Dora.
Dora the thief.
Had Dora taken over when Serene suddenly remembered what she’d seen that summer of ‘96 while watching Mara walk back to her car?
Did Dora understand all the strife she’d gone through with the detectives and the courts, what they all went through? How could this other part of herself go buddying around with a woman who let her carry the suspicion for Taylor’s murder?
Lie.
“I’m not feeling well,” Serene said.
“Oh.” Mara held half a bagel in her hand, topping it with a white fish spread. “Do you have a headache?”
“Yes. And my stomach feels off.”
“Oh god. I hope you’re not coming down with the flu.”
“I’m just going to lie down.”
“Yeah… okay.”
Serene left the kitchen before Mara could say anymore and went to her bedroom, closing the door. Go away.
Footsteps coming toward her. Serene scurried to her bed and sat down. A soft knock.
“Dora? Can I get you anything?”
“No. I just need to lie down.”
“Okay. I’ll let myself out then.”
Serene didn’t respond. She could hear Mara’s footsteps receding and then movement above her, muffled voices, Mara talking to Cuppa. Finally, she heard the front door open and close and breathed a sigh of relief. Quietly, Serene let herself into the bathroom next to her room, staring for a moment at the woman in the mirror, the lean, in shape woman with long straight hair, a new puckering around the eyes. She turned away and stripped off her clothes, placing a shower cap on her head before stepping under the soothing warm water. When Serene returned to her room, she dressed and then set about investigating all she could of the life Dora left her with. Somehow, she had to seamlessly step back into her life, but this time she would get help. She would see a therapist. This time she would put a stop to Dora once and for all.
The dress was not hard to find. It had hung in the back of Serene’s closet for years, a reminder of long-ago days, youth, her and Steve, burgeoning womanhood. Dora kept it rolled up tight, shoving it to the back of a drawer full of skirts. Serene recognized the material right away, snatching it out of the drawer. It would fit again, now that she was so slim. Unfurling the dress, the phone tumbled out. Serene picked up the small Nokia.
A secret phone? Was Dora having an affair? Serene turned the phone on, navigating to contacts. There were none. Odd.
A message from an unknown number.
“Blessings, Dora. I look forward to seeing you Wednesday. Thank you for reaching out. Darpan.”
What did Dora know? What Wednesday was he talking about? Hands shaking, Serene found the date of the message. This Wednesday. In two days, she had an appointment to visit Darpan. Serene’s mind swirled with the implications. Was she meant to find this phone all along? Had Dora somehow prompted her to search the room? But no, this is what Serene always did when she returned to herself: investigate, comb through the details of a life left abandoned and find a way to weave them into her own story. This scenario was different, though––much different than any of the other experiences. Like doppelgangers, Dora pretended to be Serene and Serene Dora. Serene gripped the phone, thinking. Maybe Dora was trying to communicate, tell Serene what she knew, tell Serene to be careful. Serene sighed. That didn’t make sense either. Why become Mara’s close friend? Yet, the night when Mara dropped off the hand-me-downs and Serene remembered, it was like a key opening the door into Dora’s world.
Serene didn’t tell Erica she was going. She booked a flight to Sonoma and a car with Dora Jones’ card, printing out the directions on Google Maps from the car rental company to San Quentin, her return flight made for later that evening. It wasn’t until Serene sat in the Nissan Sentra and heard the notification of the text on her iPhone––Erica at the store, wanting to know what she felt like having for dinner––that she noticed the app for Google Maps. A pleasant surprise. GPS in her phone. It had been easy to unlock the phone and to check emails; she and Dora used all of the same passwords and pins.
San Quentin was almost fifty miles south of the airport. Serene drove in silence, lost in her thoughts. She had never thought she’d want to see or talk to Darpan again. We are love. The words floated up to her consciousness, creating an odd sensation in Serene, a metallic taste in her mouth, like she’d been chewing on steel wool. The phrase felt dangerous, wrong. Darpan had said those words to Taylor and Serene remembered that sickening feeling that came over her. Even now those words made Serene think of large groping hands, hot sour breath, muskiness, pain. A child had been crying, an older girl soothing the child. A neighbor? Was the sound of the crying child before or after Mara arrived? At some point after Mara struck Taylor, Serene had walked to Enzo’s, except she had no recollection of that part. It seemed one moment she was crouching behind the hibiscus bush and the next she was standing in Enzo’s kitchen, watching Bets and Kanani cleaning up, Enzo sitting at the table, brooding. Maybe Darpan would know something. In any case, however much Serene disliked Darpan, he hadn’t committed murder. He didn’t deserve to be doing time for a crime he didn’t commit.
Darpan sat waiting at a table in the room with other prisoners visiting their family and friends, all of them in blue. He’d aged. Of course, he’d aged, blue eyes faded to the color of pale beach glass, once long blond hair cut short and now a plain sandy brown, thinning on top and receding at the temples. His biceps bulged, bulky and rock hard, suggesting regular workouts. He still maintained some roundness
