It was a Friday night in early December and the Brzezinski twins were going through a happy phase in their relationship. They crossed the Provencher Bridge, surreptitiously sipping beers they’d packed in their coat pockets, headed in the direction of Osborne Street and a secret show they happened to have insider knowledge of. It was negative thirty-six degrees Celsius without counting the wind chill, but this had never deterred them.

“What would you do if I was the next one to get murdered?” asked Aaron.

“I’d kill myself!” said Jaymie.

“What! I mean, I would too, if it was you. Maybe not right away… Like, maybe I’d give myself a couple of decades to process it first, but then I would, for sure.” Aaron considered it while Jaymie dealt with important business on his phone. It was a bright clear night and the snow blanketing the broad Red River was having a contest with the moon to see who could shine more brightly. One of them would surely blow an important fuse in the next minute or two and the whole world would freeze over.

“You?” said Jaymie, looking up from an Instagram story he was crafting, which Aaron had no idea if he was included in and, if he was, whether it would be at all flattering toward him. “You can’t kill yourself—you’re not even a real person! I hate to break it to you, but you’re actually just an extension of my ego. I invented you to keep me company. You’re like my little daemon! If I die, you just poof out of existence, like that,” he snapped his fingers and winked casually at a group of women smoking under an arch at the centre of the bridge. They smiled back and blew puffs of smoke at him that formed into hazy Christmas trees with gold shining hearts on top.

“How do you get them to do that?” Aaron asked, always a little annoyed by his brother’s ability to avoid being seen by women for the sleazebag Aaron was certain that he was.

“Well, I just decide to believe in myself and in who I am, and then...” Jaymie thought for a moment. “No, it’s because I have a twin! Girls love that shit. They think it’s so cute.”

“I have a twin!” Aaron pointed out indignantly.

“I guess that’s true. And you have an even better twin—just kidding! I dunno, Aar. I think it’s because I was born first.”

They passed the restaurant perched over the river, nestled at the centre of a set of huge metal beams that made the city’s great landmark bridge look like a rocket ship straining to break free from a giant spiderweb. The scent of fries wafted through the frigid air. After housing a series of failed eateries specializing in gourmet French Canadian cuisine, the mid-bridge diner had reverted back to its original identity as a Salisbury House, where one could find a very cheap but still edible burger until late into the night.

“Actually, I was born first. I came out and they named me Jaymie and they put me in a crib in the nursery but then they got the labels mixed up and I’ve been Aaron ever since.”

“That never happened. I was born first and I had to put on ‘Come as You Are’ and coax you out with a piece of cheddar cheese. I remember the day well. Nirvana released the song just that week.”

“That album came out in ‘91. And you can’t even remember what we did last weekend, never mind being born.”

“Sounds like a successful weekend.” He stopped walking. “Aaron! That was twenty-five years ago—being born, I mean—how have we not run out of twin jokes yet?”

“I’m positive we’ve had this exact conversation at least once before.” Aaron gulped the dregs of his Fort Garry Rouge and tossed the empty can in a blue Take Pride! bin set against the railing of the bridge. Jaymie finished the post he’d been creating, which comprised a picture of Aaron making his signature “I’m not sure if everything’s ok, but maybe it really is ok, I sure hope so” face, a backdrop of fifty metal beams stretching stiffly into the sky as though they emanated from him, and the words “Aar Bear is excited to see a secret show!” typed in hot pink letters at the bottom.

“Ok Aar, I’m afraid we have to part ways now for a bit.” Jaymie sheathed his phone in his pocket and began manipulating a pack of cigarettes with his mitten hands, though their breath was fogging so thickly in the cold that they may as well have already been smoking.

“What? Why?”

“I wanted to finish this conversation with you, to prove to you how much our friendship means to me, but now I have to go back to the Sals.” Jaymie put his non-cigarette hand on the shoulder of his brother’s thick parka. “This is a networking emergency. I hope you’ll understand.”

“Networking? What about the show?” said Aaron. The secret show was being held in a secret venue featuring two purportedly amazing bands, the names of which were also a secret (the act of keeping confidential the one name they’d been made privy to had been both delighting and destroying Jaymie for the last twenty-four hours). They had a lead that it was either in the basement of Big Brother Coffee Co. or a loft above the karaoke dive above the taco shop in South Osborne. Apparently not even the bands playing that night would find out the location until it was time to load in. Jaymie and Aaron had plotted a route that passed both destinations and included the maximum number of pizza and beer stops.

