“Meow.”

I’ve been huddled in the corner of this bathroom for a good fifteen minutes now. My clothes are still covered in blood. A woman’s body is still in the tub. The gun is still at my feet. The scene is picture-perfect – the picture just happens to be in a darkroom.

I crawl over to the tub.

She looks just like she did in the photos. The red hair, the pigtails, everything. It’s Phoebe Reinhart. In a bathtub. With a bullet hole in her chest.

She’s dead.

The gun is mine. Probably. I mean – definitely. Probably definitely. My holster’s empty and I don’t see anyone other guns lying around. Given the smell of gunpowder on my hands, even if it isn’t mine, it’s almost certain I pulled the trigger.

I did what I was sent here to do.

Except—no. No, I didn’t. I was supposed to capture her. Not kill her. Capture.

Why is she dead, then?

That’s the problem. I can’t remember. Try as I might, the picture’s just not coming out right. I know we landed. I know we went to the hotel the agency set us up with. Edie and I had some drinks at the bar and then headed off to deal with Reinhart. I remember the drive to the apartment. I remember going in through the back door. I remember taking the stairwell.

I remember the first floor. The second. The third.

I remember Edie saying we should wait before crossing to the fourth one.

I remember feeling watched.

That’s it.

That’s where everything gets shut off. Next thing I know, I woke up here.

I think I had a dream.

“Edie?” It’s not the first time I’ve called out to her.

No reply.

Whose bathroom is this, anyway? Assuming things went according to plan, we ambushed Reinhart in her apartment. Making this her bathroom.

Okay. That’s something. I think.

“Edie?” I try, feigning surprise when nothing reaches back.

Why can’t I remember?

Mustering what little strength I’ve got – why am I so weak? – I pick the gun up and stumble to the door.

“Damn.”

The flickering neon light across the street seeps through the blinds. Each flicker shows me something else: the broken coffee table, the fist-sized hole in the wall, the scattered books, the pieces of glass that must’ve come from the broken ceiling light.

“Edie?” Still, I try. And still, I get no answer.

This is bad. If I can’t remember, it’s only because the witch messed with my head.

If she’s erased my memory, she could’ve just as well tampered with it. What if this is a trick of some kind? What if Edie’s the one in that tub and I’m seeing some kind of mirage, making me think it’s Reinhart? What if Edie’s the red-head with the pigtails? Or, better yet – what if I’m still in the stairwell, and Reinhart’s cast some kind of spell to trap me in my own mind? Ugh, can they even do that? Witches even my area of expertise. What were they thinking? What was he thinking, sending me here?

“Edie?!”

Let’s assume I’m here, in reality. What chain of events could’ve led to here? There’s signs of struggle, so we didn’t manage to catch her by surprise. Fine. But there was two of us and one of her. It shouldn’t have led to this kind of damage.

Besides, we were armed.

“Meow.”

I look to the floor. There’s no trail of blood in the living room or the bathroom floor. That means Reinhart’s body wasn’t dragged to the tub – she was in there when she was shot.

How does that work out? We ambush her, we fight, she goes to the tub and just… stands there until I take my shot? And I… pass out, forgetting the whole thing?

“Meow.”

Where is that stupid cat?

“Ngh.”

My stomach hurts. I shuffle back to the bathroom. My fingers go over the bruises below my ribs. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone beat this amnesia into me.

My thoughts drift. To coffee. To a coffee machine. Then to a copy machine. I don’t know why. Did I have something left to do in the office?

“Damn it!” Come on! Focus!

I’m back in the light.

The train of thoughts pulls up on its last stop.

I turn to the mirror.

My face isn’t in it.

It’s Edie’s.

I scream.

The pain dulls.

I clench my jaw.

Deep breaths.

I don’t want to keep looking, but I can’t look away from the mirror.

No matter how many times I tell myself to get a grip, the image never changes. It’s still Edie. She blinks when I blink. Her mouth moves when mine does. Her nostrils flare when mine do. Her hand follows mine.

It’s me. It’s not me, but it’s me.

I look over my shoulder, to the dead woman in the tub. She did this. Has she cursed me, making me see myself as Edie? It can’t be that simple. It’s too unusual of a punishment. Based on her track record, I’d argue it’s just as nefarious as it seems – she’s trapped me in Edie’s body.

I clench my head. Edie’s head.

I can hear a sound in the distance. It’s probably the cat meowing. Why, then, am I picturing a copy machine?

—I think I saw one. In my dream. What was it copying?

Who cares about the dream?!

“Fuck! Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Are these even my thoughts?!

I pull on my hair. Edie’s hair.

Damn it, get it together! I’m me! I’m me! I’m Jake! I’m—

“Damn it!”

Why can’t I remember anything?! If this is Edie’s body, where is Edie? Where is her—consciousness? Did she get transported into something else? Is there a gurgling glass of gin back in the living room?

For that matter, where is my body?

I steady my breathing.

“Maybe she just switched us around.” I murmur a bit of wishful thinking, well-aware of how pointless of a gesture it would’ve been. If she had the time to yank our consciousness around, she would’ve done something more—

My eyes fall to the hole in the witch’s chest.

—Productive.

“Edie...?”

