The slam of a coffee cup against the marble jolts Delphine awake.
She looks up to Imani's scowl peering down at her, holding a mug similar to the one on the counter between her hands.
"You haven't slept. Again," Imani chides, shaking her head. "This isn't healthy, you know."
"Oui, I know, but," Delphine licks her lips out of nervousness, her friend's gaze making her uneasy. "I can't stop thinking about that phone call."
Imani groans, striding over to Delphine's side and plopping down on the empty bar stool next to her.
Delphine continues after picking up her mug and taking a sip of the scorching caffeine. "I need to find that briefcase the woman was talking about."
"No, you need to sleep."
"It is impossible to sleep with something like this eating away at my mind."
"Well," Imani smirks, "your sleuthing skills certainly won't improve if you can barely hold up a magnifying glass, Sherlock Holmes."
Delphine chuckles into her coffee, steam billowing around her nose. The strong taste peels away a piece of her exhaustion, one large enough for her to realize she has burnt her tongue.
"Ah, Merde! J'ai brûlé ma langue!" She squeaks, tongue between her lips as she rushes over towards the kitchen sink, hoping to find some relief in the form of cold water.
"It's hot, by the way."
Delphine's rebuttal is muffled by the stream of water pouring down onto her tongue. A few seconds pass, and the roaring heat on her muscle turns into a dull burn. She leans up and turns off the faucet, pivoting to face her smirking friend while wiping the water from off her chin.
"Maybe you should take a day off from school," her friend suggests, spoon clanking against the rim of her mug as she stirs in some sugar. "I mean, you're ahead in all of you classes aren't you?"
"Oui."
"Then take a mental health day," Imani's eye's rake over her disheveled form, "because you look like shit."
Delphine sighs, a hand moving from her side up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Even if I took a day off, it would not quell my curiosity," she states, twirling a hand in the air for emphasis. Opening her eyes and glancing at her friend, she continues, "You cannot tell me you aren't dying to know what's inside that briefcase. Or where it is, for that matter."
"Trust me; my curiosity is eating away at me too, but not enough that it's affecting my sleep schedule."
"Sleep schedule? Those exist?"
"I'm a very punctual person." Imani dismisses her statement with a wave. "Don't get sidetracked from the conversation."
Delphine arches an eyebrow. "What conversation? This whole time you've been berating me about not sleeping, and then teasing me because I look horrible."
"I'm trying to make a point."
"Eh bien, votre point est irritant moi."
Sighing, Imani stands, abandoning her mug on the counter and positioning herself in front of the French woman.
"What's it going to take for you to get some decent rest, Delphine?"
She shrugs. "Figuring out what's going on."
Imani frowns.
"I was afraid you'd say that." She hangs her head and takes a deep breath. "So, what did this woman say on the phone?"
"That the German woman was supposedly carrying a briefcase with her."
"She didn't have one when she was murdered in the park, did she?"
Delphine cringes from her friend's crass choice of words. "Non, she only had a bloody tissue. But, I did find her hotel key card."
Scratching her head, Imani asks, "Do you think that maybe it's there?"
"Il ya une seule façon de le savoir," Delphine smirks. "Can I borrow some of your most outlandish clothing? I have this gut feeling there is a fur coat somewhere in your closet."
Imani lurches the car to a stop just a block away from the Graves 601 Hotel, where the German's key card reads she was staying.
"You sure about this?" Imani asks Delphine for the hundredth time.
"Oui." Delphine pulls down the visor and flips open to its mirror, tucking away a few strands of blonde hair that had fallen out of her hat, finishing off her outfit with a large pair of sunglasses. She turns to her friend in the driver's seat. "How do I look?"
"Ridiculous."
Delphine scowls.
"What about my accent?" She changes the pitch and tone of her voice as best as she could, trying to match up with the German's.
"Even more horrible than your clothes."
"These are your clothes," she mutters under hear breath, swinging open the car door and slamming it shut once she's out on the sidewalk. Fumbling slightly in Imani's obscenely tall heels, Delphine struts down the street, mumbling words to herself in an accent under her breath, praying to whoever is listening that this plan goes well.
The glass doors of the entrance make no sound as she pushes one open, ducking her head slightly as she passes strangers in the lobby. She checks the card again for the room number and makes her way over to the elevators.
"Miss Klein?" Someone from behind calls out to her and her pulse skyrockets. "Miss Klein!" They try again, but her pace quickens as the cumbersome metal doors slide open. She jumps inside, pressing a button the have them shut just as a man in a suit approaches her from the other side. The doors seal her inside with silence, the movement of the elevator jostling her as it ascends to the upper floors.
