Forget Me (9 page)

I
told Evan I would meet him back at the mini-golf course at noon, so I got there early to take some pictures. Last night had been interesting to say the least. I'd been shocked enough that Evan had wanted to go out with me. But it turned out that
he
was the one who wanted to figure
me
out. I couldn't stop wondering what he had to show me.

I pulled my camera out of its bag at the first green. I laughed again at the interesting choice of graffiti on the boulder and zoomed in.
Click.
That creepy clown was a must-shoot, so I went to that hole next. I took a wide shot and a midshot, but that face was begging for a low angle close-up. I knelt on the green turf and checked the display. Not good enough. If I were a bit lower, the open mouth would seem even more menacing. I lay flat on my belly. My shirt would probably be nasty after this, but the photo was worth it. Propping myself on my elbows, I framed and took the shot.
Click.
Perfect.

That would be one of my favorites, I already knew it. I got up and dusted myself off, then walked to the castle. I knew yesterday that I had to have a photo of this. Once the glorious (by mini-golf standards) highlight of the course, it was now peeling and sad, surrounded by a moat of algae instead of magical blue water.

I focused, then pulled the zoom back to fit the entire castle in the frame.
Click.
I wondered what kind of shot I could get of the inside with this light. I walked up the drawbridge and paused, remembering a moment from yesterday. Before I nearly fell in the water like an idiot. In that brief instant, after Evan touched my hand, I'd felt sparks. It sounded cliché, but there it was. Sparks. Anytime we spoke during the whole date, the air seemed to crackle between us.

With a guilty lump in my throat, I pushed those thoughts away. Toni had spent the rest of last night trying to convince me that I should not only move on, but move on with Evan. As much as she'd hated Flynn, she immediately liked his “non-evil twin” as she called him. But I couldn't go there. Flynn had been dead only three months. I should've still been in mourning, not swooning over someone new.

“Trying to fall again?” a voice called out. “Be careful, because I might not make it in time to rescue you.”

I straightened and looked over my shoulder to see Evan standing fifty feet away, wearing the same jeans and black fleece as the night before. And the same sexy grin.

I held up my camera. “Just taking some photos.”

He moved closer, interested. “Cool hobby.”

“Yeah. And job. I take pictures for the local newspaper sometimes. But this”—I motioned to the rotting golf course—“is for my personal collection.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You ever do self-portraits?”

Strange question.
“No. Why?”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Just asking.”

The silence stretched on for an awkward moment. “So,” I said. “You had something to show me?”

He scanned the area and pointed at the only bench not covered in gum or dried bird poop. “Want to sit down?”

For the first time I noticed the messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “Sure.” I followed him to the bench and sat, shivering at the sudden chill in the air.

“This place is kind of creepy, don't you think?” he asked.

I let my eyes roam. Sure, it was empty, run-down, and almost eerily quiet. I could see why Evan thought it had a spooky ghost town feel. But I remembered what it had been like before. I could almost hear kids laughing and families roaring applause for a hole-in-one. For me . . . places like this weren't scary. They were lonely. Yearning for the people to come back.

I couldn't coherently put those thoughts into words for him, though, and I didn't want him to think I was a head case. So I shrugged and said, “I don't mind it.”

He turned toward me and our legs touched. I jerked my knee away instinctively, then felt bad as a hurt look crossed his face. But it wasn't that I didn't find him attractive. I did. I felt something, in that momentary touch. But that's why I pulled away. My brain was too frazzled to play a game of flirty knees right now. I wanted to find out what he knew.

“Down to business,” he said, opening the messenger bag.

I tensed, from my shoulders to my toes. This was it. His big secret. A feeling came over me, like whatever was in that bag was going to change everything.

He pulled out a large, thin mailing envelope. “I got this in the mail a little over three months ago. It was addressed to me. I assumed it was another college catalog and let it sit on my desk for a couple of days.”

He handed the envelope to me. I eyed it nervously before sliding my finger under the opening and reaching inside. There was only one item. I knew what it was immediately and only by touch. A photograph. I slid it out and my mind exploded.

It was a photo of me.

From the rosebush in the background, I knew I was in my driveway, probably walking from my car to the front door. The foreground was a close-up of my face and shoulders. My features were passive, completely clueless that someone was hiding with a camera, taking my picture.

My voice came out raspy. “Why would someone send you a picture of me?”

“It gets weirder. Flip it over,” Evan said dryly.

On the back were words, written in marker in all caps:

IF YOU EVER SEE THIS GIRL—RUN.

DON'T TALK TO HER.

DON'T LOOK AT HER.

JUST LEAVE AND FORGET HER.

LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT.

Something in my chest twisted. I stared at the words, breathing in and out, trying to make sense of them. My eyes went to Evan, who was watching me warily, like I was about to whip out a knife and stab him because he knew my evil truth. But I had no idea what this meant. None at all.

He looked at me sharply. “Who
are
you?”

My heart pounded wildly. I shook my head. “I'm Morgan. I'm no one.”

He eyed me doubtfully.

“Who took this?” I asked.

“I don't know.”

“Who sent it?”

“I don't know!” he snapped, sounding almost as scared as I was. “I was hoping
you'd
have some answers for
me.
”

I read the words again. “Evan, I don't know what this could mean at all.”

“Why would someone go through all this effort to warn me about you?”

“I have no idea.” And it was the truth, but I could see now why he'd been so suspicious of me. All of his behavior made sense. Why he was unnerved at the sight of me at the party. And why he'd wanted to see me again. It wasn't that he'd found himself drawn
to
me. He was only trying to find out more information to protect himself
from
me.

