《Double man’s journey》


 First breath

    The first breath of air always hurts a little more upon waking, but I¡¯m sure the last one will be painless.


    My chest feels heavy, as if every breath is a reminder that I didn¡¯t come out of the war unscathed. I don¡¯t remember exactly when this weight began. Maybe it was in a forgotten trench, amidst the dust and screams. Or perhaps it was in the hospital, when the doctor with tired eyes told me I had survived something that should have taken my life.


    ¡°It¡¯s like chronic pneumonia or asthma on steroids,¡± they said. I just nodded, as if I cared to understand.


    The inhaler resting on the nightstand is a constant. I look at it every morning, but I don¡¯t always use it. Lately, I¡¯ve been rationing it, even though the government sends me a new one every week. It¡¯s free, but nothing lasts forever, and I¡¯d rather not depend on something that could be taken from me. So I push through, swallowing the coughs and wheezes in my breathing. Today will be one of those days without the inhaler.


    My name is Ulises Twain. I¡¯m thirty-three years old, but the scars of war on my face and the way my back has curved make me look older. I live in Hot Rocks, a small town hidden among the rocky plains of a state that seems to have been forgotten even by the wind. I work at the local library, a building struggling to stay upright as much as the elderly people who frequent it. In the silence of its shelves, I find strange solace, a sort of truce with the ghosts that visit me when I close my eyes.


    I get up slowly, my muscles reminding me that I¡¯m no longer twenty. Each morning is an echo of the last. I rise in my small apartment with walls yellowed by the relentless sun.


    I make coffee, though it barely has any flavor, and stare at the desert through the window while the radio hums old melodies. Routine is my refuge, a labyrinth without exits or surprises. Life moves at a slow pace here, as if the sun¡¯s heat slows everyone down. The library where I work is small, a place with barely any visitors. It¡¯s not an exciting job, but it¡¯s peaceful, and after what I¡¯ve been through, peace isn¡¯t a luxury, it¡¯s a necessity.


    Today was no different. I washed my face, looked in the mirror, and saw the man the war returned: sunken eyes, a scruffy beard I lack the energy to shave, and dark circles that tell more stories than any book in my library. I dressed in comfortable, worn clothes and walked to work.


    The morning air is thick with dryness, and as I step outside, I slip the lighter into my pocket. I quit smoking years ago, but I like carrying it with me. I suppose it¡¯s a useless habit, like holding onto memories of a life that no longer exists.


    Crossing the main square, I passed by the usual caf¨¦, where I never enter because the coffee is expensive, and memories of trench coffee don¡¯t wash away easily. My feet moved out of habit while my mind wandered elsewhere. I daydreamed about the world I never saw, the countries that remained out of reach because the war caught me before I could chase them. What I wouldn¡¯t give for a motorcycle and a map, to lose myself on nameless roads and be someone else, someone who wasn¡¯t Ulises Twain, a veteran without glory.


    A desire I try to ignore: traveling. The war took that possibility away, or at least that¡¯s what I tell myself to justify my cowardice.


    The buzz of an old car passes by, kicking up dust. I stop for a moment to cough, trying not to think about the burning in my lungs.


    When I looked up, I saw him.


    He¡¯s across the street. A man standing with the sun beating down on his back, casting a long shadow that almost made me doubt if he was real. But it¡¯s him. It¡¯s me. Across from me stands a man physically identical to me. Not just similar, but exactly the same. The same bone structure, the same sunken eyes, though his seemed to have a brightness that mine had lost. He wears a pristine black leather jacket and pants that look new. His brown hair, free of my prematurely gray strands caused by stress, is perfectly slicked back, and there¡¯s no trace of the unkempt beard covering my jaw. He looks at me, but not like one looks at a stranger. It¡¯s a gaze loaded with recognition, as if he¡¯d been waiting for me.


    Fear and surprise paralyze me.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any brothers, and it can¡¯t be my nephew, my sister died long time ago.¡±


    I quickly think of all the possibilities that could explain what my eyes are seeing. I try to say something, but my throat is dry. He watches me for a few seconds, and for a moment he seems surprised, as if something didn¡¯t fit into his plan. Then he speaks:


    -Wow, we thought you died alone¡­


    His voice was mine, but there was something different about it. It was firmer, more confident. Before I could respond, he began walking toward the crowd.


