Dead Dreams (21 page)

I turned her bag inside-out at the sink and examined the articles that clattered into the ceramic white bowl. Sarah’s fat Gucci wallet, no doubt with a gazillion credit cards inside. So much for secrecy and anonymity. She’d have to change all the names on the cards and cut these ones up. A lipstick: Chanel Rouge. A mascara with some Italian name I couldn’t pronounce, let alone remember to spell. Eye color, “Muted Gray,” in a snazzy box by VBN, whatever VBN stood for. Sarah spoke an eclectic language when it came to name brands. She also had an array of old receipts and papers she’d scribbled on and stuffed inside one of the pockets in her LV. Who’d think a beautiful bag hid so much junk! Except for the makeup and wallet, it was practically a trashcan.

“Brie?” It was my mother’s voice. “So glad you finally came, dear.” She’d returned to Lilly’s room.

“I’ll be out soon.” The bathroom door was locked, so I wasn’t going to be caught red-handed snooping in someone else’s bag. I figured with all the trouble I’d already dug myself into, what was this by comparison?

“Dad will be so glad to see you, dearie. He’s been asking for you nonstop since he awoke a few hours back.”

The guilt trip was beginning. I snapped open the Gucci wallet and studied the cards neatly stacked in the six different compartments. Then my eye caught something, and I shrieked.

“Dearie, are you all right?” my mother asked. I could tell she was in front of the bathroom door. She jiggled the doorknob. “Are you okay?”

“Please, Mother. I’m in the bathroom. Can I have a moment alone?”

“But, you—”

“Please.” I stared at the photograph of the man smiling back at me from the photo.

It was not like me to be thrilled, or even overly excited by any hunk of a man. But, this one made my heart race a million beats a second.

How was this possible?

No explanations popped into my head. Nothing reasonable or logical could possibly explain this. And, it wasn’t just his identity. He had one arm in a tight hug around Sarah, his cheek pressed to her forehead. I couldn’t see the background. Maybe it was taken at the Golden Gate Bridge, I guessed from the reddish pillars of a structure peeking from the sides in the far distant.

What was Sarah doing with him? My brother? And, why had she kept this a secret from me? Keith, too, why had he pretended he didn’t know Sarah? Then I recalled how he’d let it slip by mentioning Sarah’s name that first time I’d spoken with him. I’d assumed he’d found out about her from my mother. This photograph could clarify why he’d gone past my apartment once at least. He must have visited her on his way here to see Dad. It explained his uneasy reaction when I’d questioned him. Was he in on our bank scam? That yellow Corvette at the bank parking lot must have been his. Who was scamming whom? My gut twisted, and I stopped the urge to retch.

I dug and pinched the edge of the photo. Who has photos any more, anyway? This must be special to Sarah. Were there more incriminating photos in her iPhone gallery?

I wiggled the picture out of the wallet. It felt stuck. On greater scrutiny, the photo must have been taken years back.

Keith looked different. So did Sarah. Her hair was lighter, almost blondish, streaked, and cropped shorter, which actually suited her face better. Still, there was no mistaking her upturned nose and her thousand-watt smile. I turned the four-by-three-inch snapshot over to check for a date imprinted on the back: August 2009. That was three years ago. Sarah knew my brother way back then? What game was she playing with me? I wondered if the person she’d been speaking to in that sultry voice was Keith. She had punched the number as if she didn’t want to risk me discovering his number, something I would easily recognize, on her phone. Of course, these were suppositions. The trouble was how to put the photo back without Sarah finding out.

I should just confront her. Taking her bag was just an honest mistake. She must have mine next to her, near the bed. I could demand an explanation, which I resolved to do. If she threatened to expose me for the bank fraud, I’d confess to the authorities and drag her down with me. Better that than run away with a possible psychopath. What scheme did she have up her sleeve? Maybe Keith had set her up with me for the money, knowing what an idiot I was and that I’d fall for the trap. Sarah must have known all along I didn’t have a passport, had no fingerprints in the system, and had a high motivation to get myself through college and into acting. My brother must have set it up for her. But how could he? How could Sarah?

So the entire deal was to…what? Steal my identity? With her supposed contacts it must be easier to just buy one of those fake IDs. I can understand her desire to run away and not be found by Uncle Stu or Brother Todd, but why have me involved?

“Honey?” Mom’s voice was right outside the bathroom door again. “Are you okay, sugar?” She jiggled the knob harder.

“Yes, yes. I’ll be out.”

I scooped out the contents in the sink back into the LV backpack. There was no way I could avoid Mother’s eyes on a bag that would cost me a month’s salary, at least. Questions were bound to be shot at me. I shrugged the backpack loop onto one shoulder, breathed deeply, and pulled the beanie over my ears more. Time to face the firing squad.

“Sweetie?” There goes the food analogy, again. I unlocked the door and stepped forward.

“Hi, Mom.” I bent over and pecked her on the cheek after a quick hug. “Is Keith here?”

“It’s been infuriating, trying to get a hold of either of you.” Mother shook her head.

“I’m sorry. It’s been crazy for me, with work and all.”

