The Highest Form

Clara looked back out to the street. A few houses nearby still had lights on. She could see the silhouette of a man drinking out a mug in his kitchen, pacing around. It seemed like he had enough going on not to notice her. Besides, the porch light was off. No one could see her from that far.

She looked to another window. A cat sat on the window sill, its eyes reflecting the moonlight. It could be staring right at her, Clara thought. She waved.

"Hi," she whispered to the darkness anxiously.

"Sabel, is that you?" a woman called out from the sidewalk.

Clara nearly screamed. From the few details she could make out, the woman was old. A tiny dog was scurrying behind her, also old.

"Sabel, didn't mean to startle you hun. Have a good night," the woman continued on her way into the darkness.

Clara gulped slowly, worried the woman would hear that she wasn't Sabel in the slightest noise. She took a few steps down from the front door and looked to see if the woman had really left. Clara was getting frustrated acting as if she was doing anything wrong. It we was Sabel that stole yet another hairband. She knew it was on purpose this time too.

Sabel had a weird fascination with her. One day, Clara would show up to Zumba in blue spanks and yellow tank top. The very next class, Sabel would show up in the exact same outfit. It wasn't just that though. Sabel would laugh really loud at anything Clara said at the gym, even when Clara was sure she was out of earshot. There was one time where Clara ordered the matcha raspberry protein shake with almond milk from the café counter. Sabel went up right after her and order five more of the exact same protein shake.

The hair tie was a step too far this time. Nobody saw, but when Clara went up to her locker, the lock was broken, and the door was ajar. One of her hair ties was missing, one of her favorite actually. The color is called aubergine, it reminded Clara of acai bowls. She saw someone slip out of the locker room from the other door that day, and she would testify in court that the person was wearing the exact same outfit she was wearing the during the previous Thursday Zumba class.

Clara was staring at the one of the side windows into Sabel's house now. It was pitch black, not even a nightlight. Clara snickered as she pictured Sabel stubbing her toes in the night as she wrapped her elbow in her jacket, and smashed the glass. She paused a few breathes after the shards finished their ruckus, no noise outside, no noise inside.

She reached in delicately and undid the latch. Clara peered inside as she lifted the window, and hopped in, avoiding the glass on the kitchen floor. The air was still, the kitchen odorless. Clara wondered if Sabel even lived here. Curious, she opened the refrigerator door.

The fridge light pierced the darkness and nearly blinded Clara, yet she couldn't look away. Packed together as tightly as possible where dozens, maybe one hundred, protein shakes. All of her favorite orders: chocolate cinnamon with pistachio foam, matcha raspberry, double vanilla espresso cookie. Sabel was psychotic, she was sure of it now.

She closed the fridge and let her eyes adjust for a minute. In the silence, Clara swore she heard a muffled voice from below her. She was not alone. Surely, they had heard her break the window. Clara told herself Sabel would probably be happy to see her. She found a door along the hallway wall and opened it. It was to the basement.

Clara walked down the stair less carefully than she had entered the house, ready to confront Sabel, but when she reached the bottom step she was face to face with herself. Not really, but a wall of pictures of her stood in her path.

There were pictures that were clearly from her Facebook, from trips she had been on, selfies with friends. Then there were pictures she didn't recognize, at Zumba, when she was changing in the locker room, pictures of the inside of her apartment. All of these pictures were stapled to a long shower curtain that cut off the rest of the basement, illuminated with candles at her feet.

She heard a muffled voice again, from the other side of the curtain. It sounded like a woman, whispering.

"Sabel, I know you're there. I want my hair tie back," she said. No reply.

Clara got on her hands and knees and pushed her way under the curtain, heavy with creepy photos of her. Her eyes adjusted again to the sterile, florescent light that filled the room. She was again face to face with herself, but actually this time.

"Hello," said a Clara lookalike. She was wearing an eyepatch real Clara noticed chunks of her hair were missing.

"What the fuck?" asked Clara.

The eyepatched Clara snickered.

"It really is you," a Clara on crutches hobbled over. She smiled a toothless grin as she looked Clara over.

"What the fuck?" Clara asked again. She felt faint. She felt sick.

"You're pale," she heard her voice behind her but she was too afraid to turn. "Someone go get her a protein shake. Matcha raspberry okay?"

Clara nodded, trying to breathe.

"I can't believe we get to meet the real Clara," cheered another Clara, throwing her only arm in the air.

"What... happened to all of you?" the real Clara asked. She was starting to wonder if she was the real Clara at all. Clara studied the confused expressions of her maimed doppelgangers. "I mean, what happened to your arm? And what happened to your eye? And what happened..."

"Ohhhhh," the crutched Clara cut her off. "Nothing happened to us. This is what we were born for."

"To give Mother Sabel her destined life," the one armed Clara pointed to a vat in the corner of the basement.

It was full of a blue liquid, the shade of Clara's favorite Gatorade: Glacier Freeze. The vat also contained Clara herself, but this one looked whole. At the shoulders Clara saw the arms were stitched on, and the legs at her crotch. There were stitches all over her body. Clara pressed her hand on the vat as she stared at every detail. The vatted Clara twitched.

"Mother Sabel stirs. It's almost time," spoked the eyepatched Clara.

"The face," real Clara said. "Where did you get the face?"

"Clara C made the ultimate sacrifice," said crutched Clara. All of the Claras looked to an operating table on the other side of the basement. On it, Clara could see what was presumably another one of her with a sheet draped over her top half.

"She's only resting," promised the one-armed Clara. "I went and got her our favorite hair tie to cheer her up."

The real Clara smiled for a moment, then bit her lip.

"Don't be sad, Clara." Said the eyepatched Clara. "She'll be okay, we promise."

The real Clara nodded silently as she looked at each of the maimed Claras staring back at her.

"I'll get the protein shakes," she said after awhile. "Matcha raspberry for everyone."

She slipped back under the curtain of photos, and took a candle with her up the stairs. She set the candle on the kitchen island and watched the flame dance, but all she could think of was Sabel Zumba dancing in the corner of her eye twice a week, watching her the entire time.

Clara turned the gas on all the stove burners to high and walked out the front door.