Changeling

Glenna shrugged indifferently and returned to her perch behind the front counter.

 

“Thanks for the sympathy,” Skye said to her retreating back. What did Mickey see in that girl? It wasn’t fair when even a loser like Glenna had someone and she didn’t.

 

Finally, closing time. Skye huddled in a heavy coat, then put a loose rain jacket on top of that. The pounding rain showed no signs of letting up. She opened an umbrella and hurried to her car. Once inside, she cranked up the heater and shrugged off the wet raincoat. The windows were foggy so she punched on the defrost button and started the windshield wipers. When the condensation began to lift Skye fastened her seat belt and squinted through the wipers.

 

He stood not three feet from the hood of her car. She let out a strangled scream. How had he materialized out of nowhere? After one terrified moment, she realized this was no stranger. It was Kyle. Her heartbeat calmed slightly, but still pulsed at a rapid clip.

 

He looked like Kyle and yet . . . it wasn’t Kyle. Not like she had ever seen him anyway. He never looked anyone dead in the eye like now.

 

Skye debated her next move. She couldn’t drive off without running him over. She pressed the auto lock on the side of the door. If she laid down on her horn, someone would surely hear her. Even in the pouring rain, some students were about, probably bar hopping. The adrenaline rush eased a bit. Besides, she knew him, he was harmless.

 

If that was Kyle.

 

Their eyes locked, the pelting rain a silvery, blurring shield between them. Skye shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold. He held up two palms like a peace offering and slowly inched his way to her car door. Skye’s foot itched on the accelerator. Go or stay? His face was inches from her, and he twirled his hand indicating to open the window. Skye slid it open an inch. She couldn’t drive off in the night as if she didn’t know him, didn’t see him dripping wet right in front of her.

 

“Kyle, is that you? What are you doing here?” she asked. Rain came in, wetting the inside of the car door. Her words formed little clouds of fog.

 

“I need to talk to you. It’s important. You aren’t afraid of me, are you?” He smiled, a charming ‘it’s just little ole me’ kind of smile. He waved an arm in the direction of McDonalds, catty-cornered to The Green Fairy. The golden arches glowed through the rain. “If you don’t want me in the car, I’ll walk over to McDonalds and meet you there. Thought we could get a burger or something to drink?”

 

She’d never heard Kyle speak more than a sentence at a time, and when he did speak, it was either gibberish or something to do with herbs or fairies. Claribel had probably filled his head with her nonsense. So what was going on here?

 

“Okay, get in.” She unlocked the car and called Michael on the cell phone – in case Kyle started any funny business. He sat down and Skye held up the phone. “I’m talking to my brother,” she informed him. Actually, Michael hadn’t answered her call but she carried on a make-believe conversation while she drove to McDonalds. A girl couldn’t be too careful these days. She continued the pretend conversation until they got inside the restaurant.

 

She made her way to the front counter. “What do you want to drink?”

 

“I’ve got it.” He cut her off and stepped up to the counter. “Coffee?”

 

Skye nodded and watched, amazed, as he ordered the drinks and paid. When had he learned to function so well? Was the whole autism thing some kind of charade? She followed him silently to a table in the far back; they were the only ones in the joint. She gratefully accepted the coffee, put in some sugar and cream, and wrapped her cold hands on the steaming cup.

 

This day was too weird.

 

Kyle sipped the coffee, then set it down and stared at her. “You must realize by now. I’m not Kyle.” He held out his right hand, palm down, exposing an unusual tattoo just above his wrist. “Bet he doesn’t have a mark on him like this.”

 

Skye stared down at it, instantly recognizing a Celtic knot design that formed a wreath around a tall black feather. She returned his gaze. Now that she was so close and really paying attention, she noticed physical differences she’d missed when he – whoever he was – came in the shop before. Because this was definitely not Kyle. Not only was this person’s hair a bit longer and straighter, his jaw and bone structure were more chiseled. And those chocolate brown eyes were flecked with specks of topaz, their intense expression a stark contrast to Kyle’s blank, far-off look. Kyle seldom looked at anyone directly, a trait common with persons with autism, according to the group home staff who had found him the job.

 

“I’ve heard everyone has a twin, but this is ridiculous. Why didn’t you tell us you weren’t Kyle when you came in the shop?”

 

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