"The Doom That Came To Maybrook"
May. 14th, 2022 02:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"The Doom That Came To Maybrook"
1/4- 1/5/1978
I.
As the Greyhound bus swung under the canopy of the terminal, its air brakes made sure no one aboard was still napping. Sitting close to the front, Cindy Brunner gazed apprehensively out at Maybrook. Much more than a normal person, her telepathic mind picked up the local mood and she felt an uneasy crawling impression of fear scattered among the people of Maybrook like sparks ready to start a fire. The fear was uncertain and repressed, as if no one wanted to face it directly. The blonde frowned, zipping up her blue ski jacket and tugging a wool hat from its pocket. She had never experienced anything quite like this. Quite a few minds in the area were terrified but in isolation.. they were not aware of others in the same situation.
Cindy hadn't been here in years. Not since she had moved to Manhattan. On a chilly dim January morning under an overcast sky, she saw the diner was still directly across Forsythe Avenue and the Friendly's ice cream parlor was next to it. But the store next to them was closed and its signs taken down, and she could not quite remember what it had been. Ah, a shoe store, that was it. As the bus doors opened and everyone jammed the aisles to get off, she waited. On the seat next to her was her small knapsack with only its change of clothes and a few personal items. As the last figure went past, the telepath got up and hauled her knapsack with her to step out into a bitter wind.
At nineteen, Cindy's small size and babyface made her look even younger to the point where people often gave her worried looks as if to ask, where is that kid going by herself? Not quite an inch over five feet tall and seldom hitting a hundred pounds, it was her well-developed breasts that made it most clear she was not a minor but the insulated ski jacket disguised those curves as well. Cindy's dark blonde hair was tied back in a thick ponytail under the black wool hat, and her normally pale skin was even whiter because of the wind chill. She grimaced and hurried inside the terminal to get out of the cold.
Inside was better but not that much. A knee-high electric heater in one corner already had two people looming over it. Cindy went over to the two phones set in the far wall, dugs in her jeans for change and called Olivia's number. Reluctantly, after it rang for over a minute, she hung up and started pacing. Now she was getting genuinely anxious. When Olivia had called her in the city the day before, she hadn't asked Cindy to come to Maybrook. That had been Cindy's idea. She had tried calling before getting on the bus at Port Authority but there had been no answer. No, still not being able to reach her longtime friend was worrying her. Someone should be home, Olivia's parents or her brother. The blonde telepath got the change in hand and tried again, with still no answer.
"You all right, miss?" asked the fat old man in uniform. He leaned over the counter toward her and Cindy picked up no lechery or sleaze in his mind. The old guy was just being helpful. She asked him for the number of the local taxi company, got it and thanked him with a warm smile. In five minutes a rather beat-up cab with a blue roof pulled up and she hurried to hop in the back seat. To her relief, the driver was in his shirtsleeves and he had the cab's heater blowing full blast.
Giving him Olivia's address, 19 Browning Terrace in one of the ritzier neighborhoods of Maybrook, Cindy slumped in the back street and took deep breaths. Why was she so panicky? Because her friend was not answering the phone? No, because so many people in Maybrook were walking around with terror freezing their thoughts and her gifted mind was picking up on it. Cindy remembered what Kenneth Dred had taught her, the technique to muffle outside thoughts. Focussing on her own mind, her own sensations, helped. By the time they pulled up to Browning Terrace, Cindy felt calm and confident again. She paid the driver, saw in his mind that he was instantly smitten with her, and gave him a rather sad farewell smile.
Standing in front of the immaculate two-story red brick home with its attached garage and trimmed hedges, Cindy Brunner extended her perceptions into the house and recoiled. The fear again. She squared her narrow shoulders and marched up the flagstone walk to press the doorbell. In her own heart was not fear but dawning anger at whatever had so many people unnerved and a determination to set things right. She leaned on the doorbell angrily.
As the door opened, a heavyset girl slightly younger than she was, with wild curly black hair, lunged to embrace her as if drowning and clutching at someone to pull her out of the water. "Cindy! Oh my God, I'm so glad you're here! If anyone can help me, it's you!"
II.
In a few minutes, they were locked in Olivia's room on the second floor, sitting on the same overly soft double bed where they had spent so many hours gossiping and daydreaming and listening to records as children. But now Olivia was so tense that she about ready to snap and her voice was low and taut. "I couldn't talk on the phone the other day," she began. "My mother was in the house and she might have been listening in on the extension. But thank God you came here."
Cindy reached over and took both of Olivia's hands. She had tossed her ski jacket to one side and was revealed to be wearing a heavy white sweater with a rollneck collar. "Okay, I'm here now. What's the problem? What has got you so worked up?"
"It's my mother. She's not the same person, I mean she looks exactly the same, right down to that scar by her chin she got as a child. Her voice sounds the same, and she is trying to act the same. But she gets things wrong. She says things Mom would never ever say, her habits are all changed, I catch her watching me with a blank expression."
"Wait, what are you saying?" asked Cindy, even though she was already picking up on the truth.
"I know it makes me sound insane, but I think someone is impersonating my mother. Someone like, I don't know, an identical twin physically but different inside. There's an imposter posing as my mother!" Olivia was staring into Cindy's eyes, obviously ready to go to pieces.
"And what does your father think?"
"We haven't dared say anything with her around," Olivia whispered. "But he's giving me these desperate looks. He's staying out more and more, coming home late, going on errands just to get out of the house. He looks like he's terrified."
"All right, listen," Cindy said. "Olivia, you know I'm kind of psychic."
"Absolutely. You always have been, even when we were five years old."
"It's more than that," the blonde told her friend. "I am a telepath. I can read minds and I can send thoughts. That's why I moved to the city, to get some training from an expert. I'm going to help you. I swear I will straighten this out. Do you trust me?"
"With. My. Life. Cindy, I always knew you had gifts. Oh God, there's the front door."
The little blonde was looking down at the floor as if staring right through it. "Olivia... it's almost your mother, but not quite. As if she has changed in a dozen ways overnight." She turned those dark blue eyes up at her childhood friend. "Play it cool until I figure things out."
