Uri was frozen, but the surprise had taken him and him alone. His double hadn’t even flinched.

He blinked fast, trying to adapt to the low lighting. The stranger wore a beard, which darkened his countenance even more, but beneath it was hidden a face identical to his; those eyes that looked at him with a strange harshness confirmed it.

What Uri had in front of him was a doppelgänger, some sort of post-apocalyptic version of himself.

And before he could say anything, the stranger turned around and left.

Uri went after him. He left the stall and bumped into someone. No. It wasn’t the one he was looking for, just a random guy waiting to use the toilet.

He looked away. In that cluster of men, he saw his doppelgänger fleeing the place, so he resumed the chase. The boys in front of the urinals got in his way; he pushed them aside and rushed toward the exit.

He crossed the restroom’s threshold and got back into the heavy shadows of the VIP platform. The number of people saturated his field of vision. He looked at the figures outlined among the clouds of smoke and the multicolor lightning flashes, but he didn’t glimpse his twin of some sort.

Who was that? Why did he run away? Why show his face only to run away?

His eyes went back and forth. Nothing.

If he had only paid attention to the way the man was dressed, he might have found it easier to look for him; but the lights were dim, and the darkness was overwhelming. And that face—Damn! Would he have loved to freeze time and switch on the lights!

It surely must have been someone who looks like me, he tried to convince himself.

No. This wasn’t a ‘Sorry. I thought you were someone else,’ type of deal. He knew what I’d seen. Discarding it would have been an easy way to ease frustration at not being able to—what? Catch the stranger? Assault him with questions? Watch him closely?

There, he thought he saw him among those who were coming down the stairs to the dance floor. He shouted at him, though his voice disappeared in the racket, so he ran toward him, knocking everybody over.

When he came down the last steps, he realized he’d lost him again; this time maybe for good. If he had had a hard time finding him upstairs, it would be almost impossible down there; the nightclub was four times larger than the VIP platform, and there were thousands of more people.

“Have you lost someone, handsome?” someone whispered in his ear, and a shiver licked his neck.

He spun on his heel and faced a woman with long white hair who stole his attention—or rather, devoured it.

Her eyes, two white slits in a face black as ebony, acted like magnets that held him against his will. Uri managed to take a few steps back, although his movements were clumsy as if his own muscles were reluctant to take his orders.

The woman must have been in her early fifties; some lines on her face and at the base of her neck gave her away. She had an amazing body any young lady would envy, though. Not every woman at that age could afford to wear a miniskirt and look so hot. She had a smile that would have intimidated the devil himself, and legs that would put anyone who’d taken a vow of chastity in trouble.

And yet, against all odds, Uri was not drawn to her. Something in the woman inhibited him.

Until a sizzle of lights pulled him out of the spell and brought back the image of the stranger to his mind. He had to find him!

He ignored the woman, but she tried to grab him and ended up sticking her fingernails into his arm. What the hell?!

Uri wriggled out, and when he turned, willing to spurt out a few rude things at her, the woman was gone. Around him there were too many people, dancing, talking, and drinking; none of them was the black woman with gray hair. The bitch had slipped away.

He rubbed the scratch on his arm. It burned! He tried to check if she’d left a mark, but with such dimness, he couldn’t see much. He thought of warning Little John about that woman, to stop her from entering the nightclub next time. But no. Screw her! Finding the stranger that resembled him was a task far more important than reporting a lunatic.

However, five minutes went by, and nothing.

The voice of reason told him he wouldn’t find him, not because there were a lot of people in there, but because the stranger didn’t want to be found; otherwise, he wouldn’t have run away from the beginning. Tracking him down in such a big nightclub would be a waste of time.

All of a sudden, he felt something warm and wet between his nose and mouth. He wiped it with his fingertips. It was something dark. Was that—?

He rushed to the nearest men’s room, made his way through the guys, and faced the mirror.

He had blood. Blood was dripping from one of his nostrils.

He cleaned his nose with water, took a tissue, and put pressure on the bleeding. Then, through the reflection, he saw two huge red spots dyeing his beautiful white T-shirt, and on his arm, the marks of the woman’s fingernails. The rage appeared in his eyes.

