Fool Me Once, Fool Me Twice

Emily

I try to push the gate open. I can't because it's locked. I reach through a small gap and grab hold of the padlock, but it's pretty heavy duty, no way I'll be able to get through that one without a lock picking gun. So I have no choice but to climb the gate. I scale one side and drop down to the ground in the back yard. I can see that they have a security light on the back porch so I run up to the door as fast as I can. Before I realise what I'm doing, I'm knocking on the glass of the door.

The person that answers the door is not who I'm expecting. The girl is just like me, only younger. Thick black hair to just past her shoulders, small nose like mine and those eyes. Looking at her is like looking at a teenage me again. 

"Hi, can I help... Emily?" Suddenly, she is gone, running back into the house and leaving me at the door with my mouth hanging open.  It begins to rain so I take a tentative step into the house. I can hear voices further inside the house so I pull myself together and move towards them. Passing through three rooms, this house is like one huge memorial of the little girl that was taken. Photographs of her line every wall and she is covering every possible expression. The worst is the photograph taken at her fourth birthday party. She sits at the head of a table covered by a white cloth, behind a big chocolate cake with four candles in it. Her parents stand at either side of her, smiling lovingly down at their little girl. 

That's it. I can't take it anymore. I turn and run for the door again, but as I cross the doorstep I run straight into Wade. I look up at him, momentarily shocked, but then bury myself in his chest. The rain has become defening, and Wade's waterproof jacket is uncomfortable on my face. But I dont care, I just hold on tighter and cry harder. Before I know it my jeans and tank top are soaked, my leather jacket is unzipped, so it isn't offering me any kind of protection and puddles are forming inside my sneakers.

"Emily?" I hear the voice of a woman from behind me, and when I turn I am looking into my own eyes on somebody else's face. "Emily, is that you?"

"I don't know!" I sob, standing cold and soaking wet in the yard. "I'm so sorry, but I just don't know!"

"Hey, It's okay, come inside. Come on, my darling, you'll catch your death out here." Wade and I are being ushered inside and I grab hold of his hand. I do not let go the whole time we are being led through the house. I have to keep my eyes on the floor, unable to look at the photographs of the family before Emily went missing, before their world was shattered.

"Grace, will you take... I'm sorry I don't know your name. I don't know what people call you now." I can see the woman biting back tears as her eyes beg me to remember her. 

"Jennifer." I look back down at the floor.

"Grace, take Jennifer upstairs and give her some clothes." Grace does as she is told and motions for me to follow her, forcing me to let go of Wade's hand. He squeezes mine reassuringly before letting it drop, and I follow Grace out of the room and up a flight of stairs.

She leads me into her bedroom and I fall in love with it instantly. It is the kind of bedroom that I always wanted as a child, but I had never been allowed. there are posters covering every wall, stickers stuck between them and the walls are a pale greenish blue; the colour that we would see if the ocean was a pastel colour.

 "You really don't remember Mom?" Grace asks, pity practically rolling off of her. 

"No. I saw myself in the paper yesterday, but it wasn't me. My name isn't Emily. I had parents, but they died seven years ago. I'm not even from Philadelphia!" I cry, trying to explain this to myself more than Grace. Grace is pulling clothes out of her closet and examining them. She throws me an over sized sweater and begins holding jeans up to her own legs.

"You'll have to roll these up. You're a little shorter than me." She smiles at me in a familiar way. She is smiling at me the same way that Wade smiles at me; like family. She turns back to her closet again and throws me some brand new socks and panties.

"This may seem forward, but what's your bra size?" Her smile is so similar to my own that it almost makes me uneasy.

"32C. Why?" I ask, steadying myself on the wall so I can kick off my sneakers.

"Well, I'm a 34, but you can just tighten the straps some more." Before I can ready myself, there is a bra flying my way. I pull my jacket off and hang it over the back of her green plastic desk chair. I pull my tank top over my head and peel my soaking wet jeans off my legs. Grace turns around while I change my bra and panties, then heads back to the closet when I begin to put the warm, pink coloured sweater on.

"You want some sneakers? Or I have boots if you prefer?" Grace offers, but it is time for her to discover my little quirk. I pull Graces jeans up and, as promised, I have to roll them up at the bottom

"No thanks, I don't really like wearing shoes." Grace gives a short laugh, then suddenly she is hading over to me. Her arms snake around my waist and she takes fistfuls of the sweater in her hands. 

"I can't believe you're back." She whispers, holding on a little tighter with every word. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and bury my face in her hair. 

"I'm sorry it took so long." And I really am sorry for that. I wish I could have met her sooner and worked out what is going on. Grace pulls away and moves over to a couch beneath the window. She collapses down onto it and I join her, putting my arm around her shoulders once more and pulling her close.

"Mom talks about you all the time. I once heard her telling Dad that she found it hard to look at me because all she could see was you." This makes me feel so guilty. How can she be living this way? Being a normal teenage girl when she knows that she is constantly reminding her parents of the daughter that was presumed dead ten years ago. I have met some amazing agents and soldiers in my time with Skyline, but this girl is by far the bravest person I have ever met.

"I don't know what to call her." I confess, "I can't call her 'Mom'. Not yet. Not until I know everything, and maybe not even then." 

"Just call her by her name then." Grace assures me, "But what do I call you? Emily or Jennifer?"

"It's not really Jennifer. It's just Jenny." I get up from the sofa and walk over to my jacket, pull it off the chair and fold it over my arm. I can feel the sturdy weight of my gun in the right side, but I feel bad for bringing it. I don't need protecting from these people; they need protecting from me. 

I pull my worn old photograph from the pocket of the leather jacket. The fair haired young couple with their dark haired daughter. My family. But this is not the image of perfection that I though it was. This is a fair haired couple with somebody else's dark haired daughter. This is a lie.