Doppelganger Page 3

  Bill dropped to a knee beside the first cow, took a long look at the cow and its terrible wounds, then got up and walked over for a look at the second. He stooped down and felt inside of one of the holes in the second cow’s flank. He then started walking around the cows looking down at the ground. Every now and then he would stoop and take a closer look at the ground.

  While Bill was investigating the cows, Greg's car arrived, followed closely by Emilio’s pale green Game Warden Blazer. Greg parked his patrol car near the other three, and got in Emilio’s SUV. The four-wheel-drive was able to descend further down the hill. Emilio stopped about thirty feet from the first cow.

  No sooner were they out of the truck than Bill called out, “Come see what you think about this, Emilio.” The old Texan’s accent battering the newcomer’s name as it drawled out all four syllables.

  Emilio Rodriguez was originally from Midland, out in West Texas. He had only been working in Newton County for two years, but the tall, wiry Hispanic had already proven himself a hard worker who knew his business. In the short time he’d been in the area, Emilio had earned the respect of the sheriff.

  Bill was perched on the toes of his boots about twenty feet on the other side of where the second cow lay in a low muddy area. Emilio walked past the dead cows followed by Greg, Carl, and Edgar. When he got to Bill, he saw what had the sheriff’s attention.

  “What have we here?” he said, taking a knee beside the sheriff.

  It was a footprint, one as big as an average size man’s. In fact, the footprint looked a lot like a man’s. However, the toes were longer and the big toe was slightly further down on the foot. Not exactly like a chimpanzee’s, but somewhere between a chimp’s and a man’s. The most shocking sight was the claws; they extended a full two inches from the toes.

  Bill took a fountain pen from his breast pocket and used it as a pointer. He ran the pen down the length of the claw prints. “Ever seen claws that big?” Bill asked Emilio.

  Emilio shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “That ain’t all.” Bill leaned over and pointed with his pen at another footprint. Bill then stood up and pointed out three more prints in the mud. “You can follow its tracks through this bog from here to over there.”

  Bill then looked at Emilio, and in an almost nonchalant voice said, “It’s walking on two legs.”

  Behind Emilio, Greg gasped, “Bullshit.”

  Bill continued as if Greg hadn’t said a word, “I found more tracks over there.” He pointed toward a spot about thirty feet from the second cow, “Over there it’s travelin’ away from the cows on all fours. I haven’t heard of a bear in these parts for years, but a bear can get up on two legs. You think we may have us a bear here, Emilio?”

  Emilio, still kneeling, studied the first footprint, then said, “I don’t think so. This isn’t like any bear tracks I’ve ever seen, not even close.” Emilio shrugged his shoulders and continued, “Plus, a bear’s slow when he’s on two legs, so how did this thing run down those two cows? He couldn’t have snuck up on them, that’s for sure. They’d have smelled him.”

  “What else could it be?” Bill asked, almost to himself.

  “I don’t know.”

  Edgar said. “You reckon it could be some sicko? Maybe he hacked up the cows and then left fake paw prints in the ground.”

  Emilio looked up at Edgar. “He’d have to be one sick bastard to have eaten this much raw beef.”

  “Maybe he took chunks out to make it look like something was eating the cows,” Greg chimed in, causing Bill to give him a look that said, That’s the stupidest damn thing I think I’ve ever heard.

  Bill’s head turned slowly as he took in the whole scene, then he turned back to Greg. “I want you to take pictures of the whole area. The cows, the footprints, everything. And, don’t forget to put something beside the prints for a size reference.” Bill turned to Emilio, “You’d better get a hold of College Station. I think the boys at A&M are going to want to look at this.”

  * * *

  Around noon Greg drove up to Shay’s Grocery, a local gas station and convenience store, to gas up his cruiser and get a bag of chips and a soft drink for lunch. He was just finishing up at the gas pumps when James came out of Shay’s. James was on his way back to the garage with his and Guy’s lunches — burritos and egg rolls, heating lamp specials. Half asleep, he almost didn’t even notice Greg, despite the hard-to-miss patrol car.

  “Hey, James,” Greg called.

  James snapped out of his drowsy stupor, looked over and saw Greg grinning and waving, “I’ll be right over,” James said. He went over to his pickup and deposited his paper sack before walking over to the gas pumps.

  “Arrest any bad guys today?”

  Greg grinned. “Now, you know better. There ain’t any bad guys in Newton County. Sheriff Oates ran them all off back in the eighteen hundreds, by God.”

  Despite being half asleep, this struck James as hilarious. When his laughter tapered off, he asked, “So you’re kinda takin’ it easy today?”

  “Not really,” Greg said. “Some whacked out grizzly got a hold of Edgar Harvey’s cows and I spent most of this morning takin’ pictures of cow guts.”

  The gas pump clicked off. Greg turned to take the nozzle out of his car and replace it in the pump so he missed the look of outright shock on James’ face. Before Greg turned back around, the radio in his car started crackling to life, “Unit sixty-three, we’ve got a ten-fifty out on Farm Road 2626, about a mile off Highway One-Ninety.”

