Doppelganger (12 page)

She sat down on the rock, and as I walked over to her, I suddenly realized where we were—this was the picture, the one I'd found in the card. I sat down next to her.

“Well, this is the place,” she intimated.

“It's even better in real life,” I said.

“What do you mean?” she asked, glancing at me.

“Better than the picture. You know, the one you gave me for my birthday.”

“Oh,” she said, looking down. “That's right. I almost forgot.”

I started to ask her what she'd meant, but suddenly I knew that would be a big mistake. Something had happened here before. Something important.

“It feels like so long ago,” she said. “You know, when we came here.”

“It does,” I said. “Like forever.”

She wrapped her arm through mine and looked up at me. I closed my eyes for a second and just inhaled. The scent of perfume and oranges wreathed about her, and as I breathed in deeply through my nose, it felt like I was pulling her toward me, like I was almost drawing in her essence. And when I opened my eyes, I saw that it had worked—she was actually leaning in. All of a sudden, I knew what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to kiss her. Only I couldn't. For some reason, I froze. I mean, I'd killed two people, and now here I was, too chicken to kiss a girl.

The moment passed. To her credit, she didn't seem to hold it against me. I could see a glimmer of surprise in her eyes before she looked away, but it wasn't an angry kind of surprise. If anything, it was the good kind. Like when you suddenly realize something about another person, but it really makes you discover something about yourself. Kind of like how I'd felt a week ago when Amber dropped me off and I realized I was in love with her.

For the next hour we just sat on the rock and talked. We talked about school and parents and friends and all kinds of stuff. Actually, she did most of the talking. I didn't have much to say about my own life, nothing good, anyway. So I asked her questions instead, about what she wanted her future to be, about the stuff that bothered her, that sort of thing. And it wasn't just because I didn't want to talk about me.

After a while the sun started heading toward the far hills. The last bit of light was on us.

“I'm glad you came back,” I said as we stood up to leave.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“That night, a week ago. You drove by me as I was walking. But then you came back.”

She snorted a little and nodded.

“So why did you do it?”

She shrugged. “Something in the way you were walking, I guess. I'm really not sure.”

“I suppose it doesn't matter,” I said.

She shook her head. “I think it does. Everything matters. Everything happens for a reason. That night when I drove you back to your house, I felt something. All the way home, I couldn't stop thinking about it.”

“Is that why we're here?”

She nodded. “I thought about what you said to me that night a few weeks ago after the party.”

“About things being like they were before?” I asked.

“No,” she said, looking away. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach as I watched her shake her head. “I don't ever want things to be like they were before, not even in the beginning. Not even when we came here. But that's not what you said. You asked if we could start over.”

“Is that what we're doing?” I asked. I could feel my heart pounding now.

“I guess it is,” she said. “I never thought it would happen. All week I've been wondering about it, trying to decide if you should get a second chance. To be honest, I'm still not sure if you deserve one.”

“Neither am I,” I said.

She stepped up to me, put her arms around my waist, and before I knew what was happening, she was kissing me, slowly at first, with little kisses, then with long, deep ones. Her mouth was soft and warm and her tongue felt strange and wonderful against my own. It was the most bizarre sensation of my life. For that moment I forgot about being a doppelganger, I even forgot about being Chris. The universe had been reduced to the point where our lips joined together. Nothing else existed.

Then she pulled back, and we smiled at each other. It was only when she turned away that I saw her smile fade, and in its place that look of confusion. She glanced at me for a moment, then took my hand and started down the path back to the beach. I didn't know what to make of her bewilderment. I was feeling pretty bewildered myself, and
too happy on top of it all to really care too much about it.

She was warm to me on the drive home but quiet, and I could tell she was thinking. Something had happened in the moment of our kiss, and in spite of the giddiness still coursing through me, deep down I couldn't help but feel that there was trouble ahead.

