The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller Read online

  “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 11:5
0 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.

  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.”

&n
bsp; “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.