The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller Page 22

  9:00 PM.

  Should she send a message?

  She alternated between the sitcom on television and the phone for the next hour. It made her tired. Her eyelids drooped. Before they closed and merged with eternal darkness, she heard a sharp buzz.

  A message.

  She picked her phone up and glanced at the phone. She had received a new e-mail. She tapped the mail icon. It blew up into a full screen. Her eyes met the first message.

  Let’s meet

  The subject gave it all away. Darcy opened the e-mail. It was from her e-mail address. Her doppelgänger had sent the message. Darcy scrolled through the short message.

  Howard stop. Tonight. 11 pm. Alone.

  -D

  Darcy took a deep breath, waiting for her mind to digest the message. Her doppelgänger wanted to meet her. Howard was notorious for its high crime rate. She swallowed hard. She unlocked the phone and pulled out Detective Jones’ number. Her hands lingered over the ‘call’ button.

  At 11:00 PM that night, Darcy stood in Howard. A few people stood on the platform, waiting for trains. The night made her uneasy. Strangers stared at her. She strained her eyes to look for any sign of the doppelgänger.

  Her phone buzzed. She ignored the sound. It buzzed again. Darcy pulled the phone out of her pocket and read the message.

  Howard station Parking Lot.

  -D

  Darcy walked out of the station. Her eyes darted from one end to another, observing the movements of people for any irregularity. She stepped outside the station into the wide, lonely street. The shadows of trees and street lamps greeted her. The emptiness made her realize how late she was. She took a step back. Her eyes looked around for the parking lot. She turned to the map. The parking lot was behind the station. She stared at the building before her. On shaky legs, she moved toward the dark street. She kept her hands inside her bag, on the pepper spray.

  She walked to the parking lot, her heartbeat insanely violent. She heard her boots click on the cold road as she entered the parking lot. There were a few cards inside. The parking attendant was half asleep. She slipped behind him and moved toward the cars. She looked around. She didn’t see anybody. She pulled out her phone and sent a message.

  Where are you?

  She put the phone into her pocket, shivering in the cold. She clutched her bag as a hand grabbed her. Sharp fingers dug into her coat. She winced. Darcy regained her balance. Darcy noticed a scar on the exposed hand. Fear tricked through her brain. The woman’s hands dug deeper. The force made her turn.

  Darcy’s honey-colored eyes looked into the stranger’s identical honey-colored eyes. They wore the same blue coat. The stranger’s coat was stained on the right sleeve. Darcy looked down at hers and found a shadow of the same stain. She dropped her bag. She couldn’t summon the courage to pick it up.

  Her eyes turned to the woman’s black boots. They were the same. Darcy was looking at her reflection. Only, there was no mirror. A thick column of air stood between the two Darcys. The air was heavy with silence. Darcy felt a punch in her gut.

  Her heartbeat played like the climax of a symphony. Her stomach muscles clenched, warning her to run away. The clouds parted away from the moon, revealing the doppelgänger with scientific precision. They were exactly the same.

  Darcy stepped forward, her body trembling violently. The other woman did not budge. She looked into Darcy’s eyes, without blinking.

  Darcy imagined the meeting in many ways but nothing compared to the real thing. All the scenarios she constructed faded away like dust. The honey eyes blinked vividly. They burned like liquid fire. Brown hair cascaded down her shoulder. Her unflinching gaze said everything.

  Darcy shrunk to the floor. The damp soil formed a patch on Darcy’s jeans. The dampness soaked into her skin. Her breathing grew uneven. She was gasping for air.

  A soft voice woke her up from the nightmare.

  “Get in.” it was a command. The doppelgänger opened the car door. She pinner her hands back, tying them up. Before Darcy could scream, D slapped her hand over Darcy’s mouth.

  Her eyes turned to the doppelgänger. She was every bit as real as she was. Darcy didn’t budge.

  The doppelgänger opened the car door and pushed Darcy into the car. Darcy struggled to find her voice. She sat on the driver’s seat and started the car.

