“Here we are!” said Jymmy. He steered the car inelegantly up onto the curb and off again with a bounce before attempting to parallel park. They were a few blocks off Main Street, not far from downtown. Aaron surveyed their surroundings with an expression conveying extreme reluctance.

“This looks like the last place I’d ever want to get out of a car at night,” he said.

“It’s my favourite place in the whole—” Jymmy began, but then remembered he was supposed to be Jaymie. “It’s a place I enjoy coming occasionally, though of course if I truly loved it, I’d have shown it to you before now.” He exited the vehicle and waited as Aaron hesitantly followed.

“You’re parked halfway into the street. You’re going to get towed,” Aaron pointed out.

“It’s not my car,” Jymmy said honestly.

“If you leave those loonies in the cupholder someone will smash the windshield even before it gets towed,” said Aaron.

“How do they tolerate you?” muttered Jymmy.

“Whatsat?” said Aaron.

“I said, again, it’s not my car.”

“Where are we going? I’m cold.”

“We could be inside by now, if you weren’t taking a fucking million years to get out of the car!” Jymmy’s short-tempered reaction surprised himself more than it did Aaron, who just shrugged resignedly.

Though Jymmy was not a patient person, he rarely became angry or annoyed at others, because he rarely found himself directly affected by other people’s actions. If he didn’t like the way a friend or partner was behaving, he simply removed himself from their proximity. If a girlfriend pursued him whose companionship he no longer desired, he used some choice words to make sure she desisted. He’d never had the experience of having someone look to him to take responsibility or give directions. Nor had any person ever evoked in him such prolonged feelings of frustration and disappointment before. He found it awkwardly upsetting.

“This way,” he said.

“Tell me we’re not going in this sketchy bar. It looks like a total shithole.”

“We’ll go around back. I promise that you won’t have to make any friends.”

“Ok, good.”

If there had ever been a point at which Jymmy could have explained to Aaron who he really was and the miscalculation he’d made in trying to enlist Aaron in his band—and then dropped Aaron off at home and laughed it all off—Aaron had infuriated him past that point, and now explaining seemed like too much energy to be worth it.

Besides, this situation was Jaymie’s fault, and it wasn’t his job to deal with Jaymie’s blunders. Best to end it all and forget about it as fast as possible. He unlocked the back door and held it open for Aaron.

“Yup, a total shithole,” said Aaron.

Jymmy could’ve reminded him that the bar actually provided a great service to the people who frequented it—serving as a community hub and a place where its low-income clientele could find affordable food and drink in an area being slowly devoured by gentrification. But he didn’t have the motivation for such a dispute, so he just muttered to himself, “What a fucking snob,” and locked the door behind them.

***

The overhead light in the basement had recently burned out. The center of the room held a tight oval of illumination cast by two lamps bought in the early seventies; both had deep burgundy lampshades and metal stands that wavered as though one’s view of them was obstructed by a heatwave. If not for the hellish glow of the lighting, it would have been a pleasant place to hang out, as many bands had done in the days when the bar hosted live music five nights a week.

There was an old couch which was mostly used by Jymmy for napping and practicing and otherwise sat gathering dust. Along the shadowy perimeter of the room were counters with cupboards and drawers full of arbitrary-seeming supplies and snacks of unknown age and origin. Jymmy motioned for Aaron to have a seat and began rifling through one of the drawers.

Aaron idly followed him to the counter. “You hang out here sometimes? Weird. But I can see it,” he said.

“Do ever stop drumming on things? Like, the whole car ride here, and now again on the counter…”

“Was I? I didn’t notice.” He bounced restlessly on the balls of his feet.

Jymmy forced himself to speak composedly. “You can sit and chill out, if you need to.” He gestured again at the couch and moved a few feet away from Aaron.

“It’s ok,” said Aaron, following him. “What’s in there?”

“Wow, you’re, like, really up in my personal space, man.” Jymmy gave a strained laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, are you always this close in my bubble?”

