The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller (8 page)

Chapter 10

The restaurant was packed for lunch as was every other restaurant in downtown Chicago. People swarmed all over the place. Darcy decided to take her food out and headed to the park. The park was much quieter. Jillian showed up five minutes later. Concern was the predominant expression on her face.

“Did you see the news?” Jillian asked. She sat down next to Darcy.

“Yes.”

There weren’t any melodious birds around in winter. Pigeons annoyingly cooed into her ears. Jillian threw them some breadcrumbs. One bent its slender, grey neck and picked the food up. Its red eyes moved closer to Darcy. Darcy backed off. She shooed the pigeon away with her arms. Her nose scrunched.

“I was shocked,” Jillian went on. “I mean, I’m not into business or anything but…he came to our university, didn’t he?”

“I guess he decided to retire,” Darcy said with a sense of calm she didn’t know herself to possess. She put a generous helping of bean sprouts into her mouth.

“It was unexpected. Usually, you know about these things long before they happen.”

“Ummmm…” Darcy filled her mouth with rice. At the back of her mind, she heard his raspy voice.

‘
Hello? Darcy.
’

That’s all he said before she hung up. He said her name in his poisonous voice. She looked to Jillian who ate her lunch, oblivious to the truth. Fear subsided.

Jillian’s sparkly green eyes gazed at the grey sky. The park was fairly empty. Yellow grass shriveled up on the edges of the bench. Leaves lay on the pale grass. It was that time of the year.

“Who was that man yesterday?” Jillian asked.

“Who?”

“The one that borrowed the book.”

“You mean Mike?”

Jillian nodded.

“We studied at the same university. We were in the English society.”

“Old classmates? That’s all?”

Darcy knew where this was going.

“That’s all.”

Jillian’s green eyes turned away, disappointed.

“He’s writing an article on doppelgängers,” Darcy put in. “He’s looking for people who’ve seen doppelgängers to interview.”

“Really?” Jillian’s eyes lit up.

“I told him you’d seen one but I don’t know if it was identical…” Darcy trailed off. She swallowed some tofu. The sharp taste of sweet and sour tofu jolted her taste buds.

“Identical?”

“He’s writing an article that links doppelgängers to parallel universes,” Darcy said. She placed the chopsticks on a piece of tissue paper. “The book he borrowed says doppelgängers are your mirror images in another dimension...basically.”

“That sounds so cool.” Jillian sounded ten years younger.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Darcy said. “Apparently, the Angelina Jolie-lookalikes are similar doppelgängers, not identical ones.”

“There’s a difference.”

“Ummmm….” Darcy’s mouth was filled with food.

“I don’t know if the one I saw was similar or identical. How can you say?”

“I haven’t read the book,” Darcy said. “Maybe I should.”

“I want to read it too.” Jillian said.

The chill was beginning to seep in through Darcy’s clothing. She stood up.

“Should we head back?”

Jillian shoved her lunchbox into her bag. She swallowed a sip of juice to shove the food down her throat.

“I was thinking if doppelgängers are mirrored images, shouldn’t their left hand be your right and vice versa?” Jillian said on the walk back.

“Huh?”

“When you look at yourself in the mirror, your left is right and right is left.”

“I wonder if that would make any difference.” Darcy said.

“What if it’s not just left and right?” Jillian said a few moments later.

“What do you mean?”

“What if your doppelgänger is the evil side of you?”

Darcy paused near the large hotel. The crowd entered her world again. She was in the middle of an intersection. Darcy pondered on Jillian’s words.

“Your imagination is hyperactive today.” Darcy said.

“I was thinking about the possibilities.”

“Should I tell him you’re interested in being interviewed?”

“I would love to be a part of the article,” Jillian admitted with a smile.

Sunday arrived before Darcy knew it. She pulled the curtains open. Sunlight burst in through the window. Finally, a sunny day. Darcy soaked in the warmth of the sun. Her bright eyes saw the man who lived down the road. He was placing the stroller into the car. His wife stood next to him wearing light blue skinny jeans. She held the child in her arms. The sunlight framed her blonde hair.

The kettle switched off. Darcy turned away. She closed the curtains. She drank her cup of tea on the dining table. Her eyes stared into the distance. She dressed up and headed out of the door.

