Spitting Image

by Patrick LeClerc

  “So did you sleep with her?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “The other me.”

  I swallowed. Lying was pointless. I’m not above it, in good cause, but there was no way to spin this one.

  “I thought it was you,” I said. “But it felt wrong. There was no intimacy. It didn’t occur to me that anybody could impersonate somebody that well, so I thought that I’d done something wrong and you were upset. I thought I was losing you.”

  She nodded, still looking straight ahead.

  “I was a train wreck. Couldn’t figure what I’d done to make you so distant. That wasn’t like you at all. It tore me up inside. I thought you were thinking about moving on.”

  “You’re used to moving on, aren’t you?” she said. “I figured you’d be good at that by now.”

  I kept my mouth shut. There was nothing I could say at that moment that would help. She felt betrayed and scared and hurt and wanted to lash out. Defending myself wasn’t going to do much good. Doing it well would just make her feel guilty about lashing out. Doing it badly didn’t seem like much of a plan either.

  “So when did you figure out it wasn’t really me?”

  “I got an inside tip. One of the family told me you’d been kidnapped. Showed me how they can change to imitate people. Before that, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

  She nodded slowly. Staring ahead.

  “It was your new office mate from the school. The poet.”

  She started, turned toward me.

  “I went to the school to see you. You weren’t there, but he was,” I continued. “He introduced himself and said he needed to talk to me about you, about how my relationship with you had been lately. If I’d noticed you acting oddly.”

  She leaned forward, looking directly into my eyes as I spoke. Searching. Looking through her glasses instead of over them.

  “I thought he was going to tell me the two of you were having an affair. I know, I know, but from the way he was acting, and the way he was beating around the bush, sneaking up on the revelation, I thought he was trying to soften the blow before he told me, – man to man, old boy – how things were.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “I was crazy with jealousy.”

  She blinked. “Really?”

  “Of course really. I was devastated at the thought of losing you. And it fit with the lack of warmth, the distant way you–she–was acting. And the guy is dashing and cultured and looks like Errol Flynn, so yeah, I was jealous. I was ready to take a swing at him.”

  I had been ready to murder him, dismember him and dispose of the body, but those are things best kept to oneself.

  “You were really that worried about losing me?” she asked.

  “Sarah, I love you. I love you more than anything. I want to be with you. Only you.”

  Her lip quivered. Big, fat tears welled up and rolled down her cheeks. “I just worry, knowing what you’ve seen and the things you’ve done, that I just couldn’t hold your interest. That I was just a temporary distraction. That you’d get bored. Move on. I–you said–they said–I guess–oh, Jesus I don’t even know.” She bit her lip against the silent sobs that began to wrack her body.

  I put my arms around her, held her close. “Sarah,” I whispered, “whatever they said, it wasn’t me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to go chasing after something new, because I’ve already seen it, and I know what I want. I have exactly what I want right here and now. I want you.”

  She squeezed me tightly. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You’re not praying for the end of time? To hurry up and arrive?”

  I felt a weight lift from my chest. A suffocating blackness begin to fade. “Where else am I going to find a beautiful woman who can throw Meatloaf references around?”

  She didn’t reply. I just held her for a time, letting the silence be.

  Slowly, the silence stopped being comforting and became a thing of its own. A thing full of dread. It wasn’t the silence of two lovers drinking in the moment, it was the silence when the birds go quiet at the approach of danger. The hairs on the back of my neck began to rise. I didn’t hear the footfall of a predator or smell the coming storm or see a shadow of a raised blade fall over me, but it was there, hidden in the silence.

  It was a silence I was too afraid to break. I waited, not daring to breathe, frozen in the vain hope that the danger would pass me by. Like lying in that pool of blood on Culloden Moor, hoping that redcoat would just step over me.

  I heard Sarah take in a deep breath and knew it had found me, knew that the blow was coming.

  I had a moment of nostalgia for that Hanoverian bayonet.

