Her and I

    Her and I were talking on the phone, laughing about our silly jokes and giggling from crushes. We were having a good time, her and I. I listened carefully to her, and mentally wrote down each small detail, wanting to keep this moment in my mind forever. 

    This call was not like any other calls. The calls we used to have were boring, bland, plain. 

    This call was lively. 

    Her and I were in the middle of talking about Jonasin, the snobby guy, when suddenly her voice broke off. Her and I became I. There was no her. 

    Frantic, I called her dozens of times, knowing she never left in the middle of a call. She and I stayed on a call, and if we were asked to leave we made sure to say a thorough goodbye. 

    Her and I, where was she? 

    I flew downstairs, calling for my mom. Evil thoughts had already wormed their way into my mind.  

    I remember clearly my mom had asked me calmly: What’s going on, sweetie? 

    I remember explaining to her what had happened, and my mom stood there, her shoulders relaxed, her hand lightly on her hip--everything about her told me she wasn’t a bit worried. 

    She assured me that my friend’s phone probably had died, or maybe she had to go but she forgot to tell you, maybe she lost wi-fi. 

    I was not buying my mom’s assurance. Somehow, in my heart, I just knew something was wrong, after having years of friendship with her, I couldn’t just lose her now. 

    Her and I had so many secrets between us, gossip, drama, you name it. 

    Her and I had so many memories together, us going to the beach and me promptly falling face first into the sand. 

    Her and I were meant to be together, meant to be best friends. 

    But Her and I became I. I waited. Waited for her to reply and laugh it off, or something of sort.

    But my phone stayed quiet. 

    I had to find her, I had to. A tugging sensation. I needed her. 

    My mom scolded me and told me I was stupid, and that my friend would call back soon.

    But soon was a day, a week, a month. 

    And no reply. 

    I complained, I cried, I wanted her. I wanted I to become her and I. 

    And then, I couldn’t stand it any more. I left the house and searched for her. Her. 

    I searched.

    I looked.

    I scouted.

    But no her. 

    Where was her house? She never told me where she lived. Did that mean she didn’t trust me? We had known each other for over years. But then, why didn’t she ever tell me where she lived? 

    Wait, the auburn hair, it looked exactly like her! I ran up and tapped her shoulder.

    No, not her. 

    Where was she? Everyday, I returned home. Until that one day, after years of searching, I had to go to college, far, far away from home. 

    I still searched.

    I never stopped.

    I asked people, I googled her description.

    Nothing.

    Finally, I reported her missing to the police. The policemen I was talking to had short brown hair that was full of gel, and a blue hat sat on top of his head. 

    As I described her, the policemen’s eyes grew wider and wider, until it seemed like his eyeballs would explode. He leaned his elbows on his desk, and looked at me from across the table.

    What he said next sent chills down my spine, and my blood turned cold. 

    That young lady you just described? Yeah, she sounds like one of our most wanted  criminals. Escaped 10 times from prison, she did.  The policemen let out a half-heartedly chuckle. 

    No, no, no! I can’t be her, she ought to be the kindest person ever! I remember shouting at the police, my yearning for her and I to be complete again growing stronger. The policemen looked at me, shrugged, and pointed me towards the exit. 

    Though I still continued my search for her, I couldn’t stop thinking about what the policemen had told me that day.

    Most wanted criminals.

    No, can’t be her. She can’t be a criminal.

    Throughout college, my time grew shorter and shorter for finding her. I had to keep up with my homework, and studied computer science with relish. Most of the time, I roamed the streets looking for her, sometimes I asked people. 

    When I turned 19, I went home to celebrate my birthday. It was over the summer, and colleges were closed during that time period. I flung the door open, expecting to see balloons, confetti, cake, all the classic birthday things, even the kid things. Despite the fact I was an adult, I celebrated my birthdays like a kid. 

    Yes, I am quite embarrassed to admit that.

But, no. 

I could only stare in horror as that auburn hair swung around, that blue piercing eyes looking at me. 

It was her. 

But, no, it couldn’t have been her. She would never do something like this, never. My eyes fell to the floor, and I silently gasped in shock as my family--mom, dad, sister, brother, cat and all lay dead in a pool of death. 

Their faces, stained dark red.

Eyes open, blank.

Mouth hanging open in shock. 

And my cat, killed when sleeping peacefully in the sunlight. 

And then her, there she was. Her. The girl I had searched for all my life when she had mysteriously disappeared. It was joy, but resentment, fear, distaste. All my efforts to look for her had been ultimately wasted.

She had betrayed me.

I thought we were friends! I had screeched, tears springing to my eyes once I registered what had happened. She looked at me, fake pity in her eyes. 

Oh, Erin, dear, dear, Erin. Of course we were friends. Forgive me, I didn’t know this was your family. 

Hatred surged up towards me. I had trusted this very girl with all my life, telling her my deepest, darkest secrets. And when she had disappeared I searched my life for her, spending my free time looking for her instead of resting. And then, full of happiness, I'd come home for my birthday, love for my family. 

But they were dead.

And the murder was her. Her. 

And all those memories, something we’d shared. 

And she couldn’t have killed someone, someone so innocent in our childhood. We were innocent, plain old innocent and tried our best in school. Had those years of disappearance changed her that much? 

I was kidnapped, raised like a savage. I had no choice, Erin dear. I had to. Otherwise you died. 

A small spark of hope lit up in my chest, but it was dimmed. 

No, don’t believe her!

Yes, believe her. She was kidnapped, a sensible reason to disappear suddenly.  

But her parents would’ve stopped the kidnappers.

But the look in her eyes. Hard. Cold. Murderous. 

A criminal. 

This was not her.

This was her.

Yes, it was her.

But not the one I had met.

I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 before she could react. 

No, Erin! Please! She’d lunged forward, but I side-stepped.

You are not Tiffini.

You are a monster.