The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller Page 23

  When I got home, mom broke down. She said she couldn’t handle me anymore. She had tried her best but nothing could stop be from going crazy.

  The following day, the girl’s mother came to our house. She had a loud conversation with my parents which ended with ‘calling the police’ and ‘getting me arrested’. My parents apologized but the girl’s mother was distraught. Her daughter ended up in emergency and was transferred to the ICU. She had severe bruises in her head. She wanted to press charges. Mom began staying in her room. She came home late. Some days, I didn’t see her. Some days, I saw her crying in the kitchen. She began drinking.

  Then, she disappeared. When I came back from school the following Monday, she was gone. She’d threatened to leave many times, but she never did. It was a rainy day. I held an umbrella over my head as I made my way from my car to the front door. Dad stood outside. He was wet.

  “Where is she?” I asked. He didn’t answer. He hung his head.

  I ran out of the house immediately. I ran around in the rain. I wanted to see her. I wanted to ask her why she left me. The sound of her sobs rang in my ears. I was wet. My tired feet walked back home. She was gone. She left without saying goodbye. I knew she was unstable, but I never thought she would leave me. She abandoned me because she didn’t want to be my mother.

  That year, my parents got divorced. Nobody told me about it. Dad said that we’d continue to live with him as if nothing happened. Mom just vanished, like thin air. However, her memories didn’t.

  “Did she say anything about me?” I asked, expectantly. He didn’t answer. There was no answer to my question.

  “Will she be visiting us?” Dan asked, expectantly.

  “No. She moved.”

  “Where?” I asked. He didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t know. Or, she didn’t want me to know.

  I wanted to see her. I had to ask her why she left me. In my heart, I knew it was because of me but I didn’t want to confront the truth. I didn’t know what happened to her. So, I told myself I’d believe it if I heard it from her.

  Dad took me to the therapist later that week. He said I needed to undergo counselling. The kidnapping had traumatized me. He took me to a psychiatrist who kept me on drugs. I attended a session with the therapist every week. I found out I was developing symptoms of a bipolar disorder. I also began hallucinating after the murder incident. They needed to be controlled.

  After my mother went away. I stabilized. The less I saw of her, the better I got. Yet, in my heart the longing remained. I wanted to meet her again. This time, I hoped it would be different. The police finally dismissed the murder case as they found I had acted in self-defense. My classmate also recovered after six long months which were hell. I never went back to school. I home-schooled and got my high school diploma.

  I decided to attend university in Chicago because I wanted to get away from Smithtown. Everybody in the small town knew me as a criminal.

  Chicago was a breath of fresh air. Nobody knew about my past. Nobody knew I’d killed two men. They didn’t know about my troubled family or my unstable mind. I could start life anew. Eventually, I lost interest in finding my mother.

  I switched to a new therapist in Chicago. Dr. Nathan helped me get better over the course of four years. I don’t know why but I didn’t remember anything about that incident at fifteen. Over time, it left the space of my memory. I stabilized and needed less medication and therapy. Eventually, I became all right and stopped medication.

  Then, I met my mother. I was on my way back home when I saw her reflection on the train window. She was older, but I recognized her face. I hadn’t forgotten her.

  Her form moved in the crowd of people who walked out of the Red Line. My breath ceased. I turned around. I denied it. I didn’t need her in my life. I deserved a better life. She abandoned me. She was unstable. She was toxic. All I had to do was turn away.

  But, my feet wouldn’t move. My legs remained on the platform, my eyes fixed on her face. She took my breath away. The sounds and the images disappeared. There was nobody but me and her. My heart choked with memories of the past. Memories of the life we had before she became that.

  A stranger brushed past me. She was moving farther away.

  Like a moth attracted to the flame, my feet moved toward her. My hands reached her shoulder. Before she took another step, I extended my hand and touched her. She turned. I stood before her. Her blue eyes froze on me. I remembered her wispy blonde hair from my memories. She stood before me. I smelled the magnolia perfume that she liked. She was too vivid to be a dream.

  Tears streamed down my face. After five years, we were together again. My fingers lingered over her fragile shoulders. She pulled away.

  “Mom.” My lips parted. My eyes clouded with emotion. I couldn’t see clearly.

  Chapter 24

  D’s Story (Contd.)

  “Darcy?” Her voice. An inexplicable distance colored her eyes. Disgust. Fear. Pain. She examined me suspiciously. I couldn’t reply. Strangers passed me by. Time stopped.

  “Mom…..” I said. I inched closer. She backed away. I stopped.

  “How did you find me?” she asked. Her eyebrows knitted together.

