Story #213 - Shadow's Edge

Shadow's Edge

The rain beat down steadily, and combined with a northwesterly wind, made seeing much more than a few feet beyond his car windshield impossible. Larry had pulled over twenty minutes ago, confident the storm would pass, but no such luck yet; it seemed to be getting worse.

At first, he'd tried to get some rest. After the week he'd had, sleep was high on his list of priorities to keep his mind and body functioning, but even the steady drone of rain on the car's roof couldn't soothe his cares away. Part of the problem was that Janice and his parents kept creeping back into his head; how were they taking his disappearance? Hard, he was sure, since his cell phone hadn't stopped ringing for two days, but this was something he needed to do. He was a danger to them, and that was that, even if they didn't know it.

He had been edging up on a nap when the rain intensified, shaking the car with the force of its downpour. Such a deluge was rare, and the fact that as the minutes went by it got worse gave him no small measure of concern. Eyes wide open again, he stared down the country road in front of him, hoping to spot the thing before it saw him.

A creaking in the seat behind him told him he'd been looking the wrong way.

“Larry...” the figure now occupying his back seat whispered, and he did his best not to shiver. Their first meeting had led to Larry out stone-cold for the better part of an hour, and when he'd woken up the shadowy apparition was gone. He'd seen it several more times over the course of the following month, and each time he tried to learn a little bit more about it. In the end, he came away with the fact that the thing had his face, could speak softly, and didn't seem to have any sort of purpose; when it arrived, it simply sat nearby, invisible to everyone but him.

He'd been sure he was crazy. Work had been breathing down his neck to finish a number of projects, and his boss – an ass – had been replaced by an ever bigger ass who seemed hell-bent on making Larry's life miserable. Janice wanted to know when they were getting married, since he'd been smart enough to propose last winter, hoping that would silence her questions about his love for her. He did love her, very much, but didn't see why so much of love had to be about doing things he had no interest in, like getting married or planning social events. Larry wanted to spend time with Janice, not her parents or his own, and there was nothing more uncomfortable for him than talking about his feelings in public.

The shadow-version of him was merely an inconvenience, though search of the Internet revealed no answers as to just what might be wrong with his brain. Without answers, Larry had gone back to normal life as well as he could, and ignored the shadow whenever it popped up. The longest it had ever stayed was overnight once when he and Janice were fighting. It had sat in the chair at their bedside, darkened eyes staring at him for hours. He hadn't slept well but had made up with Janice in the morning, and the thing had disappeared.

It was another fight he and Janice were having that finally sparked his need to leave. He'd been thinking about it in the back of his mind for some time; work was getting worse, and as much as he loved his fiancee, things seemed to be going from bad to terrible. Their argument had been about the size of centerpieces, of all things, but rapidly spiraled beyond that to cover ground about his shortcomings. He'd responded in kind, and soon enough their apartment was filled with shouting, finger-wagging and the occasional slamming door.

After one such slam, Larry had come back to the living room to find his shadow, hovering just over Janice's right shoulder. She'd lit some candles, something she often did when she wanted them both to calm down. It typically signaled that she was willing to end the fight, and Larry would usually go along with it. That night, he'd ignored the obvious and laid into her again, chastising her for a number of past slights. The tempo of the argument was just picking up when the shadow-man had stepped forward and pulled down hard on Janice's right arm. With a stumble, she'd fallen down onto the candles, suffering burns on her left arm, neck and the side of her face.

Larry had been horrified.

The shadow came more frequently after that, and each time it appeared Larry felt his stomach drop. His anger seemed to catalyze it, and his anger seemed to be growing every day that passed. He had no control over the shadow; his hand passed right through on a touch, and ordering it to stop appearing did nothing. Two days before he'd left, it started talking to him, sibilant whispers of his own name and Janice's.

“What?” He screamed, twisting around to face the apparition in the car. “What the hell do you want?”

“Unhappy...” was the reply.

“You're goddamn right I'm unhappy, shadow! You've ruined my life, I've got nowhere to go, and the people I love think I've gone crazy. Is that not clear enough unhappiness for you?”

His shadow-form shook its head, then pointed at itself. “Unhappy,” it said more firmly.

“What?” Larry was incredulous. “You're unhappy? What do I care?”

“Unhappy!” The shape was yelling now, and reached forward to grab Larry by the shoulder. The next thing he knew he was on the wet ground outside the car, his shoulder aching and the car door wide open.

“Come.” Above him, the shadow crossed his arms, and Larry struggled to rise. The rain was finally slacking off, and he could see farther into the forest in front of him, though he wished he hadn't looked. As far as he could see into trees, shadow-men and women shambled, moving slowly along the forest floor.

