Doppelganger

by Byron Starr

* * *

  Early the next morning Sharon’s cousin, Sarah Infante, who lived two miles away, in one of only three other houses on the dirt road, drove out to Sharon’s house to check on her. She knocked on the door, but received no answer. Fearing her eccentric, and now severely distraught, cousin may have taken her own life, Sarah quickly drove home and called the sheriff’s office. She was told that an officer would be out immediately. Sarah then drove back to Sharon’s house and waited.

  About seven minutes after Sarah returned, a county patrol car pulled in the driveway and parked behind her car - good reaction time considering the distance covered, but not fast enough in Sarah’s opinion. She wouldn’t have been satisfied if the patrol car had been waiting in the driveway when she returned to Sharon’s house.

  Deputy Darren Woolford stepped out of the patrol car, and Sarah, who had been sitting on the hood of her car, chain smoking cigarettes as fast as she could get them out of her purse and to her mouth, walked briskly over and met him halfway.

  Tossing a cigarette butt to the ground, Sarah fumbled with her pack trying to get another out with her trembling hands. Before Darren could ask a single question, Sarah started chattering answers. “I’m Sharon’s cousin, Sarah. Sarah Infante. After what happened yesterday I promised her aunt, my mother, Nelda Wiggins, that I would check up on her this morning on my way to work. I got here around six-thirty. She didn’t answer the door when I knocked. I tried the door but it’s locked. God, I hope she’s okay. I mean, I hope she hasn’t done anything stupid. That horse was her life you know. It was all she had. Momma is worried sick about her.” Sarah had more to say, but her trembling hands finally managed to get the cigarette out of the pack, so she stopped talking while she placed it to her lips and concentrated on keeping the wind from blowing out the tiny flame coming from her lighter as she tried to light the cigarette.

  The brief silence gave Darren the opportunity to drawl out, “Just calm down, Miss.”

  Darren Woolford was a tall country boy from Center, Texas. He was thirty-three years old, but still had the boyish face of a teenager. In an attempt to make himself look less like a sixteen year old, Darren had grown a mustache, or at least attempted to grow one. The end result was that the scattered blond hairs on his upper lip only made him look like a sixteen-year old who was trying to grow a mustache.

  “Are you sure she’s home?” Darren asked.

  “Of course I’m sure she’s home,” Sarah snapped, her eyes still focused on the tiny flame as she continued her efforts to light her cigarette. “Her truck’s parked right over there. Right where she always parks it.” Still without moving her eyes, she nodded her head in the direction of red Dodge pickup parked in an open garage.

  “Maybe someone came and picked her up?” Darren ventured.

  “Hell, no,” Sarah snapped. Finally getting her cigarette lit, she took a tremendous drag before continuing. “The woman lives ten years like a hermit with only her and that horse. Do you think she would take off and go out of town shopping the day after her horse turns up dead?”

  That wasn’t exactly what Darren meant, but he could see he was getting nowhere, so he let it drop.

  He started toward the front door with Sarah right behind him, yapping like a vicious terrier. “And what took you so long to get out here? I’ve been here for almost thirty minutes waiting. Doesn’t that car get up over thirty miles an hour? Or do you even know how to drive it?”

  Ignoring her, Darren stepped up on the front porch.

  He knocked on the door.

  Behind him Sarah spoke in an exasperated tone, “I’ve done tried that.”

  Still ignored the woman, Darren called out, “Mrs. Perrett! This is Deputy Darren Woolford of the Newton County Sheriff’s Department.” He knocked again. “Mrs. Perrett!”

  “I said I’ve done tried that,” Sarah said with her hands on her hips, her cigarette bobbing up and down as she spoke. “I hollered and no one answered.”

  Darren tried to open the door. It was locked.

  “I told you it was locked.” Sarah said in a scornful voice that was rapidly becoming very irritating to Darren.

  Darren turned to her. “Do you have a key?”

