Undercurrent (20 page)

I watch the other me cackle at the joke. He’s insane. That’s when I’m hit with the full horror of the corpse with the blown-off face. Retching, I drop the sheeting and bust through the door to the toilet.

I barely make it in time.

“All right, all right. I know it’s gross,” I hear my own voice calling, when I’m done heaving. “Look, I’ve thrown a towel over him, so it doesn’t look so bad. You can come out now.”

But I don’t move. I stay in the bathroom, dripping with sweat. Every thought, every little motion, makes me queasy beyond belief. I don’t want to leave this room. Maybe I don’t have to. Maybe I can just lock the door.

But I’m too late. The door is thrown open, and I’m yanked to my feet. “I said you can come out now. Stop screwing around. We’re wasting time.”

I’m hauled by the collar back into the living area, where a glance confirms there’s now a towel lying over Ross’s head. A red stain is quickly spreading across the center.

“Yeah, so anyway, you want to know how this is your problem too? Well, imagine if he had shot me and buried me in a hole or something. Then he goes out for a drive and passes you prancing down Main Street. What do you think he’d do next? He’d come after you, at home maybe, which would mean Mom and maybe Dad would get it—maybe even Cole too, to make it look like some real maniac did it. So you should be thanking me. I saved your life, buddy. And probably saved our family’s life.

“But I was thinking, to hell with chopping him up into pieces. I personally don’t think I can handle that, and listening to you in the john, you’re even worse.

“So I say we just wrap him up in the plastic and chuck him over the falls with the gun. There’s a chance they’ll find the body, but there’s no way they’re finding the gun.” I watch the other me pry the weapon from the dead man’s hand and admire it. “Anyway, we’ve got a new one that holds more bullets. So we’re good.”

I look on in disbelief as the other me flicks on the safety and jams the gun down the back of his pants. The butt of the .45, meanwhile, hangs out of the Crocodiles jacket pocket.

The other me takes another mouthful of soda and belches.

“It shouldn’t be too hard moving him,” the other me assures me. “I saw a dolly in the back of his truck, a heavy one with straps. We’ll take him up, dump him, then come back here and wipe down this place properly. I bought rags and bleach, which were cheap. By then everybody should be asleep, and we can park Ross’s truck back in his driveway. Then we’re done.”

I still feel like I’m in a dream, like none of this is real.

“Who are you?” I ask.

The other me laughs. “Wasn’t I asking you the same question? As far as I can tell, I’m a better version of you. Or you’re a really shitty version of me. Either way, go figure.”

I notice that my voice is a little different from this other version of myself, who sounds more like a recording of me. I suppose that makes sense—you never hear your own voice as it actually sounds.

“What happened to Neil Parson?” I ask next. “Did you kill him?”

The other me turns with a glare. “I didn’t kill Neil,” he replies through gritted teeth. “But yeah, he’s dead, it’s probably safe to assume.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Nothing!” He sighs, frustrated. “I just wanted to scare him, is all, keep his mouth shut. So I took him up to the falls, where I thought I’d threaten him a little. But then he ran off on me, back across the bridge. Everything was slick with rain, and he slipped. Man, I still don’t know how he did it, going under the rails like that. I mean, Neil, what the hell—just grab on, dude! But he was a skinny kid and uncoordinated. So that’s what happened. Didn’t even hear him scream or anything. Whoops. Sploosh. Gone.”

The other me rubs his face, then breathes out heavily.

“So I panicked, worried somebody saw us together. And with good reason, because someone did, right—Bryce? I thought I saw the little pecker when I was heading back. Anyway, I decided to lay low for the night, in case I had to make a run for it. I broke into the trailer and slept in there until Guise caught me in the morning. So I ran off and kept to the woods the next day, all the time watching the river. Then, sure enough, the cops and the paramedics came. But instead of snagging Neil, they pull out some other guy. You.

“I got up pretty close and watched the paramedics putting you in the ambulance. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought maybe I’d lost my mind. But later, there you were, in the hospital, unconscious. Another me. I saw you through the window.

