Alter-Self - Chapter 5

 Peter opened his eyes and stretched, feeling the kinks work themselves out in his back and legs. He rolled sideways off the edge of the couch and into the first push-up of the day. Twenty more and he worked himself up to his feet with a smile.

Two months. He looked down at the rotund middle and squeezed. “Give me another two and you’ll be gone,” he threatened. He’d gotten used to the switch between lives now and relished the minor victory of Peter’s weight loss. At least one thing in his lives was going right.

Tucker shuffled out of his room, awake but groggy. He didn’t speak until the coffee was percolating on the counter. “Hey.”

“Morning.”

“Night, for the rest of the world.”

“Well, today’s my day off, and Ce finally agreed to let me see her and Teresa.”

Tucker nodded, unable to come up with additional enthusiasm. “Good for you, man.”

Peter couldn’t wipe the smile from his lips as he worked his way through his clothes and dressed. “I need to do laundry tonight; can I use the washer?”

“You know,” Tucker opened and closed the cabinet, setting a mug onto the counter, “it’s not that I don’t love you, you know I do, but you’ve been mooching on my couch for a couple months, and, to be honest, it’s cramping my style.”

“What style?” Peter had been expecting nothing less, though he was honestly surprised it had taken the man this long to do it. “Don’t worry. I’ll be out tonight.”

“I don’t want to be mean.” Tucker finally turned to face him. “Do you have somewhere else to go?”

“Hopefully I will tonight, right? If not, I’ll see if Kenneth will rent me a room or something.”

Peter pulled open his suitcase, that had doubled as an end table, and stuffed in his clothes, leaving out what he would need for the evening. Even being kicked out couldn’t alter his mood.

He slipped a small ring in his pocket and the most recent love letter into his jacket, then looked around to make sure he’d caught everything.

The apartment was certainly different from the way it had been. Dark and dingy, with a carpet that begged for a solid cleaning, Peter had taken it upon himself to do what needed to be done. That’s probably why Tucker had kept him around for so long.

Padding over to his friend, Peter pulled him into a hug. “Thanks for everything.”

Tucker wasn’t one for an expression of emotion, but he patted Peter on the shoulder with his free hand, the other clutching his life-giving coffee mug. “I’m sure she’ll take you back. You’ve lost an entire man. Tell her you did it all for her and she’ll soften for sure.”

“No wonder you’re not married.” Peter winked at him. “I’ll call you next week for bowling?”

Tucker saluted mid-drink and watched Peter leave.

The truck rumbled to life in much better shape than it had been. Time without his beloved had given him the itch; a craving to do something rather than sit and mope as he was inclined to do. He pulled out of Tucker’s shared driveway and headed toward the familiar path to home. Ah, that word sounded good after so long.

He stopped once at the grocery store down the street from their small casa and purchased two small bouquets while his anxiousness to see her grew with each passing minute. Nervousness warred with unease and tension. For two months, he’d followed his sister’s advice and sent her a daily note of appreciation and love. He intended to remind her—or trying to remind her—of all the reasons they were together. Now he’d see if his sister’s suggestion had been wise.

As he turned the last corner, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered without checking the ID. “Hello?”

“Hey Pete, Grieves wants a word with you.”

“I’m not working today.” Peter felt his stomach drop as work warred with family. “Can I meet him first thing tomorrow?”

“He says that would be fine, but you should know the new owner and his team are doing tours today and tomorrow at the beginning of your shift, so come a little early.”

Peter nodded toward the windshield as he pulled into the driveway. “Will do. Thanks for the heads up.”

For a moment, the butterflies had distracted him, but as he cracked open the door, they returned in full force. He fought his nerves all the way to the door and knocked hesitantly on the thick metal screen. When it opened, he couldn’t see the person on the other side, thanks to the intentional design for privacy.

“Papa?” came a timid voice.

Peter’s heart melted. “Bonita. Mijita. I’ve missed you so much tiny thing. I missed your birthday last month, so I have a present for you, and,” he fiddled with the two sets of flowers to get one free. “These are for you, too.”

“Mama is in the back. Let me get her.”

