Doppelginger

by Brian Byrne

  Even if he didn’t have the first clue where to begin.

  Victor was unlocking the basement door when Lissa came bounding down from the living room. “Wait!” she said, pulling on a raincoat. “I want to come with you.”

  “Yeh do?” Victor said with a frown. “But yeh’ve always said me errands bore yeh.”

  She pointed to a large book tucked under her arm. “This is due back today. And really, I was just thinking; what if something bad was to happen to Marty? We need to watch out for him. Both of us.”

  “Right.” Victor still sounded unsure. “Come on den, I guess.”

  As soon as he turned to leave Lissa’s eyes narrowed. I’m watching you, she mouthed, then followed Victor outside.

  Town was crowded. If possible, people were in even more of a hurry than they’d been yesterday. Marty noticed more crows perched on drainpipes, and just like last time he could swear their beady eyes followed him as he walked down the street.

  “Deh sane ones know it’s a bad idea teh spend very long outdoors,” Victor explained. “Deh dark is everywhere, but out here is where it’s strongest.”

  As they carried on Marty spotted people he recognised: Mr. Gregorson, who at home managed his dad’s favourite whole foods store (”Only natural, organically-grown food is free from human-killing preservatives, pesticides, and heaven knows what else,” he would say); Mrs. Quirke, Marty’s kid-loving, the-glass-is-so-full-it’s-practically-overflowing, somewhat oblivious school principal; and Emily Richardson, one of his fashion-obsessed faux-friends from school. But it was all too easy to forget that while these people looked exactly like the ones he knew, on this side of the mirror at least, they were completely different people. For example, Mr. Gregorson’s reflection wasn’t a shopkeeper but a shameless thief (Marty saw him snag three women’s handbags before promptly running away, laughing as he went); from the way Principal Quirke recoiled at him it was quite clear she didn’t love children but loathed them; and Emily Richardson’s reflection was dressed in the sort of outfit that would make the other Emily Richardson scream.

  They were turning a corner when a small woman came out of nowhere and walked straight into Victor. She splayed backwards onto the ground and looked like she might cry, but when she saw him looking down at her she leaped onto her feet quicker than she’d left them.

  “Mr. Blume, sir! How are you! I was thinking about you only a few minutes ago!”

  Victor smiled. “Hi Gusta, how’re yeh keepin’? Really, dare’s no need teh call me ‘sir’. Victor is fine.”

  Marty recognised her, too: it was the red cheeked, white haired woman from yesterday. But unlike the fresh rose she’d been carrying then, the one in her hands now looked like a very small, very useless piece of kindling.

  “Okay, Mr. Blume, I mean, Victor, sir. I was just wondering, if it’s not too much trouble, if you happen to have any to spare roses. You see I got into a sort of accident last night. It’s a funny story, really, if you’d like to hear it.”

  “Yer grand.” Victor opened his jacket. A single extra rose was attached to the inside, which he pulled off and gave to her. It was almost like he knew this was going to happen. “But dat’s all I can give yeh until next week, all right? I mean dat, now.”

  Gusta didn’t even thank him: as soon as the rose touched her fingers she snapped it from his hand and disappeared as quickly as she’d come.

  “You know, I’m really getting sick of her doing that,” said Lissa. “How can one person have that many accidents?”

  “She’s probably tradin’ dem. For food, clothin’, dat sort’ve ting. I really wish she wouldn’t, it’s not like she could survive very long without one.”

  “How long do they last?” Marty asked.

  “Not very long. The dark affects dem, too. Makes dem wilt faster than normal. I ask people teh keep dares in water when dare home and most people do. But some, like Gusta, are a bit careless. I suppose she knows I’d never let her go without, regardless of how many I’ve left back at the Rose. I just fear for the day when she doesn’t run inteh me like that.”

  First on the list of errands—according to Lissa at least—was the library. Marty was looking forward to their visit. At home, he spent a couple of hours there every day doing his homework…or so he’d led his dad to believe. Usually, he spent most of his time there either 1) reading about real-life adventurers in the non-fiction section, 2) attempting to decipher the abstract art on the walls (he was disappointed, when he was nine, to learn that scratching your chin while making a series of ‘hmmm’ noises doesn’t really help) or 3) trying, and failing, to actually get his homework done.

