Doppelganger (9 page)

But I could tell he did. And he was worried. And that's what he was really pissed off about.

Echo could tell too. “May I be excused?” she whispered while Barry paused to take a breath and another swig of his drink. He'd barely touched his food. Neither had she.

“Sure, Echo,” Sheila jumped in.

“Wait,” Barry barked.

Echo, who had just started to stand up, froze.

Oh God, here we go
, I thought. Looking at the faces of Sheila and Echo, I could see they were thinking the same thing.

“You didn't hardly eat a goddam bite,” he said, looking at Echo's plate

“I'm not hungry,” she said. From the looks of things, none of us were.

Barry frowned. I could see the little drunken wheels turning in his head, trying to decide where or how to direct his anger. Sheila seized the opportunity to step in.

“Go ahead, sweetie,” she said. She turned to Barry. “Echo's got a lot of homework for tomorrow. A big
project. I told her before dinner started she could be excused early.”

Good one, Sheila
, I thought.

“Fine,” Barry growled, and the rest of us sort of breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, Mom,” Echo said, and finished standing up, bumping her plate in the process. The plate jumped forward and collided with her full glass of milk. I watched the whole thing unfold, a little chain reaction of disaster. It was as if everything immediately went into slow motion, just like on TV, with the glass tumbling over and a cascade of milk washing across the table and spilling into Barry's lap. For a second after it happened, we all stopped and stared.

Then, the explosion.

Barry jumped up, dripping milk from the waist down.

“You little brat,” he yelled, “you did that on purpose!”

“No!” Echo cried, stepping back as both Sheila and I froze at the table.

“Goddamit!” Barry cried, wiping at his pants with a napkin. It was a futile gesture—he was already soaked through—and he was just sober enough to realize it. He threw the napkin aside, picked up his plate, and slammed it down on the table, where it shattered into a dozen pieces.

Echo, meanwhile, had slipped around the table and was almost out of the kitchen when Barry spotted her. Before I could do anything to distract him, he jumped toward her.

“Get back here and clean this up,” he shouted as she darted away.

Suddenly it was Saturday night all over again. There was Barry, banging on her door, threatening. Then, from
the other room, I could hear the door opening and slamming, and muffled shouts and Echo crying. Once again Poppy began tearing around the house, yelping. And there was Sheila, at the table with that deadened look, picking up the pieces of a broken plate.

“Go in there,” I hissed.

She looked up at me with a sort of dazed expression.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“Do something.”

She sort of shook her head a little, like she was waking up from a dream. She glanced toward the hallway, toward Echo's room.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh.”

Then she went back to gathering pieces of plate, her eyes down at the table.

“Mom!” I shouted. She started and finally looked up at me. I could see resentment in her eyes. I had always thought Chris looked like Barry, but suddenly I could see a little bit of her in him too.

“He's just in one of his phases. It'll pass,” she said. “You should know,” she added, and looked away.

A slow, silent minute passed. I didn't know what to say. All I could do was sit there and stare.

“What do you want me to do?” she suddenly shouted, even though I hadn't said anything. Her eyes began to well up. “Echo's tough. Just like you.”

“Listen to her,” I said. Echo was still crying.

Sheila was shaking now. I could hear the pieces of ceramics rattle as she carried them to the sink. She came back to the table with a washcloth. She started wiping up the milk and picked up the tipped glass. It broke in two as
she lifted it. She held the bottom piece up before her, looking at it in amazement.

“Everything breaks around here,” she said, choking back a sob. “I can't have anything nice.”

She dropped the glass back onto the table. I watched as it rolled across and come to a stop in front of me.

Echo had stopped crying, but Barry was still yelling like crazy. I looked up at Sheila. Her eyes were closed. She was squeezing the washcloth, and milk was dripping between her fingers and onto the floor. Finally she threw the washcloth down and left the kitchen. A moment later I heard her bedroom door slam.

That's it
, I thought.
If she doesn't care, then neither do I
. I jumped up from the table, grabbed my jacket, and took off.

The days were getting shorter, and it was already starting to get dark. The streetlights were humming to life in the dusk, and the air was sharp with cold and the smell of fallen leaves. It felt good to breathe it in, to be out of that house, that cramped, suffocating box.

It had been nearly a month since my mother kicked me out into the human world. But I felt like I understood them less now than I ever had before in my cabin on the mountain, watching the world from a distance. Things were messier the closer you got. All that emotion, all that intensity. And it wasn't just the Parkers—Amber, her parents, Coach, all the kids at school, everybody. It made me dizzy just thinking about it. Worst of all, I still had the whole rest of my life to have to deal with this kind of stuff. Today in Bakersville, tomorrow somewhere else. Somehow I had the feeling that I'd never get it right, never figure out
how to make it. My mother was right—I was an embarrassment. A loser.