  Greg leaned in the patrol car’s open window and picked up the radio mike. “Ten-four.”

  Greg turned to James. “Well Bill might’ve run off all the bad guys, but he didn’t get rid of all the bad drivers. If you would, tell Sharlah to charge the gas to the county.”

  Greg got in the car and sped out of the parking lot with his lights flashing, never noticing the blank look of horror on his friend’s weary face.

  The grim reality of what Greg had said hit James like a ton of bricks. Suddenly it felt as if his stomach was tied in knots and his brain was trying to push its way out of his ears. James forgot to tell Sharlah about the gas. He drove straight back to Baldwin’s and told Guy he didn’t feel well and was going to take the rest of the day off.

  When James got home, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Angie what was bothering him. He told her he just wasn’t feeling well, but she knew better; she could tell there was something wrong. When James told her he was sick and went to bed, she suspected it was the dreams. They were one of the few things he would flat refuse to talk to her about.

  At first he tossed and turned, thinking about the beast in whose head he was taking nightly rides, but his extreme fatigue finally caught up with him. He slept like a rock until sometime in the middle of the night when he started dreaming.

  * * *

  The beast moved slowly through the dense brush until it came to a small creek. It then ambled along the creek’s bank, its clawed feet sloshing in the soupy mud. After continuing along the muddy stream for a few hundred yards, the beast came to a barbwire fence that crossed the creek. The fence did not exactly follow the lay of the land; it bridged straight across the creek, leaving a gap of a little over two feet between the bottom strand of wire and the water, which was only inches deep. The beast easily crawled under the fence and continued along the creek.

  The beast only traveled a few feet beyond the fence before rising up on its hind legs. There was a peculiar scent on the wind. It breathed in the air for some time, then turned its head to the right and sniffed again. When it returned to all fours, the beast left the creek and set off in the direction of the scent. The beast ascended a small wooded hill; once at the top, it stood, sniffed the air, then using the increased elevation for a better view, it surveyed the land before it. The underbrush in the area wasn’t very dense, enabling the beast to see through the woods much farther than usual. A light could be seen in the distance. It was a house.

  Chap
ter 2

  New Prey

  When Angie awoke early the next morning she saw that James had finally stopped the tossing and turning that had become such a nightly ritual. The cover was knotted, evidence of earlier restlessness, but James was lying on his side breathing easily. For the first time in weeks, he was sleeping like a rock, so she turned off his alarm.

  Angie went into the kitchen and called Guy Baldwin at home. The phone rang seven times before Guy finally answered. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Baldwin, this is Angie Taylor.”

  “Well, hello, Mrs. Angie,” Guy replied in as pleasant a voice as his three-packs-of-cigarettes-a-day throat could manage.

  “Mr. Baldwin, James hasn’t been feeling too well. I was wondering if you could do without him for the morning.”

  “Sure,” Guy said with concern in his voice. James hadn’t called in sick since Guy had known him, and now he’d gone home early one day and called in the next. The old man figured it must be serious. Concerned, he added, “Is there anything I can bring you from town?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Well, you just tell ol’ James to take the whole day off. I’ll hold down the fort.”

  “I will. Thank you,” Angie replied. Guy Baldwin sometimes came off as a crusty old man, but Angie had seen through his rough exterior long ago. The man was a sweetheart. “Good-bye, Mr. Baldwin.”

  “Bye.”

  * * *

  James stirred slowly at first, but when he finally stretched his arms and opened his eyes he immediately realized there was too much sun coming in through the window. It was beating down directly onto the bed rather than falling short by several feet as it normally did in the morning. James jerked his head in the direction of his clock and, sure enough, he was late for work. 10:43 a.m. — he was almost three hours late for work. Last night’s dream was temporarily pushed to the back of his mind, and all he could think of was how far behind they were at the shop. James quickly jumped out of bed and got dressed.

  When he came out of the hall and into the kitchen Angie was washing dishes. In a questioning, yet still sweet voice he asked her, “Honey, why didn’t you wake me?”

  Angie could tell he was not pleased, James didn’t get angry; not pleased would probably be the best description available.

  “You were sick yesterday. You tossed and turned all last night, and when I saw that you were finally sleeping well this morning I thought I’d let you sleep in,” she explained in a meek apologetic tone she reserved for James’ rare not pleased moments.

  “Honey, we’re way behind schedule at the shop. Mrs. Baker called just yesterday and threatened to take her car over to Larry’s.”

  “I’m sorry,” Angie said, then added softly as he headed for the door, “Please stay for breakfast.”

  “No time,” James said as he went out the door.

  With tears in her eyes, Angie watched from the kitchen window as he walked briskly to his truck without even stopping to play with Lady. She felt angry but couldn’t figure out why or who she was mad at. She sniffled, and despite the tears now rolling down her cheeks, she started laughing.

  Angie smiled, patted her tummy. Hormones.

  * * *

  When James arrived at the shop, he found just what he expected to find. He walked in the little windowless room they called the office and there was Guy with his feet propped up on the desk, a cup of coffee in one hand, a chocolate donut in the other, and a cigarette in his mouth.