“Uh… yes?” Aaron gave him a perturbed look. “Since when have you had a bubble?”

“Never mind. Lol.” Jymmy thrust open the next drawer and rapidly dug through it, his motions gaining a frenetic desperation.

“I need some dry clothes or I’m pretty sure I’m gonna die of pneumonia.”

“Noted.”

“Seriously, I’m cold.”

“Ok, yes, I’m on it! There’s some somewhere here… Christ. Demanding, much!”

“You have to take care of your clone if you wanna enjoy your clone, dude,” Aaron deadpanned. It appeared the revelation of his clonehood had finally defeated him, leaving him content to let Jymmy take the reins on all life plans henceforth. He found an old radio on a shelf and began searching for the university station again. “Hey, it’s us,” he said, and laughed drily.

“Us?” said Jymmy. Then he recognized the voice. “What! How is it—How did we—”

“Dude, it’s CKUW. They’re great—they’ll play, like, any local band who sends a CD. I dropped ours off a couple months ago, remember?”

Jymmy was so amazed by the phenomenon that was local campus radio that he temporarily forgot his irritation. Not only was he astounded that Jaymie was famous enough to be on the radio, but this was a song Jymmy knew! It was on one of the Bukowskis’ EPs, which he listened to religiously!

“Ramen high, I was trying to get by,” he sang along happily. “Live like this, you’ll be so happy you could die… Hey, speaking of… You hungry?” He reached into a cupboard and handed Aaron a package of microwave noodles, which Aaron contentedly broke open, dumped the flavour packet into, and began to eat dry. Disgusting. Jymmy wrinkled his nose.

Aaron poked suspiciously at the dingy couch and apparently decided it was safe to sit on. He settled among some dusty cushions, pulled his knees up, and gazed around his new hideout, absentmindedly joining in on the upper harmony under his breath, “Why do these poisons make me feel like I could fly… Throw some hoisin in your deadliest stir-fry…”

“If it’s the end, is there a new beginning nigh?”

The song’s bridge described the time in their late teens that the twins had gotten scurvy from living off microwaveable meals and beer for too long, and Jymmy began singing the first lines along with Aaron, but stopped when he realized they were on the same vocal part.

“Oh, I forgot you sing the melody on the bridge,” he said quickly.

“I don’t. I thought that was the harmony,” said Aaron.

“Obviously the upper line is the harmony. It has been the entire time.”

“Yeah, that’s what I spent, like, an hour trying to convince you when we wrote this. But you always insist on having the more interesting singing part, and you’re all, ‘The melody changes to the top line so everybody will notice what a good singer I am, look at me I’m Jaymie I can sing anything, never mind that Aaron has to make a ridiculous octave jump from a third above to a sixth below…’”

Jymmy’s annoyance flooded back, and he resumed his former activity of looking around for “dry clothes,” i.e. a murder weapon.

“Did you seriously forget that argument?” Aaron persisted.

“No—I just changed my opinion. The melody is always on the bottom in this song. Obviously.” Jymmy slid open a drawer and felt amongst some rusty tools.

“So you admit I was right.” Aaron stopped drumming. Wariness crossed his face for the first time since Jymmy had met him.

“Yup, you were right.” Jymmy tensed. He wondered if he’d made an error, but wasn’t about to argue an incorrect position about a vocal line that was definitely a harmony, just for the sake of his disguise.

“I’m right! Just like that.” Aaron’s mistrustful expression eased away. He tapped a rhythm on the arm of the couch. Jymmy relaxed.

“Just like that,” said Jymmy. His fingers closed on what he was looking for.

“Ok, well, good,” said Aaron. He crunched on his noodles.

“Good,” said Jymmy.

“Good,” said Aaron.

“Let’s order real food! I’ll come sit with you.”

“Sure.”

Jymmy surreptitiously slid the tool into his sleeve and let a reassuring grin melt over his features. He turned to face Aaron. In the same instant, Aaron launched himself off the cushions, vaulted over the back of the couch, and dashed for the stairs.

