The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller Page 14

  The image drifted farther away. She saw her mother’s frail form disappear. She extended her hand but nobody held it. It faded into darkness. She opened her eyes. An image of the apartment solidified. The dreamy glaze was gone.

  “Black holes have been found near….” the anchor went on. Darcy opened her eyes. Her apartment came into view. The television was on. She was an anchor with a long, oval face go on about black holes. She turned the television off.

  Her gaze lingered on her reflection. In her face, she saw images of her mother. The images were nothing but memories. The sharp sound of trains filled her ears. She closed her ears.

  Darcy quickly drank the soup Susan brought her, trying to bury her memories in the warmth of chicken soup. She never had that dream before. Dr. Cleo’s death changed everything. Her visions changed. Her nightmares stopped.

  She stared at the blank television screen until she fell asleep on the couch.

  Darcy’s sleep was cut short by a sharp ring. Darcy opened her eyes. Daylight poured in through the narrow opening between the curtains. Particles of dust moved toward her. She coughed. She hit the phone in an attempt to silence it. When she realized it was not an alarm, she got up with a start. Her eyes fell on the screen.

  Mike

  She answered immediately.

  “Hello?” she said in a groggy voice.

  “Darcy? It’s Mike.” His voice was steady.

  “Good morning.” she said.

  “How are you? I tried calling you yesterday.”

  “I wasn’t in yesterday,” she said.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Somebody named Detective Jones came to my house last night.” Mike said. “He wanted to know if you were with me on Sunday.”

  Darcy closed her eyes. “I’m sorry-”

  “I told him we had lunch,” Mike went on. “What’s going on?”

  “He’s just doing his job,” she began, off-tangent. “He came by and asked me a few questions too.”

  “That’s all it is, right?” he said, hesitantly.

  “Ummm…”

  “I returned the book yesterday. You weren’t in.” Mike said.

  “I haven’t been feeling well,” Darcy said. “I’ll return to work on Monday.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah…it’s just the flu.” She said.

  “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  She hung up. Darcy turned to the clock. Darcy brushed her teeth, lifelessly. Her mind lingered on Mike’s words. Detective Jones was not going to let her off so easily.

  Darcy rushed out of the bathroom and turned on her laptop. She sat on the couch with the laptop nestled on her lap. She opened My Diary. The black page reflected her disheveled face. She cleared her throat and scrolled. Another post was up.

  The Red Barn

  An image of a red barn lay over the post’s body. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on the image. Her stomach muscles pulled. She coughed. Acid encircled her empty belly. The image of the barn invoked a response in her that she didn’t expect. Fear and guilt overtook her. Her heart constricted, propelled by the discomfort. She closed her eyes and visualized the barn go up in flames. She jerked her eyes open, trying to brush away the memory.

  Her fingers gripped the keypad and scrolled.

  The red barn is a figment of my imagination. It is a place buried deep in the layers of my memory. I don’t know where it is. I’ve never seen anything like it but I’ve been here. Is it deja vu?

  Whenever I think of this barn, my head fills with images of horror. I don’t remember why I was here. I don’t remember what happened. But, this image fills my heart with fear, fear of the known.

  The unknown creates fear and anxiety but truth is worse. Trudging close to an unpleasant truth is worse than being in the dark.

  What happened here? Why do I fear this place? I find myself asking those questions more often.

  I found out that there was once a barn like this near my hometown. There is no red barn on the farm now. Dad says I’ve never been there. But I know I have. I’ve seen the barn burn to ashes. I stood there while the flames swallowed the building. I don’t know when, why or how. That’s all I remember.

  I called the owner of the farm today. He told me there used to be a red barn on that land but it burned down fifteen years ago. He doesn’t know how the fire started. Or maybe he does, but he doesn’t want to tell me.

  How did the fire start? Why do I remember that barn? As I inch closer to that answer, the truth becomes clearer.

  The question is, do I want to know the truth?

  Darcy scrolled up and saw an image of the barn. The barn had been photoshopped into the picture. Her eyes remained on it. It was the one in her dreams. How did the doppelgänger know about it? What truth lay buried in the barn?

  The phone buzzed. Darcy moved her eyes through the list of unread messages.

  Brian

  Should I delete it?

  Darcy contemplated the idea while toying with her phone.

  Darcy

  No.

  She pressed ‘send’. She couldn’t let the message go. She wanted to know more about the barn. It had never been part of her visions until Dr. Cleo’s death. The barn was red. Her least favorite color. That was a sign.

  Monday morning arrived. After a relatively peaceful weekend, Darcy returned to work on Monday. At 8:00 AM she stood before the university library. The building restored a sense of calm in her. The glass doors opened. Darcy stepped through.

  The person who stood waiting for her wasn’t Susan or Jillian but Detective Jones.

  “Good morning,” he uttered in a raspy voice.

  “Detective Jones.” Darcy’s hands were cold. She made eye contact.

