Byron Starr - Doppelgänger

After a couple of minutes which seemed like forever, the nurse opened the door and said. “He’s up. I’ll be in the nurses’ station if you need anything.”

Sam walked into the room and noticed quite a few flowers, but most of them had been brought here from Lisa’s funeral. Some still had the ribbons on them. Poor taste, in Sam’s opinion, but from what he’d seen so far it was no wonder Dan had no flowers of his own. He saw that Dan was lying on his stomach; his hospital gown showing just a little more than Sam cared to see. Sam saw the little stool beside Dan’s bed, but he figured if he ever managed to bend his big frame down far enough to sit on it he might not be able to get back up. So, he sat in the chair Barbara had been sitting in earlier.

Sam introduced himself. “I’m Captain Sam Jones.”

“You a Ranger?” Dan asked hoarsely, cutting his eyes over at Sam.

“So they tell me.”

“Doctor Thomas said a Ranger was coming to have a talk.”

“Well, Reggie — Doctor Thomas that is — said that I’d have to be brief, so I’ll cut to the chase. I need to know what you remember about the night of November fourteenth.”

Sam was just in the corner of his eyes; Dan was having trouble turning his head in that direction. His face tightened up in what could only be described as a full-facial-pucker. Once the pained expression left his face, Dan said, without trying to turn his head, “I’ll tell you what happened. My damn son killed my wife and tried to kill me.”

Sam shook his head. “Start from the beginning, Mr. Chamblin, please.”

Dan sighed heavily. “Me and Lisa was sittin’ up late watchin’ TV. Then Jeremy came bangin’ on the door, hollerin’ to be let in.”

“You heard him? Did he sound like your son?”

“Hell, yeah he sounded like him. It was him. He was bangin’ away, demandin’ we let him in.”

“Was he banging aggressively on the door, like he was angry?” Sam asked, while bringing one of his big boots up on the stool beside Dan, using it as a footstool.

“Hell, I don’t remember. He wanted in. That’s all I know,” Dan said.

Sam calmly said, “Continue. Jeremy’s knocking on the door.”

“Like I said, Jeremy was bangin’ on the door, wantin’ in,” Dan cut his eyes over, probably too see if he’d gotten a reaction from Sam when he had injected the word banging again. He continued. “Lisa got up and let him in. He knocked her down, and attacked me.”

“Did you notice anything strange about him?”

“Well, the little prick killed his mother and tried to kill his father. That’s a little strange,” Dan spat.

Sam shook his head again and grumbled. He should have seen that one coming. “I’m talking about physical actions — how he moved.”

“He hit me from behind. I never got a good look,” Dan said, a driblet of spittle trickled down from the corner of his mouth onto the mirror below. “He was on me before I could react.”

“A man of your size should have been able to defend himself against a boy Jeremy’s size. Wouldn’t you say he was faster or stronger than normal?” Sam said. He was normally too much of a pro to bait a question, but that kid bawling outside the door had given him an ulterior motive.

Dan, however, didn’t take the bait. “He ain’t never attacked me before! How the hell would I know?” he exclaimed in a slur/shout combination. “The boy came up behind me and cut me twice that I remember, with a big knife or a machete or somethin’.”

“Are you sure he had a weapon in his hands?”

“Of course I’m sure. You think he did this with his fingernails?”

“Did you see a weapon, Mr. Chamblin?” Sam said, with an only slightly hidden edge in his voice.

Dan paused a couple of seconds before saying, “I didn’t exactly see the knife.”

“Go on,” Sam said.

“Well, after he hacked me, with whatever, maybe his damn fingernails, I blacked out. I guess that’s when the little prick turned on his mother and killed her.” After Dan finished with his story, he paused, waiting for a reaction, but Sam wouldn’t give him one so he added, “And that’s all I remember.”

Sam didn’t say anything at first. He wasn’t sure what they were dealing with in Newton County, but he was sure Jeremy Chamblin hadn’t attacked his parents. He felt he should make an effort to right this wrong, but the question was how much should he tell this idiot?

About ten more seconds passed before Sam said, “I know for a fact that Jeremy didn’t attack you and your wife, Mr. Chamblin.”

Dan quickly replied, “That seems to be what everybody that wasn’t there thinks, but I was there. I saw him. He attacked me, then turned on his own mother. The little prick.”

Sam’s temper was building, but he remained calm. “There are over two dozen witnesses who were with him at the church the night you and your wife were attacked. And I’ve personally interviewed two officers who remember seeing his car in the church parking lot that night.”

Dan was a slow learner. He tried again to turn his head, causing pain to shoot through his neck once more. Once the pain had subsided he spat, “I don’t give a damn what you, or anybody else says, I know what I saw! The little prick tried to kill me! Now, are you going to do your job and arrest the little bastard, or are you gonna wait till he kills me, too?”

That was all Sam could take. He took his leg off his makeshift footstool and kicked it across the floor, hard enough to make it scoot all the way to the far wall, but not so hard that it fell over or smashed into the wall. In one quick, fluid motion Sam came out of his reclined position in the chair and knelt down beside Dan. The speed in which the big man could move was astounding, especially considering he was seventy years old. Dan’s eyes were as wide as saucers; he could see the big man in his mirror. Sam’s mouth was only an inch, maybe less, from his ear; he could hear Sam’s deep breathing, now quickened by his anger. “Listen you no-good son of a bitch,” Sam whispered in his deep voice. “If you call that kid a prick one more time I’m going to forget I promised Dr. Thomas to leave you in the same condition I found you. I’ll bounce you off every wall in this hospital.”

Sam paused, letting what he had said sink in. He could hear the tempo from Dan’s heart monitor doubling in speed. His own big heart was thundering in his chest to the point that when he quit talking, he could hear his own pulse throbbing in his ears.

Sam continued. “The next time your boy comes through that door you are going to be so sweet you’ll drip honey. Got it?”

Receiving no immediate answer, Sam looked down into the mirror at Dan’s wide frightened eyes staring up at him and asked, still in a hoarse whisper, “Are we clear on this?”

Dan forgot his injuries again and tried to nod, causing his face to pucker up in pain again. This caused a smile to momentarily crease Sam’s face. He turned back to Dan’s ear and continued. “If I hear any different — and I will find out — I’ll come back for another little visit and I’ll break every bone in your worthless body.” Sam started to get up, then he thought of one more thing. He leaned back into Dan’s ear, “And if you think you need to tell someone about our little talk, go right ahead. Just keep in mind, no one’s going to take your word over mine.”

Sam stood up. He looked down into Dan’s mirror and said in a calm, friendly voice, “Well, that just about covers it Mr. Chamblin. Thank you for your time.”

When Sam strode back down the hall, he found Doctor Thomas at the nurses’ station, studying a chart.

“How was he, Sam?” the doctor said, looking up at Sam over the top of his bifocals.