Stand Alone (8 page)

Justine knew that there were people who spent days looking through missing children pictures, looking for pictures they recognized. She didn’t know how they could do it. The hours crept by and she didn’t feel like she was any closer to finding herself in the endless database than she had been when she started. And who knew if she was even looking in the right place. Justine stretched and got up to make herself another coffee. Her elbows and knees in particular we stiff after taking so many tumbles the night before. Justine rubbed them gently and put the coffee on. While it was brewing, she went upstairs to Em’s room. Em kept the photos in a box, always planning on assembling them in a scrapbook, but never getting to it. There was also a baby book, listing all of Justine’s early milestones, and preserving her hospital bracelet, a lock of hair, and other mementos. Justine touched the lock of hair. Maybe she could get it DNA tested. If she could prove that it wasn’t hers, then people would have to listen to her. They’d have to admit that she wasn’t the real Justine, but someone else that Em had kidnapped somewhere. Then she could be free. There was a pair of baby footprints too, but they were so smeared that Justine couldn’t work out the lines and whorls and tell whether they were her own or not. Sighing, she put the baby book away. There was nothing else there to help her.

She went back down to the computer, and examined picture after picture of little girls that could have been her.

After a fruitless weekend of searching for herself on the internet, it was back to school. Justine slipped into a desk. The boy in the desk next to her eyed her, frowning.

“You’re in the wrong seat,” he told her.

“Oh, sorry,” Justine said, “I’m new here.”

He looked her over, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re not new,” he scoffed. “You’re that Justine chick. You think I don’t know you?”

Justine looked at herself. She had borrowed some of Em’s clothes, dressed in an unfamiliar feeling pair of pants and a print vest over her blouse. She wore a knitted cap covering her hair and had it braided, and tucked into her shirt so it didn’t show. She’d even put on a few touches of make-up, and had been practicing a different walk and mannerisms so that she wouldn’t be easily recognized.

“My name isn’t Justine,” she said. “It’s Katie. I’m new today.”

“Nice try. And that’s Lanaea’s seat, so you’d better move,” he pointed out.

Justine shook her head. An instant later, Lanaea herself stood at Justine’s elbow.

“What are you doing in my desk? Move it, freak.”

“Hi,” Justine said. “My name is Katie. I’m just new today. Sorry, I didn’t know this was your seat.”

Lanaea shook her head, rolling her eyes.

“That may have worked the first time you tried it a couple of years ago,” she said scathingly. “But it’s a bit old now. Come on, get out of my seat.”

Justine refused to get up. Other students were talking and whispering around her. But she stuck to her guns. She was determined to be a new student today. She had prepared, and she should have been able to fool them. Some of the students looked at her in puzzlement. Others ignored her and just sat down. The teacher arrived and looked around impatiently at the class.

“Take your seats, please. What’s going on here?”

The other students sat down. Lanaea remained standing beside Justine. Mr. Potter looked at her, scowling.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I’m a new student,” Justine said, “I just transferred in.”

He looked momentarily confused.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he questioned, looking at Justine, and looking around at the rest of the class for their reaction.

“No. My name is Katie. I’m new today.”

He frowned. He studied her for a moment and made up his mind.

“You’re not Katie. You’re Justine Bywater. And you’re not in this class. So please remove yourself so I can continue with the lesson.”

Justine shook her head.

“My name is Katie,” she repeated, a catch in her voice. She was desperate for him to believe it, and let her stay.

“Whoever you are, please leave.”

“No
  
…”

“Yes. Now. Go,” he spoke firmly. He wasn’t fooled.

Justine finally stood up, looking around, at a loss as to what to do next.

“Get on, then,” Mr. Potter repeated, shooing her with his hands.

Justine picked up her books, and left the room. She went downstairs to the office and tried again.

“I’m new here,” she said, “I’m supposed to meet with Mr. Brooks?”

“Sure,” the student receptionist said. “What’s your name?”

“Katie. Um, Katie Kerr.”

