Mistaken Identity
When I was in university, my girlfriend lived in a small town outside of London, Ontario. To get there from Kitchener, after a leg down Highway 401, it was a trip over quieter country roads flanked by open fields that always shone with golden sunlight in the summer months.
This being my second year of post-secondary, and having just discovered the unadulterated joy that came from writing short stories, my mind was constantly whirring. Every place was a new setting, every person carrying a potential new character trait to add to a future story, and every action a new scenario. I’ve written before about how skateboarding changed the way I viewed the world, everything became a potential skate spot. Fiction writing did the same thing, but instead of potential rails, sets or gaps to skate, it was elements of stories to write.
With that intro, the set-up for Mistaken Identity will make perfect sense as it sees our main character driving to the home of his university girlfriend when he gets lost.
I honestly can’t remember how much of this story came to me along one of these drives west of Kitchener, but I know it sparked there.
Bryan, the main character in the story, is probably one of the more unlikeable characters I’ve written. He’s angry from the start of the story, and not too smart throughout. This wasn’t a conscious effort, and I think if we spent more time with Bryan before the events of this story, I know he wouldn’t be that bad of a guy. But as it happens, we meet him lost on the side of the road, and the events that follow don’t really allow him much of an opportunity to show his good side.
Thanks for reading.
J.J.W.
Cover by Backpack Studios
Bryan said nothing, only dropped the GPS and gripped the wheel. The blood flowed into his cheeks, turning them an aggressive shade of red. His knuckles cracked in a series of pops.
He had left Kitchener over two and a half hours ago and the GPS had said it only took an hour and forty five minutes for the trip. Well, as far as he can remember, as the useless piece of plastic had died an hour in. Hence why he is currently in the process of pulling apart the steering column of his Neon.
“Wow,” he said, marvelling at his bad luck. An ache had started throbbing in his palms and wrists so he relaxed his hold. Leaving one hand on the wheel he reached to the passenger seat and picked up the GPS again.
“Come on, baby,” he said, “an hour, that’s all I need.” He pushed the power button on the top of the small box. Shooting the occasional glance at the road, he stared at the blank, black screen in his lap. Nothing happened. He pressed it again, waiting for the screen to brighten and the mechanical voice that his dad called “the GPS bitch” to start talking. Still nothing.
The harsh growl of tires on gravel sounded as Bryan’s car drifted off the road. Yanking the wheel, which jutted and bumped in his hand, he swerved back onto the highway. The frustration was building again and Bryan jammed down the power button three times in quick succession. Each time it gave a loud plastic click.
Click. Click. Click.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
“Son of a bitch,” Bryan yelled hurling the GPS into the passenger side door panel. The motion caused his other arm to turn, sending the car back onto the shoulder. Again, he twisted the wheel, and with a bump, returned his car to the road.
Bryan could feel the sweat beneath his short hair and in the small of his back. The sun was high above him, creating its flowing mirages on the pavement and superheating the inside of his small car like a sauna. With the AC blasting, he kept his eyes peeled for any sign along the side of the highway. However, there was nothing, only trees and green.
“Perfect,” he muttered, starting to drum on the wheel with his fingers, a futile effort to keep his anger at bay. Michelle was probably already wondering where the hell he was, and right now, Bryan had not a clue.
It was around noon on a Friday, a Friday Bryan had booked off work so he could go see his girlfriend for the weekend.
They had met that school year, both were in second year university. Bryan for accounting, and Michelle for English.
The year had been one of the best of Bryan’s life. All laughing, joking, drinking and sex. Who would say no to a year of that right? There was also some school in there, but for Bryan the school was never difficult. It had been that way since pre-school. According to his mom, who loved to brag, Bryan was always the best at staying inside the lines. Such a skill had grown into a thorough understanding of numbers. He didn’t know how his brain worked, and he didn’t really care, numbers just worked for him. Quadratics, functions, algebra, it all just fit together like the pieces of some gigantic puzzle. Now it was back to the simplest of all, addition and subtraction. Something he didn’t even need a calculator for. The numbers on the page would just form the answers in his mind, effortlessly.
Bryan figured Michelle must be a natural at the school thing too because he never saw her struggling or heard her complaining about her workload. Well, it was English, how hard could it be? It was all guessing and speculation, not like math, which actually served a purpose in the world. For obvious reasons, he never spoke a word of these thoughts to Chelle.
Bryan’s Neon continued to eat up the centre lines as the sun reflected off the small patch of road on the horizon. On either side stood tall green forest. Looking out his window, Bryan could see that no sunlight broke through the thick canopy. Creating dark masses that lingered between the thick trunks like shadows who have lost their way.
More than once he thought he saw movement between the trees. Probably just a deer or something, he thought.
Still no signs, or anything that suggested other human beings had even been to this place. Bryan kept his pace at an even 100, hoping that over the next horizon he would see a large green road sign, or an on-ramp, or even a gas station. Any sign of civilization would be fine. But when his car breached the hill, his windshield was once again filled with green. Trees covered the floor of the valley below him like fur. They were only broken by the road snaking its way down the hill, meandering through the forest like an ancient river.
