Of course not.
Because ghosts can’t call elevators, Tom thought.
No, no, no, that couldn’t be right. The elevator was probably broken. He looked around. The stairs. He would use the stairs. He rushed over to them. The receptionist didn’t try to stop him from going up.
Right. Because she doesn’t even know I’m here.
He climbed the stairs quickly with the question repeating and repeating itself in his mind. Did I die? Was that storm the end of me? Am I dead? Am I already dead?
Out of breath, he reached the sixth-floor landing. Karen Lee’s apartment, 6B, was down at the end of the hall. He hurried to it. Knocked at the door. Noticed a doorbell button. Pressed it. He didn’t hear any bell ring.
Of course not.
He knocked again. He called out. “Miss Lee? It’s Tom Harding. From the Sentinel.” No answer. He pounded loudly on the door with his fist. “Miss Lee?”
Panic was rising in him. Am I dead? Am I already dead? He drew back his hand to pound on the door again. But before he could, he heard sounds behind him. A soft clunk. A whir.
He turned around. It was the elevator. It was on the move.
It wasn’t broken, then. He took a few cautious steps down the hall until he could see the numbers above the elevator door. Sure enough, the light was flashing from one number to another as the elevator climbed, from two to three to four. Five. Six.
Tom moved closer. He was right in front of the elevator when it stopped. He was standing and watching as the door slid open.
He could not believe what he saw inside. He gaped wild-eyed, letting out his breath in a single rush.
Tom Harding stood and stared in fear and amazement as Tom Harding stepped out of the elevator into the hall.
25.
A double of himself! A doppelgänger!
Tom would not have thought anything could have frightened him more than he had been frightened already on this terrible day. He did not think anything could have raised in him the sheer terror he had felt when the malevolents broke into his house or could have chilled him the way the ghosts of his memory had in the school. He did not think anything could make his heart turn to ice the way it had when he had looked into the wicked eyes of the Lying Man.
But this was worse than any of that. This was scarier by far.
The sight of his own double made him feel as if his very soul had been stolen from him. His very essence, his very self. Because if this—this thing stepping out of the elevator—if this was Tom Harding, then who was he? What was happening to him?
The doppelgänger came walking toward him—right toward him, as if it didn’t see him standing there. Before Tom realized what was going to happen, before he could react and get out of the way, his double reached him and walked into him—and then walked right through him!
It was the worst thing Tom had ever felt—worse even than the moment when the malevolents had fallen on him. It was sicker than that. The double broke through the boundaries of Tom’s being and Tom felt for a moment that he had become nothing, that he had exploded into atoms and blown away. For an instant, he had no sense of himself, no memory, no presence. For an instant, he was the double and the double was him.
Then it was over. The doppelgänger had passed through him. Tom felt himself come into being again. Only then, with a nauseating shock, did he remember the momentary, sickening sensation of nothingness.
Unsteady, he turned and watched as the doppelgänger continued down the hall as if nothing had happened.
The double approached the door of 6B. He knocked softly. Immediately, a voice Tom recognized, Karen Lee’s voice, answered from within.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Tom,” said the double. “It’s Tom Harding from the Sentinel.”
You’re not! Tom wanted to shout at him. You’re not Tom Harding! I am!
But he didn’t shout. He didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure anymore who he was or what was real or what was true. All he could do was stand there, gaping in silence, as the apartment door slowly opened.
Karen Lee looked out at the doppelgänger. Tom recognized her at once. She was the woman in the white blouse who had stood in his driveway. A small, thin woman about forty or so. Her eyes shifted nervously past the double. She looked down the hall as if she was worried someone else was hiding behind him. Her gaze passed over Tom but didn’t pause. She didn’t see him. She turned back to his double. She spoke to him in a low, rapid voice, almost a whisper.
“I made a mistake,” she said. “I’m sorry, but you have to go.”
“But you were the one who called me,” the doppelgänger answered, looking confused. “You told me I should come.”
“I . . . I was wrong,” said the woman. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t want you here. You have to go.”
She’s afraid, Tom thought as he watched them. And he urged his double in his mind: Don’t leave. Stand your ground. Help her.
The double seemed to obey. “It sounded like it was important,” he said. “It sounded like you really needed to talk to me.”
“I’m telling you,” said Karen Lee urgently, “I can’t. Please. Just go away.”
She started to close the door. Watching the scene, Tom thought: Don’t let her do it. Something’s wrong. Find out what it is.
And, as if the doppelgänger could hear him, he put his hand out, stopping the door, holding it open for a second.
“Wait,” he said. “Please don’t. I can see something’s the matter. You’re afraid. Let me help you.”
Karen Lee hesitated, doubtful. “You can’t. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Then tell me,” said Tom’s doppelgänger. “I can’t do anything if I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Karen Lee looked at him through the gap in the door. The fear was plain in her eyes. Tom’s double let his hand fall—he couldn’t force her to let him in if she didn’t want to. It had to be her decision.
Karen Lee and the doppelgänger stood face-to-face at the half-opened door. Tom watched them in that moment of decision—and all at once, he realized: he knew what was going to happen next. Sure he did. He had lived through this scene already. It was his memory. But it was different from the memories he had seen at the school. Those memories had been ghosts. This one was real—more real than he was. It was he who was the ghost!