My mouth didn’t make that sound. But – it’s definitely my voice.

A man is standing at the bathroom door. I was so focused on the mirror, I must not have heard him come in.

The man has my face.

“Thank God you’re okay.” he says. “I’ve gotten in touch with the brass, they’ve sent for pickup. Should be here in about half an hour.”

I stare at him.

He glances at the tub. Then, back at me. “You should sit down. Or lie down. Don’t push yourself. You took the worst of it.”

“Is that you, Edie?” I ask, point-blank.

The man blinks. “Uh. What?”

I decide to try something else. “Where’s Edie?”

His brows furrow. “You’re… Edie. Are you okay?” He steps into the bathroom. “I don’t—“

I raise the gun. The man freezes on the spot.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“Whoa, whoa.” He’s tense now. Of course he’d be. “It’s me. Jake. Harris. You’re Edie DiNossi. We work for an Agency that’s responsible for—”

“Cut the shit.” Bruised as I might be, I can still keep the aim firm. “I’m Jake. Who are you, and what are you doing in my body?”

This confuses him. “Uh. Okay. What?” He raises his hand. “Edie, I—“

“No sudden movements!” I order.

He nods. “Okay. Okay. Let’s all just… calm down. I don’t know… exactly what’s going on here. But if I had to guess, Reinhart must’ve messed with your memories and made you think you were me.” His eyes shut. “Actually – yeah. That’s... probably what happened. Damn.”

“Uh-huh.” I’m aiming for the head. “Do tell. What exactly happened?”

“We went in. I think she must’ve… seen us when we were going in through the back door. She was ready. Well – as ready as she could’ve been on such short notice.”

“Meow.”

He sighs. “God damn it. The cat’s still roaming around. Listen, I know this is probably all sorts of levels of confusing, but the cat—“

“Don’t you move a muscle.” I hiss. “What. Happened.”

“We got attacked. She—the cat—the neighbor-turned-cat—Reinhart made her big. Real big. The cat started mauling at us, and we had to fight.”

“A giant cat.”

“Yes. A giant cat.”

“Funny. You don’t have a scratch on you.” I notice.

He smiles weakly. “You took most of the beating, I’ll admit to that.” He sighs. Do I usually sigh that much? I doubt it. “Anyway, at some point, the cat decided playtime was over and ran out. That just left Reinhart herself. She held herself up in the bathroom. You broke the door down.” He points to the tub. “She was standing there, chanting something. You pointed the gun at her, told her to stop. Instead, she raised her hand in your direction. You pulled the trigger. Reinhart was dead on the spot. And you passed out right after.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t sound like you believe me.”

“So, what, you’re saying that she brainwashed me thinking I was Jake Harris a second before I shot her? What would be the point in that?”

“I don’t know. She’s dead, so not like I can tell you what she might’ve been thinking. Maybe she got startled and made the wrong incantation. Whatever. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m Jake Harris. Always am, always will be. You’re Edie.”

“It’s not a brainwash and I’m not Edie. I know my entire history. I’m Jake Harris. I was born to Adam and Valentina Harris. I’m an only child. I joined the Agency when I was twenty-one. There’s a tiny mole on my left thigh. Every other week I think about Jessica, my high school girlfriend. The only girlfriend I had before I realized I don’t really like people in that way.

”You’re telling me Reinhart could’ve known all that about me to just brainwash me?”

The man’s confusion now turns into panic. Of course he is. The memories prove it. “I—I don’t know. I guess it’s… probably not just a simple brainwash. Okay. I mean, she was already a class C. Who knows what she could’ve—“

“See, I have a better idea of what’s happened here.” I aim down the sights. “I’m Jake in Edie’s body. You’re Reinhart in my body. And that, in the bathtub, is a dead Edie in your body. You’d probably intended to switch places with me, but made a mistake. Yeah, that’s probably what happened – you tried jumping into my body, but my consciousness jumped into Edie’s and Edie’s jumped into yours. Pinball.”

“That’s insane.” He’s real pissed off now, this other me. “For God’s sake, Edie, if I was Reinhart, I would’ve just killed you while you were unconscious for good measure and ran away!”

“Don’t call me Edie.” I cock the gun. “And don’t think I don’t see your game here. Most witches hide. You never hid. You just kept acting and acting and acting. And when you figured you’d done enough to attract our attention, you settled down and waited for us to knock on your door. That’s the plan. The goal – infiltrating the Agency. You would’ve been fine with leaving Edie alive as long as she didn’t suspect anything. That’s why you erased the past few hours of my life, just to be on the safe side. And now that you’re starting to realize you fucked up, that I’m not Edie, now – and only now – are you starting to think about killing me.”

“For the love of God, I’m Jake! It’s me! I’m Jake Harris! It’s me! Put the fucking gun down! Let’s just wait until they get here and we’ll figure this out! But please, believe me, I am Jake!”

I shake my head. “No. I am. I feel it in every fiber of this being.”

“You have to listen to me! I don’t know wh-what happened, b-but—!”

He reaches for his holster.

I pull the trigger.

He topples to the ground.

I empty the rest of the clip into him, get my – Edie’s, I guess – coat and leave the apartment.