“Okay,” Bryan sighed, holding back the complete and utter rage threatening to explode from every pore of his body. “Okay, okay, I’m lost.”
It’s about time you accepted that, his father’s voice spoke in his head. I think you knew that long ago buddy. I think you knew it when that GPS bitch fizzled out and told you to get off on the exit to butt fuck nowhere.
Flicking on his right signal, out of force of habit alone, Bryan depressed the brake and turned on to the gravel shoulder. The hiss of tires on pavement was once again replaced with the growl of tires on gravel as his car bumped off the road. The sun was almost directly above him now, casting dark shadows around the inside of his car. Dropping his head, he placed his forehead against the steering wheel, at the same time pulling his cell phone from his jeans pocket. Flipping the phone open, he fingered for Michelle’s number as an unnaturally strong breeze whipped through the trees causing Bryan’s car to sway.
Finding Chelle’s number he pressed TALK and leaned back on the headrest of his seat. Closing his eyes, he took a long breath forcing himself to remain calm. The dull electronic ring did its thing, once, twice, three times with no answer. Bryan was pulling the phone from his ears to check his bars, when he heard the click of a connection being made. A wave of relief spread through him as he jammed the cell back to his ear.
“Hello? Hello?” he said.
“Hello,” that familiar voice said. Even if you couldn’t see her you could always tell when Michelle was smiling. Her smile came through in her words.
“Hey Chelle,” Bryan sighed, thanking the gods he’d made a connection out here in the boonies (another famous dad-ism).
“Hey you, “ she said, her voice raising with excitement. “You almost here?”
“Umm no,” Bryan said readjusting the phone to his other ear. “I’m kinda lost.”
“Oh no,” she said, drawing out the “no” so it was more like three syllables instead of one. “What happened? Did Map Quest take you on a stupid route? That stupid thing always has trouble getting people to my house. I remember one time, when my aunt and uncle were trying to get here. I think it might have been Easter or something, I dunno, anyway, they ended up in Toronto.” She fell silent after this. A smile spread over his face as he heard her taking a deep breath. Chelle had the habit of talking until it was physically impossible to talk any more.
“No I didn’t use Map Quest.”
“Then how did y-”
“I had my GPS,” Bryan said, halting he before she could get started. “But it friggin went wonky and died an hour in. Although, it did manage to get me off of the 401 and into the middle of nowhere.”
The heat was rising in his face again, and he took a deep breath of his own to calm himself.
“It’s alright,” she said, soothing the anger in his voice. “You’ll get here when you get here. Don’t worry about it, babe.” Then it was quiet between them. Michelle waiting, Bryan trying not to see how many pieces he could break the GPS into. Michelle broke the silence.
“So do you have any idea where you are?” she asked, “like are there any signs or anything?”
Bryan didn’t hear either of these questions. His eyes were glued to the rear view mirror, a sinking feeling of fear filling his gut.
After Michelle asked her questions she waited. Picking at her finger nails and catching the book which threatened to slip from her lap.
She was sitting in her bedroom at her computer. Her legs were resting on the desk, ankles crossed. The day was hot. Sticky hot. And the AC was broken. She was wearing a sports bra and a pair of Old Navy cotton panties. Her “comfy ones” she called them. A cool breeze fluttered in the open window to her left, stirring her long brown hair, which hung down to her bare, lower back. The breeze felt good.
“Hello?” she said with still no reply from Bryan. “You still there, babe?” He might have lost signal, or his phone could have died. His GPS and cell die, oh boy would he be in a good mood when he finally shows up, she thought. If he ever gets here.
“Bryan?” she repeated, a trickle of worry starting to drip into her stomach. She lifted her legs off the desk, placing her bare feet down into the thick carpet. “Bryan, come on babe this isn’t funny,” She could hear the worry creeping into her voice, and hoped he could too so he would stop joking around.
What was that noise?
“Bryan!” she nearly screamed, a mixture of fear and anger wrenching her insides. He did answer this time, but only with the deep hiss of his breath. However, it wasn’t normal breathing. It was like he was having an attack, or hyperventilating.
Michelle’s green eyes stared straight, unblinking as she listened to the quick hiss hiss hiss of Bryan’s breathing. Then the line clicked dead.
Bryan could hear Chelle talking, but nothing of what she said registered in his brain. He was too focused on the image in his mirror. An image was all it could be because it couldn’t really be there. Am I seeing things? He thought. His mind whirled like a spinning top, his head felt the way it did after a day of riding roller coasters at Canada’s Wonderland; light, with all sense of balance gone out the window. It was like someone had placed his inner ear in a jar, gripped it with both hands, and shook it.
He closed his eyes, hoping he was seeing things, then when he looked at the mirror again all he would see would be two columns of trees split by a grey stretch of road. However, when he looked again, it was the same picture.
A police car. He wasn’t sure if it was an OPP or some local officer. The blue hood of the car had a large, white 66 on the front that filled most of Bryan’s mirror.