When the doors slide open, Delphine steps out into the insolated hallway, its emptiness twisting her gut with nervousness. The air felt thicker with every step she took down the corridor, the tick of her heels against the hardwood floor echoing off every crevice. She keeps her head bowed as a few people pass her by, shoving a blonde strand of hair that had fell loose back into her hat.
She halts when she finds the desired room, and with trembling fingers slides the key card in the lock, the door clicking along with a green light signaling its opening.
The room has a dingy smell to it, like something had been rotting away inside. Immediately her stomach plummets at the fumes, and she covers her noise to stop herself from breathing it in; her actions don't aid her, and the foul odor grows stronger the farther she steps inside.
The bathroom door was cracked open, and from what she can see in the minimal light, the mirror had been smashed, glass shards scattered across the countertop; the sink itself had been broken, water leaking through the broken pipes and spraying across the small area. Delphine shakes her head and rounds the corner, the sight before her causing her to gasp.
Sheets are torn up and thrown across the mock living space, pillow stuffing littering the floors and stained a faint reddish hue. Red smears along the white wall behind the bed make her gut churn and she feels as if she's going to throw up. Delphine steps a bit closer to the bed and sees a small plastic doll, its hair cut off and dyed a sort of auburn. Her heart stops as realization hit her.
Gisela's assassin was here, in this very room, and had probably stood in the very same spot Delphine was now.
She picks the doll up and examines it in her hands: its eyes have been burned out and deep slashes scar its porcelain face. Delphine sets it back down and notices a Bible sitting idly nearby, pages torn out and dropped in crumpled balls next to her feet. Taking a closer look, she spies a verse circled in the same red coloring that marked the white walls next to her:
"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made," Delphine reads aloud.
She tosses the doll onto the bed as a fresh wave of anxiety cripples her; she has to grip onto the bed's frame to keep herself from tumbling over.
The German woman had been targeted.
And that could mean she was next.
Banging on the suite's door rips Delphine from her daunting thoughts.
"Miss Klein!" A familiar voice shouts. It was the man from the lobby calling out to her. He pounds against the door again, this time more persistent. "Miss Klein, I know you're in there."
"Merde, the briefcase," Delphine curses under her breath, dropping to her knees to search under the bed. Nothing.
She stands and scuffles over to the dresser yanking drawers out with hope that the briefcase was hidden in one of them. She got to the last drawer, and like the ones before it, this one was empty, too.
"Miss Klein," the man barked once more, "if you don't open this door, I will be forced to break it down."
Sighing in irritation, Delphine turns on her heels and stalks over to the doors, her strides shaky.
Yanking the door open, she leans on her hip and against the door frame. The man in the suit is there, along with another, one much smaller than him, who was standing stiffly, hands clasped together behind his back. "Ja?" She asks in annoyance. "Is there something you want?"
"You need to come with us, now," the shorter man snarls and stalks off down the hallway. The man in the suit shakes his head and lightly grips Delphine's elbow, tugging her along with him as they and make their way towards the elevators.
After an immensely awkward and stiffly quiet ride down to the lobby, the man in the suit still holding to Delphine's elbow, the three of them make their way to the front desk after exiting the lift. The shorter man whips himself behind the counter and pulls out something from the printer beside him.
"Miss Klein," he says with his nose in the air, "there had been many complaints of overburdening noises coming from your room. After about the fifth one we received, we went up to room to find it completely destroyed. There was at least six thousand dollars' worth of damage done to our hotel suite.
"Ja, and your point?" Delphine asks stiffly.
"What was going on up there?"
She panics. "Um, I was… having a party," she ends with a shrug.
"A party?" The man in the suit beside her questions in disbelief. "Ma'am, the sink is broken. What the heck is wrong with you?"
"Rock n' roll," she answers with a smirk.
The two men share a look, mouthing "rock n' roll?" to each other, before the desk clerk returns his attention to her.
"Miss Klein, you're going to have to pay for the damages."
"So?" Delphine forces herself to sound more miffed as the conversation continues on. "You have my card on file, ja?"
"…Right." The clerk begins typing away at his computer.
"I believe you may have something of mine. It was missing from my room," Delphine pipes.
"Oh?"
"A briefcase."
The clerk looks to the man in the suit and jerks his head to the side, the other man rolling his eyes and moving out of Delphine's sight. Delphine taps her fingers impatiently against the counter top and the clerk tries smiling at her.