A woman's voice called up, "Olivia! Help me with the groceries, okay?"
"Coming!" the daughter sang out. She got up and gave an imploring stare at her friend. "Cin?"
"I'm coming with you," the blonde said, following her downstairs. A heavyset woman in her forties who looked very much like Olivia was dropping paper grocery bags on the kitchen table. The door was still open, letting in freezing air.
"Oh, Cindy, hi!" said the woman cheerfully. "You're a surprise. Back from Manhattan?"
"Just for a day or so," the telepath answered, "I got homesick. How've you been, Mrs Esposito?"
"Eh, a few years older and a few pounds heavier," the woman said. "Olivia, get the groceries quick, I need to put these away. Cindy, are you staying for supper?"
"I'd love it," said the little blonde. "Is it too much to hope for your lasagna?"
"Lasagna," Mrs Esposito repeated dubiously. "I was thinking black beans and rice."
"Sounds delish," Cindy said as she went to help Olivia. The two of them got the rest of the groceries, closed the car door and headed back inside. Olivia whispered, "She never made black beans and rice in her life."
III.
Mitch Esposito came home from work and they all sat down to an uncomfortable supper. Cindy took over the burden of conversation with wild tales of New York City, including the night she wandered into a cross-dresser bar by mistake and came out of the bathroom with a face the hue of a tomato. "But I hung around another hour anyway to be friendly, and got two free drinks," she added.
Eventually, the father excused himself with the NEW YORK TIMES to the living room, while Mrs Esposito declined offers of help and began cleaning up. Olivia fixed beseeching eyes on Cindy, who gave her a nod and asked, "Okay if Olivia takes me around town for an hour or two? I wanna see how things have changed. She says the stadium has been revamped."
"I don't see why not," the mother replied absently. "No drinking!"
"Us? Never happen." Cindy fetched her ski jacket and headed for the door. "Hey, Olivia, is that used record store still uptown?" she asked as they went through the door. Once in the mother's Ford Taurus, though, the cheerfulness dropped away from both of them.
As she eased out into traffic and headed toward the uptown shopping plaza, Olivia started to sniffle. "You see what I mean? You see!"
"Yes." Cindy's voice was very subdued. "I can't sugarcoat it. Either that's someone impersonating your mother or your mother has changed so drastically she's almost a different person. Maybe a stroke might cause that or schizophrenia. I can't decide. But the worst part is that she's keeping a big secret locked up."
"Dear God," Olivia said and started to cry for real. She pulled over in front of a supermarket and waited until it slowed down. "Everything I was afraid of. What could have happened? I don't understand it, Cindy!"
The little blonde wrapped her fingers around Olivia's bigger hand. "I don't get it either, hon. I can't probe into her mind too deeply without her being aware of it and I don't want that yet. Listen. Drive around for a while, just random. Up one street and down another."
Fifteen minutes passed, with Olivia waiting anxiously for Cindy to say something. Finally, she stopped at a red light and blurted, "You're making me hysterical. Tell me something, anything."
The blonde lowered her head and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "Very bad news, hon. It's not just your mother acting this way. I've gotten snatches from at least eight people facing the same problems. Sons, cousins, co-workers... all acting as if they have been replaced by nearly perfect imitations. I honestly don't know what to make of it."
"It's like an invasion of some kind...."
Cindy stroked Olivia's shoulder in an attempt to comfort. "I need to investigate further. Listen. Let me off at the next corner. I'll call a taxi to get back to your house. You tell your mother that I went with some friends we ran into, but you're tired. You go to bed and don't worry. I'm going to fix this mess somehow."
"What, you want me to just leave you uptown this time of night?"
The blonde grinned for the first time that day. "Come on, I've been living in the Big Apple, remember? I'm tough as a Marine. Right here is good, stop for a second. I'll be back at your house later tonight so leave the back door unlocked." Cindy unsnapped her seat belt and slid out. "Try and get some sleep, hon," she said as she started walking up a side street.
The Ford Taurus rolled away, and Cindy Brunner watched it go with a heavy heart. Maybrook was under some weird siege. Its people apparently were being replaced one at a time and she had no idea how or what it meant. She had a dismal feeling of being way out of her depth. As she trudged through the cold and the dark side streets, Cindy wondered if she should call Kenneth Dred. She had only studied under the old man for a few months and hadn't spoken to him in two years, but they had been on very good terms. Dred was a genuine expert on the occult and the supernatural, what he referred to as 'the Midnight War.'
As the thought crossed her mind, Cindy stopped motionless and watched a thin young man dressed all in black race across a backyard and flatten against the side of a house. Two men were following him at a trot. Cindy picked up on the minds of the two pursuers and she winced at the murderous thoughts dominating them. She hesitated, then started walking quickly toward the house. She had to warn the man in black. To her complete surprise, as the two pursuers rounded the side of the house, the black-clad young man pounced on them and there was a barrage of sharp cracking noises. The men were flung violently away, landing face down and showing no signs of inclination to get up again. The punches had been so fast she had not seen them even though she was looking right at the scene.
Tugging the limp forms deeper into the shadows behind the house, the man in black straightened up and dusted his palms together dismissively. Cindy could not read his mind, it was too tightly controlled to allow her to glimpse anything but a hard flat surface. A second later, the young man strode quickly past her, and as he glanced at her in passing, she got a shiver at the sight of a narrow face with short black hair and the palest coldest grey eyes she had ever imagined.
IV.
The stranger was walking faster than most people could run, but she started openly following him at a jog. Her mind kept trying to get a fix on his, to pick up his name or why those two men had been following him or where he was going, but it was hopeless. His thoughts were opaque. It was like trying to see through a bowling ball, she decided.
A few cars went by. It was cold and dark but only nine at night and the streets were far from deserted. Up ahead, a Stewart's sat in its own little parking lot. Just before the Stewart's, a big old Buick Regal was sitting against the curb and she saw the stranger was heading straight for it. Worse, she realized he was going to reach it before she could catch up to him. Without realizing she was going to do it, Cindy blasted a telepathic message into his mind, "STOP!"