He looked over his shoulder, the phone still clutched in his hand. Michelle’s voice sounded from the speaker, but he ignored it. Seeing the car with his own eyes, his breath caught in his throat. So it really was there, no joke. For a minute, Bryan hoped that some sort of weird mix of emotion had caused him to hallucinate, which probably would have been less weird. Where had this guy come from? It was as though the car had popped out of thin air. One second, nothing, the next, cop car. Bryan hadn’t been sitting there for more than two minutes and there was no way he could have missed the car pulling onto the gravel.
Bryan’s heart was beating hard in his chest, so hard he could hear it in his ears. He tried to relax.
Maybe he’s just stopping to help?
Realizing he still had the phone next to his ear, and that his knuckles were turning white under his grip he slowly shifted the arm to his lap.
What does he want?
There still had been no movement from the car. The stillness was unsettling. The wind seemed to have died down completely and the branches of the surrounding trees hung limp like paralyzed arms. The only thing moving was Bryan’s chest with each gulping breath. The only noises were the ticks and tocks of the cruiser’s settling engine.
Bryan waited for something to happen, anything. Slowly, his arm shaking like it was made of jelly, he angled his mirror up so he could see the interior of the cruiser. He saw two people; both males and both with sandy blond hair. The one behind the wheel sat bolt upright, both arms ramrod straight, hands clutching the wheel. The officer in the passenger was slumped forward, his head resting on the dash.
Asleep? Bryan thought. Very professional. In the lull, Bryan’s nerves had started to calm their circuits. Some of his fear had begun to fade, but not completely. It remained like the itch in the centre of your back you can’t quite reach.
Then the driver side door was flung open with such force that it hit the end of its arc and swung shut again. As Bryan watched this, his breathing speeding up again, this hair on his neck prickling, the cop only stared at the driver side door as if confused.
The passenger remained still, even after the loud clump of the door.
Who are these guys? Bryan thought. They sure don’t act like cops. Then the door was opened and the man was standing before Bryan could even blink. The sun reflected off the hangings of his uniform, as he stood behind the open door. The emblem on his hat and the badge on his chest glinted like stars against the black of his shirt. The man slammed the door and the entire car shifted against it. Bryan noticed two more shiny objects. The first was the pistol clipped to the man’s belt. The second was the shotgun he was carrying in his left hand. The barrel was so long it almost swept the gravel with each step the man took toward Bryan’s Neon.
Michelle immediately tried to get Bryan back on the phone. She repeatedly dialled his number, but each time she got the same monotonous beeping of the busy tone. Her bare feet tapped against the cold hardwood.
Had he gotten in an accident? Well no, he said he’d pulled over because he was lost. Someone could have hit him? No, he said he was in the middle of nowhere. Why had he been breathing so heavily?
As her mind whirled, a burning worry ablaze in her stomach, she rolled over onto her bed. Her mind continued its attempts to assert reason on the situation, but each time she came close, she would hear the ringing in her ears and any sense that Bryan was okay would vanish, like smoke being pulled away in a strong wind.
Combined with her constant worry, Chelle couldn’t shake the feeling that she was never going to see Bryan again. The thought was like the annoying kid in class. The kid who you tried your hardest to ignore, but he always had something to say.
He’s fine, she told herself, he just lost phone reception. He’s just lost, he’ll ask for directions and he’ll be fine. He’s a smart guy.
Pressing her face to the pillow, Michelle couldn’t remember a time in her life that she felt so helpless. She loved to help, always, in any way she could. And this was just unbearable. It was like a crack addict being denied a fat yellow bag while in a withdrawl. She released a muffled scream into the pillow.
He’s a goner, that voice spoke up again.
Bryan’s first thought was to run. The idea blazed in his mind like the flash of a camera. He knew that it was probably the worst thing he could do.
The man is carrying one heck of a cannon, his dad’s voice spoke up. You’d get out and start running, and he would turn you into a human cheese grater.
Yeah, well what’s he gonna do if I stay here? His eyes darted around the inside of his car, as if the answer would be sitting there somewhere.
Again his eyes found the rearview mirror, the cop was halfway to the bumper of the Neon, shotgun swinging as if it were an elongated part of his arm.
The other cop still slept on the dash, but now his head was slumped to the side, his shoulders now leaning against the passenger side door panel. The blond crop of hair on his head had parted in the middle of his forehead revealing a splotch of brown. At first, Bryan couldn’t tell what it was, he could hear the approaching cops boot heels on the pavement now, but squinting he could see that it was most likely a birthmark. The glare of sun on the cruiser’s hood kept him from seeing much else.
Then the thought was pushed from his head, as there was a loud metallic clang, and Bryan turned to find a shotgun pointed at his temple.
The open maw of the barrel seemed to leer at him like a lone eyeball. Bryan suddenly had the urge to piss himself. Clenching, his balls practically jumping into his gut, he kept it from happening, but not without a struggle. Staring past the gun, the face which topped the chest and arms popped into the square of window.
