HE didn't know what to think. There was no precedent for reactions in a situation like this—no one had ever been in a situation like this.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. He'd heard of people discovering they had a long-lost identical twin, or ghost stories about doppelgangers stalking the superstitious. People wrote novels and scripts about evil doubles confronting characters, the internal conflict of man vs. himself.
The man standing before him was haggard and unkempt, his blue-eyed gaze cold as steel. But those were his own eyes that stared back at him. And that was his face, his hair, his body, right down to the dimple in his chin and the part of his blonde hair and his hands, unusually small, white, boyish. If he showed him his scars, would they match?
The Other, as he found himself calling the stranger, was clearly drunk when he stumbled into the apartment. His keys fit the lock, and he'd taken off his jacket and slung it across a chair on his way to the bedroom. The door was closed, but the padlock was missing.
There were no foul odors, the Other realized with a start. Upon opening the bedroom door, he found no vile, stubborn stains in the carpet, either.
Instead there was a man sleeping in his bed—a man who looked just like him.
The Other had raced back into the kitchen, grabbed a kitchen knife, and returned brandishing it at the half-awake impostor, who had only enough time to put on his glasses and blink in shock.
"This is probably just a misunderstanding. Let's figure this out like civilized men. Put the knife down."
"I'm not putting this down."
"Okay, fine. I don't trust you either. So you're either going to have to let me get my own fucking weapon, or you're going to have to stop that."
They went into the living room, where the Other forced him to sit down. Even his clothes, the same he had worn to work at the graveyard shift, were identical to his own.
"Everything is the same," the Other remarked, glancing around at the furniture, "It's just like my living room. This has to be my apartment—it's the same building, same room number, same everything!"
"That's impossible. I've lived here for four years—"
"So have I!"
"You look like me."
"I noticed."
"But you're different," the Other's gaze darted back to the bedroom, "Not everything here is the same."
He explained the missing padlock.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I've never had a padlock on that door."
"What about the table?"
"What table?"
"The black table! The one with the sk—" he stopped himself, growing pale. "I had a security system installed..."
"Well, I did do that. This neighborhood isn't very safe."
"Who are you?"
"I could ask you the same question!"
The Other was growing more agitated by the minute. Jabbing the knife in his direction, he said, "I'm going to go check the closet. Don't you move a muscle."
"I'm not going anywhere. This is my apartment."
Watching as he disappeared down the hall, he could hear the Other rummaging around in the bedroom. Maybe he should try to run. This guy was obviously crazy. But it all seemed so ludicrous. How often was it that your doppelganger walked into your place and demanded to know why you were in their home?
The rummaging reached catastrophic levels, then suddenly it became dead silent. Slowly, almost slogging, the Other returned. In his hand he clutched a photograph. His expression was bewildered.
"Who are these people?"
He thrust the picture forward.
"That's my family."
"What?!" he turned the photo around, staring at it. "No way. I don't believe you."
"No, really—"
"You look just like me," the Other interrupted, a ghastly smirk twitching over his lips, "You live in an apartment like mine. But you're married." He giggled. "You did the one thing I would never do!"
"I'm not married anymore."
"Well, of course! Just like Mom and Dad. Why even bother?"
At the mention of his parents, he felt his skin crawl. He was beginning to get an inkling of what was really going on here, though he knew it was far too vast and complex for him to fully understand.
"Yes. It was a waste of time and effort."
The Other's eerie smile disappeared, replaced by an emotionless mask.
"Get out. Don't ever come here again."
"You can't make me go."
The knife shone a sickly yellow in the electric light.
"If you kill me, it would be like killing yourself. I'm not leaving."
He made a grab for his arm, as if to drag him out.
Mommy mommy please make it stop it hurts it hurts did he cut it off mommy it hurts so bad—
His hand recoiled as though he had been delivered a particularly nasty shock.
"What the hell was that?"
He cringed. His brain felt like it had been singed with a blowtorch, the white-hot pain of a chemical burn lingering at his nerve endings. But worse was the strange sense of loss, like forgetting something vital to his being. And yet, he hadn't forgotten. The memory had been replaced by someone else's almost identical recollection. Almost.
"Don't touch me..."
