Page 2 of Mafia Manipulator


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From what I counted last night; we had a little over five hundred dollars left. If I didn’t get this job today, I’d have to find us a cheap place to stay, which meant not sleeping because most of the shitty hotels were also drug and prostitution holes. It also meant finding another job for the next two weeks to build back our cash supply.

“Seven-fifty,” the cashier said, after ringing up our breakfast. Seemed like highway robbery now, considering I’d had everything at my fingertips, before my father was killed.

“Thanks.” I handed her the correct amount and gathered up our things.

“Say, you look like that kid on the news?” She pointed to the screen across from her. There I was, on the screen. The photo had been taken the first day of college outside my dorm. Wisps of my sandy blonde hair floated in the air as a gust of wind cut through the campus. The smile on my face said everything as I’d made a peace symbol for the photo my mother took. I’d been so happy then. Excited for all the discoveries I’d make on my own. Nothing from my past me was left though. Not even my smile. Now, I was afraid of what was to come, instead of embracing it.

“Doppelgänger,” I muttered.

The woman frowned. “What?”

“You know when people look like you.” I blew out a breath. “Never mind. Thanks for the food.” I pushed away from the counter, trying to read the closed caption while walking. It appeared the police were officially declaring Kyle and me dead. I didn’t know how I felt about that.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Kyle joined me at the door while I continued to read what the reporter said. Though they officially declared us dead, they were still hoping to have someone step forward with information.

My stomach turned. “Let’s go.” I pushed out of the store and climbed into our shitty car, that sometimes doubled as our home and started the beast up. “We’re officially dead now.”

“Well, that sucks,” Kyle murmured. “You’d think they’d try a little harder to find us.”

I didn’t know whether to agree or disagree with him. It was peculiar though how those men—whoever they were—kept finding us, but police couldn’t. The only time I’d been recognized was by the cashier inside the service plaza. I didn’t like the implication of that. “We need to get on the road.” I tried to calm my jangled nerves. If Kyle knew how much the woman’s attention affected me, or how I worried she might just be the one to call the cops and report our location, he’d demand I abandoned my job prospect and start driving—never stopping.

No, we needed to do this.

“You don’t look good,” Kyle said, grabbing his latte. “Are you sure you should do this now?”

“Yes.” I flashed him a smile that wasn’t genuine. “Nervous is all. You know, new job prospect.”

“When do you trust me, Stephanie?” The pained, heart-broken expression on his face tore me to shreds. I hated disappointing him.

“I trust you,” I replied. “Besides, we’ve gone over this. My name isn’t Stephanie anymore. I’m Collins and you’re Lucas.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I remember.”

“Things are strained. I understand. We’re both stressed out and both scared. I really hope this job is the beginning of us being able to find some place to call home. Just... Just give me some time.” Unshed tears burned the back of my nose. Every day, I questioned our new reality. Every day, I wondered if I made the right choices or if I should have done things differently. I carried our burden on my back because I was the eldest. Responsibility, as my father would say, flowed downhill. First, our parents, then me.

“Do you ever think about why this happened? Like, who hated us so much they killed our father and our mother?” The change in subjects didn’t quail the rising anxiety within me. We had an hour left to get to Mr. Daidone’s residence, which meant confronting the elephant in the room or continuing to ignore the situation.

I exhaled, changing lanes on the Turnpike. “All the time.” I couldn’t lie to Kyle. Eventually, we’d both have to face the truth.

“Me too.” Kyle glanced out his window. If I expected any more out of him, I didn’t get it. Instead, he ate his pastry and drank his latte in silence.

The quietness gave me time to prepare and shake off the oily feeling of being groped inappropriately, even though physically, no one touched me. It was more mentally being felt up. The woman in the service plaza noticed me. She foundme, Stephanie Hollis, hiding in plain sight when so many hadn’t paid attention. The paranoia ripping at the back of my mind, no matter how many times I told myself no one paid attention or followed us, continued to eat away at me. Even checking the rearview mirror did no good. I couldn’t shake the idea I was being trailed and this grand plan I had would end up backfiring on me as soon as I exited the Turnpike.

Then there were the what ifs, like what if she called the police? What if she called some news station to say she saw me? What if she kept the video from the cameras surrounding the business? Yes, I’d cut my hair and dyed it a wholly unnatural color, but I was supposed to, right? To survive, I had to hide Kyle and me. I had to do a lot of things we—more specifically me—normally wouldn’t do. Maybe she’d leave it at my explanation. I could only hope. Before long, if my paranoia bared fruit, I’d have to ditch this car and ditch our plans.

Which would severely hobble us.

“You’re not being followed,” Kyle said. “I’ve been watching.”

I released a pent up breath and nodded. “Thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone was paying too much attention to us.” He slouched into his seat, extending his long legs, reminding me of how our dad would relax in the front seat when mom drove.

“The cashier said I looked like myself,” I muttered. “I freaked out in there.”

Kyle stared at me for a minute. “Well, you are you.” Then laughed. “She’s probably forgotten about you by now. Morning rush and all. Besides, once we’re off the road, how can they find us?”

Well, he had a point. Police, even with videos, were the least of our problems. I was more concerned about whoever killed our parents. They were good. Really fucking good. “You might be on to something.”

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