“If you have no idea what this means, then why did you show up at a party that I was randomly invited to and shine a flashlight in my face? You want to tell me that's a coincidence?” The distrust in his voice was obvious.

I shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “The party . . . that was something different.”

“You knew I was going to be there,” he accused. “You knew me.”

I averted my eyes. “Kind of.”

He pulled the picture out of my hand and stared at it. He was losing his patience. “You'd better give me some answers, Morgan. I think I deserve them.”

He was right. It was time to drop the pretense before he became convinced I was a psycho killer. I took a deep breath. “Have you ever heard of a guy named Flynn Parkman?”

He shook his head.

“Well, he was my boyfriend.”

Something flashed in his eyes—jealousy?—too quickly for me to recognize it. “So?”

I licked my lips nervously. “He looked exactly like you. Not a little bit. Like, a lot.”

Unimpressed, Evan said, “I don't understand what this has to do with anything.”

I took a deep breath. “Flynn died three months ago in a hit-and-run accident. I've been . . . dealing with that. A week ago Toni made me upload a photo of him to FriendShare and write some cheesy line. Like a closure thing. Flynn wasn't on FriendShare, but their facial recognition app suggested I tag the picture with
your
name.”

He studied me as I spoke. “A mistake,” he said. “I'm sure it happens all the time.”

“Yeah, except when I clicked on your name and saw your picture . . .”

He finally caught on. “You thought I really might have been him? What, that he faked his death or something?”

“I didn't really know what was going on. I just needed to know for sure. Toni noticed you were mutual friends with Reece. We got him to invite you to the party so I could see you in person.”

“And that's why you ambushed me with the light.”

I nodded numbly. “Yeah. And I would've been honest with you sooner, but you acted all cagey and afraid of me.”

He looked back down at the picture. “So you honestly don't know why I got this in the mail?”

“No. And it's creeping me out.”

He lapsed into silence for a long minute, like he was processing things. Then he met my eyes. “Were you disappointed that I wasn't him?”

“To be honest,” I said, “I don't know.” I let my mind return to that moment and how I'd felt. “If you had been him, that would've meant my relationship with Flynn was based on lies and betrayal.”

“But the alternative . . . that I wasn't him . . .”

“Means he really is dead,” I finished.

He spoke quietly. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. I'd only known and dated him for about two months.”

“But still.”

I nodded. “It sucks. I think people by nature always want to find closure. And I was almost there . . . until I saw your picture.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “How alike could we really look?”

I remembered that the only photo I had of Flynn was also stored on my phone. I pulled it out of my pocket, scrolled to the photo, and held it up. “Look for yourself.”

As his eyes settled onto the picture, he immediately flinched. He took the phone out of my hands. As he brought it closer, his eyes widened.

A heavy feeling settled into my stomach, watching him go through the same emotions I had when I'd seen
his
photo on FriendShare. First shock, then confusion.

“How is this possible?” he asked, his voice shaking.

It was strange that I was the calm one now. I'd had more than a week to wonder about this. “It sounds crazy, but is it possible that you have a twin you didn't know about? Were you adopted?”

He looked up at me with a dazed expression. “No. I have a younger sister, but that's it. I wasn't adopted. My father is a twin, but his brother's dead and he never had any kids of his own.”

“But that means twins are in your bloodline.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Doesn't it skip a generation or something?”

“Not always, I don't think.”

He shook his head. “It's just not possible that I'm a twin. Why would they separate us? It makes no sense.”

“Well, now that I've met you in person, I can tell that you're not identical.” I pointed at his cheek, though there didn't seem to be a chance of him smiling anytime soon. “Flynn didn't have a dimple. And his hair was black, not brown. Is it possible that you have a brother around the same age?”

“No. No, this is just crazy.”

Feeling the urge to comfort him, I gently reached out for his hand. “I'm sorry. I know this has to be overwhelming.”

He looked up sharply, like he'd just remembered something.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing, it's just . . . a nosy neighbor mentioned a few months ago that she saw me prowling around my own yard, peeking into windows. I knew for a fact I hadn't been home at that time. I had practice after school. So I told my parents she was a crazy old bat who was seeing things. But what if . . . what if she saw this Flynn guy?”

That made no sense. “Why would he be creeping around your yard?”

“Why would I look exactly like him? I don't know. All I have right now are questions.”

I gazed around at the empty course, like the answers were hidden somewhere in the graffiti or the rot.

Evan lifted the photo. “Is this your boyfriend's handwriting?”

I gazed down at it and shrugged. “I don't know.”

“What, he didn't write you love letters?” His voice seemed more jealous than teasing, and I wondered why.

“We texted.” I pointed at the words. “But if he
had
written me love letters, I don't think he would have written them in menacing all-caps.”

He smirked. “Touché.”

I didn't know where to go from here. Every time I got an answer, it created another question. I rubbed my arms. The chill in the air felt like it had seeped into my bones.

“Tell me about him,” Evan said suddenly.

I thought for a moment. “He was quiet. Thoughtful. Smart.” I paused. “Handsome.”

The side of Evan's mouth lifted a bit.

I twisted my hands in my lap. “He was new here and didn't have friends that I knew of, but he enjoyed spending time with me. I think. I actually don't know as much as I thought I did.”

Evan's brow furrowed. “What do you mean? He was your boyfriend.”

“But he was . . . private. He didn't like to talk much about himself. He said his family was messed up. I accepted that and never prodded.”

“But . . . ,” Evan said, sensing there was more.

I shrugged. “But then I found out he'd lied about a lot of things. He wasn't enrolled in the private school he claimed he went to. He didn't live at the address he said he lived at. There's actually no record of his family living in town at all.”

Evan shook his head. “Well, if he's dead, there has to be a death record or something, right?”