  “I dropped by to have a look at the collection,” he said. It was a lie.

  “Why are you persecuting me?” Darcy stormed.

  “I’m doing my job.” he said, casually before walking away.

  Chapter 15

  “How did your mother die?” The sound of buses, people and car horns disappeared. Darcy was almost run over by a car. Jillian pulled her away. Darcy’s heartbeat filled her ears. She stared blankly at the hub of activity. The mannequins and shop lighting were transformed into a procession of blurry lights.

  “You never talk about her,” Jillian said, clutching her purse.

  “There isn’t much to say,” Darcy said, shakily, her eyes fixed on the road. Jillian and Darcy walked toward the nearest takeaway. “She died when I was in school.”

  “You have no memories of her?”

  “Not many,” Darcy said.

  “What did she do?”

  “She was a journalist.” The pedestrian sign turned red. Cars drove through. Darcy paused at the corner of the road. Her feet tapped on the concrete pavement.

  “A journalist? What kind of articles did she write?”

  “News, you know. That’s what journalists do,” Darcy said. “She was always busy. That’s what I remember, at least.”

  “Don’t you have any memories of spending time with her?”

  “Well, she was home on my birthday.” Darcy said. The lights changed to green. Darcy and Jillian walked across the street.

  Her lunch was in sight. Darcy’s footsteps sped up.

  “So, how did your mother die?” Jillian asked, again.

  “It was an accident,” Darcy said. She stood outside the shop. She opened the glass door and stepped in.

  At 1:30 PM, Darcy was back at the library. She climbed the winding staircase to the second floor. She opened the restroom door and entered. She looked at her reflection. The lines on her face were sharper than she remem
bered them. Two days at the police station had taken its toll.

  Darcy’s phone buzzed. An unknown number. She answered.

  “Hello?” The hair on Darcy’s hands stood up. She recognized the soft, soothing voice. Mom. A flurry of thoughts ran through her mind.

  “Hello.” Darcy’s voice was low.

  “Hello? Darcy Godfrey?” the voice asked. It sounded so real.

  “Who am I speaking to?” Darcy asked. Her eyeballs moved toward her left ear. She heard sounds in the background. The signal wasn’t good. Darcy walked out of the restroom, in a hurry. Her fingers closed on the phone. She stood by the large window in the corridor, waiting for a response.

  “Uh…I’m calling from Bank of America,” the woman said, hesitantly. Darcy sighed. “You-you are eligible for a credit card-”

  “No, thank you. I’m not interested.” Darcy hung up immediately. The phone slid into her pocket. It was a bank call. Her senses returned.

  She gazed at the grey sky outside the window. Jillian’s words echoed in her ears. She did remember her mother. She remembered the memories they shared. She wished she’d forgotten, but she remembered everything. Even the woman on the phone sounded like her mother. Every time she saw someone with clear blue eyes on the street, she stopped. Every time she heard a soft voice, she turned. Time hadn’t been able to erase the memory.

  Darcy stepped into Susan’s room. Nobody was in. She placed herself on a chair. She poured herself some tea. She saw the book that was lying on the table.

  Doppelgänger

  A bookmark was inserted halfway through. She picked the book up. Her eyes fell on the bookmarked chapter. She began reading.

  Doppelgangers and Parallel Universes

  Identical doppelgängers are our mirror images in a parallel universe. For every person, there exists a reflection in another dimension. This mirror image is called a doppelgänger. The doppelgänger has the same memories and experiences as the original image. Thus, the main events in a person and his doppelganger’s life are the same.

  A point of divergence is created when the doppelgänger enters another dimension. At this point, two realities collide. The dimensions merge and create a third reality.

  In such circumstances, a doppelgänger shares the same past as its image but not the same future. In other words, the reflection creates a unique identity when it transcends the limitations of dimension.

  The above is a reason many myths consider the existence of doppelgängers to be an omen of bad luck. A doppelgänger that creates its identity does so at the cost of its image. This creation of identity may take many forms including the death of the original image. This is because the existence of two same images in one dimension creates an imbalance.

  The door opened.

  “Here you are,” Susan said. Susan’s eyes trailed to the book. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Ummm…”

  “A detective was here this morning.” Susan’s voice dropped. Darcy’s fingers lingered over the book cover. She placed it on the table.

  “He was asking about you.”

  “Me?”

  “He asked how long you’d been working here and about your personality.”

  Darcy was silent.

  “I wonder why he was asking around about you.”

  “He must be doing his job,” Darcy said, nervously. “I’ll get back to work.”

  She stepped out of the room and closed the door. She walked to the shelves and began stacking them. Her hollow eyes looked at the students who were busy reading. There was silence all around.

  In the evening, Darcy walked to the Red Line. As she stood on the platform, her eyes moved to the left. They were all looking at her. The man next to her turned away when she shot him a glance. He began reading something on his smart phone. They all knew.

  Darcy pulled her phone out and read the news.