  “Sean,” she said, her voice heavy with unshed tears.

  “Yes?” I forced the word out. Barely a whisper.

  “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

  She drew away.

  I let her. My arms fell to my sides. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t trust my voice.

  After a long moment she continued. “I love you. I know that. I can’t deny that. You make me laugh, you make me feel special and loved and wanted, and when I’m with you, I feel safe and warm and – like I’m home.”

  She sniffed, wiped her eyes. “But then this happens. I know there are ups and downs in any relationship, and the ups are really, really great, but the downs just aren’t even sane. Forget the sex with the fake me. That was only kinda- sorta cheating. I’m upset, but I understand. I’d get over that. It’s the whole bad comic book antagonist thing. I mean, it’s not like you have a jealous ex. You have ancient clan vendettas. If you had a drinking problem, or couldn’t hold down a job, that kind of thing we could work on. But you don’t have those kinds of problems.”

  “I’m willing to learn,” I offered with a brave attempt at a grin.

  Something halfway between a laugh and a sob escaped her, and she looked away. “Please don’t be charming right now. Don’t say anything, or I won’t be able to do this.”

  Well, that wasn’t much incentive. Kinda like somebody saying “Stand still so I don’t miss,” but I managed to just nod.

  “I need to think. Alone. I don’t want to lose you. But I don’t want to be kidnapped or beaten again. I know it’s not your fault, at least intentionally, but it’s because of who you are.”

  At least she didn’t say “what you are.” I was grateful for that.

  “I need to think. I promise I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. I just need time to process this and be sure I’m not being stupid.”

  “I hate to bring this up, but do your thinking here, where it’s safe. No telling what these people will do now that we’ve sprung you. Give me a few days to clear things up.”

  She sighed, shook her head. “This is what I’m talking about. I can’t go back to my life until you’re sure that the doppelganger who stole my identity to get my boyfriend’s sperm isn’t a threat anymore. Jesus.”

  Well, there wasn’t much to say to that. So I didn’t say much.

  “I’ll fix this. I promise. As quick as I can. I’ll let you know when it’s safe.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Yet. But it’ll be thorough.” And probably violent. I felt a burning need to do violence. My life was being taken away. The life I’d chosen after all those years of running and avoiding a stand, and now it was crumbling, all because they wouldn’t leave me alone.

  “Please, take care of yourself,” she said. “You mean the world to me. Honest. I want you to be safe.”

  I forced a grin. “Nobody’s gotten me yet.”

  Not exactly true, but nobody had made it stick.

  Chapter 9

  I THOUGHT HARD on the long drive south. I had to do something about these new enemies, but I couldn’t figure out where to start.

  They could be anyone. And if I figured out who they were, they could just be somebody else and escape to fight another day. I could go to the cops, but they could b
e the cops. Couldn’t ask Caruthers’ employers or co-workers, because he’d expect that so any one of them might be him or one of his family in disguise.

  I remembered the patient Pete and I had treated a day before this all started. The one who looked sick but had perfect vitals and looked heavy but was easy to carry. I didn’t connect it at the time, because who the hell guesses shapechangers, but she could very well have been one of these people spying on me. Christ. How long had they been watching me?

  It looked like anyone I talked to could be an informant in disguise. I couldn’t even ask for time off to work on this without a spy at FlatLine wondering what I was up to.

  So talk to Marty and knife him if he didn’t seem himself? Like if he didn’t seem greasy enough?

  Maybe just knife Marty anyway. Couldn’t hurt to be sure.

  At least I had won this round, gotten Sarah back. Well, rescued. I may not have gotten her back.

  That wasn’t a happy thought. I told myself it wasn’t over yet, but I had to admit it looked bad. And I couldn’t blame her, and I couldn’t change.

