If you had the chance to bring back a lost loved one, but the cost was the death of an innocent person at your own hand, would you do it?
In the year and a half since Jack Clausen lost his five-year-old daughter, RosaMarie, his life has fallen apart. His marriage is failing, he’s been fired from his job, and his drinking is problematic.
Depressed and despondent, Jack steps off a platform into an oncoming commuter train. At the moment before impact, someone grabs him from behind and pulls him away from danger. His rescuer is a small person with unusual features who offers Jack a way to bring his daughter and son back, but there is a high price to pay. When Jack agrees to the deal but then refuses to pay his debt, events spiral out of control, leading to series of different realities, each worse than the one he originally tampered with.
Identicals explores themes of loss, anger, fear, blame, self-loathing and redemption within the context of a fast paced, unique and suspenseful storyline.
If you had the chance to bring back a lost loved one, but the cost was the death of an innocent person at your own hand, would you do it?
In the year and a half since Jack Clausen lost his five-year-old daughter, RosaMarie, his life has fallen apart. His marriage is failing, he’s been fired from his job, and his drinking is problematic.
Depressed and despondent, Jack steps off a platform into an oncoming commuter train. At the moment before impact, someone grabs him from behind and pulls him away from danger. His rescuer is a small person with unusual features who offers Jack a way to bring his daughter and son back, but there is a high price to pay. When Jack agrees to the deal but then refuses to pay his debt, events spiral out of control, leading to series of different realities, each worse than the one he originally tampered with.
Identicals explores themes of loss, anger, fear, blame, self-loathing and redemption within the context of a fast paced, unique and suspenseful storyline.
Jack raised his foot and moved it past the red line.
If he did the math right, it had to be over a thousand. That’s how many weekdays he stood on this platform in about the same spot waiting for the 7:16 from Arlington Heights to the OTC. Once he arrived downtown, he always grabbed a cab or an Uber to make the rest of the trip to 625 N. Michigan Avenue. Yet, in the blink of an eye, everything changed. Now, he walked to the bus stop every morning where he would catch the 125 on the green line to save money. His routine was so ingrained he imagined he could do it blindfolded if there weren’t so many people rushing to their destinations who would get in the way.
The experienced travelers were easy to pick out because they inched forward with impatient energy. Today, the bitter cold distorted their faces, and the heavy condensation of their breath made temporary thick streams of fog that clouded the platform. The sound of the wheels grinding steel on steel was still about twenty seconds away, but the veterans felt the vibrations long before the noise arrived. By the time the train made the last curve and came into sight, the subtle fight for position was in full swing as the travelers crowded onto the center platform, looking as pitifully desperate as they probably were.
The train slowed, but even at a crawl, it could still crush anyone who stepped in front of it. Jack moved his foot farther past the red line as the train decelerated, now about thirty-five feet away and closing. The omnipresent gray tint that clouded his vision began to lift, and the true color of his surroundings emerged and brightened the scenery.
For a brief moment, he felt alive.
Within ten feet of the train’s arrival, his foot moved past the platform and now hovered over the track area.
Maybe this would be the day.
His forward movement was almost imperceptible, but just before the front of the Brookville monster reached him, he glanced to his right and saw a woman staring. She was slender and attractive, but her business suit was a bit too tight, which accentuated her curves, probably on purpose. Sales or a corporate climber was his instant judgement.
Their eyes locked for a moment, and they exchanged a trove of information in that instant. He sensed a hint of panic on her part. Not that she particularly cared if he died, but the prospect of watching his body impacting with the train would be unpleasant. More importantly, she would be very late to her destination as the police investigated the scene.
Her eyes shifted down to his foot, still hovering ever so slightly above and past the platform. He moved it back behind the red line, and he noticed her exhale. They smiled at each other awkwardly, and she quickly moved away from him as the train finally stopped. The doors slid open directly, and he boarded just as the gray shading returned to cloud his vision.
***
The walk to O’Malley’s from the bus stop wasn’t very far. In fact, if he looked over the tops of the two and three story bungalows surrounding the bar, he could see the gleaming high rise in the distance. His old office had a panoramic view of the city, but he always hoped to make it over to the lake side. Of course, like all the other goals in his life, that one was crushed on the day everything changed.
