Autophobia
Officer Shawn McMurtry whistled as he watched the huge bus roll past The Quill and Dagger bookstore.
"Would you look at that!" he exclaimed to Rebecca Coffin, the proprietor, who was sipping a café mocha at the shop's coffee bar.
"Since when do tour buses drive through Puritan Falls?" Rebecca asked. "It isn't autumn, so they're not here to see the fall foliage."
"That's a private bus, the kind entertainers use."
The curious policeman walked out the door and stared as the vehicle rode down Essex Street. Hervé Bernard, the driver, parked near the Common and stepped out of the vehicle. When he saw the police uniform, he walked in Shawn's direction.
"Excuse me, officer. Is there a mechanic nearby who can take a look at my bus?" he asked.
"I'm afraid Puritan Falls doesn't have one with a garage large enough to work on a vehicle that size, but there's a truck stop in Copperwell that has a mechanic on duty. It's about five miles north of here. Just go back to the interstate and take the next exit."
"Great, I'll do that. And can you recommend a good place to eat? My passengers haven't had a meal since we left Baltimore."
Shawn rattled off the names of his favorite eateries including the Green Man Pub and the Sons of Liberty Tavern. Then he noticed the name painted on the side of the bus.
"Who is Poseidon?" he inquired.
"You've never heard of them?" Hervé asked with a look of surprise on his face. "They just won a Grammy for the best new artist."
"I think my kids may have mentioned them, but I'm afraid I'm not up on all the latest music."
"They're a rock band from Quebec," the bus driver explained. "They just finished touring the U.S., and I'm taking them back to Canada."
A man Shawn estimated to be roughly thirty-five years old then stepped off the bus.
"Is there a problem?" he inquired with a pronounced French accent.
"No. I'm just getting directions, Marcel."
"Be sure to ask if there's a place to eat nearby," the man instructed and then got back onboard.
"Who's that?" the policeman asked. "The band's frontman?"
"No. He's Marcel Faucher, the manager."
"Well, I'd better let you get on your way. I don't want to hold you up."
"Thanks for your help."
Shawn returned to The Quill and Dagger where Rebecca had a cup of hot coffee waiting for him.
"Did you ever hear of a band called Poseidon?"
"Yeah. Dylan's kid brother listens to them. Why?"
"Because that's who's in that bus that drove by."
Rebecca phoned her husband with the news, and he called his brother. Soon word of Poseidon's presence spread throughout the village.
* * *
"Puritan Falls," Marcel said to himself as he and the members of the band entered the Green Man Pub. "Where have I heard that name before?"
"Perhaps the town has got a history like Concord and Lexington," Jean-Luc Garnier, the lead singer suggested.
"Maybe Paul Revere rode through here," Gaston Gautier, the drummer added.
"No. I think I heard it in connection with something more recent."
Not long after Shannon Devlin took their food order, her husband, Liam, brought pitchers of beer to the table.
Spike and Rock, the band's roadies, then entered the pub after having finished their cigarettes in the parking lot. Born Napoleon Chapelle and Siegfried Ecclestone, respectively, they understandably preferred using their nicknames rather than those they were christened with.
Marcel was halfway through his fish and chips when his cell phone rang. It was Hervé Bernard who had driven the bus to Copperwell after dropping his passengers off at the pub.
"I've got bad news," the driver announced. "The mechanic can fix the bus but not today. He has to order a part from Detroit. Even if they FedEx it overnight, it'll take a day or two to install it."
"Are there any hotels nearby?" the manager asked Shannon after speaking with the bus driver.
"We don't have any major hotel chains here, but there's the Sailor's Rest Inn. It only has ten rooms, though."
"I'm sure none of us will mind doubling up. Let's see. We'll need one room for Jean-Luc and Ginger. Then Gaston and François can share and so can Jacques and Dorian. Spike and Rock will naturally want to bunk together, and I don't mind staying with Hervé should he come back here. That makes five rooms. Do you think the inn can accommodate us?"
