Fool Me Twice by Lizzie Morton
Twenty-Four
Becket
Beside myself, I pace the floor of Britney’s living room, running my hands through my hair, pulling at the ends in frustration. It’s been hours. Evan said he would get back to me as quickly as he could, but it’s been too long. Each time I call it goes straight to voicemail.
“What’s going on?” asks Jess, looking pale.
“My past has found me,” I answer.
“Does this have something to do with the assault case?”
I spin around, finding her staring at me with narrowed eyes. “What do you know about the case?”
She shrugs. “Britney didn’t tell me much, just that it was one of the things you told her when you met.”
I’m about to snap—it’s none of her business—but my phone bleeps on the coffee table, with an alert for a new message.
Evan: Was waiting for WiFi. On a flight to New York. Don’t do anything without me.
My fingers tap the screen frantically and I send a message back:
What do you know?
Evan: CCTV footage a few blocks away from Britney’s apartment showed a figure in a black, hooded jacket getting out of a car. We think it’s him.
Black spots creep into my vision. There’s no think about it. He has Britney.
Evan: We can’t be certain. For their sake don’t do anything stupid.
I stare at the object in my hand, clenching it so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter to pieces. This can’t be happening. “Useless piece of shit!” I roar, launching it at the wall, watching as it falls apart.
Jess lets out a shriek and demands, “What the hell is going on?”
I ignore her and carry on pacing back and forth. Why would he take Britney? It doesn’t make sense. Surely if he wanted revenge, he would come straight for me.
I freeze.
The white lilies in Britney’s hotel room … He’s made her part of his game. He’s gone back to where it all started.
***
Becket 11 years old
Mom seemed different. Happier than she’d been in a long time, especially when she got flowers, big white ones. She’d walk around smiling, singing to herself.
Then something changed.
I was sitting in my room doing my homework when she knocked on my door asking if we could talk. She said that one day soon, a friend might come to visit, and when they did, Josie and I were to stay in our rooms and keep the lights off. It was weird. Whenever I had friends over, it was always something to be excited about. But Mom, talking about her friend, looked scared.
It was late, I shouldn’t have still been up. I jumped when Mom barged into my room. I went to say sorry for staying up past my bedtime, but she grabbed me, threw back the covers and shoved me onto the bed.
She placed a quick kiss on my head and gave me a sad smile. “My friend is here. No matter what you hear, don’t come out. And remember, leave the lights off.”She pulled the cover over my head and patted me. Her hand lingered before she walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.
Something didn’t feel right.
The door was open slightly, it had never been fixed. It was one of the jobs Dad was meant to do and never got round to. Light spilled in through the crack. Slowly, I crept out of bed, tiptoed over to it, remaining out of sight. I didn’t want to get in trouble with Mom and her friend. I listened carefully, hearing as she opened the door to our apartment.
Her voice faltered when she asked, “What are you doing here?”
“It’s time to play a game.”
There was shuffling, then clattering, as objects hit the floor. I didn’t know what game it was they were playing, but it didn’t sound right. Then the shrieking started and I didn’t know what to do.
Someone had to come and help us, I thought to myself, but I knew that they wouldn’t. That was the problem with living where we did in New York. People kept themselves to themselves. The noises my mom was making were often white noise when I was trying to get to sleep at night.
It was when the shrieking stopped that you knew something was wrong.
Suddenly there was no noise.
I knew I wasn’t supposed to leave my room. I knew I’d get in trouble, but I had to know if she was ok. I opened my door, being careful not to make a noise. When I stepped out into the hallway, my eyes landed on Josie, who was standing, staring into the living area. “No!” I hissed when she charged forward.
I raced after her, but it was too late. I watched in horror when she collided into the back of the figure knelt over Mom. Their hands were wrapped tightly around her neck. The impact Josie made with the figure made them fall forward. I winced at the cracking noise when their head collided with the coffee table and they collapsed over Mom. Neither moved.
“Josie! No! What have you done!” I cried out.
I raced over, shoved her out of the way, and she backed up against the wall, shaking. It took me a minute of hard tugging to get the figure in the black, hooded jacket off Mom. They rolled onto their back beside her.
It was a man and there was a huge lump on his head. I didn’t know if he was still breathing.