    The phrase hit me like a bullet. The world spun around me as I tried to understand what he had said. Die? What was he talking about? Who thought I had died? But before I could ask, before I could gather enough air in my lungs to respond, the man¡ªmy other self¡ªsmiled with a slight nod and headed toward the crowd.


    -Wait!-I managed to shout, but my lungs betrayed me. A violent cough shook my body, stealing my breath.


    I leaned forward, resting my hands on my knees, trying to regain control. I fumbled for the inhaler in my pocket, but it was back in my apartment. Idiot.


    When I caught my breath, I ran after him, but I tripped on the curb and collided with a woman pushing a cart full of oranges. The fruits rolled across the pavement, but I didn¡¯t even stop to apologize. My eyes desperately searched for the man among the heads and bodies moving around me.


    I lost him.


    Who was that man? How could he be me? And above all, what did he mean by that phrase?


    The distant sound of a train cut through my thoughts. I stood still on the sidewalk, my lungs burning and my heart pounding as if I were back on the battlefield. Something inside me told me this wasn¡¯t over, that I couldn¡¯t ignore it.


    The rest of the day was a blur. At the library, I could barely concentrate. Every time someone entered, I looked up, hoping it was him. Customers spoke to me, and I responded automatically, without really remembering what I said. My mind was trapped in a loop, replaying that scene, that phrase. ¡°We thought you had died alone.¡± What did it mean? Why did he look so much like me?


    That night, after closing the library, I took a different route home, hoping absurdly to find him again. I walked through streets I¡¯d never set foot on, my steps echoing on the hot asphalt that was cooling under the darkening sky. But he wasn¡¯t there. It was as if he had never existed.


    When I got home, I collapsed onto the bed without even taking off my shoes. My heart was still pounding, and my mind wouldn¡¯t stop spinning.


    I grabbed the inhaler from the nightstand and took a puff. I felt the weight in my chest disappear instantly, freeing me from both a physical and mental burden.


    Even though the medication relaxed me, when I closed my eyes, I only saw his face. My face.


    Something had changed inside me. It was as if the encounter had opened a door to a part of my soul I had forgotten. Or maybe to a part I had never known. I felt an urgency, a need to understand, to seek answers. Because for the first time in a long time, I felt something other than the weight of monotony and the burning in my lungs. I felt that my life was on the brink of something. So close...


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    That I could breathe the fresh air of a place I once loved.


    *


    The next day, I woke up feeling more spirited. I washed my face thoroughly and even shaved, today was going to be important. I was determined to find that man, no matter the cost.


    Before leaving home, I gathered the most important things I owned: my inhaler and my weapons.


    First, I strapped on my Colt Woodsman, securing it at the back of my belt, hidden under my dark green trench coat. On the right side of my waist, I placed a model 1892 revolver. The most powerful weapon of all, though, was the poacher''s rifle, completely wrapped in cloth and strapped to my back with a sling, a long hunting rifle that I still feared to free from its soft white bindings. But if necessary, I would.


    Today, I wouldn¡¯t go to work.


    As usual, I left home early, but this time, I had no intention of opening the library. I would find him. I had to.


    Walking through the streets, passersby gave me curious looks. Maybe it was because I was armed, but they couldn¡¯t see through my coat, and the rifle was concealed. Or perhaps it was my appearance. Today, I had tidied myself up, styled my hair, shaved, and put on more striking clothes. Frankly, I looked even more like that man who bore my face.


    Time flew by quickly. I had left home at eight, when the sun was not yet at its peak, but now it was clearly noon.


    Still nothing.


    I was about to give up. Maybe I really had imagined that man. It was a scorching day, and my chest had hurt badly. I must''ve been delirious.


    Defeated, I began walking home with my head down.


    Until suddenly, just before turning a corner, I heard a female voice behind me, unfamiliar but clear.


    -Hey, boss! I''ve been looking for you all morning! Why don''t you stay at the hotel while we get the supplies?


    I spun around immediately, nearly drawing my gun by reflex.


    The woman who spoke was tall, with long, flowing ginger-colored hair that reached her waist.


    Our eyes met, and we both mirrored expressions of surprise. Mine, however, bordered on disbelief, while hers was more casual.


