24th May 2006
Wednesday
Dear Diary,
I woke up to the sound of someone shouting.
'Miss! Miss Dakota! Miss, do you hear?'
I still haven't got used to the name "Dakota". Tossing off the sheet covering me, I made my way to the door and opened it. Bertha stood outside with the breakfast tray.
'Yes?' I asked.
'Miss, you told me to serve you your breakfast at seven today.'
I suddenly recalled that today I supposed to reach the recording studio by 7:30.
Shoot.
I cursed myself silently again.
You must think I'm just another one of those young singers whom money is making more fussy and self centered day by day.
Think again.
Writing was my passion but here I am, going nuts singing my throat out. And it all happened because I was told I would get something that I had never dreamt of achieving in my life: the centrestage.
I̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶D̶a̶k̶o̶t̶a̶. People call me Dakota, the pop singer.
I am popular, yes. Yet I feel detached. I have nobody to talk to, nobody to share by secrets with: secrets worth my life. Probably these secrets are worthless as my life is worthless too. Yet I feel the need someone to share things with.
And that someone is you, diary.
This is my first entry, but hopefully not the last. With every word I write, I will feel the burden of carrying my secrets to my grave less and less.
So I'll tell you a story. My story.
I was the average town girl living on my own in an average apartment. I went to college and outings with my college friends. I aspired to be a writer. I wrote stuff too, and published them on this mobile reading app. Most of all, I was a diehard pop music lover. I still am, though. But back then, I used to buy every concert ticket I could lay my hands on. Life was fun until that one fateful day.
It all started with a blue envelope.
I was sitting on the couch, dashing my fingers on the keyboard, trying to write, but more than that I was venting out my anger for not getting the tickets to a particular concert which was being held just thirty minutes away.
The doorbell rang and I went to answer the door.
A saw a pale blue envelope lying on the floor. It had been slid in through a slit in the door. Whatever I had expected it to be, it did not have anything I had anticipated. It was a ticket to that very concert I had been unable to get! To say I was happy would be an understatement.
I was having second thoughts as to the identity of the sender of the ticket but my mood overrode those thoughts. But they kept tugging at the back of my mind.
So I dressed up in the comfiest but glam outfit I had and drove right to the venue.
As I parked my car and entered the venue, I sensed something was wrong. The whole scene was perturbed. It did not have the ambiance of a music concert. Everybody seemed to be in . . . hysterics? I don't know how to describe it. Everybody felt so agitated.
I didn't want to be there anymore. I turned around to walk back outside, and what I saw made me curse. There were police here. That wasn't the bad part--they were blocking the area. Nobody could leave or enter.
My suspicions got confirmed. Something very bad had happened here.
One of the police guys yelled at the crowd, which had gathered in a huge cluster and was on the verge of a stampede.
'We need you to calm down, everyone! There's been an accident! We want to keep you all safe!'
He should not have said that for the crowd got even more agitated. I found I was one of them.
I saw someone approach the policeman from the other side of the blockade and say something to him.
And I saw him point right at me.
Well, I could say that something bad was coming.
The policeman, following the pointed hand, looked towards me and called out, 'You, miss! You are required here.'
Everyone turned their heads towards me accusingly, as if I were somehow the cause of their harassment. I froze and the officer called out again, 'Can you herlar me? Please come here!'
Confused, I slowly walked to him. He said, surprisingly without any hint of accusation, 'They have called you. Right there.' He pointed towards what one might call the backstage. I was bewildered. Why?
I asked him that, but he seemed too busy controlling the crowd to answer. Hesitant as I was, I made my way to where he pointed. As I was walking, suddenly I heard my name being called out, 'Abigail!'
Side note: Yeah, that's my real name.
My head jerked to the side. I saw a man, in his thirties, I guessed, standing with something like an identity card round his neck.
'I called you, come here.'
How did he even know my name?
I walked towards him. 'Abigail, right? Jay here.'
He extended his hand to shake. I shook it. 'How do you know me?'
'We'll talk about that. There's a lot to talk about. Come inside.'