  “Well, no,” Sarah replied tartly. “The woman’s a hermit. She wouldn’t give Jesus Christ a key if he showed up at the door askin’ for one.”

  “Did you try the back door?”

  She didn’t say anything, just stared at him. She hadn’t thought of the back door.

  When Darren turned away from her to start around the house toward the back a satisfied smirk found its way to his face. Sarah followed him around the corner of the house, this time without a word.

  When they went up the steps to the back porch, they found the back door wide open.

  Darren stood in the doorway. “Mrs. Perrett!”

  He stepped inside.

  Sarah started to follow him inside, but she had already sucked her cigarette down to the filter and was in desperate need of another. She tossed the butt to the ground, then tried to use her uncooperative hands to get another one out of the pack. While her trembling hands attempted to grasp an elusive cigarette, her eyes scanned the pasture behind the house. She saw the yellow police ribbon surrounding the pen and the barn. She had just retrieved a cigarette and placed it in her mouth when something in the pen caught her eye.

  The cigarette fell from her lips.

  She screamed.

  Darren came running back out of the house. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Sarah just pointed to the corral and screamed again.

  It was difficult to tell for sure what he was seeing; he started toward the barn to investigate. At first, it looked like the guys from A&M had failed to remove all of the mutilated horse yesterday, and there was still a gory chunk or two in the pen. Darren started across the backyard, but he didn’t even make it halfway before he realized that the gory chunks of meat were what was left of a human being.

  He turned and sprinted back to his car to call for the sheriff.

  * * *

  Sheriff Oates and Deputies Woolford and Price stood over a white sheet. Blood had soaked through in many places on the sheet, leaving no doubt as to the grisly sight underneath.

  Bill looked in the direction of the house. “There comes the little pecker-head.”

  The two deputies followed his gaze and saw a chubby little man in spectacles carrying a small notepad descending the hill from the house.

  Justice of the Peace T. J. Simmons held the distinction of being the only man in the last fifteen years to be elected to office in Newton County without Sheriff Oates' vote of confidence. During the last election year a drug task force swept through Newton and Jasper Counties arresting a number of people, one of which happened to be a Newton County Commissioner. A group of Newton county newcomers led by a retired Beaumont lawyer named Walter Sykes began to cry out that the county government was corrupt. Mr. Sykes promptly ran for sheriff, while one of his buddies ran for mayor of the city of Newton, another ran for the vacated county commissioner seat, and yet another, T. J. Simmons, ran for Justice of the Peace for Precinct Two. The Newcomers Party, as the group was jokingly known as throughout Newton County, was largely unsuccessful. Walter Sykes and the other two men were soundly defeated, but T. J. was helped out by a convenient scandal when the rumor broke loose that Michael Salter, the current J. P. for Precinct Two, was having an affair with Ruby Keinzel, the organist of the First Methodist Church of Newton, where Michael and his family were also members. When Michael admitted to the affair, he found himself in the middle of a divorce. He tried to patch matters up with his church family by publicly asking for forgiveness. Nevertheless, the damage was done; Michael Salter lost the election by twelve votes.

  “Good morning, Sheriff Oates,” T. J. said in a high-pitched, squeaky voice.

  “T. J.,” Bill said touching the brim of his hat, then, with no further fanfare, he reached down and drew back the sheet.

  Sharon was a ho
rrid sight. All that was left of her torso was a shredded mass. The ribs on her left side were exposed, and her right side was almost completely gone, ribs, organs, and all. Below her chest, her lower torso was similar to the right side of her chest, with only her spine keeping her body from being completely separated into two parts.

  T. J.’s eyes became as wide as saucers and his cheeks turned a pale shade of green.

  Bill motioned to a smaller blood soaked sheet about twenty feet away and said, “Her head’s over there if you want to look.”

  The chubby little judge didn’t even glance in that direction. He retched once then stumbled to the edge of the pen where he promptly lost his lunch.

  “That was cold,” Carl said, smiling.

  Bill winked at him.