“Hello my man,” the cop yelled, sounding more like a carnival barker than an officer of the law. Bryan caught a sweet, but somewhat rotten smell on the man’s breath, something he recognized but couldn’t put his finger on. “And how are we doing on this fine morning?” For a minute, Bryan thought he’d been pulled over by Brad Pitt. Though it wasn’t, obviously, he thought this guy could take the cake in a look-a-like contest. The man was staring at him, but Bryan couldn’t take his eyes from the dark tunnel of the gun barrel.
“Fine,” Bryan managed, speaking the word like it hurt him to do so. Then the man must have noticed what he was holding because he jumped back, gravel growling against his bootheels, the blond hair bouncing on his forehead beneath his cap.
Looking at him, Bryan noticed something, but the sense of relief as the gun retracted from the window pushed all thoughts away in a wave.
“Oh man, I’m sorry about that,” the cop said with a laugh, a laugh which sounded half like a cough, and half like a dying cat. “It’s just for precaution you see, from bears and such.”
Bryan nodded.
“Because out here you just don’t know what you’re gonna find right?” He made the laughing noise again. It sounded to Bryan like an eighty-year-old smoker forgot how to laugh and was improvising to try and get it right again.
The cop rested the gun down against Bryan’s door panel with a clink, and leaned forward resting his hands on his thighs.
The spinning confusion had returned; Bryan’s mind was like a yo-yo that never came back up from a sleep. He would throw it, hoping it would come back up with a coherent thought. Instead, it only continued to spin at the end of its length.
“So...” the man said, blowing that same familiar stink into Bryan’s face. He waited for the guy to ask him for his license, for his registration, to finish a damn sentence.
Was this guy drunk?
When Bryan looked over at him, their eyes met for the first time. His eyes were so dark they reminded Bryan of the shotgun barrel. And like the gun, Bryan couldn’t look away.
Then, the man did something which made Bryan’s skin crawl. His eyes roamed down from Bryan’s face, down his chest, and over his legs. To do this, he had leaned forward on his toes, his entire head had practically come inside Bryan’s car.
What the fuck is going on here?
As the man pulled back the tip of his hat caught on the interior of the car, knocking it off into Bryan’s lap. Bryan gave a shriek of surprise, like a cat having its tail stepped on.
“Oh man, sorry about that man,” he said, reaching into the car. The smile never left his face, like he didn’t know any other emotion. Bryan was frozen, his muscles, his voice, his body, everything was in a state of shock.
Grasping his hat from Bryan’s lap, the man delayed, only for a second, but it was enough. In that second their eyes met again. The darkness of those eyes seemed to be constantly roaming his body, swirling like an oil slick behind his pupils. All the while, that smile was pasted directly below them.
Something wet dripped off the man’s arm as he pulled it back out the window. Slipping from his sleeve like a thick juicy maggot. It landed on Bryan’s jeans. He brushed it off quickly, completely disgusted. Now the man was sweating on him.
Then Bryan was struck by a thought which turned his blood to ice cubes.
He was alone out here with this creep.
Absolutely, completely, no other word for it, alone.
There was no way to tell how close the nearest person was, but Bryan would bet his left nut on the fact that there was nobody within screaming distance.
Turning, Bryan did some sizing up of his own.
I could take him, Bryan thought.
Yeah, because you can dodge bullets, I forgot, his dad spoke up. Under normal circumstances Bryan would never think of fighting a cop. He would just take the ticket and swallow the fact he got caught doing something he wasn’t suppose to.
But this was far from normal circumstances.
First, he hadn’t asked for a license. He eye-fucked me worse then a drunk eyeing a girl at a bar, and he practically played the drums with his fingers on my crotch.
And we’re in the middle of nowhere!
Last, what the hell did I do wrong? Is it illegal to pull over on the shoulder now?
Oh, and don’t forget he greeted you with a shotgun to the face. For bears, my ass.
With each addition to his mental list, Bryan became increasingly convinced that this guy wasn’t a cop at all.
Your mother’s story doesn’t sound so stupid now does it? His dad’s voice said.
Before he’d left to Michelle’s, his mother had warned him to keep his wallet safe at hand, and to be careful at all the bank machines he used. Protect your pin, she constantly repeated. All of this talk had been spurred by some show she had been watching on identity theft. It’s the way his mom was, she saw something on TV and suddenly, if she didn’t do something, it was going to happen to her.
She was like a media hypochondriac. Instead of thinking she had non-existent illnesses. She thought if she saw something on the news, it was going to happen to her. And this week’s illness was identity theft.
Something which didn’t seem so silly to Bryan at this moment.
How hard was it to go buy a police costume from Value Village? Then you only need to catch a cop off guard in a parking lot or something and voila! Congratulations creep, you’re a man of the law.
Bryan then remembered the man sleeping in the passenger seat, the one with the mark on his forehead. The story seemed to make sense. A breeze kicked up again, sending a wave through his open window and across Bryan’s face. The sweet stink filled his nose again and the urge to vomit was almost overwhelming. The breeze had yanked the hat from the man’s head and it fell to the gravel, out of sight.
“Oop!” the man exclaimed, bending at the knees to pick it up. All the while his eyes never left Bryan’s.
You haven’t fooled me asshole, Bryan thought.