"I don't think there'll be a problem this time of year. I'll phone Lorna and ask," Shannon offered.
When she returned several minutes later with the dessert menu, she informed them that the inn had five vacancies.
"Good," Marcel said. "Hervé is renting a van in—what's the name of that town? Copperpot?"
"Copperwell."
"Right. Copperwell. When he gets here, he can take us all to the Sailor's Rest."
"Meanwhile," Dorian St. Vincent, the band's keyboard artist announced, "I'm going to have a slice of boozy Irish whisky cake while we wait."
* * *
The following morning, many of the village's teenagers could be found in the vicinity of the Sailor's Rest. Scott Osborne, after hearing the news from his Uncle Dylan, texted word of Poseidon's arrival to his friends, who reached out to other fans, in turn. Brittany and Adam McMurtry were there as were Lionel Penn's niece and nephew, Holly and Matthew Brower.
"My father met their manager yesterday," Shawn's son proudly declared. "And their bus driver."
"Did he get to see Jean-Luc Garnier?" Holly asked.
"No. He was on the bus, though. They all were."
After keeping vigil on the inn's front lawn for more than two hours, the youngsters were rewarded when François Deauville stepped out of the inn to go on a morning jog. The bass player graciously posed for photos before starting his run.
"I can't believe I got a selfie with one of the members of Poseidon!" Scott exclaimed.
Forty minutes later, when François, breathing heavily from his exertions, returned to the Sailor's Rest, he promised to send his bandmates out to greet them. Gaston Gautier, Dorian St. Vincent and Jacques Cotillard, the lead guitar player, all made a brief appearance. Only the frontman failed to show.
"Jean-Luc hasn't come downstairs yet," Gaston told them. "He was up most of the night playing cards with the roadies. Honestly, I don't know when that man sleeps! He ...."
A loud disturbance from inside the inn broke his train of thought.
"What was that?" Jacques asked.
The sound of breaking glass was followed by a woman's scream.
"That sounded like Ginger," Dorian said.
The musicians ran into the inn to see what was wrong.
"My dad said rock bands often have wild parties and trash hotel rooms," Adam declared. "I guess he was right."
"But most of the band was out here with us," his sister pointed out. "Only Jean-Luc was inside."
Although the singer had a reputation for being a sweet, well-mannered, law-abiding young man, what was said about people in the press and on social media was not always accurate.
The commotion had been going on for more than ten minutes when Dr. Sarah Ryerson's Subaru pulled into the parking lot. She carried her medical bag with her as she entered the inn.
"You think someone got hurt?" Scott asked.
"Probably," Holly replied. "Why else would they call for a doctor?"
Not long after Sarah entered the Sailor's Rest, the uproar settled down and eventually stopped. The teenagers remained at their post, waiting for the emergency room physician to come out so they could question her as to what had happened.
"Look," Holly cried when she saw an MG coming down Old Bridge Road, heading toward the inn. "It's my Uncle Lionel. Sarah must have called him."
"What's everyone doing out here?" the psychiatrist asked after getting out of his car.
"We're waiting to see Jean-Luc Garnier," his niece replied.
Matthew, his nephew, added, "We heard yelling from inside the inn, and then Sarah showed up."
"Yes. She called me. I'd better go see what she wants."
"Something really weird must be going on," Brittany assumed. "First a medical doctor and now a psychiatrist."
"Maybe there's a crazy fan inside," her brother suggested. "Let's hope he or she isn't dangerous."
"Don't be silly! If the situation was that serious, someone would call the police. And if the police were called, Dad would surely be here. You know he never misses anything that goes on in Puritan Falls."
* * *
Sarah Ryerson looked relieved to see her fiancé walk through the door.
"Thanks for coming," she said.
Marcel Faucher stepped forward and introduced himself as Poseidon's manager.
"I'm Lionel Penn," the psychiatrist responded.
