The empty pit in his stomach and its accompanying growls were becoming too much to bear for Kelvin Krowder. Though he’d dutifully packed his lunch the night before, in the mad rush that followed his having overslept, he’d simply forgotten it on his way out the door to the office. It was now a quarter to noon, and he was starving, an acute pang of hunger he could not remember ever having experienced, chewing at his guts.

With the exception of the ravenous bodily needs of his high school football star years, Mr. Krowder had never known actual hunger. But, as he busied himself with his tasks at his white-collar desk job, he imagined, or more mused, that it was the type of hunger the destitute felt, and that morally questionable thought never registered with him as anything untoward, as nasty and solipsistic, or at all at odds with his prominently displayed faith that he wore on is sleeve and around his neck.

Should I order something? Those damn apps charge an arm and a leg, but I’m so hungry.

The cost didn’t actually concern him much, as he was well enough off from his income and inheritance that he could have easily ordered lunch every day and never felt the sting in his wallet. However, Kelvin was, along with being an inarguable egoist, a tightwad, though, once in a while, he could be found at his church conspicuously tithing, very conspicuously.

Didn’t I eat dinner last night? I know I did. Why the heck am I so hungry? Lord, am I being punished for something?

It was not a colloquialized query, for Kelvin believed his claimed Savior heard him and had blessed him, and he, further, believed that others were envious of that fact and sought to persecute him for it. But he knew he was chosen and made sure everyone else knew it also. He was special, one-of-a-kind. His glory days on the field told him so, and so had his mother. He was of the species that, from whatever repressed guilt complex or moral failing, had simply appointed himself more pious than the average bear, as could easily be determined by the overly large cross he conspicuously wore, the kind of which children at parks were taught to be wary. He had even once ventured to capitalize off his self-ordained saintliness by setting himself up to be an internet influencer, but quickly found that few were interested in his brand.

He debated taking a lunch hour and trotting around the block for a bite but trashed the idea. He hadn’t done any actual work in days, and, even though it was a family business, his uncle still expected him to do a bare minimum. Yet, his stomach spasmed so insistently that it seemed to be issuing a command, and he finally took out his phone and opened the delivery app.

Italian? Mexican? Chinese? Greek? Hmm. Lets’ do the carbs with an extra helping of protein for the gym later. That’s right, ladies! All glory be to me.

He credited his self-perceived irresistibility to his angel-blue irises and blond hair. In fact, no woman, who was not incurably deranged or looking for a surrogate father and a free lunch, had any interest in Kelvin’s interest in worshiping Kelvin, with his holier-than-thou demeanor, bulky nose, and beady eyes, but one would have been hard-pressed to make him believe anything of the sort.

His stomach lurched and seemed to control his strings, as he ordered a full-helping of chicken alfredo and a diet soda from Dominico’s. It came with bread sticks.

Satisfied that his inexplicably deep hunger would soon be satiated, he returned his focus to his work, leaving his phone on his desk so he could watch the progress of his highly anticipated repast and tried to ignore the incessant gnawing.

A few minutes later, a ping alerted him.

“What?” Certain that he’d read it wrong, he looked again, straining his eyes to ensure he wasn’t seeing things. But the app said what it said. Someone named “Kelvin” had picked up his order … and the avatar floating over the name was a picture of himself.

Is this some kind of joke? The app must have hit a glitch. That’s pretty funny, though. There’s only one me, right Lord?

But his mind, given to a self-serving persecution complex, began to spin, and paranoia set in, conjuring images of a thief roaming around pretending to be him. The app allowed the customer to text the driver, and Kelvin, giving in to temptation, as was his usual predilection, though instantly absolved by his Savior, decided to alleviate his mental distress by confirming that he was the only Kelvin Krowder.

—Hey, buddy. I’m sure it’s just a site error or something, but the app’s got my name and photo showing as you. What’s your name?

The next few minutes of silence drove him into a quiet panic, chewing his thumbs as he waited for confirmation that he was not picking up his own food, though he knew he knew that. His insides felt as if they were going to mutiny and consume his body in the interim.

(Typing) …

—I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Looks good to me … my name and pic. I just picked up your food but I’ve got two deliveries first

—No. That’s definitely my name and photo showing. Not sure how it got my photo either. Maybe it’s just on my end. If you could just tell me your name, that’d be great

(Typing) …

—Kelvin

The room pulsed with a tangible persecution complex. He stared at the photo of himself and the tiny icon of a car headed in the wrong direction.

—No. I’m Kelvin. Kelvin Krowder! Is this a joke?

