The Duplex
Jessica Weare had had enough. Enough with Russell's lies, enough with his cheating, enough with all the arguments and enough with hoping her husband would ever change. After one last blow-up, during which he admitted having taken an attractive coworker to Reno for the weekend while Jessica was in New York on business, she packed her bags and left the house, finally giving up on Russell after eight years of marriage.
Two blocks from her house, she pulled her car onto the shoulder of the road, turned off the engine and allowed herself the luxury of a good cry. The tears lasted roughly ten minutes. Then she pulled herself together, just as she always had after altercations with her husband.
"Enough with the waterworks already!" she firmly told herself. "As the British say, 'Keep calm and carry on.'"
When she turned the key in the ignition, however, she realized she did not have the faintest idea where she was heading. She had no one to run to; her friends and family were on the other side of the country in Pennsylvania. Although she wanted nothing more than to surround herself with people she loved, who in the past had always served as her support system, her job was here in San Francisco. She could not just drive to the airport, board a plane and run home to her mother and father.
I have to go somewhere. I can't very well sleep in my car.
Jessica drove down Van Ness Avenue toward Ghirardelli Square. There were plenty of hotels along the waterfront. When she pulled into the parking lot of a Marriott, she saw Alcatraz Island out in the bay. During the two plus years she and Russell lived in San Francisco, she had glimpsed the former federal penitentiary hundreds of times. Yet despite its being one of the major tourist attractions in the city, she had never taken the ferry out to the island and explored what was undoubtedly the most infamous prison in all of America.
That night, as she got her suitcase out of the back seat of her car, "The Rock" seemed to take on new significance. She suddenly felt compassion for the thousands of men who had served their sentences there over the years and sympathy for the few brave souls who had tried in vain to escape. Taking strength from the beam of light emitted by the island's lighthouse, which she saw not as an aid to navigation but as a ray of hope, she smiled and vowed that her attempt at escaping her self-made prison would not fail.
The following morning, after tossing and turning all night on an uncomfortable hotel mattress, she showed up at her office as usual. On the outside, at least, she gave no indication of the turmoil within. Midmorning she phoned a real estate agent who dealt primarily with rental units.
"I do have something in your price range," the agent said. "Of course, it's not actually in the city. It's about ten miles to the west."
"That's okay. I don't mind the drive. I used to commute to the City from Pennsylvania when I worked in New York."
After Jessica left work at three to meet with the realtor, the first rumors were heard around the coffee maker, the modern counterpart to the old office gathering place: the water cooler.
"Something's wrong," Brooke, her secretary, suggested. "She never leaves this early unless it's for business. And there's nothing on her calendar for today."
"It's probably nothing serious," Mitzi, the receptionist, said. "Even vice presidents occasionally have doctor's appointments."
"Yes, but she always tells me about them in advance."
"What did she say when she left?"
"She said, and I quote, 'I'm leaving early today. If anyone calls for me, just take a message. I'll get back to them tomorrow.'"
"I'll bet it has something to do with her husband," one of the young women from the word processing center opined. "From what I've heard, he's quite the ladies' man!"
"Is he ever!" Brooke concurred. "He once tried to hit on me during a company Christmas party."
"I've heard of men cheating with their secretaries," Mitzi laughed, "but never with their wives' secretaries!"
"You've never met Russell Weare."
* * *
"The place might be too big for one person," Jessica said when the realtor neared the house with the FOR RENT sign on the front lawn.
"Actually, it's not. The house is a duplex. Only the unit on the right is available for rent."
Having always lived in single-family homes, Jessica was not sure how she would like sharing a building with someone, a stranger at that.
"I have to be honest," she told the agent before getting out of the car. "I'm not crazy about living in a duplex."
"Many people feel the same way. When you think of it, though, it's not much different from living in a townhouse. You won't have to sacrifice your privacy, I assure you."
