The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller (6 page)

“Are you getting off, miss?” she asked. Darcy noticed her short grey hair. She didn’t see her face. Their unfriendly voices echoed in her ears. Panic descended over her body. Her breathing grew uneven. Her body refused to budge.

“Excuse me?” the woman asked again.

“Ye… yes.” Darcy pushed the words out of her numb lips. Her shaky fingers held onto the bag of groceries.

She ran out of the bus.

She ran past the houses and trees. She ran until she was somewhere he wouldn’t find her. The sky was dark. Moonlight illuminated her form. Her mind overflowed with thoughts. Thoughts were lined with horror.

Memories replayed like flashback scenes from an old movie. She screamed until there was no more air left in her lungs. She shouted and groaned like she had fifteen years ago. She never wanted to go back there. Never.

Before her brain could make the connection, her fingers were on her phone, texting Brian. She distanced the phone from her eyes and read the message.

Delete it. ASAP.

Darcy pressed ‘send’. Some sanity returned to her after the message was fired off. The phone beeped seconds later.

Done

Darcy refreshed the page. The post was gone. She sunk to the ground. He wouldn’t have seen the post. He wouldn’t come for her. If she was lucky.

Chapter 7

Darcy looked at the library suspiciously. It was empty. She removed her pair of sunglasses and shoved them into her bag. She took slow, calculated steps toward the staircase. There weren’t many students in the library. She crept up the staircase to the common room.

Darcy checked herself in the mirror. The spectacles were gone. Her dark hair was strawberry blonde. Black contact lenses. Baggy clothing. She smiled at her portrait with satisfaction. Not even her brother would recognize her.

“Is that you, Darcy?” Susan remarked. She was the first one to come in that morning. Susan’s grey hair and penetrating grey eyes matched.

“I couldn’t recognize you,” she went on. “You’ve never had blonde hair.”

“I wanted to try something new,” Darcy said, hesitantly.

The door opened. Jillian walked in. She hung her coat on the stand.

“Who is that?” she asked, leaning closer to Susan.

“It’s me.” Darcy said.

“Wow! Darcy, is that really you?”

Darcy nodded.

“You look so…different.”

“She wanted a change.” Susan put in.

“Blonde suits you.” Jillian said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, in a low voice.

Fading twilight was swallowed by darkness. Darcy walked into Chicago L station at 7:30 PM. The vibration of her ringing phone sank into her skin. She dug into her coat pocket and pulled it out. The loud sound of train engines distracted her.

A packed train stood at the platform. She squeezed herself in before the doors closed. The train moved. The ring died.

The buzz of strangers was a background music to her thoughts. She saw people listening to music, staring at the window, talking on the phone, reading, chatting with friends and staring at her. Mostly, staring at her. She turned away.

She stopped by the convenience store on her way home and bought some groceries.

The temperature was lower than it had been earlier in the day. Her stomach rumbled. Darcy tore a bag of potato chips open and tasted the saltiness. The sodium revived her tired mind. She ate until she finished the bag. She dunked the empty wrapper into the nearest dustbin and walked over to the entrance of her building.

She heard faint footsteps. She turned. A shadow extended form the base of the tree to her feet. She inhaled sharply. Darcy’s footsteps hastened. She walked noisily. Her eyeballs strained to catch a glimpse of the person who was following her.

She dug into her pocket. Her hand fell on the phone. She pulled it out and stared at it.

Low battery. Exactly the two words she didn’t want to see right now. Darcy’s footsteps hastened, fueled by panic. She stopped when the reached the front door.

Somebody stood behind her. From the back of her eye, she saw the stranger’s blue coat. Her iris dilated. She dropped the grocery bags. Startled by the rustling of grocery bags, the stranger moved closer.

Blue eyes. His small blue eyes examined her. They were framed with crow’s feet. He was old. Old enough to be-

She dropped the grocery bags. The milk carton broke. A stream of white milk flowed. She didn’t turn around. Her dark form merged with his shadow. She took a step back.

He inched closer. The street lamp illuminated a shiny object in his belt. Darcy’s spine went cold. He was going to attack her. Her lips parted.

Her heels dug into the street. The space between two stones trapped the end of her heel. Her foot twisted. She fell. She let out a weak sound. He closed the distance. The dark figure hung over her.

