Case File 13 #3 (22 page)

“Give him to me,” Evil Nick growled.

“Never,” Nick said, trying to keep his grip on the homunculus.

Angelo raced over, grabbing a big branch. Carter grabbed a rock the size of a softball.

“Get him,” Evil Nick said. “He's trying to destroy Carter Junior.”

“Which one's the real you?” Carter asked, looking left and right.

“I am,” Nick said.

“I am,” Evil Nick said at the same time.

Angelo raised his club, but it was clear he was just as confused as Carter.

“Come on, you idiots!” Evil Nick shouted. “Are you going to hit the doppelgänger or not?”

The doorway was now roaring so loudly it sounded like a chain saw running at full throttle.

“Hurry,” the Father Tree said. “Time is growing short.”

Nick looked at his friends. How could he possibly convince them he was the real Nick?

“What are you doing?” Evil Nick cried. “Can't you two ever do anything right?”

Listening to his Evil Twin, Nick realized that although the doppelgängers might have all their originals looks, memories, and talents, there was one thing he and his friends shared that the doppelgängers didn't have.

Trust.

He looked his two friends in the eyes, knowing they would always have his back. “I'm sure you guys will do the right thing.”

Carter and Angelo glanced at each other and nodded. They glared at the doppelgänger. “Get him,” they said together.

As soon as they had dragged Evil Nick into the
Türöffnung
, Angelo and Carter hurried over to Nick's side.

“Is he okay?” Carter asked, eyeing the homunculus.

Nick nodded and grinned. “I think he's actually asleep.”

Carter laughed. “Another way he's just like me. He can sleep through anything.” He reached down to take one of Nick's arms. “We'll help you take him back to the Father Tree.”

“No.” Nick shook his head. “You've earned that right.” He handed the gently snoring homunculus to Carter.

Carter looked down at his miniature and sniffed. “I sure am a cute little guy.”

Cradling the tiny figure to his chest like a baby, Carter walked toward the giant creature, which looked a little less terrifying now with its jagged teeth turned up in a smile. He held out the homunculus, legs trembling. “Sorry for taking him. I swear I'll never do it again.”

The huge Father Tree stepped forward, its giant feet dragging in the dirt, and scooped up the homunculus. Wrapping the creature in its tree branch hands, it began to croon something that sounded like a mix of a lullaby and the wind blowing through the branches of a tall pine on a cool summer night.

Carter Junior opened his eyes and cooed. He looked at Carter, waved, and then began to climb up the bark of the gargantuan tree. As he climbed, he began to change from a miniature human into a creature of bark and leaves until, at last, he blended completely into the tree.

At the same time, a huge coughing sound came from the opening of the
Türöffnung
.
Nick turned to see a dark, tornado-like cloud appear in the opening. The ghostly faces of all the doppelgängers from town swirled into it. A second later, the doorway snapped shut—once again, just a tree with strange markings.

As the Father Tree turned to shamble back into the woods, Carter shouted, “See you, Carter Junior! Maybe I'll come back and visit you some time.”

The Father Tree turned its orb eye down on Carter and growled from deep inside its dark maw.

Carter laughed nervously. “Um. Just kidding.”

Angelo carefully helped Nick sit up. “Do you think you can walk?”

Nick looped an arm around Angelo's shoulder. “I'll give it a try.”

Carter moved to his other side, helping him to his feet. The pain was bad, but Nick was pretty sure nothing was broken.

“Let's see if Mr. Grunwald has his car working,” Angelo said. “We should probably try to get back today. I'm betting everyone is going to be awfully confused.”

Nick rubbed the lump on his head. “I think I'm going to have a major headache tomorrow.”

“Somehow,” Angelo said, “I don't think you'll be the only one.”

Monday afternoon, Nick carefully got out of his seat when the final bell rang. Carter and Angelo helped him up. Fortunately his knee was just sprained. He'd explained his injuries away by claiming that he'd wiped out on his bike—an easy story to sell, since both his and Angelo's bikes had been pretty banged up by the time they got them back. Carter had to put his allowance for at least the next six months toward replacing his little sister's bike and his mother's mop.

“Check that out,” Carter said, nodding toward Kimber Tidwell. She and her friends had stopped wearing hats and puffy skirts. They were now carrying around little dolls dressed in clothes that matched what they were wearing exactly. Apparently that was the next big trend. Nick thought it was a little freaky himself.

The funny thing was that although Torrie and Rebel still followed Kimber everywhere she went, their relationship seemed to have changed a little. The girls no longer accepted everything Kimber said. In fact, more than once, Nick had heard Kimber admit that maybe she was wrong and they were right. He wasn't sure how long it would last. But who knew?

In town, things were slowly getting back to normal. Apparently there had been several car accidents, plus multiple reports of break-ins, vandalism, and other oddities. Nick's father had awakened from an especially deep sleep to discover his car was gone. Fortunately, the police found it idling at a stoplight just off the freeway. The assumption was that whoever had stolen it had seen something that scared him off and had left the car on foot.

