The Torn Identity

TJ stared down at his own name in the Yellow Pages, Tyler James Morgan and an eleven digit number he hadn't thought about in a long time. He tapped the phone, picked it up and put it down again. Somebody banged on the door of the phone booth.

'Hey, pal. This isn't a waiting room, y'know.' TJ gritted his teeth. Personal gain, he told himself. The man outside hit the window again. TJ looked at the number, committing it to memory and left the booth. He wondered how in a world of video cells and instant messaging there was still a queue for a phone booth.

Milton had never arrived at work that day. On the train journey home he had looked furiously around each platform, hoping or dreading that he would see them. Failing to find his mysterious stalkers, he had spent the rest of the day sat on the same spot of the sofa. Every time he heard a car engine or footsteps outside, he would leap up, preparing himself. Other than these occasional outbursts, he never moved.

A key turned in the lock and Milton began to sweat. Jennifer paused briefly in surprise to see him then walked elegantly across the room and placed a velvety kiss on his cheek, 'what are you doing home?'

'Waiting for you?

'Why?' Her tone turned to artful concern. 'Is there something wrong?'

'Do you know who the man on the train was?' Milton's eyes bored unkindly into his wife's.

'No. What are you talking about?' She asked unsurely. 'That fight you had?'

'You know what I'm talking about. Who was he? Did you send him?'

'What is the matter with you?' People learn to lie with their eyes. They learn to lie with their faces. Liars know how important faces are. It's the arms that tell the truth and the arms that are never read. But Jenny's arms were not lying. She was bewildered. Although, perhaps not as bewildered as would make her innocent.

Chris sat at a desk in his office, typing numbers into a spreadsheet. He filled in the last cell and rubbed his forehead. Clicking 'save', he opened another spreadsheet. It was the restaurant's accounts, his mother's accounts. Over the last year the family had developed a routine. Each month, Leo would do Piper's accounts, with all the love in his heart but all the expertise of a child. Then, after doing his own, Chris would secretly go over Piper's accounts, adjusting them and checking them. A few months after that, Melinda would ring. 'I've checked your accounts on-line, mum and they're atrocious. I've sent you another copy. Do it this way in future. It's much more efficient.'Piper would ask Melinda when she was coming home.

Chris stood up to make a coffee. Next to the cafeteria was a photo of four men dressed as Bond villains. He passed the picture hundreds of times each day, without even a second glance, and then sometimes, completely arbitrarily, it would catch him and he'd barely be able to stand for the weight of it. His lip jutted out and he swallowed the rock in his throat. He read the inscription, Tyler made us do it.

The phone ring pulled Chris from his melancholy. 'Hello?'

'Hi. It's Phoebe. Your sister's home.'

Milton had been searching train stations on the Newark line all week. Finally, at eleven o'clock he saw them. The paler one was sat on the floor, leant against some railings, looking, if possible, more tired and battered than previously. The other was sat on the opposite platform, dangling his legs over the track as if to jump onto it.

'Hey! Sebastian! Use the bridge.' This from the seated tramp.

'What?' His eyes were teasing and he pushed himself further towards the tracks, threatening to jump.

'Get up, you stupid idiot.' The tramp was too weary to get up but he shifted nervously where he sat.

'It's quicker this way.' Sebastian remarked defiantly, 'Eh, TJ? Quicker just to walk across the tracks.'

'There's a train coming. Use the bridge.' TJ pushed himself onto his feet. Sebastian waved him away dismissively and headed towards the bridge. Milton gritted his teeth and took the opportunity to reveal himself. He convinced himself that a pair with no cares but for each other could not be evil.

'I just want to talk to you.' He said anxiously. Milo held his gaze, sizing him up and then turned away.

'I've got nothing to say.' He mumbled and headed down the platform. Milton felt himself panicking. In the jungle there had always been something that he could do, he could always walk. Now, he was clueless. He didn't know what to do, how to manipulate people. Jenny was the social butterfly.

'Hey!' He called out to TJ's back. 'Do you know me? Hey! I asked you a question. Please.' Filled with an irrepressible rage, Milton ran towards this raggedy tramp walking away from him on a train platform. 'Do you know me?' His voice reverberated around the platform so that the pigeons scattered and the commuters stared. 'Do you know me?!' He shouted. The beer bottle TJ had left on the floor exploded. TJ turned around shocked and looked from the shattered glass to Milton.

'Who am I?' Milton whispered helplessly.

'How can I know you? You don't even know yourself.'

'He thinks you're Wyatt.' Sebastian came up behind the pair, breaking the silence. 'But you ain't Wyatt. Wyatt's a big man. He's not like you. You're just another suit. You look like him, alright. With your big, blue eyes and your walk. You even talk like him but you're not him. You're too little.'

Milton had expected everything to fall into place. He'd expected a flash of clarity but there was none, just a sinking feeling and a slight embarrassment. Then annoyance. He dropped his head and cursed himself.

'What do you know? You're just a couple of tramps.' Sebastian swelled his chest and his eyes flashed.

'We're not tramps. We're misplaced soldiers.'

'You look like a couple of clowns to me.'

'Go away then.'