Doppelganger Read Free Page B

worse than the cold.
    I stole a glance inside. The moon shining into the car illuminated a figure lying on a pile of blankets against the far wall. It was an old man. I could see his beard, a white blaze in the moonlight. He coughed again, even more fiercely. His whole body stiffened and shuddered with the effort, as if every muscle was working to get out whatever was filling his lungs. This was the closest I’d ever been to a human. It was an awful sight.
    But I was curious. I paused in the doorway and took a look back. There was no sign of anyone. Either the men at the fire hadn’t heard the coughing or didn’t care.
    I pulled myself up into the car and plopped down next to the old man, shifting so that the light could still shine down on his face. The stench in the car was overwhelming.
    â€œThat you, Ridge?” he rasped. His face was covered with sweat.
    â€œNo,” I said.
    He blinked and looked over at me, his eyes widening for a second. My back was to the moon, so he couldn’t have seen more than my silhouette, but it was enough.
    â€œWho are you?” he asked.
    â€œNobody,” I said. “Just me.”
    â€œWhat are you?” he asked. He didn’t sound afraid. “Are you an angel?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    He nodded. It was weird. It was like he had been expecting me or something. It was then that I realized whatI was there for, why I’d climbed in there to begin with. The old man had figured it out before me.
    â€œI’m in a bad way,” he moaned.
    â€œSo it seems,” I said.
    â€œHand me my bottle, will you?” he asked, and gestured toward the corner of the car. He started coughing so bad he could barely get his words out. “It’s in that bag there,” he said.
    I went over and poked around the shadows until I found the shopping bag with the bottle in it. I pulled it out and brought it over to him. For a moment he just rested it on his chest, pointing it at the sky. Its curved glass reflected the bright square of the boxcar’s open door, a window for the moon. The bottle was empty but for a small bit at the bottom.
    â€œBeen saving this,” he said. “It’s the good stuff.”
    He was wheezing pretty heavily. Then he glanced my way. “Got no regrets,” he said. “’Course I got no family nor no money, neither. But I got no regrets.”
    â€œThat’s good,” I said. I suddenly didn’t want to look at him.
    He struggled to pull himself up until he rested on one elbow, and then unscrewed the cap. I had never smelled anything like it before. To this day I still can’t stand the smell of whiskey.
    â€œCheers,” he said, raising the bottle to me.
    â€œCheers,” I whispered.
    He tipped the bottle and emptied it in one swig, then sank back to the floor, gasping. “Better.”
    Though the rattle in his chest didn’t diminish, his breaths came slower and he seemed to relax a bit. He’dclosed his eyes and I thought he’d fallen asleep when I heard him say something. I told him I hadn’t caught what he’d said, so he said it again, and this time I leaned way down so that even breathing through my mouth I could smell the rotten, boozy odor of his breath.
    â€œMercy,” he whispered.
    I won’t describe what happened next.
    I can hardly recall it anyway. I just remember being surprised at the strength with which the old man kicked out before it was over and the grip he had on my arms. Most of all I remember thinking over and over again, Please don’t open your eyes .
    Then he was gone. Moving back to where I’d been sitting earlier, I watched the light play over his body. He looked better in death.
    It hit me all at once. I could feel myself stiffen, overwhelmed both by the rush of killing and my revulsion at the deed, and I shuddered the way he had at the end. I felt disgusting and full, like I’d just eaten too much of