My eyes focused back on my mom. Her neck was red where his hands had been. I crawled over her, brought my face close and her own started to glisten from my tears. I let out a sigh of relief when the faint feeling of her breath tickled my skin. She was still with me. She didn’t lose the game.
I looked over my shoulder at Josie, little Josie. Before Dad left, he told me it was my turn to be the man of the house, that I had to keep them safe. I couldn’t let her get in trouble for what happened, I knew what I had to do.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Shh. I’ll be right back,” I said and then darted towards my room.
She started to cry when I came back with Dad’s baseball bat in my hand. She cried even harder when I lifted it in the air and brought it down on the figure’s head, covering up the evidence of what she did.
I walked over to her and pulled her into my arms while she sobbed. “No matter what anyone asks,” I said, “this was my fault. I did this.”
She nodded and wiped her nose against the sleeve of her pajama top.
I walked to the phone. Panic started to set in when I pressed the numbers and lifted the phone to my ear.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I think I killed a man.”
***
Josie was on the swings, singing happily, in her own little world, floating backwards and forwards through the air. Mom was in a corner of the playground with some of the new friends she’d made. I was the only one who was unhappy.
I hated that we were the Beckets. We were the new family in town.
Mom said it had to be that way to make sure we were safe. We packed our bags in the middle of the night and left our old lives behind. I wasn’t even allowed to bring my football awards. “In case anyone finds them,” Mom had said. “It has to be this way, I’m sorry.” No goodbyes. Nothing. It was like we never existed.
I watched Mom throw her head back and laugh. How could she be happy again after what happened? She and Josie had settled into our new life like New York never happened. But I couldn’t forget, ever. When I closed my eyes it was all I would see. I couldn’t tell anyone. I was already the outsider, the new kid halfway through the school year. I needed to fit in. I couldn’t be different.
I looked up to the sky and the rain started. I enjoyed how it felt on my skin in the Florida heat, but it was time to go back to the new house. I couldn’t call it home. When the rain started to get heavier, I let out a huff of air, then stood up from the grass and walked over to Mom to get my jacket.
“Ready to go?” she asked, with a reassuring smile.
I nodded. That’s when I heard it. Shouting.
Mom looked up in the direction of the swing set and shrieked, “Freya! No!”
The world slowed. Everything became hazy. I turned and there he was. The figure in the black, hooded jacket. Crouched down over Josie who was flat on her back below the swings.
Not again I thought to myself. No. I had to stop him.
Before anyone could stop me, I started to run. I had one focus and one focus only: get him off Josie. I almost lost Mom to him. I couldn’t lose her. I charged in his direction. All I could see was red. I put every ounce of energy I had into each stride. I drove my shoulder into the figure side-on.
We both went flying through the air. We landed on the ground with a thud. I heard an ooof. The figure was winded from the impact. I couldn’t risk them getting back up, or I’d have been their next target. I jumped to my feet then kicked and punched. Over and over with every ounce of strength I had. They couldn’t get back up. I wouldn’t let them.
My ears rang. I couldn’t hear or see anything apart from the black, hooded jacket. I only stopped when a pair of arms surrounded me. They pinned my arms to my side before dragging me backwards.
When the arms around me loosened, I collapsed to the ground, crying at how unfair it all was. Even though we moved state and changed our names, the figure still found us.
I knew he would always find us because he never got to finish his game.
***
I stormed through the front door, slamming it behind me. I was so angry I didn’t know what to do.
The door opened again, and Mom walked in slowly. She took a deep breath then said, “A bad thing has happened to us, Ben, but that doesn’t give you a free pass to act this way. Let me help you.”
I clenched my hands at my sides, then dug my nails into my palms. I scraped them back so hard, I could feel the sting when the skin started to break. All I felt was relief when the physical pain took over. It made me forget. Stopped me from remembering the figure in the black, hooded jacket. For a second, it would get rid of the fear of losing Mom, or Josie.
“Why did you take me there?!” I shouted.
“Because I have to. Let them help you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.”
Walking over, Mom crouched down in front of me and tears fell from her cheeks. She grasped my hands, forced her own into mine, stopping me from punishing myself, in the same way I had each day since I saw her on the floor in our old apartment. When I almost lost her.
She opened my hands, looked down, then almost in a whisper said, “Baby, it’s getting worse. You have to stop doing this to yourself.”
