My Furtive Roommate
by Marc Watson
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
conclusion
Glancing around the police station, I can’t help but look at what I assume are criminals that are currently being detained. I see the handcuffs on their hands, and it makes me wonder what they’ve done to get themselves to this point. They all just looked like average, everyday, ordinary people. I always pictured criminals to look more like they are depicted in movies.
There is something about the books that I’ve read that always makes a criminal character seem like they could be picked out from a crowd. They are either overtly obvious thugs or have some tell as being the nefarious, sly, cunning criminal they are. Sure, they tried to hide it, but there’s always some sort of sign. All the people I saw here, though, looked like normal, average people.
I was staring at a girl a little older than me and picturing her as Abbey and what it would look like to see her being arrested. I was so immersed in it that I didn’t even see the officer walk up to me. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he said, “Hello ma’am, I am Officer Jenkins. As I understand it, you believe your roommate is trying to steal your identity?” The officer had kind eyes, and I could tell that he genuinely cared for some reason. I still felt a bit afraid, and all I could muster up was a shy nod.
The officer gave a slight chuckle and said, “It’s alright, ma’am. Let’s first start with something simple. What is your name?” I told him my name was Ainsley, and then the floodgates opened up. I told him about the banking issue and the pile of overdue bills, plus the letters with other names. I told him how I hadn’t seen her in I’m not even sure how long. I told him how she takes my food and clothes. More importantly, everything seems to be shifting into my name. The bank was still trying to figure out what exactly was going on. But I have not heard anything back yet.
Once I found myself repeating the same information, I stopped and realized I really didn’t know much more. I bet I sounded clueless and probably a little crazy. The officer didn’t show if he thought I was crazy. He started asking me questions I hadn’t really considered yet, and that made me feel better. I felt comfort in his thoroughness.
He asked me if she had opened any accounts in my name. I replied I didn’t know, but didn’t think so. It was more likely she was taking over my accounts and changing them to her own name. The officer gave a puzzled yet inquisitive look, as if it made little to no sense to him. I explained in greater detail how my bank account had been changed to be under her name instead of her taking my name.
Officer Jenkins took me over to a desk and told me to hold on for a minute. He then asked me to tell him all the information I knew about Abbey. He asked for her full name and if I knew her birthday. Anything that could help identify who she really is. That information would certainly aid in conducting a background check. He tapped away at his keyboard. He appeared to be reading a lot.
Finally, his mouth opened, and I heard him questioningly say, “Huh?” He looked up at me and said, “Well, I found her. Everything seems pretty normal from my end. I do see that she does live at the address you provided. She has no criminal background and doesn’t have any outstanding warrants. I don’t see any other aliases or anything else of concern.”
I am dumbfounded. How can this be? Did she just decide now to be a criminal, and was never one before? Call me ignorant, but are criminals always criminals by nature, or do they just one day become one? Was it the bills that drove her to a life of crime? Did I just happen to be the lucky one who will have to deal with it?
Officer Jenkins grabbed my attention again. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I wish there were more I could do for you. Let me go ahead and take your information down, and if we come up with anything else or if anything else pops up, I can give you a call. Do you have your ID with you?”
I fumbled around in my purse and pulled out my wallet. I retrieved my ID and handed it to him while maintaining eye contact. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but I was certainly feeling too self-conscious to look away. He looked at the card with a very perplexed look. “You said your name was Ainsley, correct?” I nod my head yes with a sort of questioning look as to why he would be asking me that.
The officer continues, “Uh, ma’am? This card you handed me. The name legally states Abbey, but it appears to have your picture on it.” My eyes must have lit up like a Christmas tree in utter shock. He hands me back the idea, and I stare at it, mortified. It certainly looks like me, but the expression and mannerisms are definitely not mine. The hair is also made up in a style that I would never wear. Is this a fake ID? But why? What is going on here?
“Ma’am, would you mind telling me why you have an ID with your roommate’s identification and your picture?” I sat there completely blank-faced, not knowing what to say at all. I don’t have an answer. Nothing made sense anymore. I grasped for any plausible explanation, and I came up with nothing. Then something hit me.
