Doppelganger

by David Stahler Jr.

  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.

  CHAPTER NINE

  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.

  CHAPTER TEN


  “Come on, guys. Hurry up!” Steve shouted.

  We all followed him deeper into the woods, stumbling down the dark road.

  It was Friday night, the night before the “big game,” and I was out with the guys. My first time, unless you counted the night I killed Chris, which I didn’t.

  I wasn’t going to go at first. Amber was with her friends, so I didn’t see any point in it. But I also didn’t want to leave Echo home alone. I mean, I wasn’t too worried—Barry hadn’t seemed particularly distraught when he stumbled into the kitchen this morning and read Sheila’s note. He just crumpled it up and pitched it toward the garbage bin like it was a losing lottery ticket or something. At first I thought that maybe he was too ashamed after what had happened last night to get upset, but it was probably that he was just too hungover to care.

  No, I wasn’t as worried about Echo as I had been last night, but I didn’t want to take a chance, either. It was Friday, after all, and who knew what he’d come home like. So I decided to stay behind. You know, to keep an eye on things. But when I got home from practice, there was a message on the machine from Echo—she was going over to her friend Zoë Simon’s house for a sleepover. Said she might be there all weekend. Just as well, I thought. That’s when I decided to go out. Maybe some time alone in the house was what Barry needed.

  Steve and Josh picked me up before Barry got home, and the three of us went out for pizza. After dinner we went to the park in the center of town, where a few hundred kids had gathered for the pep rally. People cheered for us, and everyone gave speeches. You’d think we’d already won the game.

  “Going out with the guys” basically meant piling into a couple cars afterward and just driving around, drinking a few beers. Actually, it was kind of fun. Everyone was all pumped up for the game with Springfield, and there was a nervous sort of excitement in the air. Even I felt it. It wasn’t like the party I’d been to the weekend before. Sure, we had beers with us, but nobody got stupid—everyone looked out for one another, and even if they hadn’t been, guys knew better than to get too wasted and risk letting everyone down. Still, there was a lot of energy hanging around, and even before we headed into the woods, I knew it had to go somewhere.