"Must have been some party," he tries goading a reply out of her, but she ignores him and looks the other way, the pounding of her heart becoming almost deafening.
Moments later, the man in the suit returns, a briefcase in hand, while the clerk whips out another piece of paper from the printer and lays it down in front of her.
"Your card went through. I just need you to sign here," he indicates to a line at the bottom of the paper, handing Delphine a pen. She swallows and takes it with a shaking hand, staring hard down at the line for a few seconds before scribbling down a signature that she hopes reads "Gisela Klein."
The clerk takes the paper back from her and stares at the signature with half-closed eyes; Delphine grows even more uneasy as stays silent and examines the sheet. He looks back up at her with a tight lipped smile and nods his head.
"Thank you, Mrs. Klein." The man in the suit hands Delphine the briefcase, and before she can turn and leave the building, the clerk pipes up once more. "How are you enjoying the city?"
"It's killing me," she growls ironically, and she all but bolts out of the hotel's front doors.
Imani is speeding down the highway as Delphine struggles to force open the briefcase, none of her efforts giving any indication that the lock had even budged.
"Well?" Imani asks from the driver's seat.
"I cannot get it open," Delphine groans, fiddling with the number combination.
"Great. Now what?"
"Pull over somewhere."
"What?"
"Faites-le!"
Imani swerves over to an exit and peels off on an abandoned side street once they get further down the road. As soon as the car comes to a stop, Delphine flings the door open and trots over to a run-down barrier lining the street; Imani's calling out to her ignored as she slams the briefcase down. The heavy container swings back up and crashes against her knuckles, a shockwave of pain shooting up her arm. She tries again, and again, and again, until the latch snaps open and she scrambles to keep all of its contents inside. She pulls her cellphone from her pocket and uses its miniscule light source to search through it, vaguely registering Imani's footsteps approaching from behind.
She finds multiple folders inside, flipping them open and finding birth certificates and official documents all with pictures of women who look like her, but from different places around the world. There's a women from Spain, and another from Italy, and one more from Sweden. Imani was beside her now, taking in the information with wide eyes. Delphine shoves the documents in her hand as she continuously rummages through the case; Imani examines each paper in her hand slowly.
Delphine finds a copy of Gisela's passport and birth certificate at the bottom, murmuring a soft apology for her demise under her breath. She looks to the lip of the case, discovering three vials of blood and a piece of notebook paper tucked neatly in their respective indentations in the foam. She pulls a vial out and examines it, and from beside her, Imani makes a loud gagging sound.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Oui," Delphine answers with a nod. "These have to be the other women's blood samples."
"Gross!"
"Non!" Delphine whips around to face her. "I can take these to the lab and examine them myself."
"For what?" Imani inquires with a look of disgust marring her features.
Delphine sighs, her shoulders sinking. "I do not know. But, maybe they could tell me who these women are, and if I am linked to them of not. I would need a sample of my own blood as well." She looks up at Imani with a brow raised. "How do you feel about drawing blood?"
Before Imani can respond, the shrill sound of the haunting green phone rings from Delphine's purse still sitting in the car; the two share a look of apprehension before Delphine walks over to retrieve it. She snatches it from her bag, and notices it was the number of the woman with whom she had spoken with the night before.
"It is her. That woman. Again."
"Don't answer it, Delphine."
"I have to." Imani tries to snatch it from her hands, but Delphine had already hit accept on the call, clearing her throat before speaking. "Yeah?"
"Oh, Juliette!" The woman sounded relieved. "I had been trying to reach you all day."
"Really?"
"Indeed! I wanted to know if you had found the briefcase yet."
Delphine looks back towards the object in question. "Yes, I have."
"Wonderful! Juliette, I need you t-"
"Hold on," Delphine interrupts, faux-accent falling slightly. "What does all of this mean?"
"What does what mean?"
"This stuff inside! What is with all of… these birth certificates and documents. And the blood!"
"…Juliette, we've gone over this before."
"Baise cette!" Delphine shouts. "I cannot do this anymore!"
"Hello?" The woman's voice grows concerned. "Juliette, what happened?"
"Juliette has stepped away," she growled down the line. "I want answers. Je méritent des réponses!"
She hears a sharp intake of breath and then the line plunges into silence, dial tone pining loudly in her ear.
The ride back the apartment complex is silent; Delphine sat staring out the window, arms crossed over her chest, Imani to her left sporting a frown.