“That’s when Bryce came into the room. Who’d have thought the little stain had it in him? Oh, and you’re welcome again, because it was me who scared him off. Yeah, I was mad. You wanna play rough, pecker? I’ll show you rough. But he must have gone out a side door at the hospital, because I lost him. And later, well, I guess I didn’t think I could actually kill someone. On purpose.

“But whatever. Bryce is scared and keeping his mouth shut, which is good. And we don’t need any more bodies. Plus we got lucky with Neil—the falls have him, and I don’t think anyone’s ever finding the guy. Which hopefully will be the case with Ross here as well.”

Listening to this, it’s getting easier and easier to accept that this person is not me. His face, full of psychotic pride, is becoming more alien than familiar. I can see this guy as the Crocodiles star running back, completing passes and faking out teenaged monsters, all the while wearing the same smug smile he’s got on now. Even standing over the body unfolding the plastic sheeting, he looks like he’s somehow happy—and in control.

“So I was thinking,” he says, “you and I could really make this work, really make an enterprise out of what we’ve got. Now we’ll have to figure out the accommodations, because there’s no way I’m living in a trailer for the rest of my life, but maybe we can get some sort of schedule going. You know, swap around: One week at home, one week here, or wherever we decide. We’ll have to be careful, though, because we don’t want to get spotted in two places at once, which is pretty easy to do in a pissant town like this one.

“But if we play our cards right, we can start pulling off some serious stuff. Rake in the cash. With two of us, there are so many possibilities! And when we need an alibi? We lock one down and make sure there are plenty of witnesses. Meanwhile the other guy puts on a mask and knocks over a bank or a jewelry store or whatever.

“We keep going like that until we’re eighteen and can get out of here, and then we’ll get a place together. Because I don’t know about you, but I want out. And when you think about it, it’s really in the city that we’ll start seeing the benefits of one of us not really existing.

“In the meantime, as far as our social life goes, we’ll split that up too. You know what? Screw Ivy if you want. What do I care? So long as she thinks it’s me, no hard feelings. But it’s only fair—you gotta let me tap whatever action you’re getting in return. Like what do you have going on with the little dark-haired chick from concert band? Anything good?”

Now I’m the angry one. I snap up the baseball bat lying at my feet. “You keep away from Willow!” I shout, ready to bash his head in. “I mean it! I’m not going along with any of this crap! Do you understand?”

The other me makes a disappointed face and then in one fluid motion draws Ross’s gun. The barrel stops level with my forehead, already marked with a bruised bull’s-eye. “I thought you’d be smarter, Cal. You’re me, after all. But think. If you don’t go for my plan—which is a great one, by the way—then you’re useless to me. You go back to being the guy who is screwing up my life even worse than I already did myself—and, trust me, I’ve done a pretty good job.

“So if you’re useless, then what? I want my life back, Cal. I want my house, my room, my stuff, and most of all my shower and washing machine, believe it or not. I want it all enough to kill for. Do you understand me?”

I do understand him. Perfectly. “I said stay away from Willow!” I shout.

The other me doesn’t even flinch, just looks ready to pull the trigger and put a round in my head if I take another step forward. Which I don’t.

“If that’s your big issue, fine,” he finally says, lowering the gun. “I don’t really go for the mousy types anyway. But that means Ivy is off the table—I mean it. Anyway, enough about that for now—let’s get this cleaned up. Do I have to point out that your fingerprints are probably all over the place? Something tells me they’re just like mine.”

I take another look at Ross, whose blood has completely soaked through the towel. It crosses my mind how the women of Crystal Falls are safe now from his unwanted advances at least. But then I start retching, so uncontrollably that I double over and drop the bat.

“Omigod,” the other me says. “Listen, pussy—go out to the truck and get the dolly already. I’ll wrap him up myself. We have to get moving!”

Panting, I rest my sweaty forehead against the wall.

“Are you listening to me?”

I nod.

“Then go!”

Head spinning, I stumble out the door.

CHAPTER 19

The air outside helps a bit, but nausea is still overwhelming me.
I climb unsteadily up onto the truck’s bumper and jump in, scraping my leg on something jagged. Even with the light spilling out from the trailer, it’s dark and I can’t see anything. Every object I find seems to be a tool with some sort of blade I hurt myself on.