Then some mental puzzle piece clicked into place, and Bryan suddenly realized where he had smelt that smell before. But, the realization didn’t make him feel any better about the situation. Not at all.
It was years ago now, but Bryan could remember it like it happened yesterday. He’d been on a camping trip with his dad, somewhere up north, the name of the park had left him now.
It had been on one of the many trips down the highway, for wood, or something else. On their way back, Bryan’s head hanging out the window, eyes searching for those cool rock statues that people always built on the side of the road, he was almost thrown into the dash.
“What the?” Bryan yelled, turning to his dad.
“Sorry sport,” he answered, “must be an accident or something.” They had rounded a corner and a small pack of people were surrounding something on the shoulder.
Bryan sat up in his seat, practically pulling himself out his open window.
“Cool,” Bryan exclaimed in childish ignorance. “What happened?” His father didn’t respond, only continued to drive, slowing as they came closer to the group of people.
As their car drifted by, each person turned to watch them pass. Two men, both aged with white hair, turned and Bryan caught a glimpse of what was so cool. Except, it wasn’t cool.
A deer lay in a heap of blood and broken limbs. Small twigs of bone jutted from its slender legs. The white was streaked with blood from tearing through the skin and fur. Its head was turned around and its stomach split. A hole the size of a bowling ball was ripped into its side, spilling ropes of intestine and whatever else onto the ground like some horrific waterfall.
This wasn’t the worst of it. His dad had already yanked the back of his shirt and was putting the window back up, but it was too late. The car was filled with the stink. The smell congealed the spit in your mouth, creating cobwebs of slime on the back of your throat.
He heard his dad cough. The odour was that of rotten fruit melted in the sun, topped with steak spice.
Well, that’s how is child’s brain filed it anyway, Bryan was sure rotting dear didn’t really smell that way.
Immediately after passing the last car, his dad hit the gas. So much that the Neon jolted then revved. He attempted to get Bryan’s mind off what he had seen by pointing out different trees and birds, but the damage was done. In time, Bryan might forget about most of the things that happened in his childhood, but that smell was worse then anything.
It was a smell, since that day, that Bryan has associated with one thing. Death.
“...headed?” Bryan was pulled from his subconscious, just like his dad had hauled him from the open window so many years ago.
“Huh?” he managed, shaking his head, his eyes squinted.
“I said where you headed, man?” The cop was staring at him again. Staring at him with those black, shotgun barrel eyes.
“My girlfriend’s,” Bryan said, regretting it immediately. This guy isn’t a cop, what am I talking to him for? Bryan thought. He jumped as the man tossed the hat back on to his head. As he did, Bryan saw something which couldn’t have been there.
The sun created shadows on the man’s face, but as he had moved his head, the hair on his forehead had shifted, parting directly in the middle to reveal a birthmark.
Bryan checked the rearview again, heart rattling like a jackhammer. Sure enough there he was, asleep on the dash, birthmark still pasted on his hairline. Fear prickled Bryan’s spine and cooled his gut.
“You alright, man?” the cop asked.
“Yeah,” Bryan answered, “fine, what do you want?” The words surprised him, they slipped out like drool after a trip to the dentist. The officer’s expression didn’t change, he only stared, still smiling. Bryan got the creepy feeling again that this man didn’t know any other emotion.
“What I want is for you to step out of the car.” The voice was calm, but it wasn’t the same anymore. It sounded like the man was starting to talk through a fan.
Another gust of wind rocked Bryan’s car, and for the first time, the man looked away, as if the wind confused him.
Bryan didn’t know much about what was happening, but he knew one thing for sure. He wasn’t stepping a foot outside his car. His hand kept twitching in the direction of his keys. Even if he did manage to start his car and drive off, the cop had a faster car and would most likely catch him. What then?
This guy was an identity thief, just like mom had warned him about. And this guy was good. Detailed. Right down to the birthmark on his forehead. Those eyes would stand out to anyone with half a brain, but he could just get contacts.
“Do I have to ask again?” the man said. Bryan didn’t answer, and his eyes caught the barrel of the shotgun leaning against his car. Could he grab it?
“Get out,” the man said, his expression suddenly changing, like someone flipped a switch. He looked angry, but it was almost comical. His eyebrows bent, his mouth twisted in a ridiculous scowl.
Bryan thought he could be mentally handicapped or something like that. And before he could get another thought in otherwise, two hands like vice grips, grabbed the front of his shirt. He heard the rip as the collar of his shirt shredded. Above them, a crow cawed and jumped from its perch.
Bryan was now face to face with the guy, so close there noses were practically touching. The man was standing straight, holding Bryan who was bent and hanging halfway out his window.
He could only stare, his heart smashing, his mind a useless lump of fear, then the dark eyes shifted.
No, flickered.
Flickered to white, but only for a split second and they were black again. It was as if the two eyes were only holes to the inside of this guy’s head and something was moving around inside.
“Let go!” Bryan yelled, his voice warbled by the man’s fists against his throat. Then the world shifted.
