The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller (13 page)

Chapter 15

“How did your mother die?” The sound of buses, people and car horns disappeared. Darcy was almost run over by a car. Jillian pulled her away. Darcy’s heartbeat filled her ears. She stared blankly at the hub of activity. The mannequins and shop lighting were transformed into a procession of blurry lights.

“You never talk about her,” Jillian said, clutching her purse.

“There isn’t much to say,” Darcy said, shakily, her eyes fixed on the road. Jillian and Darcy walked toward the nearest takeaway. “She died when I was in school.”

“You have no memories of her?”

“Not many,” Darcy said.

“What did she do?”

“She was a journalist.” The pedestrian sign turned red. Cars drove through. Darcy paused at the corner of the road. Her feet tapped on the concrete pavement.

“A journalist? What kind of articles did she write?”

“News, you know. That’s what journalists do,” Darcy said. “She was always busy. That’s what I remember, at least.”

“Don’t you have any memories of spending time with her?”

“Well, she was home on my birthday.” Darcy said. The lights changed to green. Darcy and Jillian walked across the street.

Her lunch was in sight. Darcy’s footsteps sped up.

“So, how did your mother die?” Jillian asked, again.

“It was an accident,” Darcy said. She stood outside the shop. She opened the glass door and stepped in.

At 1:30 PM, Darcy was back at the library. She climbed the winding staircase to the second floor. She opened the restroom door and entered. She looked at her reflection. The lines on her face were sharper than she remembered them. Two days at the police station had taken its toll.

Darcy’s phone buzzed. An unknown number. She answered.

“Hello?” The hair on Darcy’s hands stood up. She recognized the soft, soothing voice. Mom. A flurry of thoughts ran through her mind.

“Hello.” Darcy’s voice was low.

“Hello? Darcy Godfrey?” the voice asked. It sounded so real.

“Who am I speaking to?” Darcy asked. Her eyeballs moved toward her left ear. She heard sounds in the background. The signal wasn’t good. Darcy walked out of the restroom, in a hurry. Her fingers closed on the phone. She stood by the large window in the corridor, waiting for a response.

“Uh…I’m calling from Bank of America,” the woman said, hesitantly. Darcy sighed. “You-you are eligible for a credit card-”

“No, thank you. I’m not interested.” Darcy hung up immediately. The phone slid into her pocket. It was a bank call. Her senses returned.

She gazed at the grey sky outside the window. Jillian’s words echoed in her ears. She did remember her mother. She remembered the memories they shared. She wished she’d forgotten, but she remembered everything. Even the woman on the phone sounded like her mother. Every time she saw someone with clear blue eyes on the street, she stopped. Every time she heard a soft voice, she turned. Time hadn’t been able to erase the memory.

Darcy stepped into Susan’s room. Nobody was in. She placed herself on a chair. She poured herself some tea. She saw the book that was lying on the table.

Doppelgänger

A bookmark was inserted halfway through. She picked the book up. Her eyes fell on the bookmarked chapter. She began reading.

Doppelgangers and Parallel Universes

Identical doppelgängers are our mirror images in a parallel universe. For every person, there exists a reflection in another dimension. This mirror image is called a doppelgänger. The doppelgänger has the same memories and experiences as the original image. Thus, the main events in a person and his doppelganger’s life are the same.

A point of divergence is created when the doppelgänger enters another dimension. At this point, two realities collide. The dimensions merge and create a third reality.

In such circumstances, a doppelgänger shares the same past as its image but not the same future. In other words, the reflection creates a unique identity when it transcends the limitations of dimension.

The above is a reason many myths consider the existence of doppelgängers to be an omen of bad luck. A doppelgänger that creates its identity does so at the cost of its image. This creation of identity may take many forms including the death of the original image. This is because the existence of two same images in one dimension creates an imbalance.

The door opened.

“Here you are,” Susan said. Susan’s eyes trailed to the book. “Are you feeling better?”

“Ummm…”

“A detective was here this morning.” Susan’s voice dropped. Darcy’s fingers lingered over the book cover. She placed it on the table.