What am I doing? I have to wonder. I’m out of the trailer now. I’m free. I can just run off.

But I’m too scared. I’m too scared of this person who looks like me and talks like me. He would destroy me, I know it.

I could hide. But then I think about how he would still take my place. With a hot shower and a change of clothes, no one would know the difference. Because here in this world, there would be no difference. This is the Cal everyone knows. This is the Cal everyone fears.

And fear is the only reason I’m feeling around the dark truck bed trying to unearth the dolly from the pile of other crap in here. When I manage to find it, the thing is surprisingly heavy and hard for me to lift over the edge. But I manage. The steel frame hits the ground with a clank. I jump down after it.

On its wheels the dolly is easy to move, and I manage to pull it up after me into the trailer, one stair at a time. By now the other me has already finished wrapping up the body and is securing the plastic with duct tape.

“Doesn’t it feel like Christmas Eve in here?” he asks, grinning at me. “I wonder what a kid would say if he found this present under the tree in the morning. . . .”

The black humor that Bryce and I once would have found so funny now seems totally demented. I watch, sickened, as the other me finishes up by tearing the tape off with his teeth.

He orders me to bring the dolly over. I do as he says. Now he wants help lifting the body up.

I finally understand the term
dead weight
as we strain to lift Ross off the ground. We try propping him up on the dolly, but it tips and crashes to the floor, taking us with it.

It’s a grotesque moment, but it more or less gets the body into position.

“Help me pull him up!” the other me barks. “His feet, his feet! Get them on the plate. There, that’s good. Now let’s strap him on, good and tight.”

Somehow I get my part of the job done, all the while telling myself none of this is real, that there isn’t really a person under all that plastic, just a big side of beef that needs to be moved to a refrigerated location before it spoils. But with my stomach lurching again, I don’t know if this image doesn’t only make things worse.

Once the body is secure, we lift the dolly up to a sixty-degree angle.

“Okay, get out of the way!” the other me shouts, taking the handles. I leave him in charge of maneuvering toward the door. “Actually, go outside and grab the bottom. It’ll be easier to carry him out like he’s on a stretcher than bounce him down these steep stairs.”

While this might be easier, it’s in no way easy. Combined with the heavy dolly, the load must be two hundred and fifty pounds, and it feels like I’m taking most of it. There’s no way I can do this. The stairs crack audibly when I finally drop my end, and I’m lucky not to be crushed as the rolling corpse comes bouncing toward me.

Thanks to gravity, it’s done though—the grisly load is now out of the trailer and on the ground.

“Dumbass!” the other me shouts from the stairs. “Why did you let go?”

“I didn’t let go. It was too heavy.”

“Well, you’re a weakling
and
a dumbass then. Anyway, let’s get a move on. Lead the way.”

“To where?”

“To the falls, moron. Didn’t I already tell you?”

The other me is smart enough to have brought a flashlight, which he promptly hands over. I turn it on and look for the path. I find one made of hard-packed dirt. I don’t know which direction to go though.

“It’s left, genius,” the other me says. “Haven’t you ever walked up to the falls this way before?”

I suppose I haven’t. I always felt shy, walking past the paying campers to the south end of the falls, where the footbridge connects up to the north side of town. A few times I tried taking a shortcut home from the other side, but that was enough. I never liked that bridge. I only go on it when other people make me, when I’m forced to swallow my fear. I never thought it was safe.

Which it isn’t, apparently, as demonstrated by Neil. I even said the gap under the lower rail was too wide, but Cole just laughed at me. “If you’re trying that hard to fall off, you deserve what you get,” he answered. But poor Neil didn’t deserve anything that horrible. It was an accident.

The other me sounds like he’s having a hard time rolling Ross along the now bumpy, overgrown path to the falls. Grunting and swearing, he never asks for help though. He just keeps shouting at me to hold the flashlight so he can see where he’s going. It’s weird, hearing my own voice, grim and terrifying, like a whip at my back.