“Great. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Justine sat in a chair waiting. She stared up at the ceiling, bored. Eventually, Mr. Brooks came into the waiting area and nodded to her. A short, balding man with a perpetual smile.

“Katie Kerr?” he questioned, holding out his hand to shake hers.

Justine shook hands, smiling widely at him.

“I’m a new transfer student,” she told him. “They said that you were expecting me.”

Mr. Brooks raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Uh, yes,” he said, “I
  
…
 
didn’t realize that was today. I’m not sure where the paperwork is
  
…”

He led her back into his office, a close room, barely big enough to fit his desk and a visitor chair. In spite of being crowded, he also had a plant, a small tree that infringed on the visitor’s chair. Justine brushed it as she sat down, pushing leaves out of the way. Mr. Brooks sat down in his swivel chair, fidgeting with a button on his shirt.

“So remind me,” he suggested, “where is it you are coming from?”

“Lincoln,” Justine invented, blinking as if she expected him to remember.

“Ah, yes, Lincoln.”

He studied her, his smile wavering a little.

“Did we meet before?” he queried uncertainly.

“No,” Justine used both hands to adjust her cap, hoping to keep him from recognizing him.

“Well, we’ll just fill out a new transfer form, request your old records,” Mr. Brooks said brightly, digging in the drawer of his desk for the appropriate form. “What were you taking over at Lincoln?”

He looked up at her questioningly, and did a double-take. Justine saw recognition enter his eyes.

“Justine.”

“What?” Justine looked behind her. “Who?”

“You’re Justine. Just what are you trying to pull, here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Justine said politely.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it stops now. I don’t have the time for this. Go to your class.”

Justine didn’t move.

“I need your help,” she pleaded.

“You need my help with what? With registering?” he threw the ruined form on the desk in disgust. “What’s this all about?”

“Mr. Brooks
  
…
 
I’m really not Justine,” she said desperately. She pulled the photos out of her pocket. “Look. Look at this. These are pictures of the real Justine. The real Justine Bywater, when she was a baby. Look at her. That’s not me, is it?”

Brows drawn down, Mr. Brooks looked at the baby and toddler photos, and back up at Justine.

“Little girl. Dark hair, blue eyes,” he said. “Looks like you.”

“But that’s not me! Can’t you see it? The shape of the face, the eyes, it’s not the same, is it?”

He pushed the photos back at her.

“I don’t know,” he said irritably, shaking his head. “I think all babies look the same, if you ask me. All like Mr. Magoo. Everybody’s face changes shape as they get older.”

“How about the ears?” Justine persisted, pushing the baby picture back toward him. “They say that your ears never change shape. Look at baby Justine’s ear in that picture, and look at mine.”

Justine took off her cap and pushed her hair away from her ear, turning it toward him.

“See, look? It’s not the same shape, is it?”

If she could just make someone believe her.

“I don’t know. I need you to stop this silliness, Miss Bywater, and just go to your class. I don’t know who the baby in that picture is, but I know who you are. You’re Justine Bywater, and you’re late for class. Let’s fix that, shall we?”

“I was kidnapped,” Justine burst out. “As a baby, just after this picture,” she tapped the toddler picture. “I don’t know what happened to baby Justine. But that’s not me! I was kidnapped, and Em’s been lying and saying that I am Justine all along. But I’m not. I have another family. And they’ve been missing me all these years and probably think that I’m dead. Please, can’t you help me?”

Mr. Brooks shook his head. His ever-present friendly smile was gone. He was impatient to get rid of her.

“What exactly do you expect me to do? Call the police? What kind of proof do you have? This isn’t the kind of thing that I do. Why don’t you talk to your therapist about it?”

“Nobody will believe me. I’ve told him before. But he just believes Em’s lies. Everybody just believes her because she’s the adult, and I’m just a stupid kid. But I know. I remember. I don’t belong here!”

“You remember what?” he scoffed. “Being kidnapped? As a baby?”

