The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller (9 page)

Chapter 11

Darcy stepped through the glass doors. In twenty minutes, her heartbeat had improved somewhat. The security guard stared at her disheveled state. She didn’t notice him. She walked up the stairs, her legs dwelling on every step.

She opened the door. Nobody was in the common room. The packaging on the left corner of the room was gone. Darcy hung her coat on the stand and placed her bag on one of the chairs. She sat on the chair and practiced deep breathing. Oxygen flooded her nose. Her breath didn’t make its way to her lungs. It dissipated in her throat.

“Where were you?” Susan stood behind Darcy. Darcy’s eyes opened. She coughed.

“I…I’m sorry.” she said.

“Are you all right?” Susan asked. She moved closer to Darcy. Her eyes mellowed.

“Yeah…I’m fine.” Darcy said.

“You look…disturbed. Did something happen?”

“No-” Before Darcy could finish, Jillian walked in.

“Did you see the news?” she asked. Darcy’s lungs collapsed. Air rushed out of her body.

“No.” Susan looked at Jillian, clueless. Jillian held her phone up. The fateful words were shoved on Darcy’s face.

“I can’t read it.” Susan said.

“Dr. Cleo Williams is dead.”

Susan’s hands flew over her mouth. “Good lord.”

“He was found dead in his apartment last night,” Jillian continued, scrolling on her phone. Darcy’s mind lingered on last evening. He came to her house before he died. It happened so fast that she couldn’t believe it was real.

Knock. Knock. Knock. His breath echoed on the other side of the door. They were separated by a thin door. She on the edge. With the revolver clutched in her hand, she made her way to the entrance. She saw his familiar profile peer into the peeping hole. He really had come for her.

The darkness of the night accompanied her steps. The street lights were distant baubles of gold. Darcy’s footsteps traced their way to the road. A taxi stopped by. The blinding lights grew brighter until they engulfed her.

The next minute, Darcy stood in front of Dr. Cleo. His clear blue eyes surveyed her. She took a step back. A dim light illuminated the room, highlighting the edges of his aged face. She gasped. Her hands hit the wall. Darcy shrieked. She opened her eyes. Susan was staring at her. She inhaled deeply.

“Are you listening?” Jillian’s voice cut through the hallucination. She waved the paper at Darcy.

“Huh?”

“He passed away last night,” Jillian went on. “I knew something was wrong when he resigned.”

He words tricked down the folds of Darcy’s brain. Of all the people in the world, he came to see her on the day he died. A mixture of fear, guilt and panic colored her heart. Through it all, she saw his face, staring at her, like he was still here.

“It seems too sudden,” Susan said, scratching her chin. “What happened?”

“He was shot. The police suspect a murder.”

“Murder?” Darcy gawked.

“By the looks of it,” Jillian opened the paper. Her eyeballs moved from left to right. “He was found dead at 11:00 pm last night.”

Susan maintained a serious expression. “Does it name any suspects?”

The words sent chills down Darcy’s spine. She looked around the room.

“Don’t we have something to do?” she asked, nervously. Susan’s eyes enlarged.

“Yes. The new books need to be stocked,” she said.

“Let’s go.” Darcy stood up abruptly and made her way out of the door. She shut the door behind her, cutting of the stares of her colleagues. She sped to the restroom. She opened the door. A few students stared at her. She took a deep breath.

Darcy splashed cold water on her face. Water mingled with black mascara and flowed down the drain. She looked at her bleeding eyes in the mirror. She looked how she felt. Her eyes were stained with patches of black eyeliner. Her foundation formed a white mask on her face. Within them, an alien feeling rose. A sense of freedom accompanied her fear. Her nemesis was gone. She had nothing to fear anymore. Yet, it felt odd.

The student next to her stared at her then walked out of the restroom. Her boots clicked on the tiles. The door closed with a swoosh. Darcy pulled a tissue paper out. She wiped her face. The eyeliner was gone. Water flowed down her naked face and trailed across her throat.

Her eyes were red. Another sleepless night. Darcy pulled away from the flowing water. She placed her hands under the automatic dryer and let the warm air dry her hands. She closed her eyes.

Darcy remembered the image she saw on her phone. Dark blood clotted on Dr. Cleo’s chest. His body lay in a pool of crimson. Next to him lay a revolver. The pure white curtains were open. The room was empty.