Peter swallowed the lump as she shut the door again and disappeared. The tears threatened on the edges of his eyes, but he held them back by sheer force of will. When the door answered again, he smiled wide, trying to hide the angst and sickness beneath. “Mi amor?”

“Peter? Is that really you? You’ve lost so much weight!” She seemed to catch herself and the enthusiasm petered into a hard tone. “Answer me truthfully. Who are you?”

“Please. Please, my sweet, please let me in.”

“You are possessed. That’s what my priest says. I can’t let you into my home.”

“Okay. That’s fine. I’ll go to the priest and he can do an exorcism on me. If he does, will you let me into your life again?”

“You’d do that?” She stared at him through the mesh, her outline barely visible.

“I’d do anything to have you back. Didn’t you get any of my letters?”

Silence prevailed.

“I got them,” she answered quietly. “I think it’s best if you go.”

“No.” He stood up taller and thrust out the flowers. “No. I will not leave until you acknowledge me, or, or, or come with me to see the priest if you really feel like it’s necessary. I love you.” Now the tears came streaking down his cheeks and breaking his voice to nothing but a whisper. “Please, can’t you see that I love you? I adore you and my sweet chiquitita. I need you. I ache for you.”

“I can’t.” Her voice broke as well, thickening her words, and that broke him even more. He swore he’d never hurt her, and yet, here he was making her cry.

Peter fell to his knees, his heart heavy. One hundred and fifty pounds lighter, and it was as though he still couldn’t move. No! The hope of her had kept him going. Now what?

“Please leave.”

He heard the click of the door as she softly closed it on him, but couldn’t bear to look at it. Why? Why couldn’t she accept him? If only he’d never mentioned Cameron! If only he could lie to her and tell her everything was alright. He hadn’t changed…much. Why couldn’t she see?

Eventually, he tripped his way back to his truck and slid inside. The engine roared to life, dulling for a brief second the agony as the truck’s rumble shuddered through him. He drove slowly, unaware of the path until he pulled to a stop at the guardhouse.

“Hey Pete!” Jimmy smiled at him. “Isn’t it your day off?”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t bear to smile back, not with the wilted flowers on the seat beside him. “Grieves wanted to see me.”

The two guards nodded as if they already knew the news and lifted the gate for him. After parking, he trudged toward the building, working as hard as he could to build a facade for his pain. He must have managed it, because Grieves welcomed him as if nothing was wrong.

“Well, there’s good news and bad.”

“Just give me the bad.”

“The bad is that the new head of research and development is Jerry Wormheimer. We all know and love him, and now he’s back and when I met with him yesterday, he seemed like the type of guy who enjoyed revenge.”

“You’re saying that I’m going to be fired tomorrow?” Peter looked at him blandly, bottled behind his facade and with his emotions temporarily packed away.

“I’m saying there’s a good chance that if he recognizes you, which he may not, given your transformation, that you’ll be fired, yes.”

“And what’s the good news?”

“The gym is looking for a third-shift duty guard who can walk rounds and be available in their parking lot to monitor the safety of their guests.”

“Ah. Well, that’s convenient.”

Grieves frowned. “I know it’s not quite what you’re used to, but my buddy assured me that the pay is comparable.”

“That’s good.” Peter stood with a nod. “That’s really good.” Could he afford an apartment, and to still send half his check to Ce to help them out? Probably not. He needed to send something, though. Leaving her to do it alone felt like the lowest of lows.

Grieves watched him with concern. “I know we don’t normally share much about our personal lives, but if there’s something wrong, I’m here for you.”

“I know you are, and I appreciate that.” Peter managed a half-smile. “I should go.”

He opened the door and stopped cold.

Jerry and a group of researchers chattered as they moved past. As soon as Jerry saw Peter, he stopped dead.

“You.” The head of R&D looked him over. “Quite the transformation. You’re not working today?”

Peter shook his head and swallowed back the tears that threatened again.

The man tapped along his thigh as he deliberated. “Well, you’re fired, so don’t bother coming back.”

