The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller (12 page)

“Ms. Godfrey?” Detective Jones pressed.

“I wish to remain silent.”

“How many such incidents did you experience? Your neighbor said a photo frame was smashed.” Detective Jones said.

“He’s exaggerating.”

“Your neighbor said you were scared.” The second detective turned to the recording device. Detective Jones was busy writing. “You asked him to keep an eye. That doesn’t seem like an exaggeration.”

Darcy was quiet.

“You lied during our first interview. Your neighbor didn’t tell you Dr. Cleo was in that evening. I’m asking you again, what happened on Sunday?”

Darcy was speechless. His six-feet tall figure sat beside her like a cheetah. His eyes examined every flicker of her eyelashes. He backed off.

“Do you know Dr. Cleo Williams?” he pressed. She was breathless under his unbending gaze.

“I wish to remain silent.”

“You didn’t deny it outright.” Detective Jones said.

“She refused to comment.” Adams interrupted.

Detective Jones leaned back on his chair. “Who is it that you met on Sunday morning?”

“Excuse me?” Paul asked.

“You said you met an old friend on Friday. What is his or her name?”

Darcy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I wouldn’t like to name anybody.”

“You said it was one of your classmates from college.”

“He has nothing to do with anything.”

“I need to confirm you were together that afternoon.”

Paul shot Darcy a glance.

“Fine.” Detective Jones sighed. He stood up and made eye contact with the other detective.  “Anything you’d like to add?”

He nodded.

“We’re done for now.” Detective Jones said.

“Am I free to leave?” Darcy asked.

“Based on today’s interview, you’re being bailed back. You are required to come back two weeks later. That’s October twenty-eighth. You will be notified of the outcome then. Failure to show up will invite contempt of court. Do you understand?” 

Darcy nodded.

With those words, Detective Jones picked up his notepad and left. He slammed the door behind. Darcy remained in the silent room. Her mind filled with possibilities and questions.

Paul Adams and Darcy finished the paperwork and walked out of the police station.

“I’m leaving now. Give me a call if you need anything,” Adams said, handing Darcy his card. “I will represent you for the next interview as well. In the meantime, I’ll work on your case. I’ll give you a call if I need any information.”

“I understand. Do you have my number?”

“No.” Darcy gave Mr. Paul Adams her number.

“See you on Thursday.” He said and walked away.

Darcy reached home at 3:30 in the afternoon. She immediately called up work and called sick. Susan was worried because she hadn’t received a call from Darcy that morning.

Darcy collapsed on her bed and stared at the ceiling. The video that Detective Jones played replayed in her mind. Something felt off. How could she have been there?

Darcy trail moved from the ceiling to the drawer and froze. The blogger. Could it have been the blogger?

But how could she look like Darcy? Unless…unless she was a doppelgänger.

Chapter 14

Darcy stood outside her apartment building after finishing grocery shopping. The sky was dark. A familiar Victorian lamp lit the door. Darcy’s tired eyes skimmed over the scenery. Her heartbeat was stable. October chill bit into her clothes. The hair on her legs stood against her stocking. She glanced at her window. The lights were on.

She took a step. Her legs instinctively drew away from the staircase. A ton of courage sunk to the bottom of her heart and drowned. The thought of seeing Mr. Hatter again made her toes curl.

The door opened. Mr. Hatter emerged. His blue eyes shot her a piercing gaze. Darcy’s fingers instinctively reached for the railing. She moved toward the right side of the staircase. His shadow extended into the apartment building.

“You’re back?” his voice was expressionless. His eyes held her in a questioning gaze. She felt nervousness prick her body. She hated the way he was looking at her. It made her feel like a criminal. She breathing grew shallower. Her eyes enlarged. A familiar feeling spread over her chest. A flame burst before her eyes. She blinked. The image died but the feeling of shock remained.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone gentler.

“Hmmm…they got the wrong person.” she explained, twiddling her fingers.

“That’s good, then?” he probed.

Darcy remained silent.

“I told them about the stalker. The police ought to do their job.”

