Doppelganger

by David Stahler Jr.

  It all caught up with me on Thursday. I was fidgeting in history class first period, when the principal’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Mr. Johnson,” the voice said.

  “Yes?” the teacher replied, looking up from his newspaper while we did worksheets.

  “Is Chris Parker in your class right now?”

  “He is.”

  “Would you send him to the office, please.”

  “Right away.”

  Everyone suddenly turned and stared at me. There were no oohs or aahs this time, just silence. Even Mr. Johnson didn’t say anything, he just sat there and watched right along with the kids as I gathered up my books and left.

  A few minutes later, I was sitting before the principal—a slender, balding man with a mustache that seemed way too big for his face, like it was fake or something and he’d just glued it on that morning for a joke. But I quickly realized that that would have required more humor and imagination than he was capable of.

  “Do you know why you’re here, Chris?” he intoned.

  “Not really,” I said.

  “Well, I received a note this morning from Ms. Simpson complaining that you skipped English two days in a row.”

  “I was sick.”

  “Well, you were in the infirmary Tuesday. And yesterday?”

  “I was sick,” I said again. I knew I wasn’t being too helpful, but I wasn’t in the mood to banter with the guy. In fact, sitting there in his overheated office, I could feel another wave coming on.

  “You’re twitching, Chris,” he suddenly said.

  “I am?” I said, gripping the sides of the chair.

  “What’s wrong, Chris?” He sort of leaned back in his chair, cocked his head, and gave me this suspicious look. “Are you on crank, son?” he said.

  “No!” I exclaimed. “Of course not.” I had no idea what crank was. But whatever it was, it couldn’t be any worse than what was happening to me.

  “Maybe I should call your parents,” he murmured, reaching for the phone.

  “No!”

  His hand froze. He sat back and looked at me.

  “I’m sorry I cut class,” I said. “I mean, I really wasn’t feeling well. But still, I shouldn’t have done it. Just tell me what I need to do.”

  “Well, the first offense for skipping class is an office detention….”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “However,” he continued, “Ms. Simpson has requested you serve the detention with her. She wants to get you up to speed on what you missed.”

  My stomach did a flip-flop. I’ll bet she does, I thought.

  “You’ll go to your seventh-period class like you’re supposed to do and stay after for the detention. I suggest you do whatever she tells you to. And if I find out that you skipped out again, you’ll be suspended. Understood?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  So she had me. And she knew it too. I could see it in her eyes as I walked into English seventh period and sat down—this sort of triumphant gleam. And that smell—it was still there. If anything, it had grown stronger.

  The period seemed to drag on forever. She had us read silently in our books, which, I found out, was what we’d been doing for the last couple days.

  I don’t think I read a whole page the entire period. I just closed my eyes and tried to think about how I could get out of this. Once in a while, I’d open my eyes and look up, and every time there she was, staring at me.

  As the period wound to a close, she gave us our homework and, right in front of everyone, reminded me of my detention. A few kids laughed. The bell rang.

  Then we were alone.

  She closed the door like last time and came up behind me.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” she said.

  “I haven’t been feeling good,” I said. “Don’t take it personally.”

  “It’s slipping, isn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  “I told you it would happen,” she said.

  “How much time do I have?” I asked.

  “How long can you hold on? That’s the question. How long has it been now? A month? God, it must be killing you.”

  “It’s not bad,” I said, shrugging, trying more than ever not to scratch at my neck and arms.

  She laughed. “You really are a funny one. I don’t think I’ve met another quite like you, and I’ve come across quite a few in my time.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I retorted.

  She came up close behind me, until I could feel her breath on the back of my neck. She sniffed a few times then stood back.

  “Just as I thought,” she said. “I bet your mother never told you you had human blood in you, did she.”

  “What?” I said, whirling around. “I’m part human?”

  She shrugged. “Not much. A quarter, maybe even less. For whatever reason, it only gets passed on to the males. The females stay pure.”

  “I didn’t think we could…you know, breed with them,” I said. I hated using that word, but talking to her, it seemed appropriate.

  “Males can’t with human females,” she said. “But every once in a great while, one of the girls will stray. She’ll randomly go into heat and the next thing you know, she’s diluting the gene pool. Not her fault, the poor thing. Fortunately it hardly ever happens. But it looks like your mother ended up with a rare half blood.”

  “Doesn’t sound like her,” I said. I remembered how she’d always disdained males, how she’d called the one who’d fathered me weak. Now I knew why.

  “She probably didn’t have an option. We’ll take whoever’s at hand.”

  “Like me?”

  “Exactly,” she said, coming around to face me. “But you’re different,” she said. “It’s strange—normally I can’t stand the mixed ones, but I can hardly resist you. Now where were we the other day?” She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse like she had before.

  I’d been preparing myself for this moment. I stood up from my seat and took a deep breath.

  “No.”

  “What?” she said, halting her advance. A look of surprise came over her face.

  “It isn’t going to happen,” I said.