The door opened. Another student walked in. Darcy walked out of the door before it closed. She went down the staircase. The cleaner stared at her. She remembered the incident in the restroom a few weeks ago. She avoided her gaze.

She pulled a book out of the cart and placed it on the shelf. Her eyes remained on the next book she picked up. The number of students who came to the library was on a rising graph.

Darcy’s phone vibrated. The sudden noise startled her. She dropped the book. A student stared at her. She picked the book up and placed it on the cart. She walked out of the library taking large strides. She answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Ms. Darcy Godfrey?” a gruff, masculine voice asked. Darcy remained silent. She heard the mild disturbance on the phone line.

“Yes?”

“Hello? Am I speaking to Darcy Godfrey?” he said. Bella passed her by. She smiled. Darcy’s lips were stuck. She continued to walk. The glass door opened. Darcy stood in the corridor and answered. 

“Ummm…yes. Who is this?”

“Uh…I’m Detective Jones from the Chicago Police.” He said.

“Ummmm…” Darcy waited for him to fill the silence.

“Ummm…do you work at Loyola University’s Lewis Library?” he went on.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you at work. I wanted to talk abut a matter of interest.”

“What matter?” Darcy asked, her voice solid and raspy.

“Would you be available this evening?”

“This evening?” Darcy pulled the phone away from her ears. She stared at the number on it.

“Hello?” the echo of his voice resounded.

“Hello? Uh, yes,” Darcy said, slapping the phone on her ear again. “I get off work at eight.”

“Is 8:00 PM a good time for us to meet?”

A long pause followed. “I wanted to have a little chat, that’s all,” he continued in a raspy voice. Darcy gulped.

“Is 8:00 a good time?” he pressed.

“8:30,” Darcy corrected. Her fingers crumpled her coat. “I would rather meet at my apartment, if you don’t mind.”

“8:30, at your home then?”

“That would be okay.” She hung up. The phone rolled off her fingers like a time bomb. It fell on the floor. Darcy picked it up, reflexively. She rushed into the building. The heating thawed her cold body. Tears of fear pricked her dry eyes. The detective hadn’t asked her for her address. Did he already know where she lived? Did he suspect her?

Darcy returned to her desk and pulled out a post-it note. She typed ‘detective suspect interview questions’ in the search box and pressed ‘enter’. A long list of common questions popped up on the screen. She began writing answers on the post-it note.

At 8:30 PM, Darcy was running home from Damen. Many full trains had passed Darcy by that evening until she found some space on one of them. At eight-thirty, she got off at Damen. She was running late. She pulled out her phone and saw two missed calls from an unknown number. Detective Jones. Her heartbeat grew in crescendo. By the time she reached her apartment building, her body was covered with goosebumps.

Detective Jones stood outside the apartment building, his long shadow extending over the base of the staircase. He was alone which made Darcy feel slightly more relieved. The Victorian street lamp illuminated his long form. He was a well-built man who stood around six feet. He turned upon her shadow. She rushed toward the door, hugging her bag for support. Her feet stopped at the base of the staircase, a few inches away from him.

“Good evening.” he said in a gruff voice.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t get a seat on the train-”

“I understand. They’re packed at this hour. I myself was caught in a traffic jam.”

Darcy smiled weakly. “Would you like to come in?”

Darcy climbed the four stairs that stood between her and the apartment building’s entrance. She entered the password and unlocked the main door. Detective Jones followed her up the stairs. She reached the lobby and headed toward her apartment.  Detective Jones stood behind her while she unlocked her apartment door and stepped in.

“I’m sorry. It’s a mess,” Darcy said.

“I don’t mind.” Detective Jones said, removing his hat. His tone echoed in her empty apartment. A half-eaten bowl of Cheerios and magazines lay scattered on the table. Her laptop was charging next to the television.

Darcy turned the heater on.

“Please have a seat,” she said, pointing to the couch which was the only clean surface in the room. Detective Jones said down on the couch, placing his hat next to him. He pulled out a pen from his pocket and clicked it. Darcy noted the small hole on the pen which looked like a lens. So, he was recording their conversation. 