"It's not that. I've never had to share a building with neighbors before. What if they play their music too loudly or have a dog that barks all the time? Worse yet, what if they have a house full of kids?
"I happen to know that's not the case here. The tenant in the other unit is a single woman, much like you. She has no children and no pets. She has a good job in the city and, quite frankly, she rarely comes home except to sleep."
"I suppose I might as well take a look at the place while we're here."
Devoid of furniture, rugs and drapes, the interior was a blank canvas. The walls had recently received a fresh coat of white paint, and the hardwood floors had been waxed and buffed.
"You could do a lot with this place," the realtor pointed out.
"I certainly could," Jessica agreed, imagining how she would decorate the space if she were to move in.
After viewing the rooms on both floors, she had to admit the rental unit checked all the boxes: a second bedroom she could use as a home office, a spacious walk-in closet, central air and a large attic where she could store all the keepsakes she had accumulated over the years.
"If only it wasn't a duplex," she said wistfully.
"I'm sure I can find something more to your liking, but you may have to wait for something to come on the market."
"I'm sorry to have made you come all this way for nothing."
"Don't worry about it! I should have told you beforehand that it was a duplex."
"I suppose most house hunters are not as particular as I am."
"You'd be surprised," the realtor laughed. "There was a woman last week who refused to take an absolutely gorgeous apartment simply because it had a window overlooking Alcatraz."
Mention of the infamous penitentiary reminded Jessica of the sense of freedom she had experienced when she saw the lighthouse beacon the previous evening. For her, it marked the start of a new and, hopefully, better life. It was a fanciful idea, but she was not one given to wearing rose-colored glasses. She fully realized there would be major adjustments she would have to make.
Why not start here?
"I've changed my mind," she suddenly announced. "I'll take it."
* * *
The number of rumors around the coffee maker grew exponentially when Jessica phoned her secretary early the next day, informing her that she was going to take a few days of vacation time.
"She hasn't taken a day off since she was transferred here from New York," Brooke told the receptionist.
"Did she give you any explanation?"
"No. I guess it could be anything. Maybe there was a family emergency and she had to fly back home to Pennsylvania, but I'm sure she would have told me if that was the case. All this secrecy bothers me. It must be something bad."
"Perhaps she's looking for another job and doesn't want anyone at the office to know about it."
"No way. She's a company girl."
"Then it must have something to do with her husband," Mitzi theorized. "Do you think she's finally had enough of his womanizing and left him?"
"That does seem the most likely explanation for her behavior."
"If that's the case, then good for her! She doesn't need him. He's a louse."
As the two women walked back to their desks, coffee cups in hand, they both thought, despite his being a cad, Russell Weare was one of the best-looking men they had ever met.
Meanwhile, the object of the coffee maker rumors had many tasks to do and a very limited number of days in which to complete them. Thankfully, Jessica was both organized and efficient. She quickly made a "to do" list and followed it diligently. Number one, buy furniture and linens for her new home. Number two, arrange for Internet, telephone and cable TV service. Number three, return to the house when Russell was at work to pack up her clothes and personal belongings. Number four, arrange for a moving company to transport the boxes to her new residence. Number five, go grocery shopping. Although most of her meals were take-out, she needed to buy the staples—milk, coffee, sugar, bottled water, etc.—cleaning supplies and paper products.
Four days later, once the furniture was delivered, the boxes unpacked and the groceries put away, Jessica checked out of the Marriott and moved into the right half of the duplex. Once she was settled in, she found the courage to complete the sixth item on her list: she called her lawyer and instructed him to begin divorce proceedings against her husband. She had not spoken to Russell since the night she left, nor did she want to. Since he made no attempt to call her, she assumed he felt the same way.
"You're back," Brooke said when Jessica showed up at the office the next morning.
"Obviously," her boss laughed.
The vice president surmised from the curious way Mitzi and Brooke looked at her that she was the main topic of conversation around the coffee maker.
