Crisis of Identity

For the entire drive home, the picture of that mantel piece troubled me. On the face of it, mum said she did not know Mandy Evans and therefore, has never been to her house. Logically, that should be enough to suggest the mantel pieces are simply alike.

Problem is, I have delved as deep as I can into my recall and I cannot remember us having a fireplace in Karratha. And that troubles me a little.

Dawes has clearly got inside my head. He is causing me to question known facts. He is causing me to seek further confirmation, just to verify who I am.

Am I doing this to prove Dawes wrong, or is there an element of doubt creeping in to my mind? I really don’t know anymore.

After returning home from mum’s, I broke from my usual Friday night tradition of making a bee-line for the fridge and ripping the cap of a cold beer.

Instead, I printed out copies of a number of photos I have on my phone.

Once printed, the photos were placed in a row on my kitchen bench, where I leaned on my hands passing my eyes over the photos and a copy of my birth certificate. The longer I looked, the more I disliked what I was looking at.

The first photo on the bench was of dad. Lying next to that was a selfie I took. Beside my selfie was a photo of mum. When I compared the images, there was a lack of genetic similarities in our features. Is that normal? I don’t know. Shouldn’t there be some resemblance?

I moved my photo along, to position it between a photo of Graham Evans and the computer generated image of an older Jayden Evans that I downloaded from the internet.

There is definitely a slight resemblance to me and the Graham Evans photo; more than my connection to dad’s photo, which under the circumstances is very strange.

‘Yo. Kado…’ Mitch’s voice yelling from the front door broke my contemplations.

‘In the kitchen, bro…’ I yelled over my shoulder as I scanned the images.

Mitch strolled in with a six pack under his arm. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Your front door was unlocked. so…’ His voice tapered off. Clearly the rest of his sentence didn’t require articulating.

I waved a hand. ‘All good, mate…’

Mitch ripped off a stubbie and handed it to me. ‘Friday night drinks, bro…’

‘You’re a lifesaver, mate. Cheers.’

‘You eaten yet…?’

‘Not yet. Been too busy,’ I said. I flicked a hand at the kitchen bench.

‘Pizza it is then…’ Mitch approached the bench. He scanned the photos. ‘What’s all this?’

‘Just a photo comparison thing I’m trying…’

Mitch ran his eyes across all photos. ‘It’s a little bit like a pick-the-correct-parent game…’ Mitch said, with a hint of flippancy.

‘Exactly.’

Mitch continued to scan the photos. He eventually shook his head. ‘I’ve said it before bro…and I’m still saying it now…’ he tapped the photo of Graham Evans. ‘If I didn’t know your family…that’s who I’d pick out of these photos as being your old man.’

‘Yet you’d be wrong…’ I said without conviction.

‘I know, right? Crazy isn’t it…?’ Mitch said. I could feel him glaring at me, as I scanned the images. ‘Don’t tell me you’re starting to question things now bro…?’ When I didn’t respond Mitch continued. ‘I can’t believe it… Dawes has got inside your head, hasn’t he…?’

My comparing glances flicked between the photo of Graham Evans and the photo of me, several times. Truth is, I don’t know what to think any more.

‘What about this…?’ Mitch lifted the copy of my birth certificate. ‘It says here…’ he read the document. ‘Kade Ross Miller born 16 January 1991 in Karratha WA.’ He read, then firmly glared at me for emphasis.

‘I thought that too… Then I saw where mum and dad were married…’ I lifted my chin to the document in his hand. Mitch re-read the certificate.

‘Where’s… Mudgeeraba?’

‘Gold Coast…But they only got married there…they actually lived in Varsity Lakes…which is a neighbouring suburb to Robina. Robina’s the suburb from where this kid went missing…’

Mitch’s face tightened at the connection. ‘Did they live there around the same time this kid went missing…?’ he asked. He had caution in his voice.

‘They apparently moved to Karratha a year, or so before…’

Mitch waved a hand. ‘Then it’s nothing more than an annoying coincidence…’ he said. He tapped the top of the page. ‘This is a WA birth registration number dated back in 1991, bro. This is a legal document. What more do you need?’

‘As long as it isn’t a forgery…’

Mitch scanned the document in his hand, as if trying to detect any obvious tells to indicate it was a fake. ‘Can you forge these records…?’ he asked.

‘You can forge just about anything, bro…’ I said while Mitch continued to scan the document. ‘Do I think it’s a forgery…? No I don’t. That’s not my mum and dad. They wouldn’t do that.’

‘Well, there’s your answer, bro…’ Mitch said. He held the birth certificate out to me. ’Get a copy of your actual birth certificate from the registry at Births, Deaths and Marriages…

‘And if it’s the same as this one… Case closed,’ he said, punctuating his comment by dropping the certificate onto the bench. ‘If they match…’ he waved a hand.

‘Then all these other coincidences you’re worried about amount to nothing…They’re just that…coincidences.’

It turns out all the worry and micro analysis of everything caused me to overlook the glaringly obvious, as pointed out by Mitch. If my birth certificate — a legal WA birth registration document — is legitimate, how can I be anyone else?

If they match, Dawes can carry on all he likes. It’ll be printed in black and white on a legal record. I am Kade Miller. Case closed.

‘Looks like I’m visiting B, D and M next week…’ I said.

‘And finally put this shit to bed, bro…’ Mitch said. ‘Now…’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Let’s order that pizza.’