Ants on a Wire

One day, the mother of a 16-year-old girl was at the mall, shopping for clothes for her daughter's prom. She was having trouble finding the right clothes, when she suddenly saw a girl who looked exactly like her daughter. Noticing the girl, she looked away from the clothes and towards the girl, and then…

the girl locked eyes with the mother. She looked right at her, arched an eyebrow, and headed out of the department store towards the main part of the mall. The mother, Irene, made up her mind and followed the girl who resembled her daughter, Mia. She tailed her down half the mall, weaving between mall walkers and gaggles of teenage kids. The girl turned down into the underdeveloped wing of the mall. The anchor store at the end of the wing had gone out of business and taken most of the smaller shops with it. Irene was beginning to wonder if this was Mia. This girl wore dark gray leggings under a tan jumper with heavy black boots. Mia preferred to wear jeans and flipflops in this weather. She hated to wear complicated get-ups, which was one reason Irene had gone shopping alone tonight.

The girl glanced around before darting into a side hallway. Irene followed her. If the girl wondered why, Irene could always pretend she needed to go to the bathroom at the end of the hall. But when she turned the corner she found the girl waiting for her, arms crossed.

“Dr. Selcor,” the girl said, “we need to talk.”

This girl was undoubtedly Mia, and yet not. She stood the same, had the same straight black hair, same tilt to her eyes. She even had the same birthmark on the back of her left hand. But she had the voice of a stranger. Oh, it was Mia's voice, but distant and cold.

“Who are you?” Irene asked.

The girl's mouth thinned. “You can call me Mara. Please, I don't have much time, and neither do you. Both you and your daughter are in danger.”

Irene wondered if the girl joked, but she saw the hard cast to Mara's eyes and kept her mouth closed. Mara meant what she said, and Irene worried that the girl had wandered, confused, from home. She needed help. Still, though, Irene didn't call the cops.

Mara watched her with a blank expression. “You don't believe me,” she said. She didn't sound exactly disappointed. Peeved hit closer the mark.

Irene needed to calm the girl down and hope her confusion would pass. But instead of reassuring Mara and biding time, she asked, “Why do you look just like my daughter?” She hadn't meant to ask it. She didn't want to engage the girl more than necessary.

But Mara didn't seem to care. She had cocked her head as though listening to something. She stepped back. “Dr. Selcor, please listen. You and your daughter need to get out of town for a week. Take your husband, if you have one. Lock yourself in your hotel room. Don't let anyone in, including me unless you're certain that I come alone.”

That made Irene angry. “Why?” she demanded.

Mara looked over her shoulder at something down the hall. “Because,” she said, “I know someone who wants you and your daughter dead. Wants it more than anything in this world.” The girl rubbed her elbows. She suddenly looked much older than Irene herself and, simultaneously, like a young and terrified child lost in the night. She lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “I think I want to agree with her. Guard my soul, but I do.”

Without another word the girl sprinted down the empty hallway. She darted left into the bathroom alcove. Irene set her jaw and followed, but when she pushed open the bathroom door she found the room empty, with no windows or points of egress. The air smelled tight. It reminded her of pressurized air on an airplane. She rubbed her nose and thought.