"I'm sure everyone here has been wondering what I've been up to."
"Yes, we have. We've never known you to take time off like that."
"I didn't want to say anything until I was settled, but I've moved out of my house and into my own place. I'll give you the new address and landline number for the company records once I've had my coffee."
"What about ...?"
Jessica anticipated her secretary's question and announced, "We're getting a divorce."
Having informed her coworkers of her change in status, her "to do" list was complete.
* * *
Part of her resolution to build a new life included making friends. For the past two years, the only close relationship she had was with Russell. Now she would not even have him.
Even workaholics like me need to have a life outside the office.
With this goal in mind, she was determined to befriend the young woman on the other side of the wall. Every morning when she left for work and every evening when she came home, she looked at the left half of the duplex. The unit, she was told by the realtor, was a mirror image of her own. The floor plan was the same, only in reverse. Whereas her front door was to the right of her garage, her neighbor's was to the left, and so forth.
Jessica had lived in the home for a month and had yet to see the other woman. Nor had she seen or heard a vehicle next door. Yet the realtor assured her that the unit was occupied.
She might be out of town on business or on vacation.
One thing was certain; there were none of the noises Jessica had been concerned about when she first looked at the place. The building was as quiet as the proverbial tomb. It was only during her second month in the duplex that she began to hear signs of life coming from the adjacent unit. Rather than give her comfort, however, they occurred in such a way that she found them eerily disturbing.
The sounds began on a Sunday, the only day of the week, when the overworked vice president did not go into the city. It was also the day when she saw to her housekeeping chores. After running it over the rug in her living room, she turned off the vacuum cleaner. From the other side of the wall she heard what sounded like an echo of the Bissell's motor. It lasted only a moment, but it was a sound Jessica could not mistake.
What a coincidence that my neighbor is vacuuming the same time I am.
On second thought, it really was not that strange a happenstance. The woman was a workaholic like Jessica. Sunday was probably her only day off as well.
This might be the best time to go next door and introduce myself. Maybe I'll invite her over for a cup of coffee.
After walking across the shared, doublewide driveway toward the entrance to the left half of the building, she knocked on the door and waited. No one answered, so she knocked again, louder this time, assuming the woman inside had not heard her first attempt.
"Hello?" she called through the door that had yet to be opened. "I'm your new neighbor."
Still not receiving a response from within, Jessica headed back across the driveway to her own unit. Along the way, she peeked through the windows of the woman's garage door. There was no vehicle inside. Was it possible the woman did not own one? If she lived in the heart of the city, such a possibility would be more likely; but people who lived in the suburbs almost always depended on their cars to get around. Even those that relied on mass transit to commute to and from work usually drove private vehicles for one reason or another.
Maybe her car is in the shop, she thought as she crossed the threshold into her own half of the building. Or maybe she's not home. It might have been a cleaning lady running the vacuum, one who doesn't answer the door while she's working.
It seemed not only a possible answer but a likely one as well. Jessica made a mental note to ask her neighbor—when she eventually got the chance to meet her—for the cleaning woman's name and number. Then she could look forward to doing something other than housework with her Sunday mornings.
* * *
Conversation around the office coffee maker again centered on Jessica Weare.
"I'm worried about her," Brooke announced. "She looks like she hasn't slept in days, and she's losing weight."
"Going through a divorce is no picnic," Mitzi declared, speaking from experience.
"I hope that's all it is."
"You don't think she's sick, do you?"
"I hope not."
Had either of the women mentioned their concerns to Jessica herself, they would have learned her anxiety stemmed not from her husband or ongoing divorce battles but from the bizarre sounds she heard coming from the left half of the duplex.
In the six months she lived in the building, she had yet to meet her neighbor. Although she never saw her enter or leave the building, Jessica assumed she was frequently at home—either that, or she had a live-in housekeeper. Someone was next door. She could hear the noises that anonymous person made. And when she did, they frightened her.
