Doppelganger

by David Stahler Jr.

  She didn’t look at me again for the rest of the period as we finished our tests and handed them in, but when the bell rang and I sprang up with everyone else, she called me out.

  “Chris Parker,” she said, eyeing the name on my test. Everyone froze. “Stay.”

  Again, the oohs and aahs, but the nervousness I’d felt when the real Ms. Simpson had held me after class was nothing compared with now. I could feel the drops of sweat along my forehead. I almost bolted, but I knew that it would probably just make things worse, so I sat back down.

  After everyone left, she went and closed the door, then came over with that same grin she’d fixed me with earlier. She perched on the desk in front of me, crossing her legs like before, pulling up her skirt a little. I looked away.

  “So here you are,” she said. “I found you at last.”

  My eyes snapped back. “You’ve been following me?”

  She shrugged. “I came across your trail in Springfield a few weeks ago. It was faint, but not faint enough. I’ve always had a nose for young blood.”

  Springfield, I thought. Suddenly it all made sense. Although, remembering the sight of that abandoned car glowing in the moonlight, I realized that, deep down, a part of me had known all along.

  “So you’re the one,” I said. “You’re the Springfield Killer.”

  “Springfield Killer,” she scoffed. “The names these humans come up with. So imaginative, aren’t they? Still,” she said, sighing, “I suppose I deserve it. I got sloppy, you know. Didn’t tie the weights on well enough—stupid girl popped right up and floated to shore as soon as I turned my back.”

  “But why’d you have to pick her?”

  “The Vitelli girl?”

  “No. Ms. Simpson.”

  “I traced you to the school. Figured you were probably a teacher, but this is just as good,” she said, her grin widening. “Maybe even better. It didn’t take me long to pick this one. It’s easier when they’re single. Besides, it’s a lovely form, isn’t it,” she said, leaning in toward me.

  “You’re not doing a very good job,” I told her. “You’re nothing like the real Ms. Simpson.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not really trying. I don’t plan on sticking around.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “You know what I want. Even if your mother never told you, you know inside, don’t you.”

  Trouble was, she was right. I did know. All of a sudden, I could feel it, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t say anything. I just looked away again.

  She sighed again. “Young ones are so difficult,” she said. “They’re hardly worth it. Is this your first form?” she said.

  “Second.”

  “Let me guess. Two weeks?”

  “Three and a half,” I said.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Impressive. You don’t have much time left, though. I’ll bet you’ve already started to feel it.”

  I nodded. “But it went away,” I said. “The itching stopped.”

  “It’ll come back,” she said. “Count on it.”

  I hated being there. I hated listening to her. I looked back at the door, hoping someone would come along, but there was nobody in the window.

  “Ah,” she said, “you don’t want it to, do you? You like being…what’s his name? Chris? How sweet.”

  There it was, that cold, patronizing voice, the kind my mother used when I was at my lowest to chide me for being weak.

  She knew she was pissing me off. “Come on, don’t be mad now,” she said. “Most of us get attached to a form at some point, usually in the beginning. But all things come to an end. You’ll find out.”

  “But why does it have to come so quickly?” I asked, suddenly forgetting myself. “My mother used to spend months in a form. Once she went over a year.”

  “You’re young,” she said. “As time goes on, you’ll build up the strength to hold it longer. Some of us can last for years in a form, though I’ve never met any who really wanted to. A life gets old after a while. Before you know it, it’s time to take a new one.”

  I suddenly thought about what Amber had asked me, about what I’d always wondered. “Why do we have to take any at all? Why don’t we just live alone, away from them?”

  “Aren’t you the philosopher,” she murmured. “What can I say? Nature’s strange. She made us this way for some reason, maybe one that has yet to be realized. Still, everything has its niche. Humans have theirs, we have ours.” She stood up from the desk and took slow steps around me. “Think of us as parasites. Only the most sophisticated, most successful parasites that ever evolved.” She waved an arm around the classroom. “I mean, we sit back and let these creatures create a world for us, do all the work, and then we find a cozy little corner to squirm into and enjoy it without them ever knowing. That’s why we’re the superior species, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But a parasite is still a parasite.”

  “Greatness comes in different forms,” she said, laughing. “Surely your mother taught you that.”

  “You’re a lot different than she was. You smile, for one thing. And I don’t think I ever heard her laugh.”

  She shrugged. “She was probably young. The young females are all business. As we get older, we lighten up.”

  “And you smell different. It’s strong. In fact, it’s too strong. I don’t ever remember her smelling that way.”

  “Pheromones,” she said, her eyes flickering. “We females release them when we’re ready to couple. In my case, they’re pretty strong. It’s been twenty years now since I last coupled,” she said, drawing nearer. “As you can imagine, I’m quite eager.”

  “Twenty years?” I said. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Eighty,” she said, then hesitated. “Well, okay—eighty-two. But I don’t feel a day over sixty.” She started laughing again. “You should feel privileged. This will probably be my last time. My last, your first. It’s perfect.”