With the rush of adrenaline, I pepped up and looked at Officer Jenkins. “Is it possible she’s trying to make me take over her identity to pay for the debt she has accrued?” I remembered this scenario from a book I read a month or two ago. I bet you that’s it. Officer Jenkins leaned back in his chair, contemplating the question.
The officer stared at the ceiling as he responded. “You know I’ve never heard of that ever happening before, but it’s definitely plausible. It would be a clever and excellent way to avoid the debt collectors, that’s for sure. Are you sure that’s your wallet, ma’am?” I looked back at the wallet and started thumbing through it. Oh wow! Maybe it’s not?
Card after card, I don’t recognize a single one. It looked like my wallet, but it wasn’t mine at all. I dug back into my purse and started pulling out random items. None of this is mine. Did I pick up the wrong purse by mistake? But why do they look identical to my purse and wallet?
I turned back to the officer with what I’m sure looked like an utterly pitiful face. “I’m sorry, sir. I guess I must have grabbed the wrong purse on my way out. It looks identical to mine, so I guess she must have taken mine and left hers this morning. I didn’t even know she had the same purse.”
The officer seems to have a questioning look on his face, like something doesn’t quite add up here. “Don’t worry about that for now. Is there a private number I can reach you at in case something comes up with this?” I gave him my number. He lets me know that he’s going to call me right here and now, so I have his direct cell number in case something develops from my end.
After that, he said I was free to go. Go where? I told him I was a bit scared to go home. He reassured me that cases like this almost never have violence involved. He also added that if my inclination were correct about what she was trying to do, she would need me safe and sound to take the fall. I guess he had a point.
I left the police station and sat in my car for I don’t even know how long. I fearfully wondered if he believed me or not. Would I believe me? I am sure I looked just as suspicious of identity theft as Abbey does to me. What am I supposed to do from here? Being overly speculative isn’t helping at all. The thoughts led to the realization that I could end up being arrested for something I didn’t even do.
I drove around for hours. I knew the officer was probably right about my safety, but I was also too afraid to potentially run into her. I needed somewhere to go. Driving around forever wasn’t going to be the answer, nor could I afford it. Reflecting on money, I realized that the library was always my second home, and at least I could feel safe there.
The site of the library already calmed me down significantly. As soon as I walked through the doors, the scent of the books gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling. No matter how awful things got, this was always my safe space. I could have stayed in a trance for a while, but I was jarred out of it by one of my co-workers, Jen. “Hey! I thought I wasn’t going to see you again before moving. By the way, the boss lady is mad that you just emailed her to quit. She is convinced you were stealing books on your way out the door and were too scared to quit in person.”
With everything going on, to be accused of stealing is cripplingly devastating. “I would never steal! I have one book checked out that I plan to return well before it’s due. You know I am not like that and have always checked back in my books super early. Is the boss around?” Jen shakes her head no. “She is gone for today. If I were you, I would return the book as soon as possible before she ends up calling the police. She was not in a very good mood this morning at all. What did you write in your email?”
I didn’t know how to tell her I didn’t write any emails. I had a pretty good idea of who did, though. I avoided the question and looked down at my phone. I had received a text from Officer Jenkins asking me to come by the station for a few more questions and to discuss some matters. The last part has me more than a little worried. Why did he need me in person, and what matters were there to discuss?
I look up at Jen. “Hey, sorry, I gotta go.”
Jen smiles. “Say no more. Good luck with the move!” I must have given her the most perplexed look in the world because she immediately followed up. “Your email said you were moving, right? That was why you couldn’t give a two-week notice.” I shook my head no and didn’t say another word as I left the library.
When I hopped in the car, I intended to head straight to the police station, but a thought crossed my mind. If the email was sent by Abbey and said she was moving, then maybe she did steal my identity and was leaving with it. It all started to paint a clearer picture in my mind. She was trying to switch our identities and make a run for it.
