Chapter 6 - Doppleganger
Dana's dramatic flourish of an exit was ruined by the over-choked carb on her bike, right now – half-way between running hot and completely cold – it flooded at the first touch of the starter.
Goddamn it, she should have taken that thing apart a month ago.
She pulled her helmet off as Duke and the police chief came out to the lot. "Either of you know a good bike mechanic in this –" bit it back, "little town?"
.../\/\/\/...
Life was funny, Dana mused as she wandered around the little apartment above the restaurant. Duke had fallen over himself to offer her whatever she wanted – getting the bike fixed, a place to stay in the meantime, whatever she wanted from the restaurant – and then he'd left. She could hear his hissed argument with police chief coming from down below, but not what they said. She recognized obligations, and across the globe the care and feeding of obnoxious - not to say outright bent - cops took some effort. A little flattery, a lot of free booze. But it struck her as funny the way Duke had installed her here and gone back to the other man. She was definitely second on the list of Duke's priorities.
The clothes in the closet were her size, or would have been if she'd been eating more regularly. Not her style though – blazers and pants. Blech. Even the dresses, all three of them, very mid-west and conservative. Conservative heels. Winter boots that looked brand new, and something you would give to a kid that had to walk through snow to school. Uphill, both ways.
No food in the fridge, and except for the dust, nearly everything else looked like someone was just away for the weekend. The kitchen area – kitchenette – she'd seen better in most fleabag motels across the country – was inexpertly scrubbed after being covered in fingerprint powder. She recognized the traces of carbon black in the cracks in the grout, in grooves between the boards of the floor. No suspicious brown stains that she could see, at least.
She found what she was looking for, without knowing she was even looking, in a drawer beside the bed. Pictures. Duke and a smug-looking black woman. Duke and a blonde. Blonde and another man, looking at each other, looking like they could eat each other. The four of them, posed around a table on the deck below.
No, the deck here, on the second floor. With all four of them crowded together to make the picture, Duke's arm outstretched to hold the camera.
Happy smiling people. Her hands drifted over the photos – an uneasy sense of longing somewhere in the back of her throat. It was like a catalogue photo, or a tourist brochure. Come to Maine! Pretty people with pretty happy lives. Doubly uneasy, because the blonde could have been her twin.
They said that everyone had a doppelganger somewhere in the world. Given the way Dana had roamed over most of it, perhaps it wasn't surprising she would find her own, but it still creeped her the hell out. No one would have put Dana's life on a tourist brochure. Dana herself didn't even keep the few photos that people tried to give her. To remember them, maybe? To remind her of the good times when the bad times came.
Fuck that. When the bad times came, Dana was so outta there.
Still, that little ache in her throat for the pretty happy woman in the photo. Dana wished they could have met.
Duke was back – she'd heard him come up the stairs, come inside. She showed him the photo. "Audrey, I presume?" The lucky Audrey whom Duke had mistaken her for at first glance. "This was her place?"
Duke nodded. "For a little while." He'd brought a bottle of wine with him – he uncorked it and started pouring two glasses.
Dana forced herself to shed her jacket, unzip the unsexy but necessary biking boots. The voices inside her were screaming at her to run and keep on running. "You're forgiven."
Something else, though, held her like a lock. Part of it was undeniably the attraction she felt. Already she wanted his hands on her body and his mouth on hers. She wanted to light the fire in the fireplace and let him take her on the braided rug in front of it. Part of it, though, was not even about him. She felt it, she just couldn't put a word to it yet.
"I apologize. For what?"
"For mistaking me for her." Dana looked at it again. It was like looking at an alternate reality version of herself. What her life could have been – if only.
He laughed, under his breath. "No one would mistake you for her."
From the baklava number of layers in that, Dana guessed that had something to do with his argument with the drunken police chief. "Let me guess. She's wanted by the police."
Duke barked a surprised laugh as he handed her the glass of wine and sat down in the armchair beside her, while she had curled her feet under her on the couch. "You could say that."
"What happened to her?" Dana ran a finger from his thumb up the inside of his arm to his elbow. She was pleased to see the way he went absolutely still, then turned a narrowed intense look at her. There was starting the fire, and then there was starting a fire. Talking about some dead girlfriend was not her usual strategy. It seemed to be working, though.
But Duke stood suddenly, leaving the wine glass behind.
"Don't," he barked, holding one hand out as if to ward her off. "Nathan was right. This is a really bad idea."
Nathan? … Chief of Police Nathan Wor-something or other, she recalled. "Duke – I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything –" She'd misjudged how sensitive he was on the subject of said dead girlfriend, obviously. "My mistake. I'm sorry." She picked up her boots, and her jacket. "I'll go." Where was a problem to be faced – later – but the Suzuki's engine was probably fully cold by now. She could get it started. If nothing else she would walk it down the road to a hill. Start it that way.
She'd done it before.
"Don't go." It was both order and plea.
"Man, she really did a number on you, didn't she?" Dana closed her eyes. That was… not polite. And not what she'd meant to say. "Dude – Duke. I can't stay, here, looking – even to myself – like we could be twins. Not when you are still this messed up. It's not fair." That may have been why the voices were still screaming. He wasn't looking at her, adoring her, wanting her. He wanted Audrey. "It's just too confusing."
"I'm not the one who is confused," he said.