“He was asking about you.”

“Me?”

“He asked how long you’d been working here and about your personality.”

Darcy was silent.

“I wonder why he was asking around about you.”

“He must be doing his job,” Darcy said, nervously. “I’ll get back to work.”

She stepped out of the room and closed the door. She walked to the shelves and began stacking them. Her hollow eyes looked at the students who were busy reading. There was silence all around.

In the evening, Darcy walked to the Red Line. As she stood on the platform, her eyes moved to the left. They were all looking at her. The man next to her turned away when she shot him a glance. He began reading something on his smart phone. They all knew.

Darcy pulled her phone out and read the news.

New Evidence found in Dr. Williams Case

The police confirmed that CCTV footage was  found at Dr. Williams’ apartment building. This footage could be the key to narrowing down the list of suspects and perhaps, finding what really happened. 

The train stopped. Darcy walked onto it with her eyes fixed on her phone. The doors closed. She saw reflections of strangers staring at her. Her eyes turned to the news article. There was nothing about her. She was relieved. 

The train stopped at Damen later that evening. Darcy was the first one to get off. Her phone vibrated. She answered.

“Hello?” she closed her left ear with her finger. The sound of trains and footsteps persisted in the background.

“Hi, sis? Is this a good time to talk?” Dan asked.

“Yeah…” The escalator met the ground. Darcy stepped out of the station. She began walking home.

“A detective called today,” Dan began, hesitantly. Darcy didn’t answer. “He wanted to know about you. Is everything fine?” 

“What did you tell him?” Darcy asked.

“He asked me if you had ever met Dr. Williams. He asked quite a few questions about him, actually.”

“What did you say?”

“I said you’ve never met him,” He said. “Sis, what is this about? Why was he asking about you?”

“He-” Darcy’s voice broke. She felt uneasiness clutch her body. She inhaled. “He suspects me for murder.”

“Murder!? That is-”

“He interviewed me yesterday,” Darcy said, her voice shaky. “They didn’t have enough evidence to charge me so they let me go. It’s all a misunderstanding-”

“I should come-”

“No. Just stay in New York. It’s best if you don’t get involved.”

“Is there any way I can help you?”

“No. I have a defense attorney to help me.”

“You hired a lawyer? Just how serious is this?”

“He’s on the wrong track,” Darcy said. “Detective Jones will give up once he finds no evidence against me.”

“Do you think he’ll call dad?”

“He asked about my family so I assume he will.”

“You should tell dad about it.”

Darcy dropped the bag. She stood at the edge of the road. A car sped toward her. The driver, startled by her sudden appearance, maneuvered the car away reflexively. He yelled. The car drove away. Darcy caught her breath. She bent to pick the bag up.

“Sis, should I call later?” Dan was ready to hang up.

“Good night.”

Darcy hung up.

Darcy called her father next. The phone rang. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Five. Dad answered.

“Hello?” his voice sounded distant. The last time they spoke to each other was three months ago. 

“Dad, it’s me.” Darcy said, clearing her throat.

“Darcy? How are you?” Her father’s voice was not normal. He was in panic mode.

“I’m fine.” Darcy said.

“That’s a relief,” her father said. His tight voice eased. “A detective called today.”

Darcy held her breath and waited for him to go on.

“He asked about our family history. What is this about?”

Darcy swallowed.

“He suspects me of a murder.”

“What!?”

“He’s been asking around about me,” Darcy said. “He interviewed.”

“Interview? At the police station?” Dad’s voice was hollow.

“Yes.”

“I’ll come-”

“No. Mr. Adams…a defense attorney is helping me.”

“But you must be stressed. This…I never expected something like this to happen.”

“Neither did I.”

“I shouldn’t have told the Detective about your mother’s mental history…”

“What? What are you saying?”

“It wasn’t anything serious,” her father said. “She was traumatized for a while after …uh…never mind.”

“After what?”

“Nothing.”

“Dad, tell me, was mom sick?” Darcy asked. His voice died. There was no response. Silence vibrated on the phone line.