“I remember
  
…
 
I had a different mother,” Justine lied frantically, “and a sister. And a dog. I didn’t live here, I lived somewhere else. And Em wasn’t my mother, I had a different mother. Please!” she begged.

“You just remembered this all now?” Mr. Brooks questioned, shaking his head. “You’re just trying to get attention. If you really do remember something, it’s probably somebody that babysat you, or a cousin’s house, or something like that. But I think you’re just making the whole thing up. Now take your pictures,” he shoved them at her again, “and go.”

Justine picked the pictures up carefully, as if they were fragile and might crumble to dust at her feet. She couldn’t understand why no one would believe her. She was Katie. Or Monica. Or at least, somebody other than Justine. She hadn’t been born Justine. It was a name she’d had thrust upon her when she was taken. Ripped from her family. Stolen from everything that she knew up until then.

“Don’t do this to me,” she pleaded. “Please help me. Believe me.”

“Sorry. If you want to report a kidnapping, you go to the police. But I don’t think that they’ll believe you any more than I do.”

Justine nodded, knowing that it was true. She had tried it before. They would just laugh at her. Em had all the proper documentation. She’d constructed too good of a blind. No one could see past it. No one but Justine herself.

“Good bye, Miss Bywater.”

She stood up slowly, and walked out.

That night, Justine thoughtfully scraped the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, while Em worked on some papers she had brought home from the office.

“Do you remember when I was a baby?” Justine questioned, careful not to show too much interest.

“When you were a baby?” Em’s face glowed. “Of course I remember when you were a baby.” She smiled at the memory, “You were such a good baby.”

There was one clue that Em was lying. Justine doubted that she had ever been a good anything. She would have been more reassured if Em had rolled her eyes and complained about what a demanding baby Justine was.

“Really?” she questioned. “I wasn’t colicky or anything?”

“No. You were one of those babies who is so sweet
  
…
 
you worry that they’re not meant to be on earth for long.”

“What do you mean?” Justine questioned, pausing in her chores and looking at Em with a frown.

“You were so perfect
  
…
 
I always worried that you would die as a baby. That you were too perfect to stay long, and you would go back to heaven.”

Justine shuddered.

“So I did everything right? I slept through the night, and ate good and all?”

“Well, there were rough times, of course. Like with any baby. I mean, they’re not machines, are they? But you were sleeping through the night within a few weeks. You didn’t have any allergies or anything, and nursed well. Even before you slept through the night, I just had to roll over, and nurse you, and put you back to bed. You didn’t stay up, I didn’t have to walk you or anything. Sure, you were crabby teething
  
…
 
but even then you slept well, so I knew that I would have a break at the end of the day, and that made it more bearable. You were very intelligent, inquisitive.”

“What were my first words?”

“Mom, and please.”

“Please?” Justine repeated.

“Please, when you wanted something. You would point and say please. Or when I was getting your dinner ready, you would clap your hands and chant ‘please, please, please’!”

Justine shook her head at this. The baby Em remembered couldn’t have sounded much more different than Justine felt she must have been as a baby. Slept well, ate well, loved her mommy and was polite? Not her. How could she go from ‘mom’ and ‘please’ to rebelling against Em so totally?

“When did I get sick?” she questioned.

“Oh
  
…” Em’s face darkened at the memory. She rubbed at the deep crease that appeared between her eyebrows. “You were about two, I guess. You were tired, pale
  
…
 
you started throwing up, and I couldn’t stop it
  
…
 
After a couple of days, you were so thin, and your eyes sunken. I was scared to death. I took you to the hospital, and they said it was a good thing that I got you in when I did. You were so dehydrated that you could have died.”

“Wow,” Justine said. “So what did I have? It was just the flu?”

“They went through a lot of different things
  
…
 
They thought it might have been something you had eaten, or a virus, food poisoning…
 
After a while they thought that maybe it was some unknown genetic thing, or a metabolic disorder or something. You were in and out of the hospital a lot, they couldn’t figure it out.”

“And then?” Justine questioned.

Em just looked at her blankly.