Doppelganger Page 9

When James returned to the living room he lay down on the couch. I guess a few more nights on a couch won’t hurt.

  The silence was horrible. James picked the remote up off the coffee table and turned on the television just for the noise, then he tried to settle down for a nap. He restlessly pitched and rolled for several minutes before he finally got up and walked to the door. “Lady, come here, girl.” As she drew near, he backed into the house calling her inside.

  The floppy-eared lab came to the door, but stopped there. Her tail wagged furiously, jostling her butt from side to side, as she nervously debated whether or not to go into this place she wasn’t normally allowed.

  “It’s okay, girl,” James said. “You’re going to be a house dog for a while.”

  After giving the situation much thought, Lady finally came in. But the sudden admission to such a forbidden place caused her to become overly excited. She was practically bouncing off the walls. Once James got her settled down, he returned to the couch. Perhaps it was because she was the closest thing he had to a living family member, but bringing Lady in the house proved to be just what James needed. When James stretched out he found himself as relaxed as he had been since the funeral, even without the medication. Soon he was drifting off to sleep.

  No sooner had he dozed off than the phone rang, scaring Lady — who was still nervous about being inside — into jumping on the couch with him.

  “It’s okay, girl,” James muttered to Lady, who was practically perched on his head.

  Coaxing his dog from the couch, he scratched her ears.

  The phone continued ringing away.

  James got up, walked into the kitchen and answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Now why’d you go and leave when I was just gettin’ used to having your smelly ass on my couch?” Greg asked.

  James laughed, then said, “I thought it was time for me to get home.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Greg asked, now sounding serious.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “I wish you’d stay a little longer.”

  “Greg, I even kept you run out of your own house half the time,” James said, and, perhaps it was his head clearing as it came out from under his physician-prescribed cloud, but James suddenly realized how rude he’d been. “And I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have imposed on you like I did.”

  “With what you went through, you had a right to impose.”

  “Yeah, but ...”

  “Yeah but nothing. I was glad to help. Besides, in the afternoon it was nice having another man around the house. I’m so used to being outnumbered two to one.”

  “Speaking of which, tell Sandy thanks,” James said.

  “I will,” Greg said, then he added, “I’m sure she and Carissa are going to miss having you around, too.”

  Yeah, right, James thought, Sandy couldn’t stand to look at me and Carissa was scared to death of me. However, he replied, “I’m going to miss them, too. Oh, by the way, thanks for cleaning up the place.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Well, I’d better go and try to get a little sleep. I’ll see you around.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right? I can come over if you want.”

  “No, really I’m fine.”

  “Okay, then. Like I said, just call if you need anything.”

  “Okay, Mom, bye,” James said jokingly.

  Greg laughed and said, “Bye.”

  When James turned to walk back into the living room, he almost tripped over Lady, who was sitting right behind him. James got back on the couch and got settled, but he couldn’t go to sleep. Like someone who can’t stop picking at an open sore, his mind kept returning to the night Angie and Jimmy were killed. He remembered the night before, when the beast saw James’ tracks in the mud. Something didn’t fit.

  * * *

  At noon the next day James surprised Guy Baldwin and showed up for work. He didn’t stay long, though. James had planned to come to work and try to get back to life as usual, but he found it wasn’t so easy. It seemed every time he had almost calmed down, a picture of Angie’s bloody arm in the doorway would pop into his head. He could see it almost as if it were right there before him: her arm, her hand, the ring, the blood. He could see it all in such unmerciful clarity. After staying at work for only two hours, James went home.

  As soon as he got back to his house, James went back into the back bedroom and lay on the bed for the first time since the night before Angie and Jimmy were killed. The memories came flooding back again, in force.

  He started crying.

  James got up and walked to the bedroom closet and opened the door. He was surprised to find the old shotgun; he figured the Sheriff’s Department would have confiscated it after what happened. James then fished in some of the drawers and found two more shells and put them in the chambers. James tossed the loaded shotgun on the bed and got a piece of paper and pen out of Angie’s stationary drawer. He sat down to write his suicide letter, but couldn’t.

  As tears once again began to build in his eyes, he let out a bark of laughter at the sad irony. I would write a suicide note, but I don’t know who to address it to. Whether it was hysterics or not, James wasn’t sure, but all of this suddenly became the funniest thing he’d ever heard. He fell back on the bed guffawing loudly.

  Lady ran to the bedroom door to check on him, and when James looked up and saw her standing there with her head tilted and ears perked up in a look of concern, he began to laugh even harder. That’s who I could address it to: Dear Lady.

  When James finally managed to stop laughing, he decided against suicide. He stretched out on the bed and went to sleep.

  * * *

  That was the first night James was off the medication. He went to bed early and slept well at first, but when night came he started dreaming of the beast again.

  The beast crawled out from under a spidery knot of tree roots that had been exposed by the creek eroding the dirt from around them. The woods were thick in the area.