Anyway, I just started walking, and before I knew it, I was walking toward the edge of town. I figured I'd keep going. I really didn't see how I could go back to the Parkers'. Besides, I couldn't be Chris forever. I'd have to leave at some point. It had been over a week now, and I hadn't felt any problems with the form, but who knew how long that would last?

But then I tried imagining what my leaving would do to the family. I mean, in the middle of everything else, to have their son disappear, only to turn up dead? They were already falling apart. Wouldn't this just be the final blow? I didn't care so much about Barry or Sheila, but what would happen to Echo? On the other hand, maybe a death in the family was just the thing they needed—something to sort of pull them together. They would all stop and realize what was really important, just like in all those shows on TV. They would be a whole new family. Right?

Either way, I won't be around to find out
, I thought as I neared the far side of town.

A pair of headlights came up from behind, casting my shadow out in front of me. I watched it as I walked along, all stretched and thin like a doppelganger.
There I am
, I thought, seeing the shadow weave and shift as the headlights drew nearer.

The car slowed down as it came closer. A moment later, just before it passed me, it sped up again. I looked up as it drove away.

It was Amber. Or her car, at least.

I froze and watched her disappear around the corner.
Guess I won't get to say good-bye
, I thought. Then again, considering she'd seen me and hadn't stopped, it probably didn't matter much. I felt kind of sad anyway, which was stupid—she wasn't even really my girlfriend. She only thought she was. And even that was up in the air.

No sooner had I started walking again than another pair of lights appeared, this time heading toward me. She'd come back.

She pulled over, and I went around to the driver's side. She looked at me for a moment before rolling down the window.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Walking,” I said.

“Duh,” she said. “I mean, what for?”

“Just wanted to,” I replied. “It's a nice night.”

Stupid, I know, but what was I supposed to say?
“I didn't feel like listening to my kid sister who's not really my kid sister get the crap beat out of her by her drunken father while her brain-dead mother stood by and did the dishes. Oh, and by the way, I'm disappearing for good. My body will probably turn up in the spring when some jerk takes his dog for a walk on the railroad tracks outside of town.”

“Since when do you do that kind of thing?” she said, her brow crinkling.

I shrugged. “First time for everything,” I said.

“Right,” she said. I think she could tell I didn't want to talk about it. She turned off the engine. A long silence passed. She seemed to be waiting for something, but I wasn't sure what.

“So what are you doing?” I asked.

“I just took Christine home from practice.”

“You guys went even later than we did,” I said.

She snorted. “Got to get ready for the ‘big game,'” she said. “Half-time show and all that. Remember, we're hosting this year.”

“Oh yeah,” I said.

“I hate cheerleading.” She sighed. “I've always hated it.”

“Then why don't you quit?” I said without really thinking.

Her head jerked up, and she gave me a kind of funny look.

“What are you on?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Something's going on. For the last week, it's like…” She paused, and my heart started pounding. “You're just different, that's all.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked.

She didn't say anything for a moment.

“You need a ride?” she said at last.

“No thanks,” I said. I looked down to where the road disappeared around the corner. In the distance I could hear the blare of a horn as a freight train made its way through town.

“Come on, get in,” she said. “I'll take you home.”

She glanced up at me. It was just for a second, but it was enough. The coldness, the anger, all of it was gone, and for the briefest moment she looked like she did in that photograph, the one I'd found tucked in Chris's birthday card, maybe even more welcoming. My heart started pounding again and I felt funny, sort of dizzy.

“Okay,” I said.

She nodded. The warmth had faded now, the wall was back.

I went around the front and got in, and we drove off.

“So you ready for Saturday?” she asked.

“I guess,” I said. Really I was dreading it. I'd made it through a week of practices, but I had no idea what would happen to me when the real thing came. And the fact that it was the “big game” only made matters worse.

“It's all you've been talking about since school started.”

“I know,” I said.

“Didn't like getting benched, huh?”

“Who does?” I replied.

A few minutes went by. She seemed sort of squirmy as we drove along. At least she wasn't driving a hundred miles an hour like last time.

“So you really think I should quit cheerleading?” she asked.

“If that's what you want. I mean, if you don't really like it, why not?”

She gave a nervous laugh. “God, my parents would kill me. Not to mention my friends.”

“No they wouldn't.”

“Yes, they would.” She laughed again. “Besides, people would talk. About us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Star linebacker, head cheerleader—the dynamic duo. You know, all that Ken and Barbie stuff. God, I hate that crap.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't, then,” I said. I was starting to feel confused, like I couldn't tell what I was supposed to say.