    -Wow, boss! Nice new coat! And what did you do to your hair? Did it turn gray overnight?


    I stood frozen. Who was this woman? Was my double her boss? What were they doing here?


    As the seconds of silence stretched on, the woman¡¯s expression gradually shifted to match mine. She realized her mistake¡ªand who I was.


    -You¡­ We thought you were dead... What are you doing here?


    She stepped toward me cautiously, as if approaching a rabid dog.


    Instinctively, I took a step back.


    -How is this possible?-She whispered, drawing closer.


    Suddenly, my chest began to burn¡ªbut not because of my lungs. It was a feeling I hadn''t experienced since my years as a soldier.


    "If you want to keep breathing, run. Run and don¡¯t look back..."


    A memory of a forgotten voice echoed in my mind, though it sounded as if it was right behind me, rough and urgent.


    And I obeyed.


    Dash!


    In an instant, I turned and sprinted with all my strength, ignoring the pain in my lungs.


    -Wait! We''re not going to hurt you!


    I ignored her and kept running.


    I quickly turned the corner to my right. Ahead was an empty street devoid of people.


    "I can''t run for long. I can''t hide."


    I scanned my surroundings desperately for an advantage. Looking up, I found one¡ªa signpost mounted on the wall a few meters above the ground.


    Hop!


    With an agile leap, I grabbed the sign, hanging just over two meters high.


    -Where did you go?!


    The ginger-haired woman passed right beneath me, unaware of my presence. She stood there, frantically searching.


    Now was my chance.


    Drop!


    Without hesitation, I pounced on her, catching her by surprise and knocking her to the ground.


    -Augh!


    I quickly twisted her arms behind her back, immobilizing her.


    -Who are you?! Answer me! Who¡¯s your boss?! Why does he look exactly like me?! Why did you think I was dead?!


    I yelled so fiercely I thought my lungs would burst.


    But she didn¡¯t answer. She only began trembling. I could tell, though¡ªit wasn''t fear.


    Crack! Creck! Crack!


    Suddenly, a sound like a massive window shattering filled my ears.


    Like lightning, a fleeting memory set all my muscles on edge.


    ¡°Get out of there!" was the feeling that surged through me.


    I jumped back as far and fast as I could.


    "A fragment of Eidolon?!"


    The woman began trembling violently as the mark of a noose appeared on her neck. But within seconds, she froze.


    She was dead.


    My heart pounded relentlessly in my chest.


    -What a shame. Claudia was very competent.


    A male voice sounded ahead of me.


    Standing there was a tall man with sleek black hair combed back, dressed in a black jacket and tight gray trousers.


    -I bet it¡¯s been a while since you''ve seen anyone use a fragment. Do you even still have yours?


    Words wouldn¡¯t come out of my mouth.


    Only actions.


    I quickly drew my gun and aimed it at the man¡¯s head.


    But he didn¡¯t flinch.


    -Whoa, whoa, let''s not get tense. Don¡¯t you remember me? It¡¯s me, Heathcliff.-He said, raising his hands.


    I shook my head slowly.


    -You really don''t remember¡­


    -Who are you?! Tell me everything, or I¡¯ll blow your head off!


    -Don''t worry, Ulises. I''ll tell you everything you need to know...


    -HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!


    -I already told you. Calm down, and I¡¯ll explain; just listen carefully.-He said with a malicious smile.


    Sweat trickled down my temple as I aimed directly at his head.


    But I made the mistake of lowering my guard to listen.


    Zas!


    He lunged at me swiftly. I had no time to shoot. In a flash, his hand struck my wrist hard; pain shot through it, and the gun flew out of my grasp.


    Pow!


    I blocked his first punch, but his knee strike left me breathless. I twisted my body and pushed him against the wall, but with remarkable speed, he rebounded off the wall and landed behind me.


    I quickly swung a punch at his jaw, but he dodged it effortlessly, twisting my arm into a lock that knocked the wind out of me.


    With a roar of rage, I managed to twist around and shoved him backward with a palm strike to his solar plexus. His balance wavered for a second.


    A mistake.


    His guard dropped for just a moment, and my free hand found the second pistol behind my waist.


    -Looks like you haven¡¯t gotten rusty, huh?