"Lionel Penn," Marcel said, recognizing the name. "That's where I heard of Puritan Falls. I read an article about you in a magazine. You're the one who specializes in curing people's phobias."
"I see patients with all kinds of emotional and mental issues, but a large number of them do suffer from phobias."
"Good. Because I'm sure that's what's bothering Jean-Luc."
"I take it Jean-Luc is the man who had the episode?"
"Yes. He's our frontman."
"That's why Lorna contacted me personally rather than call for an ambulance," Sarah explained. "Everyone would like to keep this matter from getting into the press."
"The tabloids will have a field day if word gets out!" Marcel exclaimed.
"I can appreciate that," Lionel replied, "but I don't know if I can be of much help. There's no quick fix in psychiatry. I can't prescribe pills or give him a shot of penicillin."
"No one's expecting you to work miracles here," the manager said. "Just talk to him. See if something is bothering him."
"Where is he?"
"Upstairs in his room."
"I gave him a sedative to calm him down," Sarah explained, "but he's awake and lucid."
Lionel nodded and turned to the manager.
"You believe this young man is suffering from a phobia?"
"Yes, I do."
"What is it you think he's afraid of?"
"Being alone," Marcel replied. "I don't know the name of it ...."
"Autophobia. Let me go talk to him. If he exhibits any of the symptoms, I can always recommend a good psychiatrist in Canada."
"His room is the one at the top of the stairs," Lorna Brierly, the woman at the front desk, said.
Lionel knocked on the door and politely waited to be invited inside. Ginger and the two roadies were seated beside Jean-Luc's bed.
"I appreciate your coming here," the singer said after the introductions were made, "but I don't need a psychiatrist."
"I'm not here to recruit new patients. I just want to make sure you're okay. I understand you caused quite a commotion earlier."
"I just got upset. That's all. I'm not crazy."
"No one said you were, but your manager tells me you're afraid of being alone. That's why I was asked to speak to you. I'm quite familiar with the causes and treatment of phobias."
"And you think that's what I've got, a phobia?"
"Possibly. As I said, I'm not here to sign you up as a patient. I'm not even sure you need to be under a psychiatrist's care. But if your fear of being alone affects your ability to lead a normal life, you might want to consult someone when you get back home. I know a few psychiatrists in Canada."
"Thanks, but no thanks," Jean-Luc said. "I'll be fine."
Lionel was not about to argue with him. He knew from experience that many people were averse to psychiatry and the stigma it often cast, and he was not about to waste his day off by trying to change the young man's mind.
* * *
Dr. Penn walked down the stairs to the lobby where he learned that Sarah had returned to the hospital.
"Well?" Marcel inquired.
"He doesn't believe he needs a psychiatrist."
"What do you think?"
"I can't form an opinion based on such a brief conversation."
Although disappointed at the outcome, the manager was grateful for the doctor's attempt to help. Remembering that he was in America where there was no publicly funded healthcare, he offered to pay Lionel for his time.
"Don't be silly. I didn't do anything."
"At least let me get you a cup of coffee," the manager offered. "Better yet, why don't I take you out to breakfast?"
"That would be nice," the psychiatrist said. "I never pass up a free meal."
"Can you recommend a good place?" Marcel asked.
"Victoria's English Tea Shoppe."
"A tea shop? I thought you Americans were coffee drinkers with a Starbucks on every block."
"I don't mind tea now and then, but I go there because Victoria is one of the best bakers on the planet."
The former Victorian home on Atlantic Avenue was painted pink with white gingerbread trim and had an excellent view of the lighthouse and the ocean. The pink and white color scheme was carried from the exterior into the interior of the shop. The floral wallpaper, which looked like a Laura Ashley design, was pink and white with accents of pale green. The curtains, chairs, tabletops, counter and floor were all either pink or white or a combination of the two.
"Hello, Lionel," Victoria Broadbent called when the two men sat at a table in front of one of the windows.
"Good morning. This is Marcel Faucher. He's visiting us from Canada."