"That was the stupidest thing you could have possibly done," Imani mumbles as she pulls the car into the parking garage.
Delphine inhales slowly, eyes drifting shut. Her head pounds with the early signs of a migraine.
"You had leverage, Delphine. You could have used it to your advantage."
"I still have the briefcase, don't I?" She snarls, refusing to face her friend.
"Yeah, but now, whomever that was has probably figured out that this whole time, you weren't really Juliette, or whatever. They don't trust you now."
"And trust is more important than leverage?"
"In my book, it is."
Pulling her knees to her chest, Delphine bumps her forehead against the window. "I feel like crying."
"Why?"
"This is too much to process, Imani. I saw someone die. I had another woman's brain matter spewed across my face. Some of it even got into my mouth. There are several women who look just like me, and I have no explanation as to why that is. It is all…" she waves her hands around as she searches for the correct words, "building up and bubbling over. It is too much."
Imani seems to ponder the new insight her friend has given her, remaining quiet for a few moments before speaking up once more. "Crying isn't going to solve this mystery." She reaches out to squeeze Delphine's forearm. "You're crazy smart, Delphine. You can figure this out; I know you can."
Delphine looks over to her and gives her a small but grateful smile.
"Let's take this upstairs and try and work out what this all means, yeah?"
Imani's kitchen counter is littered with the contents of the briefcase. Delphine paces back and forth with an open textbook in her hands, reading it silently to herself; Imani looms over the piles of paper, carefully deciphering each one and scribbling down bits of information on the notepad next to her.
"So, this is what I got," Imani states; Delphine stops her skimming to focus. "All of these women are the same age: twenty-eight years old, birthdays no more than a week apart from each other."
"But how is that so?" Delphine scratches her head. "If we are all twins, being born a week apart from each other is rather impossible. Actually, not rather; it is impossible."
"You're still holding onto that twin theory?"
Delphine shrugs. "Twins separated at birth. Only, there at least six of us. So, sextuplets separated at birth. It's most illogically logical situation I can entertain the idea of."
Imani pushes her glasses up onto the top of her head. "But, you just said that there was no way that you could be related like that."
"Precisely why I said illogically logical."
"Doesn't that textbook say anything about this?"
"Imani, this is a basic, standard college level biology text book. The closest thing related to our dilemma in here is asexual reproduction."
"Well, you're the scientist. What do you think?"
"This circumstance I am finding myself in has obviously never happened before in the history of mankind," she quipped. "There is nothing in this textbook to support the evidence of any of our hypotheses." She drops the book into an empty chair. "Absolument inutile."
"Maybe we're not thinking outside of the box."
"Outside of the box?" Delphine's nose scrunches in confusion. "I do not understand."
"It could be that we're not thinking broad enough. We're trying to find a textbook definition of what's going on. And, since it's obviously not in that crap book I spent way too much money on, then we're missing something important. Something vital." She pauses. "Maybe we need to think sci-fi for this."
"Sci-fi? Science fiction?"
"Can you think of anything along the lines of that?"
Delphine rubs the back of her neck as she shrugs. "The only thing I can come up with is human cloning, but, ignoring the blatant immorality of that idea, it's not even possible, scientifically or otherwise. The closest scientists have ever come to human cloning is experimenting this same hypothesis on sheep. Human anatomy is much more diverse. It is impossible to format each different individual's complexities to be able to make a genetic identical of them."
Imani blinks. "I understood almost none of that. You talked way too fast for me to keep up."
Delphine rolls her eyes. "Human cloning is impossible, so we can toss that idea." She leans her head back, exposing her neck and collar bone. "Je veux juste réponses," she whispers to herself.
There's a shuffling of papers and suddenly it stops, Imani all but shouting for Delphine to walk over to her. Delphine obliges, stepping over their piles of discarded books and notepads, knocking over a stack of Scientific American magazines in her haste of making her way over to the other woman.
"Look at this," Imani hands her a folded piece of paper. "There's a name on it."
"Reese Alexander?" Delphine frowns. "I don-"
"Understand, yeah, I know." Delphine scowls at her. "Look at the address. It's not far from here."
A sense of excitement begins to swell in Delphine's chest.
"And, I bet since this was in that briefcase, this Reese Alexander may have some of the answers we're looking for."
Imani scoops up her keys lying on the counter and shrugs her jacket over her shoulders.
"Ready for a little road trip, Frenchy?"
a/n: [sweats nervously] i'm so sorry it took me basically a month to update