“Yeah, you're probably right,” she said, nodding. But she still seemed pretty wound up.

We pulled into the driveway. Barry's car was gone. I breathed a sigh of relief. She turned off the lights, and we sat for a moment in the dark.

“Want me to come in?” she said.

That was the last thing I wanted. Not that I didn't want to spend more time with her, but I had no idea what the scene would be like in there.

“Now's not the best time,” I said. “I've got a big test tomorrow. Need to study.” I could tell my voice sounded funny.

So could she. “Right,” she said. She looked over at me. “See you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I said. I started to open the door, then stopped. “So you want to do something tomorrow night?” I said.

“Sleepover at Tammy's,” she said.

“Oh.”

“Besides, you're going out with the guys. The usual pregame bash, right?”

“That's right,” I said, “I forgot.”

She smiled. For the first time, a real smile just for me. “Just stay out of trouble, okay?”

“I'll try,” I said. I closed the door and stood back. I watched her drive away and didn't turn until she was out of sight. And that's when I knew that I was in love. To this day, it's the best and worst thing that's ever happened to me.

Everything was quiet when I walked in the door. And dark—the kitchen light was on, but that was it.

“Echo?” I called out, but there was no answer. I went around the corner and looked into her room. Empty.

“Chris.”

I turned to see Sheila standing at the edge of the living room. She sounded relieved to see me. As I switched on the hallway light, she picked up the suitcase by her side and stepped toward me. She was wearing a coat and had a backpack slung over her shoulder.

“What's going on?” I asked.

“I'm going to Aunt Marion's.”

“What?” I cried. I suppose I shouldn't have acted so pissed off. After all, I'd been planning on taking off myself not twenty minutes ago. But I was just a visitor. She was the mother. She wasn't supposed to leave.

“I can't take it anymore, Chris. I need a break. It's just for a few days.”

“Right,” I said. Judging by the size of her suitcase, it
looked like it would be more than a few days.

“I left a note for your father on the table. For when he comes back.”

“Great, can't wait,” I snapped. “And what about Echo?” I asked. “You're not taking her with you?”

“Echo has school. I can't just pull her out,” she murmured. “She'll be fine. You'll take good care of her. I know you will.”

That's your responsibility, not mine
, I wanted to say to her. Then again, it's not like she'd been doing a bang-up job to begin with. “Where is Echo?” I asked.

Sheila glanced around. “She's downstairs, I think. In the basement,” she said. She looked away for a second. “You know, in her corner.”

“Right,” I said. I still couldn't believe it.

“I'm sorry, sweetie. I just need some time. I've got to get it together, and your father…” Her eyes began to fill up with tears.

“When I said ‘do something,' this wasn't what I meant.”

She didn't answer for a moment. “I'll call you tomorrow,” she said at last. She stepped up close to me. “Good luck with your game on Saturday”, she said. “I'll be thinking about you.”

“Who cares about a stupid game,” I whispered.

She stepped back. I could tell she was a little taken aback, but she didn't say anything.

“I'll call tomorrow,” she said, and headed out the door. Then she was gone.

I guess human mothers aren't so different from doppelganger mothers after all
, I thought, watching as her headlights backed out of the driveway.

 

“Echo?” I called out from the top of the stairs.

“Down here.”

I headed down the stairs and looked in between the sheets. There they all were, just like last time—Echo, the bunnies, and the bears, all seated around the table in their little chairs. Except Echo, of course. She was too big. Teacups and saucers were neatly placed before every member of the party. A plate of real cookies occupied the center of the table.

“There you are,” she said, as if she'd been expecting me. “I was wondering when you were going to arrive. Look, everyone, Chris is back.”

She got up slowly and moved a few of the animals aside, adjusting their place settings, and went back to her seat at the other end of the table. I sat down at the spot she'd cleared.

“See, Mr. Wimple,” she said to the bear at her right, “I told you he'd be here.” She looked up at me. “Everyone was worried when you didn't show up last time,” she explained. “Would you like some tea?” She offered the kettle.

“Um, sure. Why not,” I said. I took the extra cup near me on the table and held it up. She pretended to pour, then put the kettle back down.

“Mom's left,” I said.

Echo nodded. “I know. I looked in and saw her packing.”

“You don't seem too concerned,” I said.

Her brow furrowed for a moment. Then she shrugged again. “She'll be back,” she whispered. “She always comes back.”

So this isn't the first time
, I thought. Whether that was
good or bad, I really couldn't say.

“Would you like a cookie?” she asked. She reached forward and started to pick up the plate, then stiffened. I could see a wave of pain flash across her face. It was only for a second, but it cut right through me. Then she straightened up and handed me the plate. She must have seen me wince.

