Doppelganger (21 page)

For a long time, I just kind of sat there, crouching in the gravel beside the body. I was starting to feel really lousy—headache, nausea, hot flashes, cold flashes. It was like my body was turning against me, a sort of biological rebellion. I'd been holding on for so long that I think my whole system was going into toxic shock. And then seeing the sheganger lying there like that with her head turned toward me, it was almost enough to push me over the edge.

In the end I just focused on being Chris. That's what got me through—keeping my will bent on holding the form and thinking like a doppelganger.

The first thing I did was stick the sheganger in the trunk of the Jetta. It wasn't easy. Sure enough, Ms. Simpson—the real one—was back there, looking none too good, and it took a bit of cramming to get the doppelganger in beside her.

After that, I got in and drove off, out of Parson Woods and back through town. I needed to get rid of the bodies—both of them—and I needed help to do it.

 

It was after nine by the time I reached Amber's. For almost an hour, I just sat in the car, trying to control the shaking that had come over me. I was all screwed up. I wanted to go in there so badly, to see her and smell her and hold her again, even though it had been only a few hours since we were last together. It was like I
needed
her. But at the same time, the idea of going in there and asking her to leave with me and help do what she'd already done for me once before—well, it made me sick, to be honest. I mean, tonight was supposed to be special. It was supposed to be our night, and now it was ruined. Everything was ruined.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't ask her to help me. In fact, the more I sat there thinking about things, the more I realized I couldn't ask
anything
of her, no matter how much she might want me to. I couldn't put her through the awfulness that lay ahead of me, that would always be there. I mean, she didn't deserve it. And on top of all that, what would I do if another sheganger came calling?

I looked back at the house. Television light flickered from the living room windows. I knew I had to go in there. Not to ask her to help me, but to say good-bye.

I forced myself out of the car, went to the door, and knocked.

Amber didn't say anything when she saw me, but I could see her eyes widen as she opened the door. For a second I was afraid I'd lost Chris and reached up and felt my face. Everything seemed to be in place, no monster eyes that I could tell. Then I realized it wasn't fear on her face, just worry for the pale, trembling wreck standing there in front of her.

She pulled me inside and shut the door. Before I could say a word, she threw her arms around my neck and pulled me into a long, deep kiss. It was the first time we'd kissed since she discovered who I really was, and maybe that was why this time I didn't feel afraid. This time I felt like it was for real. At that moment it seemed to be the
only
thing that was real.

At last she released me, and as we stepped back and looked into each other's eyes, I discovered I'd stopped shaking. All of a sudden, I felt real still inside and free, like I'd suddenly escaped.

“I'm glad you're here,” she said, putting her head against my chest.

“Me too,” I said. “I'm sorry I'm late.”

“It's okay. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Like you said this afternoon, we can worry about things later. Tonight we can forget.”

I didn't know if she was saying it for me or for herself, but it didn't matter. At that point, I couldn't have told her about what had happened with the sheganger anyway, let alone say what I'd come to say. Not after the kiss. I mean, she was asking me to join her in a place I'd always wanted to go, a place where everything was normal, where the truth didn't matter or maybe even exist. I just couldn't say no. I would forget about all of it for her.

For a while we just lay together on the couch in the living room watching TV, like we were just another couple, like it was any old night. Except that I wasn't really watching. I was too busy caressing her arm, her hair, taking in her scent. I wanted to take in all of her, to breathe it all in and hold it so that it would never leave me.

Then she asked me to come upstairs with her, and I did.

I had been nervous before about the idea of sex, and on the way up the stairs the feeling came right back, even more so since the sheganger had gotten me all stirred up. But when the moment actually came, the nervousness went away. Amber helped me through. It was tender, gentle—I don't know, it just felt right. After all the killings, after all that had happened with Barry and everyone else, this was as far away from that as you could get. And for the first time, being with her, being a part of her, I forgot about the monster that I was. I felt human to the core, not just on the surface. I remember wishing I could stay that way forever.

Afterward I held her in my arms. We didn't say much. It was like we both felt a little shy, but in a good sort of way. It was all okay.

“Don't worry, Gabriel,” she murmured. “We'll figure it out. We'll figure everything out tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” It was the last word she said to me before she fell asleep. I wish she hadn't. For some reason it stuck in my head, and all of a sudden I started thinking of Macbeth, of that sad, terrible soliloquy at the end: “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…” The words kept echoing through my brain, and after a while I began getting the itchy feeling all over again, along with the hot flashes, and I knew that I hadn't really escaped. Chris was falling away.

And that wasn't all. As I lay there beside Amber, I began to feel the urge. At first I thought it was just the strain of holding on to Chris, but pretty soon I could tell that it was coming back, the old familiar clenching. It was the goddam
sheganger again—she'd cursed me by mentioning it right before I shot her. That had to be it.

For the rest of the night, I lay there as still as possible, trying to ignore it, hoping it would go away, that it would all go away. But it didn't. If anything, it got worse, slowly building with each beat of Amber's heart against my chest, like grains of sand falling through an hourglass onto an ever-climbing pile, beat after beat, grain after grain, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. It was as if, in the act of being with Amber, I had used up the small part of me that was human. All that was left was doppelganger, and I'd been a fool for thinking it could be any other way.

At last I couldn't take it. I detached myself from Amber, climbed out of bed, and headed for the bathroom. I thought I was going to be sick. After a few steps, though, I felt so dizzy I just sat right down at the end of the bed. I put my head in my hands and took some deep breaths, and soon I started feeling a little better. So I picked my head up.

