“The wife of Congressman Jonathan Haddock was discovered dead in her home last night, in what appears to be an accidental death, or possible suicide.”
A photo of Jenna’s sister displays on the television. Jenna jumps to her feet in shocked disbelief. “What? No! Oh my God! No!"
“According to Congressman Haddock, he found his wife at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck. An empty bottle of sleeping pills left beside her bed, and a note that said, simply, 'goodbye.’"
“No!” Jenna screams at the television. "No! Jana wouldn’t have done this.” Bereavement and anger war through her emotions as the screen fills with a video of Jonathan, his good looks marred by stricken grief.
“I just can’t believe she would do this. I thought she was happy. Why would she do this?”
The screen shifts to a picture of Jonathan and Jana on their wedding day.
“She didn’t do it, you bastard,” Jenna shouts, no longer hungover or groggy from sleep. “You did this, Jonathan. I know you did. You won’t get away with it.”
“According to the chief of police, there does not appear to be any foul play involved, and no investigation will be conducted. Mrs. Haddock has no living relatives, but will be dearly missed by her husband and friends.”
“No living relatives,” Jenna’s throat constricts, tears washing down her face. Jana was the only one left who knows that Jenna is her sister. It was their best kept secret, and now Jana will take it to her grave. Perhaps there are people from their childhood who might remember, but that was a long time ago, and far away, it’s unlikely to be remarked upon now.
The news program shifts to local weather, but Jenna has already tuned out, replaying the phone call she’d had with Jana two nights before.
Jana had eavesdropped on a disturbing conversation earlier that day, where Jonathan’s Aide seemed to be attempting to blackmail the Congressman for embezzling money from grant funds.
“It’s possible I misunderstood, but it sure sounded like he was asking for a million dollars to keep him from reporting the theft. What if it’s true, and Jonathan used stolen money to pay for our vacation last month, or the diamond necklace he gave me? I sure as hell don’t want to be implicated in his crimes.”
“Of course you don’t. Maybe you could find evidence, to protect yourself. I assume he has a computer at home? Does he keep it password protected, or are you able to access it?”
“Oh, never fear, I know all his passwords.”
“Ok, so here’s what you do…” Jenna went on to give her some pointers on what to look for, how to find and copy relevant files without leaving any trace of the intrusion.
Jonathan must have caught her in the act.
Jenna’s heart aches at the thought of her sister, dead of a broken neck at her husband’s own hand. The bastard was not even suspected of foul play. She wouldn’t have thought him capable of murder.
Until now, she never thought herself capable of it either.
**
The hardwood floor is stained with Jana’s blood. It’s still there at the bottom of the steps where she died. Obviously, Jonathan made no attempt to clean it when he claimed to have “found her,” two weeks ago.
The house has a tomblike feel to it. Shuttered blinds darken the interior. Walls and floor radiate cold forbearance. Even the framed photos lining the entryway display only the stern, frowning faces of Jonathan’s parents and grandparents. The space where happier photos once hung are noticeably empty. Three pictures have been removed, only the nails remain. Bright rectangular patches amidst the more somber photos left in place.
Apparently, Jonathan wants no reminder of the woman he murdered. Ironic, since he left her blood to dry at the bottom of the stairs.
The house belongs to Jana, but Jenna knows it like the back of her own hand. She knows her sister never refinanced it, nor added Jonathan to the deed. How that must gall him, Jenna thought, in nasty satisfaction.
She hears the garage door start to open. The noise sends Jenna’s pulse racing with a rush of adrenalin as she looks around for a place to hide. It will not do for Jonathan to find her here.
She sprints into the living room and into the closet under the staircase.
She moves silently into the cramped space. Finds the stick-on light on the far wall that she knows will emit a soft glow without being seen from outside the closed door. Pressing it on, she finds a spot to sit at the rear of the closet, makes herself comfortable, and settles in to wait.
Here are the pictures he had taken down from the entryway.
Jana, smiling that enigmatic smile on a beach at sunset. Jana and Jonathan on their wedding day. The one they’d used on the news, when they reported her death. Jana, with a child on her lap, a wistful look of longing on her face.
It’s like looking into a mirror.
Or a memory.