She sighed and patted the plastic chair by the foot of the bed. “I even called Stay Fit to find you.”

My heart fluttered. Had she spoken to Thao, her contact there, and found out I’d quit? I sat on the edge of the plastic seat, my gut in a knot.

“I must have left,” I said.

“Some girl at the sports desk there couldn’t even tell me your schedule, kept giving me the run-around. I need to brace you for when you see Dad.”

“I heard he’s better.”

“He’s conscious, off and on, but his face is skewed to one side. The nerves on the left—” She patted her left check, “were affected by the stroke, Dr. Chen said. But, Dad will enjoy hearing your voice.”

“He’s awake?”

“He can’t open his eyes. They don’t know why. But, he nods when you speak to him.”

Dad didn’t sound as good as I’d hoped. “He’s not in a coma anymore, right?”

“He mumbles, here and there. Sometimes it sounds like your name. But, no precise prognosis yet. It takes time. Keep praying for him, sweetie.”

I got up from the plastic seat and glanced out the window even though everything is dark out.

“You got a raise, sweetie?” Mother asked. She jerked her chin at the bag on my shoulder.

“Oh, this?” I gestured at the LV. “Sarah got it for me as a present.”

“That’s generous of her.”

Not really
. “She’s big on giving gifts. Anyway, better go see Dad.”

“You be careful, Brianna. People like her don’t give presents for nothing.” Mother’s gray eyes were still on the LV.

Should I mention something, utter some warning? But Mother already had so much on her mind. I couldn’t possibly burden her more. At eighteen, I was supposed to be a help to my parents, not be a noose around their necks.

She continued. “Pastor Perry wanted me to say you can call him any time you need someone to speak with.”

Sure. Hey, Pastor. I just committed bank fraud. Can God please erase that humongous lack of integrity on my part? Maybe fudge the bank camera so it wouldn’t show me strutting into the bank lobby dressed as Sarah McIntyre? How about just turning the clock back twenty-four hours, so I wouldn’t even have subjected myself to idiocy and illicit activities. Oh, and can God also make sure I got both my jobs back?

“I have Pastor’s number,” I told Mother as I trudged out to see Dad, who was just as Mother had described…awake, but with eyes closed, and able only to grunt and squeeze my hand as I kissed him goodbye. I closed my eyes and tried to remember his face, capture it forever in my head, just in case, before I turned to leave the room for the final time.

Now, to confront Sarah.

I had a good mind to drag the poor little rich girl out of my bed. How had I imagined I could tolerate her snooty and deceptive attitude? Of course, I was not going to enter the apartment by the balcony-window route I’d stooped to when I’d left. Who cared if she heard the alarm buzz to announce my escapade to visit my sick father? And, I certainly hoped the Sleep Aid had given her no peaceful slumber, since her guilty conscience had better be on full throttle. I couldn’t wait to hear her explain the photograph.

“So when exactly were you going to introduce me to your boyfriend, who
happens
to be my brother?” I’d ask her. “Was this a minor detail that slipped your mind, perhaps?” And how about, “Are there any other insignificant particulars that might involve me that
maybe
you forgot to mention? Maybe a scheme to get rid of me in the near future? Or, to steal my identity and leave me to talk myself out of prison with the cops when they eventually figure out the bank fraud? But, of course you’d be gone. Flaunting your wealth in some Caribbean beach, with my brother dangling on your tanned arm. With
my
identity!” So she could escape her uncle, she’d probably defend herself, puppy-dog eyes welling up with tears. The whole family reeked of plots.

What I couldn’t wrap my brain around was why go through such lengths to trick her relations? I know they tried to get her killed, but surely there could have been a less roundabout way. It couldn’t have been easy to get the fake IDs, for instance, yet she’d gone through the trouble . And the plane tickets under the assumed names? Just to trick me? How did my brother fit into all this?
Walk it through slowly in your head, Brie
. You’ll figure out why. But, better still, why not ask the psychopath herself?

When I neared my Mini Cooper, a constant buzz was coming from inside it. As I took my car keys out, I considered the possibility of someone planting a bomb in my car. Would it blow apart when I opened the door? My eyes searched the interior of the car, and then I saw the cause of the continuous buzzing. Something flashing on and off on the passenger seat. It was my phone. Sarah! She’d probably discovered my sneaking out and wanted to vent her frustrations at me.

I answered the call without thinking twice, with a good mind to blow off some steam at her.
Who does she think she is?

“Brianna?” The voice was certainly not Sarah’s. It was a man’s gravelly voice.

I glanced at the caller ID still on the face of the Samsung and saw it was Pastor Perry.
Trust him to catch me at a most unholy moment with expletives bursting out me.

“How are you?” he asked.

Fine, except I really would love to murder my roommate. “Been better. It’s late.”

“I know. I was praying for you and have a great burden in my heart, so I wanted to check how you’ve been,” he went on.

I knew Pastor Perry felt a burden for many of the young adults, particularly the girls in our church. Mom said it was because his daughter had died, so every girl who was about her age when she’d passed on, seemed like a daughter to him. “I meant to call you. Lilly mentioned you had three dreams of me disappearing?”