  Her surprise turned into a look of amusement. She chuckled. “It’s not, is it? What makes you think you even have a choice in the matter? Now let’s get out of here.”

  She held her hand out and beckoned. I could feel myself being pulled toward her, like there was some magnetic field emanating from her outstretched palm. I gritted my teeth and fought it.

  “I don’t want this,” I said, panting. “Let me go.”

  “What is it, anyway?” she said, lowering her hand. She ran her hands down across her body. “Don’t you find me attractive?” she mocked.

  “Go to hell,” I said, closing my eyes.

  “Ah,” she said, “I know what it is. It’s her, isn’t it? That human girl you’re with—Amber, right?”

  My eyes snapped open. “Leave her out of this,” I said. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears.

  “That’s pathetic,” she said, “even for a mixed blood like you. Doppelgangers don’t fall in love. It’s one of the cardinal rules. One of the only rules.”

  “Besides,” she said, drawing up close to me so that her face was right before mine, “why settle for a girl when you can have a woman?”

  She unclasped the barrette holding back her hair and shook her head, letting her hair cascade down around her shoulders. Next thing I knew she was unbuttoning another button so that I could see her bra.

  The whole scene was bizarre, almost comical in a sick sort of way. I felt like I was trapped in one of those soap operas I used to watch every day growing up. What made it even worse was that it worked. I found myself weakening again, just like before.

  Suddenly her eyes flashed behind me toward the door and a slow smile crept over her face. I turned and looked over my shoulder.

  Amber was frozen at the door, gazing in through the tempered glass with her mouth op
en in shock.

  Our eyes met. Before I could do anything, she disappeared.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” the doppelganger cooed. “Looks like you lost her. Just as well. It was going to have to end sometime.”

  As nasty as the comment was, it was the best thing the sheganger could have said to me. I was so angry, all desire disappeared. I tore myself away and ran out into the hallway. Amber was gone. I sprinted down the hall and around the corner just in time to see her head through the door that led to the parking lot. I took off after her.

  “Amber!” I shouted, throwing the door open and stumbling out into the parking lot.

  She paused, looked back at me, and kept walking.

  I caught up to her just as she reached her car. She started to open her door, but I slammed it shut.

  “What the hell was that back there?” she said. She wouldn’t look at me, and I could tell she was trying not to cry. “So that’s why you’ve been blowing me off all week.”

  “No, of course not,” I said. I reached over to take her hand, but she swatted me away. “Like I told you at lunch, I got detention for skipping. I had to be there. I didn’t have a choice. But nothing happened, Amber.”

  I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should tell her who “Ms. Simpson” really was. It would’ve solved the immediate problem, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wanted to keep Amber as far away from the situation as I could, and I figured it would be safer if she didn’t know.

  “That’s not what it looked like to me,” she said, seeing me hesitate.

  “It doesn’t matter how it looks, I’m telling the truth. Nothing seems the way it is, you know that. I mean, look at me, for chrissake.”

  “I don’t know what I know. The last couple weeks have been so screwed up, I can’t even tell what’s real anymore.”

  “That’s why we have to trust each other,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I thought I trusted you,” she said. “But the way you’ve been acting these last couple days, I don’t know why I should. I mean, you skip out after school. You hardly talk to me at lunch. And don’t give me that bullshit about being sick, either—”

  “Amber, I’m losing it!” I shouted. “I’m losing Chris.”

  She hesitated. “What do you mean?”

  “Look,” I said. I pulled up my shirt and showed her the rash, a swirling red band that encircled my torso and spread up my back.

  She winced when she saw it and looked away. I didn’t blame her. It was pretty gross.

  “I didn’t know that could happen,” she whispered.

  “It’s been really bad the last few days. It’s taking everything I’ve got to hold on. That’s why I’ve been acting this way.”

  “You never told me it wouldn’t last,” she said.

  “I didn’t want to talk about it,” I said. “I didn’t even want to think about it. It started more than a week ago, but then it stopped. I guess I was hoping that maybe it would go away for good. That I could stay being Chris, stay being with you.”

  She looked back up at me. Her eyes sharpened.

  “You talk about trust,” she said, “but you don’t even trust me enough to tell me what you’re going through, or trust that I can handle it.”

  I looked away. She had me there.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what all this means. I’ve just got to think about it,” she said, getting into her car. “I hope you feel better.”

  Then she drove off.

  As I watched her disappear, I thought about what she’d said. And the more I did, the more I realized she was right. I mean, I’d trusted her with the biggest secret of all by telling her who I was, what I was about, and she hadn’t turned me away or tried to hurt me. So why couldn’t I have told her that Chris would soon be gone?

  I guess when it came right down to it, I just wasn’t ready to stop being Chris yet. I wasn’t ready to go back to being what I really was.

  That’s what I would tell her the next time I saw her. She would understand. I mean, when you love someone, that’s what you do, right?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  When I got to school the next morning, there was a note taped to the inside of my locker, written in Amber’s round letters: “I’m sorry about yesterday. Meet me in the parking lot after fourth period.”

