The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller Read online

“That’s good news.”

  “I want to know more.”

  “It’s a complex topic.” Mike began. “It’s all I’ve been reading about for two months.”

  He glanced at the clock.

  “Would you like to step out for lunch? I’ll pay. I’ve been getting too many favors from you.”

  At 1:00 PM, Darcy and Mike sat in a crowded Chinese restaurant. Red lanterns hung from the ceiling, distorting the daylight. The restaurant was dark. Windows were lined with shades. Darcy’s feet knitted under the table.

  The waitress came by and placed a glass of water on the table. Without giving the menu a second glance, Darcy ordered the set lunch. The waitress took the menu cards and vanished. The buzzy chatter distracted Darcy.

  “So, where do you want to begin?”

  “I read that book on doppelgängers.” Darcy said.

  “It’s thought-provoking,” Mike said. “I’m trying to do some research on that theory.”

  “What do you think?” Darcy asked. “It said if a doppelgänger came into our world, the host could die.”

  “Some bits are exaggerated,” Mike said. He sipped some water.

  The waitress emerged with starters. She placed a bowl of soup and some spring rolls on the table. Darcy picked up a spring roll and dunked it in soy sauce. She bit into the roll.

  “I’ve been doing some independent research on the topic,” Mike said. “I need a doppelgänger to test the theory on.”

  “Jillian’s one didn’t work, huh?”

  “No. She’s not from a parallel universe.”

  “I wonder how doppelgängers come here,” Darcy said. She stopped chewing. “If a doppelgänger from a parallel universe wanted to come to our world, how do you think she would get here?”

  “That’s a good question,” Mike said. “The book says in the future; we will be able to travel dimensions.”

  “That’s an interesting idea.” Darcy said. “How exactly can we travel dimensions?”

  “Using something like a time machine. A dimension machine?” He hazarded a guess.

  “That’s simple.”

  “Isn’t it?” he said. “Sounds like fiction to me.”

  “It’ll be a reality someday.” Darcy said.

  A shadow emerged from the open kitchen door. Darcy heard the clanking of vessels before the doors closed and blocked the sound. A waitress walked toward their table. She was dressed in a red blouse with a Chinese collar and black pants.

  The waitress unloaded a bowl of soupy noodles from the tray. The aroma of fish and chilies wafted through the air.

  “That looks delicious.” Mike said. She placed some rice and stir-fried vegetables next to Darcy’s chair.

  “Thank you.” Darcy said. The waitress bowed and vanished.

  “Let’s eat,” Mike said. He was already eating.

  Darcy didn’t go home that evening. Instead, she took the Purple Line to Evanston. Daylight faded to darkness. She sat on the train, her mind filled with thoughts. She’d confront her mother this time. She’s ask her what really happened with Dr. Cleo. If he erased her memory why did she remember him shooting her mother?

  Darcy’s step tapped down the street where her mother lived. She barely recognized the neighborhood at night. The friendly runners and school kids were nowhere. Doors were closed and warm lights shone inside the houses that decorated the lane.

  The row of houses extended all the way down the short street. Between them lay her mother’s house. Darcy’s footsteps edged closer to the house. As she took another step. Her head felt heavy.

  She wanted answers. Why did her mother not tell her about the kidnapping? Was Detective Jones telling the truth? She had to ask her mother, no matter how reluctant she was. She took another step. The main door was a few steps away.

  Her body grew heavier. Dizziness made her weak. She stopped by the gate of her mother’s house. She held the wall for support. The vision began. She sank to the floor, her brain lost in a cocktail hallucinatory memories.

  The interior of a barn opened the scene. Darcy screamed. Two men stood before her, their eyes fixed on her. They moved closer. All she saw was a shadow. Bright, red eyes shone against the dark body. Darcy took a step back. Her back banged against something hard. The wall. They were up to her face.

  She collapsed on the floor, trembling and hyperventilating. The vision spiraled like blades of a fan. The images changed with each rotation. Their faces grew clearer. One had a shaven, square jaw. His hands were large. They approached her.

  The other man stood a meter away from the first one. He clutched a gun in his hand. He looked at Darcy. The gun was pointed at her. Darcy’s jagged breath made her vision shake. She could hear herself breathe.

  The men inched closer. One of them tripped on her foot. The knife fell to the ground. Darcy picked it up instantly. Power surged through her. She stood up, exhaling puffs of warm air through her nose. Her trembling fingers clutched the knife harder and moved toward the men.

  The second one pointed the gun at her, warning her to back off but it was too late. She wasn’t herself anymore. Paranoia coupled with images of terror filled her anxious mind. She ducked, pushing one of the men on the floor.

  Liquid blood stained her fingers. The men gasped. He moved his hand to the trigger. Before he could shoot, Darcy pushed him onto the floor. The sensation of power made her hungry. She picked up the knife he had dropped.

  The images transformed to hospital corridors. The red barn faded like an old piece of parchment paper. A modern image took its stead. She saw Dr. Nathan, young and expressionless. Spiky blades of black hair framed blank, beady eyes. She sat across the glass table, on a sofa.