  Once the beast was out from under its little den, it set out at a determined stride. It was hunting again, ambling along for a while, then stopping to sniff the air. As it moved along through the underbrush headlights from a car could be seen just off to its left; it was traveling parallel to a road. The beast continued on its way until lights could be seen ahead.

  As it crept forward, it stopped to sniff what had once been a large dog, but was now a mass of mutilated meat. Probably last night’s kill.

  The beast began creeping toward the lights until it could see a small trailer-house, and a small metal outbuilding. The beast sniffed the air then closed its eyes. Its detached senses sped forward. However, it didn’t go in the house at first; it went under the back porch where it found an old blue tick hound. Though the dog’s eyes were closed, the beast’s senses still passed through its eyelids and into its mind. Once it had found a suitable memory, it left the sleeping dog and went straight upward, passing through the floor. It then passed through the silent house until it found an extremely obese old man asleep in his recliner. The man’s head had lolled to the right, pulling the small plastic tube that normally ran from his nose to the green oxygen bottle beside his recliner until it had come out of his right nostril and had stretched his left to an oblong slit. The deep rumble of this man’s snoring echoed through the tiny living room.

  The beast’s senses passed through a closed eyelid and found a memory.

  On all fours the beast then circled to the front of the house. Then it stood — Wake up! — and began approaching — Wake up! — the front door of — Wake up, for Christ’s sake! — the trailer-hou ...

  James woke up. The old man he had seen was William Youngblood. He lived less than two miles down the road.

  James threw on his shirt and pants, and grabbed the shotgun. He ran out of the house without even putting on his shoes. He jumped in his pickup and tore out of the drive. It took James only a few minutes to drive the short distan
ce between his house and Mr. Youngblood’s trailer. As the pickup slid into the driveway, he laid on the horn, hoping that if the beast hadn’t already done its deadly deed the sound would scare it off.

  The front door was wide open, and James started toward it at a full run. From the back of the house he heard a dog yelp, a sound that was abruptly cut off. James ran around the corner of the trailer. With the shotgun in his hands, he combed the area with his eyes. He saw on the steps of the back porch a headless dog, its warm body still twitching. James then looked up and down the tree line, but it was too dark to see a thing. He then turned and walked toward the front taking frequent looks behind him.

  * * *

  From the woods, the beast watched James. It raised its snout only slightly, so it wouldn’t have to take its eyes off him, and breathed in his familiar smell. It continued to watch him until he passed back around the trailer-house. Then the beast slowly crept deeper into the woods.

  * * *

  The inside of the trailer-house was dark except for a small light coming from just around the corner in the living room. James knew from his past visits to Mr. Youngblood’s that the light was from a small reading light beside the old man’s recliner. Holding the shotgun firmly in his right hand, James reached for the light switch in the dark trailer. He felt two switches and flipped the first one. A light came on outside, illuminating the steps to the front door. James tried the next switch and had better luck — a single lightbulb came on in the middle of the trailer’s living room. James returned his left hand to get a better grip on the double-barrel shotgun. James stepped into the living room, and just around the corner he found Mr. Youngblood. He was still in his chair.

  The old man’s walker was still neatly folded beside his recliner. In a small town like Newton, quite a few people don’t bother to lock their doors. Mr. Youngblood probably heard a familiar voice at the door, and rather than straining and pulling to get his obese body out of his recliner, he probably just called out that the door was unlocked.

  William Youngblood’s entire stomach and chest was open, long ropes of guts and small greasy yellow beads of fat were all over the chair and laid out on the floor in front of him. It looked as if the beast had torn at him like a dog digging furiously in the ground for a bone.

  The heavy smell of Mr. Youngblood’s bowels almost made James lose his lunch. He staggered into the kitchen and splashed water over his face. James then looked around for a phone, but the only one he could find was right beside old man Youngblood, and James didn’t want to get that close to the mutilated body. After scouring the kitchen from top to bottom and taking a hesitant peek into Mr. Youngblood’s bedroom, James came to the conclusion that the only phone in the house was the one beside what was left of the old man.

  Holding his breath, James slowly walked over to the mutilated corpse. When the phone was in reach, James grabbed it and took it as far to the other side of the room as the cord would allow. James dialed the police station.

  “Sheriff’s office,” an old woman’s voice answered.

  “This is James Taylor,” James said, his voice shaky and warbled with fear, “get someone out to William Youngblood’s house immediately. It’s about four miles down Farm Road Fourteen-fourteen, on the right.”

  “Uh, how many houses down from Turner’s is that going to be?” the voice answered

  “Just call Deputy O’Brien, he knows exactly where it is.”

  “Okay.”

  James stretched his arm out as far as he could, and still had to throw the phone the last couple of inches. It landed in the cradle. He then went outside for some fresh air. Leaning up against the inside of the front door, with the shotgun resting all but forgotten in his arms, James waited for the cavalry to arrive, hoping Greg would be first on the scene.