The elderly woman, who wore a white apron over a pink dress, had her white hair pulled back in a bun. She was somewhat plump and reminded the manager of a jolly Mrs. Santa Claus. However, it was her eyes that caught and held his attention. They were the most dazzling shade of cornflower blue. If she had not been wearing glasses, he would have assumed she wore tinted contact lenses.
"You're in luck, gentlemen," the proprietor announced in a British accent. "I'm serving a full English breakfast today."
Although Marcel was not very hungry, he wanted to have a long talk with Dr. Penn. What better way to facilitate such a conversation than by keeping him seated at the table?
"Tell me about this autophobia," the manager began as he poured out two cups from the pot of Earl Gray Victoria had placed on their table.
"Since Mr. Garnier is not now and never has been my patient, I don't see any harm in talking about it. But keep in mind that he has not been diagnosed with the condition."
"I'm aware of that, but I'd like to know what to look out for."
As the two men ate their breakfast and went through two full pots of tea, Lionel described the symptoms and possible causes of autophobia. When the empty dishes were taken away and a selection of pastries was brought to the table, it was the psychiatrist's turn to ask questions.
"What set off the outburst this morning?"
"Ginger Hindesmith—she's his girlfriend—went downstairs to get a cup of coffee. He woke up, realized he was alone in the room and went ballistic."
"But he wasn't completely alone. The inn was full."
"Yes, but Jean-Luc insists on being surrounded by people day and night. That's why whenever we're on tour, he sleeps on the bus every night with members of his entourage to keep him company."
"He must want privacy sometimes. Surely, he doesn't have people go to the bathroom with him."
"No, but someone has to remain outside the door and carry on a conversation with him."
"And he's been this way as long as you've known him?"
"No," Marcel replied. "When I first met him, he was a completely different person. He was an introvert. In fact, becoming a performer was his father's idea. Jean-Luc would have preferred staying in his room and playing video games. Jean-Marie Garnier wanted to be a musician himself, but he didn't have a fraction of the talent his son has."
"Sounds like a case of the parent living vicariously through the child," Lionel observed. "The relationship with his father might be a contributing factor to whatever is bothering him."
After pouring himself another cup of Earl Grey, the manager continued.
"The change was sudden, not gradual. Just about six months ago, we were shooting a music video in New Orleans. It was Mardi Gras time, so you can imagine the crowds of people that were there. As I said, Jean-Luc was an introvert then. When the cameras weren't rolling, he would walk off by himself to avoid people. Well, one day he got lost. He was gone for hours! We searched the entire city for him. Just as we were about to call the police, he showed up."
"What state was he in when you found him?"
"Other than being dazed, he was fine. Not a scratch on him."
"What do you mean by dazed?"
"Like he wasn't sure who he was. He didn't seem to recognize us at first, but then he eventually came out of it."
"How soon after that did he show signs of autophobia?"
"Almost immediately. At first, I thought his wanting to be surrounded by people was a natural reaction to his getting lost, but, surely, he would have gotten over that ordeal by now!"
"Not necessarily. He might have had a traumatic experience during the time he went missing. Something may have happened to him that he wants to forget, or maybe he saw something that disturbed him. If he were my patient, I would try to get him to talk about that experience."
Neither of the men noticed that while they were deep in discussion Victoria Broadbent was hovering nearby, straightening her collection of antique teacups and saucers, and listening to their every word.
* * *
That afternoon, the teenagers of Puritan Falls were treated to an impromptu performance by Jean-Luc Garnier on the Common. With only his guitar as accompaniment, the singer performed many of his hit songs for them. He also signed autographs and posed for photos. It was not until the Mister Softee truck arrived that the music stopped.
"I'm thirsty," the singer announced. "Anyone else want something to drink? Or maybe you'd like an ice pop or snow cone."
To the delight of the ice cream vendor, the young man from Canada took American dollars out of his wallet and bought refreshments for everyone.
