The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller (19 page)

Chapter 22

Darcy woke up in her apartment. Dark shadows merged into a ball of light at the edge of the curtain. She opened her eyes fully, revealing the empty corners of the room. She began to breathe again.

The doorbell rang. Darcy pushed the blanket away. The cold seeped through her body. Her legs skidded across the surface of the floor. She opened the door.

Detective Jones’ piercing, grey eyes met her gaze.

“Good morning,” he said in his low, husky voice. The first image that entered Darcy’s mind was that of her mother, lying dead on the bedroom floor. The image spiraled. She coughed, brushing the image away.

Detective Jones barged into the apartment. Darcy followed him. He looked at the apartment and coughed.

“I have some bad news,” he said in a croaky voice. His eyes met hers. She took a step back. Her gaze didn’t leave him. “Your mother-”

Darcy closed her eyes. It was real. What happened yesterday was real.

“What’s happened to my mother?” Darcy asked, barely summoning the courage to speak. Detective Jones rubbed his eyes.

“We rushed her to the hospital after you called yesterday…but…I’m sorry.” he lowered his head. Darcy turned away and breathed. He looked to her. Her breathing grew faster. Tears erupted in her eyes.

“Detective-” Darcy’s fingers brushed the edge of the couch.

“It’s shocking,” he said. Darcy’s eyes were on the blank wall before her. She sunk to the floor, her knees collapsed. Detective Jones remained standing.

“I’m investigating the murder,” he said before she could recover. “I was here to ask a few questions regarding what you saw last night.”

Darcy

“It was her,” Darcy said, her voice sharp. She turned to Detective Jones with seriousness in her eyes.  “My doppelgänger.”

“What?” he shot her a clueless glance.   

“She exists. I’m sure of it,” Darcy said. “The bank…the video footage at the bank. I’m sure there’s a footage of it. She’s left handed…she stole my money.”

Detective Jones turned, confused. “What are you saying?”

“Do you remember the talker Mr. Hatter spoke about?” Darcy asked.

“What about it?” Detective Jones asked.

“It’s her. She writes a blog,” Darcy said, after a long moment. “I’ve been following it for two months. She came to my apartment two days ago, but she didn’t meet me. She’s been following me. She knows all about-about me.”

“I understand you’re shocked by your mother’s death,” he said. He didn’t believe her. “Was there somebody you saw last night?”

“She knows everything about my life,” Darcy continued. “She broke into my house and went through my belongings.”

She paused. The expression in Detective Jones’ eyes changed.

“She? You’ve seen her?” he asked.

“Ummm…she looks like me. She went to the bank on Wednesday to see my mother. Maybe she was following her….”

The images began to form in Darcy’s mind. The blog posts aligned into a message. D had written about visiting her mother. Darcy sense her hatred and resentment from the post. Could it be?-

“Is this the stalker Mr. Hatter was talking about?” Detective Jones asked.

“Yes.” Darcy said, faintly, amidst a flurry of memories.

“I see,” his voice turned hollow.

“Do you- do you know something about her?”

He didn’t say anything.

“What happened?”

Detective Jones cleared his throat.

“Tell me, please.” Darcy pleaded.

“Your mother was being followed. She said she was being watched since a month ago. There were no calls or letters but she was sure somebody was following her. She reported the incident to the police a week ago.”

“That means-”

“Someone was following her. If what Mr. Hatter said is true, the same person was following you. Can you tell me more about the break in?” Detective Jones’ eyes darted from one corner of the room to another.

Darcy couldn’t think. Her mind made the connections. The doppelgänger killed her mother. She wanted to ruin Darcy’s life. She wanted to take away her happiness. Maybe she was looking for Darcy now. Darcy’s blood curdled.  She remembered the lingering shadow outside the window. When their eyes met last night, she experienced something she never had.

“It was her. She killed my mother.” Darcy said, breathless. Hysteria spread over her body. Her breathing grew jagged.

“Are you okay?” Detective Jones asked. Everything disappeared for that one moment. The blog posts flooded her mind. The words made more sense now. The doppelgänger had an agenda. She was trying to replace Darcy. She had killed Dr. Cleo and her mother and let Darcy take the blame. 

