The last of the movers carried the last box out the door . I locked it, leaned against it and gazed around the empty room. Most of six wonderful years with Ted had been lived here.... and then three terribly lonely ones since his death. Well, it was time to put it all behind me and start over again. Actually, it felt like I was just continuing my numb celibate life in a different location. I refused to think about all the wonderful times that Ted and I had spent in this place. I had been doing that for three long years already, it was now time to move on and start a new life.

There was a plaintive cry from the cat carrier sitting on the kitchen counter with the other items I was carrying with me in my car. I stuck my finger through the wires and caressed her. "I know, Saturn. It will all be over soon. You're going to love our new home. There's a big back yard just for you." She meowed sadly. I got the feeling she was rather doubtful about it, too.

I did a last walkthrough checking for anything that might have been overlooked. When I didn't come up with anything, I loaded the box containing Ted's ashes into the back seat of my car. Returning to the kitchen for the last time, I picked up Saturn's carrier and my briefcase, then locked the door behind me. I dropped my case on the floorboard and set the carrier on the seat and belted it in. I eased behind the wheel and collapsed against it. 'Come on, fellow, you can do this. You've already gotten this far,' I thought to myself, but I knew the hardest part was yet to come.

I backed out of the garage and stepped out of the car with the garage door gizmo in my hand. I pushed the button and tossed it under the closing door where the new owners could find it. Getting back into the car, I wheeled onto Sherman Way and headed for the 405. I was glad to be leaving the San Fernando Valley. This was the end to an era.

Forty-five minutes later, I turned off the 210 onto Fair Oaks Avenue, and headed north to Altadena, to our new home. The big old house sat half a block back from the street. I pulled into the long driveway, drove up to the garage, and just sat there for a few moments, steeling myself for the next step - moving in.

"I can do this. Don't think; just go with the flow," I said aloud to myself. It had become my mantra over the last three years. The cat meowed plaintively. I stuck a finger into the carrier and rubbed her head. "Saturn, I promise, you're going to love your new home."

I got out of the car, draped my arms over the car door and looked at the house. It was a grand old two story 1920s Spanish Revival, with white walls and a red tile roof. It was a perfectly proportioned house. Ted had loved the symmetry. I thought a moment about how lonely it was going to be here, bouncing off the walls by myself. Ted had wanted this house so much and I loved the old place, too, but it was just 'so damned big'.

Ted and I had put a down payment and signed all the papers to this big old house just before the accident. We were preparing to move when he was killed. Everything went on hold until all the legal matters were straightened out. We had procrastinated doing the wills and all the other documents we had to have in order to protect ourselves from the 'straight' legal system.

Being that he had no siblings and both parents were dead and no living relatives came forward, the court decided that I was the only one eligible to get it all, including the huge accident insurance settlement. The trucking company knew that the driver of the big semi had a bad drinking record, yet they'd allowed him to get behind the wheel. He had been drinking when he crashed into Ted's little sports car.

'Don't think; just go with the flow,' I reminded myself.

On the east side of my driveway, there is a cottage that years ago that had been part of the estate. A previous owner had sold it along with a sizable piece of the property. The windows on the west side looked out onto my front yard. We had been told that a man and his elderly mother lived there.

I walked around my car to retrieve Saturn. As I stood up with her carrier in my hand, I glanced at the window next door. I saw a man, sitting at his desk watching me. I locked eyes with him. I could have sworn that I was looking right into Ted's eyes. I froze. This had to be a hallucination. He waved and nodded. I shook my head to clear it. He was still there, smiling at me. I smiled weakly and dropped my gaze as I turned away. 'Now is not the time to start imagining things.' I told myself.

I walked over to the moving van, parked in the circular driveway. The men had unloaded several pieces of furniture and boxes onto the lawn and were ready to start moving the stuff inside, so I unlocked the front door.