"He's nothing like the rock stars Dad always talks about," Adam McMurtry whispered to his sister.
"I know," Brittany agreed. "He's awesome!"
Into the crowd of adoring teenagers stepped a young woman with blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes. Although Jean-Luc had a girlfriend, their relationship was not serious. No rings or vows had been exchanged. It was only natural then that the singer would take notice of such a beautiful girl.
"Would you like an ice cream?" he asked her.
"Sure. I'll take a vanilla cone with cherry dip."
"Who's she?" Brittany asked her brother.
"I never saw her before," Adam replied.
"Maybe that's his girlfriend," Scott suggested.
"His girlfriend is a redhead," Holly declared. "She was at the Sailor's Rest this morning."
Seeing the teenagers' interest in his companion, Jean-Luc suggested they go somewhere else where they could talk privately.
"Why don't we walk down to the lighthouse?" the blonde suggested.
As they crossed the Common to Gloucester Street and walked toward Atlantic Avenue, the youngsters followed behind.
"Don't walk too close," Holly warned. "Jean-Luc might get mad at us."
The teenagers made it as far as the corner of Gloucester and Atlantic when Shawn McMurtry spotted them and pulled his patrol car to the curb.
"Hi, Dad," his children called and headed in his direction.
"Did you see him?" Brittany asked excitedly.
"See who?"
"Jean-Luc Garnier. That's him walking down the street with that girl in the white jeans and pink blouse."
The police officer and his young companions watched as the singer and the fair-haired stranger walked across the beach and headed toward the lighthouse. They all witnessed both of them enter the tower, but only one, the girl, came back out.
* * *
"Have you seen Jean-Luc?" Ginger asked Spike and Rock, who were texting friends on their phones.
"No. Why?" Spike asked.
"I haven't seen him since this morning," the redhead replied.
"I think he took a walk into town with Gaston and François."
"They came back two hours ago, but Jean-Luc wasn't with them."
When the singer failed to return to the inn by midnight, his girlfriend was distraught.
"This isn't like him at all!" she cried.
Marcel Faucher agreed.
"I hope this isn't a repeat of what happened in New Orleans," he declared.
The following morning there was still no sign of Jean-Luc Garnier.
"I'm phoning the police," the manager announced.
"What if the reporters find out?" Gaston asked.
"The hell with the press! We've got to find him."
Shawn McMurtry arrived at the Sailor's Rest ten minutes later. After questioning the members of the band, the roadies, the manager and the girlfriend, he realized he, his children and their friends were probably the last ones to see the singer.
"He and a young woman with long blond hair were at the lighthouse earlier in the day," the police officer stated. "Do any of you know who she is?"
No one, least of all Ginger, knew about any blonde.
"I'll go question a few people in town and get back to you," Shawn said and left the inn.
He got into his patrol car and headed east. On his way to the lighthouse, he passed Victoria's English Tea Shoppe. The white-haired proprietor was standing on the wraparound porch, looking out to sea. Shawn tooted his horn and waved, but he got no response from Victoria, who seemed to be deep in concentration.
Once he was near Puritan Falls Lighthouse, he got out of his patrol car and walked across the sand to the light tower. Since there was nothing of value in the structure, no lock was kept on the door. Yet when Shawn tried to open it, it would not budge. He pounded on the metal door with his fist.
"Hello! Is anybody in there?"
There was no reply.
For ten minutes, Shawn pulled at the door handle with all his strength. Then, suddenly, the door flew open. The police officer, who was in the process of tugging at it, fell backward onto the ground. He rose, dusted the sand from his pants and entered the tower.
"Hello?" he called again and then started ascending the circular staircase.
When he reached the top, he found the gallery empty.
"Wherever Jean-Luc Garnier is, he's certainly not in this lighthouse."
* * *
Unaware of the crisis Poseidon and its manager faced, Hervé Bernard, who had spent the previous two nights at the Copperwell Holiday Inn, drove the repaired tour bus to the Sailor's Rest, expecting to be back on the road to Canada shortly.