I’m feeling pretty worn-out by the time we arrive at the falls. Turning around, I see that the other me looks even more exhausted. Soaked with sweat, he is also now stinking like a skunk. How can he stand his own smell? He probably has the exact same nose as me, after all.

“Get the light out of my face!” he shouts at me. “Man, that was hard. Give me a minute.”

I switch off the flashlight and wait. Standing by the stairs to the footbridge, I try to tune out the terrifying roar of the falls. But I can’t. There’s no sound I’ve heard that matches its power. Nothing in this world can silence it, outside of an earthquake or an ice age.

“Okay, I’m almost out of gas. You’re going to have to really help me get him up the stairs.”

Shoulder to shoulder, I stand by whatever he is—my twin, my alternate, my doppelgänger—and pull the dolly onto the bridge stair by stair. “Keep going,” the other me says upon reaching the top. “Keep going till the center.” We keep pulling, the heavy load making the bridge’s sway feel all the more pronounced and unbearable. “Okay, stop here.”

We stand the dolly upright against the railing. The plastic-wrapped body looks like a mummy in the autumn moonlight, which once again shines down brightly on us. I can see the headlights of vehicles crossing the bridge not far away. Can they see us at this distance? I have no idea.

The other me removes the .45 from his jacket and without a word chucks it into the falls.

“Okay, if we release the straps, I’m betting he goes forward and over,” the other me says. “But be ready in case he needs a push. Whatever happens, don’t let him hit the ground; we don’t want to have to hoist him over. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I have the strength anymore.”

I don’t want any part of this. Still, I feel helpless to ignore the commands of my crazed opposite. So I start unclipping the bottom straps while he works on the top. And before long the plastic cocoon holding Ross’s lifeless body begins pitching forward.

“Now!” the other me shouts. “Push! Push! Push!”

This time I do nothing. I just stand back and watch as he does all the work. It doesn’t take much. The body lands on the railing and stays there for a moment in what looks like perfect balance, which is almost comedic. But then the body slides forward and falls. There’s a pause and then a huge splash—bigger than I’ve seen from even the largest dropped rock.

“Holy crap!” the other me squeals with what sounds like delight. “Did you see that?”

But I didn’t see it. Because I was too busy. Too busy reaching for the gun that barely remained stuffed down the back of the other me’s pants. He turns around as I flick off the safety and aim the business end at his head.

“Oh come on, Cal, you can’t be serious.”

“It’s
Callum
, ass-wipe.”

“Really?” he asks with a laugh. “Well, I don’t care if it’s Dave or Donny or Dixie, for that matter, because I know you aren’t going to shoot me.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask. His face looks so sure, I really do feel like putting a bullet in it. His face—my face. The gun wavers.

“That’s right,” he says, grinning at the sight of me. “It’s hard to shoot someone when he looks just like you, isn’t it, Callum? I know. Otherwise I would’ve splattered your brains all over the trailer the other day. So what’s it going to be? Are you going to hand over the gun and play nice, or am I going to have to take it off you, which won’t be nice?”

I don’t know—I haven’t thought any further than this. I always thought that when you had the gun, it was game over. But my next move isn’t obvious. If I shoot him, I’ll be the only Callum Harris walking around, which sounds like a good start. But then what? I’ll be a murderer—with two bodies on my hands.

But if I don’t shoot this psycho, something even worse is going to happen.

“Why are you like this?” I ask.

“Huh?” he replies, obviously not expecting this question.

“Why are you like this? You just killed a guy and made jokes about it, and then you dumped his body like it was trash. You bullied a harmless kid, and now he’s dead. You’re beating people up, cheating in school, stealing booze, nailing some guy’s girlfriend. So I want to know: Why are you like this?”

The other me stares back, eyes narrowed. “Why am I like this?” he asks. “Why not? The world is an unfair shit hole, and I’m at war with it. Is that a good enough answer, old buddy? Look at you: You’re supposed to be identical to me. So I think the real question is, why
aren’t
you like this?”