***

It hadn’t taken the collectors long to start gaining on Jaymie and Rex. Rex had little experience driving in winter storms, and though they’d tried to speed, they’d been slowed by poor visibility and rain freezing to ice on the highway. Headlights brightened behind them the way their own, unbeknownst to them, had glared in Jymmy’s rear-view mirror before they’d stopped to check on the roadkill.

Rex drove them through the outskirts of the city and toward comforting brighter lights. They chose a twisting, circuitous route in hopes of losing their pursuers amongst the one-way streets of downtown. By the time they reached Portage Avenue, they’d succeeded—temporarily.

Unfortunately, Jaymie had been on foot when he’d found Big Niki’s bar the previous day, and he couldn’t recall the route he’d taken. They ended up wandering in circles for ten minutes, during which time the black SUV stealthily caught up and began trailing them again, from an unnoticeable, professional distance.

***

Jymmy took the basement steps three at a time with easy catlike leaps and caught up to Aaron as he struggled with the stiff lock on the back door. Aaron dodged just as the clone slammed against the door where he’d been an instant before. The hood fell back and Jymmy’s waves of shoulder-length brown hair spilled loose.

“Who are you what did you do to my brother!” Aaron yelled. He hurled the pack of ramen at Jymmy’s head to distract him, but the creature raised a hand with frightening speed, caught it, and crunched its contents to dust in his fist.

Jymmy widened his eyes and purred, “What did you do to my brother?” for no reason other than to mess with Aaron. He grinned and let the plastic package flutter to the floor. Aaron bolted in the only remaining direction, which was down an unlit hallway leading to the kitchen and bar.

Aaron was fast for a human, but Jymmy was not quite a human. He caught him halfway down the hall and tackled him, wrapping his wiry arms around Aaron’s ribcage. The two crashed to the floor, Aaron falling sideways and letting out a sharp breath as he took the impact on his hip and elbow, and Jymmy careening overtop of him, his momentum rolling him a few extra feet across the floor. A flash of rusty silver glinted from his sleeve, and he immediately looked to see if Aaron had glimpsed it.

Aaron wasn’t looking; he was nearly on his feet. Jymmy resheathed the jagged screwdriver and grappled him around the waist, intending to get him firmly pinned before revealing the weapon. A stinging pain suddenly lanced through his arm.

Jymmy was not used to pain. He cried out and cradled the wound—three parallel scratches running the length of his forearm, violent red, though not quite bleeding. Aaron’s disease lump, as it turned out, was sharp and pointy.

Aaron was already fleeing down the hall, his soggy tapered dress shoes striking soundlessly on the cement floor. Jymmy made pursuit.

Sunday was a slow night; the bar’s regulars sat relaxing, watching the two TVs, looking at their phones if they had them, or making slow, drawn out conversation in the comfortable manner of people completely at ease in their surroundings. They raised their heads listlessly as Aaron burst into the room, wondering if they were about to witness a hipster bar fight, and whether it could possibly be any good.

The exit lay at the other end of a long counter. Two men lazily chatted against it; another two sat alone nursing drinks. Big Niki lovingly wiped its surface with the same aggressive devotion he always did.

Whether it was an attempt to deter Jymmy or just a need Aaron had to go overtop of rather than around things, Jymmy would never know—Aaron leapt onto the bar, sprinted the length of it (kicking over a full beer glass that Jymmy knew Big Niki would replace at no extra charge) and jumped off the other end, landing lightly in a crouch in front of the door.

Jymmy sprang onto the counter after him but stopped short when he saw the tall, black-jacketed figures looming fuzzily on the other side of the rain-streaked glass door. He made a guess as to who they might be; the sight of a common enemy threw him for a moment, and he called, “Aaron! Collec—” Then he shook his head and swiftly retreated, vanishing into the shadows of the back hallway.