It's funny how being in love makes you forget just about everything else that's going on in your life. Especially the crappy stuff. I'm sure most of the time that's a good thing. But it wasn't when Amber dropped me off later after our drive to the lake. I was still so lost in the memory of that afternoon that I didn't see the trouble until it reared up and bit me right in the butt.

In the week since Sheila had left, things had settled into a routine. Barry was still pissed off about my quitting the team and wasn't really speaking to me—which was a nice change, to tell you the truth. He barely spoke to Echo, either. He didn't mention Sheila, but I could tell he was starting to get worried. The last few days, he went right to the answering machine as soon as he got home from work, then checked the caller ID, but there were never any calls.

The task of making dinner had fallen to Echo. I thought about helping her a few times, but I could barely get a bowl of cereal together in the morning. At least I set the table, which is more than I could say for Barry. The
most he seemed to be able to manage when he got home was to crack a beer and hit the couch.

I have to give Echo a lot of credit—the poor kid did the best she could, especially for a ten-year-old. She played it safe the first couple nights. We had hot dogs, which she heated up in the microwave, and baked beans. I wasn't too crazy about the beans, to be honest. They brought back too many memories of my mother and the cabin, but I wasn't about to complain. Then on Wednesday she got a little fancier and made yellow meal. Even Barry didn't raise a stink over that. That went over so well that when I walked in the house now, she was busy putting together some kind of new creation.

“What's up?” I said, coming into the kitchen.

She was standing on a chair over the stove wearing Sheila's apron, which hung practically down to her toes. I leaned over her shoulder and looked into the pot of boiling water.

“Noodles?” I said. “Is that what we're having for dinner?”

“Sort of,” she said. “I'm making a casserole, the kind with tuna. We made it in school once.” She paused and leaned in toward my neck. “You smell funny,” she said, sniffing.

She broke into a smile. “You've been kissing Amber,” she said. She began repeating it in a sort of singsongy voice.

“Shut up,” I said, but I couldn't help smiling. Pretty soon we were both laughing.

I went back to my room, still laughing, and lay back on the bed. I didn't bother with the TV. I didn't need it—I had the afternoon to relive instead. I looped it over and over
again in my head, remembering what she had said, and what I had said, and how her lips had tasted like peppermint. I was so distracted I didn't even hear Barry get home early, and I barely paid attention when he went muttering into his bedroom to change, or when I heard the clink of ice cubes tumbling into his favorite glass as he mixed himself a drink in the kitchen, and then later another.

In fact, I was so out of it I barely noticed how terrible Echo's casserole tasted—how the undercooked noodles crunched amid the curdled cream sauce heavy with salt. I just filled up my plate and munched happily away until the sound of Barry slamming his hand down on the table jolted me from my daydreams.

“Goddam it, Echo, what the hell is this?” he said after struggling to swallow his first bite and washing it down with a gulp of his drink.

Echo shrank in her chair. It was as if, by making herself smaller, she thought Barry's anger would somehow slide over her. By now it was a familiar gesture, but I still winced seeing it.

“Tuna casserole,” she squeaked.

“Shit casserole, more like it,” Barry muttered, but amazingly he took another bite.

“I like it, Echo,” I said, and smiled at her.

Barry looked at me and made a face. Then he turned back to Echo. “If you hadn't driven your mother off to your goddam aunt's, then you wouldn't be stuck making dinner every night this week.”

What a jerk
, I thought. I didn't care if he was half in the bag or not, it was a rotten thing to say. Not least of all because it wasn't true.

“I don't mind,” she whispered, picking at her food. She hadn't eaten more than a bite herself.

“Well, I do,” he grunted. “This is just awful,” he said.

He kept saying it, even as he kept eating it. I couldn't figure it out, but I wasn't going to let him get away with being mean to Echo for the rest of the meal. Before I knew it, the words just fell out of my mouth.

“So, I noticed you got home early today. More trouble with Mitch, huh?”

He dropped his fork and leveled a glare in my direction.