  “Hello.” I said. My heart was full of emotion. I didn’t hear the words I said. I wanted to ask her the questions that troubled me for years.

  “I want to ask you something,” I said.

  “I don’t have time-” She turned to leave.

  “Did you leave because of me?”

  She stopped. Her slender black heels threw her off balance. She stood up, steady. Her back faced me. She didn’t say anything.

  “Did you leave me because of me?” I asked. I struggled to keep the tears from flowing. They lubricated my eyes. The hazy image metamorphosed into a scene of the rainy night she left. The memory played in her conflicted eyes. She didn’t move.

  Her eyes held mine as she nodded. Tears pricked my eyes. I held them back. I struggled to breathe. She took another step back. She turned away.

  “What are you doing in Chicago?” she asked.

  “I live here. I study here,” I said. Resentment rose through my blood.

  “Hmmmm.” I noticed her fists her clenched. Her fingers dug into the handle of her purse. Her jaw was tight. Only her lips moved when she spoke.

  “I am better now,” I said. I didn’t know what to say. Nothing prepared me for this moment. Her cool disinterest glazed over my troubled mind. Hatred surged in my veins.

  No. Not again.

  My blood ran hot. A desire for destruction possessed me. My breaths came jaggedly. I fought the impulse. My brain chemicals were at it once again.

  “I’m…I’m glad to hear that.” she said, hesitantly. She saw the madness in my eyes. I wanted her. I wanted her love. But she wanted to run away. Run away from what I had become. The nerves on my head protruded as I tried to contain the anger.

  “Bye,” she said in an urgent tone. She turned to leave. I watched her back move away. I grabbed her wrist. She turned around suddenly.

  “Why did you leave?” I asked. Her blue eyes faced me.

  “Let me go,” she said. She tried to break free from my grip. Her voice was steely with determination. I knew she still feared me. My grip tightened. My fingers dug into her pale skin.

  “Why did you abandon me?” I asked. Resentment bubbled in my veins. Anger clouded my mind. She didn’t deserve to be here. I wanted to return the pain she had inflicted on me.

  “You’re not fine.” she repeated.

  “Neither are you,” I said.

  “Let me go.” My mother’s gaze remained steady.

  “I needed you. You should’ve stayed with me when I needed you.” I wasn’t convinced. “You left me alone there.”

  “That was the best I could do,” my mother s
aid, her eyes lowered.

  “I loved you,” I said. “I’ve always loved you.”

  “Let me go. I don’t know who you are.” Her voice was desperate. The hatred within me grew.

  I let her go forcefully. Rage coursed through my veins. I backed off then charged toward my mother. In a fit of rage, I pushed her into the wall. Before I could gather what happened, her head hit the wall. I gasped. Strangers turned. Her thin skull cracked. Her body sunk to the floor, leaving a trail of blood on the wall. Horrified, I jerked away.

  I turned around. I was panting. Everybody was staring at me. The crowd gathered around her body, whispering nasty words. The sounds filled my disturbed mind. The walls of my heart closed in on me. I was breathless. They continued to chatter. They pointed fingers. They knew what I had done.

  Reality began to seep in when I heard the sound of sirens fifteen minutes later. My eyes moved over my mother’s body lying on the floor. Her head rested against the stone wall. She was dead. The horrible scene swirled in my mind. I closed my eyes. Tears ran down my face. Regret, guilt and anger clouded my mind. I didn’t mean to kill her. It was a mistake.

  Feelings gripped me. Her closed eyes were serene. That was the most peaceful moment of her life. From the distance, I saw the remnants of the disaster I had created. It sunk in, sending waves of guilt, pain and disgust through my heart. I was a murderer.

  The crowd parted. Two police officers made their way to me. Their eyes fell on my mother then, rewound to me. I stood there, expressionless. The policemen glanced around. Strangers stood surrounding her body. There were too many witnesses. Everybody at the subway station had witnessed the incident. They took me to the police station.

  I didn’t deny the charges. A government lawyer was brought in. After a lengthy trial, I was sentenced to ten years in prison. That’s where I spent the next ten years of my life.

  My youth was lost in the four walls of the prison. Each day was the same. At some point, I stopped recognizing day and night. The eternal grey became my sky and my life.

  All that time, I could only think of the lesson that my mother taught me. I had let my bad side dominate me. I only made one mistake in life. And that mistake ruined my life.

  The prison was a lonely place. The walls echoed darkness and misery. I didn’t eat the food most of the days. I didn’t know who I was. Every inch of my memory was haunted by my mother. I remembered my childhood. I remembered the time it was all okay.

