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I hoped she hadn’t escaped the room when Morgan had left.
I checked the bathroom and the closet.
Then I heard a noise—a clicking.
I followed it to the kitchen area.
Had I missed her hiding place inside one of the lower cabinets? No, the sound was coming from higher up, from the overhead cabinets.
I pulled the handle, cracking open the door.
There sat Miso, chewing a hole in the corner of her bag of cat treats.
“You’re trouble. You know that, don’t you?”
Miso closed her eyes, rubbed her paws together and snickered. At least I chose to believe those sounds were snickering. They certainly sounded like it.
“Come on.” I snatched her from the shelf and deposited her onto the bed. “Want to watch some television?”
She bounced around on the mattress, in an energetic burst of playfulness. I sat down beside her, careful not to squish her, and turned on the television.
Commercials played. Miso tumbled around and scratched at the blanket.
I switched the channels, looking for actual programming to occupy me, and landed on some kind of news expose with dramatic music.
A photograph of a scowling man filled the center of the screen. His angular face was clean shaven and his brown hair swept back. I knew that face. I saw it in the mirror every day. My entire body froze. I didn’t dare move an inch, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe.
A disembodied female voice said, “Authorities continue the search for missing billionaire Oscar Carrington.”
It was like staring through a mirror to a different reality, one where I was more polished and yet more jaded, as if they’d captured this image at the edge of hell’s gates or perhaps the exit of the DMV. There was no question, though, that face belonged to me.
“Carrington was last seen by his brothers Sebastian and Jasper Carrington fifteen days ago,” the television said.
The image changed to a video of two men standing on the steps of a stone building, camera flashes blinding them as they prepared to give some kind of statement. I knew them. I recognized their faces.
Jasper was the golden retriever, perpetually underdressed for every occasion with his shoulder-length hair and congenial affect. I knew he was twenty-seven, only two years younger than me. I knew his nose wrinkled when he smiled, even though his expression now showed somber concern.
Sebastian was the peacock, dressed like the don of a cocaine empire in an eighties action movie in his golden shirt and red blazer. He was the baby of the family, only twenty-one, and the spitting image of our father at that age.
I grinned, eagerly devouring the images on the screen, the tidbits of information I was acquiring, and the accompanying memories that resurfaced.
“Jasper reported Oscar missing yesterday after he didn’t show up for the brothers’ regular meeting.”
No one had seen me for over two weeks and it hadn’t concerned them. Was there no one in my life who saw or heard from me more regularly?
What about my mother? I remembered her. What about neighbors or colleagues or even a doorman who would realize I wasn’t where I was supposed to be? Why had it taken fifteen days for someone to notice I was gone? I tried to remember more of who I was, to take these developments and scrub my brain for further information, but I came up blank.
A throbbing pain stabbed into my temple. I rubbed my palm over the spot and took in a long deep breath.
“Recent developments suggest Oscar may have been a patient at Epiphany’s North Regional hospital as a John Doe.” The screen flipped to the narrator of the story, the newswoman who was telling me about my own life. “The authorities are looking for this woman for questioning as a potential witness.”
An image of Morgan filled the screen. She was smiling and wearing her pink bunny pajamas.Potential witnessused in this manner meant suspect. Someone, or possibly a security camera, must have seen her driving me from the hospital.
“If you have any information about the identity of this woman, please call the number at the bottom of the screen.”
I scrambled for the notepad by the telephone and scribbled down the number. The program switched to commercial. I tapped my foot on the floor, wishing the program would come back. What else did they know about me?
When the program came back on, the news anchor had moved on to another segment. My heart sank. My pulse picked up.