“Are you all right?” he asked. Darcy turned around abruptly. She head a cat mew. Smokey stood next to Mr. Hatter. Mr. Hatter examined her, carefully.

“Oh,” she said awkwardly. She squirmed on the floor. He helped her up. “Mr. Hatter.”

“Are you all right?” he asked. He looked at her swollen ankle.

“I’m fine,” she said in a falsetto. “I thought you were…never mind.”

“You dropped the key. I picked it up at Tesco,” he said. He took a step forward. He handed her the key. The shiny object in his pocket was a key. Nervousness drained out of Darcy’s body.

“Thank you so much,” Darcy said. She breathed with relief. She quickly opened the door. Smokey went into the door first. She walked up the stairs, holding onto the railing.

“See you around,” he said. He stepped into his apartment and closed the door. She lingered in the corridor, losing herself in the emptiness.

She walked into her apartment. The zealous heating system blasted her with a puff of warm air. She forgot to turn it off that morning. Her body took a few seconds to adjust to the warmer surroundings. It was boiling.

The phone rang again. The vibrations travelled through her stomach, tingling her flesh.

Michael’s name flashed on the screen. She answered immediately.

“Darcy?” It was Mike’s voice.

“Mike. How’s it going?”

“Good…good.”

“Hi. I wanted to ask you about a book...” he began.

“For the article?”

“Yes. I’m looking for a particular book. I’ve tried looking everywhere, but this book is hard to come by. I was wondering if the university library has it.”

“Wait a second,” Darcy left her bag on the couch. She produced a piece of paper and a pen. “What’s it called?”

“
Doppelgänger
.”

Darcy was silent. The clock ticked by.

“Hello?”

“I’ll find out,” Darcy said. “I’ll call you back.”

“Thanks for the favor.”

“No problem.”

“Good night.”

He hung up. Darcy started at the phone.

At 8:00 PM on Tuesday evening, Darcy stood before a board that read: Jayne Edgar, Psychic. The shop was situated on the second floor of a house in North Lincoln Avenue.

Darcy’s legs turned instinctively. The door opened. A red-haired woman in her mid-forties emerged from the door.

“Darcy Godfrey?” she enquired. Darcy’s eyes met the woman’s brown ones.

“Yes.” she said, clutching her tote.

“I’m Jayne. You had an appointment?”

“Umm…yes.” Darcy said.

Jayne smiled. Her ample cheeks squeezed her eyes, reducing them to straight lines. Her face was flushed. She wore a black dress that extended all the way to the floor.

“Come in.” Her voice was husky.

Darcy stepped into the room. She sat on a chair that faced another chair. The window on the right was open. Frail moonlight entered the room. Darcy pulled her coat closer to her body. Jayne closed the window, cutting off the chilly air.

Darcy placed herself on the chair. She noticed a pack of cards lying on the table. Books on astrology and tarot were arranged messily on the shelf behind the psychic’s chair. Her fingers glided over the smooth surface of the table. The incense stick on the windowsill had almost burned out. It smelled of sandalwood.

Jayne drew the black curtains over. Darkness fell over the room. Darcy’s violent heartbeat converged into a dim light that hung down from the ceiling. Darcy stared at the square desk that separated her from the psychic. Jayne placed herself on the chair and took a deep breath.

“Tell me, what brings you here?” Jayne asked, casually.

“I wanted to know something.”

“What?”

“Some strange things that have been happening to me,” Darcy explained, vaguely.

The psychic proceeded to shuffle the pack of tarot cards. She shuffled them like a professional gambler before handing them over to Darcy.

“Shuffle them a few times. Your energy needs to soak into them.”

Darcy’s clumsy fingers dropped a few cards in the process of shuffling. A minute later, she handed the deck back to the psychic. Jayne spread the cards out on the table.

“Think of a question and pick three cards,” she instructed. Darcy closed her eyes. She picked three cards from the spread. The tarot reader flipped them over and laid them on the table.

“Hmmmm….a strange combination. May I ask what your question was?” Jane said, scrunching her nose.

“I want to know somebody’s identity.”

“Is this a person?”

“I don’t know.” Darcy said.