O’Malley’s was more Boston than Chicago with its brass railings, dark cherry wood and stained glass accents that tried to conjure up an atmosphere of an authentic Irish pub. The place was inhabited by professionals and neighborhood residents, but they usually came rolling in around noon for lunch. Tommy looked up and then over at the wall clock. 9:30 in the morning was early even for his best customer.
“Whaddaya know, it’s Jackie boy.” The bartender was large and portly, sporting a thick handlebar moustache several shades darker than his curly auburn hair. He had one of those faces that said mid-50s, yet he was closer to forty-five. His name was Alfred, but he shed that a long time ago. Everyone called him Tommy, but nobody except the bartender really knew why.
Jack walked over to the end of the bar towards his regular stool. By the time he arrived, a cup of hot, black coffee was already waiting for him. He looked up at Tommy, who smiled and nodded. The bartender was a veteran, and there was no way he was going to tolerate a customer getting that kind of head start. The first drink was poured at 11:30. Those were the rules.
“I had to leave the house on time today. Juanita is getting suspicious. I could have stayed at the station, but…”
The bartender puffed out his cheeks and expelled the air slowly. “I get it, Jackie boy.” He picked up a glass and absently started drying it. “Any job prospects? We’re in good times, ya know. It shouldn’t be too hard for a seasoned peddler like you to find work out there.”
Jack ran his hands through his hair. “I gave those bastards twenty-two years of my life, Tommy, and they kicked me to the curb. I have a setback, and they kicked me to the fuckin’ curb.”
The bartender grabbed a menu, pushing it in front of Jack. “Hey, you look like you haven’t been eating. Pick out something, and I’ll cook it up for you. We got steak and eggs on there. It might do you some good, Jack.” He started to wipe the bar down even though the acrylic surface was already clean and shiny as a mirror. “Yeah, that’s rough, Jackie boy. But… well, as much as I appreciate the business, no one’s gonna pay you to sit in my bar every day. Ya know, just sayin’.”
Jack took a sip of coffee and glanced briefly at the menu. “Twenty-two damn years. You get down on your luck, and nobody cares. Kick you to the curb; that’s what they do.” He looked up. “I made them a fortune, Tommy. They were just a couple of geek engineers working for Carrier when they started the supply company. Give them credit. They came up with the idea of consolidation, but they didn’t have a goddamn clue how to sell it.” Jack slurped at the coffee and set the cup back down.
“For sure, Jackie boy, for sure. What did you say you wanted for breakfast again?”
Jack looked at the menu in earnest. “Okay, Tommy, the steak and eggs look good.”
For the next hour and a half, the skilled bartender used every tactic he learned on the job or in bartending school to delay the inevitable. The eggs and steak took twice as long to cook as they ordinarily would have. He indulged Jack in his misery and played the role of the sympathizer without ever piercing the protective veil. “The Subject” never came up. Anyone who entered Jack’s personal space knew he was harboring something so raw and ugly it couldn’t be discussed even after all this time.
“They could have given me some warning, ya know? I’ve been a little down on my luck, sure, but all those years of delivering the numbers. You think that would have meant something.”
Tommy stopped wiping the bar down and began to speak but thought better of it. Jack noticed.
“What is it, Tommy? You have something to say?”
“Never mind, Jack. It wasn’t important… Hey, take a few more bites of that steak, okay?”
“No, no, go ahead. I want to hear it. Don’t hold back.”
Tommy sighed. “Look, Jack, it’s none of my business, but maybe you should talk to someone. Maybe a professional who deals with these kinds of things. You know, a counselor type. Could something like that be helpful?”
“A shrink?” Jack’s back stiffened. “You sound like my wife, Tommy. A shrink? There’s nothing wrong with me. I’ve just hit a little streak of bad luck. It’ll be over soon.”
The bartender sighed and nodded. They both glanced at the wall clock at the same moment. It read: 11:32.
“C’mon, Tommy, set me up,” said Jack with a note of desperation. “My mouth’s as dry as the Sahara, and the coffee and water aren’t doin’ it for me.” He pushed the breakfast plate forward, signaling he was finished.
“Hold that thought.” Tommy held up a finger and walked into the back room as though he just remembered something important. In reality, it was another technique he used to get his patrons to slow down without having to confront them. About ten minutes later, he re-emerged with a shrug. “Sorry, Jack, that was a call I had to make. My mom’s going in for surgery Thursday, and I needed to talk to the doctor.”
“That’s tough, Tommy. Hope it’s not serious.”