(Typing) …

—What’s the problem, Boss? I’m Kelvin Krowder. I picked up your food … got two other deliveries to make first. Then I’m delivering to Kelvin Krowder at 47 Central Ave. Trying to drive here. Call the company

A sharp stabbing pain in his stomach competed with a feeling of nausea and a light head. It’s just a glitch. Lord, is this a test? You’re just testing my patience, right? I knew it. I passed, Lord. He forced himself to laugh, though the nervousness in it assaulted his own ears. If Kelvin had truly believed that his Savior heard him and was testing him, then he would have also known that he had, indeed, not passed any test. He began to sweat bullets of apprehension, tinged with the affront at being mocked. His ears turned red. And, soon, his need to defend his existence from parody won over him. He dialed the help number listed on the app.

“DeliServ, this is Wanda. How can I help you?”

The voice sounded hollow to him, with a strange metered rhythm, something not quite human in it.

“I ordered through your app and the driver has my name and my photo showing. How did you get my photo? I asked the driver who he is and he said my name! I don’t know what your company is trying to pull here or if it’s some crazy screw up, but I want the driver’s actual information!”

“Please enter the transaction number for the order.”

He did so, with trembling fingers. There was a strange series of beeps.

“Sir, our records indicate that your driver is named Kelvin Krowder, DeliServ employee for 6 months and 6 days, beginning in 2026. He picked up an order for Kelvin Krowder at 11:57 and is in route.”

“No! I AM KELVIN KROWDER. Your employee can’t have the same name as me, not in this area. I’ve searched my name before. I’m the ONLY one here.”

There was a strange, transient static sound on the other end, permeated by what sounded like muffled screams and deep growls uttering babble. Then the voice spoke again. “Sir, you are who you are.” The line disconnected.

Stunned into silence, frozen in bewilderment, Kelvin watched the tiny car icon head to what he assumed was its second stop. He stared at HIS name and HIS photo, mocking him from the screen. A surge of anger-induced adrenaline drove him from his office, phone in hand, over to the next office, where his coworker was at her desk.

“Caroline! Quick … Who am I?”

She looked up from her work, some of it work Kelvin had never completed that had been shunted off onto her. “Is this a game?”

“No. Just tell me who I am.”

“Kelvin Krowder.”

He ran to the next office, but found it empty, and then to the last office on the floor.

“Dan! Who am I?”

“You’re the man,” Dan answered, with an exaggerated smile.

“No, really. Who am I?”

“Kelvin Krowder. Why? What’s up, Chief?”

“This delivery app driver is showing my name and face!”

“Hey, that’s some weird stuff,” Dan said, still grinning. “Let me see?”

Kelvin marched toward the desk and handed Dan the phone. Dan inspected the name and image, his obsequious smile replaced with a look of confusion. “What’s the issue, Kelv?”

“What do mean? The guy’s got my name and face as his identification.”

“That says ‘Kelvin Krowder,’ and I know that guy. He’s delivered here before.”

“Are you crazy? That’s a picture of me, Dan! I don’t deliver food.”

“Maybe you’ve been at it too hard,” Dan scoffed. “Why don’t you put in for some time off? I’ve got a bunch of stuff to get done. Let’s chat later.”

Unable to comprehend how Dan could talk about him, to him, as if he were someone else while he was standing in the same room, Kelvin, while continually looking over his shoulder, fled to his office and shut the door. A strong sense of paranoid disconnection from the rest of the world subsumed him, but it was interrupted by the disquiet of his gnawing hunger.

Dear Lord, please send me a sign that this is all some kind of crazy mistake or just identity theft. Maybe even some really bad joke. Kelvin thought to call the police, but they’d already yelled at him recently for falsely reporting some young people in his neighborhood as transients. How was I supposed to have known they lived nearby? They were walking on my lawn, and good Christians don’t trespass into other people’s property.

His phone pinged, and he saw that the “other Kelvin” had finished his second delivery and was now on his way to 47 Central Ave. For a second, the discomfort in his stomach made the animalistic hunger in him forget the insanity of the situation, clouded by a memory of the smell of alfredo sauce, the smooth, creamy texture rolling down his tongue. His stomach lurched and bellowed. Shaking it off, he returned to his prayers. However, as many, if not most who profess faith are prone to do, he did not pray for forgiveness. He did not pray for the souls or well-being of others or with an aim at accepting the situation, good or bad. He prayed with his mind, not his heart, and, as his voice prayed inside his head for his own sake, another voice accompanied it, also his but quiet, rational, and more present in his consciousness. That voice, which wore his true values, told him that this was the way to get what he wanted, as if he could fool an omnipotent deity into pitying him by going through the motions. It was prayer akin to a child asking for a pony—calculated—but Kelvin’s silent missive was without innocence.

A knock at his door jarred him from his charade of piety, and his uncle entered and closed the door behind himself.

“I hear you might not be feeling too well, Kelvin. What’s up?”

“Someone is pretending to be me, and he’s coming here.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

Kelvin was suddenly miffed by the slight. “Why would someone pretend to be me? Why wouldn’t they?”