“It was hard for all of us,” his reply came in a low voice after a long pause. “You were...er...sick for a long time. She took you to all the counsellors she could find. When the therapies didn’t work, she grew hopeless.”

“Mom took me to counsellors?” Darcy asked. The problem only began after her mother died. Everything stopped making sense.

Darcy remembered the faces of those psychiatrists. She remembered the hopelessness in their eyes. She never thought she would come out of the abyss.

Darcy stood outside her apartment building. Her feet froze a few inches away from the door. Stony silence greeted her. Her heartbeat merged into the phone line.

“I….” Jillian’s questions troubled Darcy’s mind. She turned to the phone and took a deep breath before speaking. “Dad, how did mom die?”

Darcy had to ask. She had to know. Her memories spiraled, without making any sense. Was the past what she remembered it as?

“Die!?” Dad’s sharp voice pierced her eardrums. He was shocked. Uneasiness crept up Darcy’s body. Bells of fear rang in her mind.

“She didn’t die.” It was a pronouncement of the truth. The phone wobbled in Darcy’s hand.

“You thought she was dead?” her father went on, regaining some composure. The words hammered into Darcy’s mind. Her mother didn’t die.

“I did….I wonder why.” Darcy asked.

“Your mother didn’t die. She left.”

Those words sucked the oxygen from the atmosphere. Suddenly, the story she believed all along seemed more palpable. Shadows converged into silhouettes of people on the street. They filled her vision with darkness. Darcy’s legs bolted. She sat on the cold, stony street. The street lamp illuminated her.

“What are you saying?” She found her voice with difficulty.

“She didn’t die,” Dad reiterated. “She’s alive.”

The words coursed through her transforming into happiness. Her mother was alive. Then the happiness suddenly faded to disgust. Her father’s last words rang in her mind. She left.

The phone fell away from Darcy’s ears. Her hands didn’t have the strength to hold the phone. It slipped through her fingers and fell on the ground.

“Hello?” Distant echoes of Dad’s voice filled her ears. The phone lay on the ground. Darcy’s breaths filled her hollow skull. She stared at the stone street until it made sense. She looked at her cold, trembling hands. The slow realization drugged her system. Darcy wasn’t dreaming. Her mother never died. She
left
.

She heard footsteps click on the stone. She didn’t turn. Her eyes remained on the phone lying on the ground. Dad’s voice was gone. A long shadow stretched over the phone. It blocked the street light. Darcy’s form was covered in darkness. She sat on the floor, trembling and breathless.

Smokey mewed. The chill made its way through her back. Changing shadows solidified. Smokey’s shadow shifted. The cat moved to her side. She nudged the phone on the ground. Darcy met Smokey’s piercing green eyes.

“She’s alive…” she told the cat. Her eyes looked at the cat’s paws. “She was alive all these years…..”

Darcy exhaled and inhaled deeply. Smokey curled near Darcy’s feet.

“She was alive, but she didn’t contact me.” Darcy said. Her voice broke. She longed to see her mother. She longed to know what happened. Why had her mother left? How sick was she? Where was she?

Darcy placed her hand on the ground and stood up. Her knees cracked. She picked up the phone. Smokey curled around her feet. She took a step toward the door. She opened the door and vanished into her apartment.

Chapter 16

Darcy stopped in front of a freestanding house in Evanston. The residential street was lined with cars. She looked at her GPS. This was it. The sun shone down on her- the second sunny day this month. Noises from the busy city melted away. The road was quiet. Curtains were drawn over the long hexagonal windows. The front gate was open. A trash can was next to the house. She opened the white gate and walked in.

A patch of green extended behind the house. The ground was covered with a few fallen yellow leaves. The trees were almost barren.

Three school kids walked by in blue school uniforms. One of them was busy eating rice pudding. Another munched on a candy bar. Her coarse black hair was neatly braided. The two boys and the girl looked at Darcy. She turned away.

Leaves rustled under her boots. She reached the door.

Silence.

She tapped the door. The low sound of wood didn’t travel. She knocked again, louder. Nobody answered. She rang the bell next to the door. A sharp ring travelled through the house. No answer.