Bryan fell, headfirst out his window as the man released him. His face first hit something which felt like cold jelly, then the gravel shoulder. The latter split his forehead, drawing blood and embedding small pebbles beneath the skin. His legs followed, flopping onto the ground like a pair of wet jeans.
The stink was overwhelming now. Bryan gagged on it. Opening his eyes he realized what he had fallen into. It was the same substance that had dripped from the man’s sleeve. A dripping pile of yellow goop was coagulated around the man’s black shoes.
“What the fuck?” Bryan exclaimed. The man looked down as if noticing the stuff for the first time. Some of it was drying on the gravel in flaky piles. Bryan swiped a hand over his face, then lifted his shirt, wiping the sticky, gelatinous shit from his face. All the while, breathing through his nose to keep from vomiting. The rotten fruit and spice aroma surrounded his head like a cloud.
“Oh, well would you look at that, these bodies just don’t last as long as they used to.”
Bryan looked up at the man who was a shadow against the sun. The eyes were white again, he could make out no other features in the shadows, but there was no missing those eyes.
“Who-at are you?” The two words blended in Bryan’s mouth. The man looked down at him, the goop now dripping from beneath his pants legs. Slipping over his shined shoes like thick chunks of snot.
“Well, who I am is..” he trailed off, reaching for the nameplate on his chest, “is officer Sharpe” he said. “And what I am is a human police officer, well, for now,” he added.
For now? And that’s supposed to mean what? Bryan thought.
He pulled Bryan to his feet by the shredded remains of his collar. Bryan’s fear was turning to anger now. He didn’t care who this guy was (or what), he was going to see Michelle, and no hillbilly cop was going to stop him. Michelle’s smiling face swam behind his eyes, fueling the fire within him.
“Now first,” the man said, “I’m gonna need you to take these clothes off.” Bryan laughed.
He didn’t know if this surprised the man because his expression never changed. The face was now devoid of emotion. No curved brow. No smile. Nothing.
“Why are you laughing?” the man asked.
“Because I’m not taking my clothes off,” Bryan answered, “and I don’t know who you think you’re fooling with that outfit. I know you’re no cop, just a fucking wanna-be rent-a-cop. How much did that getup cost you at Value Village?” Finishing Bryan took a step toward him, expecting him to take a step back.
He didn’t
“Well you got me there,” he said, “but I wouldn’t get much closer if I were you.”
“Oh really?” Bryan laughed, taking another step, at the same time he reached back and picked the shotgun up behind his back. “Why’s that?”
“Because,” the man snarled. His eyes became white, his voice once again gained that through-a-fan quality. “I might be able to grab yah.”
Then, as if on hinges, the man’s head dropped back, and landed between his shoulder blades with a bounce. His hat once again hit the gravel and cart wheeled beneath Bryan’s Neon.
Suddenly, something was coming out of the man’s (thing’s) mouth. Long, white tendrils whipped and slithered on the man’s face. It was like a giant spider was trying to force it’s way from his mouth, but its abdomen was stuck in his throat.
Something was trying to crawl from the man’s mouth, some sort of creature. The snake-like legs shot from his mouth like spaghetti vomit. There seemed to be more and more.
Bryan could only stand and watch. The shotgun hanging at his side, any thought of concealing it now forgotten.
This isn’t happening, his mind said. I passed out when I pulled over, I never called Michelle, there is no doppelgänger cop. Maybe I’m still asleep and home and haven’t even left for Chelle’s yet.
Stop kidding yourself, his dad said in his head. Then, over the cop’s shoulder, he saw the other cop; the one slumped asleep on the dashboard. Not asleep, but more likely dead.
Now Bryan realized something, the thing which was pulling its way from the man’s mouth, and struggling it seemed, was going to do the same to him. Somehow, it was going to take his body and become some version of him. One which is clumsy and doesn’t understand human emotion, but him, the real Bryan would be left to be carried around like some life-sized doll.
The ultimate body snatch. The perfect identity theft.
Bryan’s limbs were seized with fear. Fear so thick it was like like wet concrete flowing through his veins. It was fear he had never felt before. It was so intense, pricking every nerve it hurt.
Small rivulets of blood were running from the corner’s of the man’s mouth where it was splitting as the creature attempted to release itself. The stench was thick now and Bryan was coughing without realizing. He was still staring dumbly. Then, with a sick squelching, like a boot being pulled from thick mud, the doppelganger’s grotesque face, popped from the man’s mouth.
It was like a human face turned inside out.
Instead of indented, the two eyes bulged like a pair of white marbles. Where the nose would have been on a normal face, there is only a crude triangular hole. And a mouth, well it didn’t seem like this thing had one.
Bryan could only scream at the octopus like monstrosity that sat perched on the man’s face. The white tendrils now wrapped around the man’s head and hung off like horrific wig.
Then his arm was on fire, filled with a burning pain. Screaming, the sun temporarily blinded him as his head tilted back, and through the black circles swirling before his eyes he saw one of those white tentacles was wrapped around his arm. Blood was oozing around it before Bryan was able to get it off. It was hard as they seemed to be covered in tiny barbs which cut through his skin like a saw blade.