  I could feel myself loosening as she came closer to me. It was horrible and strange. I mean, I didn’t want to be there, a part of me even hated her, but I found myself not caring. And as she moved in, unbuttoning the top button of her blouse, I felt this sudden sort of hunger. It’s like her body was a puppet, moving, gesturing in a way that made my blood burn. Like the girls in those magazines Chris kept in the closet, she wasn’t real, which, in a weird sort of way, made her all the more alluring.

  “Your teacher has a house,” she murmured, standing over me. “Nice little place right on the park in the middle of town. I say we head over there right now.”

  I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to obey her or the part of me that was pushing me to. The knuckles on my fingers turned white as I gripped the edge of the desk.

  But my hands weren’t strong enough. Before I knew it, I was getting up, moving numbly to my feet as she watched, smiling.

  All of a sudden, her smile faded. There was a knock on the door.

  I started at the sound and shook my head. It was like coming into the icy air from a room that’s too hot.

  I turned around in time to see Amber open the door. I’d never been so happy to see her.

  “Ms. Simpson?” Amber said, taking a step into the room.

  “Yes?” Ms. Simpson snapped.

  Amber hesitated. “I was just looking for Chris,” she explained. “Chris, are you almost done?”

  I looked back at the sheganger. Now it was my turn to smile.

  “Got to go,” I said.

  “Well, we’ll just have to finish this later, then,” the sheganger said.

  “See you tomorrow, Ms. Simpson,” Amber called as I headed to the door.

  “Right,” Ms. Simpson replied.

  “And make sure you give me a better grade than Chris on the test this time,” Amber joked.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” the teacher murmured, turning back toward her desk.

  Amber looked up at me and raised her eyebrows. I just shrugged, a
nd we headed for her locker.

  Ten minutes later we were out the door.

  “What’s up with her, anyway?” Amber said as we crossed the parking lot.

  “Who?” I said, even though I knew.

  “Ms. Simpson. This morning she hardly said a word. And then just now, she was all bitchy. I mean, you heard her, right?”

  “I didn’t notice,” I said. I didn’t really want to talk about it, to be honest. And I definitely didn’t want to tell Amber the truth. I’d dragged her into enough already—the last thing I wanted was to get her involved in this new complication. In fact, all I wanted was to get as far the hell away from the school as I could.

  “It’s just not like her,” Amber said. “She usually acts like she gives a shit. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  I reached down and took Amber’s hand. I had been so shocked at first to discover the doppelganger, and then so relieved to get away from her, that I hadn’t even really thought about the fact that Ms. Simpson was dead. Now, listening to Amber, it hit me pretty hard, and suddenly all I could think about was the first time Ms. Simpson had kept me after school. It was probably the first real conversation I’d ever had with anyone in my life. It made me sick, to tell you the truth. I felt like it was me who’d done it. And in some ways, I was sort of responsible. After all, Ms. Simpson and the doppelganger would never have crossed paths if I hadn’t been around.

  “I guess she’s just having a bad day,” Amber said. “Maybe something happened over the weekend.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Whatever’s going on with her, with anyone, doesn’t matter. We have each other now. We care about each other, right?”

  “Right,” she said. She looked up at me and smiled, and it was even better than the smile in her picture because I knew that it was for me and no one else.

  Rrrrrr!

  We both jumped at the sound of screeching brakes and looked over to see Ms. Simpson about six feet away, peering at us through the windshield of her black Volkswagen Jetta.

  She rolled down the window as we moved out of the way.

  “Careful, kids,” she chirped. “Better watch where you’re going.”

  She gave us a little wave, then smiled and drove away.

  “Speak of the devil,” Amber murmured.

  “You said it,” I replied as I watched the car turn out of the parking lot and disappear.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I was so caught up thinking about the doppelganger as I came in through the Parkers’ front door that when Echo jumped out from around the corner, I practically had a heart attack.

  “Mom’s home!” she said, hopping up and down in a little dance.

  “That’s great,” I said.

  I meant it too. It was going to be good having Sheila around again. And I didn’t mean to cook and do all those things we’d been stuck doing—or usually not doing—since she’d left. It was just good to have everyone back together again and, most of all, to see Echo so happy. I don’t think I’d ever seen her more excited. It made her seem more like a normal ten-year-old.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, coming into the kitchen. She was at the sink washing dishes. All of a sudden, it was like she’d never left.

  “Hey, sweetie,” she said. She came over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek—something she’d never done before. It sort of caught me off guard.

  “Back for good?” I asked.

  She nodded and returned to the sink. “Looks that way.” She sighed. “I don’t know. After the movie yesterday, I started thinking about things, about how much I missed you. All of you. So I called your father this morning at work.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  Her smile faded a little. “Yeah, I know,” she said. “Anyway, I came over for lunch, and we had a long talk. And, well, here I am.”

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked.

  “He took my car to get some groceries. Should be back soon.”

  I turned to head for my room.

  “And Chris,” she said. I stopped and looked back. “Thanks for taking care of Echo the way you did. I knew I could count on you.”