That brought him up short. The stranger swung around as if stung by a wasp, fixing those grey eyes on her suspiciously. She was almost within arm's reach. "I need to talk to you," she called out.
"A telepath?" the man asked in a quiet voice. "Well. Maybe you might have some answers. Get in." Opening the driver's door, he reached across and unlocked the passenger side before getting behind the wheel.
Surprising herself again, Cindy Brunner quickly got in a car not only with a strange man, but one she had just seen punch out two big guys effortlessly. She wasn't afraid for some reason but just excited. As he buckled his seat belt and started up the car, she got a good look at him under the streetlamp.
He was about her own age, no more than twenty or so. Dressed all in black, a long topcoat with a turtleneck collar showing under it. The stranger had a narrow face with a straight nose, thin lips and heavy eyebrows over those startling pale eyes. His short tousled hair was black. As the car warmed up for a second, he inspected her suspiciously and she met his gaze with open curiosity.
"My name is Cindy," she said at last. "Yes, I'm a telepath. I saw what happened with you and those two men. But I have to ask. Do you know what's going on in this town?"
He did not answer immediately, examining her expression as he evidently thought things over first. "I don't feel you digging around in my brain, Cindy. Thanks for that. Okay, my name is Bane. Jeremy Bane. I'm investigating the strange events in Maybrook and apparently someone doesn't like me asking so many questions. Those jokers started following me so I cut across somebody's yard so I could discourage them." He glanced over a shoulder and pulled out onto Lark Street. "As to what's going on here, maybe you should tell me what you know first."
Cindy was still not getting anywhere with reading his thoughts, and this was something new to her. He didn't have any strange powers or anything, he was just very repressed and defensive. Basically, his mind was closed off. She found this oddly fascinating, he was the first person she had met who kept some mystery when she probed. Bane intrigued her. "It sounds impossible, but I guess I have to come out with it. A friend of mine's mother isn't the same person any more. She looks exactly the same but her mind is different. I can tell. She's not the only one to be replaced by an imposter. I've picked up thoughts from different people around town who are terrified the same thing is happening to them."
"You're on the right track," Bane told her. "I found two cases. One was the sister of a man who thought either she was crazy or he was. He called Mr Dred and asked for help-"
"Mr Dred? KENNETH Dred?"
"Yeah." He turned to look at her in surprise. "You know Mr Dred?"
"I do. Two years ago, he taught me a few techniques for dealing with my telepathy. Wonderful old man, he was a big help. I was actually thinking of phoning him for advice about this nightmare." Cindy leaned toward Bane without realizing it. "And you know him too?"
"I'm working for him," Bane said. "As a sort of investigator. You know about the Midnight War then."
"Yes," answered Cindy excitedly. "We need to work together on this, Jeremy. Whatever is happening to people of Maybrook, maybe we can stop it if we join forces."
Bane shook his head. "Too dangerous. It'd be useful to have a telepath on hand, but it's just too dangerous for you. Where do you want to be dropped off?"
"Forget it. I'm going with you. We can watch out for each other." Her voice had no uncertainty in it and oddly she felt complete confidence he would give in. She hadn't felt like this before.
"Well," he grudgingly said, "All right for now. But when things get rough, I want you to take off. Deal?"
"We'll see," she said. "What's the next move?"
"I want to investigate your friend's house. Can you distract them with the telepathy while we poke around?"
"Sure. That's something I learned how to do. Make a left here, we need to head to Browning Terrace." Cindy finally buckled her own seat belt and relaxed a bit. She felt immense confidence in this Jeremy Bane, although she couldn't have said why. "Have you been working for Kenneth Dred long?"
"Six months," he told her. "But I've seen some strange things in those six months. Here's Browning Terrace."
"Okay. Pull over at that spot at the end of the block. Let me see what Olivia's family is up to." She peered over at the red brick house. "Her father's asleep. Olivia's deeply asleep too, she's exhausted. The mother- or the imposter, really- is sitting up with a newspaper. She's NOT Stephanie Esposito. I'm sure of it now."
Bane leaned past her to study the house. "They have a basement. We need to get down there. Can you keep the imposter from hearing us sneak around?"
"Sure thing. I'll broadcast silence. It sounds funny when I put it like that, but I'm basically putting out a sort of white noise. It's like having a fan going full blast so someone doesn't hear you tiptoe past." Cindy watched Bane intently. "What are you looking for?"
Not answering, Bane got out of the car and closed the door silently. His all black outfit made him only a vague presence in the gloom. Cindy quickly jumped out of the car herself and started walking with him toward the house before he could object. They walked to the side of the house where a slanting door at waist level led down to the basement. A simple padlock held it closed, and Bane took a set of keys from an inner pocket and began trying them.
Watching him, Cindy sent out what she thought of as "broadcast silence," a telepathic signal that covered up their presence and also kept people driving by from noticing them. This was a trick Dred had taught her and she had gotten good enough at that she could walk in and out of a police station without anyone realizing it. But it took nearly all her attention to keep up.
In a few seconds, Bane had the door unlocked and was heading down steep concrete steps into the blackness. He seemed to accept that she was coming with him, and she closed the door behind them. The young man in black pulled a pencil flashlight out and sent its narrow thread of a beam around a furnished basement that had wood paneling, chairs and a TV set and a card table. A long couch had some blankets folded on it. In one corner was a combination washer and dryer with an empty laundry basket on the floor. Next to that was a heavy wooden door with another padlock.
"Schlage," Bane whispered to himself as he started trying keys. After a few minutes, he put the ring away and took out a small metal box which held curved metal hooks and wires. Silently he worked on the lock until it unfastened with a click, then opened the door. It was a storage closet with odds and ends thrown in there, including a broken vacuuum cleaner, cans of paint and brushes, and some old boots. Hidden in the back was a cylindrical shape wrapped in canvas.
The sickly-sweet odor in that closet was unmistakable. Cindy's heart sank and she found it hard to catch her breath. She had been praying that none of this was true but there was no denying it.