“She killed my mother,” Darcy repeated. The words throbbed against her brain. They sank in.

Darcy’s fear-stricken eyes turned to Detective Jones.

A sob escaped her lips. “I don’t know who she is. I don’t know why she is doing this.”

“I will need to look into the bank CCTV footage,” he said. “Do you have any idea where this person lives?”

“No…she called me to Potter’s café once. She might live there.”

“She’s tried to contact you.”

“Twice but she never showed up.”

“When was this?”

“I can’t remember exactly,” Darcy said. “Sometime in September end or October beginning.”

“She never contacted you again?”

“She sent me a message saying we’d meet soon when I was in New York.”

“And?”

“It’s been a week. I haven’t seen her.”

“You said she came here.”

“She hung around the door and disappeared.” Darcy said.

“She didn’t come in?”

“No.”

“Did she steal anything when she broke in?”

“No but I think she searched for my mother’s picture. The frame was broken when I got home.”

“Hmmmm…That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing else was stolen or tampered with?”

“No.”

“And this was the day the CCTV was scheduled for maintenance?”

“Yes.”

“But somebody must’ve seen her come…if somebody came.”

“Actually….” Darcy hesitated. “Mr. Hatter did.”

“What? He didn’t mention it.” Detective Jones said, eyeing her cautiously.

“He thought it was me. He said he saw me come during lunchtime. I don’t come home for lunch. I was at work that day.”

“Which day was this again?”

“Let me check,” Darcy said, turning to the calendar. She announced the date.

“What were you doing that afternoon?”

“I was at work. I must’ve been with—”

He left. The door closed.

Darcy’s teeth chattered in her apartment. The TV blasted in the living room. She was nervous about her appointment with the police the following day. Was Detective Jones going to arrest her? She remembered their conversation that morning. Where was the doppelgänger? Darcy wanted to meet her, now more than ever. However, her curiosity was overshadowed by fear. She picked up the phone and stared at it blankly.

9:00 PM.

Should she send a message?

She alternated between the sitcom on television and the phone for the next hour. It made her tired. Her eyelids drooped. Before they closed and merged with eternal darkness, she heard a sharp buzz.

A message.

She picked her phone up and glanced at the phone. She had received a new e-mail. She tapped the mail icon. It blew up into a full screen. Her eyes met the first message.

Let’s meet

The subject gave it all away. Darcy opened the e-mail. It was from her e-mail address. Her doppelgänger had sent the message. Darcy scrolled through the short message.

Howard stop. Tonight. 11 pm. Alone.

-D

Darcy took a deep breath, waiting for her mind to digest the message. Her doppelgänger wanted to meet her. Howard was notorious for its high crime rate. She swallowed hard. She unlocked the phone and pulled out Detective Jones’ number. Her hands lingered over the ‘call’ button.

At 11:00 PM that night, Darcy stood in Howard. A few people stood on the platform, waiting for trains. The night made her uneasy. Strangers stared at her. She strained her eyes to look for any sign of the doppelgänger.  

Her phone buzzed. She ignored the sound. It buzzed again. Darcy pulled the phone out of her pocket and read the message.

Howard station Parking Lot.

-D

Darcy walked out of the station. Her eyes darted from one end to another, observing the movements of people for any irregularity. She stepped outside the station into the wide, lonely street. The shadows of trees and street lamps greeted her. The emptiness made her realize how late she was. She took a step back. Her eyes looked around for the parking lot. She turned to the map. The parking lot was behind the station. She stared at the building before her. On shaky legs, she moved toward the dark street. She kept her hands inside her bag, on the pepper spray.

She walked to the parking lot, her heartbeat insanely violent. She heard her boots click on the cold road as she entered the parking lot. There were a few cards inside. The parking attendant was half asleep. She slipped behind him and moved toward the cars. She looked around. She didn’t see anybody. She pulled out her phone and sent a message.

Where are you?

She put the phone into her pocket, shivering in the cold. She clutched her bag as a hand grabbed her. Sharp fingers dug into her coat. She winced. Darcy regained her balance. Darcy noticed a scar on the exposed hand. Fear tricked through her brain. The woman’s hands dug deeper. The force made her turn.

