Byron Starr - Doppelgänger

Bill took the floor back. “Okay, Emilio, you need to go see Debra about some paperwork on Larry and his dogs.”

Bill then looked at James. “And James, judging by the looks of you, you could use a few more winks. I want you to go home and get some rest. When you feel rested, I want you to come back and report to Debra. She’ll get Carl to stop by the station and pick you up. He can show you the ropes.”

“Yes, sir,” James had started to say he was fine, but he knew this was a lie. He was exhausted.

Officer Max Davis of the Newton City Police was sitting in his patrol car just below the Newton city limits on Highway 87 facing south, toward town. A black Mustang darted around the corner. The driver saw Max’s patrol car and tried to decelerate without hitting the brakes, which would’ve caused the car’s hood to dip and the taillights to flash in a telltale sign of guilt. Max looked at his radar: 73. Seventy-three in a sixty mile per hour zone, definitely ticket material. But that wasn’t why Max was there.

The next vehicle that came around the corner was a white pickup, James Taylor’s pickup.

As the pickup passed by, Max lifted his fingers from his steering wheel in a friendly wave. The driver of the pickup, James, returned the gesture.

Max watched the pickup disappear around the next corner through his rearview mirror, then picked up a little hand held satellite phone and dialed the sheriff’s office.

“Captain Jones. This is Max. He just passed by… Yep, I’m sure… Okay, no problem, glad I could help.”

Max hung up the phone started looking for speeders.

Sam opened the door to Bill’s office and stuck his head out the door. “Mrs. Duncan, could you please ask Mr. Rodriguez to join us.”

Sam went back to his seat at the side of Bill’s desk and sat down. Bill sat in his desk sipping on a fresh cup of coffee Debra had just brought him. In no time, Emilio returned and took a seat in the chair he had so recently vacated.

“Well, what do ya’ll think?” Sam asked

“I think the boy’s bein’ straight with us,” Bill said and Emilio nodded in agreement. “It certainly don’t seem like he’s holdin’ anything back.”

“It just seems odd to me that the thing happened to hit Larry’s dogs the night after we took James out to see them,” Sam said. “But I agree. I’ve got enough experience to give me a good idea when someone’s trying to hide something. I think James is on the up and up.”

“We’ve proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he didn’t have anything to do with most of the killings. He was in jail for one, maybe two,” Emilio said. “And if he was helping someone out, he would want to draw our attention away from the coincidences rather than to them. He certainly wouldn’t have brought them up himself. If you ask me, this just about proves he’s not collaborating with someone or something.”

“True,” Sam commented. “I think he’s being honest, but I still think we ought to find some way to keep an eye on him. He’s living out there by himself. If he is an asset, it’s only a matter of time before that thing goes after him.”

“Actually,” Bill spoke up, “the same thing could be said for yourself. You’re stayin’ out at your dad’s old place by yourself. And you, too, Emilio. You’re a bachelor, aren’t you?”

Emilio nodded.

Bill looked at Emilio and said, “Why don’t you invite your good friend James to stay at your place for a while.”

Emilio raised his eyebrows and started to protest.

Bill grinned slyly and added, “I insist.”

Emilio smiled back. “I was just about to say how nice it would be to have a house guest.”

“That’s what I thought,” Bill said with a smile, then he turned to Sam. “And as for you… ”

“Now hold on just a cotton-pickin’ minute,” Sam interrupted, also smiling.

Bill kept going, the wolfish grin still on his face. “I can put extra sheets and a good feather pillow in one of the empty cells.”

“You’re going to quarter a Texas Ranger in a cold dark cell?” Sam asked in feigned shock.

“It’s where I’ve been resting my weary bones for the last few days. If it’s good enough for me it’s good enough for you.”

Sam’s grin widened. “By God?”

“By God,” Bill answered, still smiling.

That afternoon just after two, when Carl and James came in from patrolling, Emilio met James at the Sheriff’s Office and suggested James move in with him for a while. At first James refused, but Emilio politely informed him that there may not be another option. They then went to James’ house where James repacked his overnight bag and loaded Lady into the back of his pickup. Emilio didn’t have a pen for Lady, and James wouldn’t hear of her running loose where that creature could get her — James just couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the last of his family. Finally Bill came through with a solution and Lady was shipped to Houston where she could stay with Bill’s wife at her sister’s house.

That night James slept on his third couch in three weeks.

James dreamed of the beast prowling inside the Newton city limits again, but it didn’t make an attack. On its return trip to the new lair, the beast killed and ate a squirrel. Once again the beast’s journey ended at the white building, but, as before, James was not able to get a good look at the building to tell anything about it.

The next day James again patrolled during the day with Carl and at night he returned to Emilio’s.

During the night, the beast once again entered the city limits; this time killing someone’s cat and even sending its senses into a few houses, but it didn’t attack any people. The beast was being cautious, but James knew the killings were far from over.

On the morning of November 18, the day after James temporarily moved in with Emilio, Dan Chamblin woke up from his coma. Dan had been at St. Elizabeth Hospital in Beaumont for four days now, and for the last two he had shown signs that he was beginning to regain consciousness. He now had his own room, where he was placed lying face down so he wouldn’t be lying on the massive injuries to his shoulder and the back of his head. His bed was made so that his head came off the edge of the bed and faced down; a padded bar was rigged to rest his forehead, holding his head up. Beneath his head was a mirror, so he could, if he were awake, talk with visitors without having to turn his head to the side.

Dan’s sister, Barbara DeWitt, was in the room with him. His mother, Wilma Chamblin, and his son had also been in the room during much of the last four days, but they had returned home for some rest. Barbara had taken over the family vigil in their absence. Pastor Ronald Talley also stopped by, hoping to catch Jeremy and see how he was coping with the tragic loss of his mother and his father’s horrendous injury. Ronald stayed about an hour talking to Barbara, who was a member of his church. He had just left when Dan started stirring.

Dan had been semiconscious off and on throughout the last two days, but each time he was only able to glance around the room briefly before returning to a deep unconsciousness. The longest he’d been awake so far was earlier this morning when he’d managed to stay conscious long enough to hear his mother claim she saw his hand move, then after she grasped his hand he had tightened his grip. They called the nurses, but before anyone arrived he had drifted off again.

He awoke slowly. His vision swimming lazily as it came into focus. The first thing he saw the image of his own face before him — the mirror. He allowed his eyes to look about the room. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could make out Barbara sitting in a chair to his right. She was reading her usual trashy romance novel.