  But instead of turning for Violetville Town Library, Lissa turned the other way, leading them deeper into Old Town.

  “Wait a minute,” Marty said, looking behind him. “This isn’t right.”

  “Deh old one was set on fire by some teenagers a few months back,” said Victor. “When I saw what was happenin’ I rounded up some regulars and we saved what we could. Mind, it took a little while teh convince Bermuda teh relocate. She really doesn’t like change.”

  “Did you say Bermuda? Bermuda Uncle?”

  “Right. She’s deh head librarian. I take it yeh know her?”

  “Uh…” Marty could have sworn he saw Lissa’s ears twitch. “No—you know what, I don’t think I do.”

  He had been a little apprehensive about coming to town today, but he didn’t get the same weird look he’d gotten the day before. Soon he realised why: everyone was much too busy noticing Victor. Every second person they passed gave him a subtle wink or nod, like they were all part of some secret society.

  “This is crazy,” said Marty after an alarmingly tall teenager bowed at Victor. “It’s like you’re a celebrity.”

  “I suppose I’ve made a few acquaintances over deh years.”

  “And all of them rely on you to survive?”

  “It sounds a bit odd when yeh say it like dat. I didn’t choose dis job, Marty. Teh be honest, I don’t tink anyone would.”

  A couple of minutes later Lissa disappeared into a dusty old pub.

  “I thought we were going to a library?”

  “Yer looking at it.”

  Marty didn’t need to say anything; the look on his face made Victor smile all by itself. “It does seem a bit strange, I know. But it actually makes good sense. Our alcohol supply didn’t last very long after deh sun went down. Yeh know, sometimes I tink dat might be partly teh blame for what’s happened since.”

  The inside was overrun with books. They were stacked everywhere: on tables, counters, even on the floor. Reading lamps were perched alongside the books, lighting a narrow, winding path into the room.

  Lissa followed a sign for the returns desk.

  “I’ve bin meanin’ teh catch up on me readin’,” said Victor, and to Marty’s surprise, he picked up a chick lit novel. “How about we meet back here in ten minutes?”

  “Sure,” said Marty, setting off in search of the non-fiction section. He took a left at a table of cookery books and veered right passed several stacks of adult crime novels. There was a whole section dedicated to teen romance, and a whole other section dedicated to teen romance featuring vampires and/or werewolves.

  The people here acted strange, but in an entirely different way to how they did outside. He came across two middle-aged women buried deep in the science section, whispering frantically to one another as they flipped through what looked like a book about the solar system. When they saw him approaching they dropped the book, leaped apart and ignored one another—until he carried on, at which point he heard them begin whispering again.

  Next he saw a man dressed entirely in maroon. His jacket was maroon, his pants were maroon; even the scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face was maroon. The only things not maroon were his sunglasses, but then those were odd all by themselves: who wears sunglasses in a library? The man saw Marty watching him and turned away, quickly vanishing into the sports s
ection.

  Marty was somewhere between stalagmites and stalactites when he heard a buzzing over his head. Looking up he saw a speaker hanging from the ceiling. “Attention visitors,” a voice announced. It sounded like Bermuda Uncle might if she’d drank a dozen espressos. “As you should be well aware of by now books in this library are sorted first by section second by sub-section third by sub-sub-section and fourth alphabetically by author.”

  She paused, took a deep breath and kept going. “A number of days ago a member of staff informed me that some of you are having trouble understanding this system. After intense deliberation I can only conclude your problems surround the alphabet and as such I will now explain how the alphabet works. The first letter of the alphabet is ‘A’ for example this is a wonderful library. The second letter and my absolute favourite is ‘B’ as in Head Librarian Bermuda Uncle.”