Darcy’s honey-colored eyes looked into the stranger’s identical honey-colored eyes. They wore the same blue coat. The stranger’s coat was stained on the right sleeve. Darcy looked down at hers and found a shadow of the same stain. She dropped her bag. She couldn’t summon the courage to pick it up.

Her eyes turned to the woman’s black boots. They were the same. Darcy was looking at her reflection. Only, there was no mirror. A thick column of air stood between the two Darcys. The air was heavy with silence. Darcy felt a punch in her gut.

Her heartbeat played like the climax of a symphony. Her stomach muscles clenched, warning her to run away. The clouds parted away from the moon, revealing the doppelgänger with scientific precision. They were exactly the same.

Darcy stepped forward, her body trembling violently. The other woman did not budge. She looked into Darcy’s eyes, without blinking.

Darcy imagined the meeting in many ways but nothing compared to the real thing. All the scenarios she constructed faded away like dust. The honey eyes blinked vividly. They burned like liquid fire. Brown hair cascaded down her shoulder. Her unflinching gaze said everything.

Darcy shrunk to the floor. The damp soil formed a patch on Darcy’s jeans. The dampness soaked into her skin. Her breathing grew uneven. She was gasping for air.

A soft voice woke her up from the nightmare.

“Get in.” it was a command. The doppelgänger opened the car door. She pinner her hands back, tying them up. Before Darcy could scream, D slapped her hand over Darcy’s mouth.

Her eyes turned to the doppelgänger. She was every bit as real as she was. Darcy didn’t budge.

The doppelgänger opened the car door and pushed Darcy into the car. Darcy struggled to find her voice. She sat on the driver’s seat and started the car.

“What-what are you doing?” Darcy asked, her tongue beating against the saltiness of D’s bare hands. A nail of fear drove into her mind. The woman ignited the engine.

“Get in the car.” She said. She shoved Darcy in and pulled the seatbelt over, rendered her trapped. She quickly moved around and sat in the driver’s seat.

She started the car. Darcy struggled to open the door. The woman pulled her back.

“Sit down.” she spat the words. The car began to move. She sped up instantly. The image of Howard station shrank as they drove further away.

They were on the main road now. The doppelgänger steered the car to the center of the road. Silence hung over them.

“Who are you?” Darcy asked, her eyes on the driver. There was no response.

She was calmer now. Though she had no idea where they were going, they were surrounded by trees and long roads. They were on a highway.

“Where are you taking me?” she persisted.

“You’ll know. Soon.”

With those words, she turned to the road. Darcy sat in the car, staring at the endless highway lined with street lights. Fear flooded through her. She saw the sinister expression on the doppelgänger’s face and her courage shrunk.

The doppelgänger turned on the radio.

‘
My name is Darcy Godfrey. I was born on 16
th
September, 1985 in Smithtown, NY
…..’ the fateful story began in a low voice.

“What’s this?” Darcy asked.

“My story,” She said. “And, yours.” 

Darcy remained silent as the tape played. With unease coiling in her belly, she heard the commentary.

Each line that followed it was a revelation. Breathless, Darcy turned to the doppelgänger. The light hit her hazel eyes which froze over Darcy.

At that moment, she remembered Jilian’s words.

“They say when you see somebody who looks exactly like you, you die.”

Darcy never believed those words.

Until now.

Chapter 23

D’s Story

My name is Darcy Godfrey. I was born on 16th September, 1985 in Smithtown, Long Island. My mother was a journalist and my father was a business manager.

Mom was the kindest person I knew. I always admired her. I admired her silent beauty and grace. She was unconditionally loving. She had a soft voice that could calm anyone.

When I was five, I started school. In the beginning, it was fun. I learned new things everyday. I was excited. I made friends. We camped together, played with dolls, stole mommy’s makeup and had parties. I remember my sixth birthday party. My friends came home. I showed them my room and my dolls. We played together. One of them broke my doll. I was upset, but I let it go. I knew she didn’t mean to do it.

When she left, my other friend told me she broke my doll on purpose. She didn’t want me to have a doll that was more beautiful than hers. I couldn’t believe it. I cried all night.

“Every person has two people living in their body,” mom explained.

“Two people? How?” I asked. To my six-year-old self, it didn’t make sense.

“A side we see and a side we don’t. Good people can be bad sometimes,” she said.