Peter didn’t hear him. He stared at the hand in shock, eyes widening. “You!” He looked up and caught the researcher’s eyes. The journal. He hadn’t looked at it in months, but between Shawn and the news, he’d managed to piece together a connection between Ronald Clement and Jerry Wormheimer. Until this moment, he’d considered the connection to be a business one, despite the oddity of both men’s daughters written in Jerry’s book. In light of his experience today, however, Peter felt particularly sensitive about the double-life conundrum he lived in.

He pointed a finger at the tapping hand. “You’re Ronald, aren’t you? You do it too.” Internet research confirmed a few other cases of people claiming to live two lives, but most of those people lived in a mental health institution. He had yet to find a case of someone living normally across both. “Don’t you?”

Peter saw the truth long before the man’s panic gave way to stammering words.

“I said you’re fired. Now, get out of the building and don’t step foot here again.” He pointed a threatening finger toward Grieves. “I want your watchmen to know right now. No excuses if I find him here again. I’ll fire your entire department and replace them with a new team.”

Grieves’ lip pulled up in a silent snarl, but rather than speak, he just looked toward Peter, and then headed into his office to make the call.

Peter didn’t bother with excuses and pleas for mercy. He pulled his keys and badge from his pocket, dumped them on the edge of Grieves’ desk, and walked out. The sickness from moments before still roiled; still threatened to crash over him with profound depression, but now it warred with amazed curiosity, and a certainty that there were other, sane individuals living dual lives.

Peter loaded himself into his truck for the third time in an hour and headed down the street. He parked around the next block and tried to think of where the nearest library was so he could research apartments. He’d just turned the engine back on when a Hummer slammed into the side of him, pinning the door closed and sliding him sideways a foot or two. Peter’s head whipped sideways even as his hand jammed in the steering wheel and his leg knocked the gear shifter hard enough to give an instant bruise.

Peter cursed, his unjammed hand rubbing uselessly at his neck. Adrenaline zipped through him, making him instantly jittery. His head filled with images of exploding cars and worse. Still cursing, Peter slid across the bank seat toward the passenger door. The cock of a weapon froze him in place. He stared down the barrel, swallowing hard. The man on the other side opened his door with one hand, the gun never varying from its intended target.

“Come out slowly. My orders are to let you live, unless you give me a reason not to.”

Peter did as he was told and lay on the ground, allowing his hands to be bound behind him. He moved willingly when the man pulled him to his feet and marched toward the door of a waiting, dark-tinted sedan. As they closed the door on him, he wondered if anyone would even notice his disappearance. He’d lost his wife, his job, and his daughter all in the matter of an hour. Did he even care if someone noticed? Not at the moment.

* * *

Cameron gasped, sitting straight up in the middle of his bed. “Oh God, help me.” He breathed. He felt for the welts from their beating, or the scratches from the hard-packed rock floor, but there were none on him. That remained the worst part of this whole deal.

It had to be Jerry’s doing, although no one had said a word to him since putting him in the car. Who else would want him dead? The question was, why? Why didn’t they just kill him if they considered him a threat?

He grabbed for his phone and quickly dialed his sister’s number. “Misty! I need your brain.”

“I’m not writing another love poem for you.”

That struck home. For just a second, he couldn’t breathe. He’d forgotten all about Ce and Teresa amidst the physical abuse of his captors. Would he go after them, too? A new kind of panic layered on the first.

“Cameron? That was supposed to be a joke.”

“No joke. No time for jokes,” he amended. “You’ve got to help me.”

He fiddled for his laptop and schedule, trying to think through the day. Cameron still had a life to maintain even if—especially if—Peter didn’t. Counseling appointment at 8:30. Yeah, how useful had that been for the last two months? He could scratch that one and save himself the headache of hearing the counselor’s tapping pencil; the sign that he didn’t believe a word he was hearing.

“What? What’s wrong? You sound like someone is in trouble.”

“They are; I am. Me. The other me. Peter was kidnapped, and they beat me and shoved me into a dark room. Why?”

There was nothing scheduled for the rest of the day, but at the top, he’d scratched out a reminder that the Brenner contract ended next month and he needed to start the reports. That could wait a day.

