The Deal

Twenty-Five-Bernadette

This time, I get hit with the same flashback after waking up next to Thabo. I don't know if it came in the form of a dream, or maybe it did. I had no idea flashbacks could appear in dreams or nightmares—maybe it only works like this for the amnesiac. Whatever it was, the feeling leaves me unsatisfied. I don't think I dreamt. To be blunt, I haven't had a single dream since the coma. It's like I lost the ability to do so. All I see when I close my eyes, is the same dark empty space I get transported to anytime Thabo puts me in a trance during hypnotherapy.

The flashbacks were the same ones I had received—Driving a faceless man in the noisy traffic on Friday night and plunging the knife deep into the chest of another faceless man who tumbled and rolled down the flight of stairs. I can still feel the remorse and guilt from the memory. It's like I'm still haunted by the fact that I took someone's life. But, are these the two memories of one particular man? I know I stabbed Bill the night of the home invasion, but I'm uncertain of who I used to drive during Friday night traffic. I've been learning about my previous life from only two people's perspectives. It's time for fresh eyes.

I want to hear the opinions of the other people I had been with, to tell me what their impressions of me were before the accident. But it didn't work out the last time, if memory serves. I tried calling the former cast members of Class, but they hung up the second I said "hello". I called Shuri Dickson, the assistant whom I don't remember firing, but like the others, she hung up the phone before I even spoke. My acting coach back from film school was a no-response. For a popular actress, I feel kind of lonely. It makes sense my standoffish nature was a result of my father's disgusting crime. It would make sense not to trust anyone after the man whom you loved as a father did those things to you. Scrolling through my vast list of contacts, I came across Tiffany Xhosi, my manager.

She hadn't bothered to come see me in person. I heard she used to take care of my mother.

As of now, searching through Imani's house is the priority. Sprinting through the neighborhood, my fists clench tight because of the disappointing news I got from Armani. Unfortunately, she's babysitting her two nieces in Sunninghill and would not be available to chauffeur me to Imani's apartment. It's fine, let her spend time with family. Persuading her to help you stalk a doppelganger would be very selfish. I used to be like that, according to the people in my life now. I'm no more that version. I've got Google map and a still functioning memory to save me.

Halfway into Imani's side of the suburb, a white BMW creeps behind my back. It slows down next to me and when I'm forced to look at the man behind the wheels, I tilt my head. The car stops, and I squint my eyes to take good look, but roll my eyes when I realize he's not who I thought he'd be.

"You want a ride, miss?" the young man asks. A lingering cigarette smell flows through my nostrils when I go a bit close to the vehicle. His bald head and dark shades reflect the sun's rays. Slapped on both his wrists are two golden Rolex watches. Top that with a shiny necklace hanging round his neck.

"I'm sorry," I voice out. "You actually got me mixing you up with someone else. You resemble an old friend of mine."

"Oh, yeah? Maybe I might be this person," Bald guy says, and before I know it, he's biting his lip. Sweet Mary Virgin, he better not start flirting with me. I'm not in the mood. He's actually following me as I meander along.

"Hey, you know you look kind of familiar?" Bald guy asks me. I shoot him a forced smile.

"Can't talk now, I'm busy." He locks his gaze at me for some time, then his brows lifted, he bursts out bellowing; "Oh! Oh! Ag man! You're Aneska! O God! It's the Aneska!"

Immediately, I flinch when he calls me the name. Memories of my father's fingers pulling my panties down as my legs are tied to the bed emerge. His laughter rings in my ear. "What did you call me?"