It starts when they find a body with your face.

“It’s not genetic,” the doctor tells you, his electric blue eyes fixed on you. You can hear a faint ticking sound coming from somewhere nearby. “She wasn’t born with that face,” he says, as if that should comfort you. You slouch on an uncomfortable chair, feeling hollow and empty like your insides are nothing but grey dust and ash.

“Plastic surgery,” is what the doctor tells you next. “Whoever did this gave her your face first. Let her heal. I see she has your body shape too.”

“She looked like me when she was killed,” you say. You want to say more, but words evade you. You should be scared, but it’s hard for you to care. You think of home, of locking the door behind you and surrounding yourself in the silence you adore.

“The eyes are different,” the doctor continues, as if you want to know. “Maybe that’s what it is. That’s what killed her. Whoever killed her – the agents say it’s a man – wanted her to look like you, but the eyes gave her away.”

You remain silent. You don’t want to speak anymore. Opening your mouth and saying any of the fleeting thoughts inside your head seems like far too much trouble to be worth it. You just want this to be over.

“They’re worried, of course,” the doctor says, leaning back. His mechanic leg hits the corner of his chair with a loud clang, and he visibly cringes. “I don’t think you need to be worried, though,” he continued after a moment. “I mean, maybe if they find another body like this – that looks like you. Maybe then. But now? It could be someone getting rid of a fantasy.”

The word ‘violated’ flashes through your mind, but you don’t think the doctor would understand.

“The victim is of no relation to you,” the man assures. “We dug out your parents bodies and did some tests. So you just… go home, dear. Go on with your life. Forget this ever happened.”

You go, leaving the doctor and the ticking sound behind you.

***

Three weeks later there’s another body. This time he got the eyes right.