The Liberation of Alice Love(100)
Author: Abby McDonald

“Have you talked to her yet?” she demanded immediately.

“No, I’m still gathering information.”

“Alice!”

“What?” she protested, eyes still on that front porch. “I need all the data I can get. After all, I can’t trust her to tell me anything.”

She’d always wanted a front porch. A back one too, with a rocking chair, or some kind of love seat. Somewhere to doze in the afternoon sun, just relaxing—

“It’s getting creepy,” Flora informed her bluntly. “You need to just confront her.”

“She’s wearing the prettiest dress today,” Alice replied instead, a touch wistful. “She had lunch at a lovely restaurant too. Some kind of salad, it looked like. She sat on the front terrace, in the sun and read a book for an hour.”

Flora made a noise of frustration. “Alice, you’ve seen enough! You probably know what kind of underwear she’s wearing. Just go over there and face her.”

If Alice’s old debit bills were correct, then she did know the style of Ella’s lingerie: imported Italian silk. She paused. Perhaps Flora was right. “OK, I’ll talk to her.”

“Today,” Flora added.

Alice glanced down. “This evening,” she amended. “I need to change my clothes. I can’t meet her looking like…Well, like a crazy stalker.”

Flora laughed. “God forbid. But promise me you’ll do it? You can’t stay out there forever, just trailing her around. It’s not healthy.”

“I know.” Alice sighed. “I’ll talk to her tonight.”

It wasn’t so simple. Alice tried to get some rest that afternoon and calm herself, but she could only toss, restless, as if she were facing a dreaded exam and not the very thing she’d been working toward for months now. Afternoon sunlight seeped through the drapes as Alice tried to play out every possible scenario in her mind, but there was just a vague outline where Ella’s reaction should be. After all this time studying her every move, Alice still had no idea of the inner workings of her mind, and that, in itself, sent her nerves into a flustered tangle.

What if she didn’t know the real Ella at all?

***

By the time she passed her keys to the valet and climbed the front steps that evening, Alice was a mess of anxious anticipation. Her device had tracked Ella to that same hotel Alice had visited before, and as she walked quickly through the polished lobby and out to the bar, she wondered whether it was a sign. In the dusk light, the terraces were almost romantic: adorned with candlelit tables, the bar open and spilling stylish patrons out into the courtyard. Alice paused a moment, searching through the crowd for Ella’s vivid hair. She had deliberated too long over her own outfit for the evening. After all, what was the dress code for confronting the woman who had stolen you identity? In the end, Alice found herself reaching for the one garment that would guarantee her some confidence: the ever-stunning red dress. But now, poised there on the steps, Alice was struck by a terrible thought. She’d mimicked the purchase from Ella’s own wardrobe. What if Ella were wearing hers too?

Then Alice caught sight of Ella’s familiar frame across the crowd, dressed in the luxuriously casual style that almost seemed mandatory in this city: a white silk tank top and tangle of delicate necklaces over black jeans. She was sitting alone at a corner table, her demeanor quiet, almost contemplative, as she waited, surrounded by noise and laughter.

Steeling herself with one final breath, Alice made her way across the floor.

This was it.

“Hi, Ella…Or is it Angelique now?” Alice slid into the seat opposite, fixing her with an icy look. Her heart was racing, but she forced herself to breathe evenly, watching Ella’s face for any reaction.

And, oh—her reaction.

Ella froze. She blinked at Alice, her glossed lips dropping open slightly, and an expression of sheer panic flitting across her face.

Alice reached across and helped herself to a sip from Ella’s cocktail, relaxing now. “Don’t worry,” she said, almost conversationally, reveling in the fact that, for once, she was the one in control. “I haven’t called the police. Nobody knows you’re here but me.”

“But…” Ella sucked in a breath. “How…?”

Alice smiled. “You’re not the only one who can keep watch, you know. I’ve been looking for you ever since you left England. You have excellent taste in hotels,” she added, gratified by Ella’s obvious surprise. “Although they weren’t exactly…hospitable toward me, in Rome. But Positano was lovely, of course. Thanks for that tip.”

She sat back, still playing the part of some casual observer, even as triumph surged, hot in her veins. In front of her, Ella was struggling to regain some sort of composure, glancing quickly around and taking a few deep, even breaths.

“It’s…good to see you,” she managed at last, giving Alice a hesitant smile.

“I’m sure,” she replied, droll.

“No, I mean it. I…I wondered how you were doing.”

“After you ripped me off, stole all my important documents, and left me wading through debt collectors?” Alice snorted. “I’ve been just wonderful, thank you for asking.”

Ella blinked at the bitterness in Alice’s tone. She took a drink from her cocktail, seeming to steady her nerves, then she reached for her bag. “You’re right. You deserve an explanation, I just have to go to the bathroom—”

“Don’t,” Alice cut her off. “Crescent Heights, isn’t it? I could have the police there before you even make it back. I know you like running,” she added. “But I’m guessing you’d rather leave with a few bags, and that animal of yours.”

Ella settled back in her seat.

“So, what do you want?” She said it calmly, meeting Alice’s eyes with an even stare. Whatever element of surprise Alice had enjoyed was gone, but instead of steeling herself, or seeming defensive, Ella just sat there, casual and open.

“I want answers,” Alice replied. Around them, people jostled and chatted, voices ringing out with laughter, but to her, they were completely alone. “Why you did this?” she asked, unable to keep the intensity from her tone. “Why me?”

Ella gave a rueful smile. “Why not? You had a perfect credit record, plenty of savings…”

Alice shook her head. “Then why feign the friendship? You didn’t bother with Illana, or Patrick, or any of your other victims.”