“What? You’re really making me nervous!” she says, looking up at me. I know there’s no disclaimer that can prepare her for what she’s about to hear. I just hope that she’ll say it isn’t me. Maybe she’ll say we’ll figure this out together, but that’s being really optimistic. I take a deep breath, play the message, and watch her face go from angry to horrified.
“What the hell, Chris?!” she says angrily. My stomach drops. This conversation isn’t going to go how I hoped.
“Is this a fucking joke?” she yells at me.
“Jenna, that isn’t me,” I say hopelessly. It sounds like me, but it can’t be.
“Bullshit! It sure as hell sounds like you! How could … why are you doing this?” She starts to cry.
“That’s not me Jenna. I don’t know how this is possible, but it’s not me,” I plead with her. “Why would I do this, Jenna? Why?!” I tell her as she rolls her window up. I stick my arm in to prevent it from closing completely.
“What am I supposed to say to this?” she screeches
“I don’t know,” I say, exhausted. “Help me figure this out, I need you,” I plead with her.
“You’re saying this isn’t you, but it sounds a hell of a lot like you. You’re saying—you’re saying you’re fucking married in the message, right after this crazy woman shows up and says she’s your wife. I’m starting to think maybe you’re the crazy one, and she’s sane!” she says, her voice straining.
“If I were lying, why would I let you listen to this, Jenna?” I shout back at her. She’s shaking her head furiously. Jenna has always been analytical, and able to cut through bullshit. She can tell if someone is lying before they open their mouth, but now she can’t do any of it.
“Help me think, Jenna. What are the reasonable explanations for this? You’re in law school. You’re all facts, right? What are the facts here?” I grab the back of my head with one hand in frustration, keeping the other in her car window since I’m still not sure she won’t pull away if I move it. She lets out a sigh.
“Get in, Chris,” she says defeated. I do so immediately, but she won’t even look at me.
“Let me see the phone,” she says, letting out a deep breath. I hand it to her and she replays the message. Her face is now stoic. She plays it again, and again, and it makes me cringe each time.
“This is your voice, but it doesn’t really sound like you at all. The tone, inflection, phrasing are all wrong. You hardly ever swear,” she sighs again and rubs her temples.
“He says I haven’t figured it out,” I say, referring to the voice as another person because it’s not me. Not in a million years.
“About him. It has to be. He’s introducing himself at the end of the call. He’s smug and arrogant because he knows more than you do. But your lack of information has screwed him.”
“Why is he saying I’m married? Why would he even care that we’re getting married? I don't know this guy.” I fold my hands together tightly. She rests her head on the steering wheel, and after a few seconds, her head pops up. She finally looks at me, her expression pained.
“What?” I ask, afraid to hear what she's about to say.
“Because he is you,” she says quietly.
“Jenna, that’s not me.”
“Yes, it is. It all makes sense.” Realization is dawning on her. “This woman showing up, your mom knows her, your parents…” she sighs.
“No, that isn’t me!” I shout angrily.
“What if these blackouts aren’t just blackouts? What if it’s more than that? What if you’re conscious and doing things you don’t remember, in an alternate state of mind?”
“No. That’s impossible.” I shake my head. No way. No way could that be possible.
“It makes sense,” she says sharply.
“How? How could I do that without anyone knowing?” I ask defensively.
“Well, obviously people do know. Dexter for one. He tells you to talk to him and…” she pauses hesitantly.
“What?” I ask.
“Your parents have to know,” she says cautiously, wiping her eyes.
“No! No way! My parents wouldn’t keep something like that from me. There’s no way. Thanks, Jenna, but no. There has to be another explanation.” I get out of her car. No, not possible.
“Think about it, Chris! How did your mom know who that woman was?” she calls after me. She gets out of the car and follows behind me.
“Why did they tell you they would explain? If they didn’t know what was going on, how would they be able to explain anything?”
My throat is burning; I start to panic. I turn around to face her. “If this, if you’re right, do you know what this means?” I yell, to release my frustration. Helplessness; I feel sick. The only thing keeping me from vomiting is that she has to be wrong. But she’s hardly ever wrong.
“You think I’m happy about this?” she shouts back at me. “You think I want to be right? That I haven’t been willing this to be a case of mistaken identity, some outrageous misunderstanding?” her voice is breaking. She covers her face and turns away. “If this is true, you’re fucking married, Chris! I don’t want this to be true! I have never wanted to be more wrong in my life. But I don’t think I am…” she takes in a deep breath. “Your parents,” she moans. “If I’m right, and they know…” she shakes her head defiantly. “How could they do this? How could they not tell you?” She’s hysterical, and I grab her and hug her tightly. She looks exactly how I feel inside: angry, confused, and frantic. I can’t let her see that I’m as scared as she is, even more. Because if this is true, my life will never be the same.
With the state she’s in, I decide to follow Jenna to her house to make sure she makes it inside. She gets out and walks over to my car.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to go with you?” she asks quietly. I nod my head. I really do want her to, but I don’t know what I’m about to hear, and she’s not as good at keeping her emotions in check as I am.
“I’ll call you as soon as I’m done talking to them,” I say, trying my best to smile. She leans down to kiss me, but doesn’t on my lips, just right near them. I’m not sure what to make of that. My brain is too tired to analyze it.
As soon as she closes the door behind her, I hit the gas and head to my house. There are so many things running through my head. The voice named Cal. What Dexter has to do with this? Jenna’s theory. My parents. The girl my mom called Lauren, who, if Jenna is right, is—I won’t even think about what that means.
When I pull onto our street, I see a white Audi parked across the street from our house. I didn’t notice it before, but it’s hard to miss now. That has to be the girl’s car, which means she’s still here. My stomach turns. I pull around to the back of the house. I park in my normal spot and go in through the kitchen, once I make sure the coast is clear.
“I want to talk to Cal. Right now!” I hear her voice yell. My stomach drops, and I move closer to the door so that I can hear.