She turned the door handle. It was locked. She couldn’t see anything beyond the white window blinds. Nobody was in.

Another runner passed her by.

“You looking for Jenny?” he called. Darcy saw a middle-aged man with a muscular frame. His blue eyes squinted. He wore a blue waterproof jacket and running shoes.

“Uh…yes…Jennifer Scott,” she said, reading the name on her phone.

“She’s not in,” the man said, glancing at the house ahead. Darcy smelled sweat. Her nose curled. “She isn’t back before seven.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

He examined her. 

“Do you want me to deliver a message?”

“No…I’ll come back later.” Darcy said.

“She works in the morning.” He said. 

“Where…where does she work?” Darcy asked. The man stared at her. “Does she have a contact number?”

“Wait a second. I think have her number but who are you?” the man said. He pulled the earphones out.

“She’s a personal acquaintance of mine,” Darcy said, in a deep voice. “I recently discovered she lives in Evanston.”

“You live here?”

“Yes, in the city of Chicago.”

“Ah. And you never met her before?”

“Uh…she was friends with my mother. I haven’t been in touch with her since my mother passed away,” she said.

“Sorry to hear that,” He said. “Here you go. That’s her number.”

He flashed the phone at her. Darcy keyed the number into her phone.

“Thank you so much Mr…..”

“Davis,” he added, with a smile. “And you are?”

“I’m Darcy.”

“Nice to meet you, Darcy. See you around.”

He waved and continued his run. Darcy turned away. She walked down the road and turned at the main road. She stood at the bus stop, waiting for the next bus to arrive. Her gaze lingered on the number. She couldn’t summon the courage to call her mother.

Her mother. She never thought she’d say those words again.

At 1:00 PM, Darcy was back in the library. She had taken half the day off to go to her mother’s house in Evanston. The glass doors opened. She walked in. The number of students had doubled since the beginning of the semester. Darcy glanced across the library. Empty chairs with books and laptops on them greeted her. Many of them were away for lunch.

She slipped past the rows of empty desks to a computer. She logged in and checked the blog. A new post was up.

Memories

Darcy inhaled and turned her eyes to the post.

Memories. Those pesky little things embed themselves in the dark spaces of the mind and grow like fungus until they’ve consumed every cell of your brain.

Nobody ever questions memories. We know. In that knowing is a powerful seed. A seed of ignorance.

I’ve had time to re-think my memories this winter. Things I took for granted don’t exist. Things I thought didn’t exist, do. Some memories make no sense. There are things I should’ve questioned long ago. But, I didn’t because that’s how memories are. You just know.

When a memory dies, the truth takes its place. Losing a memory is more painful than losing an arm. Because memories cannot be amputated. In familiarity, we find a sense of security. When this security leaves, the unfamiliar remains.

My memories are being uprooted. I’m lost. I don’t recognize the world. The world as I know it is ending.

I am seeing things that have been buried for a long time. As I unearth those truths, more questions emerge- questions that challenge my memory. The only way to know now is to go to the end.

The post ended. Darcy stared at the screen, wide eyed. Reflections formed and disappeared on the dark screen. The one that remained constant was her own. The blogger knew. D knew her mother was alive. How?

Darcy closed the window and stood up. Her eyes lingered on the computer screen. A screensaver with the university’s logo filled it.

She pulled out her phone and looked through the list of number. Thank god she still had it. She had almost not transferred the number when she changed phones. She began dialing the number of the counsellor who treated her when she was at university. She must’ve told him something about her mother.

“Hello?” a friendly receptionist’s voice greeted her.

“Is this Rush University Medical Center?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Hi. My name is Darcy. I received treatment at your psychiatric ward eight years ago. I want to know if my medical records are still available.”

“Are you seeking to access your medical records?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Let me check. Was it eight years ago?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Your name?”

“Darcy Godfrey.”

Darcy heard the sound of keys.

“Yes. We have your details on file,” She said. “If you want to request copies of your medical record, you will need to come down to the practice in person. We require a form to be submitted along with a copy of a photo ID.”

“When can I come?”