“I don’t want to go, Mom.”
“I know you don’t, but you don’t have a choice.”
“Why are they making me do this? I don’t understand.”
“Ben. You attacked someone who was trying to help Josie when she fell off a swing. You thought it was him. People can’t know the real us, they can’t know our story. That person pressed charges and this is the only way we can help stop you from going to a very bad place. You’re lucky the judge understood. This is the third time and at some point, people will stop giving you chances.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to be Michael, I just wanted to be Ben, my real name, and I didn’t want Josie to be Freya either. I tugged my hands away and stormed off in the direction of my room. “I hate this house! I hate this place! And I hate you!” Slamming the bedroom door behind me, I collapsed on the bed, pounded my fists into the mattress, and bit down on my cover to muffle my screams. I wasn’t sure if I was screaming because I was angry or screaming because I was afraid.
The only thing I knew was that if friends did what they did to Mom, I didn’t want any. I didn’t need any. The only person I needed was me.
***
Becket 17 years old
Staring at the end zone, I told myself to just run. My heart was about to burst out of my chest from the expectations of the game. This was it. I could do it. The play was already in motion, all I needed to do was follow it through.
The crowd roared. Everything came down to that moment.
There were five seconds left on the play clock. Players darted by and flashes of color filled my vision, then I saw it. The tan, brown object, spinning through the air. I picked up speed ready to intercept it at the twenty-yard line. I tried to keep the ball in my sight but suddenly the pressure of everything became too much and my eyes flitted to the sidelines. It was the wrong move. What I found in those few milliseconds was what I least expected. The figure in the black, hooded jacket. I blinked and it was gone. But that moment was all it took to make me fumble the ball.
Quickly regaining focus, I charged forward with the ball cradled under my arm. The crowd went wild, not noticing my blunder. But they weren’t the ones who mattered. The three people on the sidelines, clip boards in hands, were the ones who did.
I screwed up but there was still time to win it back. Darting left and right, I spun out of reach of the other players. Then, I strode out. It was the biggest, most important stride of my life. Tumbling forwards from the momentum, I eventually stopped. I threw down the ball and drove a fist up into the air. I’d done it.
Coach Martin came racing over to me, grabbed each side of my helmet and stared me straight in the eye. “That was magic, Becket.”
The whole team surrounded me, cheering. We’d won the season. Everyone’s spirits were high and I wanted to feel the euphoria they did. But then the figure in the black, hooded jacket flashed through my mind. The one that had stood on the sidelines when I fumbled the ball. The same one that was meant to be locked away in solitary confinement in a maximum-security prison. Shaking my head, I tried to get rid of the image.
Eventually the team pressed pause on their celebrations and made their way to the locker room. Rather than following them, I walked to the sideline to meet with the scout from Jacksonville University and Coach Langford. My pulse had begun to settle after the physical exertion of the game, but when I got closer to them it picked back up.
The scout held out his hand and I shook it, waiting. Coach Langford hovered in the background.
“That was some performance you put on out there.” His expression was blank.
There was a ringing in my ears as I waited for his decision.
When his face cracked into a smile, he said, “Big things are waiting for you. Congratulations. I’ll be in touch.”
When the scout was gone, Coach Langford stepped forward. I met him during a career event at a football training summer camp in Florida, which I’d managed to get a free place on. He must have seen potential because he sought me out, promising he’d be in touch. The next thing I knew, he’d organized for the scout to come to our final game of the season.
“Your star shines bright, you know.”
“How’d you figure that one out?” I asked.
“He never cracks a smile.”
Looking down at the ground, I stubbed my toe awkwardly into the grass. “Thank you for your help.”
When I looked back up, he smiled. “By helping you, I’m helping myself. I expect to see you on my team one day, so don’t mess this up. Speaking of not messing things up, you fumbled the ball. I’ve watched all your old game footage. You never fumble. What happened?”
“My past,” I replied quietly.
“You need to bury that shit six feet under, there’s no room for it in the NFL. If you’re going to do this, you need to be all in.” After patting me on the shoulder he then started to walk away. Before he got too far, he threw back over his shoulder, “I’ve already got a number saved for you. I’ve never been wrong about a player, don’t be the first.”
