The Girl With the Two Colored Eyes

The alarm jolted her out of her final attempt at a satisfying sleep and back to reality. It was done; today was the day she would become yet another homeless statistic in the grand old city of St. Augustine, Florida. She had finally found a job as a barista just a little too late to save the house she had started a happy marriage in and grieved a loving, indulgent husband in shortly after. But what was done was done and Reagan women didn’t give up or dissolve in the face of a challenge.

Thirty minutes later, Jessica Reagan was on her way to the Starbucks ten minutes away. Her hair had not cooperated or she would have already been at work and clocked in. As she rushed in through the glass door, she full on collided with an older man in a suit writing in a small, leather book. It’s black cover looked worn with age.

“I am so sorry,” exclaimed Jessica. Could this day get any worse?

The man paused in the middle of what sounded like an apology, staring at her eyes seemingly lost and shocked at the same time before giving her a brief nod and hurrying out the door to his car.

Jessica quickly clocked in and put on her apron. She was assigned to the counter that day and while taking the order of the next customer, she noticed the black book lying on the floor under the table next to where she and the stranger had collided.

As soon as the customer had paid, Jessica quickly darted to the book and began leafing through it, thinking it might have something to identify the man inside. However, what she found made her blood run cold.

At the top of the page was a name and address. Hers. The names of her parents. Her birthdate. Her unusual colored eyes described in detail. The name of her cat and her best friend. Where her husband was buried.

On the following pages was her schedule for the past month and a note starting to record her almost absence at work today. As her hands began to shake, a card fell from the pages of the book.

Still in a daze, Jessica scanned the card, unconsciously taking in the details. Investigative Agency. A phone number. Savannah, Georgia. Why would someone from Savannah be looking for me?

With sudden resolve, she dialed the number and waited. When the line picked up, the questions poured out. “Who are you? Why are you looking for me? Why are you following me?”

“I was hoping you would call me. Can we meet? I promise no harm will come to you.”

“You can come here but I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“That’s fine. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Jessica nervously paced as she waited for the man - James Farquaharson, according to the card - and claimed the next two open seats.

When Mr. Farquharson sat, instead of speaking he pulled out a file and sat back as if waiting for her response.

Hesitatingly, Jessica lifted the cover and saw a photo of a baby with curly brown hair and what she assumed were the child’s parents. Next was a newspaper clipping detailing the investigation into a kidnapping 25 years before. The child’s name was Jessica.

A feeling of foreboding began to take root and she continued through the file. He had been hired 15 years earlier after the police had closed the investigation when all leads went cold. The parents knew in the deepest parts of their souls that the child- now an adult - wasn’t dead. The next was a clipping of an obituary. Both parents had passed away 5 years earlier from injuries sustained in a tragic accident.

Tears came pouring down Jessica’s face. At the end was a projection of what the adult Jessica would look like. It looked exactly like her, straight down to her two colored eyes and bow in her lips. She raised her eyes to the investigator and waited.

“You are Jessica. They never gave up hope. I found you by chance three months ago after seeing the picture in the notice of your husband’s death,” he said to her quietly. “You have two sisters and both of your grandmothers are still alive.” He continued with more information as Jessica’s brain tried to catch up. A long moment of silence followed.

After realizing Jessica couldn’t speak, he took out what appeared to be a check. “This is what your parents paid me to find you. It’s yours now.”

Jessica’s brain once again swam as she took in the amount: $20,000. She looked at him in confusion. “Why are you giving me this? It’s yours; you earned it!” She tried to push it back, but he picked it up and placed it in her hand.

“It’s yours. My investigation didn’t find you; I found you by chance and too late. I didn’t earn it. Take it. I know you need it.”

Jessica slowly took a deep breath and exhaled trying to make sense of it all. Thousands of questions flew through her head: Who was the woman she called mother her whole life? Why was she kidnapped? Does she have to legally change her name from Reagan to Phillips? What does it even mean to everything else in her life if her name wasn’t her name? Her marriage, graduation, driver’s license, taxes... It all quickly became out of control and she was overwhelmed.

She felt his hands taking hold of hers. “Don’t overthink. The lawyer handling your parents’ affairs will walk you through it all. For now, deposit your check, save your house, and I’ll get back in touch.” He handed her a list of names with phone numbers. “These are your sisters and your grandmothers. They know I’ve found you and will be in touch; as will the lawyer.”

With that, Mr. Farquharson stood, shook her hand, and walked out the door leaving Jessica stunned.