The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller Page 19

Four days to go until judgment day. She had four days to find out the truth. She hadn’t said anything about the arrest to her father or Dan. She hoped she could find something by then. She remembered Detective Jones’ menacing face.

  After the murder, nightmares of Dr. Cleo and the asylum ceased. An uncomfortable memory took its place. Each clue that she discovered brought her closer to an unfamiliar truth. And then, there was the blogger. Her doppelgänger. She knew everything. Her posts disturbed Darcy. Why was she writing them? Darcy picked up her phone and stared at it.

  D

  We’ll meet soon.

  Those mysterious words lingered. If she wasn’t going to come, Darcy needed to find her. Was the withdrawal her way of making Darcy come to her? In any case, the doppelgänger was the only one that had answers.

  Darcy swallowed some water before she called the bank. The call ended twenty minutes later with the bank manager promising her an investigation of the issue.

  She sat down on the dining table and turned her laptop on. Her eyes wafted through the computer screen. She visited My Diary. There was no update. It was Monday and there was no update. Something seemed a bit off.

  Darcy rested her shoulder on the bed. She stared up at the ceiling. The whiteness of it drummed on her. Her heartbeat filled her ears. She needed to find out the complete truth. Darcy cleared her throat. She began dialing her mother’s number.

  One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four rings. There was no response. The phone continued to ring. Darcy’s eyes darted to the shop owner who was busy reading the newspaper A sharp voice erupted from the other side of the wall. It was her neighbor’s cat. She sighed.

  The phone continued to ring. Darcy hung up.

  At 1:00 PM in the afternoon, she took the Red Line to work. She couldn’t afford to take any more days off. When she reached the library, she noticed that it was getting more and more crowded each day as the exam period approached. She met Jillian in Susan’s room.

  “Darcy how’re you? How’s your dad? Is he all right?”

  “He’s better now.” Darcy said.

  “That’s good.” Jillian said, relieved. “When did you get back?”

  “This morning.”

  “You should’ve skipped work.”

  “I’ve been missing quite a few days at work.” Darcy said. Jillian turned to leave.

  “Well, you should go ask Susan what needs to be done. I’ll get going.”

  Jillian got to the door and opened it.

  “Oh, that reminds me, why didn’t you say hi to me at Michigan avenue?”

  “Huh?”

  “You were at Michigan avenue on Wednesday, weren’t you?”

  “Ummm…” she remembered Mike’s call. “No. You must’ve seen somebody else.”

  “That’s strange. It sure looked like you.…You’re sure you weren’t there?” Jillian asked, doubtful. Darcy nodded.

  “Well…maybe I was wrong…” Jillian said, walking out of the door, staring at the ground. Darcy continued to stare at the door after Jillian left. Jillian really had seen her doppelgänger.

  Darcy went back to her her apartment after work that evening. She called dad to make sure everything was fine. After that, she made some dinner and ate it while staring at the wall. She brought out her phone and stared at it. There were no messages or missed calls. She sighed. The phone suddenly buzzed with a message. She instantly tapped it open.

  Brian

  New article.

  It was a short message. So, the blogger had posted something. Darcy logged onto the website and saw a new, evocative image on the front page. The post was titled ‘What if’. The image of a shadow came on the screen. Darcy scrolled.

  What if you wake up one day and realize that you’re not who you thought you were? What if you found out about horrible things that happened to you in the past? Or, about the hobbile things you did? I’ve never asked myself this question until now. But now, having discovered what I have, I must ask myself this- who is Darcy?

  The person I know myself as is not the person people know me as. Now that the truth is within reach, I don’t know it is not what I used to believe. As senseless fragments of memory come together, they form a new collage.

  The mother I loved so much, the mother I thought loved me unconditionally abandoned me because I was hopeless.

  Darcy stopped at that word. Her mother abandoned her? She swallowed her spit and tried to calm herself. The words unleashed a tsunami of hate in her. Her fists curled into a ball, her nails digging deeper into her skin. She narrowed her eyes on the screen.

  I wish I’d never discovered that. Maybe that’s why I don’t remember. The mother I spent all these years looking for didn’t give me a second glance. What I saw in her eyes that day was fear and dread- like she was looking at a monster.

  And that is not all. I now know that she has been ill for a long time. The smiling, gentle woman in my mind is nothing but a creation of my mind. The reality doesn’t measure up.

  What happened at the red barn? I believe that is the final missing piece that will glue the puzzle of my past. What could’ve been so horrible as to have turned her away?

  When I find out, I won’t be the same person anymore.

  So, I ask myself again, who is Darcy Godfrey?

  Is she the meek, reclusive librarian or somebody whose sins are buried in the layers of my memory?

  The post ended. Darcy moved away from the laptop and breathed. Though the post ended suddenly, Darcy knew there was more to it. It made her more curious that ever about her past. Nobody ever spoke about the red barn. She texted Brian immediately and asked him to take the post down.

  Her phone lit up. A message.

  She turned to the screen.

  Mom

  We should meet.

  Her breath got stuck in her throat. She eyeballed the message over and over again until the realization sunk in. Her mother wanted to meet her. Her shaky fingers stopped an inch away from the screen. They hovered over the virtual alphabets.