“I don't want that bastard's name mentioned in my house again. Understand?”

“Sure. But this is the second time in two weeks. Can't imagine he'll take much more of it.”

I knew I was picking a fight with him, but I didn't care. The excitement I still felt from earlier had made me reckless.
Besides
, I figured,
better me than Echo
.

To my surprise, Barry wouldn't take the bait.

“You don't know anything about the real world,” was all he murmured, glancing over at me. “All you know is how to quit.”

I looked down at my plate.

“Where are you going?” Barry barked. I looked up to see Echo frozen at the edge of the table.

Not again
, I thought. On the other hand, why should it be any different? The whole evening had been coming to this point ever since Barry stormed home early from work. Only I'd been too gaga to realize it. And now, there was Echo, hanging out there on the other side of the table.

“I'm all done,” she said.

“No, you're not. You didn't even touch your food,” he
snapped. “I was watching. Now sit back down in your chair and eat your dinner. You're not leaving until you do.”

Echo plopped back down in her chair and picked up her fork. She poked at the pile on her plate but didn't eat any of it. Barry, meanwhile, had finished shoveling all of his down. He lit a cigarette, leaned back in his chair, and watched her twitch silently in her seat.

“What's the matter?” he asked. “Not hungry?”

“I just don't want to eat it,” she whispered, without looking up. “It isn't very good.”

“Damn right it isn't. But you're going to eat it anyway—after all, you made it. We don't waste food in this house.”

Echo frowned but didn't say anything more. She didn't eat anything more either, and I could see Barry getting more and more irritated as the minutes ticked by in silence.

“You can leave, Chris,” Barry said to me at one point, though he never took his eyes off Echo. I'd finished my plate not long after Barry had, but I stayed at the table right along with the two of them—I wasn't going anywhere, not without Echo anyway.

“Suit yourself,” he said when I didn't respond.

Another minute passed, then another, then five, then ten, and still no one moved except when Barry pulled his glare away from Echo long enough to light up another cigarette. Finally Echo stuck her fork into the pile and lifted what had to be by now a cold bite. She started chewing quickly, her face twisting into a look of pure disgust. She chewed and chewed, her face continuing to contort. I started laughing. Seeing that look on her face,
I just couldn't help it. Hearing me, Echo started to smile as she chewed, and I could see she was trying not to laugh like I was.

Barry, big surprise, didn't find it too funny.

“Cut it out!” he hollered, and banged a hand down on the table for the second time that night. Ash from the cigarette in his other hand floated down onto his plate like dirty snowflakes.

I guess you could say that Barry had a way with words—both of us stopped laughing, and Echo went back to chewing, her jaw moving around like a little goat's, though there couldn't have been anything solid left in her mouth.

“For chrissake, swallow,” Barry said.

Screwing her face back to its former disgust, Echo started to swallow and everything went downhill from there. I watched her squeeze her eyes shut and then sort of convulse a little. It was as if she were trying to gulp down a tennis ball. The next thing I knew, she was gagging, and the mouthful and then some spilled back onto her plate.

I thought it was kind of funny myself, but before I could start laughing again, Barry leaped up from the table, furious.

“Scoop that back up,” he shouted.

“I can't,” Echo wailed, and started to cry.

Barry tore around the edge of the table.

“You eat that,” he shouted. “Eat it!”

She put her arms up to cover herself, but he swatted them away and cuffed her alongside the head. Then he grabbed her by the neck and pushed her face down closer and closer to the plate as she squirmed and cried. The more
she fought him, the darker his face grew. I could see his cheeks start to quiver.

“Stop it!” I shouted, jumping up.

Barry didn't seem to hear me, he just kept pushing Echo's face down farther. Now her nose was in it.

I stepped right up to Barry and shouted in his face. “I said cut it out!”

He turned and looked at me, his eyes narrowing as he pushed Echo's face the rest of the way into the plate of food.

