Chapter 7 - The Interrogation

Jane’s attacker slumped in the corner, neck twisted at a grotesque angle. She worried how comfortable she was becoming with permanent solutions, but on the other hand, maybe if people stopped jumping out at her with freaking stun batons, she’d be able to explore alternatives.

Cooper dragged the other body to the chair and dropped it into a seated position.

“Grab some duct tape?”

She pulled a roll from one of the go bags and tossed it to him. He started taping his unconscious assailant to the chair. The person sagged, head hanging on their shoulder. They were dressed the same as the people from last night, black, nondescript sweats and a black ski mask. Jane approached once Cooper was finished.

“You want to do the honors?” she asked.

“Not really,” he said. “But I’ll do it anyway. You ready?”

“Yup.”

Jane braced herself for the reveal. How bad could this be? It couldn’t possibly be as bad as last time, when she had to process the reality of her own dead body staring back at her. More than anything, she was worried about who these new people would be. Friends? Loved ones? More and more, it felt like this entire operation was one big “fuck you” aimed at Jane and Cooper, so she readied herself for the worst.

Cooper gripped the mask by the bottom and glanced at her. She nodded for him to proceed.

He pulled it off.

Neither of them said anything for several moments, and to Jane, it seemed like the room shrank. Everything faded into the background as she considered the unconscious face of her attacker.

Her face.

Again.

“How?” Cooper said, clearly frustrated. “How is this possible?”

“Cooper?” she asked, her voice sounding distant and broken in her own head. “Check the label of the shirt.”

“Okay. What am I looking for?”

“A hunch. What brand is it?”

Cooper pulled back the collar and checked. “Huh. Says it’s Vetra.”

“Vetra. Are you aware of any brand called Vetra?”

“No, but that doesn’t really mean anything. I’m sure there’s a few thousand clothing brands I don’t know.”

“Google it,” she said. She couldn’t take her eyes off her duplicate. Like before, this was a version of her, but… not. The hair was colored, for one, frosted tips that weren’t at all flattering, but at least now she knew, definitively, that frosted tips looked awful on her. This one also carried more weight, about fifteen pounds or so. She also sported a fairly sizeable lump on her eyebrow where Cooper had walloped her. Which probably meant she, herself, killed her own husband.

“Oh god,” Jane said as the realization kicked in and she rushed to the body by the door. With a sharp motion, she ripped off the mask and yup, there he was. Cooper.

“So, as it happens,” she whispered. “Killing your own husband is not actually that therapeutic.”

Cooper was at her side in an instant, directing her to sit on the bed.

“Who thought that would be therapeutic?”

She allowed herself to be guided, thoughts askew. “I saw it on Instagram. It had funny music.”

“Sure. Hey, why don’t you let me handle the interrogation? Maybe to take a breather.”

“How are you reacting to this so calmly?” she snapped. “This is fucking lunacy!” She shouted the last bit, even though she hadn’t meant to. It was so unfair of her to take this out on Cooper, but he was there, and she was angry.

“I’m handling it because you’re not, and that’s totally fine because sometime in the future, I won’t handle it, and you’ll have to. Teamwork, baby. That’s the deal.”

“That’s the deal,” she agreed, exhausted. “I’m sorry I barked at you.”

“All good. I’m going to wake her up. You want some space or to go for a walk?”

“No. I want to see this.”

Cooper grabbed a glass of water from the bathroom and with pursed lips dumped it on the duplicate Jane’s head. They waited while she groaned and stirred back to life.

Fakejane, as Jane had come to think of her, blinked slowly, understanding dawning within her of where she was and how she was restrained. Her eyes widened in panic.

“Oh fuck,” she said.

“Do I actually sound like that?” Jane asked. “This is like hearing yourself on tape, but somehow one thousand times worse. I have a lisp? Have I always sounded like Martha Stewart with a head cold?”

Cooper frowned. “I’m not quite picking up on any of that.”

“I’m sorry,” Fakejane said, immediately frantic. “I didn’t mean it. Please let me go.”

“You didn’t mean it?” Cooper said. “You didn’t mean to try to kill us? Just kind of accidentally found yourself in our motel room? Who are you?”

“I’m Jane,” said Fakejane. She was pulling at her restraints, trying to free herself, all the while staring everywhere with wide, terrified eyes. Jane felt her panic was a little over the top, given they’d just started talking to her. Usually, her and Cooper needed to work someone up to this level of agitation, and she suspected something more was going on here.

“I can’t say anymore,” Fakejane sobbed. “Please let me go.”

It was surreal, the experience of interrogating yourself, and Jane found she didn’t have the stomach for it. To her surprise, she found she didn’t really have the stomach for any of this anymore. The retirement was supposed to be the start of their new life, damn it. Not this gradual slide back into the madness and chaos that was their lives before. More than anything, she just wanted to be left alone.

