Dead Dreams (12 page)

“Eyes.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

Inside the boxes were two sets of contacts, one set blue, the other brown.

“But what’s the point? There’s no way you can take over my jobs. Do you even know how to boil water? Let alone make coffee at Starbucks?”

“That’s the other thing. You’d need to resign. Like, tomorrow.” She tossed the wig back into the glossy bag.

“What? My mother will get to hear about it! She has friends at Stay Fit. Matter of fact, one of them recommended me to the manager there. Mom’s going to flip!”

“That’s just it. By the time your mother flips, you’ll be long gone. And,” she wagged her pointer finger at me. “More importantly, independently wealthy.”

Throughout most of the night Sarah explained the plan meticulously.

After I said my good-byes the next day, and of course no one was going to suspect it was my Sayonara song, Sarah and I would sign the legal documents, accompanied by Jackson, at Fremont Bank. The one just off El Camino Real. All her funds from the trust would be changed to a new recipient: me, Brianna O’Mara. Fremont Bank would take photos of Sarah, as part of the records, when she signed over the transfer to me.

“But….” I protested.

“But, nothing.”

“You sure Jackson would agree to this?” Surely, his income would be affected. At least, he’d insist on Sarah having her head checked.

“All you need to know now is that everyone has a price. You find that price and promise you’ll deliver. Jackson is a person, like any other.”

I wasn’t convinced that everyone could be bought. My parents had an encyclopedia full of faults but I knew some things they’d never sway from, not for a billion bucks. That applied to Pastor Perry too, even though I wasn’t exactly drawn to the man. But, Sarah shut me up by glaring at me.

Once the bank checked the propriety of the transaction, which might take a couple of hours due to legality and the need for verification, we would return there in the afternoon, this time with Sarah disguised as me and I as her. This was where my acting skills would come in.

I would adopt Sarah’s mannerisms—and this was crucial, since officials there had known her a few weeks. Since no one at the bank knew me, having met me only the morning of the signing, it didn’t matter if Sarah behaved like me or not, although I was to act a certain distinct way when I first stepped into the bank—maybe flick my hair or chew on my nails, mannerisms Sarah could replicate easily when she was disguised as Brianna O’Mara.

As the recipient, Brie, who in actuality was Sarah, would be fingerprinted at the bank. Since I’d never gotten officially fingerprinted, Brie O’Mara would forever have Sarah McIntyre’s fingerprints.

“But don’t the Banks already have Sarah McIntyre’s prints on file somewhere? They’d be suspicious if this second set they’re taking, supposedly belonging to Brie, matched exactly to those.”

“Ah…but the first bank that stored my information took a retina scan for security purposes and this second one isn’t as sophisticated and still rely on fingerprinting.”

I never mentioned Jim’s having used our fingerprints when checking for evidence during the break-in, since he’d reassured me he’d kept our identities confidential. I’d thought to make sure Jim had destroyed that evidence, but he’d not even replied my texts—taken his pay and split, as Sarah had suggested.

The day after our successful bank operation, we were to dress as each other, pack our bags and scram. Forever after, we had the option to switch identities back and forth, as necessary, but we’d be essentially living as one person—as Brie. Once Sarah turned twenty-one and the inheritance was deposited into her account in Switzerland, Sarah McIntyre could “disappear,” even permanently, if she wished. As long as the inheritance account was being drawn on legally and showed activity, even the worst intrusions from her uncle could not stop us from accessing it. That was the beauty of having the funds legally belonging to one Brie O’Mara, who now possessed Sarah’s fingerprints.

On a day-to-day basis, whether a visit to the dentist or a trip to the Bahamas, Sarah might appear as Ms. O’Mara, mousey-haired, blue-eyed, a little taller, and ten pounds heavier—unless I lost weight, which was something I was looking forward to.

“But what about in the distant future?” I persisted. I was going to miss my family’s dog, Holly. I wouldn’t even be able to say good-bye to her. I’d used to walk Holly when I lived at home, but Lilly had taken over, now that she’d turned eleven and was only too glad to be the “big” girl, since I’d left home. I’d miss Lilly, too. Would she miss me? But she was busy with school and ballet and her church friends. I hadn’t been able to get her to come over for sleepovers since I moved in here.

“How long do I have to avoid contact with my family?” I asked.

Sarah raised her eyebrows and looked at me as if I were insane even to think this an issue.

“And dental records. How about that?” I persisted. “Would they catch us and accuse us of fraud if the authorities can prove we’ve schemed this switch? Haven’t you watched
Law and Order?
They can trace us with our teeth.”

She flashed a toothy grin, as if she were in a toothpaste commercial. “You should use your imagination to write a book, or something. You’re assuming they can get a hold of our jaws to run dental checks. No one’s going to stop you on a beach in the Bahamas and have the right to inspect your mouth. You watch too much TV.” She shook her head, and flicked her fingers at me as if I were a mosquito.