Bane easily pulled the bundle out, untied the ropes holding it together and unrolled the canvas to reveal the body of a woman about forty, with curly black hair and eyes rolled up so only the whites showed. A round blue hole showed between those eyes. He flexed the corpse's fingers experimentally, and glanced over at Cindy. "Dead maybe two days," he whispered barely loud enough to hear.
The fluorescent lights snapped on, blinding in their unexpected brightness. Bane and Cindy both stood up sharply, blinking, and swung to face the steps leading up into the house. Two people stood on those steps, the nearest a smiling woman who resembled the corpse of Mrs Esposito to the last detail. Next to her was a tall old man with long silver hair, pointing a Browning 9mm directly at them. He was grinning.
V.
"You're going to wake the family up," Bane said as calmly as if he always had an automatic trained on him.
"After the amount of drugs they ate with supper? I don't think so," said the old man. He seemed to find the situation immensely amusing. "We could burn the house down and they would not rouse. I do believe I know you. The Dire Wolf, isn't it? You have been tracking down the children of the night for Kenneth Dred for some time now."
"Some people call me that," Bane said. He took one step forward, moving slightly in front of Cindy as if to protect her. "And your name would be?"
"Onslow Vardoger. Oh, I see you haven't heard of me. Just as well. We doppelgangers are happy to be unsuspected." He gestured with the barrel of the automatic. "Please. Be so kind as to bundle that carcass up again. We haven't had time yet to smuggle it out into the woods."
Very slowly, the young Dire Wolf got to his knees and rolled the canvas tightly around the body again, pulling the ropes taut and starting to tie them. As he worked, he turned those grey eyes on Vardoger. "Doppelgangers, huh? Haven't run into you guys before. Your game is replacing people with imposters, I guess."
"Oh, it goes deeper than that. You may know the folklore about us, that for every living Human there is an exact duplicate somewhere in the world, an evil twin. That isn't quite right. We are sent here. The Dread One fashions us from his subjects to be duplicates and we come to your realm as spies and instigators."
Bane finished wrapping the body but made no move to rise again. "What's the point? Where are you doppelgangers going with all this?"
"So far, just mischief for its own sake. But Draldros has decided to step up the game. We replace commoners and cause misery and fear on a small scale, but now our Master wants to start replacing leaders. Heads of state, presidents, corporation executives. Imagine a doppelganger in the White House, the Kremlin, the CEO seat of Standard Oil. We can stir up wars and disasters. A new Dark Age will creep over your world."
Still moving as slowly as possible, the Dire Wolf stood up and tugged the bundled corpse back into the closet. He glared over one shoulder at the white-haired old man with the gun. "You still haven't explained why. What do you get out of it?"
Vardoger looked like a kindly old doctor, with his bushy eyebrows and a lined face. He was very well dressed in a dark blue suit complete with vest, even his leather shoes were neatly polished. It was the smile that gave him away, the mouth smiling while the eyes remained cold and untouched. "You don't know about the Dread One, do you? Causing grief to the sons of Man IS his purpose. From Fanedral, he launches one assault after another on you fools."
"Well, I can see I'm not going to get a straight answer out of you," Bane said. He stepped in front of Cindy again and stood with his arms folded across his chest. "Any more of you upstairs?"
"Why do you ask?" replied Vardoger with the smile faltering.
Bane allowed himself a faint predatory smile of his own. His arms straightened with whiplash speed, faster than a real wolf striking, and there was a glitter in the air as a slim throwing dagger spun to thump hard into the center of Vardoger's chest. The old man gasped as if splashed with cold water, staring down in disbelief at the black hilt protruding from his heart. He was already falling to his knees when the Dire Wolf had leaped across the basement, shoving Vardoger aside and plunging a second dagger into the doppelganger who looked like Mrs Esposito. It was all over in an instant, so quietly that someone sitting upstairs might not have even heard it.
Tugging the matched daggers free, the Dire Wolf cleaned the silver blades carefully on Vardoger's shirt before replacing them to the sheaths he wore strapped beneath his sleeves. Only then did he turn to see Cindy Brunner staring at him with eyes that seemed ready to bulge out of their sockets.
"Sorry you had to watch that," he said. "But I had no choice. My guess is this geezer's boss, Draldros or whatever his name is, intended to replace the two of us as well."
"I can't believe it..so quick. I could hardly follow what happened," Cindy whispered. "You killed both of them, just like that. I was about to attack him mentally but I never got a chance."
Bane raised his voice just a little, with an edge creeping in it. "Your friend's mother has at least been avenged. Her killers have been punished. I'm sorry there's no way to return Olivia's mother to her. The best I can do is to arrange the body of Vardoger there so the police find him and Mrs Esposito's corpse together. The bullet in her should match the ballistics on his Browning. At least this way, the husband or the daughter won't be suspected of her murder."
"Wait. How...?"
"I'm going to leave both Vardoger and Mrs Esposito out in the woods where they'll be found. How he died will remain a mystery to the cops, hopefully. As for the imposter Mrs Esposito, well, a shallow grave somewhere is the best end for her. I've got a lot of work to do tonight." He looked down into her face thoughtfully. "Are you still willing to help me? I sure need some help with this."
Cindy nodded and her voice broke as she answered. "Ah, yes. Sure. I'll distract anyone going by when you move the... the bodies. I can do that much."
"Good. You've got strong nerves, Cindy. I like that." He went to get blankets off the couch on the other side of the basement. "I'll do the dirty work, you just keep me unnoticed."
"Jeremy?"
He stopped and looked back at her.
"There are other doppelgangers in Maybrook. I felt some minds with the same fear and uncertainty that Olivia felt. What are we going to do about them?" She held up her hands in a pleading gesture. "Other people are going through what the Espositos are going through. We have to help."
The young Dire Wolf hesitated. "I guess I'll come back and investigate when the commotion dies down. It'll be a while. When these bodies are found, the authorities will be running around in circles trying to pin the murders on someone and I had better not be in the area if I don't want to end up in prison. Same for you. We both need to get out of the area for a few months."
"And then come back to look for those doppelgangers?" she persisted.
"Yes," Bane said as he unfolded a blanket. "That's a promise. I'll return to track down these monsters."