“Is their identity a secret?”

“Yes.”

“The cards say a big secret will soon be revealed.”

“A big secret? What kind of secret?”

The psychic turned to Darcy and met her gaze. “Death is on the cards.” 

Darcy’s eyes widened. She held onto the edge of the table, trying to breathe.

“Could you pick another card?” Jayne requested. Darcy’s trembling fingers pulled out another card.

The psychic turned it over and stared at it for a moment. “Your destiny is being revealed. A deception that has been blinding you will be exposed.”

“Does that mean I will learn the identity of this person soon?”

“A series of important events are underway,” the psychic said, off tangent.

“They’ve begun?”

“Yes. Expect big changes in the future.”

Darcy walked out of the door thirty minutes later. She thanked the psychic and parted with a hundred quid, reluctantly. Another impulse purchase. She decided to consult Jayne after she heard Jillian talking about her. Jillian’s friend had consulted Jayne over the weekend. In her state of desperation that was all the bait Darcy needed.

Darcy walked home. The familiar road lined with shops stretched before her eyes. She walked slowly, her mind marinating in the psychic’s words.

“Expect the unexpected.” Those were her final words. Jayne had given Darcy a recording of the session to listen to. The CD rattled in Darcy’s bag.

She passed by array of German shops that lined Lincoln Square. Darcy walked along the street until she reached the door of her apartment. Stony silence surrounded her. Her neighbor wasn’t in. The Victorian lamp outside the door greeted her with its dim glow. She walked to her apartment. Her keys lay in her left hand. They made a sharp, ringing noise.

Darcy placed her hand on the door knob. It turned. It was open. Her apartment was open. Panic flushed her body. She was sure she locked it in the morning. Why was it open? Who had opened it?

She reached into her bag instinctively. Her hand hit on a bottle of pepper spray. Her fingers curled around the bottle and pulled it out. With the keys in one hand and the spray in another, she kicked the door open.

The loud thud was followed by silence. She took a small step toward the door and examined the apartment. There was nobody. She took another step. She stood at the door, peering into the house. The messy magazines and clothes remained. The smell of her breakfast still lingered in the air. The apartment was exactly like she left it in the morning. She stealthily walked on the green carpet.

“Is anybody there?” she called out. No answer. She approached the closed bedroom door, kicking it door open. The door hit the wall and bounced back with a loud thud. Her bed lay in the centre of the room covered with beige bed covers. Her folded duvet and pillows were arranged over it. There were no creases on the bedsheet. Her eyes instantly hit the floor. Pieces of broken glass lay on the floor. She hurried to the drawers which stood near the pieces of broken glass.

She touched a piece of broken glass. She smelled it. She sneezed. She smelled dust. Where had the broken glass come from? She looked at the window. It was locked. Nobody could’ve come in through it.

She picked up a piece of glass. The photo frame.

Darcy opened the drawer. She unwrapped the box. The picture of her mother was missing. She pulled the frame out. The glass on the photo frame was broken.

She turned to the drawer. The photo of her mother was nestled on the dark wooden surface. A momentary warmth spread over her chest before it clenched into fear.

Somebody had come. Somebody who knew about her mother. Her cloudy eyes closed. Not him. Had he found her? Did he find out where she lived?

Darcy curled up against the stack of drawers and buried her head in her knees. The situation was getting out of hand. She needed to find who was following her. She needed to find the person behind the posts.

Darcy glanced at her reflection in the mirror. The lines around her eyes were deep. Her hair was limp and scattered. The beating of her heart matched the rhythm of her dilating pupils. Her eyes trailed to her lips. They curved into a lopsided smile.

She knew who did this. The blogger had come to her house. That is where she had written those posts. Darcy swallowed. The photo she uploaded matched the one in her drawer. She remembered the half dusty photo frame. The facts came together into a ball. Darcy sunk to the floor. She was being watched.

Chapter 8

Darcy sat in her neighbor’s apartment. She wore a grey dress with a pair of black stockings. She inched forward. Mr. Hatter examined her carefully with his deep blue eyes. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened. Darcy didn’t react. Her eyes met his with a steady expression. Smokey curled up in a wooden basket by the heater.