  “What-what are you doing?” Darcy asked, her tongue beating against the saltiness of D’s bare hands. A nail of fear drove into her mind. The woman ignited the engine.

  “Get in the car.” She said. She shoved Darcy in and pulled the seatbelt over, rendered her trapped. She quickly moved around and sat in the driver’s seat.

  She started the car. Darcy struggled to open the door. The woman pulled her back.

  “Sit down.” she spat the words. The car began to move. She sped up instantly. The image of Howard station shrank as they drove further away.

  They were on the main road now. The doppelgänger steered the car to the center of the road. Silence hung over them.

  “Who are you?” Darcy asked, her eyes on the driver. There was no response.

  She was calmer now. Though she had no idea where they were going, they were surrounded by trees and long roads. They were on a highway.

  “Where are you taking me?” she persisted.

  “You’ll know. Soon.”

  With those words, she turned to the road. Darcy sat in the car, staring at the endless highway lined with street lights. Fear flooded through her. She saw the sinister expression on the doppelgänger’s face and her courage shrunk.

  The doppelgänger turned on the radio.

  ‘My name is Darcy Godfrey. I was born on 16th September, 1985 in Smithtown, NY…..’ the fateful story began in a low voice.

  “What’s this?” Darcy asked.

  “My story,” She said. “And, yours.”

  Darcy remained silent as the tape played. With unease coiling in her belly, she heard the commentary.

  Each line that followed it was a revelation. Breathless, Darcy turned to the doppelgänger. The light hit her hazel eyes which froze over Darcy.

  At that moment, she remembered Jilian’s words.

  “They say when you see somebody who looks exactly like you, you die.”

  Darcy never believed those words.

  Until now.

  Chapter 23

  D’s Story

  My name is Darcy Godfrey. I was born on 16th September, 1985 in Smithtown, Long Island. My mother was a journalist and my father was a business manager.

  Mom was the kindest person I knew. I always admired her. I admired her silent beauty and grace. She was unconditionally loving. She had a soft voice that could calm anyone.

  When I was five, I started school. In the beginning, it was fun. I learned new things everyday. I was excited. I made friends. We camped together, played with dolls, stole mommy’s makeup and had parties. I remember my sixth birthday party. My friends came home. I showed them my room and my dolls. We played together. One of them broke my doll. I was upset, but I let it go. I knew she didn’t mean to do it.

  When she left, my other friend told me she broke my doll on purpose. She didn’t want me to have a doll that was more beautiful than hers. I couldn’t believe it. I cried all night.

  “Every person has two people living in their body,” mom explained.

  “Two people? How?” I asked. To my six-year-old self, it didn’t make sense.

  “A side we see and a side we don’t. Good people can be bad sometimes,” she said.

  I didn’t understand what she said, but I stopped crying.

  “She is a good girl but her hidden bad side came out today.” she continued, staring at the wall. “She can’t help it.”

  I don’t remember wh
at happened after that. But, those words stayed with me all my life. It was my first lesson in human nature. It was also a warning for the future.

  In the summer, my mother’s belly began to swell. I was excited. I was going to be a big sister. Mom’s belly grew larger until it could expand no more. In the spring, she went to the hospital. I stayed at home with the babysitter. Mom returned that evening. Dad held an infant in his arms. That is how Dan came into our lives.

  One night, I heard footsteps outside my room. I was seven. The creaky bedroom door opened. A rod of silvery moonlight entered the room. I moved in the bed. A shadow stretched over me. I felt something tug at my neck. My breathing was shallow. My neck was tight.

  I opened my eyes. My mother’s body hung over me. She encircled her fingers around my throat, burying them deeper. Her dark blue eyes burned with hatred. I struggled to break free. She was strong. My shallow breaths didn’t make it to my lungs. My oxygen supply was depleting. I screamed, but the sounds died in my throat. I wanted to be in control of my weak body. Darkness fell over me.