  Words crossed her mind. She typed a message. She read it.

  Darcy

  Tomorrow. 8 am. Potter’s cafe.

  She needed to know. She pressed ‘send’. She struggled to keep her eyes on the road. Her heart filled with anticipation. Three seconds passed. Fifteen seconds. Fifty seconds. A minute later, the phone buzzed. Darcy pulled it out of the seat and read the message.

  Mom

  Ok.

  She shook her head. She breathed. The dark road greeted her. She had a long way to go. She needed to get back by next morning. Her unwilling mother wanted to meet her. She wanted to meet her too. What was it that had kept them apart for fifteen years?

  It was time for answers.

  Chapter 20

  At 7:00 AM, Darcy sat in Potter’s café. The disinterested assistant was gone. A bright faced college student took her place. The cuckoo clock hung on the right wall. The constant ticking of the clock increased the pressure on Darcy. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with varnish. The walls were painted a bright yellow and lined with framed portraits.

  Darcy drank some more coffee, her eyes firmly fixed on the door. She dropped a few drops of black coffee on her skirt. Drops of the hot liquid touched her bare skin. She pulled tissues out and wiped it. It was too late. Her skirt was stained.

  A plastic cuckoo erupted form the small door on the clock. It sang a corny nursery rhyme and shut itself back in, embarrassed. It was seven-thirty. Every move of the clock needles heightened Darcy’s anxiety. She had to get to work by nine.

  The door opened. The bell on the wooden door chimed. A puff of cold air made Darcy turn. Three men walked in, dressed in sharp shoes, coats and scarves. Darcy’s heartbeat eased. The waitress greeted them with a smile. Her hollow eyes glanced
at their reflection in the cup of coffee.

  Another thirty minutes passed. The cuckoo ventured out of its nest again. Darcy stood up. She headed out of the cafe, triggering another ring of the bell. The waitress flashed her a pleasant smile.

  The cold air covered her exposed face. The road was busy. There was no sign of her mother. She sighed. The place was jinxed.

  Before she stepped onto the road, she heard the sound of boots clicking on the cemented pavement. Darcy turned. A petite figure stood ten feet away from her. She saw a short woman covered with layers of clothing. She wore brown riding boots over her dark wash jeans. Her top half was covered with a gigantic scarf and waterproof jacket.

  Darcy met her blue eyes. Her mother. Her eyes trailed to Darcy. She inched closer. Darcy shut the car door and moved to the cafe door. Her mother stood next to her. She smelled a hint of magnolia before the overpowering scent of coffee brushed it away.

  The bell rang. Darcy didn’t register the sound. She lost herself in her mother’s eyes. They were real. Too real. Every detail of her memory materialized before her. Her mother was flesh and bones. Large blue eyes surveyed her bewildered expression. But, there was no recognition in them. Darcy walked up to her and cleared her throat.

  “Morning,” she said. Her mother didn’t acknowledge her. “I’m Darcy.”

  Jennifer Scott shot her a passing glance and headed for the door, signaling her to follow.

  Darcy followed her into the cafe. She didn’t say anything as she proceeded to a seat next to the window. It was hemmed in by walls on two sides. Darcy sat on the dark leather sofa. Her mother moved to the wooden chair.

  “Would you like to order anything?” the waitress asked.

  “Expresso.” The huskiness balanced her mezzo-soprano voice. Her eyes grazed over Darcy and met the window. There was no feeling in them. No warmth. No love. The waitress turned.

  “You called yesterday.” it was a flat sentence that didn’t convey joy.

  So many secrets lay between them. So many years of unsaid words. So many memories. So much animosity.

  The waitress’ shadow hung over Darcy.

  “Would you like to get something?” she asked.

  “A cappuccino.” she said.

  “Sure.” The waitress’ eyes were fixed on the table. She finished wiping the table and went away.

  “Why did you come to the bank?” her mother’s words came out hard and fast.

  “I-I didn’t.” Darcy said. She leaned against the cushy sofa. Her bank sank into it.

  “I saw you-”

  “It wasn’t me.” Their gazes locked.

  “How did you get my phone number?” she asked, scrunching her nose.

  “Your neighbor gave it to me.”

  “You went to my house?”

  “I was looking for you.”

  “Why? I told your father I never wanted to see you again-” she stopped and gritted her teeth.

  The waitress came by. Her mother’s face relaxed. She placed a cup of coffee on the table. Darcy anxiously looked around to make sure the waitress was gone. When she was out of sight, Darcy whispered,

  “I went through your medical records,” Darcy said, collecting her thoughts. Her mother’s hands began to shake. “I didn’t know about the-”

  “How did you find them?” she asked. Though her voice were calm, her eyes were enlarged.

  “I went to visit dad last week. He wasn’t well-”

  “You found them in the house?” she said. She picked up the cup of coffee and drank a large quantity. She pulled it away from her mouth when it scalded her mouth. She winced. Jennifer pulled out a few tissues from the box on the wiped the remains of coffee from her lips.

