Byron Starr - Doppelgänger

James’ detached senses took the window to the left into the beast’s mind.

Once inside, it was as if a hidden, computer-like part of James’ mind took over. Pictures, accompanied by sight and smell, and even touch and taste in some cases, began to speed through his mind at a speed so fast there was no way his normal consciousness could have made sense of it. He had been in the beast’s mind when it had performed this, but he never grasped what was really going on until it was his own mind in another creature’s: it was like a computer downloading another computer’s memory.

James’ mind found the memory of Emilio, The One Who Caused Pain.

James felt his mind touch the creature’s mind briefly. He felt intense hate. Not just for Emilio, but for anything and everything. It was as if the beast was the embodiment of hate.

Or maybe the embodiment of evil.

Then James’ senses were in front of the beast. They remained there briefly, before starting across the yard toward the trailer. James realized that his senses, or rather his detached consciousness, had been inside the beast’s mind when it sent its senses forward. Now James’ senses were along for the ride, in an out-of-body experience within an out-of-body experience.

Unaware of its passenger, the beast’s senses passed Emilio’s battered SUV. It passed over the porch and passed through the wall into the living room.

There, in the recliner, eyes closed and apparently asleep, was Emilio Rodriguez, The One Who Caused Pain. In his right hand was the remote to the television.

It had worked.

Then as the beast’s senses approached the face of Emilio/James something startled James, a minor detail he had left out. The beast wasn’t entering Emilio’s mind; it was entering James’ mind. When it searched James’ mind, would it be able to tell the difference?

The beast’s senses passed into Emilio/James’ right eye, and began looking for a memory. The memories that flew by in a blur were all familiar to James. The beast found an image of James; one of him shaving in the bathroom mirror. There seemed to be nothing different from the several other times James had been along while the beast pulled an image from a mind. The beast didn’t seem to notice there was anything different about Emilio.

Near the edge of the woods, the beast opened its eyes.

Inside the trailer, James opened his eyes.

A knock came at the door. ���Emilio?” the beast said in James’ voice.

James didn’t answer, not out loud anyway. The part of his mind that had found the memory in the beast’s mind opened a direct link with this memory and answered in the beast’s head, using Emilio’s voice. Things must be boring in the big city of Newton; you’re an hour early.

James got out of the recliner and slowly walked toward the door, Greg’s pistol gripped tight in his hand.

“Hurry, it’s cold out here,” the beast said in James’ mind.

Hold your horses. I’m coming.

James put his hand on the doorknob.

He took a beep breath.

He swung the door open with his left hand and brought the pistol up with his right. It all happened in a split second, but that one instant seemed frozen in time for James.

James, The One Who Sees, standing with a pistol leveled at his own likeness.

The beast, The One Who Kills, standing with its left arm cocked back to swing at Emilio who was pointing a TV remote in his face.

James pulled the trigger. Fire leaped from the TV remote/nine-millimeter. The bullet struck the beast under its right eye, just beside its nose. The arm that was coiled to strike had started its arch, but when the bullet passed through the lower part of the beast’s brain and exited out the back of its head, the arm shot straight out, jerked one time, and went limp.

The beast collapsed on the porch, its illusion fading away. The hideous man-like creature lay sprawled on its back, its chest moving slowly with its labored breathing.

James kept the pistol leveled on its face as he stepped up and stood over the vile beast.

Then the beast’s dark eyes fell on James and seemed to recognize him. Its face shimmered and slowly took the form of James’ face once more. In a last defiant gesture the James/beast smiled and said, “Angie, I’m home.”

James pulled the trigger and continued to do so until he had emptied the clip into the beast’s face.

James met the Oates family in the third floor lobby of Saint Elizabeth Hospital. The presence of this large extended family came as a shock to James. Aside from Faye, Bill had never spoken of his family. Likewise, James remembered that the only family picture in the old sheriff’s office was an old snapshot of him and Faye. But, here they were; two sons, two daughters, nine grandchildren, and one great grandchild — one and a half if you gave credit for his youngest granddaughter-in-law, who looked to be at least eight months pregnant. If it hadn’t been for the sincere looks of concern on their faces, James might have suspected that the reason Bill never mentioned his family was that his gruff demeanor had alienated him from his own kin, but it didn’t take James long to realize just how much the old man’s family loved him. Especially the grandchildren; they were full of questions concerning their beloved Pawpaw’s welfare. It was difficult to imagine the ornery old sheriff surrounded by loving grandchildren, but the evidence was indisputable. James imagined he knew the answer to this mystery. When Bill was at home and among his family, he was the loving grandfather, father, and husband, but when he put on his badge and went to work, the entire county became his family — a family that required a considerable amount of tough love.

The visit with the Oates family was brief, ten minutes at the most; nevertheless, James was relieved when the doctor arrived and informed him Bill was ready to see him. James still hadn’t recovered enough from what he’d been through to be comfortable among people. He doubted he ever would.

On down the hall, the doctor pointed out the door to Bill’s room, then left. Bill had been adamant about seeing James alone. James stood at the door for quite some time before he found the courage to enter.

Inside, James found a weary old man, decked out in a pastel green hospital gown resting in a white hospital bed. The old man’s cheeks and eye sockets were sunk in, his body appeared thin and frail, and his hair wispy and white. If it wasn’t for the western style moustache, James might not have even recognized Sheriff Bill Oates.

“Well, don’t just stand there gawkin’, come in and have a seat,” Bill said, motioning to a chair. The gesture was slow and weak, but there was no sign of frailty in Bill’s voice. It was as stern and no nonsense as ever.

“Thanks,” James replied.

“This hospital food is gonna get me yet,” Bill commented while James took his seat. “Sixty-eight years of good home cooking and now they expect me to push this garbage down my throat?”

“That bad, huh?” James asked conversationally.

“Horrible. Now don’t get me wrong, they’re treating me pretty fair. It’s just the food.”

There was a long stretch of silence, while the two men searched for words.

Finally, Bill asked, “Did you catch Sam’s funeral on the news?”

“No, but they told me about it.”

“Would you believe some nurse in ICU tried to keep me from watching it? I’d just come out of surgery, and I overheard her telling Faye that she thought the service might upset me and that she didn’t think I should watch it. I gave her an earful right then and there. With what all me and Sam had been through I had damn sure earned the right to be able to say my goodbyes, by God.”