Doppelganger
Page 27
The visit with the Oates family was brief, ten minutes at the most; nevertheless, James was relieved when the doctor arrived and informed him Bill was ready to see him. James still hadn’t recovered enough from what he’d been through to be comfortable among people. He doubted he ever would.
On down the hall, the doctor pointed out the door to Bill’s room, then left. Bill had been adamant about seeing James alone. James stood at the door for quite some time before he found the courage to enter.
Inside, James found a weary old man, decked out in a pastel green hospital gown resting in a white hospital bed. The old man’s cheeks and eye sockets were sunk in, his body appeared thin and frail, and his hair wispy and white. If it wasn’t for the western style moustache, James might not have even recognized Sheriff Bill Oates.
“Well, don’t just stand there gawkin’, come in and have a seat,” Bill said, motioning to a chair. The gesture was slow and weak, but there was no sign of frailty in Bill’s voice. It was as stern and no nonsense as ever.
“Thanks,” James replied.
“This hospital food is gonna get me yet,” Bill commented while James took his seat. “Sixty-eight years of good home cooking and now they expect me to push this garbage down my throat?”
“That bad, huh?” James asked conversationally.
“Horrible. Now don’t get me wrong, they’re treating me pretty fair. It’s just the food.”
There was a long stretch of silence, while the two men searched for words.
Finally, Bill asked, “Did you catch Sam’s funeral on the news?”
“No, but they told me about it.”
“Would you believe some nurse in ICU tried to keep me from watching it? I’d just come out of surgery, and I overheard her telling Faye that she thought the service might upset me and that she didn’t think I should watch it. I gave her an earful right then and there. With what all me and Sam had been through I had damn sure earned the right to be able to say my goodbyes, by God.”
James smiled. “So you got to watch the funeral?”
“Some. They didn’t show the whole thing.”
“I heard it was pretty long.”
“Yeah,” Bill said with a smile. “Bigwigs came from all over. Ol’ Sam always could make one hell of an exit.”
The conversation took another pause while Bill’s frail hand found a cup of water that was resting on his nightstand. He took a drink.
After setting his cup back on the nightstand, Bill was silent for several seconds. When he finally spoke, the question came out in a familiar form — blunt and to the point. “What happened?”
“I killed it,” James replied without pause.
Bill’s eyes never left James’ as the old man pondered the brief answer. James found himself recalling an earlier time when he’d fallen under that stern gaze, when he was questioned about William Youngblood’s death.
“The day after I came out of surgery I was visited by a couple of Federal agents, one from the FBI and another from the Center for Disease Control, of all places.” Bill said, “They were both singing the same tune. They told me to keep my trap shut about everything that took place in Newton County over the last couple of months. They reassured me that my department wouldn’t be used as a scapegoat, but flat refused to go into details about what really happened. I know one thing’s for sure, the story I keep hearing on the news isn’t even close to the truth.”
“It happened out at Emilio’s,” James said. “That’s where I killed it. After I was sure it was dead, I called in and told Carl what had happened.”
“You were alone?”
“Yeah.”
Bill nodded, if he felt any shock that James had faced down this terrible beast alone and come out on top, it didn’t show.
“Carl sent a group of officers out to the scene in private vehicles. He did one hell of a job keeping all this quiet while he contacted the authorities in Austin. Apparently the State handed the ball to the Federal government, because in a couple of hours three unmarked military choppers landed in Emilio’s pasture. A group of men in biohazard suits loaded that creature into one of the choppers and left, while another group stuck around to read us the riot act on what we were and were not going to tell the press. Carl later told me the men were from the Center for Disease Control.”
“I wonder why the CDC is involved?”
“I think they believe this beast was some sort of genetic mutation.”
Bill thought for a second, then asked, “Is that what you think?”
“No,” James replied bluntly.
“Well, they may be a little off on where that thing came from, but you’ve got to hand it to them, they’re doing pretty damn good at covering up the facts.”
James nodded. “The media seems satisfied with what they’ve been told. It’s certainly gritty enough.”
“A group of psychotic vagrants, my ass,” Bill sneered. “Why did they say there were three of them, anyway?”
“To make the attack on the jail easier to swallow for one thing. If they made it look like one man killed that many officers it would’ve made us look real stupid, and they didn’t want that. If the officers involved are hailed as heroes, they’re less likely to blow the whistle. The way they told it two were killed in the so-called multi-task force ambush out at Emilio’s place, then they used the excuse that there was still another killer on the loose to keep the curfew in effect. They worked nights combing the area for a week before declaring that the last psycho-nut had been killed in a second ambush.”
“Where’d they come up with the mug shots they’ve been showing on the news?”
“Beats me. Maybe they’re computer generated. They’re sparing no expense to keep this one covered up.”
“I noticed. You think they know something they’re not telling us?”
James didn’t answer at first. The thought had crossed his mind before — maybe this beast was some sort of government experiment gone wrong. No, James knew this wasn’t the case. He wasn’t sure how he knew, he just knew. “No, they’re just scared,” he replied.
Silence filled the room as both men began to feel they’d exhausted the current topic. It was a subject they would spend the rest of their lives trying to forget. Perhaps it was time to start.
“So what are your plans?” Bill asked. “I heard you were selling your share of the garage.”
“Yeah,” James said with a heavy sigh.
“You don’t sound too excited.”
“Well, I hate to leave. Newton’s become my home. It’s just ... well ... people don’t look at me the same anymore. I don’t know how, but it’s like they know about the connection between me and that thing.”
Bill shrugged. “The Feds can hide stories from the media, but there ain’t a damn thing that can stop a tale in a small town once it makes its way to the grapevine. But I do know there’s going to be an awful lot of people who hate to see you go, myself included.”
“Thanks, but it’s just not the same anymore. I think it’s time to move on.”
“Where will you go?”
“Well, Emilio said he could hook me up with a shop out in Midland.”
“How is Emilio?”
As usual, the old Texan drawled out all four syllables of Emilio’s name. Despite having heard this mispronunciation several times before, this time it struck James as quite amusing. He covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. “He’s good,” James said through his hand.
“How’s his leg?”
“It’s healing, slowly but surely. He’s got one hell of an ugly scar, but it’ll heal with time.”
Bill motioned to his side. “I can relate.”
“Me too,” James said, removing his hand from his face since the smile was no longer there to be concealed.
Bill nodded solemnly.
“What are your plans?” James asked.
“I think I’ll retire,” Bill said. “Don’t look so surprised. The doctor said I’ve got maybe one more ye
ar left, the least I can do is spend it with my family.”
“By God?” James asked, his smile returning.
“By God.”
###
About the Author
Byron Starr is the author of the nonfiction book Finding Heroes, the dark humor novel Ace Hawkins and the Wrath of Santa Claus, and the horror novella Flatheads. Byron lives in Hemphill, Texas.
Discover other titles by Bryon Starr at Smashwords.com:
Finding Heroes - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/12178
Flatheads - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/12183
Connect with Me Online:
My Blog: http://www.byronstarr.com
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