"Let's get ready to roll," he announced when he saw many of his passengers seated in the lobby.
"We can't go now," Marcel Faucher said.
"Why not?"
"Jean-Luc's not here."
"Where is he?"
"That's what we'd all like to know," François Deauville answered.
Since Shawn had been unable to locate the singer himself, he called for assistance from the Puritan Falls Police Force. Patrolmen, detectives and support staff quickly formed a search party and scoured the village. When the band's frontman was not found by the end of the day, Chief Dan Bergen suggested they bring in the Massachusetts State Police.
"Since the missing man is a Canadian citizen, we might want to contact the Consulate General of Canada in Boston," Detective Stan Yablonski advised.
"This is getting to be a nightmare!" Marcel exclaimed.
"Have you received any ransom demands?" Shawn asked.
"No. Do you think someone kidnapped him?"
"It's possible. He is a celebrity."
"I knew we should have hired security people for this tour," Gaston Gautier said.
"I didn't think it was necessary," the manager replied defensively. "The venues each have their own security personnel. I didn't think we needed to hire any additional bodyguards."
"If this is a kidnapping," Officer Greg Pierson told them, "we'd need to call in the FBI."
"Oh, Christ!" Marcel exclaimed.
The manager was so upset that, at first, he failed to notice the ringing of his cell phone.
"Aren't you going to answer that?" Detective Yablonski asked. "It might be the kidnappers trying to get in touch with you."
Marcel took his iPhone out of his pocket and looked at the screen. He was unfamiliar with the name on the caller ID.
"Hello?"
"Hello. Is this Mr. Marcel Faucher?"
"Yes. Who's this?"
"I'm Dr. Mariana Pettingill. I work at a long-term care facility in Orleans Parish, Louisiana."
"What? Who?" the manager asked, confused by the stranger's call.
"Dr. Mariana Pettingill. I've got a patient here who asked me to call you."
"Whatever for? I'm a Canadian. I don't know anyone in Louisiana."
"This young man was found in the Bayou shortly after Mardi Gras," the doctor explained. "He was in a catatonic state. Since there was no ID on him, he was admitted to the hospital as a John Doe. After showing no signs of improvement, he was transferred to this facility where, for the past six months, he's been kept alive with feeding tubes. Then two days ago, he miraculously woke up! At first, he suffered from a form of temporary amnesia, but today he finally recovered his memory. He claims his name is Jean-Luc Garnier and that you're his manager."
* * *
When Brittany McMurtry heard her father's car pull into the driveway, she ran to the front door to greet him.
"Is it true?" she asked. "Have the members of Poseidon checked out of the Sailor's Rest and left Puritan Falls?"
"Yes. Now that Jean-Luc has been found and their bus has been repaired, there's no reason for them to remain here."
Shawn, who volunteered no additional information, hoped his daughter would ask no further questions. As a lifelong resident of Puritan Falls, he had encountered many bizarre and inexplicable situations, of which this one was just the latest.
"I don't suppose Jean-Luc's disappearance can be blamed on our village," Brittany said as though she had read her father's mind.
"What do you mean?"
"He didn't go missing here."
The only information that had been released to the public was that the singer had been found alive and well. Only a handful of people, of which Shawn was one, knew he was found in Louisiana. The policeman realized his daughter knew much more about the strange occurrence than he had realized.
"Who told you that?"
"I overheard Abigail talking to Rebecca when Scott and I stopped at The Quill and Dagger for smoothies."
Abigail Cantwell, the owner of the Bell, Book and Candle New Age shop, was the village expert on all matters concerning the supernatural and paranormal.
"What did they say?"
"Abigail said that Jean-Luc went missing in New Orleans during Mardi Gras and that a doppelgànger had assumed his identity.
"A doppelgànger?" her father echoed. "Really? I find that hard to believe. He not only looked like Jean-Luc Garnier, but he also sang like him."
