Erica Spindler - Copy Cat

Valerie had a child. A daughter.

Joe was replacing Sadie.

“Kitt, wait!”

She began to run, wanting nothing more than to be away from him. And the girl with the soft brown eyes and shy smile.

He caught up with her just outside the main doors. He captured her elbow and turned her to face him.

“Let me go, Joe!”

“Not until we talk.”

“About what? You trying to replace our daughter?”

“It’s not that way.”

“How old is she?”

His expression said it all, and her breath caught on a sob. “How could you do this?”

“I need to live again, Kitt. I need to move on.”

“Start a new life,” she said bitterly. “A new family.”

He caught her other arm. “Wanting a life doesn’t dishonor our daughter’s memory. Wanting what I had and lost doesn’t dishonor her memory. It celebrates it.”

“Let me go,” she said. “I don’t want to hear your self-serving justifications.”

“Sadie would hate what we’ve become. She would hate what you’ve become. Think about that.”

She jerked her hands free, shaking with the force of her anger and betrayal. “I’m never going to forgive you for this, Joe. Never!”

For long moments, they stood that way, gazes locked. Kitt couldn’t bring herself to walk away. She longed to throw herself into his arms and weep for all they had lost-and beg him not to marry Valerie.

Finally, he took a step back from her. “I’m really sorry, Kitt. But I can’t…I can’t do this anymore.”

He turned and walked away. She watched him go, crushed. Her marriage was over. Soon Joe would belong to another woman. Be part of another family.

A sound of pain caught in her throat. Until now, this very minute, she had still thought of him as hers.

“For you, pretty lady.”

She shifted her gaze to the clown who had come up to her. His painted face serious, he held out one of the balloons he was selling. A pink one.

Her vision blurred, she shook her head, unable to speak.

Stubbornly, he held the balloon out. “To make you smile again.”

The clown had seen the exchange between her and Joe. Perhaps he had heard it as well. He felt sorry for her.

But not as sorry as she felt for herself.

Helplessly, she took the balloon. He bowed, his orange wig bobbing with the movement, then shuffled off.

Clutching the pink balloon, Kitt headed for her empty home.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

11:00 p.m.

The shrill scream of the phone awakened her. Kitt cracked open her eyes, head and vision swimming. She moved her gaze over the dark room, disoriented.

The phone screamed again. She reached for it, sending something on the nightstand tumbling. A glass, she realized.

An empty glass.

One that had been filled with vodka.

She brought the device to her ear. “H’lo. Lun’ren here.”

“Kitt? Is that you? It’s Danny.”

“Danny?” she repeated, struggling to shake the cobwebs from her head. Shake off the effects of the alcohol.

She had fallen off the wagon. Given in to her feeling of betrayal and her despair. How could she have been so stupid and weak?

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine. I was sleeping.” She cleared her throat and dragged herself up to see the clock. “What time is it? It feels like the middle of the night.”

“About eleven.”

She heard the disappointment in his voice. The suspicion. A drunk recognized another drunk’s bender.

“What’s up?” she asked, trying to sound normal. Sober.

He was silent a moment. “Nothing. I was thinking about you. We haven’t spoken since last week and…I just wanted to make certain you’re doing okay.”

“I’m doing great.” She cringed as the chirpy-sounding lie sprang from her lips. “I mean, as great as can be expected. Considering.”

“Considering that your ex-husband is engaged and you’re embroiled in a carbon copy of the case that sent you over the edge?”

“Exactly.” She closed her eyes and prayed he didn’t ask her if she had been drinking. She didn’t know if she could bring herself to tell him the truth.

“You could have called me, Kitt. Or another member of the group.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right.” He paused, as if collecting his thoughts or giving her a chance to change her answer. “I thought we were closer than this. Call me when you’re ready to be real.”

“Danny, wai-”

But he had hung up. For long moments she sat, dial tone buzzing in her ear. She felt like crap-physically and emotionally. A year of sobriety, down the toilet. With one binge, she had slipped right back into behavior she found personally abhorrent-not just the drinking, but the evasions and lies.

Kitt dropped her head to her hands. They shook. She felt ill. She needed Danny to help her through this. She needed her group, her support system.

She jumped as the phone jangled again. Danny, she thought. He hadn’t been able to leave it this way between them.

She snatched up the receiver. “Danny, you were right. I’m so sor-”

“Danny? Should I be jealous, dear one?”

Not her friend.

Him.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“That’s not very nice, Kitten.”

“I’m not in a nice mood.”

“And after all I’ve done for you.”

“And what would that be? The wild-goose chase you sent me on? Thanks.”

He chuckled. “It may have seemed that way to you. You have to have faith.”

“I have faith, all right. That I’ll find you and your copycat, and you’ll both rot in prison.”

“You don’t sound yourself tonight. Didn’t you like the balloon? Didn’t it lift your spirits?”

For one dizzying moment, she thought she had misheard him. But she hadn’t. He had been there.

Had he been lying in wait for her? Did he know her routine so well?

A clown. Dear God, was that how he scouted victims?

“Cat got your tongue, Kitten?”

Gooseflesh crawled up her arms at his self-satisfied tone. “Go to hell,” she said, and hung up.

Almost immediately, the phone rang again. As she’d expected, it was him.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he said, voice vibrating with the force of his fury. “Do you understand? You won’t like what happens.”

She smiled, experiencing a tingle of victory. For him, the thrill was in terrorizing and manipulating her. Anticipating her emotions. He hadn’t anticipated her hanging up that way. She had momentarily wrenched the upper hand away from him.

If she could manage to do it again, could she force him to make a mistake? Maybe reveal something he hadn’t intended to?

“And what’ll that be?”

“Don’t push me.” She heard the strike of a lighter, the hiss of a cigarette being lit. “I know where you live, Kitt Lundgren. And I know what hurts you.”

Her hands were shaking. She simultaneously cursed the vodka of earlier and longed for more. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do. I promise you that.”

“Tell yourself that, dear one. If it reassures you.”

“I’m done being controlled and intimidated by you. You know what, I think you’re full of shit. You want to be this big badass, but you’re just a coward.”

For a moment she wondered if he had hung up on her, then she heard the sound of his breathing. He was angry again. “There were others, you know. Others who died. Other perfect crimes. Mine.”

Her breath caught. “Other children?”

“You never connected them to me. No one did.”

“Were these others children?” she asked again. “Tell me!”

“Did you like the balloon?” he asked. “Did it remind you of Sadie? Or of the other girls who died? It was thoughtful of me to give it to you, don’t you think?”