Read Online In Springdale Town by Robert Freeman Wexler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Freeman Wexler
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Contemporary, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Paranormal & Urban, Mythology & Folk Tales, Fairy Tales
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with as much force as his arm had. “Only the one who belongs can remain. Expelling the other should regain the balance.” I pictured his voice flowing down the hall and bursting out into.... I had no idea where the hall led.
Scooter lifted his arm from my shoulders and turned to the door. It creaked open at his touch. He stepped through and gestured for us to follow. Inside, a man lay on a hospital bed with the back part elevated so that he sat up. The tall policewoman I had seen around town with Scooter stood on the far side. Her gaze absorbed me the same way Scooter’s had.
19
The giant policeman slipped into Shelling’s cell, a silent arrival, unnoticed until his bulk commandeered Shelling’s vision. Shelling could see two others beyond him, a man and a woman, framed by the doorway. The giant policeman and the two newcomers approached the midget woman on the platform. The new woman looked familiar, but everyone he saw now reminded him of someone from his past, someone he had worked or slept with in California, and that was impossible, as though his brain, rebelling at his treatment, formed associations that, although they defied logic, served to give him an anchor in this otherwise disorienting experience. He looked at the other newcomer, expecting to be reminded of yet another figure from his past. But instead of a face, the other had a patch of glowing, blue-green mist.
Shelling twisted his body; the padded straps cut into his wrists. “Let me go,” he said, surprised that his voice was working again.
20
Sammy peered at the face of the man in the hospital bed and sucked in her breath. “You’re right. They are the same.” She looked back at me. “Patrick has to be the right one. But how could the double have broken through?”
“What are you talking about?” When I stepped forward, it was my turn to gasp. The man on the bed had my face. Like Scooter said, hair different. The man’s pupils were dilated, and he jerked his head around, looking at each of us in turn, over and over.
Scooter approached the tall policewoman. She was only an inch or so shorter than he. Scooter glanced at a notepad she held, then back to me. “What do you see?” he asked. I looked at him without responding. He waved an oven-mitt hand around. “This room, this person, what do you see?”
“A room. A man in a bed. He looks like me. What am I supposed to see?”
Sammy reached for my hand. “This can’t be easy,” she said. “I’m here. I’ll help you.”
“Help me what?” I pulled my hand away from hers.
“Only one of them can stay,” the tall policewoman said. She spoke softly, but her husky voice carried.
Scooter nodded. “But which?” he asked her, not looking at me.
“This one.” The tall policewoman pointed to the man in the bed. “He says he’s an actor .” She said “actor” as if it were an explanation, and Scooter bobbed his heavy head up and down in agreement.
Scooter turned to Sammy. “We brought him in earlier, but let him go. We felt the waves crossing, but weren’t positive he was the signifier.”
The tall policewoman came over to my side of the bed and stood between me and the other, extending an open palm toward each of us as though using them to probe our identities. She had her back to me, and when she spoke, she directed her words to Scooter. “This one, in the bed, he has a past, but his misplacement distorts his perceptions.”
“And so he must be removed,” Scooter said.
“Removed?” I said.
The tall policewoman lowered her hands and turned to face me. “Sent back to his world.”
I looked up at her narrow face, trying to read it, looking for some sign of concern. I pointed to the man in the bed, who had stopped his erratic head turnings and locked his gaze on me. “This person. He’s somehow a version of me?”
Sammy stared at the guy in the bed for a moment, then turned, and came over to me. She took my hand again. “Your counterpart is an actor. That’s
Scooter lifted his arm from my shoulders and turned to the door. It creaked open at his touch. He stepped through and gestured for us to follow. Inside, a man lay on a hospital bed with the back part elevated so that he sat up. The tall policewoman I had seen around town with Scooter stood on the far side. Her gaze absorbed me the same way Scooter’s had.
19
The giant policeman slipped into Shelling’s cell, a silent arrival, unnoticed until his bulk commandeered Shelling’s vision. Shelling could see two others beyond him, a man and a woman, framed by the doorway. The giant policeman and the two newcomers approached the midget woman on the platform. The new woman looked familiar, but everyone he saw now reminded him of someone from his past, someone he had worked or slept with in California, and that was impossible, as though his brain, rebelling at his treatment, formed associations that, although they defied logic, served to give him an anchor in this otherwise disorienting experience. He looked at the other newcomer, expecting to be reminded of yet another figure from his past. But instead of a face, the other had a patch of glowing, blue-green mist.
Shelling twisted his body; the padded straps cut into his wrists. “Let me go,” he said, surprised that his voice was working again.
20
Sammy peered at the face of the man in the hospital bed and sucked in her breath. “You’re right. They are the same.” She looked back at me. “Patrick has to be the right one. But how could the double have broken through?”
“What are you talking about?” When I stepped forward, it was my turn to gasp. The man on the bed had my face. Like Scooter said, hair different. The man’s pupils were dilated, and he jerked his head around, looking at each of us in turn, over and over.
Scooter approached the tall policewoman. She was only an inch or so shorter than he. Scooter glanced at a notepad she held, then back to me. “What do you see?” he asked. I looked at him without responding. He waved an oven-mitt hand around. “This room, this person, what do you see?”
“A room. A man in a bed. He looks like me. What am I supposed to see?”
Sammy reached for my hand. “This can’t be easy,” she said. “I’m here. I’ll help you.”
“Help me what?” I pulled my hand away from hers.
“Only one of them can stay,” the tall policewoman said. She spoke softly, but her husky voice carried.
Scooter nodded. “But which?” he asked her, not looking at me.
“This one.” The tall policewoman pointed to the man in the bed. “He says he’s an actor .” She said “actor” as if it were an explanation, and Scooter bobbed his heavy head up and down in agreement.
Scooter turned to Sammy. “We brought him in earlier, but let him go. We felt the waves crossing, but weren’t positive he was the signifier.”
The tall policewoman came over to my side of the bed and stood between me and the other, extending an open palm toward each of us as though using them to probe our identities. She had her back to me, and when she spoke, she directed her words to Scooter. “This one, in the bed, he has a past, but his misplacement distorts his perceptions.”
“And so he must be removed,” Scooter said.
“Removed?” I said.
The tall policewoman lowered her hands and turned to face me. “Sent back to his world.”
I looked up at her narrow face, trying to read it, looking for some sign of concern. I pointed to the man in the bed, who had stopped his erratic head turnings and locked his gaze on me. “This person. He’s somehow a version of me?”
Sammy stared at the guy in the bed for a moment, then turned, and came over to me. She took my hand again. “Your counterpart is an actor. That’s
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