Identity

* * *

She clicked the hairdryer off and cocked her head to the side. She listened for another second and heard her cell phone ringing from the bedroom. She walked her feet into her slippers and placed the dryer next to the sink. Stepping into the dim bedroom and crossing the carpet, she grabbed her phone off of the night stand.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hey," he said. "How's it going, sweetie?"

Rebecca sat on the side of her bed and sank into the mattress. She held the phone away from her head and swept wet hair behind her ear.

"Tired," she said. "Long day."

"That's okay. You're used to it by now. You should go to bed if you're tired."

"I just showered. I'm going to go to bed in a minute." She looked over at the digital clock. "Why are you still up?"

Dad grunted breaths with the phone pressed to his ear, and it sounded like he was moving furniture. He always called when he was in the middle of some random chore or errand. On the other end, loud tones and clapping on the TV sounded like Wheel of Fortune.

"I just installed the new cable," he said. "Hold on, I have to put you on speaker."

Rebecca leaned forward and propped her arm on her knee. "Daddy, it's late. Don't call and then tell me to hold on."

"There," he said. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes." She let out a breath. "I can hear you."

"Yeah, I just installed the new cable." He spoke slowly, as if his daughter had all the time in world to hear about his new toy. "I'm trying to figure out how to record TV shows."

"It's late, Dad. I really need to go to bed."

"Tomorrow's Saturday."

"I'm covering someone else's shift tomorrow, so I have to wake up at 7:30."

More moving, loud commercials, and channel changing.

"So you're working tomorrow," he said. "For how long?"

Rebecca rolled her eyes. Dad could take a ten-second conversation and stretch it to an hour. "Yeah, twelve hours. Unless I'm on call, it's always twelve hours."

"Call those jerks and tell them you can't come in, that it's the weekend and you need your beauty sleep."

"Dad, a lot of people work weekends," she said. She got up from her bed and walked to the bathroom. The lights were heavy on her eyes. She looked down at the sink, down at the floor. Bits of tissue and grime scattered the tiles and she needed to do some serious cleaning tomorrow.

"They can't overwork you." His voice was garbled by the TV. "Especially in your line of work, you work too many hours and it's like operating heavy machinery. If you're tired, you shouldn't be dealing with people's lives."

"Well, I'm covering someone else's patients. If I don't go in, they'll probably die."

There was a pause as Dad strained to his feet.

"Fair enough," he said. He fumbled for the phone and it sounded like he was walking. A few seconds passed and he let out a huff as he plopped down somewhere. "Just make sure you get plenty of rest."

Rebecca gripped the phone.

I will, if you let me.

"It's fine," she said. "I'm getting six hours tonight. That's plenty."

She heard Dad take a long sip of water. Water and ice in a tall glass—she could practically see him sitting on the couch in the family room with his feet on the coffee table. If she weren't sleeping, Mom would be yelling about how she just cleaned. Dad would tell her to calm down, and they'd argue for hours like a couple of kids who didn't want to share their toys.

Rebecca opened the faucet and dipped her fingers. She smoothed her eyebrows and turned her face side to side. Her skin was pale from not having been to the beach in about two years; the only time she ever saw the sun was during the morning commute. Even on weekends, outdoor activities were trumped by the overwhelming desire to sit and do nothing.

She wet her eyes with her finger and shut the faucet.

"Save any lives today?" he asked. His voice was closer and no longer on speaker.

She smiled and sat on the sink's counter top. The marble was cool on her legs. "Just a few," she said.

"All in a day's work," he said.

She nodded to the empty bathroom. "All in a day's work."

"We miss you, Rebecca. It's not the same without you."

"Miss you guys, too. Come visit. Take care of me. Please."

"Oh, your mom would just love that," he said. "I can't tell you how much she wishes you were still a little kid."

Rebecca laughed a tired laugh and kicked off her slippers. Rounding her back, she let her legs hang a few inches above the floor.

She saw herself back home or in some hotel room, and Mom was on a business call discussing corporate budget for some client party or company banquet. Rebecca would sit on the bathroom sink top and do her homework, and Mom would sit next to her and make faces. Mother would talk business, and daughter would try not to disturb the business call by giggling too loud. Instead, Rebecca scribbled and memorized reaction mechanisms and let her legs hang over the edge of the counter top. Her feet hadn't touched the floor back then, either.

"Always working so hard," Dad said. "Ever since you were little."

Little kid.

"That's me," she said. "Lower the TV, Dad."

"You grew up so fast." The noise fell quiet. "We're so proud of you."

Rebecca stared at her toenails. The desire to be pampered at a day spa was suddenly much stronger than sleep.

"Got my good genes from you guys," she said. She hopped off the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. She smiled as Dad did his ah-ha laugh, like he'd been waiting all along for her to say the answer to some riddle.

"Be thankful for what we gave you, kiddo."

"Seriously, I need to get some sleep," she said. "I'll call tomorrow after work. I finish around eight. I need to buy groceries so I'll talk to you then." She shuffled out of the bathroom and crossed her bedroom.

"Okay. Do you need anything from us? Everything's okay at the apartment?"

Rebecca smiled and nodded. "Daddy, I'm fine. Really."

"If you need anything, just let us know," he said. He slurped another sip of water and let out a breath.

"Ditto." She slid her feet along the carpet and exited the bedroom. She walked past the living room to the front door. The light in the hall was still on. "Need any doctorly advice, you know who to call."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he said.

"Goodnight, Dad." She let her hand rest on the lock.

"Night, Beck. Good luck tomorrow. Big kiss."

"Kisses to you and Mom. Go to bed."

"I am. Love you."

Rebecca shook her head. Dad had a gift.

"Love you, too." She held the phone in front of her face. "Bye."

She ended the call. The metal of the lock was smooth and cool on her hand. Arlington was safe, her building was safe—

Make sure it's safe.

Rebecca turned the lock and dead bolted the door. She rested her palm and pressed her ear to the surface. Her breathing was quiet and she shut her eyes.

We made it.

She was alone in the small room again. Above her, floors creaked old wood and dusted the ceilings. Rain and thunder shook the mansion and something awful was always screaming. She sat down on the bed, or a chair, or the floor, checking her watch every minute. Something rapped at the door and dragged its fingers along the wood. Rusted metal groaned, the door knob turned—

I can stay.

Rebecca opened her eyes. She backed away from the front door and dragged her knuckle along the surface. If anyone wanted to get in, they'd need strength, a skeleton key, and absolutely nothing else going on in their lives on a Friday night. They'd need to be a desperate, criminal version of her.

She switched the main light off and ran her fingers through her hair. Behind her, the living room was quiet and dark; she was able to make out the shape of her coffee table, TV stand, and couch—her soft, comfy couch she rarely used. Once she sat in that thing, it was all over. A long day like today and background noise was all she needed, and the couch would put her to sleep.

Rebecca dragged her feet down the hall to her room, tossed her phone on the bed, stumbled back into the bathroom. She switched on the hairdryer and stood before the mirror. Fluffing her hair with her fingers, she thought about tomorrow's routine: commute, work, home, and everything in between. She tilted her head to the side and sneaked a peek at her watch. She swayed on tired legs as the hairdryer blasted heat in her ears. She had to wake up in six hours, and it was already tomorrow.

* * *