Karen Lee hesitated one more moment. Then, as Tom knew she would, she pulled the door open all the way.
“Come in. Quickly,” she said. “Before someone sees you.”
The Tom doppelgänger stepped inside the apartment. Tom himself hurried forward, hoping to slip in behind him. But before he could reach her, Karen Lee shut the door in his face.
Oh no, thought Tom.
Then—another fritz—another skip in the memory video—and Tom was inside the apartment, just like that. He didn’t know how it had happened. He didn’t feel he had passed through the door or anything. He was just suddenly there, that’s all. Standing there like an unseen specter while his own double and Karen Lee confronted each other.
Stunned, Tom looked around—and the doppelgänger looked around—and they saw that the apartment was in shambles.
“He came here,” said Karen Lee. “It was like he was insane.”
The chairs were all turned over on their sides. A lampstand lay toppled. Its lamp lay broken beside it amid a sprinkling of shattered glass. The curtains had been torn off the windows and lay in a pile on the floor, the curtain rods broken on top of them.
“He asked me if I was going to tell,” said Karen Lee. “I told him I didn’t know, I wasn’t sure. But I think he could see the truth in my eyes. He offered me money to stay quiet . . . but when I wouldn’t take it, he just . . . he went crazy. Lost his temper. He said he wouldn’t let me destroy him and his family. He would hurt me, he said. He said he would kill me if he had to. I was so scared . . . I promised to keep my mouth shut, but . . . I just can’t . . .” She
made a noise, covered her mouth with her hand and started to cry. “I can’t keep quiet anymore.”
The Tom double stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do, how to comfort her. Tom himself, in a gesture of kindness, moved to where the lampstand was lying. He crouched down and reached to pick it up. His fingers closed on the wooden shaft of it—and they went right through!
The sight was such a shock that Tom tried again. Same deal. He couldn’t grip the lamp. He couldn’t touch it.
I’m fading, he thought. I’m fading away.
He stood up. The doppelgänger came toward him. Afraid he would pass through him again—afraid of that awful feeling of nothingness—Tom moved quickly out of his way. He watched as the double did just what he had done. He crouched down, too. He took hold of the lampstand. He gripped it, lifted it, as Tom had tried to. He set it right. The doppelgänger could do it and he couldn’t.
I’m fading away to nothing. Soon I won’t exist at all.
The double looked at Karen Lee as she cried. “You should call the police,” he told her.
She shook her head. “He has friends on the police force. He has friends everywhere. A lot of them. Powerful people. I don’t know who to trust.”
Tom’s double nodded. “You can trust me,” he said. “Once I write the story, once it’s public, he won’t be able to do anything to you. If he does, everyone will know it’s him. Who is he? What is he trying to keep secret?”
Karen Lee stared at the doppelgänger, her eyes bright through the tears. Tom could see she desperately wanted to speak, to tell the truth. She forced the words out.
“He was the one who sold drugs to the team,” she said. “I’m his receptionist and assistant. I saw everything. The coach—Coach Petrie—he would come to him after hours at the office. He brought him cash, and the doctor gave him hypodermics full of steroids. And pills to take, too. He told me if I told anyone about it, I would go to prison, the same as him. So I was scared. I kept my mouth shut. I kept it secret for three years. But then—then when I heard about your story in the school newspaper, I realized I’d been wrong. I should’ve told at the start. I shouldn’t have stood by and let it happen. I told him: They’re going to catch us eventually. We should do the right thing. We should tell the truth. Maybe that way the law won’t be so hard on us. But he . . . he got upset. And then he came here. Threatened me . . .”
Watching Karen Lee—watching the doppelgänger—Tom felt his heart sinking inside him. He knew what was going to happen next, what they would both say next. He remembered. He even remembered the shock he felt the first time he heard it. He didn’t want to hear it again. He didn’t want to be here anymore.
But he stayed where he was. He stood and listened. He had looked too hard for the answers to run away from them now.
“Who was this?” said Tom’s double. “Who sold the players the drugs? Who threatened you like this?”
Karen Lee, still crying, whispered the name: “Dr. Cameron.”
26.
The next moment was beyond belief. Tom saw it happen with his own eyes and still couldn’t take it in, couldn’t get his mind to grasp it.
“Dr. Cameron,” said Karen Lee—and Tom’s double straightened in surprise. Dr. Cameron? Marie’s father! The double began to step back . . . and then stopped. No, he didn’t stop. He froze. He froze completely in mid-step, his foot half lifted off the floor. Before Tom fully comprehended what he was seeing, his gaze shifted to Karen Lee and he saw that she, too, had gone utterly motionless. She was standing unblinking, with her lips still parted on the name of Marie’s father.
Tom looked around him. The apartment was silent. It was not an ordinary silence. It was complete. Nothing disturbed it. The refrigerator wasn’t humming. There were no voices from other apartments or from outside. The air itself seemed to have stopped moving entirely.