At 10:50 AM, she stood outside a café in Rogers Park. Cultures mingled with cuisine and language in the diverse neighborhood. Sol café was near the Red Line.

In the distance, she saw Mike. He walked toward her. She saw him wearing a pair of jeans and a hoodie.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he said, pulling the hoodie away.

“I just arrived.” Darcy said.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” he asked.

“How was the week?”

“Busy,” he said. They took a step toward the market.

“I spoke to Jillian about the article. She’s ready to do an interview.”

“Really? Thanks. I’ve been getting too many favors from you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Know what? I’ll treat you to lunch.”

“Oh no…”

“I’ve heard good things about this place.” Mike dashed off into the cafe before Darcy could refuse. 

Darcy placed her order and moved to one of the empty seats. She pulled out the pen drive from her pocket and placed it on the table.

“Thanks for that. I copied it.”

“Have you watched it?”

“I couldn’t find time to see it. I’ll probably watch it this evening.” Darcy said.  “How’s work?”

“Busy. I’ve been busy with that podcast I was telling you about. Plus, there’s the article on doppelgangers,” he said. “The more I read about it, the more I find myself drawn to the topic.”

“Have you read anything else?”

“I want to speak to people who have seen doppelgangers to get a realistic view of the theory,” He said. “So, what did this colleague of yours see?”

“She said she saw someone that looked exactly like her at the train station.”

“This article is turning out to be more interesting than I imagined.”

“Drop by my office if you have time this week,” he said. He slid a visiting card to her. “Tell your friend to call this number. I’m interested in interviewing her.”

“She’ll be glad to know.”

Mike and Darcy parted ways after finishing lunch.

At 2:00 PM, Darcy walked home. The sharp chill bit her exposed hands. Daylight did little to lessen the famous Chicago cold. She shoved them into her pockets. She approached the apartment where the street bent. She basked in the dim glow of the black Victorian street lamp before taking another step. She brushed past the railing to the main door. She turned the key and walked into her apartment.

She relaxed into the chair and turned on the television. The ABC news anchor announced the headlines. The news of Dr. Williams’ resignation had died down in three days.

Darcy walked into the bedroom and undressed. She slipped into her sweatpants and flopped down on the couch. She flipped channels. After an hour or two of watching TV, she finally got down to watching Macbeth. She didn’t have an acting part in the play. She wrote the script with a few others and helped with set design. Watching the video brought back alien memories. She was only seventeen when she began university, two years after her mother passed away. Her emotions were running wild. For two years, she suppressed all traces of emotion. She couldn’t let Dan and dad know how mom had died. But, when she got to university, something inside her tripped. She became depressed. Her condition worsened until she had to see the doctor every week.  He put her on pills and recommended counselling. Most of her university life was spent recovering from the trauma of her past. But even now, she wasn’t fine. She lived in constant fear of being found.

Another scene of Macbeth passed before her eyes clouded with tears. She remembered the long, counselling sessions and the sinking feeling that nothing would ever be fine again. She paused the video.  

She heard a faint sound in the corridor. The hair on her hands stood up. The doorbell rang. Darcy stood up. She made her way to the door. Before she opened the door, she checked who stood outside. Her eyes enlarged.

It was him. Dr. Cleo was standing outside the door, as real as the television blasting before her. His blue eyes looked into her. Fear poured over her. She stepped back. Her trembling fingers reached for the drawer handle. She opened it slowly.

He was still outside. She pulled the satin cloth away and stumbled on the revolver. Goosebumps broke out, brushing against her sweatpants. She breathed low. Her lungs choked on the air.

Knock. Knock. Knock. His message vibrated on the wooden door. Darcy turned to the television. It screeched in the background. He knew she was in. She closed her eyes. She leaned against the wall. Mr. Hatter wasn’t in. She reached for a phone.

She eyeballed the list of numbers. There was nobody she could call. Nobody knew about her past. She was alone. She remained by the wall. She clutched the revolver, ready to fire. Her hands moved over the trigger.

Her fluffy flip flops wadded on the floor. She took one step closer to the door. She stopped. She heard footsteps. The sound grew closer. Smokey scowled. Life returned to her body. Mr. Hatter was back. Darcy exhaled.

