Byron Starr - Doppelgänger

A small, almost petite man stood outside the door to the emergency room smoking a cigarette. Bill immediately recognized Doctor Paul Hewlett.

“How is he?” Bill asked.

“Pretty good, Sheriff Oates,” the Doctor Hewlett replied. “Two deep lacerations on his left leg. A lot of muscular damage, but not quite deep enough to hit any major vessels. He’s lucky. He’ll be on crutches for some time, but it could’ve been a lot worse. I’ve finished stitching and the nurses should be about through bandaging him up by now.”

“Can I go in?” Bill said with a nod toward the emergency room door.

Hewlett didn’t reply immediately, and when he did, he didn’t exactly answer the question. He took another long drag on his cigarette before asking a question of his own. “What’s going on over there in Newton County?”

Bill wasn’t exactly in the mood for chitchat, but he’d always felt a doctor in his hospital was due the same respect as a captain on his ship so he answered the question as best he could. “We’re not sure.”

Hewlett nodded toward the thong of reporters outside the glass emergency room doors. “They said it was a wild animal at first; now they think it’s a serial killer, but those weren’t knife wounds.”

“No, doctor, they weren’t.”

“Claws?”

“I believe so.”

“Big claws.”

Bill nodded.

The doctor took another drag. “You guys really don’t know what’s out there, do you?”

“No, we don’t,” Bill replied stiffly, his cheeks darkening a touch as his patience began to wear thin.

Hewlett caught Bill’s tone and backtracked a bit. “I’m sure you’ll catch it, whatever it is?”

“We will. Can I see my boy now?”

“Sure,” Hewlett replied. He turned and led the way through the door and into the emergency room.

In a way, the emergency room was very similar to the hall outside — plain white walls, slightly aged but still in good shape. In here, however, much of the wall space was covered by charts and instructional posters on emergency medical procedure. Three nurses were over by the sink, two removing their latex gloves while the third cleaned her hands with disinfectant. Emilio sat in a chair against the far wall. His left pants leg had been ripped open all the way up his leg, and his upper thigh was thickly wrapped with bandages. He looked a little pale — perhaps from blood loss or perhaps from the recent scare — but his face was beaming its usual smile.

“Howdy-doo, sheriff.”

“How’s the leg?”

“Oh, it’s still there.” He patted a pair of crutches resting against the wall next to his chair. “I think I’ll be on these for a while, but I really doubt it’ll be as long as they’re telling me.”

Bill turned to Doctor Hewlett. “I need talk to him alone.” He turned to the nurses and politely added, “If you ladies don’t mind.”

“No problem,” the oldest of the three replied. “We were just cleaning up.”

Bill turned back to the doctor. “You are through with him, aren’t you?”

“Just a little paperwork is all, but Captain Jones said he would take care of that before he left.”

“Thank y’all,” Emilio said to the nurses as they filed out the door.

“You’re welcome.”

Hewlett turned and followed the nurses into the hall.

Emilio started to say something as soon as the door was closed, but Bill held up a finger for silence. Bill walked over to the ER’s intercom and made sure it was turned off before he turned back to Emilio. “How much do they know?” Bill said with a nodded toward the door.

“Only a little gossip and what they’re hearing on the news. The doctor was full of questions, but I think he was more concerned about infection than picking my brain for gossip.”

“What about the girls?”

“The nurses? They were a little curious, but Judy — that’s the head nurse, Judy Trotter, I think — she was pretty heads up on the situation. She told them to mind their jobs and save their questions.”

“Good.”

“Sheriff, I really don’t see why we’re so worried about secrecy here. Ever since that reporter died we’ve been top story in the nation. It’s only a matter of time before it gets out.”

“But as long as we keep ’em thinkin’ it’s a series of unsolved murders we can keep it a State operation. I don’t want the Feds jumpin’ in and screwin’ everything up.”

“Why not bring in the Feds? They get a look at that tape and, who knows, they might have military choppers combing the woods within hours.”

“They might have more gizmos to throw into the woods, but we’ve got James. You know as well as I do that they won’t believe us about him, and I think he’s the only answer to whatever the hell is out there.”

Emilio also knew that a lot of Bill’s desire to keep the problem local stemmed from his mistrust of the Feds. He remembered a year ago when a Detroit city police officer who had grown tired of city life and move to his wife’s old home in East Texas. Despite the man’s experience and flawless record, Bill had balked on hiring him. Emilio had overheard the old sheriff saying that he simply didn’t trust a man who’d never pissed behind a tree. And in the eyes of Sheriff Bill Oates, all Federal agents were city slickers.

Emilio started to push the argument to bring in the Feds, but he held his tongue. While Bill’s urban prejudice might have something to do with the decision, he had brought up another very valid point — James. How many would have to die before the Federal newcomers would realize his connection? And what of the helicopter squadrons Emilio had envisioned flying to their rescue? Was this a realistic hope, or was it just a typical American pipedream of calling ol’ Uncle Sam coming in with guns blazing for the quick fix? The machine always has a human head, and Emilio doubted if anyone could come down from Washington and do a better job than Sam and Bill had done so far.

“What happened out at my place after I was hauled off?” Emilio asked, changing the subject. “Geraldo Rivera didn’t come in and trash my house did he?”

Bill smiled and said, “We had our fair share of reporters follow us out, but that line of trees between your pasture and the road was a godsend. We blocked them at the entrance and there was no way they could get around. A few lugged their cameras through the woods to get a shot of your house from the trees, but they couldn’t get any closer.”

“Good, I’d hate to come home and find Wolf Blitzer raiding my fridge,” Emilio said. “How bad do you think it’s hurt this time?”

“Not a lot of blood, but it left a claw in your windshield.”

“Great,” Emilio murmured sarcastically. “It broke a nail.”

“It took a better beatin’ than that. May even be crippled. And the lack of blood doesn’t mean it’s not banged up inside.” Bill paused, and added. “I still doubt it’s mortally wounded, but it’s been shot and run over. There’s little doubt we’ve hurt it.”

“Animals are always more dangerous when they’re injured.”

“But it might make it careless. Look how it attacked you in broad daylight.”

Emilio nodded; then reached for his crutches. “I’m ready to get back to the fort. Let’s get a move on.”

“That’s another thing I want to bring up,” Bill said. “We’re going to run you out to your place so you can get your things; then we’re sending you back home to Midland.”

“What?” Emilio replied, forgetting the crutches and turning back to Bill.

“It’s for your own good. Your place isn’t safe. It’s already come for you once. It could come again, and this time you’re in little shape to put up a fight.”

“You’re not sending me home, Bill,” Emilio said bluntly.