“We’re open nine to six every day. Anytime between that is fine. Also, please bring a government issued photo ID for verification.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Darcy said and hung up. 

At 7:00 PM, Darcy stood at the platform. The train was due to arrive in three minutes. Darcy swayed amidst the crowd, her hands clutching the phone. She plugged the earphones in and put on a track with a heavy beat. Courage rose in her heart. She browsed through her list of contacts. There was a new one.

Mom.

She swallowed her joy. She was alive. All these years, she was alive.

The train emerged with its long tail of coaches. They were full. Darcy sighed. The door opened. Nobody got off. She squeezed herself amidst the crowd. The doors closed.

At 8:00 PM, she was back in her apartment. An eerie silence filled the corridor. She pushed the key in and clicked the door open. She threw her bag and shoes away. On her way to the bedroom, she turned on the television. Sound blasted through the room.

A few minutes later, she sat before the television in sweatpants. She flipped through channels until her eyes hit on a music program playing pop hits. She watched music videos in rapid succession while she ate dinner.

Her eyes lingered on the phone. She pulled it closer. Her heart thudded. She clicked on her mother’s number. She turned the television off. The silence droned on. Her fingers inched toward the phone number. She swallowed.

Mom.

The words hit her in the gut. She didn’t know if it was the right number. She needed to know. She wanted to know.

Darcy pressed ‘call’. She shut her eyes tightly. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“Hello?” her mother’s voice. The soft voice brought her senses to a standstill. She ached to hear that voice. Her fingers held tighter to the phone.

“Hello, is this Ms. Jennifer Scott?” Darcy asked. She cleared her throat.

“Yes?”

“Uh…I was wondering if we could meet sometime?” she enquired.

“Excuse me, who am I talking to?”

“I am…uh…I’m interested in applying for the Bank of America credit card.” Darcy slapped her head. She waited for a response.

“Oh this is my personal number. May I know how you got this number?” she said.

“Uh….one of your colleagues gave it to me, I think…” Darcy said.

“They don’t usually give personal numbers out.”

“She must’ve made a mistake.” Darcy said.

“You can use my official number to call me in the future. I’ll message the number to you.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said. A long pause followed. “When are you in? I was wondering if we could talk about the credit card policies before I apply.”

“The bank timings are eleven to five. I’m in between that time. You can ask for me at the reception.”

“Oh…I see. Thanks,” Darcy licked her dry lips. “Is Friday a good day?”

“Yeah sure. Your name?”

“Darcy.” Silence.

“Surname?”

“Clark.” she lied.

“I’ll see you on Friday, Darcy.”

“See you.” Darcy hung up. She stared at the lifeless phone.

After the initial euphoria passed, an uncomfortable feeling settled into her body. Her mother was alive, but she didn’t acknowledge her. Darcy heard her hesitation when she pronounced her name. She knew Darcy was her daughter, but she pretended to not know her. Why?

At 8:00 the next morning, Darcy stepped out of her house. The sky was grey. Last morning’s sunshine became a distant dream. Darcy walked past the apartment building and merged into the road. At 8:50, she stood before the library. Her phone buzzed. She answered.

“Morning,” Mike’s voice burst through the speakers.

“Mike. Good morning.” Darcy said. She stepped in through the glass door. Her heels clicked up the marble staircase.

“I have some news for you.” He said, sounding upbeat.

“News?”

“I met Jillian’s doppelgänger.”

“What?” Darcy almost slipped. She held onto the railing and balanced herself.

“She came to the office yesterday. I had a word with her. I don’t think she’s an identical doppelgänger,” Mike went on. “They look similar but not the same. She works at an advertising agency.”

“She isn’t from a parallel universe?” Darcy asked, her voice rising. A passer by stared at her like she was crazy.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Oh.” Darcy concealed her disappointment in one syllable.

“I need another book from the library. I know, keep asking you for favors.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll send the details over then?”

“Sure. I think you should get a visitor’s card. It’s convenient.”

“I’ll sign up for one when I come in the next time.” Mike said. 

He hung up. Darcy disconnected the phone. She remembered the words written on the pages of the book Jillian was reading. Her mind dwelled on every detail of the cream page. The pages were new.