“Come,” his shadow said again, and he followed. He had little choice.

- D

Story #130 - Double Down

Double Down

“Did you want me to take the garbage out for you?” Kend asked.

“Sure,” Ken Bayler said, “thanks.”

Ken watched the other man go, easily hefting the two metal garbage cans to waist level and then above his head as he moved out the door. It had been years since Ken had seen his body in anything resembling that kind of shape, and he had to admit he missed it.

Kend would be back in a moment, and Ken used the time to take a deep breath. Having his doppelganger in the house had become wearing, and not simply because the man had his face and a better physique. It was unnerving to see what might have been, and irritating that he had been stuck with it.

Of course, he wasn't the only one. When the other earth had appeared two years ago, dangerously close to the “real” planet, a full-out panic had ensued. Rockets were scrambled and missions were launched; most Americans were convinced it was judgment day come to call.

What the military found was an earth in dire need of help – there, a different timeline and the assassination of the President had sent the world spiraling into World War Three, and what was thought to be a new weapon of mass destruction instead managed to shunt the planet into a new reality. On landing, men and women from the original earth found half the planet dead or dying, along with struggling survivors trying to eke out a living.

Of course, since the planet was putting a strain on earth's own orbit, the government did what was expected; loaded up all the able-bodied other worlders it could find and then blew their world to hell.

Back on earth, it became clear that there were too many bodies to keep track of, many of whom had scars, both physical and mental, from the years of war they'd suffered. Policymakers talked and laws were drafted, the end result being that everyone on the planet who had a living doppelganger was responsible for them. Each one was given a monthly stipend that was paid to the care giver, and every name was appended with the letter (d) for doppelganger.

Ken(d) was how his duplicate's name was actually spelled, but he always thought of the other man as simply Kend. It had been difficult, initially, to see himself face-to-face, and to know what he would look like if war ever came. At first, he had been impressed – Kend cut an impressive figure, and was confident and forthright. Then, he learned that in the first attacks on American soil, Kend had lost Janice.

He had felt his chest tighten at that, and his wife's eyes went watery. They had been together since high school, and he couldn't imagine life without Janice, let alone soldiering on. Kend told them he had been driven largely by vengeance to stay alive, though no country claimed responsibility for the initial bombings. That left his doppelganger in a state of unfocused rage, one that he parlayed into command of a band of militia men that fought any who dared try to loot, steal or attack any members of the town. Kend was almost feral, or so he said, by the time the distortion weapon was used.

The banging of the back door snapped his attention from the past, and Kend looked at him quizzically as he brought his head up.

“You alright, Ken?” Kend had taken to using his new name easily enough, though Ken was sure that far more than bemused satisfaction was lurking under the surface of the man's toned exterior. He had always been one to hold emotion in, and that meant his double would as well.

“Fine, Kend,” he said, “just thinking about you, to be honest. Well – what I might have been.” They had largely avoided this topic. Janice thought it was “nice” that he was helping his double, though he told her that was only because he had no choice. She chided him for it, but she didn't realize how difficult it was to look in the mirror everyday and then realize your reflection was talking back to you. As it turned out, he didn't like his reflection very much.

“I wonder the same.” Kend's voice was tight. And why wouldn't he? Ken might not have the body, but he had the wife, the house, and the planet that was still in one piece. From everything else he'd learned about Kend, their worlds had been identical up until five years ago, but even half a decade could make a huge difference in a man.

“I'm...I'm sorry.” The words were hard. He hadn't done anything to Kend, but still felt a responsibility for his loss, a guilt at exposing the man to what he could have had, every single day.

“Hey! Hey, Ken. It's fine. It's not your fault. I know that.” Kend moved to stand beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. A tremor ran through him but he didn't step back; this was uncomfortable, but the man deserved at least something, some human connection.

“At heart, we're still the same, Ken. I've been harder used by the world, but we're both good men. We both love Janice.” There was a catch in Kend's voice and his grip tightened around Ken's arm. “And she knows that.”

Kend's arms were around his neck before he had a chance to react. “Don't -” he gurgled, “this isn't – us!” Gasping, he fell to the floor, and Kend let him go, but followed him down to sit on his chest.

“It's not that I'm a better version of you, Ken – quite the opposite. But I do love Janice more. I've lost her, so I know what she's worth.”

“She'll never -” he had to struggle to get the words out “believe you!”

“Sure she will, Kenny,” Kend said brightly, “I'll put on some of your clothes and slouch around. I'll tell her Kend ran away, and she'll believe me, glad to have her own Ken all to herself again. Don't worry, she'll be happy, I promise. We always did make her happy.”

Blackness took him, and came with the startling realization that he was a real asshole.

- D