  Less than five minutes after the call, a police cruiser pulled into the drive behind his pickup. Greg stepped out of the car and started toward the trailer. Seeing the shotgun in James’ hands, he stopped well short of the door. “James, I love you and all, but could you put the shotgun down?” Greg said, smiling nonetheless.

  “Sure,” James said plopping the shotgun against the wall, then turning and motioning Greg to follow him in the house.

  When Greg first saw Mr. Youngblood, his reaction was not unlike James’ had been, except Greg opted for fresh air instead of a splash of water — he stepped outside on the front steps.

  James followed him out and said from behind him, “I saw that thing, whatever it is, headin’ up to Mr. Youngblood’s door. I woke up in the middle of the dream, and thought I could get here in time to save him. I tried like hell to get here, but I was just too late.”

  Another set of flashing lights reflected off the trees across the road. Someone else was on the way.

  Greg swallowed hard, shook his head, then turned to James. “You know you’re our only suspect in these murders don’t you?”

  “Suspect? It’s not a human that’s doing the killing,” James replied, shocked.

  “They ... we ... don’t know what the hell we’re lookin’ for, but out of three murders, you’ve been first on the scene at two of them, and someone reported seeing you out at the scene of the first one the day after the murder.”

  “You don’t think I did it, do you?” James asked.

  Greg paused at first, the brief pause probably lasted less than two seconds, but the pause made James’ heart sink nonetheless. But when Greg did find the words, there was no doubt in his voice. “No, I don’t.”

  By now the new arrival was pulling into the drive. It was a state trooper who happened to be in the area and heard the call on his radio.

  James sighed, “Well, place me under arrest. I’d rather you do it than someone I don’t know.”

  Greg looked down at his feet for a while, then started. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will ...”

  Chapter 9

  The Newton County Hilton

  At the Sheriff’s Office James was fingerprinted and photographed. While he was in the booking room Sheriff Oates tried to question him on a few items, but James did as Greg had instructed while they talked on the way to the station. He demanded his lawyer be present for any questioning. Bill simply said, “Suit yourself,” and ordered Greg to take James to his cell.

  The walls of James’ cell were a sickly color of baby blue with various names, dates, and expletives carved in them. The only furniture was a small iron bed jutting out of the wall, equipped with only a ratty pillow that felt like it was stuffed with Styrofoam, a paper thin sheet, and a stainless steel toilet set into one corner. There was also a shower spigot protruding from the wall over a drain in the floor in another corner. Below this spigot was a single button that, when pressed, caused cold water to flow for about one minute. For a decent shower you would have to repeatedly press the button. There were no bars. A solitary Plexiglas window was located in the steel door to the cell.

  By the time Bill and the deputies were finished at the scene and James was booked. Greg was off duty, but he didn’t go home. He went back to the cells to talk to James.

  James was trying to get some sleep but not managing very well when Greg pecked on the glass. Dressed in one of those bright orange jumpsuits the county supplied for the inmates, James got up and walked to the door. Greg opened the slit below the window used to give the inmates their meals so James could hear him. “James, I think the only way out of this is to tell Bill everything, dreams and all.”

  “He won’t believe it.”

  “No, not at first. But maybe after you’ve informed him of the beast’s movements a couple times he will start to come around.”

  “In other words, you want me to sit in this cell, see someone get ripped to pieces, then report it to the sheriff?” James asked wryly.

  “Maybe you’ll see a landmark or something and be able to tell us where it’s at. Maybe you’ll wake up during an attack, and we’ll have time to get there before it kills someone, like you tri
ed to do with old man Youngblood.”

  “Yeah, and maybe pigs will grow wings and fly. It didn’t work when I was only a few houses down, so how’s it going to work now?”

  “James, I don’t think there’s any other way.”

  James stood there for a while, leaning on the cell door, shaking his head. Then he said. “You’re right. The damn thing’s gonna kill again whether I’m watchin’ or not.” James sighed, “Go ahead and tell Sheriff Oates.”

  “I need a favor though,” Greg said.

  James couldn’t imagine he was in any position to do anyone a favor, but nevertheless, he said. “Sure, anything.”

  “When I tell Bill that you had told me about Sharon Perrett and I didn’t tell him, he’s going to come unglued. I was thinking that to get him off my back a little I could tell him I talked you into an interrogation without a lawyer present.”

  James scratched his head. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just skip that part? I mean, we don’t have to tell him I know about Sharon, do we?”

  “I think we do. If we’re going to tell him what’s going on, we need to tell him everything. We need to really come clean with him.”

  “What about the interview without a lawyer, is that necessary?”

  “I think so. He’s going to want to talk to you anyway and there’s no sense in bringing in some lawyer.”

  “Okay, but he’ll probably chew me up and spit me out.”

  “I’ll be in there with you.”

  James corrected himself. “Oh, excuse me. He’ll chew us up and spit us out.”

  * * *

  “Well, what did you need to talk about?” Bill asked, leaning back in his chair.

  Greg came in and sat down, “It’s about James.”

  “I figured as much,” Bill said dryly. Then, with a motion of his hand, he said, “Go ahead.”