She was a little girl, holding a piece of paper in her hand, excited and full of joy. A bright gold foil star shimmered on the page, above the glowing words of her kindergarten teacher. Someone gently touched her back, encouraging her to run forward into the room, into the dark. She eagerly ran inside, and there he was, standing by the work desk.

“How long did I stand there before he shooed me away?” Charlie searched her mind, but the answers didn’t come.

“He didn’t shoo me away,” Charlie’s other voice answered.

Her eagerness didn’t fade, she remained patient and joyful. After the first push, she came back to try again. It was only after the second push that she hesitated to go back, but she carefully returned anyway, this time holding the paper into the air. Maybe he didn’t see it.

“He saw it,” Charlie’s other voice spoke down to her.

This time it hurt; the ground was cold, and her arm ached where she had fallen on it. She looked for the paper: it was on the floor in front of her, her gold star still shone bright, but he was standing on the page now. She looked up to see if he noticed, tears in her eyes. She knew she should leave it, but she couldn’t. She reached forward to tug at the corner, but it was too far away. She finally crawled to it on her knees, her dress dirty now, and tried to pull the page from under his shoe. It wouldn’t come loose.

“That’s when he hit me.”

It was difficult to make out anything in the room after that. The room was a smear of tears and pain and her head was still spinning. But she made out one thing, a shiny metal clown doll. Her father had turned his attention back to it, lovingly polishing her. Suddenly, her pain faded to the background, replaced with fascination, obsession.

“What is all of this?” Charlie cried.

Now she was looking at herself in the mirror, holding a stick of lipstick that she’d stolen from her teacher’s purse. But she wasn’t painting her lips with it, she was drawing bright red circles on her cheeks. The lips came next.

“Are you listening to me?” the doppelganger whispered.

Night had swept over everything. The rooms were dark, the halls were silent, the lab was still. Her feet made soft pats against the smooth white tiles. A tiny camera in the corner had a red blinking light on it, but it didn’t matter what it saw, it was too late to stop her.

She pulled the sheet away from the beautiful clown girl, beckoning her to speak. Where was the button, the one he always pressed?