“She’s not in? The lights were on.” his raspy voice questioned. Smokey mewed. Mr. Hatter rang the doorbell.

“Are you in?” he called. Darcy didn’t answer. He backed off.

“I thought I heard….” Dr. Cleo’s raspy voice drifted off.

“Is it something important?” Mr. Hatter asked.

Darcy saw shadows move under the thin space between the door and the floor. She held her breath and continued to listen.

“No. Nothing important.” Dr. Cleo said. He turned.

“She’s usually in on Sundays. Maybe she went out to the supermarket. Do you want to wait?” Mr. Hatter volunteered.

“No, thank you. I’ll be back.” With those words, his voice ceased.

The footsteps faded away. Darcy heard her neighbor unlock his apartment door. He went in. Smokey began her evening opera recital. Darcy collapsed on the floor. She’d escaped him by a whisker.

Next time, she wouldn’t be so lucky. He’d found her. He’d come to get her. She knew he would come when she saw the news of his resignation. But she didn’t know his motives. She remained silent for fifteen years but one blog post sent her life crumbling to the ground.

She switched the television off. She peered out of the window through the narrow gap between the curtains. His shadow disappeared at the corner of the street. He was gone. For now.

Darcy put the revolver back into the drawer and closed it quietly. For the last fifteen years, he had been her nightmare. Now, he was real. And he was here for her, just like she feared.

How much longer could she go on like this?

Images from her troubled past crystallized in her mind. They were too real to be just memories. Voices clouded her mind, eclipsing all rational thoughts. She saw herself running in the corridor of the asylum. His face appeared and broke into ten versions. The hatred in his eyes was all she saw. His hands clutched her. She stifled a scream. Her chest heaved up and down in arrhythmic motions. She closed her eyes, her grip tightening on the drawer handle. It opened. Darkness surrounded her.

Darcy stepped out of the house on Monday morning with her phone clutched in her hand. Everybody in the street was staring at her. She covered her face with her scarf and stepped into the station. The rush hour crowd buzzed as usual. Darcy felt their gazes prick her face. She bowed down, her eyes closing in on the flood of shoes that covered the ground.

A news update buzzed on her phone. In an attempt to distract herself, she saw it. The headline hit her light a bolt from the blue. 

She couldn’t move. The river of strangers poured down the platform. She stood there like a rock. That caught the ire of a few irritated faces but the situation was beyond her imagination. She glanced at the phone again. The words hadn’t changed.

Time stopped moving. Darcy’s face was expressionless with shock. Her senses stopped functioning. She read through the disturbing article headline again and again.

Ambrosia CEO found dead in Chicago

The title gave it all away. She noticed the familiar curve of his lips, his eyes that sparkled with venom and his strong form. She scrolled.

Dr. Cleo Williams, the founder and CEO of Ambrosia Pharmaceuticals was found dead at his apartment in Chicago  11:50 pm last night. The time of death is estimated to be 9:00 PM. ABC News understands the cause of death was a gunshot to his chest. A weapon was found in the room. The apartment has been closed off by the police and will remain closed until the preliminary investigation is complete. The police is looking into the events leading up to the murder.

Another train stopped. The doors opened. People poured in and out of the train. The hands of the clock ticked on constantly. Strangers passed by. She didn’t get on. Her body couldn’t move.

The scenery swam in her disturbed mind. He was dead. Her nemesis was dead.

He was gone. Just like that.

Fear faded to panic. Darcy found her breath. Her hollow eyes remained on the ground.

Her phone rang. She answered instantly. She pressed the phone against her ears.

“Darcy? Where are you? Are you going to be late?” Susan asked. The noises in the background dampened her voice.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Darcy said, lifeless. She hung up immediately. She pushed the phone into her bag and looked to the platform breathlessly. She had to get to work. Every cell in her body rebelled at the thought. She shook her head.

She stood up. Her weak knees threatened to collapse. She weakly walked toward the staircase. The sharp angle of the stairs made her feel victimized.

She looked around. People were busy walking, standing, talking, playing with their phones… everything looked normal. The escalator reached the ground. She got off slowly. The man behind clocked his tongue, irritated by her slow response. Darcy held on to the railing as she made her way out of the station.