  “You’re schizophrenic,” he said. “The frequency of your hallucinations is very high. You also find it difficult to distinguish between your delusions and reality. This is serious.”

  Darcy nodded, apathetically.

  “You underwent hypnotherapy?” he stopped. “That is…a very unusual treatment. What did you work on?”

  “I don’t remember,” Darcy said in a low voice.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t remember. It was long ago.” Darcy repeated.

  “I see. You said you wanted to talk about your mother earlier.”

  “My mother died. My mother died in an asylum fifteen years ago.” Darcy said.

  “How did she die?”

  “She was shot.”

  “Shot?”

  “By him.”

  “By whom?”

  “Dr. Cleo.”

  “Who is he?”

  Darcy was silent.

  The blades of a virtual fan swirled again. Another image filled her vision. She saw her mother’s face, clear and vivid. Her mother ran down the stairs, gasping for breath. The red fabric of her dress was caught in Darcy’s memory. Her husky voice became loud shrieks.

  “Get away from me!” Darcy yelled. Moonlight filtered in through a narrow gap in the window. Darcy had heard those words before. She said them when she was eight. She said them when her mother sat over her, trying to strangle her to death.

  A long shadow stretched over her mother. She couldn’t see who it was. A flash of blinding light abruptly ended the vision. The images dissolved. Her mother’s face faded to black.

  Darcy opened her eyes. The November wind made her legs freeze outside the door. She examined the red house in front of her. She was standing before her mother’s house. The lights were on. Darcy moved toward the door.

  She rang the bell. A sharp sound cut across the silence. Nobody answered. She tugged at the door handle. The door was open. Darcy stepped in. The heating was on.

  “Mom!” she called out. Her voice echoed. She stepped in through another room. The light cast a sharp shee
n on the kitchen knife. Somebody was in the house. Darcy took quick steps and entered the kitchen.

  She picked up the kitchen knife. With the knife clutched in her hand, she stepped into the drawing room. The silence made sensation cling to her fearful body. Each step echoed. The bedroom was closed. Darcy pushed it open.

  The lights were off. Darcy stepped in and turned the lights on. Her eyes instantly went to the what looked up at her from the floor. She lost a breath. She dropped the knife. Her hands came over her mouth.

  Images coiled in her mind. A dead body lay on the floor.

  Her mother’s.

  The vivid image grew solid before her blurry eyes. Darcy gasped.

  Her mother had been stabbed. The kitchen knife hung over her her, outlined in scarlet. Her thudding heart was the background music to the horror movie that played before her eyes.

  She smelled magnolia in the air. The scent of her mother. Her eyes wavered. The window was covered. She inhaled.

  Darcy’s right leg instantly stepped back. Her hands clasped the door handle. She was hyperventilating. Breath rushed out of her lungs. She closed her eyes and opened it again. The scenery didn’t change.

  Darcy took a few minutes to steady her breath. Her mother was dead.

  The magnitude of the shock was too much for her to handle. Her hands were paralyzed. She moved her heavy feet and reached the kitchen. She knocked a glass of water off the table on her way. It crashed against the floor and scattered into a messy doodle of glass and carpet stains.

  Darcy fled to the drawing room. The silent carpet and sofa looked at her. Through the narrow opening in the window, cold air rushed in, tickling her stiff body. Darcy weakly took small steps toward the main door. It was closed. The light on the ceiling illuminated her frightened body.

  Her hand curved on the door handle. She turned it, opening the main door. Winter chill mingled with shock and spread like ice over her body. She stepped out. The road was empty. The night sky met her gaze.

  Her walking sped up. A barrage of images crossed her mind. Her legs didn’t stop. She ran until she found a taxi on the main road. The lights grew stronger. The driver stopped at the edge of her feet. She opened the door and sat in the taxi.

  “Stroud Green.” she said. The taxi began to move. The house grew distant. Darcy breathed.

  Her mother was dead. She hurriedly began dialing the police station. A steely voice answered the phone. That’s all she remembered.

  Chapter 22

  Darcy woke up in her apartment. Dark shadows merged into a ball of light at the edge of the curtain. She opened her eyes fully, revealing the empty corners of the room. She began to breathe again.

  The doorbell rang. Darcy pushed the blanket away. The cold seeped through her body. Her legs skidded across the surface of the floor. She opened the door.

  Detective Jones’ piercing, grey eyes met her gaze.

  “Good morning,” he said in his low, husky voice. The first image that entered Darcy’s mind was that of her mother, lying dead on the bedroom floor. The image spiraled. She coughed, brushing the image away.

  Detective Jones barged into the apartment. Darcy followed him. He looked at the apartment and coughed.

  “I have some bad news,” he said in a croaky voice. His eyes met hers. She took a step back. Her gaze didn’t leave him. “Your mother-”

  Darcy closed her eyes. It was real. What happened yesterday was real.

  “What’s happened to my mother?” Darcy asked, barely summoning the courage to speak. Detective Jones rubbed his eyes.

  “We rushed her to the hospital after you called yesterday…but…I’m sorry.” he lowered his head. Darcy turned away and breathed. He looked to her. Her breathing grew faster. Tears erupted in her eyes.