    -Who are you? Who are your people? Tell me.


    Heathcliff smiled, staring directly at the barrel of my gun.


    Crack! Creck! Crack!


    Again, the sound of shattering glass.


    In an instant, a massive shadow appeared behind the man.


    The shadow quickly formed into the enormous head of a black wolf with jagged teeth.


    -GRAAAAAAAAWWL!!!


    I barely had time to leap away, but the wolf''s jaws clamped down on my entire arm.


    -Aaagh!


    -As you can see, my contract with my Eidolon is still active.-Heathcliff said.


    I could barely hear him; the pain in my arm was overwhelming¡ªit felt as if the beast was about to tear it off.


    Wasting no time, Heathcliff dusted himself off and picked up his companion''s corpse, intending to leave.


    But before that, he approached me.


    -Ulises Twain¡­-His voice was so dark that it made my heart stop trembling and start shrinking in fear-It''s surprising that you''re still alive. So if I were you, I¡¯d stay in this lousy little town and not cause trouble for the people who were forced to forget you...


    Those were the last words I heard before I passed out.


    Words that, both in mind and body...


    Left me breathless.

 Fog

    When people close their eyes, they usually see nothing. Most of the time, it''s the same for me.


    But not always.


    I haven''t dreamed in years. When I sleep, I wake up instantly in the morning, as if the night never happened. And honestly, I¡¯m fine with that.


    But when I don¡¯t use my inhaler, and my chest burns, I can dream.


    Yet, I can only dream of one thing.


    Everything is dark¡ªI see nothing but a faint red glow.


    My eyes adjust to the dimness. At first, I see massive rings surrounding me, like the bars of a cage. But as I strain my vision, I notice the empty space between them. I turn my head.


    And there it is.


    A spine.


    I quickly glance around and realize¡ªI¡¯m not in a cage. Those aren¡¯t rings; they¡¯re ribs. Cracked and broken ribs.


    I¡¯m inside a ribcage.


    Slowly, with the grating sound of bones contracting and a noise like a fork scraping against a plate, the ribs tighten, trapping me even more.


    And when I can no longer move¡ª


    A shadow.


    A shadow with a human-like shape and glowing red eyes approaches me.


    Its breathing is synchronized with mine.


    It leans in and places something over my face.


    A respirator, connected to a nebulizer filled with some kind of liquid.


    As I inhale, a thick, vapor-like gas floods the scene.


    And my pain disappears.


    But the relief doesn¡¯t last long.


    I wake up.


    -AAAAAAH!


    I jolted awake, completely disoriented.


    -Mr. Twain! Are you alright?-Asked an old voice.


    As my eyes adjusted to the light, I recognized my surroundings.


    I was in the library, surrounded by elderly people and other locals who frequented the place.


    -What happened to you? We found you unconscious in the street with a nasty wound on your arm.


    I quickly looked at my arm. It was now bandaged, and the pain had nearly faded.


    That¡¯s when I remembered my attacker.


    Heathcliff.


    A man who claimed to know me and reminded me of those terrifying monsters that granted power in exchange for painful contracts¡ªEidolons.


    -Did any of you see a black-haired man and a red-haired woman nearby?-I asked, desperate.


    I didn¡¯t know how long I had been unconscious, but surely someone must have seen them leave.


    -I¡¯m afraid not¡­-Replied an old man with a trembling voice.


    Damn it.


    -Is the librarian here?-A child asked as he entered the room.


    -Yeah, kid, he''s right here.


    -Do you have a brother?-The boy asked bluntly.


    My heart pounded like an engine. I knew exactly who he was talking about.


    My double.


    -Did you see him?! Where?!-I lunged at the boy like a beast, ignoring the pain in my arm and lungs.


    -On my way here, I saw a man who looked just like you. I thought it was you, but he didn¡¯t recognize me. He just smiled and walked away.


    -Do you know where he went?!


    -Twain, do you have a long-lost brother?


    -That¡¯s the problem! I don¡¯t! There¡¯s a man out there wearing my face!


    The faces around me shifted from disbelief to concern.


    Did they believe me? I had been here for years¡ªthey knew I wasn¡¯t crazy.


    -Billy! Where did you see this man?-The boy¡¯s father asked.


