The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller Page 15

  “What are you saying?” She found her voice with difficulty.

  “She didn’t die,” Dad reiterated. “She’s alive.”

  The words coursed through her transforming into happiness. Her mother was alive. Then the happiness suddenly faded to disgust. Her father’s last words rang in her mind. She left.

  The phone fell away from Darcy’s ears. Her hands didn’t have the strength to hold the phone. It slipped through her fingers and fell on the ground.

  “Hello?” Distant echoes of Dad’s voice filled her ears. The phone lay on the ground. Darcy’s breaths filled her hollow skull. She stared at the stone street until it made sense. She looked at her cold, trembling hands. The slow realization drugged her system. Darcy wasn’t dreaming. Her mother never died. She left.

  She heard footsteps click on the stone. She didn’t turn. Her eyes remained on the phone lying on the ground. Dad’s voice was gone. A long shadow stretched over the phone. It blocked the street light. Darcy’s form was covered in darkness. She sat on the floor, trembling and breathless.

  Smokey mewed. The chill made its way through her back. Changing shadows solidified. Smokey’s shadow shifted. The cat moved to her side. She nudged the phone on the ground. Darcy met Smokey’s piercing green eyes.

  “She’s alive…” she told the cat. Her eyes looked at the cat’s paws. “She was alive all these years…..”

  Darcy exhaled and inhaled deeply. Smokey curled near Darcy’s feet.

  “She was alive, but she didn’t contact me.” Darcy said. Her voice broke. She longed to see her mother. She longed to know what happened. Why had her mother left? How sick was she? Where was she?

  Darcy placed her hand on the ground and stood up. Her knees cracked. She picked up the phone. Smokey curled around her feet. She took a step toward the door. She opened the door and vanished into her apartment.

  Chapter 16

  Darcy stopped in front of a freestanding house in Evanston. The residential street was lined with cars. She looked at her GPS. This was it. The sun shone down on her- the second sunny day this month. Noises from the busy city melted away. The road was quiet. Curtains were drawn over the long hexagonal windows. The front gate was open. A trash can was next to the house. She opened the white gate and walked in.

  A patch of green extended behind the house. The ground was covered with a few fallen yellow leaves. The trees were almost barren.

  Three school kids walked by in blue school uniforms. One of them was busy eating rice pudding. Another munched on a candy bar. Her coarse black hair was neatly braided. The two boys and the girl looked at Darcy. She turned away.

  Leaves rustled under her boots. She reached the door.

  Silence.

  She tapped the door. The low sound of wood didn’t travel. She knocked again, louder. Nobody answered. She rang the bell next to the door. A sharp ring travelled through the house. No answer.

  She turned the door handle. It was locked. She couldn’t see anything beyond the white window blinds. Nobody was in.

  Another runner passed her by.

  “You looking for Jenny?” he called. Darcy saw a middle-aged man with a muscular frame. His blue eyes squinted. He wore a blue waterproof jacket and running shoes.

  “Uh…yes…Jennifer Scott,” she said, reading the name on her phone.

  “She’s not in,” the man said, glancing at the house ahead. Darcy smelled sweat. Her nose curled. “She isn’t back before seven.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know.”

  He examined her.

  “Do you want me to deliver a message?”

  “No…I’ll come back later.” Darcy said.

  “She works in the morning.” He said.

  “Where…where does she work?” Darcy asked. The man stared at her. “Does she have a contact number?”

  “Wait a second. I think have her number but who are you?” the man said. He pulled the earphones out.

  “She’s a personal acquaintance of mine,” Darcy said, in a deep voice. “I recently discovered she lives in Evanston.”

  “You live here?”

  “Yes, in the city of Chicago.”

  “Ah. And you never met her before?”

  “Uh…she was friends with my mother. I haven’t been in touch with her since my mother passed away,” she said.

  “Sorry to hear that,” He said. “Here you go. That’s her number.”

  He flashed the phone at her. Darcy keyed the number into her phone.

  “Thank you so much Mr…..”

  “Davis,” he added, with a smile. “And you are?”

  “I’m Darcy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Darcy. See you around.”

  He waved and continued his run. Darcy turned away. She walked down the road and turned at the main road. She stood at the bus stop, waiting for the next bus to arrive. Her gaze lingered on the number. She couldn’t summon the courage to call her mother.

  Her mother. She never thought she’d say those words again.

  At 1:00 PM, Darcy was back in the library. She had taken half the day off to go to her mother’s house in Evanston. The glass doors opened. She walked in. The number of students had doubled since the beginning of the semester. Darcy glanced across the library. Empty chairs with books and laptops on them greeted her. Many of them were away for lunch.

  She slipped past the rows of empty desks to a computer. She logged in and checked the blog. A new post was up.

  Memories

  Darcy inhaled and turned her eyes to the post.

