Why were my palms sweating? Why were my limbs weaker? Why was I so nervous?

I was not meeting up with her; Detective Michelle was. I could not bring myself to sleep after that call. I kept turning on the thin bed, yet no position seemed comfortable for me. I quickly lit a cigar to relax.

Had she changed in any way? Was she more prettier now or had age dealt mercilessly with her? Would she remember who I was if she saw me? I had a feeling she would; I was her replica, I only had Father's blonde hair.

I let my hand trail down my hair and brought...