All of a sudden, I was flying through the air, taking Barry down with me. It was like the Springfield game all over again, only this time there were no pads to cushion the blow.

I heard Barry grunt beneath me as we hit the ground.

Then I started hitting him.

“Don't. Ever. Touch. Her. Again!” I screamed, coupling every word with a punch to the face. Before long, blood was welling from his nose and his mouth, and his eyes started rolling in his head.

But as good as it felt, it wasn't enough. My hands went to his throat. I squeezed and his eyes widened as they looked into mine, just like Chris's had. I could see that same look, the one of sheer terror, and a part of me wondered if I was losing my form, if those big monster eyes had returned. The other part of me, the bigger part, didn't care. I could feel him kicking underneath me, trying to pull me off him, but I was stronger. Suddenly it was two weeks ago and I was back at the fire. Suddenly I was killing Chris all over again.

Echo saved us both. Through everything—through the
blood pounding in my ears, through the strange gurgling coming from Barry's throat, through the sound of chairs being kicked around us—her voice sounded in my ear, small and scared.

“Stop it, Chris,” she said. “Please, stop. You're hurting him.”

She said it again. And then again. I wanted to let go the first time, but I just couldn't. It took her four tries to get through. The fourth time, I felt her hand on my shoulder, pulling me away.

I let go of Barry and fell backward. Barry's hands went to his throat, and he started gasping for air, pushing himself across the floor with both feet until he had his back to the wall. He looked up at me—the anger was gone. Only fear remained.

I turned to Echo. She had tears running down her face. She'd wiped most of the casserole away, but there were still white streaks along the edges of her jaw and forehead. A limp noodle clung to her hair.

“Are you okay?” I said, trying to get my breath back.

She nodded.

“Go pack a bag,” I said. “Make sure you have clothes for school tomorrow.”

She looked over at Barry. He was wheezing and making these weird gurgly noises. All in all, he looked pretty messed up, and I could tell she wanted to go over to him.

“Echo,” I said, “did you hear me?”

She nodded again and ran to her room.

“Now, you listen to me,” I said after she'd left. As soon as I stepped toward Barry, he cringed. All of a sudden, I felt awful—even worse than I'd felt at halftime last
weekend. But this had to be done.

“I don't care about what you did to me, what you used to do,” I said. “But you won't do the same thing to her. Not anymore. Not ever again. Understand?”

He didn't say anything. I took a step toward him, and he began nodding like crazy.

“Otherwise,” I said, leaning in, “next time I'll make sure Echo isn't around to stop me.”

I fixed him with a glare. He looked away. He was starting to shake now. I looked down at my hands and realized I was shaking too. The whole scene was pathetic all the way around.

I left him on the floor and went into Echo's room. She was finishing up stuffing clothes into a backpack.

“Ready?” I said.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You're going somewhere else for tonight. I don't want you here. Who's that friend of yours you sometimes stay with down the street?”

I wasn't sure if there even was such a girl, but I had to find someplace for her to stay tonight, and I still didn't know how to drive.

“Tina,” she said. “The Denbys. You know.”

“That's right, the Denbys,” I said. “I forgot.”

I grabbed her hand and led her out into the hall. We both paused in the doorway to listen, but everything was quiet in the kitchen. Then we grabbed our coats and headed out into the night.

We didn't say anything as we marched down the sidewalk, but Echo held tight to my hand. The stars out were bright, and our breath billowed around us in the glow of
the street lamps, lighting up the cold. I suddenly remembered that first really chilly night more than a month ago when I'd drifted through the train yard on my way to meeting the old man. Back then I was alone. Not anymore.

Echo led me across the street. We went a little farther, then turned into the driveway of a house—a ranch that looked almost like ours, only with newer paint. Echo rang the doorbell.

A plain-looking woman with dark hair peeked through the window at us, then opened the door.

“Chris. Echo,” she said in a surprised kind of way.

I had no idea what the rules were in this kind of a situation, but I was too freaked out over everything that had happened to really care.