“Gallstones,” said the bartender as he set a glass down in front of Jack and did a long pour. “She has to get her gallbladder removed. It’s pretty routine, but she’s seventy-two, so…”
“Yeah, I miss my parents, but when I hear all the old age horror stories, I’m glad they never had to go through any of that shit.” Jack picked up the drink and took a long sip.
“I get it,” said Tommy. “It’s part of why I moved back to Chicago. My sister unloaded on me about how unfair it was to put it all on her. The guilt worked.”
The bartender encouraged the banter to slow Jack’s drinking, but the first double still went down quickly, and the second was polished off shortly thereafter. Fortunately, by 11:45, some of the lunch crowd started filing in, which meant Tommy could spend time with his other customers. Even with all the delaying tactics, Jack was already well on his way to a decent bender. Tommy welcomed more people into the bar because that meant more talking and less drinking, which in Jack’s case, was a good thing.
As they came in, usually in small groups, Jack acknowledged the early regulars with a wave. He knew most of them by now. Pablo was a Gulf War vet who never got past the flashbacks. Tony was a kid who wasn’t quite right in the head. He was on permanent disability, and his family got him set up in a two-flat on Chestnut and then pretty much washed their hands. Once upon a time in the ‘90s, Earl owned a big contracting company, but he became a right-wing conspiracy nut and had a nervous breakdown just after the business went belly up. Earl just hoped his money didn’t run out before he died.
Jack finished waving and nodding at Earl when the door opened, followed by an icy blast of wind. An old woman walked in, her face shrouded by a thick scarf and a large babushka pulled down over her eyes. She wasn’t familiar but seemed to know the layout of the bar without speaking or looking at anyone. As though she had been here before, she walked over and sat at the most remote corner table, slowly unwrapping one of the scarves.
Jack tried to remain inconspicuous while watching her. She clearly was uncomfortable and out of place. Her stature was thin and gaunt to the point of emaciation. Deep stress and worry lines zig-zagged across the sagging skin on her face. She looked out the window as if lost in a trance or dream of some sort. Tommy walked out from behind the bar and went over to her table, talking to her briefly.
Turning back to the business at hand, Jack finished his drink and signaled he was ready for another. The clock read 12:32, which meant Tommy would shove a burger and fries off the grill in front of him within the next half hour. In their unspoken agreement, Jack knew he better take a few bites if he wanted to continue drinking through the rest of the afternoon.
A few more people came in off the street, blowing into their hands to fight off the cold. It was raining intermittently, and the lake effect was mixing in some snow. A perfectly miserable January day in Chicago. The snowy slop on the street grew dirtier as the cars slushed through it, one after another.
Even as he watched the unfolding weather, Jack couldn’t keep from glancing over at the old woman. On a typical day, he might make occasional small talk with a few of the regulars, but for the most part, they learned to leave him stew in his misery. He was such a downer, and he drove everyone away. So, it wasn’t unexpected that the normal din of chatter dialed down a notch when they saw him pick up his overcoat and walk over to her table.
“Mind if I join you?”
She looked up and regarded him for a moment before motioning him to sit. Without saying a word, she turned back to the window. Jack continued to have the odd feeling they met before. Something was vaguely familiar. Maybe it was her body language, which suggested they shared more than just a chance encounter.
“My name is Jack,” he said as he stuck out his hand awkwardly.
She ignored the gesture and continued staring absently at the street outside. “You don’t need to introduce yourself; I know who you are,” she said in a tone that was subdued and somber.
He shifted in his seat and opened his mouth to speak but reconsidered when he saw Tommy approaching with her drink.
“Here you go, ma’am. A tall bourbon, neat. That will be seven and a quarter.” Tommy smiled as he set the drink on a napkin and took a step back, but she didn’t move. After an awkward silence, he said, “Ah, the drink, ma’am. It’s seven-twenty-five. Should I start a tab?” Again, she made no attempt to pay or answer.
Tommy looked over at Jack, who shrugged slightly before saying, “Just put it on my tab, Tommy.” The bartender gave him a thumbs up and looked back at the woman with just a slight shake of his head before slowly turning and walking back to the bar.
Jack engaged in some one-sided small talk, but she never answered or even acknowledged he was speaking. After several minutes of awkward silence, he considered how he might get away from this uncomfortable situation. He moved his seat back and stood up when she said, in barely a whisper, “I told you, I know who you are.”
