Story 246: Understudy

"Hello, Jack."
It's me. Maybe from the future? I look a little heavier, a little more worn somehow. It has to be a prank. Time travel isn't real, and nobody would make a clone that looks worse than the original. It has to be a clever makeup job that's part of some joke that... oh, Harold. It has to be that douchebag Harold.
"Nice mask, dumbass. Don't think I forgot that bet. The fake IRS call didn't get me and this isn't going to either."

I put my satchel down and pour myself a drink. Harold looks confused, or maybe a little bit amused. He's probably going to keep trying this gag for a minute or two.
"No, Jack. I'm you. Well, I'm the real you. You're just a clone."
Oh that's clever. That's actually way better than what I was expecting. "I like it! Yeah, get that existential dread thing going. Nice one, Harold!"
"I'm not that prick Harold. I'm... you know what? Fuck it. Quartermellon."
Quartermellon? What does that even...

I'm paralyzed. I can blink, and breathe, and... that's about it.
"There, you see? I came to thank you for working so hard these past two years. You've made me a lot of money. I was going to do it the right way, work my way up the ladder and kiss everyone's ass, but after Diana left and Karl took the job I wanted I... needed a break. So thank you. Really."
This is impossible. I'm me. I've always been me. I remember... things. Right? It's... shit, I mean I don't remember a lot about my childhood but that's normal. Right? Nobody remembers much of what happened before they turned thirty.
"All good things must end, I'm afraid, and now that you've fixed my finances and obtained my dream job I really should step back in."

I have to say something. I try to talk, but I can't quite form words. He can tell I'm attempting to communicate though.
"I shouldn't do this, but... I'm going to trust you. Don't try anything. Quartermellon."
I almost drop my drink, but recover. I take a sip, trying to relax. "Thanks. There's a problem with your plan, though."
"Oh?" Now he looks amused for sure. He's not buying it.
"Yeah. You can't possibly be me. You've been - what, on vacation? For two years? Lounging on some beach, drinking, catching whatever STDs the locals have on hand? Your fiancée left you and you didn't get a job and you lost it. Almost lost everything. Now you think you can come back and operate at an even higher level? Do you have any idea how many projects I'm working on right now? You'd be clueless, you wouldn't know where to start. You don't know the people, the policies, the background. You're rusty from sitting on your ass and you want to just jump right into the lion's den?"
He looks mad, I may have overdone it. But I'm not wrong, and I need him to think about this, to realize how hard it's going to be.

"I could... I'll figure it out." He doesn't sound convinced. Good, now I can offer him an alternative. Offer to keep living 'his' life and... fund his beach vacation, I suppose. Until I can figure out how to get rid of him.
"Listen, I can -"
"Quartermellon! You've said enough. Maybe you're right, maybe I'm worthless. Maybe I can't come back. But at least I'm not a slab of vat-grown meat! I... Jesus, I need a drink."
He storms out, door slamming. Slowly I watch the sun dip below the horizon, unable to move. At some point I fall asleep, and when I wake up he's still not back. I think he's never coming back. I pass out occasionally, and wake to a ringing phone or a knock at the door. I can feel myself dying. Come on, you asshole. Come and take your life back.