"WE will return," she said and reached to take a blanket from him.
2/6/2015.
1/4- 1/5/1978
I.
As the Greyhound bus swung under the canopy of the terminal, its air brakes made sure no one aboard was still napping. Sitting close to the front, Cindy Brunner gazed apprehensively out at Maybrook. Much more than a normal person, her telepathic mind picked up the local mood and she felt an uneasy crawling impression of fear scattered among the people of Maybrook like sparks ready to start a fire. The fear was uncertain and repressed, as if no one wanted to face it directly. The blonde frowned, zipping up her blue ski jacket and tugging a wool hat from its pocket. She had never experienced anything quite like this. Quite a few minds in the area were terrified but in isolation.. they were not aware of others in the same situation.
Cindy hadn't been here in years. Not since she had moved to Manhattan. On a chilly dim January morning under an overcast sky, she saw the diner was still directly across Forsythe Avenue and the Friendly's ice cream parlor was next to it. But the store next to them was closed and its signs taken down, and she could not quite remember what it had been. Ah, a shoe store, that was it. As the bus doors opened and everyone jammed the aisles to get off, she waited. On the seat next to her was her small knapsack with only its change of clothes and a few personal items. As the last figure went past, the telepath got up and hauled her knapsack with her to step out into a bitter wind.
At nineteen, Cindy's small size and babyface made her look even younger to the point where people often gave her worried looks as if to ask, where is that kid going by herself? Not quite an inch over five feet tall and seldom hitting a hundred pounds, it was her well-developed breasts that made it most clear she was not a minor but the insulated ski jacket disguised those curves as well. Cindy's dark blonde hair was tied back in a thick ponytail under the black wool hat, and her normally pale skin was even whiter because of the wind chill. She grimaced and hurried inside the terminal to get out of the cold.
Inside was better but not that much. A knee-high electric heater in one corner already had two people looming over it. Cindy went over to the two phones set in the far wall, dugs in her jeans for change and called Olivia's number. Reluctantly, after it rang for over a minute, she hung up and started pacing. Now she was getting genuinely anxious. When Olivia had called her in the city the day before, she hadn't asked Cindy to come to Maybrook. That had been Cindy's idea. She had tried calling before getting on the bus at Port Authority but there had been no answer. No, still not being able to reach her longtime friend was worrying her. Someone should be home, Olivia's parents or her brother. The blonde telepath got the change in hand and tried again, with still no answer.
"You all right, miss?" asked the fat old man in uniform. He leaned over the counter toward her and Cindy picked up no lechery or sleaze in his mind. The old guy was just being helpful. She asked him for the number of the local taxi company, got it and thanked him with a warm smile. In five minutes a rather beat-up cab with a blue roof pulled up and she hurried to hop in the back seat. To her relief, the driver was in his shirtsleeves and he had the cab's heater blowing full blast.
Giving him Olivia's address, 19 Browning Terrace in one of the ritzier neighborhoods of Maybrook, Cindy slumped in the back street and took deep breaths. Why was she so panicky? Because her friend was not answering the phone? No, because so many people in Maybrook were walking around with terror freezing their thoughts and her gifted mind was picking up on it. Cindy remembered what Kenneth Dred had taught her, the technique to muffle outside thoughts. Focussing on her own mind, her own sensations, helped. By the time they pulled up to Browning Terrace, Cindy felt calm and confident again. She paid the driver, saw in his mind that he was instantly smitten with her, and gave him a rather sad farewell smile.
Standing in front of the immaculate two-story red brick home with its attached garage and trimmed hedges, Cindy Brunner extended her perceptions into the house and recoiled. The fear again. She squared her narrow shoulders and marched up the flagstone walk to press the doorbell. In her own heart was not fear but dawning anger at whatever had so many people unnerved and a determination to set things right. She leaned on the doorbell angrily.
As the door opened, a heavyset girl slightly younger than she was, with wild curly black hair, lunged to embrace her as if drowning and clutching at someone to pull her out of the water. "Cindy! Oh my God, I'm so glad you're here! If anyone can help me, it's you!"
II.
In a few minutes, they were locked in Olivia's room on the second floor, sitting on the same overly soft double bed where they had spent so many hours gossiping and daydreaming and listening to records as children. But now Olivia was so tense that she about ready to snap and her voice was low and taut. "I couldn't talk on the phone the other day," she began. "My mother was in the house and she might have been listening in on the extension. But thank God you came here."
Cindy reached over and took both of Olivia's hands. She had tossed her ski jacket to one side and was revealed to be wearing a heavy white sweater with a rollneck collar. "Okay, I'm here now. What's the problem? What has got you so worked up?"
"It's my mother. She's not the same person, I mean she looks exactly the same, right down to that scar by her chin she got as a child. Her voice sounds the same, and she is trying to act the same. But she gets things wrong. She says things Mom would never ever say, her habits are all changed, I catch her watching me with a blank expression."
"Wait, what are you saying?" asked Cindy, even though she was already picking up on the truth.
"I know it makes me sound insane, but I think someone is impersonating my mother. Someone like, I don't know, an identical twin physically but different inside. There's an imposter posing as my mother!" Olivia was staring into Cindy's eyes, obviously ready to go to pieces.
"And what does your father think?"
"We haven't dared say anything with her around," Olivia whispered. "But he's giving me these desperate looks. He's staying out more and more, coming home late, going on errands just to get out of the house. He looks like he's terrified."
"All right, listen," Cindy said. "Olivia, you know I'm kind of psychic."
"Absolutely. You always have been, even when we were five years old."
"It's more than that," the blonde told her friend. "I am a telepath. I can read minds and I can send thoughts. That's why I moved to the city, to get some training from an expert. I'm going to help you. I swear I will straighten this out. Do you trust me?"
"With. My. Life. Cindy, I always knew you had gifts. Oh God, there's the front door."
The little blonde was looking down at the floor as if staring right through it. "Olivia... it's almost your mother, but not quite. As if she has changed in a dozen ways overnight." She turned those dark blue eyes up at her childhood friend. "Play it cool until I figure things out."
A woman's voice called up, "Olivia! Help me with the groceries, okay?"