  “Feeling better?” Guy asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Guy Baldwin liked a kid who respected his elders, but when James bought Ike Baldwin’s share of the shop Guy had told James having a business partner call him “sir” made him feel downright ancient. It took James a long time to break the habit, but eventually he did. Now the only time James relapsed into calling Guy “sir” was when something was bothering him.

  “Did you get to Mrs. Baker’s car?” James asked.

  “I was just headed that way,” Guy answered, still reclined in the chair.

  “Did you get the parts ordered?”

  “Shoot,” Guy said with a snap of his fingers, “I knew I was forgettin’ somethin’.” Guy put his half-eaten donut down and picked up the phone and started dialing.

  “Well, its past eleven now, too late to order,” James said in a sharp voice, then he walked through the back door of the office mumbling, “Guess I’d better get to work.”

  Guy put the phone back on the receiver, got up, and followed James into the shop, “Somethin’ botherin’ you, James?”

  “No, sir,” James said, still trudging away from Guy.

  “James, could you humor an old man and talk to me for a minute?” Guy said in a voice that had a touch — just a touch — of sternness in it.

  James stopped and turned around. His face was flushed and he looked down at the floor. Guy could read the shame in his face. Guy asked, “What’s eat’n you, son?”

  “We’re just so behind,” James started, then shrugged.

  “Is that all?”

  “Yeah.” James muttered.

  “You sure?”

  James shrugged again. He sat leaning on the edge of a toolbox, drawing a little circle in the dusty concrete floor with the toe of his work boot. “I snapped at Angie this morning. I guess I’m a little upset at myself.”

  “Well, it seems somethin’s been botherin’ you for a couple of weeks now. Is there anything you need to talk about?”

  James thought briefly about telling Guy about the dreams, but he decided against it. “I haven’t been sleepin’ all that good, that’s all.”

  “Well, you know if you need to talk to someone just come to me.”

  James smiled weakly. “Thanks, Guy.”

  Guy grinned and said. “Now get in that office and call up that lovely lady of yours and apologize before you end up sleepin’ on the couch for a week.”

  James did just that.

  * * *

  It was a cloudless night. The moon was full and the stars were out, giving the beast’s already tremendous eyesight extra range. The beast sat on its haunches in the bushes on the far side of the pasture watching a large four-legged creature on the other side. It closed its eyes and sent its senses forward. Its detached senses crossed the long pasture until it caught sight of a large roan mare galloping for a barn near the front of the pasture.

  A front was moving in, pushing cold air ahead of it. The cool October wind was blowing hard, making the old horse frisky. She had been running through the pasture for most of the afternoon, kicking her hind legs and tossing her head like a colt. This playfulness continued into the night until the wind shifted, bringing a strange smell to her nose. Sensing danger, the horse immediately ran for the barn.

  The beast’s senses caught up with the fleeing horse and entered her mind through her right eye. It quickly found a familiar memory. Then the beast opened its eyes and started across the field and toward the barn. The beast approached cautiously. When it was about halfway to the barn it raised itself and continued walking the rest of the way on two legs.

  Once in the barn, Chelsea stopped running and began nervously prancing around in a circle, pawing the ground and snorting loudly, taking several cautious glances in the direction of the pasture. The strange smell was gone, but not the fear.

  It wasn’t long before what appeared to be Chelsea’s owner stepped into the barn from the direction of the pasture.

  “Hey there, girl,” the beast said in a soft woman’s voice.

  The horse snorted, then turned hesitantly toward the source of the familiar voice; it still sensed something just wasn’t right.

  “It’s all right, Chelsea,” the beast said in the soft feminine voice, approaching the horse slowly with one hand held out.

  The beast continued to approach slowly, and the horse relaxed and began walking to meet it. As soon as the beast had the horse in its reach it swung a clawed hand at her, but just as it did the big mare sensed danger an
d reared. The blow, which would have ripped into the horse’s neck tearing vital arteries had she not reared in the last moment, tore into the horse’s left shoulder, making four ugly gashes. Her hooves pawed the air and caught the beast in the chest, knocking it to the ground. Chelsea then turned and ran out the front of the barn. The beast got back on all fours and ran after her.

  The front of the barn opened into a small, fenced-in corral, with a gate facing a brick house that was situated on a hill about a hundred yards away. In her panic, the horse crashed into the closed gate. Despite Chelsea’s size, the heavy iron gate held. She turned and tried to run past the beast and back into the barn. As she passed, the beast lunged, hitting her hard in the side. Long claws sank deep and were dragged down her side as she kept running. The horse trumpeted loudly in what could only be described as a scream of pain. The beast lost its grip and fell behind her, but was able to reach out and grab one of her hind legs as she tried to flee. It pulled hard on her leg, causing the horse to stumble.

  Chelsea might have made it into the open pasture on the other side of the barn, where, despite her wounds, the beast would never have been able to catch her, had she not fallen and broken her front right leg. Still, she struggled to regain her footing, but it was too late. The beast attacked, using the claws on both its hands and feet to bring down its prey.

  The beast was busy enjoying its hard-earned meal and didn’t see the light on the back porch of the house come on.