“Because I like my life!” I shout. “Because I have good friends, and we have fun together. Because I love my parents and my dog. And because I love my brother, Cole, even though he’s a pain in the ass who’s always getting into trouble, like you.”

The other me frowns. Now he is furious. “What do you mean he’s always getting into trouble? He’s paralyzed!”

“No,” I correct him. “You’re the one with the paralyzed brother. Mine is totally fine. He never had an accident at the water park, because I went up and stopped him from doing something stupid. That’s all I do actually—try to stop him from hurting himself. And it’s a full-time job!”

Speechless, Cal stares back at me. He’s shaking from head to foot. Even in the moonlight I can see his eyes shining with tears. He doesn’t look like the badass anymore. He just looks like a broken boy.

And here I am, holding a gun on the guy. So who is the monster now?

I haven’t lowered the weapon more than a few inches before he punches me one, right in the jaw. I’m knocked clean off my feet and land on my back on the wet bridge. There’s a
clonk
as something hits the metal deck.

The gun. I’ve dropped it. But where?

The other me has already got it. I know that, because he’s dragged me onto my knees and is cramming the barrel into my mouth.

“What do you mean you went up with Cole?” he’s shouting above both the wind and the falls. “What do you mean you stopped him? We didn’t go up. We didn’t stop him!” But I’m no longer listening or thinking about the water park. Instead I’m back in the attic, where my brother is also on his knees, with a gun in his mouth.

“What are you doing?” I demand to know.

“Me? Nothing,” Cole answers, removing the gun and waving it around like it’s just the TV remote or something.

“Where did you get that gun?”

“Oh, this?” Now he’s acting like he’s surprised to find it in his hand. “It’s Granddad’s.”

“Where did you find it?”

“In a trunk. I found it when we were moving, when I carried up all the stuff to be stored in the attic. I was looking through his things: his old uniform, his medals, his letters. And then I found the gun, wrapped up in cloth in a secret compartment.”

“You found a gun, and you didn’t tell Mom and Dad? Why?”

“Why do you think? Because they’d take it away, dimwit.”

“So you just hid it.”

“No. I just put it back where I found it, where I could get at it if I needed it someday.”

“Needed it for what?”

“Who knows? Serial killers. Zombies. Whatever.”

“Look around. Do you see any serial killers or zombies?”

“Can’t say that I do, Cal.”

“Then why do you have a gun, and why are you sticking it in your mouth?”

Cole sighs. “Little brother, you’re asking a lot of questions. And I don’t really feel like answering them right now. So I suggest you just go back downstairs and leave me alone before I lose my temper.”

“Why?” I ask. “Are you going to shoot me if I don’t?”

“Stop with the questions!” Cole shouts. Standing up, he cracks his head on a beam. “Ow! Look what you made me do!”

“Give me the gun, Cole!”

“No way. You’ll shoot yourself in the foot or something. And then I’ll be in trouble.” He smiles. He thinks this is funny.

“Give it to me!”

“And then what?”

“Then I’m taking it up to the falls and throwing it in!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Cole says. “This is our grandfather’s sidearm from the war! He wore it in the jungle, defended himself with it. For all we know, this gun is the only reason Dad and us got to be here. It’s a family heirloom!”

“If it’s such an heirloom, why are you hiding it from everybody?”

“Like I said, I’m not hiding it. It’s in exactly the same place I found it. I’m just making sure it
stays
in the family, is the thing. And I know that might have looked bad, but I was only fooling around.”

“Cole, give it to me or else.”

“Or else what,
Callum
?”

“Or else I’ll tell Mom and Dad!” I yell.

“Tell them!”
Cole bellows at me. “By the time they get here, I’ll be dead anyway. So what does it matter?
Go tell them!
”

I burst out crying. It’s the same noise I would make when I was seven and my brother was determined to destroy something I loved. And just like then, Cole doesn’t appear to care. He kneels back down and cups the gun in two hands.

“You really wanna watch?” he finally says. “I wouldn’t. But that’s your choice. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He raises the gun, and this time he points it at his temple.

“Cole!”
I shout. “You wanna do something stupid? Okay, well, so do I! So fuck you!”