I charged on. “What if we wanted to live separate lives? Get married? Would we
always
have to live under the same roof? As the same person?” I thought about Drew coping with his condition somewhere in New York, possibly even in Manhattan. Would I really never see him again? Would the cost of wealth mean I’d have to give up my dreams of becoming a famous actress? Would I have to give up my future like I’d have to give up my past?

“Nothing is forever.” Sarah blew at her bangs.

I studied her movements and told myself to remember that habit of hers.

She leaned toward me, her eyes large and round. “Let’s just see how things work the next few months. In any case, it’s a small price to pay to get access to all my wealth, won’t you agree?”

“So, one day, I could return to being me. Simple Brie O’Mara?”

“What would it matter if you were named Brie or Sarah? Like anything in life, all actions have consequences. If you decide to live in wealth, you’d have to give up some of the luxuries of freedom. Besides, I thought you’d be glad to get that acting degree in New York. You can easily get into a Big Apple college with my high school records.”

It wasn’t like my GPA was that bad. “But what if we got caught?”

“We won’t. My sources can give us fake IDs so we can leave the U.S., and even my uncle with his government contacts can’t trace us.”

“So, why don’t
you
just live on a fake ID forever?”

“I don’t want to be a fugitive
forever
. Besides, it would screw up my access to the funds.”

“Have you Googled yourself? How easy it is to find out anything about anyone? Someone’s bound to find out our scheme.”

“That’s why I don’t Facebook. I don’t even use Google. Don’t trust the Russians. They can trace your IP address and find what you’re up to. Your IP address is practically a fingerprint. They collect data on everyone. Knowledge is power. I always use the library to research anything and pay cash whenever possible.”

“I noticed.” I recalled the brown paper bag of twenty-four hundred-dollar bills she’d passed me for her rental deposit. Maybe she’d even paid cash for that Patek Philippe watch; I still could not determine what she’d done with it…maybe stored it deep inside that refrigerated safe she had.

She was on a roll. “Think, Brie. After we tire of Antigua and the five hundred islands in the sun, we could travel the world, maybe even take up acting in Paris together. They’re into all sorts of nuevo stage techniques there. Experimental stuff. Why limit yourself to New York?”

She had a point. Of course, I’d never really toyed with the idea of never seeing my family and close friends again, even if I didn’t have too many of those. If I vanished, someone would miss me. How long would they mourn my disappearance? How would Dad take it, with his weak heart and all? And how would Lilly fare? But she was young and popular. She’d probably forget me in a jiffy.

I might even see my face on those milk cartons that feature missing kids. But, those pictures were so small; who’d even recognize me if they saw my photo and met me in person? I could afford plastic surgery, get rid of that slight hump on the bridge of my nose, pout my lips like Angelina Jolie. Possibilities. So, I nodded.

“What do you think of the plan?” Sarah’s brown eyes widened and sparkled.

Plan. That word again. “Sounds viable.” Yet, I still had many questions.

Sarah gave a small shriek and leapt off my bed, clapping her fingertips with glee like a small child just offered a bag of Jelly Bellies. “I knew you’d make a great friend the moment I met you!” She hugged me tight.

We stashed the newly bought items—and there were a few more outfits in there, too—in my closet and cut the paper bags into tiny pieces before stuffing them into the recycling bin. Recycling would come the next day. Convenient.

The evidence would be history by the time anyone tried to piece the jigsaw together or had any inkling of what we were up to. We had two days to pack. Gather just essentials: minimal clothes—we’d splurge on a new wardrobe suited to whatever clime we would decide on later; favorite mementos we couldn’t live without; my laptop, her laptop—at least for now. But she warned that even the laptops would be ditched before we were airborne. Nothing must be traceable to us or our whereabouts. The rest, like our furniture and Sarah’s bulky safe, we’d donate to Salvation Army. Our contribution to the less fortunate, she’d said. Sarah had called the Salvation Army in Atherton that afternoon and spoken to the manager directly—I would mail the house key to our landlord with a check to complete the rest of the year’s rent.

Sarah rushed to her room and came back with $18,000 in crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. I’d deposit these into my BOA account the next day to cover my check to my landlord. Mr. Yamamoto would be ecstatic, since I’d release his obligations to hold the place, and he’d be free to rent out the apartment and up his investment, since he’d collect double rents. I did worry about what the FBI or the cops would think, since my bank account would balloon so suddenly. Would the authorities think I was responsible for Sarah’s disappearance? What if they put out an APB on
me
? But, I would be out of the country and lying low in another part of the world, Sarah reassured me.

“Shush!” Sarah said. “Such a grandma.” And she stooped and hunched her back, and walked around like Quasimodo.

So, I shoved the implications out of my head.

Sarah had detailed our entire errand list for tomorrow on a yellow writing pad, and we ticked each task off once it was done. She seemed to have thought through everything.

“Nothing must be left to chance,” she said.

“So, how long have you been planning this?” I asked while dumping some of my clothes into black garbage bags for the donations. They were mostly non-Lulu Lemon fitted jackets and skinny jeans.