His mind was stuck on repeat of the same thought, like a DVD caught on a scratch.
This isn’t happening.
This isn’t happening.
Not happening.
Can’t be happening.
This shit isn’t real. Monsters, shape shifters, doppelganger’s, they only exist in the movies. But yet, I’m on the side of the highway with a creature that seems intent on stealing my body and killing me.
Have I lost my mind?
Suddenly, three tendrils whirred, whipping like snakes on ecstasy and wrapped themselves around his neck.
The cut off of air was immediate, so was the pain as the barb’s pierced thousands of microscopic holes in a ring around his neck. Blood seeped, turning the white tendrils red. Bryan coughed and hacked, struggling, pulling back, trying to yank the creature from its perch.
They swayed back and forth. Bryan was pulling but the creature was pulling back much harder, like a game of tug-of-war. Planting his feet, Bryan arched his back and pulled as hard as he could, allowing himself a gulping breath. He ignored the needles piercing and grinding the back of his neck. The air to his lungs pushed back the grey fuzz that had started to cloud his vision. Something knocked the side of his leg, and all at once he was aware of the weapon in his hand. Through the burning in his chest, and the blood seeping around the tendrils trying to suffocate him, Bryan tried to laugh.
Without another thought, he raised it, rested the butt on his thigh, fumbled, found the trigger, and pulled it.
He had never fired a gun before, let along a shotgun, and the recoil sent his leg flailing out behind him, dropping him to one knee.
The blast caught the man square in the chest. Tearing ragged holes in the uniform and spraying blood in every direction. Small droplets shimmered in the sun like rubies as they fell to the ground. The body arced back, becoming perfectly horizontal in the air. Pebbles of gravel slipped from the treads of his boots. The tentacles, now pulled from Bryan’s neck, whipped around as if in anger from being denied fresh meat.
Got em! Bryan’s mind celebrated. But don’t make the same mistake all those idiots in the movies do, finish it.
The body hit the ground in a heap of limbs and shredded cloth, officer Sharpe’s head was now pulled directly beneath his back. From Bryan’s vantage it appeared the thing had replaced the head, giving the appearance that Bryan had just shot a gorgon dressed as a cop.
Pulling his leg back under him, Bryan tried to stand. Pain immediately flared in his leg where the butt of the gun had connected.
Grimacing, he managed to get to his feet, all the time keeping his eyes glued to the tentacles. They were motionless, shining with slime in the sun like a pile of wet noodles.
Just go, his mind screamed, the thing is on the ground, this is your chance.
He took a step forward, lifting the gun once again. His running shoes scraping the gravel as he dragged his feet toward the body.
This would be perfect timing for someone to drive by, but Bryan wasn’t too worried. Not a single car had passed since he’d pulled over to call Michelle- a conversation which seemed like weeks ago instead of only a half hour.
Then Bryan thought of Michelle, she was probably so worried right now. Guilt ached in his stomach. There weren’t many things that caused him to feel guilty, but upsetting Michelle was at the top of the list. Just give her a call when you get back in the car.
Yeah, and tell her what? This was something he hadn’t considered yet. Was he gonna tell her about this? Was he going to tell anyone about this?
He doubted it.
For one, they wouldn’t believe him, and two they would most likely laugh at him, and Bryan hated that. Bryan hated to be laughed at, more than anything.
He was now standing directly above officer Sharpe’s body and the creature which was using it as a meat suit.
Bryan examined the shredded ruin of the man’s chest and saw more of the sticky yellow goop. Until now, his nose had become accustomed to the mouldy, spicy smell. Now, the odour seemed to leak directly from the holes in the man’s chest. It enveloped his head, holding it like a vice.
Wanting to get out of there, ASAP, trying only to breath through his mouth, he lifted the gun and took aim at the things quasi-human face.
Wrapping his finger around the trigger, he wondered what the insides of the things head would look like.
Shaking his head to move the sweaty clumps of hair from his forehead, Bryan, for the second time, pulled the trigger.
The buckshot missed. The creature at the last minute had slithered out of the way.
Slithered.
Suddenly, the body was upright again, like some sort of invisible puppet strings were attached to his shoulders. It was like the vampires in those old movies, rising from the coffins, stiff as a board.
But Sharpe’s body was now completely limp. The arms flopped like they were popped from their shoulder sockets.
Bryan couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and watched with mounting horror as the doppelganger, once again, started coming out of the man’s mouth.
Sharpe’s body jerked, his arms flailed, sometimes directly above his head like he were praising Jesus.
Bryan now realized that this creature was much bigger then it appeared. The tentacles and face now dangled around Sharpe’s waist, as its long snake-like body slid from his throat.
Every inch of Bryan’s skin, bones and muscles were frozen. Fear overload. All systems initiate immediate lockdown.
Wet splashing sounds were coming from somewhere deep in the body’s gut. Bryan could see it in his head, the body neatly uncoiling up from the stomach like some sort of giant tapeworm. The creatures white skin was dripping with blood and soggy brown chunks of something Bryan didn’t want to know. About two feet, not including the gorgon head of the creature were in the gravel now, and yet it kept coming. The sound reminded Bryan of the sink in his laundry room at home. As it drained the last bit of grey water from the previous cycle, it would create a high pitched sucking.