His image was spoiled. The entire evening was spoiled.

That thing with Trevor, the jump scare he’d gotten because of the guy who looked like him—because that must have been what happened, right?—that crazy woman, and now this! His white T-shirt and the scratch on his arm, two warning signs that said: ‘Retreat now, nice and easy. Wrap this night up while you can, before something worse comes up.’

Without saying goodbye to anyone, he went away. Before crossing the exit threshold, he gave himself one last chance to spot his double. He looked around. No luck whatsoever.

Little John was guarding the main entrance. Uri passed his side and remembered the misunderstanding from before. ‘I’d swear I let you in a few minutes ago,’ the big guy had said. For goodness’ sake! Little John had allowed his double to get in by thinking it was him.

He approached Little John, covered the bloodstains on the T-shirt with his hand, and not knowing how to ask without it sounding ridiculous, said: “Hey, Johnny; did you… see me leaving? I mean, these last few minutes, did you see me leaving here?”

The tough guy twisted his mouth with a smile. “You won’t give me a pass on that one, Uri, will you?”

Uri returned the friendly gesture, sacrificing his genuine curiosity upon noticing that Little John had misunderstood him; and patting him on the back as a farewell, he left the disco.

What the hell are you doing? he questioned himself while walking to the parking lot. You find someone who looks exactly like you, and you just took off because your T-shirt got stained?

Doubt diminished the haste of his steps.

Why don’t you plant your feet right at the disco’s door and wait until he gets out? He had to do it before dawn, right? The mouse will poke his head through the hole, and you’ll be the cat ready to catch him.

Uri stopped; one foot on the street, the other on the sidewalk. He glanced towards B-Crush’s entrance as if he expected to see his double coming out right there. But again, the voice of reason invited him to think:

Your unknown twin brother shows up when you’re taking a leak, then runs away. A guy who looks like you opens the door without asking; he realizes the stall is busy and leaves. Which of the two scenarios do you think is the most plausible?

Uri shrugged. The second one made more sense, though it didn’t match with what he’d seen.

And what do you think you’ve seen? he retorted to himself. It is said that there’s always someone out there who’s the spitting image of someone else. That guy, the one you think is your lost twin, could well have been one of those doubles. You were in a narrow place, between two screens, under dim light; it’s easy to get confused that way. Besides, you’ve drunk champagne, it wasn’t much, but… One other thing, the guy had a beard; how many times did you let your beard grow to know how would you look like with it? Never. Beard changes the aspect of man; you know that better than anyone; it’s the first lesson a model learns on their first photoshoot day.

Uri nodded. All right, all right. He had to admit those were pretty good arguments against his initial thoughts.

He entered the parking lot, went through a long row of cars until he got to his, started it up, and left.

As he maneuvered, the two cards of Loud he’d bought as a present for the girls slid across the dashboard. With the movement, the holo-magazines were activated again and displayed their covers. He looked at his photo in them, imagined what he would look like with a beard, and the result was a face almost identical to that of the stranger. He deactivated the cards and tossed them into the glove compartment as if trying to avoid being distracted by any images of himself for the moment.

Was it possible that the voice of his logic was indeed the voice of his cowardice?

You’re Uri ‘the poor orphan’ O22, and a little orphan has no idea who his blood relatives are, nor if he has any.

It was easier to attribute what happened to confusion than to think about the possibilities of having an unknown twin than perhaps—judging by his attitude—knew about him.

He felt a slight burning in his arm, there, where the woman had clawed him. He remembered her smile, and his hair stood on end. Then he ran a finger under his nose to make sure he no longer bled. What the hell could have caused the bleeding? He hadn’t hurt his nose, and as far as he knew, he didn’t have any health problems either.

A few blocks from home, Uri looked at the time on the car dashboard. 11.05 p.m. Friday night was still running. Maybe he could change his clothes and go back to B-Crush. He needed to get the bad taste the last few minutes had left him in his mouth. He looked in the rearview mirror; there was no sign of bleeding out there.

You’re bad at making excuses, he grumbled. You don’t think about coming back for a good time, fool; you do it to find your ghost twin.

He growled again, this time to silence his own conscience.