Chapter One
    Keadon Myers didn’t need to look at the menu. He knew what he was getting before he walked into the Doppelganger—coffee, black, no sugars, no creamers, just good coffee. Before Heather started working here the coffee always had a hint of over grinded brassiness to its taste and he avoided it whenever he and his brother, Riggs, strolled in. Riggs had told him it was an acquired taste, yet in nearly a year of being in Loral Hills, Idaho he hadn’t acquired a taste for it yet. Helping his little brother get back to the world of present living conditions had taken longer than Keadon thought it would. He still wasn’t sure Riggs was ready. He wouldn’t leave this mountain throw back to prehistoric times town until he knew his brother would survive without him.
    He laughed to himself. Who was he kidding? He probably wouldn’t ever leave. As stale as the town was on technology and modernization, he found a certain level of peace here. The calmness of the lake, the soft rustling of the trees, the lack of deadly serious crime and the fact that at night he could hear nature breathe instead of gunfire or military vehicles driving by was a breath of fresh air. There wasn’t anything much not to like in this place. Now that the coffee was good he couldn’t complain about the only breakfast serving restaurant in town either. They had the Juke Box, but that place only catered to the dinner crowd. It catered to the ones who liked to come in, toss their hat on the wooden round tables, pull out the cards and gamble their money, and their friendships away with people who would undoubtedly, after a few days of brooding, become friend and neighbor once again.
    The town held a certain charisma that he just couldn’t get in the city. Maybe he missed a certain level of peace. He didn’t know why since he never had it in the first place. His family was average middle class Americans while he was growing up. He went to a regular school with nothing special on the side. He wasn’t living in a war torn part of the city, but he wasn’t in a quiet small town either. Things were hectic. Both of his parents worked. His father was a cop while his mother was the Assistant District Attorney. He and Riggs were latch key kids; that was the life he knew and one he loved. He couldn’t complain.
    But then he joined up. Military recruiters had come to the high school campus and promised something that interested him. They dangled the carrot and like a workhorse he took it. He joined the Navy and made it his home, his career, his life. He was gone more often than not, and once he got transferred to the special unit he became a man on the move—constantly rotating out to special operations, never having a place to truly call home, watching comrades fall beside him, and to him, in some far corner of his mind, the normalcy of that routine bothered him. He didn’t realize how much until he had been in Loral Hills for about six months and he started realizing the quietness of peace—relative peace—was something he needed just as much as his little brother had.
    Heather had moved into town roughly six months ago. She hadn’t started making coffee here until three months ago when the responsibility was thrown on her. She had told him she made it once because the pot was empty and they were all so busy that she just wanted to help and that one time meant she had to make it forever. People loved what they tasted, which proved to Keadon that the Doppelganger’s coffee was not an acquired taste; it was just a necessary evil for the men and women hanging out for lack of anything else to do during the day. Those who had jobs worked, but when lunch break, or the breakfast rush as Heather had called it, came everybody seemed to flock to the place.
    “She makes good coffee,” Riggs interrupted his solitude by reminding him they were indeed having a conversation before he zoned out.
    “Yeah, she does. But

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