Thursday Night

London, United Kingdom

This elevator is too small for such wild energy. Although Carole could hardly blame Katja for being so frantic, the energy coming off of her—panicked, feral, uncontrollable—was too much for Carole. It was making her uncomfortable.

It had been less than an hour since Carole had arrived back at their hotel room and found Katja crying on the balcony, her hair dyed maroon and chopped off and her shirt soaked with blood. In that time, they'd packed their bags, frantically throwing everything together in a desperate rush to escape before Katja's attempted assassin realized that Katja was alive, that he'd killed the wrong girl. Carole had convinced Katja to pause to blow-dry her hair, so that it wouldn't look like quite so much of a quick makeover. And then, they were out, determined to check out before anything else happened.

There was a soft beep as the elevator door slid open at the ground floor. As Katja and Carole approached the desk, the receptionist looked up at them and smiled. "Ms. Obinger! You weren't kidding about your hair."

Katja furrowed her brow. "What are you talking about?"

His smile faltered for a moment. "Your hair? About an hour ago, you told me you were going to change your hair? Well, never mind that. How can I help you?"

"We're going to check out early, you can take the damage to the room from my card-"

"You already gave over £2000 for the damages, I doubt it could be much worse, but if there's any excess I'll bill your card for it." He nodded. "I'll take care of the rest. Here's your valet ticket, like you requested."

Katja frowned. "Valet ticket? But..."

He shoved the ticket into her hand. "Valet is right outside, he'll get the car for you. I hope you enjoyed your stay, Ms. Obinger. I'll just need your signature here..."

Katja signed, trying to sort through the confused and frightened thoughts rattling in her brain. Valet ticket? She hadn't come by car. And what was he talking about, claiming she'd requested the ticket? She thought to question further, but at that moment, the front desk phone rang. He smiled and nodded to them. "That'll be all, you're free to go. I'm sorry, I must take this call." Katja wanted to question further, but the phone was in his hand, and she didn't want to wait until he was done talking, not with what she'd just seen.

She checked her watch. It was 9:46pm. They had to move.

As they exited the hotel, Carole nudged Katja. "Look at the ticket...there is something written on it. On the back."

Katja glanced at it. Scrawled onto the back, one word in smudged pencil:

LEAVE

Katja's eyes widened. "What is this?"

Carole shook her head. "You're the private eye. You tell me."

"I think it could be one of two things." Katja bit her lip. "A warning, or...a trap."

"Should we take the car? Could it be rigged?"

"We check it before we get in. I'll do that." She lowered her shoulder, letting her duffel bag drag along the ground.

Carole frowned. "What are you doing? You'll ruin the bag."

"Take the ticket to the valet. Tell him that I'm struggling a bit with the bag, but I'm nearby."

Carole's eyes widened. "You don't mean you're going to use the valet to check to see if the trunk is rigged?"

"I don't like surprises, so I'll check before I touch anything myself." Katja frowned. "The only other rigging could be a time device, but that wouldn't make sense. Or it could be tracked…we can pawn off the car if we need to. Unless you've got a better way to check if there are traps on the car?"

Carole's shoulders sagged. "I…I don't. Hang on." She sped up, rushing towards the valet. From afar, Katja could see, but not hear, their interaction. The valet nodded and glanced back at Katja before hurrying off to retrieve the car. Shortly thereafter, he returned to the front in the driver's seat of a well-worn grey compact car. He handed the keys to Carole before stepping inside to assist Katja with the bag. Katja fabricated a warm smile of gratitude as he hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and carried it to the car. She held her breath as he moved to open the trunk, she saw Carole recoiling slightly in the same manner…

The trunk clicked open. The hinges screeched slightly, but otherwise, the trunk bore no unpleasant surprises. He tossed the duffel into the trunk and slammed it shut again, smiling and nodding "good night" to Katja as she handed him a few pounds as a tip.

Carole nervously climbed into the passenger seat as Katja stepped into the driver's. "What's your assessment so far? Trap, or warning?"