    -By the station! He was with a tall black-haired man.


    -All adults, to the station! The elders will check the surrounding areas! Kids, spread the word!-An adult ordered.


    In an instant, everyone organized and rushed out of the library.


    I was shocked by how quickly they mobilized¡ªto help me, a mere librarian claiming to have been attacked by his own double.


    For a few seconds, I ignored the pain in my chest and stood up with ease.


    "Twain, grab your weapons!"


    And just like that, I was back in the hunt.


    The sun blazed overhead, and my arm throbbed with pain.


    But adrenaline dulled it.


    -He¡¯s getting away!-A child called from the distance.


    -We can¡¯t lose him! Move!


    I sprinted toward the source of the voice.


    And there they were.


    Just a few meters ahead, I saw Heathcliff getting into a black SUV with tinted windows.


    -Stop right there!-I shouted at the top of my lungs.


    Hearing me, the black-haired man paused and stepped out of the car.


    -Well, well¡­ Could it be that you actually miss your old life?-He asked with a grin.


    -I won¡¯t stop until you give me answers. Tell your boss to step out of the car.


    "Come on, you can barely breathe properly. You won¡¯t stand a chance against us." His smug smile sent a surge of anger through my veins.


    Before he could take another step, I pulled out my inhaler and took a deep breath.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    In an instant, my lungs filled with strength, and my body felt lighter.


    Swish!


    Without hesitation, I drew my pistol.


    My fingers wrapped around the cold steel. My breathing was heavy but controlled. Heathcliff stood before me, his sharp gaze calculating my every move before I could even think them.


    We lunged at the same time.


    Bang!


    His hand clamped down on my wrist, deflecting the shot while his other hand reached for my gun. I resisted, shoving him with my shoulder, but he spun and slammed his knee into my ribs. My grip loosened¡ªjust for an instant.


    That was enough.


    The gun changed hands.


    I cursed under my breath and tackled him before he could raise the barrel. Slamming into him with my shoulder, I knocked him off balance and locked my fingers around his wrist in a vice grip. I squeezed hard, twisting his arm until his fingers opened by reflex.


    The gun fell.


    We both followed it with our eyes.


    And dove.


    We tumbled across the dirt, exchanging elbows and punches as our hands stretched toward the weapon. I felt it under my fingers a second before Heathcliff¡¯s fist crashed into my jaw.


    My vision blurred. My body wavered. And in that moment, the gun slipped from my grasp.


    It slid away from us.


    For a brief second, we both froze.


    Then Heathcliff twisted, pushing himself toward it.


    I didn¡¯t let him.


    Taking advantage of his distraction, I threw a brutal punch at his face. My knuckles cracked against his jaw, his head snapping to the side before his entire body collapsed onto the ground with a dull thud.


    He lay there, breathing heavily.


    So did I.


    The echoes of our fight faded into silence.


    -You just won¡¯t give up, huh¡­?-He panted-What, does that inhaler give you superpowers?


    -When you¡¯ve spent years carrying a weight that holds you back, shedding it gives you an edge. But you¡­ why the hell are you still smiling after getting beaten by an asthmatic veteran?


    I wanted to hit him again, but I knew he¡¯d summon that wolf Eidolon if I got too close.


    And yet, he still smiled¡ªlike he had something up his sleeve.


    Crack-crack-crack!


    Shattering glass.


    I instinctively stepped back and drew my other pistol.


    As I expected, the Eidolon emerged from Heathcliff¡¯s back once again.


    But this time, more of its body was visible.


    Now I could see it more clearly¡ªa black wolf, covered in scars, with solid purple eyes. Its mouth was full of sharp teeth, so tightly packed they obstructed each other, forming a twisted set of fangs.


    -You don¡¯t have the range for this, so the best thing you can do is surrender and tell your boss to come out.-I said, finger resting on the trigger.


    Step!


    Without Heathcliff needing to say a word, the rear door of the jeep opened, and out stepped the person who bore my face.


    His composure was exactly the same as the first time we met¡ªunsettling, like going to the bathroom half-asleep and seeing your reflection move a second too late in the mirror.


    I was afraid. Terrified.


    That wasn¡¯t me.


    But he wore my face.