I didn’t understand what she said, but I stopped crying.

“She is a good girl but her hidden bad side came out today.” she continued, staring at the wall. “She can’t help it.”

I don’t remember what happened after that. But, those words stayed with me all my life. It was my first lesson in human nature. It was also a warning for the future. 

In the summer, my mother’s belly began to swell. I was excited. I was going to be a big sister. Mom’s belly grew larger until it could expand no more. In the spring, she went to the hospital. I stayed at home with the babysitter. Mom returned that evening. Dad held an infant in his arms. That is how Dan came into our lives.

One night, I heard footsteps outside my room. I was seven. The creaky bedroom door opened. A rod of silvery moonlight entered the room. I moved in the bed. A shadow stretched over me. I felt something tug at my neck. My breathing was shallow. My neck was tight.

I opened my eyes. My mother’s body hung over me. She encircled her fingers around my throat, burying them deeper. Her dark blue eyes burned with hatred. I struggled to break free. She was strong. My shallow breaths didn’t make it to my lungs. My oxygen supply was depleting. I screamed, but the sounds died in my throat. I wanted to be in control of my weak body. Darkness fell over me.

“Die, go away!” she said. She didn’t recognize me. My eyes clouded with fear. I waved my hands wildly. One of the toys on the table fell to the floor. It lit up and began to sing. The sound startled mom. She backed away.

Dad rushed to my bedroom. When he saw what was going on, he rushed to my side. He pulled her away. Her hands receded from my throat. I inhaled all the air I could. The air filed my lungs like a newborn’s.

“Are you all right?” Dad asked, using his body to restrain mom. Her blazing eyes looked at me. Dad calmed her down.

My breathing returned to its normal pace. I nodded weakly. Mom was calmer. Dad apologized and led her out of the room. I couldn’t decipher what happened. I convinced myself that it was a mistake.

Mom changed. From a bright, optimistic person, she became a needy, depressed and suicidal. I found out much later that it was post-natal depression. She degenerated. I watched helplessly as she cried. I wanted to do something to calm her, but she begged to be left alone. But I still loved my mother. Even when she didn’t recognize me, I loved her.

I remembered what she said on my sixth birthday. She had a hidden side which was bad. That didn’t make her a bad person. I slept that night. My eyes were closed but my mind didn’t stop.

The red marks remained on my neck for two days. When kids at school asked me about, I said I was bitten by an insect. That was my first lie. At eight, I already had secrets. When I looked at the smiling faces of the others my class, I knew I wasn’t one of them. I was wounded and wounds leave scars. No matter how much time passes, a scar doesn’t disappear.

The next day, mom apologized to me. She explained that she was ill. She had no control over what she did. She hugged me and said she would never do it again. I forgave her because I loved her.

She stabilized after a week. She was back to being the optimistic, caring person that she was. In fact, she was unusually optimistic. She chatted incessantly. I enjoyed talking to her. She took me out to eat. At that point, she didn’t realize how deep the issue was. Neither did I.

When I was in sixth grade, someone asked me out. I was nervous. I didn’t tell anyone about it. He asked me to meet him in the park. I was excited about my first date.

I dressed up all afternoon. I wore my favorite dress and slapped on mom’s lipstick. I looked at myself in the mirror a million times before heading out. He was supposed to meet me at the park that evening. I sat on the bench and waited for him. The bugs in the grass irritated me. Kids made fun of me. I was overdressed. My legs itched in the frilly dress. The excitement overshadowed the discomfort. My heart thudded.

He didn’t show up. One hour of a hopeful sixth-grader’s time is a lot. I waited five hours. The kids in the park disappeared. The sun sank without warning. My first date stood me up. I cried in the park. The makeup ran down my cheeks. I sucked my tears. I went home.

Mom wasn’t home. I saw Dad lying on the sofa, watching television. He looked distressed.

“Where is mom?” I asked in a low voice.

“She’s…she’s not well,” he said. I knew what he meant. She was going through something I couldn’t imagine. She was locked in her room. When those episodes happened, she remained in her room for days. Sometimes, she went to the hospital and stayed there for a few days. The events had started when Dan was born. Over the years, they had gotten worse. She had no control of what was happening to her body.