  “Die, go away!” she said. She didn’t recognize me. My eyes clouded with fear. I waved my hands wildly. One of the toys on the table fell to the floor. It lit up and began to sing. The sound startled mom. She backed away.

  Dad rushed to my bedroom. When he saw what was going on, he rushed to my side. He pulled her away. Her hands receded from my throat. I inhaled all the air I could. The air filed my lungs like a newborn’s.

  “Are you all right?” Dad asked, using his body to restrain mom. Her blazing eyes looked at me. Dad calmed her down.

  My breathing returned to its normal pace. I nodded weakly. Mom was calmer. Dad apologized and led her out of the room. I couldn’t decipher what happened. I convinced myself that it was a mistake.

  Mom changed. From a bright, optimistic person, she became a needy, depressed and suicidal. I found out much later that it was post-natal depression. She degenerated. I watched helplessly as she cried. I wanted to do something to calm her, but she begged to be left alone. But I still loved my mother. Even when she didn’t recognize me, I loved her.

  I remembered what she said on my sixth birthday. She had a hidden side which was bad. That didn’t make her a bad person. I slept that night. My eyes were closed but my mind didn’t stop.

  The red marks remained on my neck for two days. When kids at school asked me about, I said I was bitten by an insect. That was my first lie. At eight, I already had secrets. When I looked at the smiling faces of the others my class, I knew I wasn’t one of them. I was wounded and wounds leave scars. No matter how much time passes, a scar doesn’t disappear.

  The next day, mom apologized to me. She explained that she was ill. She had no control over what she did. She hugged me and said she would never do it again. I forgave her because I loved her.

  She stabilized after a week. She was back to being the optimistic, caring person that she was. In fact, she was unusually optimistic. She chatted incessantly. I enjoyed talking to her. She took me out to eat. At that point, she didn’t realize how deep the issue was. Neither did I.

  When I was in sixth grade, someone asked me out. I was nervous. I didn’t tell anyone about it. He asked me to meet him in the park. I was excited about my first date.

  I dressed up all afternoon. I wore my favorite dress and slapped on mom’s lipstick. I looked at myself in the mirror a million times before heading out. He was supposed to meet me at the park that evening. I sat on the bench and waited for him. The bugs in the grass irritated me. Kids made fun of me. I was overdressed. My legs itched in the frilly dress. The excitement overshadowed the discomfort. My heart thudded.

  He didn’t show up. One hour of a hopeful sixth-grader’s time is a lot. I waited five hours. The kids in the park disappeared. The sun sank without warning. My first date stood me up. I cried in the park. The makeup ran down my cheeks. I sucked my tears. I went home.

  Mom wasn’t home. I saw Dad lying on the sofa, watching television. He looked distressed.

  “Where is mom?” I asked in a low voice.

  “She’s…she’s not well,” he said. I knew what he meant. She was going through something I couldn’t imagine. She was locked in her room. When those episodes happened, she remained in her room for days. Sometimes, she went to the hospital and stayed there for a few days. The events had started when Dan was born. Over the years, they had gotten worse. She had no control of what was happening to her body.

  Then, I turned fifteen. It was the year the worst happened.

  When I was walking back from school on evening, a large black car stopped by and blocked my path. The doors opened. Two men got out. Their long forms stretched over me. They inched closer. My panic grew. I screamed but nobody heard. The moved closer to me. I began to run. They were fast. One of them grabbed hold of my hands. The other shoved me into the car. While I struggled the break free, he closed the door. The other man got into the driver’s seat and drove away.

  When I opened my eyes, I was in a red barn. Hay lay scattered around me. The unpleasant smell of animal waste irritated my nose. My eyes opened. The scenery became clear. My body lay against the wall.

  They pointed daggers at me. A kaleidoscope of knives, cigarettes and flames haunted my mind. They touched me. One slid his hands over my thighs. They drew closer to my legs. Adrenaline surged. Fear coiled in my belly.

  I picked up the knife that lay next to me. I drove it into his stomach. The other man screamed loudly. He tried to grab hold of me. An obsession took over my brain. I stood up. I stabbed him with the bloody knife. He reeled. His body hit the floor.

