into the kitchen and immediately sensed Karen’s icy attitude.

“Hey,” he said.

After a beat she turned toward him, butcher knife in hand. “I want you to talk to your brother and find out when he’s leaving. I don’t care if it offends him. I want to know.”

“Did something happen?”

“He’s been drinking beer since around 3:00. He’s smoking cigarettes in his room, which is stinking up the whole house. He made himself breakfast and lunch and just threw everything into the sink when he was done. Hello, the dishwasher is right here. If you don’t talk to him about it, I will.” Before he could respond, Karen turned around and returned to chopping up vegetables.

“Okay, okay,” he said walking by her in the direction of the living room, forgoing the traditional after work kiss.

After a quiet dinner, Karen excused herself and went upstairs to watch TV. Ian began cleaning up while he and Mike Talked. A few minutes passed by and Mike put a finger to his lips and then pulled a fifth of whisky from his coat pocket. He found two glasses and poured each a drink.

“Aw man,” joked Ian. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

“Nothing wrong with a little trouble now and then.”

“Like most people, I try and avoid it if I can.”

Mike downed his drink and poured himself another. “That takes the excitement out of life. Too many people grow into zombies when they become adults, going to work, coming home, watching TV, going to bed, rinse and repeat. There are times when you need to challenge yourself, break the rules, just as a reminder that you’re still alive. No?”

“I guess. I’m not a big risk taker anymore. I think that’s one of the things Karen likes about me. She hates surprises or when her plans get disrupted. I try, but I’m not really like that.”

“I know you’re not. We came from the same womb.”

Ian took a drink and cringed. “Whoa. That’s harsh.”

“It gets better. What’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?”

Ian blushed. “I don’t know. I was a Boy Scout—“

“Of course you were.”

“And we had to cross this river gorge on a very flimsy rope bridge. I was scared shitless, but I crossed over. I made it. What about you?”

“Mmm. I was spending a little time in Bangkok, Thailand and I had the misfortune of looking like a well-known drug smuggler, so I was arrested and thrown into a Thai jail. Spent three days peeing and shitting into a bucket, eating food the roaches wouldn’t touch and getting the occasional smack in the head for no known reason. This guy who was traveling with me finally got the U.S. embassy to let the Bangkok police know that I wasn’t the guy they wanted. The kicker was that the prison goons were pissed off that I wasn’t the international star criminal they thought they had, so they beat the crap out of me just before my release. I wasn’t sure if I’d walk out of the prison or be carried out on a stretcher.”

“You’re shitting me,” said Ian, waiting for the “gotchya” laugh from Mike, but the mirror image sitting across the table simply smiled and took another drink. “Farthest from here I’ve been is California.”

“Let’s go to a bar,” said Mike.

“What?”

“A bar. Place where they serve alcohol.”

“I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

“Come on. One drink. Promise.”

Ian looked toward the stairs and shrugged. “One drink.”

Two hours later Ian and Mike stumbled out of The Cedar Inn into the crisp night air. As they careened down the sidewalk toward their car, a large bald man wearing a black leather vest approached them. Mike was on Ian’s left, and when the man started to pass by them, Mike leaned out and shouldered him.

“Watch where you’re going,” muttered the man, continuing toward the bar.

Mike turned around. “You watch where you’re going, douchebag.”

The man stopped and pivoted. His face was broad and his expression grim. “You got some kind of problem?”

“That depends.”

The man walked back and stood with his nose inches from Mike’s, letting his thick, tattooed arms dangle ominously at his side. “You stepped into me, bitch. You got something to say?”

Kevin put a hand on Mike’s arm and tried to pull him away from the man, but Mike wasn’t moving. “Yeah, I got something to say…” Mike hit the man in the face with a hard right, sending him stumbling backwards into a car door and then to a sitting position on the sidewalk. The man recovered quickly and rose to his feet, his face red and contorted with anger, and immediately charged Mike. The two men grappled and swung at each other, but then the man knocked Mike backwards with an uppercut, and Mike fell and skidded on the concrete. The man then straddled Mike’s body and began throwing punches. Seeing his brother in trouble, Kevin swung his leg around and kicked the man in the head, sending the guy sprawling to the ground unconscious. Mike got up and walked to the man and angrily delivered another kick to his blood-smeared face. Ian grabbed Mike’s arm.

“Come on. We’ve got to get out of here.”

The brothers scurried to their car a half-block away as bar patrons crawled out to gawk at the unconscious biker. Now several blocks away, Mike held up his fist and Kevin tapped it with his own.

“Wow,” exclaimed Mike smiling broadly. “You saved the day, brother.”

“Wow is right. I haven’t had a shot of adrenalin like that in a long time.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ian hesitated. He kicked a man in the head. The guy could be dead for all he knew. “Now stop it. I know what you’re doing. You’re starting to analyze it, wondering how bad the guy is hurt. Fuck that, Ian. If you hadn’t ended it he would have killed me and then gone after you.”

Kevin turned to Mike. “Why did you start a fight?”

“We started it, Ian.”

 Headlights washed through the interior of the car. Mike lit up a cigarette, being careful to keep it away from the bleeding cut on his lip. Trying to formulate a response was surprisingly difficult for Ian. They were both still drunk. Maybe he couldn’t trust his memory. Maybe he did have something to do with starting it. All he knew for sure is that he hadn’t felt so alive in years.

Karen was sitting up in bed reading when Ian walked into the bedroom. He decided to preempt his wife.

“Went to a bar with Mike.”

“And you couldn’t call me because…”

“Please don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” she said, putting the book down. “What’s going on with you? You never did anything like this before.”