  Memories. Those pesky little things embed themselves in the dark spaces of the mind and grow like fungus until they’ve consumed every cell of your brain.

  Nobody ever questions memories. We know. In that knowing is a powerful seed. A seed of ignorance.

  I’ve had time to re-think my memories this winter. Things I took for granted don’t exist. Things I thought didn’t exist, do. Some memories make no sense. There are things I should’ve questioned long ago. But, I didn’t because that’s how memories are. You just know.

  When a memory dies, the truth takes its place. Losing a memory is more painful than losing an arm. Because memories cannot be amputated. In familiarity, we find a sense of security. When this security leaves, the unfamiliar remains.

  My memories are being uprooted. I’m lost. I don’t recognize the world. The world as I know it is ending.

  I am seeing things that have been buried for a long time. As I unearth those truths, more questions emerge- questions that challenge my memory. The only way to know now is to go to the end.

  The post ended. Darcy stared at the screen, wide eyed. Reflections formed and disappeared on the dark screen. The one that remained constant was her own. The blogger knew. D knew her mother was alive. How?

  Darcy closed the window and stood up. Her eyes lingered on the computer screen. A screensaver with the university’s logo filled it.

  She pulled out her phone and looked through the list of number. Thank god she still had it. She had almost not transferred the number when she changed phones. She began dialing the number of the counsellor who treated her when she was at university. She must’ve told him something about her mother.

  “Hello?” a friendly receptionist’s voice greeted her.

  “Is this Rush University Medical Center?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Hi. My name is Darcy. I received treatment at your psychiatric ward eight years ago. I want to know if my medical records are still available.”

  “Are you seeking to access your medical records?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Let me check. Was it eight years ago?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Your name?”

  “Darcy G
odfrey.”

  Darcy heard the sound of keys.

  “Yes. We have your details on file,” She said. “If you want to request copies of your medical record, you will need to come down to the practice in person. We require a form to be submitted along with a copy of a photo ID.”

  “When can I come?”

  “We’re open nine to six every day. Anytime between that is fine. Also, please bring a government issued photo ID for verification.”

  “Okay. Thank you.” Darcy said and hung up.

  At 7:00 PM, Darcy stood at the platform. The train was due to arrive in three minutes. Darcy swayed amidst the crowd, her hands clutching the phone. She plugged the earphones in and put on a track with a heavy beat. Courage rose in her heart. She browsed through her list of contacts. There was a new one.

  Mom.

  She swallowed her joy. She was alive. All these years, she was alive.

  The train emerged with its long tail of coaches. They were full. Darcy sighed. The door opened. Nobody got off. She squeezed herself amidst the crowd. The doors closed.

  At 8:00 PM, she was back in her apartment. An eerie silence filled the corridor. She pushed the key in and clicked the door open. She threw her bag and shoes away. On her way to the bedroom, she turned on the television. Sound blasted through the room.

  A few minutes later, she sat before the television in sweatpants. She flipped through channels until her eyes hit on a music program playing pop hits. She watched music videos in rapid succession while she ate dinner.

  Her eyes lingered on the phone. She pulled it closer. Her heart thudded. She clicked on her mother’s number. She turned the television off. The silence droned on. Her fingers inched toward the phone number. She swallowed.

  Mom.

  The words hit her in the gut. She didn’t know if it was the right number. She needed to know. She wanted to know.

  Darcy pressed ‘call’. She shut her eyes tightly. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Thrice.

  “Hello?” her mother’s voice. The soft voice brought her senses to a standstill. She ached to hear that voice. Her fingers held tighter to the phone.

  “Hello, is this Ms. Jennifer Scott?” Darcy asked. She cleared her throat.

  “Yes?”

  “Uh…I was wondering if we could meet sometime?” she enquired.

  “Excuse me, who am I talking to?”

  “I am…uh…I’m interested in applying for the Bank of America credit card.” Darcy slapped her head. She waited for a response.

  “Oh this is my personal number. May I know how you got this number?” she said.

  “Uh….one of your colleagues gave it to me, I think…” Darcy said.

  “They don’t usually give personal numbers out.”

  “She must’ve made a mistake.” Darcy said.

  “You can use my official number to call me in the future. I’ll message the number to you.”

  “Thank you,” Darcy said. A long pause followed. “When are you in? I was wondering if we could talk about the credit card policies before I apply.”

  “The bank timings are eleven to five. I’m in between that time. You can ask for me at the reception.”

  “Oh…I see. Thanks,” Darcy licked her dry lips. “Is Friday a good day?”

  “Yeah sure. Your name?”

  “Darcy.” Silence.

  “Surname?”

  “Clark.” she lied.

  “I’ll see you on Friday, Darcy.”

  “See you.” Darcy hung up. She stared at the lifeless phone.

  After the initial euphoria passed, an uncomfortable feeling settled into her body. Her mother was alive, but she didn’t acknowledge her. Darcy heard her hesitation when she pronounced her name. She knew Darcy was her daughter, but she pretended to not know her. Why?