Mr. Hatter’s well-intentioned statements had submerged her in trouble.

“You didn’t do anything, right?” he asked, part hopeful and part suspicious.

“They didn’t charge me,” she said, robotically.

“Good. Good.” He flashed a constipated smile. “I’m heading out. See you later.”

She waved weakly. He passed her by. His form grew distant. Darcy sighed.

The lights were on. She had forgotten to turn them off. Her hands reached for the television remote. Her finger hovered over the ‘power’ button. The detective’s words played through her mind. She dropped the remote. It fell on the carpet.

Her aching legs walked to the kitchen. The refrigerator was empty. She browsed through a stack of leaflets with delivery numbers. She reached for her phone. It was flooded with messages. Her eyes examined the messages from top to bottom.

Susan

Where are you?

Jillian

What happened? Running late?

Susan

Half day?

Jillian

Got the interview recording. Pumped up.

Susan

Will you be taking the day off?

Jillian

Call me

Susan

Call me

Mike

Where are you?

Brian

Check the blog.

Jillian

Call me if you get this message.

Susan

I’ll drop by your apartment later.

Darcy’s head hurt. Those were just the messages.

Darcy turned on the television. Daily news cut through the uncomfortable silence. Darcy cleared her throat. Her eyes fell on the soup Susan brought her. She turned away. She focused on the dark spot on television. A program on black holes was on.

In the darkness, she saw remnants of her unpleasant childhood. Her eyes focused on the black hole. It was sucking her deeper into her past, deeper into the past she wanted to run away from. She saw his face, again. His pale blue eyes and sadistic smile. He looked at her with suspicion.

“One, two, three…” she heard him count. His voice made her drowsy. His blue eyes inched closer. Darcy closed her eyes.

His blue eyes transformed into her mother’s. Darcy’s breath got stuck in her throat. She was hyperventilating. She wanted to open her eyes, but she was too deep in her memories. There was no light. She couldn’t see the surface.

Memories rushed into her brain. The school. The house. The fire. Familiar images filled her mind. She saw a red barn burn to the ground. She stood outside the barn, her heart filled with fear.

The sky was dark and there was no sound except the chirping of crickets. Darcy’s small body stood on a hill, looking over the red barn that was up in flames.

She ran away from the house. Nobody was following her but her heart beat violently. She ran past a deserted scenery. Acres of farms passed her by. The blades of grass looked sharp, highlighted by the moonlight. Darcy’s feet waddled through the grass.

The scene cut to her house. The house was empty. Darcy’s footsteps echoed. A beam of light emerged from the master bedroom. Darcy walked toward it. She pressed her eyes on the narrow opening. Her mother’s silent sobs filled her ears. Her mother’s small back quivered in the bedroom. Darcy couldn’t see her face.

Blonde hair spread over her shoulders. Her shoulders shook. Darcy’s breath drummed against the wooden door.

Darcy opened the door wider. Her mother turned. She saw the fear in her mother’s eyes. Tears lined her eyes. A sob broke from her throat. Darcy’s heart constricted. She couldn’t see her mother cry. Darcy took a deep breath.

The image drifted farther away. She saw her mother’s frail form disappear. She extended her hand but nobody held it. It faded into darkness. She opened her eyes. An image of the apartment solidified. The dreamy glaze was gone.

“Black holes have been found near….” the anchor went on. Darcy opened her eyes. Her apartment came into view. The television was on. She was an anchor with a long, oval face go on about black holes. She turned the television off.

Her gaze lingered on her reflection. In her face, she saw images of her mother. The images were nothing but memories. The sharp sound of trains filled her ears. She closed her ears.

Darcy quickly drank the soup Susan brought her, trying to bury her memories in the warmth of chicken soup. She never had that dream before. Dr. Cleo’s death changed everything. Her visions changed. Her nightmares stopped.

She stared at the blank television screen until she fell asleep on the couch.

Darcy’s sleep was cut short by a sharp ring. Darcy opened her eyes. Daylight poured in through the narrow opening between the curtains. Particles of dust moved toward her. She coughed. She hit the phone in an attempt to silence it. When she realized it was not an alarm, she got up with a start. Her eyes fell on the screen.