Aaron, rising and reaching for the door, heard Jymmy shout and looked back in confusion for a split second—just the time it took for the door to swing open and a tall woman to step through. By the time he was facing forward again, his motion brought him colliding head-on with the front of her coat.

***

Jaymie finally saw a landmark he recognized. He told Rex to stop; he knew the bar was close and he’d be able to find it on foot. Rex found a parking spot and followed him, jogging down the empty, icy street.

The collectors had given up trying to follow the van’s confused circling. They’d already come to the conclusion that Jaymie—who wore civilian rather than clone attire—was not the escapee they sought, but an Original who’d shown up to help with the getaway.

At first, they’d theorized that the missing clone was hidden in the van with him, but they changed their minds when they saw the sleek black car Jymmy had stolen, which they knew to be one of their own, parked illegally in the street. They deduced that it was Aaron who’d somehow stolen it, and that its presence indicated a previously determined meeting place that the Original in the van was also heading toward. All they had to do was wait.

***

The woman caught Aaron’s shoulders to steady him. He threw his arms around her in relief. Someone meowed irritably. The bar’s clientele instantly became bored and went back to their drinks and/or hockey game. Lucas entered behind her and said, “‘The fuck’s going on?”

“Jo, I’m the real Aaron—I’m not a clone! You have to believe me! Whatever anybody else tells you!”

“Yeah, Aaron, I believe you,” said Jo. “You’re pretty distinctive. Was that Jaymie on the bar?” she peered toward the back of the room.

“No! That guy sucks—he’s the clone! Oh my god, did he kill Jaymie? Is Jaymie ok? And Rex?”

“They’re fine. Jaymie called me fifteen minutes ago and told me to find this place and threaten the employees until they gave me the address of a guy who’s also named ‘Jaymie’. He said he and Rex would meet me here and then we’d go find…you.” She smiled and nodded at the bartender in acknowledgement that she’d just admitted a plan to make a fuss in his establishment. “I actually have no idea what’s happening. Sure am happy to see you, though!”

Big Niki kept a keen eye on them in case they meant trouble, but didn’t intervene. He mistakenly recognized Aaron as Jaymie’s (Jymmy’s) eccentric twin brother, whom he mistakenly thought he’d met the day before, looking for Jaymie (Jymmy).

“They’re alive? Thank god! You saw him too, then! For a second I thought maybe I hallucinated him—sometimes that stuff happens when I’m stressed. Shit, is he getting away? Oh my god, do you think he’ll go after Jaymie?” Aaron looked fearfully toward the back hallway.

Jo wasn’t sure how much faith to put in Aaron’s theories, but she didn’t think he’d made up the clone story. Remembering the strange snippets of plotline she’d gleaned from Rex and Jaymie, she made a quick decision.

“Let’s not risk it. Go around the building,” she directed Lucas. “Let’s try to cut him off.” He gave her a dubious look but went back outside. “Shit, you’re all wet. Stay here,” she told Aaron, who glanced at the intimidating form of Big Niki and nodded reluctantly. “Jaymie will be here in a sec,” she reassured him, and pushed her way through the room.

In the minute that followed, Jo would find the back door of the bar swinging wide open on squealing hinges and race into the night after Jymmy’s retreating shadow; Lucas would be accosted by an inebriated but harmless older man who would require his assistance getting properly situated at a bus stop, thus delaying their entrapment plan and sparing him from coming face to face with Jymmy and his rusty screwdriver; the two collectors would tire of waiting by the stolen vehicle and decide to investigate the neon signs of the nearby watering hole, where they’d find Aaron shivering inside the entrance, seize him by the arms, and drag him kicking and swearing back to their SUV—and it would all have made for another fabulous cliff-hanger had not Jaymie and Rex finally found the bar, overheard several desperate poetical insults they recognized as personal inventions of their dear brother’s, and run toward the scuffle shouting with enough worry and rage that the bewildered collectors released their hold on Aaron and allowed him to be pulled from the vehicle, joyfully embraced by his siblings, and wrapped up in Jaymie’s warm, almost entirely dry jacket.