  “Detective-” Darcy’s fingers brushed the edge of the couch.

  “It’s shocking,” he said. Darcy’s eyes were on the blank wall before her. She sunk to the floor, her knees collapsed. Detective Jones remained standing.

  “I’m investigating the murder,” he said before she could recover. “I was here to ask a few questions regarding what you saw last night.”

  Darcy

  “It was her,” Darcy said, her voice sharp. She turned to Detective Jones with seriousness in her eyes. “My doppelgänger.”

  “What?” he shot her a clueless glance.

  “She exists. I’m sure of it,” Darcy said. “The bank…the video footage at the bank. I’m sure there’s a footage of it. She’s left handed…she stole my money.”

  Detective Jones turned, confused. “What are you saying?”

  “Do you remember the talker Mr. Hatter spoke about?” Darcy asked.

  “What about it?” Detective Jones asked.

  “It’s her. She writes a blog,” Darcy said, after a long moment. “I’ve been following it for two months. She came to my apartment two days ago, but she didn’t meet me. She’s been following me. She knows all about-about me.”

  “I understand you’re shocked by your mother’s death,” he said. He didn’t believe her. “Was there somebody you saw last night?”

  “She knows everything about my life,” Darcy continued. “She broke into my house and went through my belongings.”

  She paused. The expression in Detective Jones’ eyes changed.

  “She? You’ve seen her?” he asked.

  “Ummm…she looks like me. She went to the bank on Wednesday to see my mother. Maybe she was following her….”

  The images began to form in Darcy’s mind. The blog posts aligned into a message. D had written about visiting her mother. Darcy sense her hatred and resentment from the post. Could it be?-

  “Is this the stalker Mr. Hatter was talking about?” Detective Jones asked.

  “Yes.” Darcy said, faintly, amidst a flurry of memories.

  “I see,” his voice turned hollow.

  “Do you- do you know something about her?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “What happened?”

  Detective Jones cleared his throat.

  “Tell me, please.” Darcy pleaded.

  “Your mother was being followed. She said she was being watched since a month ago. There were no calls or letters but she was sure somebody was following her. She reported the incident to the police a week ago.”

  “That means-”

  “Someone was following her. If what Mr. Hatter said is true, the same person was following you. Can you tell me more about the break in?” Detective Jones’ eyes darted from one corner of the room to another.

  Darcy couldn’t think. Her mind made the connections. The doppelgänger killed her mother. She wanted to ruin Darcy’s life. She wanted to take away her happiness. Maybe she was looking for Darcy now. Darcy’s blood curdled. She remembered the lingering shadow outside the window. When their eyes met last night, she experienced something she never had.

  “It was her. She killed my mother.” Darcy said, breathless. Hysteria spread over her body. Her breathing grew jagged.

  “Are you okay?” Detective Jones asked. Everything disappeared for that one moment. The blog posts flooded her mind. The words made more sense now. The doppelgänger had an agenda. She was trying to replace Darcy. She had killed Dr. Cleo and her mother and let Darcy take the blame.

  “She killed my mother,” Darcy repeated. The words throbbed against her brain. They sank in.

  Darcy’s fear-stricken eyes turned to Detective Jones.

  A sob escaped her lips. “I don’t know who she is. I don’t know why she is doing this.”

  “I will need to look into the bank CCTV footage,” he said. “Do you have any idea where this person lives?”

  “No…she called me to Potter’s café once. She might live there.”

 
“She’s tried to contact you.”

  “Twice but she never showed up.”

  “When was this?”

  “I can’t remember exactly,” Darcy said. “Sometime in September end or October beginning.”

  “She never contacted you again?”

  “She sent me a message saying we’d meet soon when I was in New York.”

  “And?”

  “It’s been a week. I haven’t seen her.”

  “You said she came here.”

  “She hung around the door and disappeared.” Darcy said.

  “She didn’t come in?”

  “No.”

  “Did she steal anything when she broke in?”

  “No but I think she searched for my mother’s picture. The frame was broken when I got home.”

  “Hmmmm…That’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing else was stolen or tampered with?”

  “No.”

  “And this was the day the CCTV was scheduled for maintenance?”

  “Yes.”

  “But somebody must’ve seen her come…if somebody came.”

  “Actually….” Darcy hesitated. “Mr. Hatter did.”

  “What? He didn’t mention it.” Detective Jones said, eyeing her cautiously.

  “He thought it was me. He said he saw me come during lunchtime. I don’t come home for lunch. I was at work that day.”

  “Which day was this again?”

  “Let me check,” Darcy said, turning to the calendar. She announced the date.

  “What were you doing that afternoon?”

  “I was at work. I must’ve been with—”

  He left. The door closed.

  Darcy’s teeth chattered in her apartment. The TV blasted in the living room. She was nervous about her appointment with the police the following day. Was Detective Jones going to arrest her? She remembered their conversation that morning. Where was the doppelgänger? Darcy wanted to meet her, now more than ever. However, her curiosity was overshadowed by fear. She picked up the phone and stared at it blankly.