“I shouldn't have spilled that milk,” she said.

“Just bad luck, that's all,” I said, taking a cookie.

She nodded and went back to sipping from her cup.

“I'm sorry, Echo,” I said.

“It's okay,” she said. “He's just angry.”

It seemed like she didn't even care. “Why would you say something like that?” I demanded.

“'Cause it's just the way he gets sometimes. He can't help it. He isn't always like that, you know.”

I couldn't understand why she would stick up for him. “I just wish it was me instead,” I murmured.

“I don't,” she said. “I remember when I was little, when he used to hit you. Listening is worse.”

I don't know why the revelation startled me so much. I mean, after all, why would Echo have been the only one? Still, I had to look away when she said it. Suddenly I felt worse than ever for what I'd done to Chris. To have a guy like Barry in your life, and then have someone like me come along. Awful. I didn't know if she was right about the listening part, but after two nights of it, I had a hard time believing she was wrong.

“Don't you hate him?” I said. “I know I do.”

She closed her eyes. “Don't say that, Chris. Please.”

“Well, it won't happen again. I won't let it. I promise,”
I said.

As soon as I said it, I knew it was a mistake. Not just because of the whole involvement thing—though my mother, no doubt, would have been horrified at what I'd said—but also because I couldn't back it up. I couldn't be around forever. At some point Echo would be on her own. And because of me. Because I'd taken Chris—the one person in her life who might have been willing to protect her—out of the picture. On the other hand, it didn't seem like he'd ever done anything to stop it. Maybe he couldn't because it had happened to him, too. Maybe all he could do was escape with her into the basement, into this tidy little corner of the world where they could both forget about it.

So why
did
I say it? I guess because I meant it. Even someone like me, a killer, knew that what was going on was wrong. Yeah, I know my mother always said good and evil and right and wrong were just human fictions, but none of that mattered to me anymore. What was happening to Echo wasn't a fiction. That, of course, was why I was a failure, but at that moment I didn't care.

“You haven't eaten your cookie yet,” Echo said. It was like she hadn't even heard me. Maybe that was for the best.

I munched down one cookie and had another. I hadn't finished my dinner and was feeling pretty hungry. For the next twenty minutes, I listened to Echo as she chatted with the animals. I piped in from time to time, like when she asked me a question on behalf of Mrs. Weatherby or something. But mostly I hung back, finishing the plate of cookies and admiring all of Echo's drawings on the wall of the dancing bears and frogs and green hills. Finally I got up to
go. I actually did have to study for a test on Macbeth tomorrow. “See you later, Echo,” I said. “Don't worry, I'll handle Dad in the morning.”

“Wait,” she said, struggling to her feet. She went over to the toy box, reached under it, and pulled out a pad of paper and a small box. She came back to the table and set everything in front of me. I opened the box. It was full of markers and crayons and colored pencils.

“You can't go yet. You almost forgot,” she said.

“What?” I asked. A shiver ran down my back. She pointed to the pictures on the wall.

“You always make me one. After every time.”

So the pictures weren't Echo's. It was like the race car sheets all over again. Only worse. For a second my voice caught in the back of my throat.

“I think it's time you drew one, Echo,” I finally managed to say. I didn't want to be insensitive, but I'd never drawn anything in my life—nothing decent, anyway.

Echo paused for a second, then shrugged. “Okay,” she said. “But you have to tell me what to draw, just like I do with you.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” I said, going over to the pictures hanging on the wall. “How about a picture of Mr. Wimple and Mrs. Weatherby building a snowman,” I said. It was the first thing that popped into my mind. Besides, I'd always wanted to build a snowman.

“Okay,” she said. “But I'm going to put us in the picture too.”

“Good. We'll all build one. A big one,” I said, looking over Chris's pictures. I tried to imagine him sitting at the table where Echo was now, making those suns with a big
yellow crayon for his kid sister. To be honest, they were pretty good drawings. Better than I could do, I'm sure.

A few minutes later, I looked over to see how Echo was coming along. She was an even better artist than Chris. There we were with the rabbit and the bear. The page was mostly white, what with the snow and all, but there were mountains in the background with little people skiing on them. And then there was something else.

“What are they doing here?” I asked, pointing to the two other people helping us with the snowman.

“That's Mom and Dad,” she said. “I decided to have us on vacation. Daddy always said he wanted to go skiing in the mountains. So maybe we'll go someday, right?”

“Sure,” I said.

When she finished, I hung the drawing up next to Chris's. There were a lot of pictures on that wall. Too many.

We turned out the light and slowly went upstairs in the dark.