“Why did you want to see me?” he asked, his eyes moving over Darcy suspiciously. Darcy moved in her seat. She coughed to divert attention.

“I never had the opportunity to know you,” Darcy said in a low voice. 7:00 AM on Wednesday morning was not the best time to get to know your neighbor. Mr. Hatter was grumpy.

“Oh,” he said, puzzled. “What did you want to know?”

She always thought that Mr. Hatter was a grumpy old man who hated the fact that she watched TV at an incredibly loud volume. He was a retired police inspector who volunteered at a local drug rehabilitation center on weekdays. His ears were very sensitive. She wondered if her night-time TV viewing disturbed him.

“Uh…I was just wondering if you want to say anything to me…” she began, awkwardly. “Is the TV too loud?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Especially at night. Smokey is sensitive to sounds.”

Darcy sighed. Smokey was the one that made the most noise.

“I’ll keep it down,” Darcy put in.

“I don’t mind,” he said. “I’m not back from work until eight.”

“I see.” Darcy said.

“Is there something you want to ask?” he craned his neck, his eyes fixed on her.

“Uh…it’s nothing important, really,” Darcy stuttered. “I was wondering if you could keep an eye on my apartment.”

“Keep an eye?” He raised an eyebrow. His sleepy eyes widened. “Is something troubling you?”

“No…nothing in particular,” Darcy covered up. “I want to be careful. Some strange things have been happening.”

“Be careful,” he said. “Chicago is not the safest city. You don’t know who comes and goes.” Darcy didn’t react. A minute later, she nodded.

“Have there been any incidents of theft or breaking in here?”

“Hmmm…the last time something was stolen was three years ago. Lincoln Square is a relatively safe area but you can’t be too sure. Did somebody break into your house?”

“I think someone is following me.” Darcy’s tone dropped. Her words sucked all sound from the atmosphere. Mr. Hatter’s blue eyes looked at her queerly.

“A stalker?” he said, finally. She was silent.

“That is dangerous- not just for you but for the other residents too. You should report it to the police.” his tone was serious. She nodded.

“I want to but I don’t have any proof.”

“No blank calls? E-mails? Letters?”

“No but when I came back home yesterday, my apartment was open.”

“God. Do you think somebody came? Was something stolen?”

“They knocked over a photo frame and the glass broke.”

“This is serious. Why don’t you report it as theft?”

“Do you think I can get footage from the security cameras?”

“Ummm…they’re doing maintenance checks on the cameras. I don’t think they were working yesterday. They’ll do the checks again this Sunday,” Mr. Hatter said. Maintenance checks, of course. Did the person who broke in know about that?

“I’ll report it,” Darcy said.  “Could you keep an eye for me, in the meanwhile?”

“All right. I’ll message you if I see someone suspicious. I think I have your phone number. I’m off to work at two in the afternoon and I come back at eight,” he said. “But I’ll let you know if I see something.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said. She stood up. “I need to work.”

The train was late that day, and it was always on time. The crowd on the platform multiplied exponentially within fifteen minutes. They squeezed Darcy. It was getting difficult to breathe. Darcy turned her head to the left. It was the only part she could move. She craned her neck for any sign of the train and saw a sea of heads. The constant stream of carbon dioxide raised the temperature of the platform.

In the distance, Darcy saw the bright lights on the train. The sharp sound of the train’s base rubbing on the track jolted Darcy. Relief cut across her senses. The crowd pushed her into the nearest coach. Before she could find a place, the train parted.

Darcy reached the library at 9:30. She ran up the slippery marble stairs, slipping twice in the process. She made her way to Susan’s room.

The room smelled of coffee. Jillian sat in one corner of the room, sipping a cup of coffee from Starbucks. There was a distant expression in her eyes. Her face was pale. Darcy hung her coat on the stand.

“Jillian, are you feeling all right?” Darcy asked as she unwrapped her scarf.

“Huh?” Jillian was distracted. She swirled the cup of coffee, releasing some stream.

“You looked…ummm…disturbed.” Darcy said, undoing her coat buttons.

“You know, something strange happened yesterday.” Jillian said, her large green eyes filled with worry.

“What do you mean?” Darcy asked.

Susan burst into the room. Darcy turned to the window.