He disappeared into the distance and I let out a sigh. It should have been one of the happiest moments of my life, but instead it was ruined by him, again. I wished it had been simple, that I could have just moved on and left my past behind. But how could I bury something that was still alive?
Following the rest of the team to the locker room, I shuffled over to my locker and opened it. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure the other players were occupied before pulling my phone from out of my bag. Bringing up the number I needed, I quickly typed out a message.
Me: The figure was at my game.
Price: I’ll be at your house within the hour. Make sure you’re not alone.
I quickly showered and changed while the rest of the team were still in the room, then shoved my gear into my gym bag. I went in search of Coach Martin and made up some lame excuse about why I needed a ride home. After my stellar performance on the field, he didn’t even question helping me.
Mom called out to me from the dining room when I stepped in through the front door. I dropped my bag and found her sitting at the table next to a guy in a suit who looked like he had just graduated from high school. Agent Price.
“Where’s Josie?” I asked, a little panicked.
“Freya,” said Evan. “How many times do we need to have this conversation? You can’t call her Josie any more.”
Mom frowned. “She’s in her room. How did the game go?”
My rapid breathing settled and I tried to plaster on a smile. “Great, we won.”
“So, why is Evan here? Again.”
“The figure’s back.”
She was midway to picking up her water, when her hand jolted, knocking over the glass. She jumped up, cursing to herself as she ran to the kitchen, and returned with a cloth to wipe up the mess.
When she was finished she settled in her seat. Evan cleared his throat and said, “Are you sure you saw him?” His reaction was the same as the last time. He didn’t believe me. He thought I was imagining it.
“Of course, I’m fucking sure,” I replied, nostrils flaring.
“Ben,” my mom scolded.
I was fired up, ready to go in, all guns blazing. But the look she gave me told me to back down, or else. I narrowed my eyes at Evan. “I saw him. It was the same as the other times. One second he was there the next he was gone.”
His brow furrowed and he leant back in his chair. “I’ve checked with the prison each time. It’s impossible, unless he can be in two places at once. Ben … another agent checked the CCTV footage. There was nothing there.”
“Then you’ll have to do more digging. He’s appearing the same way he did with Mom.” I turned to her and pleaded with my eyes. “Tell him how it all happened. How it’s happening again.”
Looking down at the table, she tangled her fingers together, and under her breath said, “He already knows. But yes, it does sound the same. At the time, I thought I was losing my mind.”
Evan closed his eyes and pinched his nose. “This case is going to be the death of me.”
Both my mom and I stared at him, mouths open.
Realizing how insensitive his comment was, he quickly opened his eyes and muttered, “Sorry.” I watched him stare out of our dining room window, deep in thought until he cleared his throat. “Can I make a suggestion?”
“Yes?” Mom said hesitantly.
“We move you. Different identities. Different location. Again.”
My stomach dropped. We knew this was on the cards when the figure began reappearing. It was time to say goodbye to my dream of being in the NFL.
My mom’s expression was solemn. It was no doubt a mirror image of my own, especially when she looked at me and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I got the scholarship to Jacksonville University.”
She jumped up from her seat, clapping her hands together, before she pulled me into a hug and said, “Baby, that’s brilliant!”
“It’s not,” I replied sadly.
“Why? It’s wonderful news! This is what you’ve been working so hard for.”
“How can I go if we’re changing our identities?”
Evan held up a hand, and quietly said, “Can I make another suggestion?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Not all witnesses have to be together …”
My mom looked at him with a knowing look, but I wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at.
“You’ve lost me,” I said.
“Just your mom and Josie go. It could work.”
I frowned. “Why are you so eager for this?”
“Whoever it is and whatever is actually going on, they’re focused on you. If we separate you all, you could be a distraction and remove attention from your mom and Josie.”
“He’d be hidden in plain sight,” said my mom, confirming Evan’s thoughts.
I looked between them bewildered. “Are you sure this could work?”
Evan nodded. “Yes, but you’d have to say goodbye to Ben Miller once and for all.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have to make the world believe you’re someone you’re not. You have to stop fighting this. To make people believe you’re Michael Becket, you have to wear a mask.”
“Like an actual mask?” I asked breaking the seriousness of the moment.
Evan chuckled, then replied, “A metaphorical one. Create a new persona, truly become someone you’re not. The media will be there waiting. But they can’t dig if they don’t know where to find the secrets.”