Bryan still didn’t move. His brain was stuck, his mind was screaming run! Run! Run! However his brain couldn’t send any useful signals to any part of his body.
Finally, with one last gulping squelch, the creature fell to the ground in a pile that looked like an unraveled hose.
The officer’s body remained standing, shreds of uniform fluttering in the breeze. Then it fell. But not like a normal human body with muscles and bone would fall. The body, suit and all, collapsed straight down on itself.
The creature must have been the only thing holding the fake Sharpe together, because what was left of him was oozing from the neck of his shirt like jelly being squeezed from a donut.
“Oh my God,” Bryan said. The creature wheezed as if in reply. A dry sound which Bryan thought sounded like a laugh.
The thing was starting to rise now, like a cobra from its basket. Bryan’s heart was beating so hard it was aching his ribs. He clenched to keep his bladder from emptying into his pants.
They were face to face, only about a foot away. The orb like eyes twitched on its face, then another tentacle shot out. Instinctively Bryan dodged out of the way, his paralysis broken. That wheezing sounded again, the noise which sounded so much like an old man’s laugh.
It’s laughing because it is going to kill you and steal your body, Bryan thought. It’s probably happier then a pig in shit right now.
Well, not for long. Bryan lifted the shotgun, cocking it with a click. But before it got far from his side, a tentacle whipped out in a blur and before Bryan knew what happened, half of the gun barrel was lying in the gravel.
At that moment, all of Bryan’s fight was gone. Vanished like the color from a person’s face who is about to yak.
Then it was flight.
He dropped the gun and whipped around. His shoes slipped in the gravel, spraying tiny pebbles out behind him. He caught himself by planting one hand on the hood of his car.
He heard the creature wheezing in quick bursts from behind him. Then he started to run, hoping against hope that the creature would be slow on the gravel shoulder.
No luck. He didn’t get far.
Bryan got one good look over his shoulder and saw the doppelganger chasing him. It’s tentacled head raised, it’s body whipping through the gravel, propelling it forward. Small pebbles jumped and sprayed as its body slithered.
Turning his neck back he willed his legs to go faster. Tears streaming down his face, that was when he felt the warmth in his chest and his legs locked. His momentum should have carried him flat on to his face, but he remained standing, one leg stretched in front of him mid-stride.
He blinked once. He could hear the wheezing laughter, really close now.
Then looked down.
Those white marble eyes stared up at him.
The thing was in him.
It’s in me, Bryan thought, it got me right through the fucking chest.
“GOOAHHHHHH” he screamed, no words, just his fear manifested into sound. There was no blood. It had impaled him cleanly, like a sharp pencil through a Zip-Loc bag full of water.
He continued to scream, loud and long. He could feel the tissue on the inside of his throat peeling like dried wallpaper.
The tentacles darted for his open mouth, and it was full of them in seconds. He could feel them tickling his throat and he gagged, gagged, gagged. Then he felt something in his ear.
Then everything was blue, immediately followed by the black.
Michelle had been sitting in her room ever since the phone had lost connection. Her imagination kept creating ridiculous scenarios which left Bryan dead on the side of some highway. She was constantly shaking her head to get rid of them, but they always buzzed back like stubborn mosquitoes. More than once she had picked up her car keys and was going to go look for him, but stopped. He’s fine, she told herself, he probably just saw a moose or something, that would surprise any city boy.
Yeah, but he sounded scared, you’ve never heard him sound like that before.
Not scared, surprised, he was just surprised and then the connection died.
You sure about that?
She released a groan of frustration, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes in an attempt to settle her vivid imagination.
Then her cell phone rang. She moved so fast, and slammed the phone to her ear so hard it hurt.
“Hello?” she gasped, “Bryan!” The line was quiet, she could hear him breathing. Her nerves itched, her heart raced.
“Bryan are you okay?” she practically screamed.
“I’m fine, man,” he answered. Relief flooded through her, like stepping into a warm house from a cold night.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice losing that tone of anxiety.
“Nothing,” he replied, his voice a little fuzzy. Must have the AC on. “I’m fine.” She waited, expecting the signal to fail again, but it didn’t.
“What your address?” he asked, he spoke so fast she could barely understand him.
“I gave it to you,” she answered, the worry starting to creep back, “Bryan you sure you’re ok? I was so worried.”
“Fine,” he answered in that same tone, “I forgot the address.”
“You said you wrote it on the back of your hand when we talked on the phone yesterday,” she said, there was a pause on the line.
Something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong. There was still silence on the other end, save for some rustling.
No, she told herself, you’re overreacting, just relax. She did.
“Hurry up and get here,” she said, “I miss you.”
There was still no reply. “Do you need the address again?” she asked.
“Nope,” he replied almost yelling. “Silly me, I got it now, right here on my hand.” He sounded overjoyed at this.
Since when did Bryan ever say the word “silly”?
“See you soon, man,” he said.
Then the line went dead.
THE END