Ignoring him, the Other reached out again, motivated by an uncontrollable curiosity.
"I want to know—"
"Stay away from me!"
What are you doing looking for sticks for the art teacher ha ha that's so stupid put it in the pile why don't you bundle of sticks a stick in the hand is worth two in the pile sticks pile drink pile sticks drink bones like fiddlesticks go clink clink clink hey Dad what will happen if you put them in bleach?—
"Stop it!"
He staggered back, falling on the floor. The Other loomed over him, huge and imposing.
"I want to know the difference between us. I want to know what separates you from me."
If he fought back, it would be no use. There was no stopping him. He would take what he wanted by force if necessary.
"Don't struggle..."
He shut his eyes and prayed it would all be over soon.
The cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon little boy blue and the man in the moon when you comin' home Dad I don't know when but we'll get together then fishing line made of cat guts roadkill and a six pack of beer do not disappoint us I'm allergic make it stop why won't they stop screaming I'm sorry I won't do it again there's nothing else to do nothing nothing I'm sorry what now what's this oh God what is this I don't care anymore why even bother?
"I remember all of this. It's the same memories."
"Not the same..." whispered the Other.
Would you mind taking her to the prom Regan McKenna can she really spin her head all the way around or was that just camera tricks your mother sucks cocks in hell Dumber and in another few years they'll be calling her Madam President she looks a bit like whatesherface except not even that attractive well she can't help it at least she's nice she stuck around but I didn't I was nervous I'm sorry how many times do I have to say it well that's okay just don't do it again. Again?—
There's a break in the current. The Other hesitates.
"Don't do this. I'll do as you ask. I'll leave."
"It wasn't the same girl," he murmured, "Is it really just because of a girl?"
"Please—"
What do I do now she's gone with David too what should we name your new baby brother hurricane drill you are in big trouble you've got to understand this is not who I am I can't do this shut up lockdown I'm not going to fucking do it honorable discharge I heard you were home alone mind if I come over who is this what hitchhiker what are you talking about drilling holes skulls black table and acid sorry wrong number where have you been I don't remember Florida is warm all year round did you hear about that kid Adam Walsh?
"What about Hicks?"
"Who?"
"Steven Hicks."
A dismal, flat voice said, "My son's name was Steven."
"What a coincidence."
If you would like a blowjob come to the men's restroom ha ha who am I fooling it's only right it's going to take more than this to make me stumble Mom you've got a grandson with blue eyes like mine serves you right for marrying that woman she's sleeping in my brother's bed three feet away please stay I'm all alone don't go hold me please love me I can't stand it let's name him Steven you're insatiable only women bleed have a taste I just wanted to try it what is happening to me let's have another one what have I done have you seen Bruce a father would take his son fishing I just wanted to try it my only chance if I lose you now take a picture it'll last longer not too fast or you'll miss it life is but a dream if she doesn't want them no one can have them how could you I can't believe it I tried to tell you he didn't look like he had a mean bone in his body a whole skeleton I put back together it was a beagle head on a stick it's a boy conceived that night all because a Mississippi girl moved to Ohio in 1974 no that can't be right there's got to be more you can't just oversimplify things and while we're on the subject 1987 brings catastrophe no matter what I am alone the perfect storm a registered sex offender are you joking how was I supposed to know he was only fourteen?
A punch to the nose. He reeled back.
He's not breathing oh God he can't breathe somebody please help him he's drowned—
"I want to be you!"
It was a wild shriek, like the wind howling for blood over stone parapets or a starved child whining in the night. But it was impossible to know which one had screamed. They were so alike now, sharing so many memories. Which was the Other now? There was no way to tell—except that one was still holding the knife.
"You want to be what I was. It's all gone. I don't want any more of it."
His words fell on deaf ears. This leech, this vampiric creature, hardly a man at all, would take and take until there was nothing left, leaving him an empty shell, hollow as a ghost.
Only one of them could exist here, in this world, and be whole.
With a snarl, one pounced on the other.
The struggle was surprisingly brief.
Panting, the victor lay on his back, exhausted both physically and mentally. Jutting out of his opponent's chest was the knife, impaled through his heart and welling up blood. The carpet would be stained after all.