Katja shook her head. "I'm still not sure." Then, she noticed the GPS device had turned on with the car—and had a destination already pinned in. She frowned. "What is this?" She turned to Carole, and realized Carole wasn't paying attention—she'd turned her attention to the contents of the glove compartment: a wad of money, a pair of sunglasses, a fairly basic phone wrapped in a blue case, a folder, and a tape recorder. Taped to the phone was a note:

We didn't plan to contact you so soon, Katja, but today's events have forced a change of plans.

We will contact you on this phone, and only us. Show it to nobody else, let nobody handle it, and give nobody this number.

Listen to your voicemails. They will tell you where to find us.

Carole frowned. "The folder and the tape recorder are both empty. Just the phone, it looks like. Start driving. I'll listen to it. I'll tell you what it says. Just start driving south, we'll figure out the rest as we go." Katja nodded and turned the key in the ignition, and had made it not two blocks when Carole set the phone down, sighing. "What is this? It's like a riddle! I don't get it!"

Katja frowned. "Bah. Tell it to me, try me out."

Carole nodded. "I think it was…'My sweet flesh bleeds, if cut, but my heart is made of stone. What am I?"

For a moment, Katja was silent. Then, she spoke: "Stone fruits."

"What?"

"Stone fruits. Cherries, plums, peaches, apricots…sweet flesh, hearts of stone. It's the answer to the riddle. Stone fruits. But what does that have to do with anything? What is the location on the GPS?"

Carole glanced at it. Then, a look of dawning comprehension spread across her face. "It's a marketplace. Do you think the person who left the car for us is telling us to come find them at a stone fruit vendor at a marketplace?"

"If she is, she's being very vague about it. But…here's what I don't understand…" She bit her nail. "The receptionist thought she was me. So she looked just like me, then. Just like Konstantina Iovanasis, too. Do you think he was just…drunk or confused? Or…" Then she broke off. "Klaus said so, too."

"What?"

"Klaus! A drunk, but knows good people, people who can find all sorts of secrets. He sometimes does work for me. He said that he saw my sister a few days ago. I dismissed it then, I said he was just drunk, but…he said he saw my sister, that she had blond hair and dressed terribly but that otherwise…she…looked exactly like me." Katja's face was pale. "It wasn't Konstantina, it can't have been, she didn't have blond hair."

"Could've been wearing a wig," Carole suggested.

"Ja, ja! But that still doesn't answer why!" Katja slammed her fist on the steering wheel, stopping at a red light. "Why would she come looking for me in Germany, and then come back here and get shot all of a sudden? And what if it wasn't her at all, she looked just as shocked to see me as I was to see her! How many women that look exactly like me are there?" Katja sighed, sitting back. "I get the feeling that there's danger, no matter which way I look…but…what is at the bottom of all of this? It wasn't Konstantina Iovanasis who gave us this car. But I'm betting it was the same person who trashed our room…someone else who looks like me…but why would anyone…" Katja trailed off.

Carole seized her arm. "I know what you're thinking, Katja. But even if this…person…does know what this is all about…it's not worth following her lead. It's too dangerous! Let's go back to Germany, now. Let's get out of here while we still can."

"She knows what this is all about, though…"

"And we don't need to!" Carole's eyes were frantic. "We don't need to get involved in this! It isn't our fight. Let's go home. Please, Katja! I'm begging you!"

Katja was silent. Then, she drew something from her pocket—Konstantina Iovanasis's ID card. "I don't know, Carole…" Her voice was quiet. "It sure looks like my fight, doesn't it?"

Carole shook her head quickly. "This is too dangerous. We go home, now!"

"I'll leave you at the train station, if that's what you want, Carole." Katja's eyes were dark. "If you don't want this to be your fight, it doesn't have to be. But I've already made up my mind."

For a moment, both were silent, staring intently at each other. Then, Carole sighed, looking away. "Fine. I go with you, Katja." She paused. "I can't leave you alone. Not now."