  New Evidence found in Dr. Williams Case

  The police confirmed that CCTV footage was found at Dr. Williams’ apartment building. This footage could be the key to narrowing down the list of suspects and perhaps, finding what really happened.

  The train stopped. Darcy walked onto it with her eyes fixed on her phone. The doors closed. She saw reflections of strangers staring at her. Her eyes turned to the news article. There was nothing about her. She was relieved.

  The train stopped at Damen later that evening. Darcy was the first one to get off. Her phone vibrated. She answered.

  “Hello?” she closed her left ear with her finger. The sound of trains and footsteps persisted in the background.

  “Hi, sis? Is this a good time to talk?” Dan asked.

  “Yeah…” The escalator met the ground. Darcy stepped out of the station. She began walking home.

  “A detective called today,” Dan began, hesitantly. Darcy didn’t answer. “He wanted to know about you. Is everything fine?”

  “What did you tell him?” Darcy asked.

  “He asked me if you had ever met Dr. Williams. He asked quite a few questions about him, actually.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said you’ve never met him,” He said. “Sis, what is this about? Why was he asking about you?”

  “He-” Darcy’s voice broke. She felt uneasiness clutch her body. She inhaled. “He suspects me for murder.”

  “Murder!? That is-”

  “He interviewed me yesterday,” Darcy said, her voice shaky. “They didn’t have enough evidence to charge me so they let me go. It’s all a misunderstanding-”

  “I should come-”

  “No. Just stay in New York. It’s best if you don’t get involved.”

  “Is there any way I can help you?”

  “No. I have a defense attorney to help me.”

  “You hired a lawyer? Just how serious is this?”

  “He’s on the wrong track,” Darcy said. “Detective Jones will give up once he finds no evidence against me.”

  “Do you think he’ll call dad?”

  “He asked about my family so I assume he will.”

  “You should tell dad about it.”

  Darcy dropped the bag. She stood at the edge of the road. A car sped toward her. The driver, startled by her sudden appearance, maneuvered the car away reflexively. He yelled. The car drove away. Darcy caught her breath. She bent to pick the bag up.

  “Sis, should I call later?” Dan was ready to hang up.

  “Good night.”

  Darcy hung up.

  Darcy called her father next. The phone rang. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Five. Dad answered.

  “Hello?” his voice sounded distant. The last time they spoke to each other was three months ago.

  “Dad, it’s me.” Darcy said, clearing her throat.

  “Darcy? How are you?” Her father’s voice was not normal. He was in panic mode.

  “I’m fine.” Darcy said.

  “That’s a relief,” her father said. His tight voice eased. “A detective called today.”

  Darcy held her breath and waited for him to go on.

  “He asked about our family history. What is this about?”

  Darcy swallowed.

  “He suspects me of a murder.”

  “What!?”

  “He’s been asking around about me,” Darcy said. “He interviewed.”

  “Interview? At the police station?” Dad’s voice was hollow.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll come-”

  “No. Mr. Adams…a defense attorney is helping me.”

  “But you must be stressed. This…I never expected something like this to happen.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “I shouldn’t have told the Detective about your mother’s
mental history…”

  “What? What are you saying?”

  “It wasn’t anything serious,” her father said. “She was traumatized for a while after …uh…never mind.”

  “After what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Dad, tell me, was mom sick?” Darcy asked. His voice died. There was no response. Silence vibrated on the phone line.

  “It was hard for all of us,” his reply came in a low voice after a long pause. “You were...er...sick for a long time. She took you to all the counsellors she could find. When the therapies didn’t work, she grew hopeless.”

  “Mom took me to counsellors?” Darcy asked. The problem only began after her mother died. Everything stopped making sense.

  Darcy remembered the faces of those psychiatrists. She remembered the hopelessness in their eyes. She never thought she would come out of the abyss.

  Darcy stood outside her apartment building. Her feet froze a few inches away from the door. Stony silence greeted her. Her heartbeat merged into the phone line.

  “I….” Jillian’s questions troubled Darcy’s mind. She turned to the phone and took a deep breath before speaking. “Dad, how did mom die?”

  Darcy had to ask. She had to know. Her memories spiraled, without making any sense. Was the past what she remembered it as?

  “Die!?” Dad’s sharp voice pierced her eardrums. He was shocked. Uneasiness crept up Darcy’s body. Bells of fear rang in her mind.

  “She didn’t die.” It was a pronouncement of the truth. The phone wobbled in Darcy’s hand.

  “You thought she was dead?” her father went on, regaining some composure. The words hammered into Darcy’s mind. Her mother didn’t die.

  “I did….I wonder why.” Darcy asked.

  “Your mother didn’t die. She left.”

  Those words sucked the oxygen from the atmosphere. Suddenly, the story she believed all along seemed more palpable. Shadows converged into silhouettes of people on the street. They filled her vision with darkness. Darcy’s legs bolted. She sat on the cold, stony street. The street lamp illuminated her.