  She had this weird expression on her face—a look of gratefulness and relief, but mixed with sadness and more than a little shame. I gazed into her eyes and tried to figure out what she knew. Had Barry told her about our fight? It didn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d do. Then again, nothing he’d done the last few days seemed like the kind of things he’d do. That’s what’s so hard about human beings—you can never really figure them out. They always end up surprising you.

  “I didn’t do much,” I said.

  She just smiled. “Well, thanks anyway.”

  Pretty soon Barry came home, and that evening we all had supper together. Don’t get me wrong—it wasn’t like we were the Brady Bunch all of a sudden or anything like that. In fact, it was a little tense, like we were all trying to figure out how to act toward one another. It was as if a bunch of strangers had been stuck in a room and told to pretend that they were a family all of a sudden. Still, no one argued. Echo didn’t spill any milk. And Barry stayed at the table for the whole meal. He even helped clear the dishes at the end.

  Best of all, after dinner, Mitch called and gave Barry his job back. I don’t think Mitch told him I’d come by that morning. Barry didn’t mention it or give any indication that he knew, which was fine by me. Who knows how Barry might have reacted if he’d found out? I mean, he’d already been humiliated by me once—twice, if you wanted to count last Friday night when I’d stopped him from blowing his head off. The last thing he needed was to be told his son had begged his job back for him. Besides, it kind of made me feel good to be the only one in the family who knew. I’d been living with them this whole time holding on to a terrible secret; it was nice to have a good one for a change.

  Like I said, things weren’t perfect, but the Parkers were coming together faster than I’d ever thought they could. That’s the thing about life that I just don’t get. It’ll go to hell pretty fast—sometimes all it takes is one little thing, and all of a sudden everything’s falling apart. But then the opposite is true, too. Just when you think there’s no point in even trying, you find out you’re not so bad off after all. I don’t know, maybe things are changing all around us the whole time and we just don’t notice until it’s all over.

  But just when the Parkers were starting to become a real family, I could feel myself pulling away from them. I guess it was partly because I realized that no matter what happened or what I’d done to make it happen, in the end I didn’t really belong.

  There was another reason. When I woke up the next morning, the rash was back, and I itched worse than ever. Scratching didn’t help. In fact, it only made it worse, sending lines of pain burning across my skin. I was losing Chris again, this time probably for good, and as I got dressed for school, I felt a whole new hate for the sheganger. She’d jinxed me. I just knew it.

  As Tuesday slipped into Wednesday I began to feel more and more agitated, like there were beetles under my skin, crawling from place to place, looking for a way out. It came in waves. One minute I’d feel normal, the next I could hardly concentrate on where I was or what was going on around me. I was focusing all my energies on just being Chris.

  It was all too much. But it made me aware of one thing. I’d seen enough Oprah and Dr. Phil to realize I’d succumbed to a serious case of denial. I mean, I’d gotten so used to being Chris, so content with how things were going with the Parkers and with Amber, that I realized I didn’t have any plans for what to do once Chris was gone for good. The whole thing scared me.

  The stress of knowing she was waiting for me didn’t help, either. The best thing for me to do would have been to ditch school entirely, but I knew I’d get in trouble if I did. And now that it looked like Barry and Sheila were getting back together, I didn’t want to do anything that might screw it up. So instead I just skipped English. On Tuesday I went to the infirmary s
eventh period and pretended to be sick. On Wednesday I just plain cut class and hung out in the bathroom with the smokers.

  There I was, secluded in a locked stall, perched on the toilet seat with my arms wrapped around me, sort of rocking back and forth. I was a nervous wreck. If anyone had seen me, they probably would’ve called for a straitjacket.

  I have to say, though, the smokers were actually pretty cool. After offering me a cigarette, they more or less left me alone. I guess having abandoned my jock persona gave me some weird sort of credibility in their eyes.

  As I sat there surveying the gems of wit carved into the door of the stall, I tried to sort it all out. The whole thing was totally messed up. You see, a part of me really wanted to go to English, to give in to Ms. Simpson, or rather, to her doppelganger. What’s the harm? a voice inside me said. Just do it and get it over with. Then you’ll feel better. It doesn’t mean you don’t love Amber. Besides, she never even has to know.

  I remembered what my mother had told me about the coupling. That it wasn’t a matter of choice—it was a matter of proximity, a biological imperative. Survival of the species and all that crap. But that’s what made me want to dig in and fight it even more. I had given in already, with what I’d done to the old man and to Chris. I didn’t want to be a slave anymore. This was where I’d make my stand—with her. And I wasn’t going to be unfaithful to Amber. No matter how much that part of me tried to rationalize it, I knew that giving in to the sheganger would be a betrayal, at the very least of my feelings. Feelings I wasn’t supposed to have in the first place.

  It all wouldn’t have been so bad if I could’ve been with Amber. But now, when I needed her more than ever, I felt like I had to avoid her. I’d seen her at lunch and in between classes a couple times, but it was horrible. I mean, it was all I could do to act normal, to not tear off my clothes and jump up and down screaming. I just didn’t want her to see me like this. So I begged off getting together with her after school on Tuesday and again on Wednesday. I told her I was sick, which was true in a way. I just didn’t tell her why.