  I thought what a support group for my problem would be. “Hi, I’m Sean, and I’m an immortal with supernaturally gifted enemies. It’s been three weeks since anyone has tried to murder or kidnap me, but I’m worried I might relapse.”

  Shit.

  I couldn’t help but feel that it was unfair, because it really wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want this attention, but I didn’t know how to stop attracting it. I could maybe fight my way clear of this latest bunch, but how many more were out there?

  And how could I find out? The only sure contacts I had were Doors, who was a drug smuggler, and who I had shoved a foot of steel through last year, and Caruthers. Doors had kept his word and not resumed his vendetta, but I’m not sure how eager he’d be to pitch in and help me, and I didn’t trust Caruthers. I didn’t know why he was feeding me information, and I had no good way to verify it.

  The only other thing I knew was the location of one property. Maybe I could run down some intelligence on that, look into who owned the cabin, get a name or two, but they were masters of disguise, and they knew that I knew about the cabin so unless they were complete amateurs, they probably were already covering those tracks.

  I wondered what they’d do next. Would they keep coming after me? I was warned, and they knew that. Was that reason enough for them to give up on the plan?

  I hated working with so little information. I didn’t know what move to make next.

  But, I knew what they wanted, and that was something. And I knew what they could do, at least some of it, so I would have to stay sharp, try to figure out if anybody I knew was being impersonated. Maybe that would tip me off.

  Sometimes, when you don’t know how to get through your opponent’s defense, the best thing to do is wait for his attack. Lure him in and turn the tables. Rope a dope.

  I sighed. Maybe they would call the whole thing off.

  As I got out of the mountains, I turned the radio on. I was tired of thinking, and the factory issue stereo in Vlad the Impala didn’t pick up much north of Lincoln. I scanned until I found a classic rock channel. I smiled a bit as the DJ announced a Bruce Springsteen double shot.

  When the first song turned out to be “Trapped,” my smile twisted into a smirk, but it wasn’t until the second track that I was sure life was fucking with me.

  So, like the old soldier I am, I shrugged and sang along to “Brilliant Disguise.”

  Chapter 10

  “PARAMEDIC TWENTY. P-20,” the radio crackled. “Respond to River College. On the quad, for the person down.”

  Pete rolled his eyes and answered. “P 20. Man down on the quad.” He flipped on the lights and pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Hangover?” I asked. “It’s early in the day for a drunk or an OD.”

  “Some college kid is taking a midmorning nap under a tree, just like in the brochures and some Cellphone Samaritan decided to be a hero and call 911,” Pete replied. “And when we get there, some campus cop who thinks he’s friggin’ Serpico is going to browbeat this kid into taking a ride to the ER.”

  “Where would we be without the Cellphone Samaritan?” I wondered.

  “In my Happy Place,” he replied. “Hey, isn’t that where your girlfriend works? Maybe if we get a refusal you can swing by and get a little somethin’. I’ll stay in the truck and cover for you. I mean, you’re only gonna need like, what? Five minutes?”

  “You are too kind,” I said. “But, nice as the thought is, she’s not working today.” I didn’t bother telling him she was reconsidering our relationship because she was tired of having her life threatened. I really wasn’t interested in relationship advice from Pete.

  We pulled off the main road onto the campus. It was pretty, in that nondescript academic style. Red brick buildings with white trim, green swathes of lawn, stately trees, a statue. Probably some Papist graven image, rather than some wealthy donor, since this was a Jesuit school.

  “This look like a quad to you?” asked Pete.

  I took in the expanse of green, dotted with students now peering with interest at the ambulance, curious as to what drama we might provide. “That would be my guess.”

  “You see a man down?”

  “Nope.”

  “I do see some crazy hot chicks in shorts, though. Damn, I love the first week the students are back when it’s still summer,” Pete said. He drew in a sharp breath as two young women lying on blankets in the sun sat up and waved. “You think those girls are legal?”

  “This is college,” I said, “so most of them should be over eighteen. Which would make them legal for you to chase. Icky, maybe, but legal.”