“Where were you?” she asked, looking at Darcy. “I thought you’d had an accident or something.”

“The train was late,” Darcy said.

Susan turned to Jillian. “You don’t look very well today.”

“Yesterday, I saw someone who looked just like me,” Jillian said in a low voice.

Darcy froze. Her neck didn’t budge as her eyeballs moved. The words pricked the back of her neck. She slammed the cup of hot chocolate on the table.

“Are you sure?” Susan asked, tilting her head.

“I saw her at the train station….it was somewhere near the Loop,” Jillian went on.

“Are you one of a twin?” Susan asked leaning closer.

“No, I’m not,” she said.

“That’s…that’s really strange,” Darcy said scratching her chin. “Are you sure you saw somebody?”

“I thought about her all of yesterday,” Jillian said. “And I’m sure I saw her.”

“Oh, there are all kinds of lookalikes these days,” Susan said. Jillian turned, nervously. Her shaky fingers curled over the warm cup. “Did you see that e-mail about Angelina Jolie’s lookalike? I thought it was another image of her.”

“I saw that one,” Darcy confessed then turned to Jillian. “Some people look similar. I don’t think you should be worried.”

“There are those people, right?” Jillian muttered. She dunked the cup of coffee into the dustbin. “It’s disturbing to know there is someone who looks like you.”

“Why is it disturbing? I always wished I had a twin,” Susan said.

“She was not my twin,” Jillian said. “She was a doppelgänger.”

A moment of silence filled the room. Darcy smelled the coffee and the hot chocolate clearly for a moment. The cold outside the window bit into her skin. She didn’t speak. The door opened.

“We need a few hands-” one of the library staff stood at the door, looking at Jillian. 

“I’ll be there.” Jillian said. Darcy stood wordlessly as Jillian ran out the door.

“That girl’s been reading too much science fiction,” Susan said, sounding like an old grandmother. “Doppelgänger? I wonder how she came up with that.”

“I’ll go and help out downstairs.” Darcy said immediately. Darcy hung her coat and rushed out of the door. She pressed for the elevator and stood beside it. Jillian was next to her.

“What’s so scary about seeing your doppelgänger, anyway?” Darcy asked, ticking her fingers on the mirror.

“Haven’t you heard the stories?” Jillian asked. The elevator door opened. The two women stepped in. Jillian pressed the button. The door closed.

“What stories?” Darcy asked. Her shoes clicked on the hard floor. Jillian stopped. She turned to face Darcy. Jillian didn’t blink.

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

Darcy stomach turned queasy. The eggs she ate for breakfast churned in her belly.

“It’s supposed to be back luck,” Jillian continued.

The elevator doors opened. Darcy didn’t move. Jillian stepped out. Jillian said something in the background but Darcy didn’t register her words. The elevator door began to shut. She closed her eyes.

“Are you coming?” Jillian asked, pressing the button. The doors opened wide.

“Huh? Yeah.” Darcy said. 

At 1:00 PM, Mike arrived at the library. Darcy stood at the reception waiting for him. She waved to him. He waved back. He took long strides, closing the distance between them. His hair was ruffled. His eyes were puffier than she remembered. Red lines were visible on the white surface of his eyeball.

“You’ve been working hard.” Darcy noted.

“Deadline.” he explained with a shrug.

“I looked through the library catalogue. We stock that book,” Darcy said, in a low voice.

“That’s good news,” Mike said. “But I’m not a student. Can I still borrow the book?”

“I had a word with Susan. She says researchers from the public can borrow books but I need you to fill out a form and give me a proof of identity. Your social security number?”

“I think I got my ID card…” he said, digging into his pocket. “Will my driver’s license do?”

“Yes.” Darcy took a step toward the library. “Come on in,” she said.

Darcy walked to the reception and handed Mike a form.

“Fill this out. I’ll get the book for you. You can reserve it next time by calling in advance or using the online system.”

Mike began filling out the form.

“I’ll need a copy of your driver’s license and social security number.” Darcy said.

“Um…sure. Here is it.” Mike said, handing her the driver’s license.

“Thank you.” Darcy said. She sat before the computer and entered the details in the system. Mike finished filling out the form and handed it back to her.

“Thanks. I’ll process it,” she said. “Wait a second, I’ll get the book.”

