Byron Starr - Doppelgänger

Sam silently opened the door into Bill’s office and slipped into the room. Bill had just suffered yet another of what he would consider one of the longest days of his career. He told Debra he was going to take a nap and he was not to be disturbed, but Sam wouldn’t listen to Debra’s pleas to let Bill rest. The old sheriff was stretched out with his boots on his desk and his hat covering his head. Sam moved across the office until he was directly in front of Bill’s desk.

Then one of Sam’s big hands knocked Bill’s boots off the desk, and Sam roared, “Get your feet off the furniture, you lazy varmint!”

Bill almost fell out of his chair. The hat fell off his face and toppled to the floor. His temper boiled, his face turned red. Then he recognized the deep laughter. “Sam, you scared the hell out of me,” Bill said, then joined Sam in laughter.

When the laughter died down Sam said in his deep baritone voice, “I heard you’ve got yourself in one hell of a fix down here.”

Sam and Bill were about the same age, but they had only known each other in passing before Bill ran for sheriff. After Bill was elected, Sam started coming to visit the sheriff’s office when he was in Newton visiting his family. They soon struck up a strong friendship.

Bill picked up his hat and dusted it off while Sam sat down in one of the metal chairs.

“You could say that,” Bill said. Then he picked up a manila folder that was so stuffed with paper that a rubber band had been stretched across it just to keep it closed. Bill handed the folder to Sam. “Here’s all the incident reports, statements, autopsy reports, and reports on a mutilated horse and two mutilated cows.”

Sam’s eyes grew wide as he took the folder. “Damn, Bill.”

“I told you it was complicated,” Bill said, smiling. “Oh, and there’s one thing that I wanted to touch base with you, in person. In those reports you will find an interrogation of a James Taylor, a local mechanic. His wife and kid are two of our victims.”

“Any relation to Paul Taylor?” Sam asked.

“No, he’s not originally from around here,” Bill answered, then continued. “This boy claims he’s havin’ dreams of the attacks while they’re takin’ place.”

“You’re kiddin’,” Sam commented with a wry smile.

“Well, Sam, it’s worth lookin’ into. You know I don’t go for none of that superstitious horseshit, but there’s just some really strange things about this case. For one thing, he predicted one of the murders while we had him locked up.”

“You’re kidding,” Sam said with a genuine expression of shock on his face.

Bill shook his head, “Started banging on the door in the middle of the night demandin’ to talk to me. I let him out and he led me right to Alma Carroll’s house, and sure enough she was dead.”

Sam had the rubber band off the manila folder and was sorting through the papers. He then pulled out a picture and whistled in amazement. “Nasty work.” Sam said, then he asked, “Alma Carroll? Is that the sweet old black lady who worked in the school cafeteria since God was a babe?”

“The same.”

Sam shook his head in disgust and put the picture back. He then looked at Bill and asked the sixty-four dollar question. “What do you think about this Taylor boy?”

“I don’t know, Sam. I just don’t know.”

“You think he might be for real?”

“I’m leanin’ that way.”

Sam looked down at the thick folder, gave a low whistle and shook his head once again. “What have you got me into this time?” He turned back to Bill. “I’ll tell you what. You get back to your little nap. I’ll take this library you’ve given me back to Dad’s old place and look it over and we’ll talk about it tomorrow morning.”

“All right. If you need to reach me, just call up here. I’ve sent Faye to her sister’s in Houston and moved into my office for the time being.”

That night the beast returned inside the city limits, but didn’t strike. Several times it detached its sight and went inside buildings to view the inhabitants, but every time it would withdraw its vision and then move on. Before morning it set off toward its den.

When James woke up the next morning, the dream bothered him. It was like the beast was looking for something. No, that wasn’t it. It was more like the beast was scouting out its territory. Not unlike a man who is hungry, but not hungry enough for a meal yet, so he just peeks into the fridge to see what’s available.

It was 1:00 a.m., but Lisa was still up worrying about Jeremy. Dan, who worked offshore — fourteen days on, seven days off — always stayed up late. Lisa Chamblin was sitting on the couch and her husband Dan was sitting in his recliner watching the TV when the doorbell rang. Lisa had just got off the phone with Pastor Ronald Talley of the First Methodist Church in Newton. It had only been two days since Newton had enacted the dusk till dawn curfew. Since the school was having a teacher’s workday — giving the kids that Monday off — the church was having a lock-in on Sunday night for the teenagers to draw their attention away from the current crisis and to keep them from being tempted to break the curfew. Lisa, ever the worrisome mother, had called to make sure their son, Jeremy, was still there.

“Who could it be at this time of night?” Lisa said.

Dan leaned back in his recliner and looked through the multi-paned window set in their front door. “It’s Jeremy,” he said and turned back to the television. “Guess the lock-in got dull.”

The doorbell rang again, but Lisa didn’t get up. “But I just got off the phone with Brother Talley. He said Jeremy was there.”

“He probably snuck off,” Dan replied.

This made sense. Only two weeks ago Jeremy’s parents had bought him a new sports car for his sixteenth birthday. Both weekends since his birthday, Jeremy had been riding around town right up to his own curfew, which was midnight. He was disgusted by the fact he had finally obtained his freedom only to have his wings clipped by a citywide curfew. Lisa had suspected Jeremy was using the lock-in as an excuse to go into town and go cruising around, curfew or no curfew. That’s why she’d been calling the church every hour since nightfall.

But it seemed odd that Jeremy would be home. If he had managed to sneak out of the lock-in, he certainly wouldn’t be rushing home to admit what he’d done. He’d probably visit a few friends, then try to sneak back in the church before they noticed him gone. Not only that, while Lisa hadn’t actually talked to Jeremy, she had talked to Brother Talley and he’d said Jeremy was there. In fact, Brother Talley said he’d just seen him in the church’s fellowship hall raiding the refrigerator.

The doorbell ran again and Jeremy’s voice came from outside, “Come on, Mom, let me in. It’s cold.”

And why didn’t Jeremy just use his key? Had he lost it?

“Lisa, are you going to let the boy in, or what?” Dan asked, without pulling his eyes away from the late night macho movie staring Sly Stallone.

Lisa finally got up and walked to the door. Jeremy stood there, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Where’s his car? Lisa thought. Nothing seemed right, but there he was, standing in front of the door.

“Mom?”

Maybe he’s had an accident. All hesitation fled and Lisa unlocked the door in hurry.

As soon as Lisa slipped the bolt, the door was pushed open and into her with incredible speed and force. She fell back, taking a coat rack down with her. Jeremy leaped over Lisa and into the living room.

Dan was almost out of his chair. “What the hell’s gotten into… ” From a position slightly behind the recliner, the Jeremy-thing swung at Dan in a wide hooking blow that was amazingly fast and catlike. The blow caught Dan on the back of his right shoulder.