He led me inside some kind of a dressing room. Everything felt so weird to me. Why on Earth was I brought here?
Jay started, 'I'm Dakota's manager, Jay Palmer.'
I pursed my lips. This guy was the pop singer's manager. How weird could tonight get?
We were quiet for a moment. He broke the silence. 'Has anhone ever told you how similar you look to Dakota Abel?'
Countless times. In fact, I wouldn't be wrong to say I get told once every second day.
'Yes.'
'With a little facial reconstruction, vocal training and workout, tou could totally fool Dakota as her reflection. No one could tell the difference.'
'Wait, wha--why are you telling we all this?'
He lowered his voice. 'Listen, Abigail. There is something I'm going to tell you. You must swear you won't speak of it to anyone. Anyone.'
'Al . . . right?'
'Dakota Abel is no more.'
'WHAT DO YOU MEAN DAKOTA IS DEAD?'
He put his finger on his lips and motioned me to lower my voice.
'What do you mean? Today is her concert.'
'Yeah, but she was is a car accident. She passed on then and there. No one knows about that just yet.'
There was silence. Then u realized I needed to say something.
'Where do I come in all of this?'
'You are the most important person now.'
I can't deny I felt a bit important as he said that.
'How?'
'Swear that this conversation will remain between us.'
'Okay.'
'I want you to be Dakota. Replace her.'
Was this man crazy?
'What are you talking about?'
'Yes. Just imagine. You will stealthily take her place. No one will ever know. Trust me.'
I had known him only for ten minutes. It was too early to put my trust on him.
I was outrageous.
'Are you in your right mind? Can't you let the deas least in peace? God, I have never heard anything of this sort!'
'Everything will be secret. I have the power. Everyone will believe it's just a simple surgery that Dakota Abel went through to keep her alive. You will get to live as lavishly as you want. You can go to parties and concerts as you wish. Fame and money.'
'But what do you get out of all this?'
'I have my own reasons. I get to keep the major portion of your earnings, because it will be due to me you'll be earning. But the portion you get will be more than enough for Dakota Abel's lavish lifestyle. You can keep publishing your work under your previous name secretly on the internet if you want.'
I flared up.
'How do YOU know about my activity on the internet?'
'I know more than just that. We have been tailing you for the last month. Did you think that concert ticket land in your house magically?'
I understood what was happening.
'You knew.'
'Yes.'
My voice came out in a whisper. I remember that moment so vividly. 'Not only did you know, you planned the accident for your own benefit. You . . .you killed Dakota. You are a murderer.'
'Plainly put, yes. But you're stating the obvious, Abigail. I thought you would figure that out earlier.'
And the smile that came on his face.
'But that's not important. What's more important is that you start to get ready for the surgery for your face. We are starting in fifteen minutes.'
'Fifteen minutes? It's something worth my life!'
'I'll leave you alone for the fifteen minutes, then. Think about it, Abigail. There's so much for you here.'
'What if I report you?'
'You won't. I know.'
He left, but his words kept reverberating in my mind.
I could have said no. He wasn't forcing me. But I thought that what he was talking about was better than my current crappy life. And I would get it all for nothing. Free of cost. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. And it wasn't like I couldn't sing. I had been passionate about singing at one point, although that had been years ago. Yet, I could revive my vocals if I wanted to.
I decided I would say yes.
And so I did.
The surgery followed, and as Jay had said, nobody ever came to know.
So here I am. The Dakota Abel.
I know it was my decision, to do this. But I feel so empty now. My real identity is lost. I am lost.
Everyone tells me I sing flawlessly. Even Jay tells me I am better than the real Dakota. But I know better than to believe a murderer.
Dakota's death burdens me. And this whole masquerade . . . it drives me crazy. They said I should be thankful for this . . . but I really don't think so.
I live every moment blaming myself.
For replacing Dakota.
For not reporting Jay when I could.
For cheating Dakota's fans.
For Dakota's death.
I feel ashamed whenever I perform. I'm a real imposter with Imposter Syndrome.
But in the end, I am Dakota Abel.
I wish that fact could change but it's too late now.