I went through to the kitchen and into the pantry. Closing the door, I let Saturn out of her carrier. She mirped softly and wrapped her sleek black body around my leg, thanking me for releasing her, then she started exploring. She jumped up on the window ledge and looked out. She turned back to me with a pleading look in her big golden eyes. "After the movers have gone and you've thoroughly explored the house, then you can go out and explore the yard," I told her. She seemed content with that and continued gazing out the window. I gave her a bowl of water and some dry food.

The rest of the day was spent directing the movers where to put everything. When it was all in place and the movers had left, I first let Saturn out of the pantry, then started sorting through the stacks of boxes, extracting the ones I had marked for immediate use: bedding, bathroom necessities, kitchen items - like the coffee maker. The doorbell rang. 'It must be my next door neighbor,' I thought.

Recalling my hallucination earlier, I wondered what he really looked like. He had his back to me when I opened the door. I quickly did an inventory of what I was seeing, short blonde hair, broad muscular shoulders, narrow waist, small hips and long legs. The whole package was quite familiar. And then he turned around smiling that special smile that I had missed so terribly. I looked into his warm brown eyes and my mind shut down. My lights went out.

As I started regaining consciousness and became cognizant of my surroundings, I realized I was lying on the sofa. I heard a sound and turned my head toward it. He was standing by the mantle, frowning. He had my favorite photo of Ted and me in his hand. It had been taken on top of the Empire State Building. I closed my eyes and moaned. I wasn't imagining this. I was seeing Ted.

"Do you remember when that was taken?" I asked.

He quickly set the photo down and knelt beside me. I guess he chose to ignore the question; he didn't answer. He wiped a cool damp cloth over my forehead. I opened my eyes and looked at him....yes, he definitely was Ted. Tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision. I closed them and felt the tears streaking down the sides of my face. He gently wiped them away with the cloth.

"Feeling better?"

I slowly shook my head no.

"The photo. That's not me. Who is it?" he asked.

I glared at him, then closed my eyes and frowned as I pushed him away and sat up. What kind of fucked up game was he playing? I needed a stimulant to help me think, to help me cope with this. "I think I need some coffee," I said as I pushed him aside, stood up and walked toward the kitchen. I was angry, hurt, confused

He followed me. I ignored him, trying to get my thoughts together and figure out what was going on. I was elated that he was not dead, but I was furious that he had led me to believe that he was, and that he had let me mourn for him for three long unending years. I poured water and grounds into the coffee maker, and turned it on while he stood in the doorway with his hands stuck in his pockets. I turned around, folded my arms across my chest and leaned back against the counter. "Alright, Ted, explain," I commanded.

He looked at me like I had lost my mind. He blinked and then looked at me again. I could have sworn he didn't know what I was talking about. Damn, he was a good actor. "My name is not Ted. My name is Nathan Taylor," he said, walking towards me.

How the hell could he look me in the eye and act so God damned innocent? "You Fucker. You've put me through three years of agony. Three years I've mourned your death... every moment of every day," I hissed at him. "And.... and now you walk back in to my life.... just like that." I snapped my fingers in his face. "How dare you?" I raged at him. He stepped back; I wanted to pound him, to make him hurt as badly as I was hurting. Completely out of control, I turned and slammed my fist into the cabinet door. "Shit," I screamed.

He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around me and pulled me away from the cabinet. There was a hole in the door and my knuckles were bleeding. "Calm down," he said, trying to sooth me.

If he hadn't touched me the pain in my hand would have probably calmed me. But the feel of his arms around me sent me into another fit of rage. I jerked away from him. "How could you? No amount of money is worth what you've put me through. I really thought you were dead," I yelled. "You are dead, you son of bitch. You are not going to come back into my life after abandoning me and putting me though hell for three years." I was so rabid I could have killed him.

He calmly slapped me. It wasn't a hard slap, but the shock of it quieted me. The loss of my righteous anger left me limp. He grabbed me again and hugged me hard against his chest. When I didn't react in anger, he let go of me. "I'm sorry, but you were a bit hysterical. Please, sit down and tell me what you are talking about."