"Good." The light flickered to green again. Katja tapped the steering wheel and pressed down on the gas pedal. "Then let's go. The market will be closed by now, but we can scope it out. It'll take us a couple hours to drive there. Are you ready?"

Carole grimaced. "No. But what difference does it make? Let's go."

They arrived at the marketplace to find it empty. All of the stalls were closed, shutters pulled down over the empty storefronts. Katja paused for a moment before parking the car in the deserted parking lot and stepping out into the cool night air.

Carole stepped out, shuddering in the breeze. "What do you propose we do, hm? While it's closed?"

"Well, right now, we look around. We find a store that would sell stone fruits. We figure it out from there." Katja tossed Carole something small and metallic—a whistle. "We cover more ground if we split up. Blow this if anything goes wrong, ja?"

"Alright." Carole nodded reluctantly. "And if I find the store?"

"Blow the whistle. I have a whistle, too. If one of us signals, the other comes right away."

Carole nodded and set off into the deserted marketplace.

As Katja wandered the silent aisles, closely examining each storefront, her mind began to wander. There were two people, at least, who shared her face. One of them—Konstantina Iovanasis—was dead. The other had blond hair and had already tracked Katja to her home. And that was if the girl Klaus had seen and the girl who'd followed Katja to the hotel were the same girl. If not…there was a fourth. How was this possible? How many were there?

Katja caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a darkened window. "Get it together, Katja," she instructed herself quietly. "You're the one who wanted to come looking for the truth…" At that moment, she broke off.

Not two doors down, a storefront was lit. A sign hanging over the door read, MacMillan & Steiner's Artisan Stone Fruit Preserves.

Katja's stomach clenched. I've found it. She raised the whistle to her lips and let out a shrill blast.

No sooner had the whistle dropped from her lips than a pair of hands grabbed her from behind, shoving her face-first against the wall. Katja gasped and tried to fight, but the person pinning her to the wall was too powerful. She opened her mouth to scream—

A hand slapped over her mouth. "Save that scream for someone who actually wants to harm you. I just need to confirm your identity before I let you go. My sweet flesh bleeds, if cut, but my heart is stone. What am I?" The voice was deep and male.

"Wha—obviously I figured that out, or I wouldn't be here! Let me go, my partner will be here soon—"

"And as long as you cooperate, we can guarantee her safety, and yours. Answer me. What am I?"

Katja grimaced. "A stone fruit."

"And what is your name?"

"Is this another riddle? Let me go!" Katja struggled, to no avail.

"Carlton. Let go of her, she's shown no aggression, and she's proven who she is already. If we treat her with hostility, she won't want to work with us, and we need her cooperation." Another voice—male, but more youthful, less harsh—drifted from the doorway of the illuminated storefront. Through her blurry vision, Katja was able to make out a tall, well-muscled young man with dark, messy hair and beige skin stepping towards them.

Carlton released his death grip on Katja, but didn't relax his muscles at all—he was still standing by with his muscles tensed, ready to spring at Katja again should she try anything. Stepping back, Katja was able to see that Carlton was also tall, but bulkier and more dark-skinned than the younger man approaching them. Katja looked back and forth between them. Carlton was blocking her escape on one side, but if she tried the other way, maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to get past the younger man…but who, or what, was inside of that store? She had no way to know, and she'd have to get past the store in order to truly escape…

And then, what of Carole, who was probably on her way? Would they hurt her? Katja was adept at defending herself, but Carole, not so much. At best, Carole might be able to escape one of these men…but two?

"I apologize for the rude greeting…we have to be very careful, here. But make no mistake, Katja, we're here to help you." The dark-haired youth was approaching with his hand extended. "We'd best go inside, before we continue the conversation. Much warmer in there than out here, and much less exposed, too."

Katja frowned. "How did you know my name? And…who are you?"

"We'll explain it inside, Katja. My sister will be able to explain it better than I will. She's waiting inside, along with a couple of other friends. Please, follow me."

Katja eyed his outstretched hand suspiciously. "Carole—"

"Carlton will escort her inside. She will not be harmed, as long as you cooperate." His eyes twinkled with a smile. "Don't look at me like that. We're on your side. But, for your safety, and Carole's, we must explain inside. The walls have eyes out here, you know."