It was not the sounds themselves she found alarming. There was nothing particularly scary about them. Ordinarily, she could hear a television playing, running water, a washing machine and a vacuum cleaner and not think twice about them. But it was when she heard them that bothered her. They always occurred in conjunction with identical sounds made in Jessica's own home. In every instance, they appeared to be an echo. She tried to tell herself that it was just the result of the acoustics of the building. However, when she spoke aloud, no voice answered.
"This is ridiculous!" she exclaimed after assuring her secretary that she was not suffering from some debilitating disease.
She had gone through life with a live-and-let-live attitude. It was time she extended her philosophy to her unseen neighbor. The fact that two women lived under the same roof did not mean that they would have to become friends. When she was attending college and living in Boston, she made no attempts to get to know her neighbors. Her contact with them had never gone beyond an occasional "Hello. How are you?"
Still, she was determined to make positive changes in her life.
There are more than seven billion people in the world. I'm sure I'll find a few friends among them. And who knows? Once the divorce is finalized, maybe I'll join an online dating service.
With a renewed sense of optimism, she buzzed her secretary over the intercom.
"When you have a few minutes, will you do me a favor?" she asked.
"Sure. What is it?" Brooke answered.
"Would you go online and get me some information about tours of Alcatraz?"
"Alcatraz, the prison?" the secretary repeated, not sure she had heard correctly.
"That's right. I've never been there, and I think it's high time I see what all the tourists find so fascinating about it."
* * *
The sun had already gone down when Jessica left her office at the end of the day. Since she was leery of entering a dark house, she instructed Siri to turn on the living room light, which was plugged into a HomeKit-compatible outlet. As she pulled into her driveway, she was surprised to see not only her own light on but her neighbor's light as well.
She decided to make one last attempt at a face-to-face meeting. When she raised her hand to knock, she noticed the door was slightly ajar. Jessica gave it a gentle push, and it opened a little wider.
"Hello?" she called through the open crack. "Is anyone home?"
For the umpteenth time, there was no answer. She could have stuck to her live-and-let-live philosophy and walked away, but her curiosity got the better of her.
As Virgil once said, "Fortune favors the bold."
She shoved the door open wide and stepped across the threshold.
"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed aloud, her hand frozen in place as though still pushing on the front door. "What the hell?"
Her neighbor's living room was indeed a mirror image of her own, not just in its layout but in every detail. The sofa, chairs and tables were the same. The lamps were just like hers. The drapes and rug had the exact same pattern as the ones in her home. Even the magazine on the coffee table was the same. Everything was identical.
No. Not quite identical, she realized as she gazed in amazement at the cover of the magazine. The letters in its title were written in reverse, as though seen in the reflection of a mirror.
"What's going on?" she yelled, wondering if someone in the house was having a good laugh at her expense. "Is this your doing, Russell? Are you trying to get back at me for leaving you?"
Anger dominating her fear, she marched into the kitchen, looking for the perpetrator of this cruel practical joke.
"You've certainly gone to a great deal of effort and expense for your petty little revenge," she cried when she saw that the kitchen, like the living room, was a mirror image of her own.
The brand names on the appliances and the writing on the food products in the cabinets were all printed backwards. As for the calendar on the wall, not only was the writing reversed, but the famous works of art shown in the accompanying photographs were off, too. In Grant Wood's American Gothic, the woman now appeared to the right of the pitchfork-toting man. Likewise, Vermeer's Girl with a Pearl Earring was facing the opposite direction.
"What do you hope to gain from this childish game?" Jessica shouted, still believing Russell was behind it all.
With an odd sense of being at home and yet not being at home, she climbed the stairs to the second floor. This spare bedroom was also furnished as a home office—her home office. Same desk, same chair, same bookshelves, except every book was printed backward.
It must have taken months to do all this!