I stared at him in total disbelief. I was speechless. He seemed so sincere. The returning hostility I was feeling made my eyes feel dry and hot. He gently pushed me onto a chair and sat down facing me.

At moments like that, I always hear some stupid song in my head, like the background music in a movie. Right then I could hear Tim Hardin singing, "Knowing that you lie straight-faced while I cry."

"As I said, my name is Nathan Taylor. I grew up next door, where you first saw me. I am a Psychiatrist. I work with disturbed young people." He sat there looking at me as if he expected some kind of response from me. I just glared at him. "Won't you tell me your name?" he said as if he was speaking to a mentally deficient person. Oh man, this was good. I wondered why he hadn't changed his occupation along with his name.

"You know my name. Why are you playing this game?" I asked.

"If I knew your name I wouldn't have to ask, now would I?"

"Alright, I'll play along. My name is Jim Baxter." I was feeling exasperated and belligerent.

"So who is this Ted you keep accusing me of being?"

"You know who the fuck you are," I growled at him.

"Okay, Jim, let's pretend I don't know." He was really good at playing the headshrinker. His voice was calming, soothing. "Who is Ted?"

"You were my partner, you shit. We bought this house together before you were killed, as you well know," I screamed in frustration.

"I didn't know. I am sorry for your loss." I could see the gentle kindness in his eyes as he said that, but I still wasn't going to let him get away with this cruel, mean game.

The song played on in my head. "Still I look to find a reason to believe."

"So very kind of you to care." I sneered. "And if you think you're going to get your hands on the insurance money you are wrong. I'm returning it all and I'll repay what I have spent. I'll see you burn in hell before I let you have a cent."

The coffee maker burped and sighed as the last of the water was pushed into the grounds. I got up and filled two mugs. I poured a little cream and two level teaspoons of sugar into one, stirred it and handed it to him. He was hesitant to take it, but then he accepted it and raised it to his lips. He frowned as he tasted it; all the time looking at me. I stood there watching. "What? Isn't that how you like it?" I asked.

"It's exactly how I like it. What I don't understand is how you would know that."

"I fixed your coffee at least once a day for six years. Why wouldn't I know how you like it?" I snapped at him.

"Stop." He held his hands up, palms out, in front of his chest. "This discussion is going circular. Please, sit back down and let me try to get this straight."

I sat back down glowering at him over my coffee mug.

"Okay, I think I have figured this much out," he said. "I look exactly like Ted. I am assuming that you believe that I am him, and that I was not really killed. And I'm supposed to be after some insurance money. Is that correct?"

I nodded.

"Okay. Now I'm going to tell you a story," he said. "This has me completely weirded out. I'm sure it will do the same to you, too. I admit that I am aware of who Ted was. A little over two years ago my mother died. In going through her private papers, I happened up on a set of documents indicating that I was adopted at birth. The papers also indicated that I had an identical twin that my parents had petitioned to adopt, too. Apparently they didn't succeed and my twin was adopted by another family. I started a search for him, only to learn that he had died about a year earlier. His name was Ted Kincaide. Both of his parents were deceased. I looked no further."

I leaned back in my chair staring at him. Did he really expect me to believe his farfetched story? Come on, I wasn't born yesterday. As I looked at him I recalled the Ted that I knew. I couldn't imagine him doing this to me. "You were the center of my universe," I said to him. "My whole life revolved around you. I don't understand.... Why? I never thought money was so important to you that you would do something so dastardly as this. I loved you." Tears filled my eyes again.

"You don't believe a word of what I just told you. Do you?" he asked.

I just dolefully stared at him. Not only had he broken my heart, now he was spitting on it. I had loved him.... Fuck!.... I still loved him.

The song played on in my subconscious: "If I listened long enough to you, I'd find a way to believe it's all true."