"Coming!" the daughter sang out. She got up and gave an imploring stare at her friend. "Cin?"
"I'm coming with you," the blonde said, following her downstairs. A heavyset woman in her forties who looked very much like Olivia was dropping paper grocery bags on the kitchen table. The door was still open, letting in freezing air.
"Oh, Cindy, hi!" said the woman cheerfully. "You're a surprise. Back from Manhattan?"
"Just for a day or so," the telepath answered, "I got homesick. How've you been, Mrs Esposito?"
"Eh, a few years older and a few pounds heavier," the woman said. "Olivia, get the groceries quick, I need to put these away. Cindy, are you staying for supper?"
"I'd love it," said the little blonde. "Is it too much to hope for your lasagna?"
"Lasagna," Mrs Esposito repeated dubiously. "I was thinking black beans and rice."
"Sounds delish," Cindy said as she went to help Olivia. The two of them got the rest of the groceries, closed the car door and headed back inside. Olivia whispered, "She never made black beans and rice in her life."
III.
Mitch Esposito came home from work and they all sat down to an uncomfortable supper. Cindy took over the burden of conversation with wild tales of New York City, including the night she wandered into a cross-dresser bar by mistake and came out of the bathroom with a face the hue of a tomato. "But I hung around another hour anyway to be friendly, and got two free drinks," she added.
Eventually, the father excused himself with the NEW YORK TIMES to the living room, while Mrs Esposito declined offers of help and began cleaning up. Olivia fixed beseeching eyes on Cindy, who gave her a nod and asked, "Okay if Olivia takes me around town for an hour or two? I wanna see how things have changed. She says the stadium has been revamped."
"I don't see why not," the mother replied absently. "No drinking!"
"Us? Never happen." Cindy fetched her ski jacket and headed for the door. "Hey, Olivia, is that used record store still uptown?" she asked as they went through the door. Once in the mother's Ford Taurus, though, the cheerfulness dropped away from both of them.
As she eased out into traffic and headed toward the uptown shopping plaza, Olivia started to sniffle. "You see what I mean? You see!"
"Yes." Cindy's voice was very subdued. "I can't sugarcoat it. Either that's someone impersonating your mother or your mother has changed so drastically she's almost a different person. Maybe a stroke might cause that or schizophrenia. I can't decide. But the worst part is that she's keeping a big secret locked up."
"Dear God," Olivia said and started to cry for real. She pulled over in front of a supermarket and waited until it slowed down. "Everything I was afraid of. What could have happened? I don't understand it, Cindy!"
The little blonde wrapped her fingers around Olivia's bigger hand. "I don't get it either, hon. I can't probe into her mind too deeply without her being aware of it and I don't want that yet. Listen. Drive around for a while, just random. Up one street and down another."
Fifteen minutes passed, with Olivia waiting anxiously for Cindy to say something. Finally, she stopped at a red light and blurted, "You're making me hysterical. Tell me something, anything."
The blonde lowered her head and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "Very bad news, hon. It's not just your mother acting this way. I've gotten snatches from at least eight people facing the same problems. Sons, cousins, co-workers... all acting as if they have been replaced by nearly perfect imitations. I honestly don't know what to make of it."
"It's like an invasion of some kind...."
Cindy stroked Olivia's shoulder in an attempt to comfort. "I need to investigate further. Listen. Let me off at the next corner. I'll call a taxi to get back to your house. You tell your mother that I went with some friends we ran into, but you're tired. You go to bed and don't worry. I'm going to fix this mess somehow."
"What, you want me to just leave you uptown this time of night?"
The blonde grinned for the first time that day. "Come on, I've been living in the Big Apple, remember? I'm tough as a Marine. Right here is good, stop for a second. I'll be back at your house later tonight so leave the back door unlocked." Cindy unsnapped her seat belt and slid out. "Try and get some sleep, hon," she said as she started walking up a side street.
The Ford Taurus rolled away, and Cindy Brunner watched it go with a heavy heart. Maybrook was under some weird siege. Its people apparently were being replaced one at a time and she had no idea how or what it meant. She had a dismal feeling of being way out of her depth. As she trudged through the cold and the dark side streets, Cindy wondered if she should call Kenneth Dred. She had only studied under the old man for a few months and hadn't spoken to him in two years, but they had been on very good terms. Dred was a genuine expert on the occult and the supernatural, what he referred to as 'the Midnight War.'
As the thought crossed her mind, Cindy stopped motionless and watched a thin young man dressed all in black race across a backyard and flatten against the side of a house. Two men were following him at a trot. Cindy picked up on the minds of the two pursuers and she winced at the murderous thoughts dominating them. She hesitated, then started walking quickly toward the house. She had to warn the man in black. To her complete surprise, as the two pursuers rounded the side of the house, the black-clad young man pounced on them and there was a barrage of sharp cracking noises. The men were flung violently away, landing face down and showing no signs of inclination to get up again. The punches had been so fast she had not seen them even though she was looking right at the scene.
Tugging the limp forms deeper into the shadows behind the house, the man in black straightened up and dusted his palms together dismissively. Cindy could not read his mind, it was too tightly controlled to allow her to glimpse anything but a hard flat surface. A second later, the young man strode quickly past her, and as he glanced at her in passing, she got a shiver at the sight of a narrow face with short black hair and the palest coldest grey eyes she had ever imagined.
IV.
The stranger was walking faster than most people could run, but she started openly following him at a jog. Her mind kept trying to get a fix on his, to pick up his name or why those two men had been following him or where he was going, but it was hopeless. His thoughts were opaque. It was like trying to see through a bowling ball, she decided.
A few cars went by. It was cold and dark but only nine at night and the streets were far from deserted. Up ahead, a Stewart's sat in its own little parking lot. Just before the Stewart's, a big old Buick Regal was sitting against the curb and she saw the stranger was heading straight for it. Worse, she realized he was going to reach it before she could catch up to him. Without realizing she was going to do it, Cindy blasted a telepathic message into his mind, "STOP!"