“I’ll meet you there for the main event! Catching the opener has become second priority. Aar, did you see who that was back there?”

“You’re going to bail on awesome music to flirt with some girls at Sals?” Aaron was skeptical but knew it wasn’t too far of a stretch for Jaymie.

“Not flirt, network—”

“Sorry, you’re bailing on awesome music to network your way into bed with—”

“Some maybe awesome music. Remember that time we went to a show where the headliner was a secret and they were charging twenty bucks to get in and then it turned out to be that ukulele band that just does nineties punk covers?”

“I still love that concept. I don’t know how they managed to screw up ukulele punk so bad.”

“Well, you never know what you’re going to get.”

“Didn’t someone die at that show too?”

“They did.” Jaymie nodded and the two left a moment of silence out of respect for the deceased, or perhaps because Jaymie was making sure his post had uploaded properly to the Bukowskis’ Instagram and Aaron was sending a few feeler texts to see if the venue location had made its way into the collective unconscious yet. An ice-skating couple wound beneath them on the river trail and Aaron sighed out a cloud of frost, knowing that at this point there was no salvaging their plans from being unravelled by Jaymie’s ever-changing whims.

“It’s for the band,” said Jaymie.

“I’ve been thinking about moving out,” said Aaron.

“Making the right connections is as important as—wait, what? Move out? Why?”

Aaron felt too guilty to savour Jaymie’s incredulity. “Our house can be kind of a rollercoaster,” he said.

“What the eff, Aaron! A rollercoaster? There’s only three of us! Ok, Rex can be kind of a slob, but—”

“It’s you.”

“So… you’re just… ditching me. Again.” Jaymie snuffed his cigarette against the frozen railing and tossed it over the side, to land in front of a surprised family of new-Canadians skating below.

“You’re literally ditching me right now!” said Aaron.

“I’m not literally ditching you, Aaron. What, am I putting you in a ditch?”

“No… but that murderer might.”

“Jesus Christ! Can you chill the fuck out for one evening?”

“You know what? I think I’ll go catch the opener by myself,” said Aaron, bouncing slightly on the balls of his boots to keep warm.

“Well, good! What a perfectly reasonable thing to do!” said Jaymie. He pulled his scarf over his chin and rubbed his chilled hands together through his mitts.

"I'll probably know some people there!" said Aaron, his voice rising in volume and pitch.

"You probably will!" said Jaymie, refusing either out of respect or obstinance to acknowledge Aaron's apprehension.

“And even if I don’t, it’s perfectly fine and normal to be at a show by yourself!”

“It literally is!”

“Ok, I’m going!”

“Maybe you could just do something by yourself once a year and you wouldn’t be so frantic to move out!”

“Ok, I’ll think about it!”

“Well, good!”

“Ok! Bye.” Aaron set off toward the end of the bridge and the brightly lit walking paths that lay beyond. Jaymie hesitated.

“You know I’d invite you to go back there with me, but…”

“I get it, I don’t have your…whatever you have.”

“You’re wearing Sorels, for God sakes!”

Aaron turned back around. “It’s forty below and your ankles are showing, you fucking hipster! How are they not frozen?”

“I have literally lost all feeling in them.”

“Dear god. Ok, have fun.”

“Aar!”

“What!”

It was true that Jaymie had underdressed for the night. He looked as dapper as though he’d just stepped out of a holiday-themed Brit-rock music video, but his socks were showing between his Blundstones and his rolled pantlegs and he was clearly starting to feel the weather. He took a shuddering breath.

“Don’t you want to know who’s back there?”

“Who’s back there?” Aaron asked resignedly.

“Daffodile! She was buying a Nip at the front counter!”

Daffodile had been a staple of the music scene since they’d first started going to shows in their teens. She’d hired a marketing consultant in the early days of her career who’d helped her develop her brand, and had had remarkable success. Her logo, a yellow flower with doe eyes and a giant set of reptilian teeth, could be found stenciled or stickered or sharpie-ed on the walls of every venue in the city.

