Desolation. Derek Landy
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you and you immediately get on a plane?”
Javier glared. “You said he looked exactly like me. That’s what you said.”
“I know what I said, but you couldn’t have known that I wasn’t exaggerating. You took my word on something like that? Why?”
“Because I want to see him, goddammit. Is that so hard to understand? If I have a double who looks just like me from years ago, I want to meet him. Comprende?”
“You can’t meet him.”
“The hell I can’t! Where’d you see him? Just tell me where you saw him and I’ll do the rest.”
“He was in my neighbour’s house …”
“Well, okay!”
“… killing my neighbour.”
Javier paused. “What’s that you say?”
“You heard.”
“My doppelgänger killed your neighbour? That’s what you’re saying?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Well … why?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do the cops say about it?”
“That’s complicated.”
“In what way?”
“They’re in on it.”
“In on what?”
“The murder.”
Javier frowned. “You’re going to have to start at the beginning.”
“I was here. I looked into my neighbour’s house as your doppelgänger killed him. He snuck out, and before I could call them, the police turned up. The Chief of Police, actually. They took the body out in the middle of the night and covered up the whole thing.”
“Say it ain’t so.”
“I wish I could.”
“What kind of pills are you on, Abernathy?”
“Heart medication.”
“No pills that would make you hallucinate or imagine things or go crazy?”
“No crazy pills, no.”
“Cos it sounds like you’re on crazy pills.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“And you’re saying my double, my doppelgänger, is a killer? And you don’t know his name?”
Virgil hesitated.
“You do!” said Javier, eyes widening. “You do know his name!”
“I showed an old picture of you I got off the internet to the lady who delivers the mail, asked if she recognised this person. She said his name was Oscar Moreno.”
“My picture’s on the internet? Am I one of those internet stars I been hearing about?”
“No. As far as I can see, internet stars are cats and dogs and animals who do funny things.”
“Like Mr Ed?”
“I don’t think you’re quite getting it, but that’s okay.”
“And where does this Moreno guy live?”
“Across town,” said Virgil. “I looked him up in the phone book.”
“Just like you used to do on the show.”
“I guess.”
“Is that what this is?” Javier asked. “Are you falling into some delusion where you can no longer separate reality from fiction? Do you think we’re in an episode of the show right now?”
“If we were, you’d be Ernesto Insidio, evil mastermind, and I’d have to punch you again.”
Javier let a slow smile creep on to his face. “I think you might be nuts.”
“I really don’t care.”
“I actually think you might be losing your marbles. Do you know your own name? Tell me, are you Virgil Abernathy, washed-up television actor, or the Shroud, crime-fighting hero?”
Virgil looked at him, and shrugged. “I can’t be both?”
AMBER’S HANDS WERE GETTING better. They were still stiff, still discoloured, but the throb had reduced to almost nothing, and she could actually move her fingers now. She tested them on the walk from Main Street to the Dowall Motel, wriggling them a little in their bandages. The iPad was in the bag on her back and it bounced with every step she took. She was walking fast. After a day spent in her human form, she was ready to crawl out of her own skin.
She passed a park where little kids played on jungle gyms and swing sets while their parents looked on. The afternoon had turned to early evening, but it was still bright, still way too bright, and it was cold and getting colder, and they were all wrapped up in thick coats. Amber barely felt it. She started up the hill, keeping her eyes on the motel at the top. She envisioned herself walking into her room and stripping off her clothes and shifting, and had to bite her lip to keep from moaning.
A car pulled up alongside her, its window down.
“Hello there!” the driver said brightly.
Amber frowned at him and kept walking.
He was fat and balding, unexceptional, but his smile was intense in its friendliness. “I was wondering if you could tell me where Daggett Road is …?”
“I’m not from around here,” Amber said.
“What was that?” the driver asked, keeping pace.
“I’m not from around here,” she repeated, louder.
He shook his head. “Sorry, still can’t hear you.” He pulled in ahead of her and Amber stopped walking. He got out, holding a map. He wore a bowling shirt that did nothing to hide his bulk.
“I’m not from around here,” Amber told him again.
“I’m just looking for Daggett Road,” he explained, coming closer.
“I can’t help you,” said Amber. “I don’t live here, I’m not from here.”
“But look,” the man said, holding out the map. “I know where it is, I just don’t know where I am.”
Amber started to back up. “I can’t help you.”
“I won’t take up much of your time,” said the man. “I’m just trying to get to Daggett Road.”
“Please stay back.”
“Why?” the man asked, a wounded expression on his face. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m just asking for directions. Are you scared? Why are you scared? I’m just asking for directions.”
“And I told you I can’t help you.”
“But you haven’t even tried.”
“I’m not from the area.”
“I just want to find Daggett Road. Can you show me where we are on this map?”
“I don’t know where we are.”
“Of course you do,” the man said, and chuckled.
“Sir, I don’t know the name of the road we’re