Darcy stepped away from the main desk and went into a room filled with reserved books. She swiped her card. A beep resounded, and the door opened. Darcy stepped in and found the book. She headed back to the main area with the book.

“Here you go.” She said, handing it to Mike.

“Thanks a lot. I couldn’t find this one anywhere. I owe you one.”

“I thought you were writing an article on parallel universes,” Darcy said.

“I am,” Mike said.

“What do doppelgängers have to do with parallel universes?”

“A lot, apparently. I’ll have to read the book to find out the details,” he said.

“Hmmm…now, I’m intrigued,” Darcy swallowed. “When does the article come out?”

“In three months,” he said. “If I get it done by then.”

“Can you check out the book by yourself?”

“Yeah… I think I know how to use this machine...I think,” He added with a smile.  “Thanks a lot for the help.”

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Mike turned. His back was covered with a brown coat. He took a step then, turned around.

“Have you eaten lunch?” he enquired.

“Not yet,” Darcy said.

“Want to grab something?”

“Sure.”

They walked to the university cafeteria. The cafeteria smelled of soup, cake and stew. Students filled the steel chairs and tables. One of the cafe staff smiled at Darcy. Darcy and Mike grabbed lunch and sat on vacant chairs.

“Lunch hour rush,” Mike remarked. Darcy nodded. He unwrapped his sandwich. “Last week, I came across a recording of the play we did at university. Macbeth, remember?”

“I don’t think I have that one,” Darcy said.

“I’ll give you a copy,” he volunteered. “If you want one.”

“I would love to watch that one,” Darcy said, biting into the sandwich.

“Brings backs memories,” Mike said, with a distant look in his eye. “University life seems like a long time ago.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Darcy said, more relieved than nostalgic. “Before you know, ten years are gone.”

“Exactly. I’ve been so busy trying to run the magazine. We’re starting a series of podcasts next week. Time flies.”

“What kind of podcasts?”

“I’m interviewing some scientists and professors,” he said before biting into his food.

“So, what’s this about doppelgängers and parallel universes?” Darcy asked.

“I came across the book while doing research. It adds an interesting twist to the article, don’t you think?”

“Hmmmm….” Darcy swallowed the piece of sandwich.

“I’m looking for people who’ve seen doppelgängers.”

The sandwich got stuck in Darcy’s throat. She coughed violently. Her eyes filled with water.

“Are you okay?” Mike walked to the water machine and got her a glass of water. Darcy drank the water. The piece of food slid through her food pipe.

“Thank you.” Darcy said, placing the glass of water on the table. She drank some more. Mike was done. She shoved the rest of the sandwich into her mouth quickly. 

“Do you know someone who’s seen a doppelgänger?” Mike asked, his gaze narrowed.

“Uh…no…” Darcy stammered. “I’ve seen those photos online, you know?”

“Yeah. I know what you mean,” Mike said. “I’ll see you when I come to return the book.”

“See you. Don’t forget to get the recording.”

He waved, without turning. He crossed the road. She saw him disappear down the turning of the street.

Darcy stood next to the building, staring into the distance.

At 7:30, she stood inside Chicago station of the Red Line. Her feet traced long, slow steps on the ground.

A full train passed by. She stared at the blurred images. The crowd whispered loudly. The buzzing sounds were the background music to her thoughts. Her mind reeled back to what Jillian said. Had she really seen a doppelgänger? Did they exist?

“Excuse me,” someone whispered behind her. A stranger squeezed between her and the door. She moved away. The train stood before her. The doors were open. She walked into it, unsteadily. The doors closed. Bodies squeezed against her. The train departed. Her breaths were shallow. She only breathed normally once the train reached Damen. She walked back to her apartment building.

She saw a tall figure walking out of her apartment from the distance. Her feet froze. The rustling of grocery bags made her body vibrate with fear. She reflexively stepped back, merging with the shadows.

An old man emerged from the door. He wore a long, grey coat. His silver white hair was neatly pressed on his scalp. Darcy strained to steal a glance at his face. He turned. The blue eyes shot through the dark like a missile. The street lamp outside the apartment building illuminated his distinct features. Pale skin. Clear blue eyes. Crow’s feet. White hair.