The unsettling sense of connection returned, and he was drawn back to his chair. She turned toward him and pulled away the scarf that hid her eyes. They were deep, vivid blue but had a hint of orange around the cornea. Were they infected? He had never seen anything like it. She locked onto him, and he couldn’t break away. The nagging feeling he knew her intensified and crawled through his body until chills caused instantaneous sweat to bubble up on his back.
He knew her; he was sure of it. “Where did we meet? You look so familiar,” he said quietly.
“When it happens, you must show up and pay your debt, you pissant,” she said in a shaking, agitated voice.
Jack frowned and pulled back. “What are you talking about? And what did you just call me?”
With a trembling hand, she reached into her purse and pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes. Struggling to light one, she took a deep drag, ignoring city ordinances and the signs that prohibited smoking in Tommy’s bar. She moved in closer. Her breath stank of nicotine and rot. “Did you hear me? When the time comes, you must show up and pay your debt. You can’t get away from it, pissant!” She reached over and grabbed his arm with surprising strength. “Pay your goddamn debt!”
Jack recoiled and tried to stand up, but the chair skidded backwards and nearly toppled over. He regained his footing and moved away from the table, never taking his eyes off her. “What the hell is wrong with you, lady?”
“Remember,” she said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “you can’t get out of it. You must be there and pay your debt, pissant.”
When he reached his bar stool, Jack opened his wallet and pulled out two twenties he laid on the bar. Tommy ambled over as Jack slipped on his overcoat. He leaned in while shifting his eyes between the woman and his regular.
“Hey, what happened over there, Jack? That one’s got the look, almost like crazy Tony. Something is wrong with her… Hey, are you alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just a little shook up. I need to get some air. Anyway, the trains are always running late this time of year. I better get going.”
“Okay, Jackie boy. Maybe you’ll get a job offer tomorrow, yeah?” Jack nodded as he got up from the stool and turned toward the door.
“Thanks for the drinks and the company, Tommy,” he said while keeping his eyes glued to the floor and away from the woman.
“Not a problem, Jackie boy,” Tommy called from behind him. “Good luck to you. It’s a damn tough life, and sometimes, it gets even worse. Be safe out there.”
Jack paused with his hand on the doorknob. He would have turned and asked Tommy what he meant, but for some reason, he needed to get out of the bar. His muscles were tight, and he could only breathe in short, shallow gasps. Blood coursed through his veins like sludge through a restricted sewer pipe, and his heart pumped so slowly he was certain every beat would be the last.
I’m having a panic attack.
With enormous effort, he was able to force his hand to push the door open and stumble outside into the cold, heavy winter air. Before the string of entry bells sounded, he thought he heard her voice in the distance.
“Show up, and pay your debt. No matter what, you better be there, pissant.”
CW: contains violence, gore, death, and themes of suicide.
Identicals is a gripping story that explores themes of regret, loss, and blame. It’s a dark book with a story that will really stick with you! I couldn’t put this book down once I’d started.
Years after Jack’s daughter Rose Marie died his life and his family has fallen apart. When he’s offered the chance to go back and prevent his daughter’s death, he takes it. But Jack soon learns that the cost of her life is one he can’t bring himself to pay. To save her life he must kill someone else. His refusal to pay his debt leads to a reality much worse than the one he originally changed.
Identicals had me pulled in from the very start. Jack is a well-written and interesting character, and though he’s not always likable I found myself rooting for him anyway. Throughout this book there were a few characters I had similar feelings about; I didn't particularly like them, but there was something there that made me empathise with and want the best for them. There were some side characters I would have liked to know more about, like the old woman who pops up throughout, but the mystery surrounding these characters added to the overall intrigue.
The story is great, and Jack’s attempt to fix his mistakes by erasing them leads to intriguing plot lines and makes you think about what it means to truly deal with regret. In each reality that Jack experiences there seems to be something off, or something wrong. Disaster seems to follow Jack and his family, but it's the way that he deals with the fallout that causes the bigger issues. Avoidance and blame are key coping mechanisms for the main character, and they create an unhealthy lifestyle and the right environment for the terror that unfolds in the book.
Identicals is the perfect book for horror lovers who want an emotional and gripping read. It tackles difficult subjects in a way that keeps you pulled into the story, and is a wonderfully written and terrifying book. William Brennan Knight has done an amazing job!