And that's when I saw him.

I almost cried out at the sight of the creature staring at me in the dim glow of the nightlight. I looked away and rubbed my eyes, and when I looked back at the mirror hanging on the bathroom door, all I saw was Chris. The doppelganger was gone. I glanced down at my hands, at my arms. Sure enough, they were still human.

Get a grip
, I told myself. But there I was, shaking all over again, worse than ever. I'd forgotten how ugly I was. You'd think seeing the sheganger earlier would have softened the blow, but I guess it's different when it's yourself.

I reached up and felt my neck. This time pieces of skin
came off in my hands, big, dry flakes, and I wondered how much time I had left. Probably only a few hours, if that. I looked over at Amber, lying there under the covers, her hair fanned out across her pillow. She looked so peaceful. So perfect.

I stood up and started putting on my clothes. I couldn't stay, I couldn't let her see me as I really was. And now that the urge was creeping back, I knew for sure that I had to go. It wasn't so much that I was afraid of hurting her. I just didn't want to feel that way around her. It wasn't right. The whole thing was one big mess.

I finished dressing, then removed the medallion from around my neck and took one last look at good old Jude, patron saint of lost souls, before placing it on the pillow beside her. I supposed I needed him more than she did, but I wanted her to have something to remember me by. I needed her to.

Then I left. I didn't even say good-bye or kiss her or anything like that. I probably should have. I mean, that's what I'd come there for. Besides, that's what they do in the movies, right? But I just didn't want to risk waking her. I admit it, I was afraid.

 

Gray was just starting to creep into the sky as I drove away in the Jetta. Even though it killed me to leave, deep down I felt like it was the right thing to do. But I didn't feel free or at peace or vindicated or guilty or anything like that as I headed down the road. I just felt tired and alone. It was strange feeling alone again. I'd almost forgotten what it was like.

At least I knew where I was going. The idea had come
to me as soon as I left the house.

Though I made it to the lake well before sunrise, the morning sky was bright enough that I didn't need any headlights to guide me as I gunned the car up the winding road toward the lookout. Before long, I was closing in on the top. Then nothing but early gray sky before me.

A big rock did the job. I'd seen it done in the movies lots of times. It's easier than you might think—just drop it onto the pedal, jump back, and hope the car doesn't turn on you. Of course, if you're smart, you tie the steering wheel down first. But it was okay—the Jetta went straight and true, with enough speed to hit the water a good ways out.

I hobbled over to the edge and watched it sink. It was about all I had left in me to do. After that I just sort of collapsed onto the wet grass and watched the sun come up over the hills. As the light hit my skin, I looked down and saw the last remnants of Chris fade until there was nothing left. As much as I'd resisted these past few days, it felt good to let go, to be myself again. Ugliness and all.

 

I'm on a train crossing back over the plains. The fields of wheat I saw coming through the first time have been harvested. There's nothing left but stubble now. Still, when the sun sets on the shaved plain, it's just as pretty, only in a different sort of way.

I guess I'm going home, if you want to call it that. I think I remember the way. Back to the mountains, back to the cabin. No one lives there anymore. I figure I might as well go there, far away from everyone. Just me and the crickets.

Over these last few days, curled up in the dark corner of my boxcar, I've been thinking a lot about what happened. I mean, I try not to, but there isn't anything else to do. And so I end up thinking about all the things I could've done differently, how I might have avoided hurting everyone the way I did. In the end, I really don't know that I could've. After all, fate brought me and Chris together. The rest just happened.

But the sheganger was right. If I hadn't killed Chris, if our paths hadn't crossed, I wouldn't have met Amber. I wouldn't have fallen in love. The worst thing is not knowing if that's good or bad. For the most part, it feels pretty bad. It hurts a lot—even more than it did being Chris—and so I try to bury it. But every once in a while, a little piece will break free, will surface and blossom, and I'll remember what it felt like when I saw her face for the first time each day, or the sound of her voice, or her scent. If I'm really hard up, I'll even pop the cell phone open and look at her face, smiling on that little screen. Then I'll think maybe it wasn't so bad, maybe some good came of it—not just because I might have given her something she'd never had before, but because I'm a better person for it. I feel more like a person because of her. That's the truth.

Maybe it doesn't even matter. All I know is that I miss her. A lot. And I miss the Parkers. Not just Echo, but Sheila and Barry, too. I hope they'll be okay. I'd like to think they will. Who knows, maybe someday I'll go back and find out.

And every once in a while I think about the sheganger. She taught me things—about our race, about myself—that I hadn't known before. It's strange, but I feel a little bad
that she's gone. Don't get me wrong—I don't feel sad for her the way I do for the others who died, and I'd probably kill her all over again, given the chance. But she was a class act in her own twisted, doppelganger way.

That's the other thing she was right about, by the way—she said I wouldn't feel better for killing her, and I don't. Once the numbness faded away, I didn't feel like I'd broken free one bit. It was just another part of the burden. But I'm learning to accept it. There isn't anything else I can do.

Most of all, I miss Chris. We hardly spent any time together, and none of it was good. But in the end I think I got to know him pretty well. You can't be somebody for a month and not come away without at least a little piece of them staying with you. And deep down, a part me feels that if Chris could see how I tried to live his life, he wouldn't be too upset with me; he might even be okay with it. I'm not trying to justify anything, and who knows, maybe it's just wishful thinking. But what I'm trying to say, I guess, is that sometimes, you've got to make the best of a bad situation.