  When blood oozed out of his body, I felt a thrill. I stood with the knife in my hand. My body wasn’t my own. I was possessed by an intense desire to kill. Hatred and fear hooded my mind. The realization sank in. I screamed. Two dead men lay before me. The floor was stained with blood. I dropped the knife on the floor.

  A euphoria spread over my body. I felt alive. I wanted to feel that strength again. I denied it. I was afraid. My eyes ran over the bodies of the men. There was no movement. They were dead.

  I found a lighter falling out of the pocket of one of the men. I flicked it open. A small flame flickered before my eyes. The warmth caressed my skin. I dropped it on the stack of hay. Flames rose to the surface of the building. I ran out immediately.

  The red barn burned to ashes before my eyes. As the flames engulfed the building, I stood there, triumphant and paralyzed. A field of nothingness stretched before my eyes. I didn’t know where I was. I walked a mile until I saw signs of human inhabitation. A car came toward me. The bright lights of the car intensified. Just when it was about to hit me, it stopped.

  A man walked out of the car, worried that he had hurt me. I saw his middle-aged face marred with concern.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. He noticed the stains of blood on my clothing but didn’t say anything.

  “I’m lost. I want to go home.” I said. Feeling responsible for me, he too me home.

  When I got home, mom and dad were worried sick. They asked me where I had been. My heart drummed. The smell of blood was fresh. They could smell it on me.

  “Is that blood?” Dad asked, noticing a stain on the hem of my blouse. My heart thudded.

  “What happened?” mom held my shoulders and shook me violently. My hands were curved. My eyes blazed with hatred. My expression took her breath away.

  “You killed someone?” she asked. Her hands grabbed hold of my shoulder and shook me violently.

  “I can’t do this…” she said. She knew. She knew what I had done. Shame pricked my skin. Hopelessness flooded her eyes. She buried her face in her palms. Dad didn’t move. He examined me. He looked at with the expression I hated the most. Pity. Sympathy. Hopelessness. Fear.

  Mom sobbed inconsolably. Dan heard the noise and came out of his ro
om. Dad took him in. I remained with mom.

  She was afraid of me. She was afraid of what I was becoming. The terror vibrated in her eyes.

  “I’m not a bad person,” I told her. My senses had returned by then. “But maybe I have a bad side.”

  Her eyes held me. She didn’t blink.

  “No…” she said. Her voice broke. “That is a lie.”

  She closed her eyes. “Darcy, we need to see a doctor.”

  I was shocked. There was nothing wrong with me.

  “Why?”

  “You’re not normal. You’re…” She didn’t finish the sentence. I knew what she wanted to stay. I was a maniac. She sent me back to my room. I didn’t sleep at night. I heard her sob in the next room. The quivering kept me awake all night.

  I was afraid of myself but in a strange way, I was also proud. I felt in control. I couldn’t reassure myself. I was on the edge of sanity. I needed help but I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I didn’t know why everybody looked at me like there was something wrong with me. I went to school the next day. The news spread. Everybody turned hostile. Parents, fearing for the safety of their children, wanted me to be expelled. Dad said the police was investigating the case. Nothing was certain yet.

  But, they didn’t stop. The taunts turned to bullying and violence. In the beginning, I would come back home with scars and bruises. When mom asked how I got them, I said I fell down. After ten consecutive days of ‘falling down’, I’d had enough. When one of my classmates commented on my being a psychopath and a criminal, I lost it. I don’t remember what she said but as soon as she said it, I was on top of her. I shoved her against the wall, possessed with rage. I hammered at her until she began to bleed. Only when the teacher came in and screamed did I realize what happened.

  She gasped as the girl sank to the floor. I had hit her real hard. She was bleeding. The teacher called the ambulance. I ran away from the classroom, trying to make sense of what had occurred. I locked myself in the bathroom and refused to come out until one of the janitors broke down the door. My parents were summoned and the principal made it clear that I would be expelled.