  This went on for a while. By the time she reached ‘F’ Marty finally found the non-fiction section, but before he could pick out a book he noticed a woman walking in his direction, her mouth moving in perfect sync with the voice coming from the speakers. She was dressed in a pale blue suit and her hair was pulled back so tightly it might very well have been glued to her head. Her eyes were bright red, as if she’d just finished crying her eyes out.

  “Let me see,” she said, coming to an abrupt stop and looking Marty up and down. “Greek and Roman mythology with an unabridged passion for nineteenth century literature.” She winked. Marty stared.

  Just then Victor appeared at Marty’s side. “Ah, dare yeh are. Bermuda, dis here is Marty, me new guest.”

  “Wonderful,” she replied, and proceeded to burst into tears. Victor put a hand on her shoulder but she shook it off. “I’m sorry I’m sorry. I’ve been a tad demented over the past few days. You see it’s my Bernie. He’s vanished. Disappeared. Evaporated. They’re saying the strangers took him.”

  “Ah Bermuda, I’m so sorry.” Victor’s hand was now hovering over her back.

  “Things were horrible enough what with moving into this place. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be organised when you don’t even have shelves? How my staff function is beyond me. Since Bernie’s gone I think I’m going insane Victor I really think I’m going insane.”

  “Is dare any way I can help? Don’t tell me yer still sleepin’ here.”

  “I appreciate the offer Victor I do but it’s fine. I have a business to run. A cramped disorganised slightly charred business but a business nonetheless.”

  “Right, if yer sure, I suppose. But if dare’s anythin’ I can do please let me know.”

  Marty watched Bermuda disappear between two stacks of encyclopedias.

  “C’mon, we’d better go. Lissa is waitin’ for us.” Victor turned left, frowned, then right. “Hold on. Do yeh know which way we came in again?”

  *

  Lissa was standing by the exit with her arms folded. “What happened? Did you get lost or something?” she said, leading the way outside.

  Marty stopped. He couldn’t leave Bermuda like that. Out of anyone, she deserved to know the truth.

  “Victor?” He grabbed the first book he saw. “I need to put this back. Can you wait here? I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Grand, take yer time.”

  Marty dashed back through the library. He found Bermuda in the teen romance featuring vampires and/or werewolves section.

  “Excuse me, Bermuda?”

  Her cheeks were still wet from the tears. “Yes dear?”

  “There’s just something I wanted to tell you. Your husband is safe. He’s not in the river. I’m not sure where he is, but he’s okay.”

  Bermuda sniffled. “How can you know?”

  “Uh, it’s just this feeling I have. A strong feeling. You’ll see Bernie again, I know you will.”

  “You’re very kind even if I don’t have much time for such notions. I hope you’re right that’s all I’ll say. Now go along I think your friend is getting impatient.”

  “My friend?”

  “Behind you. It’s Lissa isn’t it?”

  “Yes ma’am. But we’re not friends. I don’t make friends with liars.”

  He turned around. Lissa was standing there with her arms folded. Beside her, Victor was frowning.

  Marty could almost feel the honesty being squeezed out of him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  For a moment Marty considered lying again. But he knew it was a bad idea: the longer he lied to them, the harder it would be when he eventually came clean. He waited until they were back in the Rose, asked them to sit at the kitchen table and proceeded to tell them everything: about Aileen and Agley, about Mr. Uncle’s (except not really Mr. Uncle’s) kidnapping, about the investigation which had led to his unexpected trip from that world to this one. As he talked, Lissa’s expression kept changing, from suspicion to surprise to shock. Victor’s, on the other hand, hadn’t changed much since they’d left the library.

  “You’re lying again,” Lissa said as soon as he’d finished. “Victor, I think there’s something seriously wrong with him.”

  “I believe him.”

  Marty stared. He couldn’t decide if Victor had actually spoken or his mind had made it up.

  “You what?” said Lissa slowly.

  “I said I believe him. I knew he isn’t from dis world.” This time, Marty saw his lips move. He said it. He actually said it.

  Lissa stood up. “You knew?!”