Mike

She answered immediately.

“Hello?” she said in a groggy voice.

“Darcy? It’s Mike.” His voice was steady.

“Good morning.” she said.

“How are you? I tried calling you yesterday.”

“I wasn’t in yesterday,” she said.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes.”

“Somebody named Detective Jones came to my house last night.” Mike said. “He wanted to know if you were with me on Sunday.”

Darcy closed her eyes. “I’m sorry-”

“I told him we had lunch,” Mike went on. “What’s going on?”

“He’s just doing his job,” she began, off-tangent. “He came by and asked me a few questions too.”

“That’s all it is, right?” he said, hesitantly.

“Ummm…” 

“I returned the book yesterday. You weren’t in.” Mike said.

“I haven’t been feeling well,” Darcy said. “I’ll return to work on Monday.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah…it’s just the flu.” She said.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” 

She hung up. Darcy turned to the clock. Darcy brushed her teeth, lifelessly. Her mind lingered on Mike’s words. Detective Jones was not going to let her off so easily. 

Darcy rushed out of the bathroom and turned on her laptop. She sat on the couch with the laptop nestled on her lap. She opened My Diary. The black page reflected her disheveled face. She cleared her throat and scrolled. Another post was up.

The Red Barn

An image of a red barn lay over the post’s body. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on the image. Her stomach muscles pulled. She coughed. Acid encircled her empty belly. The image of the barn invoked a response in her that she didn’t expect. Fear and guilt overtook her. Her heart constricted, propelled by the discomfort. She closed her eyes and visualized the barn go up in flames. She jerked her eyes open, trying to brush away the memory.

Her fingers gripped the keypad and scrolled.

The red barn is a figment of my imagination. It is a place buried deep in the layers of my memory. I don’t know where it is. I’ve never seen anything like it but I’ve been here. Is it deja vu?

Whenever I think of this barn, my head fills with images of horror. I don’t remember why I was here. I don’t remember what happened. But, this image fills my heart with fear, fear of the known.

The unknown creates fear and anxiety but truth is worse. Trudging close to an unpleasant truth is worse than being in the dark.

What happened here? Why do I fear this place? I find myself asking those questions more often.

I found out that there was once a barn like this near my hometown. There is no red barn on the farm now. Dad says I’ve never been there. But I know I have. I’ve seen the barn burn to ashes. I stood there while the flames swallowed the building. I don’t know when, why or how. That’s all I remember.

I called the owner of the farm today. He told me there used to be a red barn on that land but it burned down fifteen years ago. He doesn’t know how the fire started. Or maybe he does, but he doesn’t want to tell me.

How did the fire start? Why do I remember that barn? As I inch closer to that answer, the truth becomes clearer.

The question is, do I want to know the truth?

Darcy scrolled up and saw an image of the barn. The barn had been photoshopped into the picture. Her eyes remained on it. It was the one in her dreams. How did the doppelgänger know about it? What truth lay buried in the barn?

The phone buzzed. Darcy moved her eyes through the list of unread messages.

Brian

Should I delete it?

Darcy contemplated the idea while toying with her phone.

Darcy

No.

She pressed ‘send’. She couldn’t let the message go. She wanted to know more about the barn. It had never been part of her visions until Dr. Cleo’s death. The barn was red. Her least favorite color. That was a sign.

Monday morning arrived. After a relatively peaceful weekend, Darcy returned to work on Monday. At 8:00 AM she stood before the university library. The building restored a sense of calm in her. The glass doors opened. Darcy stepped through.

The person who stood waiting for her wasn’t Susan or Jillian but Detective Jones.

“Good morning,” he uttered in a raspy voice.

“Detective Jones.” Darcy’s hands were cold. She made eye contact.

“I dropped by to have a look at the collection,” he said. It was a lie.

“Why are you persecuting me?” Darcy stormed. 

“I’m doing my job.” he said, casually before walking away.