  “Are you okay?’ the waitress asked, approaching the table.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.” Her mother’s controlled voice spoke. The waitress hesitantly walked away. The bell chimed. The door opened. A young couple walked in.

  “I remembered what happened when I was six.”

  Her mother stiffened.

  “Dad said you suffered from post-natal depression. That’s when the-um…disorder was diagnosed.”

  Jennifer looked around to make sure nobody was hearing.

  “He said you didn’t want to see me. Ever.” Darcy emphasized the last word.

  “But we’re here, aren’t we?” she said. She pushed the cup away. She wasn’t giving any answers.

  “I thought you were dead.” Darcy said.

  “Dead?” she asked, surprised. She drank some coffee.

  “Why did I think that? I don’t remember anything about what happened fifteen years ago,” Darcy said. “Tell me, what happened?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” her mother said, turning her face away.

  “Who is Dr. Williams? How do I know him?”

  “Her mother turned abruptly. “You remember him?” she asked, surprised.

  “I know him.” Darcy said, reading between the lines.

  Her mother’s fingers curved around the cup of coffee.

  “Tell me, who do I know him?” Darcy asked. When her mother didn’t answer, she went on, “I need to know. I deserve to know. How long are you going to hide it form me? I am in trouble-”

  “Trouble?” her mother repeated those words. There it was again- the expression she hated the most. Suspicion colored her mother’s eyes. She looked at her like she was a criminal.

  “Ummm…that doesn’t matter-”

  “What did you do?” her mother asked, paranoia clutching her voice.

  “Mom, I didn’t do anything.” Her mother’s eyes were wide with concern. Darcy saw her heartbeat pulsate on the bulging nerves on her temple.

  “Who did you kill?” she asked, her eyes violently enlarged.

  Darcy’s eyes enlarged, filled with shock. Fear curled in the dark pits of her belly. Her mother was shaking. Suddenly, she remembered. She remembered the countless times she had seen her mother cry behind closed doors. She remembered images of her back shaking. The voices in the house were loud. She heard it from her room.

  “I didn’t raise a criminal!” her mother screamed.

  “Calm down,” her father said. “she was afraid.”

  “No…this is all my fault. She’s turning like me. I know I should’ve left her.” Her mother buried her face in her hands and broke down. Her father exhaled, exasperated.

  “She’ll get better. She’s going to the therapist.”

  “He thinks she’s crazy. She’s only fifteen and she-”

  “We should try switching therapists.” Her father said.

  “This is crazy. She’s crazy. How could she do such a thing?” her mother’s sobs grew louder.

  Darcy could hear everything from her room. Her fingers tightened around the pencil she used to write her homework. Pop. It broke under the pressure she exerted.

  “Ian, she shoved a girl in school into the wall. The girl’s in hospital. I don’t know how to face her parents.”

  Darcy’s father didn’t say anything.

  “I’ve had enough. I want to give up. She’s becoming…I don’t know what she’s becoming. I try to talk to her but she won’t say anything about what happened. I…it’s been stressing me out. I can’t handle it.”

  “Are you taking the pills?”

  “Yes, but they’re not helping,” she said. “Darcy…I don’t know what to do with her anymore.”

  The visions faded. Darcy turned to the still cup of cappuccino that stood before her. Her mother surveyed her.

  “You are hallucinating again?” she asked, a mixture of shock and fear in her eyes.

  “Why did you meet me today?”

  “I wanted to tell you not to try to meet me anymore,” h
er mother said. “I’ve…I’ve restarted life.”

  “You re-married.”

  She nodded. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed away from me.”

  Darcy swallowed. Tears stung her eyes, but she kept them from falling. Imagine hearing this from the mother she’s wanted to meet for fifteen years. Hatred welled up inside her.

  “Nothing will come out of bringing up the past,” She said. “It’s time you live your life too.”

  “Then, at least tell me the truth.”

  “What do you want from me?” Her mother’s eyes were colored with suspicion.

  “What happened fifteen years ago? Tell me everything.”

  Mom turned. She took a few deep breaths and closed her eyes.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Is there any reason I should know Dr. Cleo Williams?”

  “He was one of the psychiatrists I took you to.” She said, calmer.

  “Dad and Dan knew nothing about him.”

  “I didn’t tell your father the name of the doctor. I just told him he could help you.” Her speech sped up.

  “So, you took me to him?”

  “He said he could help you. He had started a new company that made drugs that helped people like you. He had a drug in development that could help you selectively re-program memories. He said coupled with hypnosis, it could make you forget what happened.”

  “You erased my memories!?” Darcy asked. Her eyes popped out.

  “There are a few things we’re better off forgetting,” she said. “The other therapists couldn’t help you.”

  “What did he make me forget? Tell me.” Darcy banged her fist on the table. The porcelain cup bounced and clanked.

  “You had a tough time in high school. After the incident at fifteen, your condition deteriorated. You became violent. We had to transfer schools twice. You refused to talk to me about the kidnapping. The counsellors tried, but you’d become violent.” The words were said in a low voice. The kidnapping. Again.

  “I remember the asylum. I remember him,” Darcy said. “Why do I remember him? What happened there? Did you ever take me there?”