  At 8:00 the next morning, Darcy stepped out of her house. The sky was grey. Last morning’s sunshine became a distant dream. Darcy walked past the apartment building and merged into the road. At 8:50, she stood before the library. Her phone buzzed. She answered.

  “Morning,” Mike’s voice burst through the speakers.

  “Mike. Good morning.” Darcy said. She stepped in through the glass door. Her heels clicked up the marble staircase.

  “I have some news for you.” He said, sounding upbeat.

  “News?”

  “I met Jillian’s doppelgänger.”

  “What?” Darcy almost slipped. She held onto the railing and balanced herself.

  “She came to the office yesterday. I had a word with her. I don’t think she’s an identical doppelgänger,” Mike went on. “They look similar but not the same. She works at an advertising agency.”

  “She isn’t from a parallel universe?” Darcy asked, her voice rising. A passer by stared at her like she was crazy.

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Oh.” Darcy concealed her disappointment in one syllable.

  “I need another book from the library. I know, keep asking you for favors.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’ll send the details over then?”

  “Sure. I think you should get a visitor’s card. It’s convenient.”

  “I’ll sign up for one when I come in the next time.” Mike said.

  He hung up. Darcy disconnected the phone. She remembered the words written on the pages of the book Jillian was reading. Her mind dwelled on every detail of the cream page. The pages were new.

  Darcy stepped into Susan’s. Nobody was in. The book was gone. She hung her coat on the stand and proceeded to check her messages. Brian sent her another message.

  Brian

  Should I delete the memories post?

  Darcy replied.

  Darcy

  No

  Her fingers moved over the keys like lightning. She sent the message. She put the phone away.

  Darcy moved near the heater and placed her hands over it. The heater revived her numb fingers. She looked out of the window. Fallen leaves left behind barren trees.

  On her way home from work, Darcy stopped by at Rush University Medical Center. She walked in, her heart thudding with anticipation. Her eyes skimmed over the man at the counter. He had a dark, prominent beard and large brown eyes. He wore a uniform and smiled at her. The practice was going to close in thirty minutes. She hurried to the counter and flashed a smile.

  “Hello,” he said in a monotone.

  “Hi. I called yesterday morning. I wanted to access my old medical records,” she began. “I received treatment from Dr. Nathan eight years ago. I wanted to put in a formal application.”

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Darcy Godfrey.”

  He typed her name and searched the database.

  “Your birthdate?”

  “Sixteenth September nineteen eighty-five.”

  He looked up at her. “May I have your identity proof?”

  Darcy quickly pulled her driving license out of her bag and placed it on the table. She was relieved to know she brought it along. The guy at the counter took the driver’s license and photocopied it. Darcy tapped her fingers impatiently, waiting for him to return.

  “I need to ask you a few security questions to confirm your identity.” he said. He slipped her driving license through the narrow gap on the glass counter.

  “Sure.” Darcy shoved the license into her bag.

  “Date of birth?”

  “Sixth September, nineteen eighty-five.”

  “That’s correct. Name of your emergency contact?”

  “Ian Godfrey.”

  “Relationship to emergency contact.”

  “Father.”

  “Mother’s maiden name?”

&nb
sp; Darcy was silent.

  “Mother’s maiden name?” he repeated.

  “Jennifer Scott.”

  “That’s right.” He said. He entered something into the system before handing her a form. “Fill this up. We usually take five working days to process requests. Once we’re done processing, you’ll be mailed the report. Reports cost fifteen dollars. We charge eight fifty for mailing.”

  “I understand,” Darcy said, receiving the form from him. She pulled out a pen form the reception and began filling the form. She finished filling it out and handed it to the guy at the reception.

  “Thank you. I’ll put in the request for you.” He said.

  Darcy took the next train home. She was eager to see her report. What was her father hiding?

  Darcy walked to her apartment at night. Her phone buzzed. An unknown number lit up the screen. She didn’t answer. She continued to walk.

  Her apartment building came into view. Her feet froze at the base of the stairs.

  The door opened, casting its vertical shadow on her body. The thin shadow split her body into two halves. A long figure emerged from the door. The dim Victorian lamp illuminated his face.

  Detective Jones.

  Darcy instinctively stepped back. His shadow moved closer. Darcy’s breathing grew uneven. In two strides, Detective Jones covered the distance between them. His body towered hers.

  “Good…evening…detective.” Darcy stammered. She clutched her bag for support. His hands reached for handcuffs. She noticed a police car parked in the distance. The neighbors were looking at her. The light in the windows was blocked by bodies. They looked down at her.

  “What brings you here?” Darcy asked, steadying herself.

  “I was confirming a few details with your neighbor. Remember your appointment next Thursday?”

  “Yes.”

  “See you there.” He said. There was a menacing expression on his face as he walked away.