Tom stared at Karen Lee. He stared at his double. He moved to his double and looked right into his face—right into his own face—and yet the doppelgänger did not budge. Quickly, Tom went around him. He went to the glass doors that led out onto the balcony. He looked through.
The rain was motionless in the sky. It streaked the air but didn’t fall. Stupefied, Tom looked down the hill. He saw the cars on the town’s main street. They were no longer moving either. Beyond that, he saw the ocean, saw that the Pacific itself had ceased all motion. Its waves did not rise and fall but were frozen at their crests, reaching up toward the low clouds, which likewise did not so much as shift in the sky.
His eyes wide, Tom spun back to the scene in the apartment. It was just as it had been. Tom’s double stepping back in shock. Karen Lee locked in the instant after she had spoken. A scene so uncanny, it filled Tom with a sense of helplessness, not to mention fear. A million explanations began to form in his mind, but each trailed off unfinished. Because nothing explained it. It was impossible.
Tom glanced out the glass doors again. The rain still hung midair, forever falling from motionless clouds onto a still ocean. But something was different. Something had changed. It took Tom a moment, but then he realized what it was.
The sky was darker now than it had been a moment before. The whole scene was darker. The light had faded. And as Tom stood there staring at the bizarrely motionless view, the scene grew even darker still.
He faced the apartment again and, yes, here, too, the light was going out. It was as if night was falling. Every second that passed, the frozen world turned a deeper gray. Soon, Tom realized, very soon, all the light would be gone. There would be blackness.
Tom took a slow, hesitant step away from the glass doors, back toward his own frozen double. Now, finally, an idea was beginning to take shape in his mind, the beginning of an explanation. Maybe this, he thought—this frozen moment—was the place where his memory ended. He’d heard that happened to people sometimes when they were in an accident or got injured—or got shot. The memory of the trauma was erased. The shock was too much to bear and the brain shut down. Maybe this was that moment. Maybe, in fighting his way to the school, he had unlocked everything that remained in his memory, and this was as far as he could go.
He had come this far through the dangerous world of his imagination, but he had reached the end. The darkness was falling now because there was nothing after this. Only blackness. Unconsciousness. Coma—endless coma until his heart stopped and his life was over.
Unless . . .
Unless what? What could he do? Moment by moment, the apartment grew even darker. Already it seemed a sort of dusk had settled over the scene. When the darkness was complete there would be nowhere else to go, nothing to think about . . . nothing.
Tom lifted his hand uncertainly. It was growing dim in front of him. He himself was fading into the darkness. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out toward his double. He extended his hand toward the doppelgänger’s shoulder and then—then, holding his breath, he pushed it through.
As if it were made of smoke, his hand seemed to dissipate and vanish in front of Tom’s eyes. It went right into the double’s shoulder, and Tom gave a groan as he felt the beginning of that horrible nothingness again, that sensation of atomizing he had felt out in the hall.
And yet maybe there was a chance, just a chance, that that was exactly what could save him.
An even deeper darkness than evening now folded over the scene. Tom knew his wounded mind could not remember anymore.
But what if, he thought—what if instead of remembering, I could relive it?
It might work. It might. If he could enter his doppelgänger before the darkness fell—lose himself in his double as he had for that one second out in the hall—maybe he could relive the events that had plunged him into this coma-world in the first place. Somewhere in his brain those events were recorded, after all, even if his memory couldn’t access them. But if he could become his memory, then maybe he could force himself to face the thoughts and feelings and events—the suffering—that had brought him here, and that were keeping him from ma
king his way back into the light of life.
It was a frightening prospect. He knew if he went through with it, the Tom he was now would vanish. If he entered into the doppelgänger, if he became one with his memory, he would no longer know that he was in a coma. He would no longer know that this was his imagination. He would be back in the life that had brought him here, and he would no longer know what was going to happen next.
He was going to have to relive the worst moments of his life—the last moments of his life—as if they were happening for the first time. It was the only way he could overcome his mind’s resistance and discover the whole truth.
He was going to have to see it with his own eyes.
The double stood frozen. Karen Lee stood frozen. The world stood frozen. And night fell steadily. The darkness was almost complete.
Tom had to choose—and fast. He had to decide right now which he wanted more, the painless comfort of unconsciousness or the agony of knowing.
It’s like the Bible says, he remembered Lisa telling him. Find the truth—and the truth will set you free.
Well, he answered in his mind, the truth is what I’m here for.
And as the darkness fell around him, he stepped forward boldly. He walked into the body of his doppelgänger. Directly into nothingness. Directly into the moment of his own destruction.
27.
Dr. Cameron,” said Karen Lee.
Tom was so shocked by the words he took a step backward.
“Dr. Cameron? But that’s not poss—” he started to say. He had been about to protest that it couldn’t be true, it couldn’t have been Dr. Cameron who had sold the drugs to the football players. It couldn’t have been Marie’s decent, sophisticated, well-spoken father—the man who served on so many boards of so many charities, the man who had his picture taken with so many powerful, famous people. He couldn’t be the one who had exchanged injections and pills for fistfuls of cash. Who had come here and threatened Karen Lee and violently torn her apartment to pieces.