Then, I turned fifteen. It was the year the worst happened.

When I was walking back from school on evening, a large black car stopped by and blocked my path. The doors opened. Two men got out. Their long forms stretched over me. They inched closer. My panic grew. I screamed but nobody heard. The moved closer to me. I began to run. They were fast. One of them grabbed hold of my hands. The other shoved me into the car. While I struggled the break free, he closed the door. The other man got into the driver’s seat and drove away.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a red barn. Hay lay scattered around me. The unpleasant smell of animal waste irritated my nose. My eyes opened. The scenery became clear. My body lay against the wall.

They pointed daggers at me. A kaleidoscope of knives, cigarettes and flames haunted my mind. They touched me. One slid his hands over my thighs. They drew closer to my legs. Adrenaline surged. Fear coiled in my belly.

I picked up the knife that lay next to me. I drove it into his stomach. The other man screamed loudly. He tried to grab hold of me. An obsession took over my brain. I stood up. I stabbed him with the bloody knife. He reeled. His body hit the floor.

When blood oozed out of his body, I felt a thrill. I stood with the knife in my hand. My body wasn’t my own. I was possessed by an intense desire to kill. Hatred and fear hooded my mind. The realization sank in. I screamed. Two dead men lay before me. The floor was stained with blood. I dropped the knife on the floor.

A euphoria spread over my body. I felt alive. I wanted to feel that strength again. I denied it. I was afraid. My eyes ran over the bodies of the men. There was no movement. They were dead.

I found a lighter falling out of the pocket of one of the men. I flicked it open. A small flame flickered before my eyes. The warmth caressed my skin. I dropped it on the stack of hay. Flames rose to the surface of the building. I ran out immediately.

The red barn burned to ashes before my eyes. As the flames engulfed the building, I stood there, triumphant and paralyzed. A field of nothingness stretched before my eyes. I didn’t know where I was. I walked a mile until I saw signs of human inhabitation. A car came toward me. The bright lights of the car intensified. Just when it was about to hit me, it stopped.

A man walked out of the car, worried that he had hurt me. I saw his middle-aged face marred with concern.

“Are you all right?” he asked. He noticed the stains of blood on my clothing but didn’t say anything.

“I’m lost. I want to go home.” I said. Feeling responsible for me, he too me home. 

When I got home, mom and dad were worried sick. They asked me where I had been. My heart drummed. The smell of blood was fresh. They could smell it on me.

“Is that blood?” Dad asked, noticing a stain on the hem of my blouse. My heart thudded.

“What happened?” mom held my shoulders and shook me violently. My hands were curved. My eyes blazed with hatred. My expression took her breath away.

“You killed someone?” she asked. Her hands grabbed hold of my shoulder and shook me violently.

“I can’t do this…” she said. She knew. She knew what I had done. Shame pricked my skin. Hopelessness flooded her eyes. She buried her face in her palms. Dad didn’t move. He examined me. He looked at with the expression I hated the most. Pity. Sympathy. Hopelessness. Fear.

Mom sobbed inconsolably. Dan heard the noise and came out of his room. Dad took him in. I remained with mom.

She was afraid of me. She was afraid of what I was becoming. The terror vibrated in her eyes.

“I’m not a bad person,” I told her. My senses had returned by then. “But maybe I have a bad side.”

Her eyes held me. She didn’t blink.

“No…” she said. Her voice broke. “That is a lie.”

She closed her eyes. “Darcy, we need to see a doctor.”

I was shocked. There was nothing wrong with me.

“Why?”

“You’re not normal. You’re…” She didn’t finish the sentence. I knew what she wanted to stay. I was a maniac. She sent me back to my room. I didn’t sleep at night. I heard her sob in the next room. The quivering kept me awake all night.

I was afraid of myself but in a strange way, I was also proud. I felt in control. I couldn’t reassure myself. I was on the edge of sanity. I needed help but I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I didn’t know why everybody looked at me like there was something wrong with me. I went to school the next day. The news spread. Everybody turned hostile. Parents, fearing for the safety of their children, wanted me to be expelled. Dad said the police was investigating the case. Nothing was certain yet.

But, they didn’t stop. The taunts turned to bullying and violence. In the beginning, I would come back home with scars and bruises. When mom asked how I got them, I said I fell down. After ten consecutive days of ‘falling down’, I’d had enough.  When one of my classmates commented on my being a psychopath and a criminal, I lost it. I don’t remember what she said but as soon as she said it, I was on top of her. I shoved her against the wall, possessed with rage. I hammered at her until she began to bleed. Only when the teacher came in and screamed did I realize what happened.

She gasped as the girl sank to the floor. I had hit her real hard. She was bleeding. The teacher called the ambulance. I ran away from the classroom, trying to make sense of what had occurred. I locked myself in the bathroom and refused to come out until one of the janitors broke down the door. My parents were summoned and the principal made it clear that I would be expelled.

When I got home, mom broke down. She said she couldn’t handle me anymore. She had tried her best but nothing could stop be from going crazy.

The following day, the girl’s mother came to our house. She had a loud conversation with my parents which ended with ‘calling the police’ and ‘getting me arrested’.  My parents apologized but the girl’s mother was distraught. Her daughter ended up in emergency and was transferred to the ICU. She had severe bruises in her head. She wanted to press charges. Mom began staying in her room. She came home late. Some days, I didn’t see her. Some days, I saw her crying in the kitchen. She began drinking.

Then, she disappeared. When I came back from school the following Monday, she was gone. She’d threatened to leave many times, but she never did. It was a rainy day. I held an umbrella over my head as I made my way from my car to the front door. Dad stood outside. He was wet.

“Where is she?” I asked. He didn’t answer. He hung his head.

I ran out of the house immediately. I ran around in the rain. I wanted to see her. I wanted to ask her why she left me. The sound of her sobs rang in my ears. I was wet. My tired feet walked back home. She was gone. She left without saying goodbye. I knew she was unstable, but I never thought she would leave me. She abandoned me because she didn’t want to be my mother.

That year, my parents got divorced. Nobody told me about it. Dad said that we’d continue to live with him as if nothing happened. Mom just vanished, like thin air. However, her memories didn’t. 

“Did she say anything about me?” I asked, expectantly. He didn’t answer. There was no answer to my question.

“Will she be visiting us?” Dan asked, expectantly.

“No. She moved.”

“Where?” I asked. He didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t know. Or, she didn’t want me to know.

I wanted to see her. I had to ask her why she left me. In my heart, I knew it was because of me but I didn’t want to confront the truth. I didn’t know what happened to her. So, I told myself I’d believe it if I heard it from her.

Dad took me to the therapist later that week. He said I needed to undergo counselling. The kidnapping had traumatized me. He took me to a psychiatrist who kept me on drugs. I attended a session with the therapist every week. I found out I was developing symptoms of a bipolar disorder. I also began hallucinating after the murder incident. They needed to be controlled.

After my mother went away. I stabilized. The less I saw of her, the better I got. Yet, in my heart the longing remained. I wanted to meet her again. This time, I hoped it would be different. The police finally dismissed the murder case as they found I had acted in self-defense. My classmate also recovered after six long months which were hell. I never went back to school. I home-schooled and got my high school diploma.

I decided to attend university in Chicago because I wanted to get away from Smithtown. Everybody in the small town knew me as a criminal.

Chicago was a breath of fresh air. Nobody knew about my past. Nobody knew I’d killed two men. They didn’t know about my troubled family or my unstable mind. I could start life anew. Eventually, I lost interest in finding my mother.

I switched to a new therapist in Chicago. Dr. Nathan helped me get better over the course of four years. I don’t know why but I didn’t remember anything about that incident at fifteen. Over time, it left the space of my memory. I stabilized and needed less medication and therapy. Eventually, I became all right and stopped medication.

Then, I met my mother. I was on my way back home when I saw her reflection on the train window. She was older, but I recognized her face. I hadn’t forgotten her.

Her form moved in the crowd of people who walked out of the Red Line. My breath ceased. I turned around. I denied it. I didn’t need her in my life. I deserved a better life. She abandoned me. She was unstable. She was toxic. All I had to do was turn away.

But, my feet wouldn’t move. My legs remained on the platform, my eyes fixed on her face. She took my breath away. The sounds and the images disappeared. There was nobody but me and her. My heart choked with memories of the past. Memories of the life we had before she became that.