His uncle seemed as if he were about to say something else, but responded, “I mean, why would anyone pretend to be someone and then go to their work? Makes no sense.”

“Here. Look,” Kelvin answered, rising and handing over his phone.

His uncle looked at the screen. Then he shrugged. “I’m not seeing the issue.”

His throat beginning to lock up with frustration, Kelvin asked, “Who is my delivery person?”

Looking again and reading aloud, his uncle replied, “Kelvin Krowder.”

Kelvin waited for some sign that his uncle understood his dilemma. “Didn’t you hear what you just said?”

“Of course I did. Kelvin Krowder. Who cares? Have you been drinking, nephew? … It’s not your name,” his Uncle said, as flatly and bluntly as possible, as he handed Kelvin his phone.

Kelvin’s world sunk into the floor, through it, down into darkness, beyond where he could conceive, and an angry heat began to consume him, flushing his face and forcing him to loosen his tie. His chest became heavy and his sight blurred. “Not my name?” he asked in a whisper. He could see the icon of the car converging with the building icon of 47 Central Ave. Then it stopped.

As the old man began to answer, preparing to launch into a performative air of facetiousness that would serve as a blow off, there was a knock on the door. Seeing that his nephew stood lodged in cement and shown rather pale, he moved to answer it.

“Delivery for Kelvin Krowder,” someone said … in Kelvin’s voice, and he could see a box being handed to his uncle, who, to make room, swung the door open all the way.

It felt as if his skin were melting, and two stone giants were pressing in on either side of his head. He could no longer sense any discomfort in his stomach, or any stomach at all, much less legs and feet. He was staring at himself in the doorway, while he stood ten feet away. Faint wanted to take his vision, but his tangible admixture of rage, confusion, and disappointment in his god fixed his sight and his mind on the stranger, who was no stranger at all. This was not a man who simply looked like him. He was him, more so than if they had been identical twins, down to the obnoxiously large cross around his neck.

“Kelvin!” his uncle bellowed, and it took Kelvin a few seconds to realize he was not the one being addressed. “How’re you doing? I haven’t ordered in a while.”

“Good, Mr. Krowder. Thanks for asking.”

“Kelvin, this is my nephew … Kelvin. He’s never had anything delivered here before that I know of. Sort of a penny pincher. Right, Kelvin?”

Kelvin …. and Kelvin … just stood there looking each other up and down, until the Not-Kelvin Kelvin smiled.

“Nice to meet you, Kelvin.” The doppelganger turned back to Kelvin’s uncle. “Well, I gotta run. I have other orders to pick up. See you around, Kelvin.”

Kelvin said nothing and watched this mirror reflection saunter away and down the stairs.

His uncle appraised him with a look of worry. “So, here’s your food, Kelv.”

Kelvin said nothing. It were as if his Adam’s apple had melted and fused to his larynx. Did that imposter sneer at me?

“I’ll just put it on your desk. I’m thinking maybe you should take a week off. Grab that food and take it home. You don’t look so good.”

As his uncle placed the carton on the faux-wood desk, Kelvin shot out of the room.

“Kelv …!” he heard the man call after him.

Taking the stairs two by two, almost twisting his ankle and sending himself to an early grave with a broken neck, he reached the lobby. God give me strength. He had no idea what he was going to do, but he could not allow this … whatever it was … to exist without an explanation, without being confronted for having stolen his existence. He scanned the lot, and he saw himself heading for his own car … but parked where he hadn’t left it … before seeing his own where he had. Though it had been years, he sprinted like the star he had once been, determined to catch this pretender. Reaching for a shoulder, he spun the other him around. They stood once more, looking each other up and down, intuiting each other’s mannerisms.

“Who the hell are you?” the assumed-original Kelvin finally spat out.

“I’m Kelvin Krowder,” the formerly unknown Kelvin answered.

“You can’t be! I’m me.”

“You are you. But I am me,” the new Kelvin responded nonchalantly.

“What kind of nonsense bullshit is that? How the hell did you steal my face … my body … ME?”

The other Kelvin grinned malevolently. “I am Kelvin Krowder … just like all who worship themselves in HIS name are Kelvin Krowder … or Julia Dunnow or Mario DiMarco or Carley Bitterstone or any other who worship me without the consciousness of a blind worm squirming through the guts of a dead cat.” The whites of his eyes flooded blood red upon speaking the last, and he placed his index finger upon the stunned forehead of Kelvin Krowder, who became wholly inanimate, frozen with fear. “Keep up the good work, Kelvin. You bring the world closer to me all the time.”

Kelvin Krowder was not hungry anymore, and he could only watch as the demon-eyed body snatcher got into the displaced version of his own car and drove away. The paralysis left him, just as his phone pinged. Almost too afraid to look, he forced himself to check the message.