She remembers when she first met Jonathan. Remembers being attracted by his good looks, his sexy moves on the dance floor. Remembers going home with him and having mind blowing sex. The proverbial one night stand, from which she never expected to see him again.
She probably wouldn’t have, except she became pregnant. And her sister insisted that Jonathan had a right to know he was going to be a father.
She agreed, but only on the condition that her sister be the one to tell him of the baby.
They’d played this trick often enough when they were young. Pretending to be the other just to see if they’d be caught.
So they traded places for a night, like they’d done so often in their youth, promising not to reveal the existence of the other. Jonathan had no clue. He married Jana, they went on honeymoon, stayed together until Jana miscarried and then they separated.
Which should have been the end of the relationship, except by then, Jenna had fallen in love with Jonathan. And so Jenna became Jana.
And now Jana is dead.
Waves of emotions wash over her. Grief, anger, loss. Revenge. Sitting here in this enclosed space, looking at the framed photos of herself and her identical twin sister, a plan starts to form in her head.
She stays in that cramped closet all afternoon, listening to him move through the house, watching news on TV, calling for Chinese takeout. It’s torture, smelling general chicken and fried rice while her stomach growls in hunger.
Finally, she hears running water through the pipes from the upstairs bathroom. Recalling his nightly rituals, she knows he will come back downstairs after showering, pour himself a shot of brandy, lock the front door and retire to his bedroom to sleep.
She also recalls how soundly he sleeps, and hopes having murder on his conscience will not have changed that for him. She counts on him sleeping like the dead.
Eventually, she lets herself out of the closet. She unsticks the light from the closet wall, tucks it into her shirt pocket. Wraithlike, she moves about the house, first helping herself to the leftovers. General chicken and fried rice isn’t as tasty cold, but she’s not brave enough yet to reheat it in the microwave.
She puts the containers back in the fridge, then wanders into the laundry room for some bleach and an old toothbrush. At the bottom of the stairs, she applies the bleach carefully, erasing just enough blood in the stain to form the word ‘goodbye’ with her fine handwriting.
In the master bathroom she finds her sister’s makeup and perfume, thankful he hasn’t thrown them out yet. She finds a few of Jana’s favorite dresses in the walk-in closet. Spritzes perfume towards Jonathan’s sleeping form on her way out before heading back downstairs.
She makes herself at home in the unused, forgotten bedroom in the basement. Another secret they’d kept from her husband. In the days that follow, she showers and eats when he leaves for the office, spiriting herself away before he returns, wearing Jana’s clothes and leaving the scent of perfume in her wake.
One night she writes ‘goodbye’ in red lipstick on the bathroom mirror while he sleeps, Another night she uses her finger to write on the inside shower door, so when the bathroom steams up he’ll see the word ‘goodbye’ appear as if written by a ghost.
She finds his stash of sleeping pills in his sock draw, crushes a few into the bottle of brandy to ensure he continues sleeping like the dead. Each night she adds a little more.
She hangs the framed photos of herself and her twin back in the entryway. Randomly moves things around. Whenever he turns the heater up she turns it back down, or opens a window to let a draught in.
She laughs in silent glee as he prowls the house, obviously not knowing what he’s looking for, but looking haggard and run down as the days progress and the haunting continues.
While he sleeps, she hacks into his computer. Using her computer forensics training, she uncovers the incriminating files he thinks are deleted. She places a recording device near the phone in his office, set to auto record each call, and knows the end is near when she plays back a call from earlier that day.
“What’s a million dollars to you, Jonathan? You syphoned off twenty million from a ninety million grant. No one needs to know, this will be our secret.”
On the call, Jonathan reluctantly agrees to meet him at the house the next day.
As Jonathan showers that night, Jenna forwards a copy of the recording, and the files she uncovered, to the police chief as well as the news anchor who reported Jana’s death. She crushes the remaining sleeping pills into the bottle of brandy, and makes one last stop on her way to the basement.
Presuming he will have trouble sleeping that night, Jonathan pours himself a full tumbler of brandy. Jenna is certain he will sleep like the dead.
Just before he goes to bed, Jonathan checks his safe. Gone is the account information to the bank in the Caymans. Gone the five million dollars in cash he keeps for easy spending. The only thing he finds in the safe is the familiar, haunting scent of Jana’s favorite perfume, and a note that said, simply, ‘goodbye.’
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