  “Of course I did. Marty, dis may come as a bit’ve a shock to yeh, but yer not deh first person teh come through dat mirror. Last year, a couple‘ve girls arrived here. But dey weren’t like you. Dey were weak, couldn’t handle deh dark at all. Dey wilted and died, much quicker dan anybody else. Somethin’ about dis place just didn’t agree with dem. I would‘ve told yeh sooner, only when I did it last time it didn’t exactly help the situation. For some reason dey were sure I was out teh get dem.”

  “I can’t believe you knew,” Lissa said. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

  “What does it matter?”

  “We gave him shelter, food and safety, and all along he was what—some sort of alien?!”

  “Lissa, since when do we need a reason teh help people? Out’ve anyone I tink you can understand dat.”

  All of a sudden Lissa’s face went bright red. It was like her rebuttal had gotten stuck halfway up her throat. Her eyes bulged and for a few seconds she looked like she might explode. Then she turned around and stomped her way upstairs.

  “Did I miss something?” said Marty once she’d gone.

  Victor looked back at him. “I’m not sure I’m deh right person teh answer dat.”

  *

  Over lunch, Marty told Victor more about his world. He figured the more Victor knew, the more likely he’d be able to do something to help him. Either way, he enjoyed talking about his side of the mirror again. He’d only been here for a day but it was nice to know he hadn’t completely forgotten what home looked like.

  Afterwards they went upstairs to the attic. Victor had to gather some roses for a delivery that afternoon; some people, like the elderly and disabled, weren’t able to come to town to collect theirs. As he used his clippers to pick the freshest, largest roses, Marty went back over what had happened after he’d first landed in that bathroom. When he got to the part about the skeletal-faced man, Victor stopped him.

  “Not Richard Mortimus?”

  “You know him?”

  “And his twin sisters, Carol and Gertrude.”

  “They’re twins?!” Now that he thought about it, they did look equally ugly.

  “Dey were good, too, till old Mortimus corrupted dem. Dey used teh run a bakery over in New Town. Was lovely. Dey even kept it up for a while after deh dark came.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Mortimus did. He’s bin homeless for years, see. Carol and Gertrude did dare very best to help him, feed him, clothe him. But he robbed dem blind every chance he got. One day dey de
cided enough was enough and kicked him out. Dat was a big ting for dem to do—dare not the most courageous people in the world. But when deh dark came, tings turned nasty. Mortimus decided teh get his own back. He had deh place ransacked, left dem with nothin’. In deh end, he was all dey had left.”

  “What did he do to them?”

  “You might’ve seen dey weren’t wearin’ roses.”

  Marty shook his head. He supposed he must have been a little too preoccupied by that bloody screwdriver to notice.

  “Well, here’s deh ting: he’s tainted. His sisters, too.”

  Marty was confused. “But they can’t have. Sure, they were nuts, but they were still in control of themselves.”

  “Mortimus did what most people’d never do. He didn’t just let deh dark in—he welcomed it. Made his sisters do it, too. See, deh reason deh dark turns most people insane is because dey fight it. Dat’s why dare lyin’ on deh side’ve deh road, or wanderin’ around in circles. Dare mind is so busy fightin’ off deh dark it isn’t able for anythin’ else. But Mortimus, he treated it like an old friend. And yeh saw for yerself what dat did. If yeh ask me, yeh’d be better off in deh river.” Victor brought the rose close to his face, inhaled deeply, shook his head and flung it into a compost bin.

  “So how do you know him then?”

  “He’s tried teh ruin me business, too. Steal me baskets, break in here, dat sort’ve ting. Only he’s never managed teh do it on his own—he’s too weak. He might’ve control of his mind, but his body is wiltin’ just like anybody else’s. I heard he’s bin tryin’ teh make friends with the strangers, be dare ally or sometin’. But dat’ll never work. Dey’d never work with a human. Dey hate us, probably more dan we hate dem.”

  Marty told Victor about his decision to wait by the mirror until it opened again, only to discover someone had broken it. “At first I thought it might have been Mortimus, but then I thought, why? What reason would he have to break it, you know?”

  “I doubt even Morty’d want dat sort’ve bad luck. Honestly, I’d be shocked if he knew anythin’ about yer side.”