  “Sorry it took me so long to get here. I was out at Bon Weir,” Emilio Rodriguez said as he came through the iron gate at the pen’s entrance .

  When Bill arrived and saw the familiar tracks around Sharon’s corpse, he had immediately called in and told the dispatcher to get Emilio on the way.

  “It looks like our friend decided to try human meat,” Bill said gesturing at Sharon; the sheet was still pulled back.

  Emilio put a hand to his mouth and gasped, “Damn!”

  “I figured since you’ve been part of this thing from the get-go you might want to come out and have a look.”

  Emilio gave Bill a wry smile, “Gee, thanks.”

  Bill and Emilio then combed the area looking at the tracks, noting when the beast was moving on two or four legs. When they finished, Bill walked over to where T. J. was standing at a distance from the body and said, “I assume you’re gonna order an autopsy.”

  T. J., who hadn’t regained his composure and whose face still had a pale green tint, just nodded his head.

  Bill then walked back over to the body, where Emilio and the deputies were standing. “I hope y’all didn’t go and forget the camera,” Bill said to Carl and Darren.

  Greg had warned Carl and Darren about last night’s camera episode. “Got it in my trunk,” Carl said.

  “Go get it.”

  As Carl started back up the hill he called back down, “Jones is here.”

  The group looked back up the hill and saw two men from Jones Funeral Home dressed in suits. Bill waited until they were at the gate, then said, “I hope y’all brought a body bag.”

  Chapter 4

  Footprints

  At 6:15 a.m., roughly the same time that Sarah Infante got in her car to go check on her cousin, James picked up the phone and dialed Greg’s number.

  After several rings, Sandy picked up the phone. “Hello?” she said in that extremely heavy voice of one who’s been awakened from a deep sleep.

  “Is Greg there?” James asked.

  “No, uh, wait. I think I hear him driving up?” she said in the same tired voice, then added, with a slightly agitated edge, “Who is this?”

  “James. It’s important.”

  “Oh, okay.” There was a long pause. James heard Sandy telling Greg that James was on the phone.

  “This early?” Greg asked.

  “He said it’s important.” Sandy replied.

  “Hey, James. What’re you doin’ wakin’ Sandy up this early? You know she looks like hell when she hasn’t had her beauty sleep,” Greg said light heartedly. This followed by an “Ow!” as Sandy pinched him.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is everything okay?” Greg asked, now with all the playfulness gone from his voice.

  “Where can I meet you?”

  “They start serving breakfast at the Steak Shack at six-thirty. How does that sound?”

  “Fine, I’ll meet you there.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with Angie’s pregnancy, is there?” Greg asked.

  “No, I’ll tell you when I get there.”

  “Um, okay.”

  James woke Angie and gave her the excuse he had already made up during the night. James still didn’t want to tell Angie about the dreams, so he told her Greg was having problems with his in-laws and wanted to meet him for breakfast and talk about it. This was a very believable tale since Greg and Sandy were always having rounds with Sandy’s mother and stepfather.

  A small town with a population of only eighteen hundred, Newton wasn’t exactly packed with four-star restaurants. There were a couple of filling stations that served food from under a heat lamp and the Steak Shack. The Steak Shack was a tidy little restaurant that served good chicken-fried steak, and, in a day and age when many restaurants charge for water, the morning coffee was still free.

  James arrived at the Steak Shack well ahead of Greg, who lived further out of town. The restaurant’s tables and windows were decorated in a strange combination of purple and white in support of the Newton Eagles high school football team, and orange and black Halloween decorations. Halloween was just two days away. James picked a table in the back of the restaurant, away from the other early risers. When the freckle-faced teenage waitress came over and asked for his order, he told her he just wanted coffee for now and that he was waiting on someone.

  A couple minutes after James arrived, Greg came through the door, still dressed in his uniform. He saw James in the back and started that way, but was stopped by Charlie Cole, who was sitting near the front and had a joke he was just itching to tell.

  “Why don’t roosters wear pants?”

  Greg shrugged.