“I went out and had a drink. You make it sound like I was robbing a convenience store. Going out for a drink is a normal thing that adults do sometimes.”

“It’s not something that you do. What happened to your pants?”

“It’s just some mud. Why do you have to get so bent out of shape over things like this? It’s not a big deal.” He got into bed, turned off his light and turned away from Karen. The air was suddenly infused with the smell of whisky and she blinked back tears.

Still in her bathrobe and slippers on a warm Saturday morning, the one-week anniversary of Mike’s unwelcome arrival, Karen entered the kitchen and seemed to interrupt a hushed conversation between the brothers. They wore guilty grins as she poured a cup of coffee. It was an unnerving silence.

“You guys are up early,” she said, pouring a packet of sugar into her drink.

 “I’m going to take Mike downtown, show him around the city,” said Ian.

“I thought we talked about shopping and then going to a movie,” responded Karen.

“Tomorrow. Promise.”

Without showing her disappointment, Karen picked up her cup and left the brothers to themselves. She heard the car roll out of the driveway a half hour later. Taking on the routine weekend chores that Ian usually helped with, she cleaned up the kitchen, vacuumed and then started on the laundry. As she picked her way through the dirty laundry, she started to drop Ian’s pants into the washer when she noticed the dark splotch around the cuff. Holding it out near the window, she saw it was clearly dried blood.

Hauling a full laundry basket as she passed the closed door to the guest room, Karen paused, argued with herself briefly, then set down the basket and cracked open the door. The blinds were pulled down, the bed was unmade and clothes lay in several piles. She inhaled noxious cigarette fumes as she opened the door wider and stepped across the threshold, immediately feeling in need of a shower. She glanced around and was about to leave when her eye landed on what looked like a leather-bound journal resting near the edge of the dresser. Picking it up and flipping through the pages, she stopped on a page and began reading.

Alicia

May 23, 2012

Long, straight dark brown hair. Pretty, but wore too much eye makeup. Twenty-one according to ID. Lonely and unfulfilled like all the rest. Had to do it at her apartment, which I never like, but there was no other choice. She was still fun.

She turned to another entry.

Megan

August 5, 2012

Shoulder length sandy blond. Petite with nice breasts. Swore too much and had a tattoo of an old boyfriend’s name. Thought I wanted to hear her boring life story. A screamer.

A car door slammed shut somewhere outside. Heart fluttering, Karen put the diary back where it was and stepped out of the room closing the door quietly behind her. She could hear the men walking through the kitchen, and they all met at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hey, guys,” said Karen, trying to keep her voice from quivering. “Have a good time?”

She caught them exchanging a subtle glance. Ian smiled. “Yeah, it was fine.” They both had their hands in their coat pockets.

“You’ve got a nice downtown,” added Mike. “Clean and safe looking.”

Karen wasn’t sure how to take that comment, so she just smiled and made her way around the men and back to the laundry room. Ian and Mike went upstairs and into the spare bedroom.

Later that evening, as she and Ian lay in bed reading, Karen set down her iPad. “Ian, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“No. I went into the spare bedroom to see if I needed to pick up or throw anything out and I…I came across Mike’s journal. I know it’s uncool to check out someone’s diary, but well, I did it anyway.”

Ian looked at her. “You were messing around in his private stuff?”

“It’s our house and it was just the journal. That’s all. But Ian, it had page after page of women’s names, their physical descriptions and then, ick, stuff about the sex they had. But I got the feeling…I don’t know, there was something else going on there.”

“What are you talking about? So the guy has a little brown book. What does that prove?”

“But he didn’t have phone numbers or addresses or emails. Not even last names. That would have been more normal. These seemed more like…conquests. You know?”

“No.”

“They sound more like things then people.”

“He’s a guy, Karen. A single guy. Okay, maybe he’s not the most sensitive male on the planet, but I’m not hearing anything weird or creepy here.”

“Every time I say anything about Mike now, you get defensive. Yes, I think the journal is a little creepy.”

“I’m sorry you don’t like Mike, but this is all in your head. You’re reading all kinds of stuff into it. Anyway, he’s leaving day after tomorrow.”
            Karen’s face brightened. “Really? Oh, that’s awesome. Okay.” She leaned over and gave Ian a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll get our lives back.” He nodded and went back to his book.

Sunday morning light slipped through the bedroom blinds. Karen opened her eyes and stretched and then turned over to face her husband, but found only a pillow. She threw on clothes and went downstairs to the kitchen, where she found a note on the table: Doing some more sightseeing. Be back early afternoon. “One more day,” she repeated over and over. “One more day.”

As hard as she tried to distract herself, she couldn’t stop dwelling on Mike’s journal and what bothered her so much about his entries. They’re not going to be back for hours, she thought, and made her way upstairs to the guest room. Everything looked as it had yesterday, and the journal was right where she left it. Setting the spine in her left palm, she began thumbing through the pages again. Names flittered by, Angela, Jean, Candy… She stopped on a page titled “Sarah.”

Sarah

March 10, 2013

Long, thick brown hair, shiny and clean. Sad hazel eyes that reflected too much bad luck for a kid so young. She had bruises on her upper arms. I didn’t want her to suffer anymore, so I made it quick.

Karen looked up. The phrase, “made it quick,” was so unnerving. He had a quickie with her? What would that have to do with her past suffering? The two elements of the sentence just didn’t seem to go together. She flipped through pages again until the names stopped. Moving back a page, she came to the last entry, and her heart froze solid. It read: Karen.

“Hey,” came Ian’s voice calling from downstairs. “Come on down, Karen. We’ve got a surprise for you.”