“Would you like anything to drink?” she asked, unwrapping her scarf. She left her bag near the television.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Detective Jones said. He pulled a notepad out of his grey coat pocket. His light grey eyes looked up at her. Darcy sat on the couch facing him, her hands resting on her thighs.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked.

“Do you mind if I record the conversation…um…just for reference.” He said.

“Uh….” Darcy hesitated. “Okay….”

“Thank you,” he said. He unfolded a piece of paper and looked at it. “Are you aware that Dr. Williams passed away last night?”

Darcy leaned on the couch for a second before sitting up straight. Her muscles tensed. “It was in the news this morning.”

“That’s right. If I’m correct, Dr. Williams visited you yesterday evening?” he got straight to the point. He looked up at her. Darcy avoided his direct gaze. “He was here between six and seven-thirty.”

“Hmmmmm…..”

“Did you know Dr. Williams?”

“Not really…” Darcy said.

“Did you meet him last evening, then?”

“No. I didn’t hear him.”

“Didn’t hear him?”

“I was sleeping, perhaps.” Darcy said.

“You were at home.”

“Yes.”

“How did you know he came?”

“My neighbor told me.” She dug into her bag for Dr. Cleo’s business card and pulled it out. The detective inched closer.

“Here it is,” she said. “Dr. Williams gave it to Mr. Hatter and asked him pass it to me. That’s how I came to know.”

“This is the first time he’s come to visit?”

“No. He came earlier this week when I was at work.”

“Your neighbor told you about that visit too?”

“Yes.”

“I see. May I ask what your relationship with Dr. Williams is?” he asked. A few blank seconds were recorded by the pen. Darcy didn’t move. His piercing gaze remained on her. She noticed the greyish stubble that was beginning to emerge on his chin. A deep line formed on his forehead. His breath was warm.

“Ms. Godfrey?” He dismantled her state of daze.

“Yes-yes?”

“Your relationship with Dr. Williams?” he asked, ticking his boots on the carpet.

“We…he came to lecture at the university almost two weeks ago.” she said, quickly.

“University?”

“Loyola University. I’m a librarian there.,” she said.

“He came to visit you at the university?”

“No. He came to deliver a lecture on data methods in Biotechnology.”

“I don’t understand. What is your relationship with him?” Detective Jones’ tone was harsher now.

“Like I told you, I don’t know him.” Darcy said, her throat closing up immediately after the sentence.

“Why did he come to meet you twice if you don’t know him?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy said.

“Didn’t you ever call him? The business card has his number.”

“No. I didn’t get the time to.” Darcy fiddled with a magazine on the table.

“But he came twice.”

“Is this a formal interview-”

“No. I was just curious. We can talk about something else.” he cut in. Darcy inhaled. There wasn’t much she could talk about with the homicide detective who was handling Dr. Cleo’s case.

“I fainted on the day he came for the lecture. I guess he was worried.” Darcy explained, immediately.

“Fainted? What happened?”

“I wasn’t feeling well. I-I had a headache all day,” Darcy stammered. “He must’ve wanted to know if I was better.”

“Why would a busy man like him visit your house twice to find out if you were better?”

“What-what do you mean?” Darcy asked.

“Nothing. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. So, you had no personal connection with him?”

“No.”

“I noticed that you’re both from New York- Smithtown, to be precise.”

“There are many people in that town. I don’t think he knows every resident personally.”

Detective Jones didn’t argue.

“This is a nice cozy house…a little old but nice,” he said, looking around. “Have you been living here long?”

“It’s been five years.” Darcy said. 

“Lincoln Square is one of the nicer localities…safer…family-friendly. Do you feel safe living in this building?” he asked. Darcy’s eyes darted to the bedroom immediately. She cleared her throat.

“Yes. The police patrol this area at night and the building has surveillance cameras so I feel safe living here.” Darcy said.

“Folks usually move from here to New York, not the other way around. What made you want to come to Chicago?”

“I grew up in a small town,” Darcy said. “New York City can be overwhelming. I like the mid-western culture better.” 

“Do you like it here in Chicago?”

“It’s a bit cold but I’ve gotten used to it,” Darcy said. “Have you been living here long?”

“Me?” Detective Jones rubbed his shoes on the carpet. “Yes. I was born here.”

“A true Chicagoan, then?”