Interestingly enough, the Tidwells had not reported anything. Nick thought Kimber might have had something to do with that. She probably didn't want anyone asking what she'd been keeping inside a cage in her cedar chest.

Ms. Schoepf hadn't done any more musical numbers, but she had been asking around about a substitute teacher who bore a vague resemblance to her and had some very odd ideas about education. Old Man Dashner hadn't changed at all. He was still as cranky as ever.

“There's one thing I've been wondering,” Carter said as they stopped to wait for the light.

“What's that?” Nick asked, flexing his knee and grimacing.

“How did you know it was the real me in the woods? It could have been my doppelgänger asking you to believe in him.”

Nick grinned. “I'd know you anywhere. It's the Cheetos breath.”

“Nice,” Carter said. “Very nice.”

“I've been wondering something too,” Angelo said. “You know how the doppelgängers said they were really just the part of us that we keep hidden away?”

“Sure,” Nick said. “Carter thinks we're both idiots. My dad would rather go out to eat. And Ms. Schoepf has secret dreams of being a rock star.”

Angelo put a hand over his mouth. “That means that when Angie told you that you were handsome and—”

Nick slugged Angelo hard enough that his friend winced in pain.

Carter howled with laughter. “Nick and Angie, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

When the boys got to Nick's house, they found Nick's dad in the kitchen. Nick limped over and patted his dad on the shoulder. “What's that for?” Dad said, looking up.

“I just wanted to tell you that it doesn't matter where we go, or what you might forget—you're the best dad ever. And I love going on vacations with you, no matter how crazy they are.”

Dad smiled a sly little grin. “Funny you should say that.” He called up the stairs. “Honey, come here quick. I have something to tell you.”

Mom came down the stairs with pieces of foil wrapped around her hair. “What's wrong? I was tinting my hair.”

“It's not what's wrong,” Dad said, beaming from ear to ear. “It's what's right. I just got an email from the company that messed up our reservation.”

Mom moaned. “You called me out to talk about the camping trip again?”

“Not the camping trip,” Dad said. “Something much, much bigger. It seems the computer glitch was big enough that hundreds of people's vacations were ruined. So to avoid a class-action lawsuit, they offered everyone their choice of ten different vacations. All expenses paid.”

Mom's eyes lit up. “Please tell me it's a cruise. I've always wanted to go on one.”

“Even better,” Dad said. “Listen to this. During winter break, while everyone else is cold and wet, all five of us are going to take part in an archeological exploration of a newly discovered pyramid, smack-dab in the middle of a Mexican rain forest. And the kicker is . . . it's cursed!”

And so, our friends live to fight another day. And fight they will. For, like you, they cannot sit back and wait for adventure to come to them. They seek it out, drink it like cool, life-giving water. They thrive on it.

No doubt, they will soon come across something else not of the world most people see. And when they do, I will be here documenting it for your reading pleasure. Because you too will be back. You're just that kind of person.

And speaking of seeing, I've been staring into the looking glass more and more lately, and a disturbing thought has occurred to me. What if the face I see there is not my reflection at all, but I am a reflection of it? What if I am the dark doppelgänger trapped in a world I cannot escape?

Try not to think about that next time you see yourself in the mirror.

Sincerely,

B. B.

Normally, I would thank all the people who have helped me make my book—my agent, my editor, my family, the amazing artist who does the cover.

Except last week something weird happened. They all disappeared. It's like they went on a big vacation without me. In their places are these evil twin “humans” who
look
like them but act almost exactly the opposite.

Mike “Shotgun” Bourret, who shoots down all my best ideas; Andy “Rhyming” Harwell, who thinks I should write all my books in verse; a bunch of mean people that write all over my pages in red ink, Ann “You missed a comma” Lyon, Heath “That's so lame” Moore, Lu “This is a plot?” Staheli, Shelly “That was romance?” Holmes, Rah “My kid could write better” Eden, and Robby “You get an F” Wells; Douglas “Stick figure” Holgate, who clips out magazine pictures and calls them a cover; Sarry “You've got page numbers be happy” Kaufman, who barely gave me page numbers; Rose “You're lucky to get a book” Brosnan, who told me to stop complaining and write something else; a bunch of hooligans by the names of Killer E, Big Nick, Scott “Two Face,” Naughty Nat, Jake the Snake, and Nick the Blade, who took my advance and spent it all on candy; and Jenny “Gray Bar” Savage, who claims to be my wife but keeps me locked in the basement slaving away on more stories to earn bread and water.

And these ingrates: Jamie “Maze Runner” Dashner, Kim “Too Cool” Tidwell, Syd “The Enforcer” Schoepf, and Rebel “Just Rebel” Benson, who are all demanding payment for using their names.