  “Icky I can live with,” he said. “Going to Hell is one thing. Probably get to see all my friends. But I’m too pretty for jail.” He raised his voice and shouted to the young women. “Hi there! You didn’t call 911 did you?”

  “No,” said one, smiling.

  “There’s still time,” said Pete. “If you’re feeling faint, we could check you out, make sure everything’s OK.”

  They laughed at Pete’s line like it was original and shook their heads. Maybe they hadn’t heard it before. They probably hadn’t met Pete, since they weren’t running away.

  I didn’t judge him very much. They were too young for Pete, but even the women in the history books at the library here were technically too young for me. If I had to draw lines, I did it on the basis of maturity. I didn’t like to chase women who were still trying to find themselves.

  At the moment I wasn’t really interested in chasing any women. What I wanted was for Sarah to call me and tell me come back. The fact that a bunch of eighteen year olds in short shorts and tank tops didn’t distract me from my pining meant that I had it bad.

  “Hello,” said Pete. “What have we here?”

  “A different hot girl who’s too young for you?” I guessed.

  “No. That car. They must pay the faculty pretty well around here.”

  I followed his gesture. A two- seater convertible had pulled up in front of the library. It looked vaguely British, maybe an MG, in that dark racing green. I’m not much of a car guy, but this looked shiny and vintage and expensive.

  I was about to turn away, since cars interested me even less than the co-eds, when I saw a man get out of the driver’s seat, walk around to the other door and open it...

  And Sarah got out.

  And gave the man a big, enthusiastic hug and a kiss.

  I felt the knot in my stomach tighten, turn to lead.

  “Shit,” Pete muttered.

  The man got back in his car and pulled around the drive.

  “Just say the word, man,” said Pete. “I’ll flip on the lights, gun it and he’ll hit us broadside. Wreck his shiny toy and get him cited for Failing to Yield to an Emergency Vehicle. Maybe he’ll have neck pain and we’ll have to board him. Tape his eyebrows.”

  “No,” I said at length. “I need to think befo
re I do anything rash.”

  “I don’t though,” he pointed out. “That’s kinda my thing.”

  I didn’t reply. Didn’t trust myself.

  I didn’t know what to do. I knew I wanted to do something. Something violent. The same helpless, jealous anger that had paralyzed me when I thought she was having an affair with Caruthers had me in its grip. Only this time it was worse because I’d seen...

  Wait.

  What had I seen?

  I’d seen what looked like Sarah with another man. But my opponents could look like anybody. They’d fooled me from a lot closer up than across the quad. And she shouldn’t have been at school today, so if they decided to pull a decoy act, they’d be unlikely to run into the real her and tip their hand. And I’d gone there in response to a call that turned out to be for nothing. It would be easy for them to fake a phone call.

  So did I see something real, or just something they wanted me to see? And why would they want me to see that? Trying to provoke me into punching a professor and getting arrested?

  We eventually cleared up without finding any “man down” and went back into the rotation, keeping watch over the good citizens of our fair city. I kept my thoughts to myself, and after a few gentle pokes, Pete, showing more insight than he generally gets credit for, left me undisturbed.

  “Paramedic 20, P-20. Respond to South Broadway at Andover St. The pharmacy, for the unknown medical.”

  “Twenty. We copy. Pharmacy for whatever.” Pete flipped on the lights and sped up. “How the hell do we have ‘unknown medical’ calls?”

  “Not everybody knows what they’re looking at,” I reasoned.

  “I don’t need them to tell the difference between anaphylaxis and asthma,” he said. “Just give me something. Is the guy clutching his chest and collapsing? Did he cut his hand off? Is he shot? Woman in labor? Or did somebody come to the pharmacy for meds for his headache and now he wants to go to the ER because MassHealth will cover an ambulance ride but not a bottle of Tylenol?”

  “Fair enough,” I said.