That brought him up short. The stranger swung around as if stung by a wasp, fixing those grey eyes on her suspiciously. She was almost within arm's reach. "I need to talk to you," she called out.
"A telepath?" the man asked in a quiet voice. "Well. Maybe you might have some answers. Get in." Opening the driver's door, he reached across and unlocked the passenger side before getting behind the wheel.
Surprising herself again, Cindy Brunner quickly got in a car not only with a strange man, but one she had just seen punch out two big guys effortlessly. She wasn't afraid for some reason but just excited. As he buckled his seat belt and started up the car, she got a good look at him under the streetlamp.
He was about her own age, no more than twenty or so. Dressed all in black, a long topcoat with a turtleneck collar showing under it. The stranger had a narrow face with a straight nose, thin lips and heavy eyebrows over those startling pale eyes. His short tousled hair was black. As the car warmed up for a second, he inspected her suspiciously and she met his gaze with open curiosity.
"My name is Cindy," she said at last. "Yes, I'm a telepath. I saw what happened with you and those two men. But I have to ask. Do you know what's going on in this town?"
He did not answer immediately, examining her expression as he evidently thought things over first. "I don't feel you digging around in my brain, Cindy. Thanks for that. Okay, my name is Bane. Jeremy Bane. I'm investigating the strange events in Maybrook and apparently someone doesn't like me asking so many questions. Those jokers started following me so I cut across somebody's yard so I could discourage them." He glanced over a shoulder and pulled out onto Lark Street. "As to what's going on here, maybe you should tell me what you know first."
Cindy was still not getting anywhere with reading his thoughts, and this was something new to her. He didn't have any strange powers or anything, he was just very repressed and defensive. Basically, his mind was closed off. She found this oddly fascinating, he was the first person she had met who kept some mystery when she probed. Bane intrigued her. "It sounds impossible, but I guess I have to come out with it. A friend of mine's mother isn't the same person any more. She looks exactly the same but her mind is different. I can tell. She's not the only one to be replaced by an imposter. I've picked up thoughts from different people around town who are terrified the same thing is happening to them."
"You're on the right track," Bane told her. "I found two cases. One was the sister of a man who thought either she was crazy or he was. He called Mr Dred and asked for help-"
"Mr Dred? KENNETH Dred?"
"Yeah." He turned to look at her in surprise. "You know Mr Dred?"
"I do. Two years ago, he taught me a few techniques for dealing with my telepathy. Wonderful old man, he was a big help. I was actually thinking of phoning him for advice about this nightmare." Cindy leaned toward Bane without realizing it. "And you know him too?"
"I'm working for him," Bane said. "As a sort of investigator. You know about the Midnight War then."
"Yes," answered Cindy excitedly. "We need to work together on this, Jeremy. Whatever is happening to people of Maybrook, maybe we can stop it if we join forces."
Bane shook his head. "Too dangerous. It'd be useful to have a telepath on hand, but it's just too dangerous for you. Where do you want to be dropped off?"
"Forget it. I'm going with you. We can watch out for each other." Her voice had no uncertainty in it and oddly she felt complete confidence he would give in. She hadn't felt like this before.
"Well," he grudgingly said, "All right for now. But when things get rough, I want you to take off. Deal?"
"We'll see," she said. "What's the next move?"
"I want to investigate your friend's house. Can you distract them with the telepathy while we poke around?"
"Sure. That's something I learned how to do. Make a left here, we need to head to Browning Terrace." Cindy finally buckled her own seat belt and relaxed a bit. She felt immense confidence in this Jeremy Bane, although she couldn't have said why. "Have you been working for Kenneth Dred long?"
"Six months," he told her. "But I've seen some strange things in those six months. Here's Browning Terrace."
"Okay. Pull over at that spot at the end of the block. Let me see what Olivia's family is up to." She peered over at the red brick house. "Her father's asleep. Olivia's deeply asleep too, she's exhausted. The mother- or the imposter, really- is sitting up with a newspaper. She's NOT Stephanie Esposito. I'm sure of it now."
Bane leaned past her to study the house. "They have a basement. We need to get down there. Can you keep the imposter from hearing us sneak around?"
"Sure thing. I'll broadcast silence. It sounds funny when I put it like that, but I'm basically putting out a sort of white noise. It's like having a fan going full blast so someone doesn't hear you tiptoe past." Cindy watched Bane intently. "What are you looking for?"
Not answering, Bane got out of the car and closed the door silently. His all black outfit made him only a vague presence in the gloom. Cindy quickly jumped out of the car herself and started walking with him toward the house before he could object. They walked to the side of the house where a slanting door at waist level led down to the basement. A simple padlock held it closed, and Bane took a set of keys from an inner pocket and began trying them.
Watching him, Cindy sent out what she thought of as "broadcast silence," a telepathic signal that covered up their presence and also kept people driving by from noticing them. This was a trick Dred had taught her and she had gotten good enough at that she could walk in and out of a police station without anyone realizing it. But it took nearly all her attention to keep up.
In a few seconds, Bane had the door unlocked and was heading down steep concrete steps into the blackness. He seemed to accept that she was coming with him, and she closed the door behind them. The young man in black pulled a pencil flashlight out and sent its narrow thread of a beam around a furnished basement that had wood paneling, chairs and a TV set and a card table. A long couch had some blankets folded on it. In one corner was a combination washer and dryer with an empty laundry basket on the floor. Next to that was a heavy wooden door with another padlock.
"Schlage," Bane whispered to himself as he started trying keys. After a few minutes, he put the ring away and took out a small metal box which held curved metal hooks and wires. Silently he worked on the lock until it unfastened with a click, then opened the door. It was a storage closet with odds and ends thrown in there, including a broken vacuuum cleaner, cans of paint and brushes, and some old boots. Hidden in the back was a cylindrical shape wrapped in canvas.
The sickly-sweet odor in that closet was unmistakable. Cindy's heart sank and she found it hard to catch her breath. She had been praying that none of this was true but there was no denying it.
Bane easily pulled the bundle out, untied the ropes holding it together and unrolled the canvas to reveal the body of a woman about forty, with curly black hair and eyes rolled up so only the whites showed. A round blue hole showed between those eyes. He flexed the corpse's fingers experimentally, and glanced over at Cindy. "Dead maybe two days," he whispered barely loud enough to hear.