A laptop was on the desk—with the Dell logo printed in reverse on the outside casing. She opened it, determined to find some minute detail that Russell had missed. Apparently, however, he thought of everything. The keyboard was reversed: the ENTER key on the left and the TAB on right, and all the other keys backward as well.
The extent of the changes suddenly hit her.
Could Russell really have pulled off something this major? she wondered.
If not, then what other explanation could there be?
Determined to find an answer, Jessica left the office, peeked into the bathroom—again, a mirror image of her own—and headed toward the master bedroom. She felt physically ill when she saw her bed, her dresser, her clothes in the closet. In many cases, being symmetrical in design, things were identical. In other cases, they were mirror images.
Russell can't be responsible for this. He doesn't know what clothes I have in my closet, what books I have on my shelves, what food I have in my refrigerator, what magazine I'm currently reading. No one does.
Suspicion no longer pointing to her estranged husband, her anger faded and fear resurfaced, only much stronger than before. And, as is often the case with intense fear, logic vanished.
The woman who lives in this side of the duplex must be stalking me! And she's probably been doing it for months now. She must have a way of entering my unit and taking an inventory of everything I own. Live-and-let-live be damned! I'm going to go home and call the police! Surely, there is some law against this ... this ... weird identity theft.
She stormed out of the bedroom and down the stairs. In the living room, she encountered the thief. After months of unsuccessful attempts to make contact, here was the woman who lived on the other side of the wall.
Jessica screamed when she saw her own face, her body, her eyes, her mouth, her hair. It was like looking into a mirror!
No, she realized as she ran past her neighbor and out the front door, the facial expression was different. Jessica's face was a mask or terror, whereas her doppelgänger wore a malicious smile.
When she saw the second vehicle parked next to hers in the driveway, she decided she had had enough. It was a Honda, the same year, model and color as her own. There were two major differences, however, the steering wheel was on the right side of the vehicle, and the numbers and letters on the license plates were printed backwards.
Jessica got the behind the wheel of her own car, took the keys from her pocket and sped away into the night, vowing never to return to the duplex.
* * *
Brooke and Mitzi stood beside the coffee maker, empty cups in hand, waiting for the brewing to stop. Both were dressed in black.
"Are you going to the funeral?" Mitzi asked.
"Yes. You?" Brooke replied.
"Yeah, maybe we could go together."
The secretary nodded her head in agreement.
"It's so hard to believe," she cried, blotting the tears in her eyes with a Kleenex. "She seemed so much happier lately."
"You know what they say. People who are deeply depressed like she obviously was often show signs of improvement right before they ...."
"I don't want to think about that. I'd prefer to remember Jessica like she was, not floating in San Francisco Bay."
"Has human resources told you who you'll be working for now?" Mitzi asked in an attempt to change the subject.
"Whoever takes Jessica's place, I assume."
The answer brought on a new onslaught of tears.
"Let me have your cup. I'll fix your coffee for you," her coworker offered.
"Thanks, Mitzi," the secretary said, bringing out the Kleenex again. "You know what's funny? Just the other day she asked me to find her information about tours to Alcatraz."
"What's so funny about that? Most of the people that visit the city wind up taking the ferry out to the old prison."
"The people who were standing next to her on the Golden Gate Bridge when she .... They say she mumbled something about Alcatraz's lighthouse before she jumped."
* * *
When the real estate agent pulled into the shared driveway, the woman sitting in the passenger seat beside her remarked, "I didn't realize when we spoke on the phone that the house was a duplex. Which apartment is for rent?"
"The one on the right."
"And what about the people on the left? What are they like?"
"Not they—she," the realtor answered, giving the same assurances as she had many times in the past. "The tenant in the other unit is a single woman, much like yourself. She has no children and no pets. She has a good job in the city and, quite frankly, she rarely comes home except to sleep."
Salem was born with a built-in doppelgänger, but I cast a monochrome spell to make his fur all one color. (Talk about a split personality!)