"Abigail told Rebecca it was no run-of-the-mill doppelgànger. This was an honest-to-goodness shapeshifter. She said it must have found Jean-Luc wandering the streets of New Orleans and lured him to the Bayou. Once the creature had him there, it assumed his physical appearance. It basically became Jean-Luc. But it wasn't real. It was just an illusion. For the shapeshifter to remain Jean-Luc Garnier, people had to see him and believe the illusion."
"That must be why it never wanted to be alone," Shawn theorized.
"I guess so."
"If it was left alone, the illusion would fade, and the shapeshifter would revert back to whoever or whatever it was when it encountered Jean-Luc in New Orleans."
"That makes sense," Brittany agreed.
"So that mysterious blond woman—whoever she may be—must have suspected what he was and deliberately shut him inside the lighthouse by himself with the hope of destroying the illusion and getting rid of the shapeshifter, doppelgànger or whatever it was called."
"Her plan worked."
"Yes, it did," Shawn agreed. "No sooner did the fake Jean-Luc Garnier vanish than the real one came out of his catatonic state."
The smile on Brittany's face suddenly faded, replaced by a look of extreme disappointment.
"I just realized something," she cried. "None of us actually met Jean-Luc since he was never here in Puritan Falls. That sucks!"
* * *
The following morning, the real Jean-Luc Garnier boarded a plane at New Orleans' Louis Armstrong Airport. Knowing his bandmates were eager to get home to their families and friends after the long tour, he told them not to wait for him.
"I'll catch a plane and fly home," he told them.
"By yourself?" Marcel Faucher asked.
"You sound surprised. I'm a big boy. I'm capable of finding my own way home."
The manager smiled, relieved that the real Jean-Luc did not suffer from autophobia.
What the singer did not tell his manager was that he wanted to spend some time alone. Therefore, rather than fly directly to Canada, he bought a ticket to Boston instead. After arriving at Logan Airport, he rented a car. From there, he planned on driving up the scenic New England coast.
Six months of my life have been taken from me, he thought. I need some time to adjust to that.
Roughly thirty minutes into his road trip, he neared a quaint seaside village. The sign read WELCOME TO PURITAN FALLS. As he drove along Atlantic Avenue, he saw a lighthouse in the distance. He did not realize its significance since he was not yet aware that someone or something had stolen his identity; Dr. Pettingill told him only that he had been in a coma.
He slowed his car when he spied a pink and white Victorian house.
"Victoria's English Tea Shoppe," he read the sign out front.
Suddenly, he felt hungry. He pulled off the road and parked his rental car in front of the shop.
"Welcome. Can I start you out with some tea?" asked a smiling elderly woman who reminded the singer of Mrs. Santa Claus.
"Yes, thank you," he answered, opening the menu she gave him.
"Any particular flavor you prefer?" Victoria Broadbent asked.
Jean-Luc looked up at her face and was dazzled by the cornflower-blue eyes. For just an instant, he thought he recognized them. But the déjà vu-like feeling quickly passed.
"Darjeeling, if you have it."
"Coming right up."
Moments after the pink-and-white-clad proprietor stepped into the kitchen, the front door opened. A group of teenagers, including Dylan Osborne's nephew, Shawn McMurtry's two children and Lionel Penn's niece and nephew, entered the tea shop. Brittany's eyes widened with surprise when she saw the shy Canadian singer sitting alone at one of the tables.
"You're Jean-Luc Garnier!" she exclaimed, respectfully keeping her distance.
"Yes. I am."
"Would you mind if I took your picture?"
Although still very much an introvert, the singer knew he had to accommodate his fans. Besides, these kids seemed well-mannered and polite.
"Not at all."
As the youngsters took selfies with their idol, a young woman with long blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes smiled and peered at them through the narrow opening of the kitchen door.
Salem once had a doppelgänger. I can't tell you how miserable my life was then!