"I guess the only thing to do is to show you the documents," he said and stood up. "Come with me." He turned and walked to the front door. I hesitated, and then thinking, 'this is going to be good', I followed. He held the screen door open for me to step into his house, and then followed me into the room. "Please be seated, I'll be back in a minute."

I stood where I was, looking around the room. It was comfortable, decorated with discrete masculine taste. Spanish Revival furniture complemented the style of the house itself. A couple of exquisite Plein Aire paintings hung on the walls. A beautiful large oriental carpet covered the dark wood floor. 'This is how I want the big house to look,' I thought to myself.

He came back into the room carrying a shoe box, a folder of papers and a first aid kit. "Before we get into this, let me take care of your hand." He sat down on the sofa, placing the box and papers on the coffee table. He opened the kit, and then patted the cushion beside him. I had forgotten about my hand. Now that he'd directed my attention to it, it started throbbing. "Come sit."

He took my hand and examined it. "I don't think you broke any bones, but it's going to be sore." He tore open an alcohol wipe and cleaned the dried blood off my knuckles. I hissed at the sharp sting.

"Sorry."

"It's all right."

"I'm glad you didn't aim at my face," he chuckled. "You'll have to replace a panel in that cabinet door." He smoothed some ointment on my knuckles and tore open a roll of gauze, wrapped it around my hand several times and then split the end of the roll and tied it off.

The song sang on..

"Some one like you makes it hard to live without someone else."

"There that should keep it clean until it starts to heal." He squeezed my knee. The jolt of his touch shot up my leg and I flinched. "Sorry. I wasn't being personal."

I ducked my head, embarrassed at the effect he had on me. He reached over and picked up the folder and handed it to me. "I'll leave you to peruse these. I'll be back in a moment."

I leafed through the thick file of papers on my lap, not knowing what I should really be looking for. Most of them were yellowed with age. I saw official looking seals and signatures. I saw his name on a birth certificate. Leafing on through them I found a copy of Ted's birth certificate. I held it in one hand; Nathan's in the other, and compared them. Nathan's being an original was certainly older looking. I leafed on through and found a request for information and then copies of the adoption papers for Ted.

I closed the folder and laid it back on the coffee table. Okay, it looked like he was telling the truth, but again..... if he was going to fake his death, wouldn't he also go through the trouble of faking all these papers? My thoughts were like a bunch of Keystone Cops falling all over each other, jumbled, not making sense. I sat with my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands, eyes closed, trying to not think or even feel. I was aware of when he came back into the room and sat down beside me, but I still jumped when he put his hand on my back.

"I didn't mean to startle you. Are you okay?" he asked, rubbing his hand briskly up and down my spine. I had hungered for that touch for so long.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," I said. "It's so strange. How is it that you're so like him and you never even knew him? You use his expressions like 'weirded out'. You like your coffee fixed the same way. You're a psychiatrist working with kids just like he did. I think it's going to take some time to accept this."

"Well, Jim, it's going to take us both time to get our heads straight about this. Can it really be just a coincidence that my twin and his lover bought a house next door to me? I wish I could have known him. But maybe knowing you will give me a window on him."

He picked up the box and sat it between us. Opening it he took out a book of photos. "This was my family, my father and mother. This was me at three. My high school graduation picture." On and on he droned as my head swam. I had all of Ted's family photos stored away in a similar box.

"Nathan." Damn, it was difficult thinking of him as 'not Ted.' I stood up preparing to go. He looked up at me. "Nathan, I apologize for screaming at you. I'm emotionally exhausted. Please forgive me, but I've really got to be by myself for a while."

"Hey, I can see what you've gone through. I'm sorry I was party to it, but I guess neither of us could have prevented it. When you get it all straight in your head maybe we can have dinner together and start off on a new foot."

"I'd like that. I'll talk to you later." I started out the door.

"Oh, welcome to the neighborhood, Jim. Call me if you need anything. Here's my card."

"Thank you," I said, taking the card. I walked away without looking back. I still wasn't convinced; he was just too much like Ted.