Glancing back and forth between the two men, Katja assessed that her best shot was to do as he said—at least, for the moment. If she decided she had to escape, then their guards would be looser if acted cooperative than if she resisted. "Okay." She shook the offered hand and allowed the man to lead her inside.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Katja looked more closely at him. "Can you tell me your name, now?"

"Yeah, it's Sam. Samuel Delgado, really, but…call me Sam."

"How old are you, Sam?"

"Too young for you, Katja, even if you weren't spoken for." He chuckled. "I just turned nineteen, actually."

Katja blushed. "I wasn't—I mean, I am—"

"I know you weren't, I was joking."

"I know. I mean, I was just asking because…you seemed pretty young, like you should be in university now, not…"

"Someone else my age may be, but…I guess, like you, I was born into this fight, walking away was never an option." He nodded. "And you're twenty-seven, now, soon to be twenty-eight."

"How did you know?"

He spun a loop of keys around his index finger. "Same age as my sister." Then, he turned his attention to rifling through the keys, looking for the one that unlocked the door to the back of the store.

Katja regarded him curiously. She shouldn't feel at ease, right now—these men, these strangers, were pretty much kidnapping her. But something about Sam comforted her, somehow…something about him felt familiar, safe. Why do I feel like I know this man? Like I've known him forever?

As he inserted the key into the lock, he paused. "You're good at riddles, Katja. That riddle in the car, my sister delivered it, but I made it up."

"Is that a compliment? That I'm good at riddles?"

"It's whatever you want it to be. But here. I've got one more for you, and I want you to remember it…" He paused, slowly turning the key. "Just one, a few, no family too. Who am I?"

She frowned. "What?"

He scoffed. "Alright, it sounded better in Spanish. But just…think on it. It might help you to process some of this…"

The key clicked in the lock. The door swung open.

The back room was small and bright. A computer sat in one corner. Notes were scattered over a bulletin board on the rear wall. Flyers littered the small table in the middle, announcing new products, upcoming sales, special events…in any other time, the room was probably a quiet center for business, and nothing more.

But at this moment, atop the scattered flyers, lay two pistols and a hunting rifle. The computer had been converted into a surveillance center. And taped over the bulletin board was a projector screen. Two people sat at the table—one man and one woman. Another woman stood beside the table, her back to the door, working over a projector that was sitting on a stool.

Sam cleared his throat. "She's here."

The woman at the projector stood up straight and turned around slowly. She was short, with beige skin and thick, wavy dark hair, pulled into a sloppy ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her figure was wiry and muscular, and her right arm was covered by an intricate sleeve tattoo.

As she faced them, Katja's voice caught in her throat. When she finally managed to speak, her first words were to Sam—"Your sister?"

Sam nodded. "Also, in a manner of speaking, your sister."

The woman's face was more than just familiar. It was the face Katja had seen in the mirror every day for her entire life. It was the face Katja had witnessed the life flooding from earlier that day, when Konstantina Iovanasis was shot. It was Katja's own face, but not hers at all—for this woman was clearly another individual altogether.

"Welcome, Katja." It was Katja's smile that spread across the woman's face as she approached, extending a hand in greeting. "My name is Gloria…I suppose you'll recognize my voice, from the messages. I knew this day would come for years, but I never thought it would come so soon. Unforeseen circumstances, I suppose."

Katja was unable to bring herself to shake Gloria's hand. In fact, she was unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything other than stand there, staring at Gloria in a state of shock. "Schise…" she whispered at last, staggering to catch herself against the wall. "What are we?" She'd intended to ask something else, Who are you? But the question came out closer to her real sentiments than she'd intended.

"To put it simply, clones." Gloria said in a matter-of-fact voice. "Now, we cannot know yet if Konstantina's death was a personal matter, or connected to all of us…but either way, I didn't want to take any chances on you being targeted next. Please sit down. We've got much to discuss."