Misty’s voice shifted, strained, as she attempted to do something while she spoke with him. “Beat you? What happened?”

“I found out. That’s the only thing I can think—the only link. I found out that Jerry Wormheimer is the same man as Ronald Clement. They’re like me. They’re living dual lives.”

“What?” He could almost hear the smoke as her mind spun, linking the pieces in the way only a writer can. “Ohhhh, that makes so much sense. I didn’t see it coming. Well played Infinite Author.”

“Be serious! Misty, my life is in danger, and not just mine! Ce could be in danger, too.”

“Well, Peter’s life,” she reminded, ever the level-headed one.

“Come on, keep up. I found out that he’s leading a double life. Insider trading. He’s afraid that I’m going to spill, but why didn’t he just kill me?”

“Because he would only kill one of you.” She said it like it was obvious. “He needs to find the other half and kill both of you together.”

“What happens to one of us if the other dies?” Cameron felt a sudden foreboding. “I have to get to Arizona.”

“Won’t that be playing into their hands? I don’t like it.”

“What else am I going to do? Anyone who sniffs around they’re going to assume is his other self.” His brain swirled around the problem.

“Should we get the cops involved?”

“That might work. No, wait, Peter would have to be missing for 24 hours before they’ll do anything about it. That could be way too long.”

“So, your biggest concern is Celina and Teresa, right?” She’d gone into story mode, thinking through the plot to the twists and turns. “So, let’s verify that they’re okay first.”

Great idea. While he continued talking to her, he flipped through the phone, looking for the house phone he’d stored under ‘Bonita’. “Alright. I’ll call you back in a minute.”

He closed the call before she could respond, anxious, and dialed Celina’s number. The phone rang four times, and he drummed his fingers on the blanket, annoyed that he’d never followed through with the plan to buy an answering machine. Finally, she answered, sounding tired, or like she’d been crying.

Cameron cut off his anxious words, realizing that he didn’t know the timing of this call. His day was usually after Peter’s night, so it should be the new morning for her, just like it was for him. “Celina? I—” This was harder than he’d anticipated. Should he warn her? Should he leave her in ignorance?

“Yes? Hello? Who is this?”

“It’s Cameron. I just wanted to see how you were doing.” Lame. He should have thought the conversation through a bit.

“Cameron? Do I know you?”

“Yes.” He decided he had nothing to lose. “Celina, I need you to be careful for the next little while. I don’t think you’re in danger, but just be careful.”

He cringed, waiting for what he knew would be her next question.

“Who is this? Are you threatening my family? Is this because of Peter? He doesn’t live here anymore. We’re divorced.”

Like a stab in the heart, Cameron had to force himself to take the next breath. When he spoke, the words were unsteady. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

“Cameron—” She half-whispered the name, mulling it over. “You’re him, aren’t you?”

“I love your mind.” He fought back the tears. “So brilliant. That’s why I always wanted you to go to school.”

“Why are you warning me? Did you think I’d listen to the devil any more than I’d listen to his host?” Her tone sharpened.

“No, yes. Look, Peter was kidnapped. I found something and I should have kept my mouth shut, but I was so surprised I blurted it out. Next thing I knew, someone smashed in the side of my truck and pointed a gun in my face. I know you think I’m evil, but I couldn’t take the chance that they would hurt you and Teresa.”

“Are you in some gang?”

“No! There are others, like me, who live two lives. I learned who one of them is and I think he’s worried that I’m going to say something and ruin it for him. I’m not sure what to do about it, but he’s holding Peter somewhere and I’m pretty sure he’s trying to lure me out there to save him.”

“This is crazy. My momma warned me not to marry him, but I thought he was so wonderful and sweet.” She spoke more to herself than to Cameron.

He let her ramble for a minute more before breaking through. “I am that man. You know it. You know that I’d give anything for you and Teresa. I love you both more than this world and I always have. Nothing changed.” Why was he bothering? He’d given her months to come around to the idea, and it hadn’t worked. He’d lost her.

Peter’s depression crept over him, and the tears started to fall. “I’m sorry for calling you. I just wanted you to be aware so you can stay safe.”

Chapter 4a                    Chapter 5a