“That’s not an option,” Cooper said softly. He was clearly having trouble getting too aggressive with this person who looked so much like her that Jane couldn’t even believe this was happening. “We need some answers. Look. Just tell us who sent you and we’ll let you go. We don’t want you, we want the people behind you.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “They’ll kill me.”

Cooper sighed and gave Jane a look. She knew what he was about to do and although she found it distasteful to the extreme and her stomach roiled in protest, she also understood they really didn’t have any choice. With a fractional nod of her head, she indicated that Cooper should go ahead.

He made his way into the bathroom and came out with a jar of hand soap. Next, he rummaged through their bags to emerge with a line of garrotte wire. Lastly, he picked out a single straight razor from his bathroom kit. Each item was placed carefully on the bed in front of Fakejane, so she could clearly see each individual thing.

“You have one minute to decide,” Cooper said as he finished his collection. “If you don’t tell us what we want to know, I will use these items to get the information.”

Fakejane’s eyes, already wide and wet with each subsequent reveal, now grew to horrified proportions. She and Cooper had used this trick before, and it always worked. The items they chose didn’t matter, and in truth, the more random the items were, the better. Jane honestly had no idea how to torture someone with hand soap, a razor blade and a garotte wire. But Fakejane didn’t know that, and in the minute they gave her to consider it, whatever she came up with in her imagination would be one thousand times worse than anything they could do for real.

So she watched, silent, while Fakejane studied the objects on the bed in front of her like they’d grown teeth.

“Please.” She licked her lips. A single tear dripped down her cheek. It was brutal to watch herself deteriorate and she wasn’t sure if she could keep going.

“Tell us,” Cooper growled, relentless.

Her head dipped to her chest and she took a shuddering breath. “We’re here because—”

Something cut her off in mid-sentence. A choking noise emerged from her throat and her eyes bulged from their sockets, wide and wild. She struggled against her restraints as, terrifyingly, wisps of smoke emerged from her nose and ears. Jane yelped in startled confusion, casting around for something to help her, but she wasn’t sure what was even happening.

She gave one final pleading look and then vomited a geyser of blood onto her shirt, head lolling forward.

Cooper knelt beside her, taking her wrist.

“Dead,” he confirmed. “What the entire hell,”

The air smelled like burning wire, and faint trails of smoke drifted from Fakejane’s mouth.

“Embedded remote detonator.” Jane said, stunned. Instinct had taken over. Keep moving. Keep talking. “I’ve never seen it, but I’ve heard about it. A small electronic device affixed to the heart, brings on immediate cardiac arrest.”

Meanwhile, Cooper had gone ice-pale and was frantically shushing her with zipping gestures across his mouth. He gestured to encompass the entire room, put his fists together in front of his chest and moved them slightly down and then pointed to his ears.

Sign language. He was signing at her. They both knew rudimentary phrases, one of the thousands of incidental skills they’d picked up through years of navigating this life.

Gesturing to the room – they.

Fists held in front, then moved down together – can.

Gesture at ears – hear.

They can hear.

A twisting horror coiled its way through Jane’s stomach. He was right. Of course he was. They must be somehow listening to them. How else would they know to eliminate Fakejane when she was starting to speak?

The strength left Jane’s legs, and she fell onto the bed, heavy in despair. They’d been at this for two days and all they’d learned was nothing. She’d never felt so bloody ineffectual before and was exhausted from being played with. At this point, she was fully convinced that whatever we were experiencing, it had nothing to do with Russians, or government agencies, or anything of the sort. No, this entire experience was too bizarre. Too unreal.

Richards said they were being attacked by themselves, and they hadn’t believed him. Why would they? It was insane. But sitting there on the bed, looking at a second copy of herself, remotely murdered with technology she’d thought was pure science fiction, she realized how naïve they’d been. They’d been looking for easy, uncomplicated answers.

The truth, she suspected, was much worse.

Jane’s ability to sign was embarrassing and while she could pick up simple phrases, there wasn’t any way for Cooper and her to have a real conversation with only gestures. She pulled out her phone and sent him a text. He saw what she was doing and nodded grimly. Taking out his own phone, they sat across from each other and frantically began to plan.

Jane typed first.

-We need to get out of here

-Where? I think they’re tracking us somehow

-Minden

-why

-The cabin

-why

She looked up from her phone and gave him a wicked smile.

Why? Because she’d had enough. Enough of being driven. Enough of this surreal nightmare. It was time for she and Cooper to take back control. She pounded the keys on her phone.

-Our turn to set a trap

Realization grew in his eyes. He nodded slowly and his distressed expression was fast replaced by his own sly grin.

Fingers flying, we threw messages to each other for the next half hour.

They’d had enough of running.

Now it was their turn.

***

Onto Chapter 8