The fluorescent lights snapped on, blinding in their unexpected brightness. Bane and Cindy both stood up sharply, blinking, and swung to face the steps leading up into the house. Two people stood on those steps, the nearest a smiling woman who resembled the corpse of Mrs Esposito to the last detail. Next to her was a tall old man with long silver hair, pointing a Browning 9mm directly at them. He was grinning.
V.
"You're going to wake the family up," Bane said as calmly as if he always had an automatic trained on him.
"After the amount of drugs they ate with supper? I don't think so," said the old man. He seemed to find the situation immensely amusing. "We could burn the house down and they would not rouse. I do believe I know you. The Dire Wolf, isn't it? You have been tracking down the children of the night for Kenneth Dred for some time now."
"Some people call me that," Bane said. He took one step forward, moving slightly in front of Cindy as if to protect her. "And your name would be?"
"Onslow Vardoger. Oh, I see you haven't heard of me. Just as well. We doppelgangers are happy to be unsuspected." He gestured with the barrel of the automatic. "Please. Be so kind as to bundle that carcass up again. We haven't had time yet to smuggle it out into the woods."
Very slowly, the young Dire Wolf got to his knees and rolled the canvas tightly around the body again, pulling the ropes taut and starting to tie them. As he worked, he turned those grey eyes on Vardoger. "Doppelgangers, huh? Haven't run into you guys before. Your game is replacing people with imposters, I guess."
"Oh, it goes deeper than that. You may know the folklore about us, that for every living Human there is an exact duplicate somewhere in the world, an evil twin. That isn't quite right. We are sent here. The Dread One fashions us from his subjects to be duplicates and we come to your realm as spies and instigators."
Bane finished wrapping the body but made no move to rise again. "What's the point? Where are you doppelgangers going with all this?"
"So far, just mischief for its own sake. But Draldros has decided to step up the game. We replace commoners and cause misery and fear on a small scale, but now our Master wants to start replacing leaders. Heads of state, presidents, corporation executives. Imagine a doppelganger in the White House, the Kremlin, the CEO seat of Standard Oil. We can stir up wars and disasters. A new Dark Age will creep over your world."
Still moving as slowly as possible, the Dire Wolf stood up and tugged the bundled corpse back into the closet. He glared over one shoulder at the white-haired old man with the gun. "You still haven't explained why. What do you get out of it?"
Vardoger looked like a kindly old doctor, with his bushy eyebrows and a lined face. He was very well dressed in a dark blue suit complete with vest, even his leather shoes were neatly polished. It was the smile that gave him away, the mouth smiling while the eyes remained cold and untouched. "You don't know about the Dread One, do you? Causing grief to the sons of Man IS his purpose. From Fanedral, he launches one assault after another on you fools."
"Well, I can see I'm not going to get a straight answer out of you," Bane said. He stepped in front of Cindy again and stood with his arms folded across his chest. "Any more of you upstairs?"
"Why do you ask?" replied Vardoger with the smile faltering.
Bane allowed himself a faint predatory smile of his own. His arms straightened with whiplash speed, faster than a real wolf striking, and there was a glitter in the air as a slim throwing dagger spun to thump hard into the center of Vardoger's chest. The old man gasped as if splashed with cold water, staring down in disbelief at the black hilt protruding from his heart. He was already falling to his knees when the Dire Wolf had leaped across the basement, shoving Vardoger aside and plunging a second dagger into the doppelganger who looked like Mrs Esposito. It was all over in an instant, so quietly that someone sitting upstairs might not have even heard it.
Tugging the matched daggers free, the Dire Wolf cleaned the silver blades carefully on Vardoger's shirt before replacing them to the sheaths he wore strapped beneath his sleeves. Only then did he turn to see Cindy Brunner staring at him with eyes that seemed ready to bulge out of their sockets.
"Sorry you had to watch that," he said. "But I had no choice. My guess is this geezer's boss, Draldros or whatever his name is, intended to replace the two of us as well."
"I can't believe it..so quick. I could hardly follow what happened," Cindy whispered. "You killed both of them, just like that. I was about to attack him mentally but I never got a chance."
Bane raised his voice just a little, with an edge creeping in it. "Your friend's mother has at least been avenged. Her killers have been punished. I'm sorry there's no way to return Olivia's mother to her. The best I can do is to arrange the body of Vardoger there so the police find him and Mrs Esposito's corpse together. The bullet in her should match the ballistics on his Browning. At least this way, the husband or the daughter won't be suspected of her murder."
"Wait. How...?"
"I'm going to leave both Vardoger and Mrs Esposito out in the woods where they'll be found. How he died will remain a mystery to the cops, hopefully. As for the imposter Mrs Esposito, well, a shallow grave somewhere is the best end for her. I've got a lot of work to do tonight." He looked down into her face thoughtfully. "Are you still willing to help me? I sure need some help with this."
Cindy nodded and her voice broke as she answered. "Ah, yes. Sure. I'll distract anyone going by when you move the... the bodies. I can do that much."
"Good. You've got strong nerves, Cindy. I like that." He went to get blankets off the couch on the other side of the basement. "I'll do the dirty work, you just keep me unnoticed."
"Jeremy?"
He stopped and looked back at her.
"There are other doppelgangers in Maybrook. I felt some minds with the same fear and uncertainty that Olivia felt. What are we going to do about them?" She held up her hands in a pleading gesture. "Other people are going through what the Espositos are going through. We have to help."
The young Dire Wolf hesitated. "I guess I'll come back and investigate when the commotion dies down. It'll be a while. When these bodies are found, the authorities will be running around in circles trying to pin the murders on someone and I had better not be in the area if I don't want to end up in prison. Same for you. We both need to get out of the area for a few months."
"And then come back to look for those doppelgangers?" she persisted.
"Yes," Bane said as he unfolded a blanket. "That's a promise. I'll return to track down these monsters."
"WE will return," she said and reached to take a blanket from him.
2/6/2015.