  As soon as I read the note, I felt better. In fact, I went practically the whole morning without feeling like I was going to crack out of my skin—the first time in three days.

  Fifth period was when I normally met Amber for lunch, so instead of going to the cafeteria after fourth period ended, I went to the main office to sign out.

  “I have a dentist appointment,” I said.

  “Didn’t you just have one last month?” the secretary asked. She was a heavyset woman with dyed hair that matched the color of her skin, making her look like a bronzed statue someone had dressed in frumpy clothes as a joke.

  Damn, I thought. How do you remember that in a school with a thousand kids?

  “Well, I have another one,” I replied.

  “Do you have a note?”

  “My mother forgot to write me one. I’ll bring one in tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  “Then I’ll bring one in on Monday.”

  She gave me a sort of frown and glanced back at the principal’s office. For a second I thought she was going to bust me, but then she handed me the clipboard.

  “Floss,” she said as I signed my name on the sheet.

  “Excuse me?”

  “If you floss, then you won’t get cavities.”

  “Thanks, I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Forget the dentist; you should see a doctor,” she said as I started to leave.

  I stopped and looked back. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You don’t look so good,” she said, and brushed her neck a few times, nodding in my direction.

  I reached up and felt the side of my neck. The skin was all bumpy. I didn’t even have to look to know the rash had spread. Not only that, I suddenly realized my hands were all blotchy and chaffed. I turned and practically ran out of the building.

  Amber was waiting in her car. When I came up beside her and knocked on the window, she jumped. But when I got in, I could tell she was relieved to see me.

  “I was starting to worry you might not show.”

  “Are you kidding?” I said. “It’s all I could think about.”

  As she started the car and drove out of the parking lot, I pulled down the visor in front of me and glanced in its mirror. Sure enough, the right side of my neck was covered in little red welts. I flipped the visor back and turned up the collar of my jacket.

  For a long time, we didn’t say anything. She just kept driving with this real serious look on her face.

  “Where are we going?” I asked her as we headed out of town.

  “It’s a surprise,” she said.

  Pretty soon I could tell we were heading toward the lake where she’d taken me a couple weeks ago—the day I’d revealed myself to her. Only, once we got there, instead of going into the parking lot, she kept driving before turning onto a road about a half mile past the park. Soon the road started to climb, twisting back and forth up this steep hill.

  “Discovered this place yesterday afternoon when I was driving around,” she said. “I was so busy thinking, I went right past the park. Next thing I knew, I was making my way up the hill. Can’t believe I never thought to drive up here before.”

  A minute later the road came out of the trees and ended at a lookout over the lake. I could see Bakersville in the distance. For a second it reminded me of the mountains where I’d grown up, except all I’d been able to see there were trees.

  “Wow. Nice view,” I said.

  I looked over at her and saw she was smiling, and all of a sudden I forgot about my itching, about the sheganger, about the Parkers. I forgot about everything.

  “Let’s go,” she said. �
�I’m hungry.”

  We got out of the car, and while Amber rummaged in the trunk, I walked over to the edge of the lookout and glanced down. The cliff dropped almost straight into the water about a hundred feet below. Suddenly I felt a little woozy and stepped back.

  “Don’t let yourself go.”

  I turned around and saw Amber standing there with a blanket tucked under one arm, holding a basket.

  “Why would I?” I said.

  She shrugged. “I read once that the reason people are scared of heights isn’t because they’re afraid of falling. It’s that they’re afraid of jumping.”

  “You think people want to die?”

  “Maybe a little part of them.”

  “What about you?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m a teenager,” she said, and laughed. “We all think we’re going to live forever, right?”

  “What’s in the basket?” I asked her. I wanted to change the subject.

  “I made us a picnic,” she answered.

  “It’s a little cold for a picnic, isn’t it?” Even though the sun was out, the air had a bite to it.

  She shrugged again. “You’ve got to take your opportunities where you can,” she said, looking down. I knew what she meant—neither of us knew what was going to happen.

  I helped her spread the blanket out, and pretty soon we were eating lunch. She’d gone all out—gourmet sandwiches, fresh salad, stuffed olives. Some of the best food I’ve ever tasted.

  “Thanks for bringing me up here,” I said after we’d finished eating. “This is really nice—the food, everything. It’s great.”

  “I drove all over the place yesterday afternoon,” she said. “I thought about what you said, about what you were going through, how hard it must be. It made me feel horrible. All of a sudden, I just felt so selfish.”

  “No, Amber,” I said. “You were absolutely right. I should have told you before. I should have trusted you. I just didn’t want to think about it myself, let alone worry you about it.”

  “Well, I do worry,” she said. “I want to worry. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re with somebody.”

  “You’re right,” I replied. “I guess I’m just not used to having someone that I can tell things to. I’ve been alone my whole life. Even when I was with my mother, there was all this space there between us, in spite of that tiny little cabin. I never knew who she was going to come home as, who she was going to be next. And for the most part, she did her own thing. I just knew enough to stay out of the way.”