    I couldn¡¯t stop thinking that if I hit him, I would feel the pain too.


    My double said nothing, simply offering a hand to help his subordinate up.


    -Did you really lose to a veteran with asthma again?-He sighed-Come on, Heathcliff, I know you can do better.-He added with a reassuring smile and a pat on the back.


    -You¡¯re right¡­ I can do better.-Heathcliff replied.


    And without another word, he climbed back into the car.


    I was so tense I didn¡¯t dare shoot.


    He was right there, unarmed, and I had a gun in my hand.


    -I should¡¯ve finished you off before¡­-Heathcliff muttered.


    Swish!


    With a swift motion, he rolled up his right sleeve, exposing his forearm.


    -Second Stray Wolf¡­ lend me more of your strength¡­-He spoke with difficulty.


    As he spoke, four deep cuts opened along his skin, as if slashed by invisible claws.


    I could feel it¡ªthe entire town, just a hundred meters away, watching even more intently, expectant.


    As blood dripped from his wounds, the wolf that had been by his side all this time began to grow, its body becoming more complete.


    Now, between the two of us stood a three-meter-tall beast with knife-like fangs, charging straight at me.


    Awooooooooooooooo!!!


    The wolf let out a piercing howl just before lunging, jaws wide open.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    I fired as fast as I could, but it was like throwing thumbtacks at it¡ªit didn¡¯t even flinch.


    Whoosh!


    I threw myself to the ground just in time, barely dodging its attack.


    -You won¡¯t escape!


    He was right.


    I couldn¡¯t escape from that monster.


    Bullets didn¡¯t work, and it was twice as fast as me.


    Grrrrrrrr!


    And then¡ªjust as the wolf was about to pounce again¡ªI heard that hoarse, rasping voice, the one that only came when my chest ached.


    "If you wish to keep breathing¡­ exhale."


    It was counterintuitive.


    But what was even stranger was that, instinctively, I reached toward my back, as if to grab something.


    -Another gun? That won¡¯t help¡­


    My fingers searched for a weapon¡ªbut what they found was something cold and metallic.


    Something that shouldn¡¯t be there.


    A nebulizer.


    A shiver ran down my spine.


    As if my hands knew what to do before my mind did, I suddenly held a nebulizer fitted with a mask and a respirator.


    It was exactly like in my dreams.


    "To keep breathing, you must exhale¡­"


    It made sense, really.


    First, you inhale. Then, you exhale.


    So I did.


    I drew a breath through the mask¡­


    ...And let it out.


    -HAAAAAAAAAH!


    The breath left my chest in a gust that was more than just air¡ªit was a thick, dense mist, heavy and suffocating.


    The exhalation became a torrent of vapor that spread like an icy gale, swallowing the street in seconds.


    -Where the hell did you get that?! What the fuck is all this fog?!-Heathcliff shouted, his voice trembling as his Eidolon dissolved into the air.


    The mist grew, thick as milk poured into water, engulfing us until I could barely see my own hands.


    Only the hurried footsteps of the other man broke the silence.


    -Don¡¯t run!-I tried to shout, but my throat burned with every word.


    Creeeeeeeeek!


    A metallic screech tore through the air, like nails scraping against a plate.


    A sound unnatural.


    A sound that didn¡¯t come from Heathcliff.


    Or his companion.


    Something else was in the mist.


    But I couldn¡¯t see it.


    -They¡¯re escaping!-Someone yelled in the distance.


    I took off running, bursting out of the fog just in time to see the black jeep speeding away.


    But it wasn¡¯t unscathed.


    Along one side of the vehicle, three deep gashes were carved into the metal, as if titanic claws had ripped through it.


    The steel bent outward, mangled.


    Something had reached them before they could flee.


    But it wasn¡¯t enough.


    -GET BACK HERE!!!-I roared, ignoring the searing pain in my lungs.


    The jeep vanished into the distance.


    And the mist, as if it had never existed, began to fade.


    For a moment, I thought about drawing my rifle and firing, but I dismissed the idea.


    Within seconds, the vehicle was nearly out of sight, disappearing into the mountains.


    Again.


    Another damn time.


    I stood there, watching the SUV disappear over the horizon¡­


    ¡­Feeling the fog in my lungs dissolve, along with my only chance for answers.