Byron Starr - Doppelgänger

“We really don’t have a choice.”

“Yes you do. You can come up with another pillow and a blanket and move me into the jail with you. And I won’t just be in the way, either. I may not be able to go on patrol, but I’ll have even more time to handle the paperwork.”

Emilio didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll stay at my house by myself if I have to, and if you try to keep me away from my house I’ll stay in the damn woods. I’m not leaving,” he said, surprising Bill with an uncharacteristic burst of frustrated anger.

“Okay, you can stay. I think I can come up with another one of Faye’s feather pillows.”

The small line of light running along the far wall widened until the rectangle of light revealed the face of Captain Sam Jones. Sam was stretched out on the concrete bed with his sport coat still on. It was two in the afternoon, but for the last couple of weeks he’d had to catch what little sleep he could whenever he could find it.

“Sam?” Bill said from the doorway.

Sam’s eyes fluttered. He brought one of his big hands up to block out the bright light in the hall. “Don’t tell me we’ve got media troubles again,” Sam said his voice still hoarse and cracking from sleep.

“No, it’s the FBI again.”

Sam started to roll onto his side, but a pain in his upper back prevented him. “Bill, these hard beds are killin’ me.”

“I know. I’m sleepin’ at my desk now. Takes longer to get to sleep, but I don’t wake up with a crick in my neck or a catch in my back.”

Sam turned his head to Bill. His eyes were still adjusting to the light. All he could see was Bill’s outline. “What’d the Feds have to say this time?”

“Same as before, for the most part. As long as we keep telling them it’s a serial murderer and the state’s handling it, they’re okay, but they’re starting to ask questions about some of the rumors they’re hearing.”

“You think they know something we don’t?”

“No. If they did they’d already be down here.”

“True,” Sam replied. He tried once more to rise, but found the knot in his back was still there.

“I wouldn’t have bothered you, but Anderson said he needed to talk to you.” Special Agent Steve Anderson was a friend of Sam’s; he was supposed to be helping keep the Feds off their backs. Bill had only met Anderson on a couple of occasions and didn’t hold him in quite the same high regard as Sam did. “I hope he hasn’t screwed something up for us.”

“Actually, he’s been a lot of help keeping Washington out of this one.”

“Anderson?” Bill asked, genuinely shocked. “That kid couldn’t find his ass with both hands.”

“That kid just turned fifty-five and he’s got three grandchildren.” Sam laughed. “Bill, we’re gettin’ old.”

Bill didn’t reply.

“Anderson probably just found out about what I worked out with the State and wants to know what to tell Washington if they ask.”

“Speaking of which, what did you work out?”

Sam smiled, “Let’s just say being one of the living legends of the Lone Star State has its benefits. I called Austin and told them we need more manpower. They’ve got about two dozen more troopers and game wardens heading our way as we speak, and they promised more later in the week, perhaps even the national guard, although that would have to be okayed by Washington.”

“Looks like something finally went our way,” Bill commented.

Sam tried once more to get up and failed again. He grimaced, and glanced over at Bill. “Are you going to stand there or are you going to come over here and help me get up?”

That night passed quietly. When James finally was able to drift off to sleep, he found he was able to get some real sleep, up until the middle of the night, when the beast awoke from its temporary lair in a dried-out creek bed.

This time it was a new experience for James. He was used to his senses merging with those of the beast, including the sense of touch. But all day it hadn’t dawned on him that he would also feel the numerous injuries the beast had acquired during the day. The pain wasn’t as bad as James would have imagined due to the extent of the injuries; apparently he benefited from the beast’s high pain threshold just like he benefited from its heightened senses. But the pain was there, and was certainly a far cry from comfortable. The beast’s entire left side was sore, and every breath caused the left side of its chest to throb. Its right hand also hurt, especially the first two fingers.

The beast pulled itself out of the creek bed. As it did, pain shot through its left ankle. It climbed up on the bank, and lay back down.

James then saw something that reinforced his belief in the beast’s human-like intelligence. The beast grabbed its right middle finger and set the broken bone in place. The pain was extreme, but still not as much as it would have been if it had been James’ own finger.

The beast then began to lick its wounds. James found the taste of the thing’s blood along with the mud from the creek bed to be unbearably repulsive. He began to try to wake up, and after only a few seconds was able to do so.

Once he was awake, James got dressed and went to the dispatcher’s office, where he chatted with Clara and Jack for a few hours. Neither proved to be much of a conversationalist so at around three in the morning, James decided to try sleeping again. If the beast was up, he could check on it and see if it was hunting; if it was asleep, James could get some rest. He was hoping for the latter. When he settled back in and fell asleep, he drifted into a deep dreamless sleep. Obviously the beast was worn out from the day before and asleep as well.

The next morning James, Emilio, Bill, and Sam gathered in Bill’s office to discuss James’ vision of the night before. James told them of the banged up condition of the creature, and they were hopeful it was dying. But James told them he doubted it.

The next day was spent mostly dodging reporters. James, Emilio, and Bill stayed pretty much in the Sheriff’s Department under siege by the masses of cameras and recorders outside. Sam was in charge of playing ringmaster to the hoard of reporters, keeping them up to date on the progress of the investigations of the killings, especially the investigation into the death of Jana Parish. In fact, many of the Newton townspeople were sick of hearing her name. They felt the media was treating the entire tragedy like it was a dramatic play entitled: THE TRAGIC DEATH OF JANA PARISH (and a few unnamed peons).

When the sun went down, James wasn’t tired, so he sat in the squad room and played poker with Emilio and Chad, who was staying at the jail as a sort of reserve.

No one could have imagined what the beast had in store for that night.

The beast moved inside the city limits of Newton during the late afternoon. It was much more difficult to move around with the townspeople and reporters still out and about, but it wanted to get into position before James went to sleep, enabling him to spy on the beast’s movements. The demonic creature limped on, every now and then entering minds and making people see it as nothing more than a large dog. But mostly the beast stayed in hiding, just in case someone happened to drive by and catch a glimpse before it could enter their minds.

The beast hid under a house on Houston Street, only two houses down from where it had killed Tina Beck, a short distance from the Newton County Jail. It waited there until just after dark. Then it moved through the shadows, until it came to a small alley running behind the now abandoned stores on the square. Once in the alley, it found a back entrance to an old hardware store that had been closed for years. It looked up and down the broad alley and smelled the air. No one was near.