  “Their pecker’s on their heads.”

  Greg grinned through the joke and let out a burst of laughter before patting Charlie on the shoulder and saying it was good to see him. He then bolted for the back of the restaurant, where James was seated.

  All the laughter left Greg’s face as he sat down. “What’s wrong?” he asked

  “I’ve been having those dreams again.”

  For a brief moment Greg’s forehead wrinkled in a look of confusion. He looked as if he didn’t have the foggiest idea what James was talking about.

  Then his eyes widened. “Those dreams? The visions?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about?”

  “The thing that killed Mr. Harvey’s cows and Sharon Perrett’s horse.”

  Greg’s eyes actually managed to grow even wider.

  After a sip of coffee James continued. “It killed Sharon last night.”

  “Are y’all ready to order yet?” the little waitress asked. The sudden voice from behind him made Greg jump.

  “Give us a couple seconds, Alissa,” Greg said without turning around.

  “Okey-Doke. Just holler when y’all are ready,” Alissa said with a smile, then she turned on her heels and trotted back toward the front. Greg waited until he knew she’d had enough time to get out of earshot before asking, “You sure?”

  “I think so.”

  “I probably need to go out to her house and have a look around then.”

  “No,” James said shaking his head. “How are you gonna explain how you knew? Besides someone’s bound to check on her after what happened yesterday.”

  Greg paused, then asked, “Is it an animal or some nut?”

  “It’s not human. That’s for sure.”

  Greg leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and slowly shook his head as he tried to take it all in. He then opened his eyes and suggested, “Let’s order.” He turned around called out, “Alissa, I think we’re ready.”

  The teenager trotted back over to the table, looking way too peppy for six-thirty in the morning. She took out a little notepad from her apron. “What’ll it be?”

  Greg said, “Two eggs, sunny side up, grits, bacon, and toast.”

  “And what do you want to drink?”

  “Orange juice.”

  Alissa wrote the order down on her pad. Then she looked over at James.

  “I’ll have two eggs over easy, grits, sausage, and biscuits. And I’ll just have coffee.”

  Alissa repeated the order, had to
be corrected twice, then, once she had it right, she turned and started toward the kitchen.

  As soon as Alissa was out of earshot, Greg leaned over the table and asked, “You sure it’s not some murderer?”

  “As sure as I can be.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I need to tell Bill,” Greg started, but James interrupted him.

  “Tell him what? That your buddy is some sort of psychic? He’d think we’re nuts.”

  “Well, what do you want me to do?”

  “I’m gonna tell you what I’ve seen, but I don’t want it goin’ past this table. That includes Angie. I don’t want her stressed in her condition.”

  “But if I can’t tell Bill,” Greg started and was once again interrupted by James.

  “You can use the information to steer Bill in the right direction.”

  Greg shrugged. “I’ll try, but no one steers Bill in any direction he don’t want to go.”

  James leaned back in his chair. Where do I start? he thought. After sitting quietly for a moment he leaned forward and whispered, “This thing looks into their minds.” At that, Greg gave James a wide-eyed, you-must-be-kidding look, and then leaned closer so he could hear. “It takes an image from their mind, and it seems to make itself look and sound like something its victims aren’t afraid of.”

  “Makes itself look and sound like somethin’ it’s not?” Greg asked.

  “Sharon’s horse couldn’t even smell it.”

  “So it changes its looks, sounds, and even its smell?”

  “At least that’s what I think it’s doing. In these dreams I’m looking through its eyes, so I can’t see it, but I definitely heard it calling Edgar’s cows in Edgar’s voice and it did the same thing with Sharon’s horse.”

  For a while Greg was speechless; then he just managed to say, “Wow,” in a detached voice.

  “Here y’all go,” Alissa said, suddenly appearing from behind Greg with the plates, once again startling him and making him jump. Not noticing Greg’s jumpy reaction, she put their orders on the table with a sweet smile, accidentally placing James’ order in front of Greg and Greg’s order in front of James.