Rumour had it she made her living composing minute-long musical numbers to be performed by the characters on a popular children’s TV show. These characters were all different kinds of fruit with eyes and hands, and they encouraged friendship and cooperation and moved in that rapid-fire animation style that had been in fashion for some time and that was inspiring joy and healthy eating habits in children across the nation, as well as causing high percentages of ADHD in that same demographic.

She was invited to play at many festivals, and as a result was on tour at least half the year. She was always celebrated when she returned home to play the occasional sold out local show. A Daffodile sighting was a rare and precious thing.

“The singer? Jay, she’s at least ten years older than you.”

“And still as lovely as a man-eating flower. Goodbye, Aaron.”

***

Aaron slouched his way to the far bank, his happy buzz entirely dissipated. He had little doubt that Daffodile would be charmed by Jaymie. Perhaps they’d be opening for her next show.

It hadn’t needed clarifying that Aaron wasn’t invited on Jaymie’s networking endeavor; he neither enjoyed nor had the knack for engaging with strangers and, past the initial exploitation of the fact that they were twins, could only hinder Jaymie’s progress.

He’d never understood how Jaymie seemed to have everyone instantly in the palm of his hand. Jaymie had a special way of looking people in the eye that made them feel as though they were in on a secret conspiracy, just they and him. He gave the impression that he was always just about to offer you drugs, and you’d take them, whatever they were, in hopes that you’d hallucinate a dimension a little closer to the one he existed in.

Aaron knew his own face must be capable of the same expressions of coyness and charm as Jaymie’s but he didn’t dare try them on; he was certain they’d just appear creepy or manic on him. A certain attitude was required which was not an element in his bundle of their shared DNA.

He found a bench and sat down, wondering if Jaymie actually expected him to go to the show alone, or if his brother rightly suspected that the change in plans would deter him enough to send him home for a quiet night of drinking with the cats, and whether Jaymie cared at all which he chose. He pictured himself searching for the hidden venue alone in subarctic temperatures with a killer on the loose, and immediately opened the Transit app on his phone to find a bus homeward.

Then he imagined watching an entire set of flawless punk rock guitar shreddery, and he remembered how nice it is when your friends brave the winter night to make it to your show, and he stood up resolutely and faced downtown. After all, there was more than one person he could text for the location once the event was underway. And who was going to go out murdering in weather like this? He set off.

Tall shadows moved from behind a snow sculpture of a bison and followed him.

He didn’t notice anything until he was about to pass under the train bridge to Broadway Avenue, and the crunching sound of snow under boots heavier than his own alerted him to his followers. He turned to find two hooded figures in matching black Canada Goose jackets blocking his path and staring down at him wordlessly.

Aaron never wasted time deciding whether or not it would be appropriate to panic. He was instantly covered in sweat beneath his coat. Breathing became difficult.

“Oh my god I’m being mugged,” he stammered. “I don’t have any money. I’m a musician.” The beings exchanged a look and smiled the way a dog smiles when you put something plastic and filled with peanut butter in front of it.

“We’re not here for your money, child,” said the one on the right, a dark-eyed woman whom Aaron might have recognized as one of the lovely smokers on the bridge if he hadn’t been too shy to get a good look.

“You’re mistaken,” he gasped, certain his face must be completely red by now. “I’m an adult. No children here. Have you tried Coronation Park? In the daytime?”

“We’ve been watching you,” said the woman.

“Ugh, no,” said Aaron.

“You see, we’re clone collectors.” The man spoke, the face beneath his hood almost eerily nondescript. “When you default on your clone, we come to collect.”

“Default on my what?”

“Don’t worry, honey,” said the woman. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Aaron felt like his limbs were shrinking into his torso and decided to try edging backwards on the sidewalk while he still had working legs.

“It’s a perfect likeness,” said the man, looking him up and down.

“It has some damage to the left side of its face,” the woman murmured back.

“Yeah, I got bit by a dog,” said Aaron. “And those aren’t my pronouns.”

Then he stopped and stared at her. “Wait, I don’t know what you—do you mean you think I’m—ha. Aha. No, big misunderstanding. I’m a twin. Not a clone.” He gave a small, hysterical laugh.

“Sure, sweetie. That’s what they all say.”

Aaron yelled “Jaymie!” and ran for his life.