I can’t go to the station yet. I need to race home and catch her before she disappears. Plus, if I catch her with the proof, the entire conversation at the police station will have a totally different course of action. I need to clear my name and settle this once and for all. I have to stop her.
I raced home and exploded into the living room. I immediately noticed a stack of boxes in the corner, and a number of things from the apartment were missing. Was that already there this morning, or is she here right now? She must be here. I took a deep breath and headed straight for her room. I pounded on the door a lot harder than I had intended to. There was no response. “Abbey! We need to talk!” There was no answer. She left me with no option. I turn the knob and open the door.
What I see before me takes a second to register. The room is nearly empty besides a few boxes with Tim written on the sides and a small stack of books, some of which I recognized. Why are there boxes labeled with Tim’s name on them? Was something going on between them that I never knew about? Was that why he had picked her to move in? Had Tim been cheating on me and taken it to his grave? My head started to spin, and I was getting a massive headache.
I went to the medicine cabinet to get something for my now pounding migraine. There is a prescription bottle on one of the shelves that I have never seen before. I picked it up and noticed it was Abbey’s. The drug is Brexpiprazole. I have never heard of it. I assumed it must be important.
This is a good indication that she has not yet left. I imagine she wouldn’t have forgotten something like this or the boxes in the living room. Plus, what about the boxes labeled Tim? Was that intentionally left for me? Why would she do that?
I walk into the kitchen to grab a drink to take the headache medication. I move to the fridge and see a note on the freezer door with a printed sheet of paper. The note reads,
“Hey, girl! Seriously, you need to stop forgetting to take your meds. The payment plan is in place, and we need to vacate the apartment by Friday. Our new life and job start now! Tim and Dad would be proud.”
What? I am so lost. Is she expecting me to run away with her? I don’t recognize the sheet of paper underneath the note, so I suspect she must have left it there on purpose. I pull the sheet down and begin reading. It is an after-appointment summary from a doctor’s appointment. It is addressed to Abbey. It states they are increasing her dosage of the medication, which I saw in the medicine cabinet. It said her episodes have become more intrusive, and notes she was moving to a treatment center and starting a new onsite work program that works with her condition and treatment.
What was she diagnosed with? I wondered. I scan the rest of the page for the answer and stop cold when I see my name in print. Why is my name on here? The sentence reads:
The rescuer alter, Ainsley, has become prominent and is exhibiting onset major paranoia. Recommended inpatient care, in which she will be re-evaluated after thirty days and subsequently thereafter.
What does this all mean, and what is a rescuer alter?
I stood there in confusion for a moment and reread the summary again. It didn’t make any more sense the second time. Then I noticed at the bottom a list of comorbidities. The list read. Essential Hypertension. Environmental and Seasonal Allergies. Dissociative Identity Disorder. I didn’t understand the last one, so I had to look it up.
That was the moment I learned the correct term for split personality and what an alter was. A few weeks later, I understood I was the alter. An alter is a personality that can be manifested after traumatic events as a coping mechanism. I had always found comfort in reading when my dad passed away, so I became the comforting memory that lived to read and escape. I am Abbey, but needed to be Ainsley.
In the weeks that followed at Riverview Retreat, I began to understand how I had been communicating with Ainsley in a sort of one-way understanding, assuming that time spent as Ainsley was a mere dazed memory lapse. My doctor and reaching out to Jen helped fill in some blanks. I had to make an embarrassing call to Officer Jenkins and explain my situation, and he was amazingly sympathetic and sweet about it. I still have a long way to go, and I keep a stack of books by my bed for when Ainsley comes around.
For now, I take it one day at a time. I know somewhere out there, Tim is rooting for me, and I am determined not to let him down. I appreciate some aspects of what Ainsley has done for me. I know life has been hard for me to face, but each day I find it a little easier to move forward. I will always hold Tim and my dad in my heart, and I know they would want to see me happy. I won’t let you guys down. That goes for you, too, Ainsley.
Copyright © 2025 by Marc Watson
