Content warning: This story contains references to murder.

I had been sound asleep in my car when I heard the tapping at the window and saw the flashlight shine in. Shit, I thought. I was parked on the side of a deserted highway somewhere in the Midwest, I’m not even sure where. Maybe Kansas.

The state trooper made me roll down the window.

“You okay in there, bud?” he asked.

He was friendlier than I expected. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you step out of the car, and we can talk?”

I pulled down the blanket and stepped into the cool night. It was incredibly dark on that stretch of highway, and I could barely see the trooper’s face.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

I paused. “Just sleeping. I’m homeless right now. Am I committing a crime by doing this or something?”

The flashlight shone in my face. “No, not necessarily. You could just call this a wellness check,” he said. After a pause, he added, “I can put you up in a hotel tonight, though, if you’d like. There’s one about a mile from here.”

For whatever reason, I began to feel scared. Although the trooper was friendly and seemed to want to help, I got the feeling something bad was about to happen.

“No, it’s okay. If it’s okay with you, I’ll keep sleeping in the car.”

“Come on, bud. I’ll pay for it. It’s on me.”

I didn’t want to test my luck, so I relented. The trooper told me to follow him to the hotel and, sure enough, it was only about a mile away. When I pulled into the parking lot, it was apparent that this wasn’t the best hotel. The trooper sat in his car for a while, maybe fifteen minutes, and I was wondering what the holdup was.

When he finally got out, I was terrified. He looked exactly like me, down to the mole on my left cheek. He smiled at me as he moved closer.

“Who are you?” I asked, somewhat stupidly.

“Officer Smith,” he said, still smiling. “Now, do you want that room or not?”

The rest of the night went by in a blur, and there are still some things that I don’t recall. I’m also still unsure whether this man was a state trooper or merely impersonated one, which is, of course, a federal crime.

After he put me up in the room, he came in with two bottles of whiskey. For the rest of the night, he told me things that didn’t seem to make sense, or at least they didn’t make sense to me at the time.

For example, he told me that he was part of a satanic cult that meets every week in an abandoned church and plans terrorist attacks. He said it with a straight face, yet I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

As the sun was coming up, he asked if I wanted to make some money. I was broke at the time, but above all, I wanted to get away from this insane man who looked exactly like me.

“Come on,” he said. “I know you’re broke. You’re homeless, living in your car. You’re running away from something, aren’t you?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Then let’s go,” he said. “It’ll only take an hour.”

I couldn’t say no. He led me to the squad car, and we drove to a large estate about an hour away. He said he knew the people who lived there, but he was lying. I couldn’t say no to anything he asked, and I still don’t know why.

I couldn’t say no when he talked his way into the man’s house. Nor could I say no when he asked the poor man, who was terrified and shocked upon seeing the two of us, to take him to the safe and give him all his valuables and cash.

Most of all, I couldn’t say no when the man cleaned out the safe, my doppelgänger put his gun to his head, led him to the living room and shot him at point-blank range.

I helped my doppelgänger clean up the crime scene and dispose of the body. We drove to a wooded area several miles away, buried the body, and counted the cash.

My doppelgänger gave me half of the take, and then he gave me his business card, which was not in any way connected to the police but connected to the satanic cult he claimed he was a part of.

He told me that they had networks all across the country and that if I ever needed work, I should call that number.

He drove me back to my car on the side of the highway, and by now, the sun was shining, and it was the middle of the afternoon. He didn’t say much before he left, only smiling in that way that made me so uncomfortable.

I got back in my car, my hands shaking, and I looked at the business card. It was my own name on the card, but the number wasn’t mine. I called the number.

“Hello?” I asked when the line picked up.

“Ah, we’ve been waiting for you,” the voice said.

“Who are you?”

“Maybe not who, but what. We’re everywhere. And you should consider yourself privileged to be part of the club now.”

I didn’t know how to respond.

“I’m going to give you an address and some instructions. Follow them very closely. There will be a bank account you can access, and there will soon be a property, a modest one, in which you can live. Listen very closely.”

That was three years ago. Since that time, I have only heard from them occasionally. Maybe every few months. However, their demands for murder and mayhem continue to increase each time. I have to learn how to say no. Maybe I will this this next time. Or maybe I won’t.

The world has rejected me, just as it rejected Marco. Maybe it’s time I learn to fully embrace rejecting the world.

The End

Read Part 1 here

Read Part 2 here