I walked up to the front door, trying to look casual in spite of my nerves. I pressed the doorbell and waited for a few seconds, then knocked when there was no answer.
“Roman?” There was an older man walking up the stoop next door, holding a bag of groceries. This shit was getting creepy. He obviously had me confused with Roman, but at least now I knew for sure I was at the right house. “What’re you doing?” he asked.
I turned my head to look at him, and my hood slid back a little.
He squinted. “What the hell is going on with your hair? Is that purple?”
I thought about taking off, but the guy seemed harmless enough. The house seemed empty, so I wouldn’t get any information from anyone who lived there, but maybe if I played along like I was Roman, the old dude might tell me something useful.
“Yeah, uh, I decided to try something different,” I said.
“Mm-hmm, that’s different all right.” He laughed as he held up a bunch of keys and jingled them in the air. “One thing hasn’t changed, though. You been locking yourself out since you were in third grade.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I couldn’t believe my luck. This guy was coming up the steps with his key to unlock the door. At that moment, I made the decision that I was going inside.
“There you go,” he said.
“Thanks.”
He picked up his bags. “When you go back to the hospital, let your mama know I’m praying for her. She’s a good woman. And your aunt too.”
“I will. Thanks again.” I stepped inside and closed the door behind me before he could try to talk my ear off.
It was dark and quiet inside, but I still felt the need to yell out, “Hello?”
There was no answer. The old guy had said Roman’s mother was in the hospital, so I guessed that was why the house was empty. I clicked the light switch on the wall near the doorway, revealing a tidy little living room. Someone clearly loved this place, even if the stuff in it was outdated. The hardwood floors were worn out but clean, and the floral sofa and TV console had to be at least twenty years old.
There were some framed photos on the TV console, so I walked over to get a better look. I picked up one picture of a lady and a little boy, and then nearly dropped it when I saw the resemblance. I didn’t recognize the smiling woman, but the little boy, who looked to be about three years old, could have been me. It was really eerie, like seeing myself in some alternate universe. My hand was shaking a little as I put the picture back and picked up another one. It was a photo of the boy sitting in front of a Spider-Man birthday cake with a candle in the shape of a 9. I looked at one photo after another, each highlighting lifetime events that, if had I not known better, could have been my life—minus the prom. This shit was getting creepier by the second.
At the bottom of the shelf was a large photo album. I would look through it later, but I wanted to explore the rest of the house first. There were two bedrooms that were obviously occupied by women, based on the perfume bottles and jewelry in there. I skipped over those rooms and kept searching. At the end of the hallway, there was another bedroom, the one that I’d been hoping for: Roman’s room. There was an unmade bed, a single dresser, and a closet. I guess Vaughn’s buddy was wrong. Roman did live here.
I started with the closet first. He had the typical collection of Nike shoe boxes and Timberland boots. Hoodies, oversized jackets, and jerseys hung in the closet. This dude may have looked like me, but he damn sure didn’t have my taste in fashion. Not one single dress shirt in sight. Typical thug. And what was with the cheap-ass Axe body spray? I would never. How the fuck anyone had confused me with this fashion-challenged loser was beyond me.
I closed the closet door and was about to start rummaging through the dresser drawers when my phone vibrated.
“Hello?” I whispered.
“You must be somewhere you’re not supposed to be if your ass is whispering.” It was Sebastian. Thanks to Paris and Sasha, who felt sorry for me, we were talking again. They’d convinced him to check out the video from his club, and when he saw the wack outfit and hideous shoes the guy was wearing, he realized it wasn’t me. He knew I’d never be caught dead wearing something like that.
“So, what are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m inside this fake-ass motherfucker’s house.” I walked out of the bedroom and sat down on the floral sofa as I talked with Sebastian.
“In his house?” Sebastian hissed. “The doppelganger? How?”
“I broke in, that’s how,” I snapped back.
“What? Why?”
“Inquiring minds want to know,” I replied, picking up the photo album I’d found earlier.
“And what’d you find out?”
“You’re not gonna believe this shit. It’s gonna sound crazy.”
“Crazier than your ass breaking and entering? I don’t think so.”
“Oh yeah, crazier than that.” I took a deep breath and admitted out loud the thought that had been stirring in my head ever since I entered the house and saw those pictures. “I think this guy’s my brother.” There. I’d said it. I still couldn’t believe it, but I’d said it.
“Rio, you’re trippin’.”
“If you saw the pictures of him that I saw, you’d understand that it’s possible. Haven’t you ever seen Sister, Sister with Tia and Tamera? It’s possible, Sebastian.”
“You’re reading way too much into this over a couple of pictures.”
“Maybe, but I look more like this guy than I do Paris—hell, anybody else in my family, honestly. And you know that’s always been a running joke in the Duncan household:
