The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller (18 page)

She examined the empty road. There was nobody on the streets. A long leaf flew toward her. The last leaf.

Her phone buzzed. Her trembling hands turned to her phone. Before she could answer, she heard the trees rattle.

Something moved behind the trees. She turned around. The dark park stretched behind her. Shadows fell on her. Owls sang in the distance. There was nobody on the side street behind her.

Darcy took small steps into the entrance of the hospital. She heard steps behind her but when she turned, there was nobody.

The lobby was noisy. The noise reassured her. Patients were wheeled in and out of rooms. The calm exterior was misleading. There was a list of doctors by specialty.

“Hello,” the receptionist said in a polite voice.

“I have an appointment at eight-fifteen.” Darcy said.

“Your name?”

“Darcy Godfrey.”

She checked the screen.

“Uh…yes. Please wait at the reception.”

Darcy nodded. She had a few minutes to go, so she decided to go to the washroom. As she walked through the corridor, a patient was pushed in a stretcher. A bottle of blood hung over him, draining into his veins. A splitting headache cut Darcy’s head. Her vision grew blurry. The dizziness transformed into a spiral of images.

The precise bottle of blood that hung over his arm dissolved into drops of red. She closed her eyes. Her brain thudded in her skull. The drops of red spread and became a large building.

A winding corridor filled her vision. Click. Click. Click. Her jerky footsteps left a trail of sound, rippling the silence. The scenery metamorphosed into a long, bright corridor filled with a row of rooms. King’s Park Asylum. It was there once again, standing in all its glory.

She was breathless. A shadow spread beside her. Her mother. The clear blue eyes crystallized. The sharp edges of her form were too clear to miss. They waked hand in hand to a closed wooden door. The polished rosewood gleamed. Her mother knocked.

“Come in,” a raspy voice called. The door opened. Darcy saw his clear blue eyes vividly. They resembled her mother’s. His face contained fewer wrinkles, but he was past his forties.

Nudged by her mother, she walked into the room, holding onto the door for support. She saw fear in her eyes. Fear she had never seen before. She shakily sat on a chair as her mother began the conversation.

“Good morning, Darcy,” Dr. Cleo said, his voice cheerful.

Darcy remained silent. She nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“I spoke to you about her problem yesterday,” her mother explained. “Can you do anything?”

“We discussed hypnotherapy. How does Darcy feel about it?”

“She isn’t old enough to understand,” her mother brushed off.

“But you explained it to her?”

“Yes.”

“How is school?” he asked Darcy. Her eyes didn’t leave the pen stand on the table.

“Answer him,” her mother said.

“Mrs. Godfrey, I think it would be more helpful if you left the room.”

“Me? Of course,” She stood up, her coat hanging over her right arm. “I’ll see you after you’re done.”

She turned around and left through the door. The door closed behind her with a thud.

“She’s worried,” Dr. Cleo explained. “I heard you’ve been having some trouble expressing yourself.”

“I killed somebody….” A whimper exited Darcy’s lips.

Dr. Cleo’s face didn’t change expression.

“I heard.” He said, after a long moment. “What do you remember about it?”

“I don’t remember much,” Darcy confessed. Her lifeless eyes froze on the red pen in the pen stand. Dr. Cleo noticed the fear that rose in her eyes. “I wasn’t myself.”

“Who were you?”

“Somebody else. A monster.” she said.

“What do the others say?”

“The others? They don’t say anything but I know they’re afraid of me.”

“And you?”

“Me?”

“Are you somebody they should be afraid of?”

“I don’t know.” Darcy found the courage to say the words. Her voice broke.

“It’s common,” he said. His eyes met hers. “Schizophrenia and all this trauma….especially after an incident like that.”

“That’s what they all say.” Darcy said, in a low voice.

“Would you like to forget what happened?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I have a medicine that could help you.”

“Will the medicine cure me?”

“The medicine can’t cure you. Only you can cure yourself. I want you to understand that,” he said. She nodded weakly.

“I don’t know if your mother explained the procedure to you but we’ll start with weekly hypnotherapy sessions. They’ll be accompanied by medicines that will make you feel better.”

“What is my problem?”

“You can’t distinguish between your visions and reality. That’s nothing to worry about. Everybody that has schizophrenia faces the same thing.”

“Can I be cured?”

“You can be managed.” he said. His raspy voice was reassuring.

“I want to try,” Darcy said, in a small voice.

“We’ll put you on medication,” he said. Warmth filled his eyes. His image faded.

Darcy opened her eyes. The smell of chloroform mingled with chatter. Steel equipment clanked. Darcy found herself on the floor. A nurse rushed to her, grabbing her by the shoulders. She shook her and brought her back to the present. Her black eyes looked concerned. Darcy regained consciousness.

“I’m okay.” she said, breaking away from her clutch. She stood up, holding the wall for support.

“I can call the doctor-”

“I’m fine.” Darcy reiterated. She walked to the washroom, leaning on the wall for support.

She opened the door and limped to the washbasin. A woman exited the toilet. Darcy watched as she washed her hands and walked out. She placed her hands on the edge of the basin and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her breathing calmed down. The memories entered her mind like a flood. Her hand curved into a fist. She inched closer to the mirror.

Her fists curved into a ball. Her hands inched closer to the mirror. The sound of running water distracted her. Darcy bent and ran her fingers under the stream of cold water. She splashed some water on her face. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

The door opened. The suddenness of the sound startled her. A long shadow stretched to her feet. Someone stood at the door. The footsteps grew louder. The door opened. A woman emerged and stared at Darcy. Darcy pulled out tissues from the dispenser and wiped her face.

She skipped her appointment and went home that evening. In her mind, the recollection played like a broken reel. So, she knew Dr. Cleo. He was the one that erased her memories. But, she still didn’t know what it was that she didn’t remember. She knew she killed somebody but who?

Darcy arrived at her apartment at 9:00 PM at night. The deserted road send chills down her spine. She reached the main door and pulled her keys out.

“Good evening.” Detective Jones’ raspy voice pounded in her head. She turned. Her butt slammed into the base of the staircase. Her breath was jagged.

“Why are you here?” Darcy inched away from him. Her hands moved to the tap and closed it. His eyes regarded her carefully. “You booked the appointment for me?”

“You came,” he remarked. He took a step closer. Darcy dug her body further into the basin. “I want to talk to you.”

“No. Go away. I didn’t do anything!” she screeched.

Her heartbeat sped up. She slouched, panting. His eyes glowered.

“What happened in the corridor?” he asked, fixed on one end of the washroom. He stopped. She breathed.

“No-nothing,” she stammered. “You met my mother.”

“She told me a lot about your past,” he said, his lips curving into a sinister smile. He knew something.

“Why did you come here? We don’t meet until Friday.” Darcy’s voice came in a concentrated beam.

“I heard you went to New York,” he said. He inched closer to her. He was coming to get her.

“My father had a heart attack. It was serious.” Darcy said.

“You lawyer contacted me.”

Her eyes yo-yoed from one end of the room to another.

“She is alive,” Detective Jones began. “Your mother is alive. You told me she was dead.”

Darcy felt nervous all of a sudden. She hoped he knew nothing about what she had just remembered. Goosebumps broke on her flesh at that thought. 

“I didn’t know. I forgot.” She said.

“You met her this morning.” Detective Jones said.

“Are you following me?” she asked, neurotic. She looked around, trying to spot somebody else.

“I met your mother.”

“What!?”

“I had to meet her after what your lawyer said,” he said. “I don’t know how we missed the second woman. I asked your mother if you were one of a twin.”

“What did she tell you?” Darcy’s fists clenched.

“No. She has no idea who that woman was,” Detective Jones said. “But she thinks she saw her at the bank on Wednesday.”

“And?”

“Is there something you know about this person?”

“No.” Darcy said. She wondered if Adams had told him about the blog. If he knew, his expression didn’t give it away.

“All right then, I’ll be looking into this. And I request you to not take anymore trips to New York until this case is resolved.”

“It was an emergency.” Darcy said.

“Our appointment at 11:00 AM still stands.”

With those words, he turned around and left, mumbling something.

Darcy went back to her apartment. Cold sweat trickled down her forehead, coupled with an unease in her belly. She needed to be one step ahead of him. She had to figure out what was going on before the interview.

The red barn was pregnant with meaning. That’s why her doppelgänger wanted to remind her of it.

The dark room met Darcy’s gaze. She sighed. She walked to the window and opened the curtains. A shadow flickered behind the trees that lined the road. She leaned in trying to get a closer look at the shadow. It was a woman. The street light fell on her as she stepped forward. Darcy saw her brunette hair. Her hair was the same shade as Darcy’s. Darcy inhaled sharply. Her eyes refused to budge from the woman who resembled her so much. Her dark coat showcased her pale, squarish face which had hazel eyes, the same color as hers. She looked up.

Terrified, Darcy jerked the curtains shut. She breathed heavily, trying to dismiss the image. Her heartbeat escalated before it slowed down. Her eyes rested on her thighs. She took a few deep breaths, finding the courage to turn around. Slowly, she parted the curtains. Her eyes fell to the tree. There was nobody there now.

The woman was gone.

Chapter 21

When morning broke, Darcy knew something had changed. There was no light. Uneasiness made her heart constrict. The room was dark except for a narrow beam of light that entered from the gaps in the door. Darcy looked at the door until it began moving in hypnotic circles.

Darcy stirred awake and walked to the bathroom. When she came out, nothing changed.

The phone buzzed.

Mike.

“Hey, morning,” he began.

“Morning.” Darcy said.

“I’m looking for a book and I was wondering if the library has it.”

“Can you text me the title, author and ISBN?”  Darcy said. “I’ll have a look once I get to the library.”

“Thanks a lot.” Mike said.

At 1:00 PM that afternoon, Darcy stood outside The Science Reporter’s office. She stopped by the glass doors, feeling overdressed. Her mouth was covered with a scarf. Her eyes were covered with large, bug-eyed sunglasses. She nervously traced her steps into the elevator.

The Science Reporter was fairly busy in the morning. Darcy stood outside the glass doors. She knocked. Her bony knuckles brushed against the hard, glass door. The soft noise crackled the silence.

Mike’s eyes rose. They met hers. He stood up and walked out of his glass cabin. Darcy backed away from the door. He opened the main door and joined her in the corridor.

“Morning.” Her voice was morose.

“Darcy.”

“I got the book you wanted.” she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a book. She laid it on the table.

Parallel Universes
. The title was self-explanatory.

“Thank you. I’ve looked everywhere for this book.” Mike said. He moved closer to her. His eyes grazed the book cover. He picked it up and opened it. The smell of new paper melted into the air. He turned the pages quickly, surveying the content.

“Is that the one you wanted?”

“Yes. Thank you very much,” he said. He closed the book and moved closer to her. “You’ve been very helpful-”

“Don’t mention it,” Darcy said. “You know, your article’s gotten me interested in parallel universes and Doppelgangers.”

“That’s good news.”

“I want to know more.”

“It’s a complex topic.” Mike began. “It’s all I’ve been reading about for two months.”

He glanced at the clock.

“Would you like to step out for lunch? I’ll pay. I’ve been getting too many favors from you.”

At 1:00 PM, Darcy and Mike sat in a crowded Chinese restaurant. Red lanterns hung from the ceiling, distorting the daylight. The restaurant was dark. Windows were lined with shades. Darcy’s feet knitted under the table.

The waitress came by and placed a glass of water on the table. Without giving the menu a second glance, Darcy ordered the set lunch. The waitress took the menu cards and vanished. The buzzy chatter distracted Darcy.

“So, where do you want to begin?”

“I read that book on doppelgängers.” Darcy said.

“It’s thought-provoking,” Mike said. “I’m trying to do some research on that theory.”

“What do you think?” Darcy asked. “It said if a doppelgänger came into our world, the host could die.”

“Some bits are exaggerated,” Mike said. He sipped some water.

The waitress emerged with starters. She placed a bowl of soup and some spring rolls on the table. Darcy picked up a spring roll and dunked it in soy sauce. She bit into the roll.

“I’ve been doing some independent research on the topic,” Mike said. “I need a doppelgänger to test the theory on.”

“Jillian’s one didn’t work, huh?”

“No. She’s not from a parallel universe.”

“I wonder how doppelgängers come here,” Darcy said. She stopped chewing. “If a doppelgänger from a parallel universe wanted to come to our world, how do you think she would get here?”

“That’s a good question,” Mike said. “The book says in the future; we will be able to travel dimensions.”

“That’s an interesting idea.” Darcy said. “How exactly can we travel dimensions?”

“Using something like a time machine. A dimension machine?” He hazarded a guess.

“That’s simple.”

“Isn’t it?” he said. “Sounds like fiction to me.”

“It’ll be a reality someday.” Darcy said.

A shadow emerged from the open kitchen door. Darcy heard the clanking of vessels before the doors closed and blocked the sound. A waitress walked toward their table. She was dressed in a red blouse with a Chinese collar and black pants.

The waitress unloaded a bowl of soupy noodles from the tray. The aroma of fish and chilies wafted through the air.

“That looks delicious.” Mike said. She placed some rice and stir-fried vegetables next to Darcy’s chair.

“Thank you.” Darcy said. The waitress bowed and vanished.

“Let’s eat,” Mike said. He was already eating.

Darcy didn’t go home that evening. Instead, she took the Purple Line to Evanston.  Daylight faded to darkness. She sat on the train, her mind filled with thoughts. She’d confront her mother this time. She’s ask her what really happened with Dr. Cleo. If he erased her memory why did she remember him shooting her mother?

Darcy’s step tapped down the street where her mother lived. She barely recognized the neighborhood at night. The friendly runners and school kids were nowhere. Doors were closed and warm lights shone inside the houses that decorated the lane.

The row of houses extended all the way down the short street. Between them lay her mother’s house. Darcy’s footsteps edged closer to the house. As she took another step. Her head felt heavy.

She wanted answers. Why did her mother not tell her about the kidnapping? Was Detective Jones telling the truth? She had to ask her mother, no matter how reluctant she was. She took another step. The main door was a few steps away.

Her body grew heavier. Dizziness made her weak. She stopped by the gate of her mother’s house. She held the wall for support. The vision began. She sank to the floor, her brain lost in a cocktail hallucinatory memories.

The interior of a barn opened the scene. Darcy screamed. Two men stood before her, their eyes fixed on her. They moved closer. All she saw was a shadow. Bright, red eyes shone against the dark body. Darcy took a step back. Her back banged against something hard. The wall. They were up to her face.

She collapsed on the floor, trembling and hyperventilating. The vision spiraled like blades of a fan. The images changed with each rotation. Their faces grew clearer. One had a shaven, square jaw. His hands were large. They approached her.

The other man stood a meter away from the first one. He clutched a gun in his hand. He looked at Darcy. The gun was pointed at her. Darcy’s jagged breath made her vision shake. She could hear herself breathe.

The men inched closer. One of them tripped on her foot. The knife fell to the ground. Darcy picked it up instantly. Power surged through her. She stood up, exhaling puffs of warm air through her nose. Her trembling fingers clutched the knife harder and moved toward the men.

The second one pointed the gun at her, warning her to back off but it was too late. She wasn’t herself anymore. Paranoia coupled with images of terror filled her anxious mind. She ducked, pushing one of the men on the floor.

Liquid blood stained her fingers. The men gasped. He moved his hand to the trigger. Before he could shoot, Darcy pushed him onto the floor. The sensation of power made her hungry. She picked up the knife he had dropped. 

The images transformed to hospital corridors. The red barn faded like an old piece of parchment paper. A modern image took its stead. She saw Dr. Nathan, young and expressionless. Spiky blades of black hair framed blank, beady eyes. She sat across the glass table, on a sofa.

“You’re schizophrenic,” he said. “The frequency of your hallucinations is very high. You also find it difficult to distinguish between your delusions and reality. This is serious.”

Darcy nodded, apathetically.

“You underwent hypnotherapy?” he stopped. “That is…a very unusual treatment. What did you work on?”

“I don’t remember,” Darcy said in a low voice.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t remember. It was long ago.” Darcy repeated.

“I see. You said you wanted to talk about your mother earlier.”

“My mother died. My mother died in an asylum fifteen years ago.” Darcy said.

“How did she die?”

“She was shot.”

“Shot?”

“By him.”

“By whom?”

“Dr. Cleo.”

“Who is he?”

Darcy was silent.

The blades of a virtual fan swirled again. Another image filled her vision. She saw her mother’s face, clear and vivid. Her mother ran down the stairs, gasping for breath. The red fabric of her dress was caught in Darcy’s memory. Her husky voice became loud shrieks.

“Get away from me!” Darcy yelled. Moonlight filtered in through a narrow gap in the window. Darcy had heard those words before. She said them when she was eight. She said them when her mother sat over her, trying to strangle her to death.

A long shadow stretched over her mother. She couldn’t see who it was. A flash of blinding light abruptly ended the vision. The images dissolved. Her mother’s face faded to black.

Darcy opened her eyes. The November wind made her legs freeze outside the door. She examined the red house in front of her. She was standing before her mother’s house. The lights were on. Darcy moved toward the door.

She rang the bell. A sharp sound cut across the silence. Nobody answered. She tugged at the door handle. The door was open. Darcy stepped in. The heating was on.

“Mom!” she called out. Her voice echoed. She stepped in through another room. The light cast a sharp sheen on the kitchen knife. Somebody was in the house. Darcy took quick steps and entered the kitchen.

She picked up the kitchen knife. With the knife clutched in her hand, she stepped into the drawing room. The silence made sensation cling to her fearful body. Each step echoed. The bedroom was closed. Darcy pushed it open.

The lights were off. Darcy stepped in and turned the lights on. Her eyes instantly went to the what looked up at her from the floor. She lost a breath. She dropped the knife. Her hands came over her mouth.

Images coiled in her mind. A dead body lay on the floor.

Her mother’s.

The vivid image grew solid before her blurry eyes. Darcy gasped.

Her mother had been stabbed. The kitchen knife hung over her her, outlined in scarlet. Her thudding heart was the background music to the horror movie that played before her eyes.

She smelled magnolia in the air. The scent of her mother. Her eyes wavered. The window was covered. She inhaled.

Darcy’s right leg instantly stepped back. Her hands clasped the door handle. She was hyperventilating. Breath rushed out of her lungs. She closed her eyes and opened it again. The scenery didn’t change.

Darcy took a few minutes to steady her breath. Her mother was dead.

The magnitude of the shock was too much for her to handle. Her hands were paralyzed. She moved her heavy feet and reached the kitchen. She knocked a glass of water off the table on her way. It crashed against the floor and scattered into a messy doodle of glass and carpet stains.

Darcy fled to the drawing room. The silent carpet and sofa looked at her. Through the narrow opening in the window, cold air rushed in, tickling her stiff body. Darcy weakly took small steps toward the main door. It was closed. The light on the ceiling illuminated her frightened body.

Her hand curved on the door handle. She turned it, opening the main door. Winter chill mingled with shock and spread like ice over her body. She stepped out. The road was empty. The night sky met her gaze.

Her walking sped up. A barrage of images crossed her mind. Her legs didn’t stop. She ran until she found a taxi on the main road. The lights grew stronger. The driver stopped at the edge of her feet. She opened the door and sat in the taxi.

“Stroud Green.” she said. The taxi began to move. The house grew distant. Darcy breathed.

Her mother was dead. She hurriedly began dialing the police station. A steely voice answered the phone. That’s all she remembered.