Darcy stepped into Susan’s. Nobody was in. The book was gone. She hung her coat on the stand and proceeded to check her messages. Brian sent her another message.

Brian

Should I delete the memories post?

Darcy replied.

Darcy

No

Her fingers moved over the keys like lightning. She sent the message. She put the phone away.

Darcy moved near the heater and placed her hands over it. The heater revived her numb fingers. She looked out of the window. Fallen leaves left behind barren trees.

On her way home from work, Darcy stopped by at Rush University Medical Center. She walked in, her heart thudding with anticipation. Her eyes skimmed over the man at the counter. He had a dark, prominent beard and large brown eyes. He wore a uniform and smiled at her. The practice was going to close in thirty minutes. She hurried to the counter and flashed a smile.

“Hello,” he said in a monotone.

“Hi. I called yesterday morning. I wanted to access my old medical records,” she began. “I received treatment from Dr. Nathan eight years ago. I wanted to put in a formal application.”

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Darcy Godfrey.”

He typed her name and searched the database.

“Your birthdate?”

“Sixteenth September nineteen eighty-five.”

He looked up at her. “May I have your identity proof?”

Darcy quickly pulled her driving license out of her bag and placed it on the table. She was relieved to know she brought it along. The guy at the counter took the driver’s license and photocopied it. Darcy tapped her fingers impatiently, waiting for him to return.

“I need to ask you a few security questions to confirm your identity.” he said. He slipped her driving license through the narrow gap on the glass counter.

“Sure.” Darcy shoved the license into her bag.

“Date of birth?”

“Sixth September, nineteen eighty-five.”

“That’s correct. Name of your emergency contact?”

“Ian Godfrey.”

“Relationship to emergency contact.”

“Father.”

“Mother’s maiden name?”

Darcy was silent.

“Mother’s maiden name?” he repeated.

“Jennifer Scott.”

“That’s right.” He said. He entered something into the system before handing her a form. “Fill this up. We usually take five working days to process requests. Once we’re done processing, you’ll be mailed the report. Reports cost fifteen dollars. We charge eight fifty for mailing.”

“I understand,” Darcy said, receiving the form from him. She pulled out a pen form the reception and began filling the form. She finished filling it out and handed it to the guy at the reception.

“Thank you. I’ll put in the request for you.” He said.

Darcy took the next train home. She was eager to see her report. What was her father hiding?

Darcy walked to her apartment at night. Her phone buzzed. An unknown number lit up the screen. She didn’t answer. She continued to walk.

Her apartment building came into view. Her feet froze at the base of the stairs.

The door opened, casting its vertical shadow on her body. The thin shadow split her body into two halves. A long figure emerged from the door. The dim Victorian lamp illuminated his face.

Detective Jones.

Darcy instinctively stepped back. His shadow moved closer. Darcy’s breathing grew uneven. In two strides, Detective Jones covered the distance between them. His body towered hers.

“Good…evening…detective.” Darcy stammered. She clutched her bag for support. His hands reached for handcuffs. She noticed a police car parked in the distance. The neighbors were looking at her. The light in the windows was blocked by bodies. They looked down at her.

“What brings you here?” Darcy asked, steadying herself.

“I was confirming a few details with your neighbor. Remember your appointment next Thursday?”

“Yes.”

“See you there.” He said. There was a menacing expression on his face as he walked away.

Shadows flickered on her face. She climbed up the stairs and opened the front door. 

Her phone rang.

“Darcy?” Dan’s concerned voice burst through the speakers.

“Dan, what’s the matter?” Darcy asked.

“Dad…he collapsed.”

“Collapsed? What happened?”

“I don’t know. I got to the hospital just now. The hospital staff rang me up at work and said dad suffered a heart attack.”

“A heart attack? Is he all right?”

“I don’t know. Sis, you should come.” There a finality in his voice. Darcy understood what he meant. She inhaled. New York. It had been her home ten years ago. As much as she hated the idea of going back there, it was the only choice now. She had to have her answers before dad passed away.