  Her soft eyes were as clear as the ocean. Her voice was soothing. It sang in my ears. When I opened my eyes, I saw the grey walls. It was the grave of hope. My mother existed only in my memory. My fading, unreliable memory.

  The newspaper arrived one morning. I tore it open. Since prisoners weren’t allowed to do much, I satisfied myself with reading. I eyeballed through the news. The headline caught my attention.

  Testing of the Dimension Crawler Begins

  The dimension crawler was a machine that sought to expand our understanding of parallel universes. The government poured years of work and money into it. It was the stuff science fiction was made of.

  The dimension crawler could be used to transcend the four dimensions that defined our universe. It promised to change the destiny of humankind. The instant I saw the article, something clicked in my mind. Like everyone, I too believed the crawler could change the world.

  For the rest of the week, the newspapers sang the praises of the project everyday. Eventually, the interest fizzed out. Like every other scientific discovery, it became apparent that it would take dozens of years to develop into anything tangible.

  My counselling sessions began soon after. The court insisted I receive treatment for schizophrenia. At that point, I could barely distinguish reality and my memories.

  One morning, the prison guard took me to a small, narrow corridor that led to a large room. That was where I saw him for the first time. In a white coat, he stood like a tiger. His clear blue eyes radiated an enigma that affected me. He was different.

  Dr. Cleo was not like the others. He was the founder of a company that specialized in manufacturing drugs to treat mental illnesses. The guard left me inside and shut the door.

  Dr. Cleo examined me queerly. His sharp gaze made me uneasy.

  “Good morning,” he said, after a minute. His voice was low and raspy. He didn’t look at me. He leafed through a file that contained my medical history. I sat on the chair beside him.

  “I’m Darcy,” I said. My voice was tiny. I hadn’t been eating regularly. The prison food made me nauseous. I had no desire to live. I couldn’t sleep at night. Images of that horrific incident haunted my mind. It was always her in my dream. Every time I woke up, her face faded away.

  “Good to see you Darcy,” he said. There was a lightness to his raspy voice.

  “Ummmmm….” I said. I didn’t look into his eyes.

  “Do you have any questions before we begin?” he asked in an airy tone.

  “No.” My eyes were colored with hopelessness. I didn’t face him.

  He hesitated.

  “I don’t know if your therapist ever told you this…” he began. His eyes narrowed in on her. He was serious. “You have schizophrenia. Sometimes, you can’t distinguish between your thoughts and reality.”

  I didn’t react.

  “Many factors could cause such an illness,” he said. I moved in the chair and looked up. “Your mother had a history of mental illness.”

  My eyes enlarged.

  “You also show some signs of bipolar disorder however, they’re not very developed. Your mother was bipolar,” he went on. I turned to Dr. Cleo, speechless.

  “You didn’t know,” he remarked, dryly.

  “No. I didn’t,” I confessed.

  “Your father mentioned that you had a difficult childhood.”

  “My mother left me when I was fifteen because she was afraid of me,” I recited morosely.

  “Why do you think she did that?” he asked. I swallowed. The conversation was fresh in my mind. So was the image of her.

  “I killed two men when I was in high school,” I said. He didn’t flinch. His gaze remained steady. I inhaled. “That’s why. She was afraid of me. She wanted to leave me.”

  “What did you feel when you…uh…killed those men?” he asked – things nobody had ever asked her. They were all afraid of her but he wasn’t.

  “I was possessed.” My enlarged eyes turned to him. “I was possessed by the desire to kill. The noise in my head was so loud. I wanted it to shut up, but it kept telling me to do something. So, I caught old of the knife on the floor and drove it through him.”

  I inhaled, trying to suppress the queasiness rising in my belly.

  “I see,” he jotted down what I said. “Anything else?”

  “I hated them. I hated everything they did to me…everything they stood for.”

  “And, have you hated anyone else so…intensely?”

  “No.”

  “What about your mother?”

  I was surprised. He made eye contact.

  “I loved her,” she said.

  “You loved her?”

  A thin film of tears formed on the surface of my eyes.

  “I really did,” she said. “When she fell to the floor…I never thought she’d die. I didn’t want to-I couldn’t control myself. How could she not see how much I needed her?”

  I broke down. I buried my face in my palms. He sat behind the desk silently. He waited for me to calm down.

  “I’m sorry.” He said after a long pause.

  “I loved her so much. Even when she tried to kill me…even when she tried to suffocate me-”

  “That’s-”

  “I loved her. I wanted to go back to how she was before…before she became that.”
>
  He nodded empathetically. I took a few minutes to calm down. He waited. When I was calmer, he sat down before me.

  “We’re experimenting on some new treatments,” he said. “I recently started a company. It’s called Ambrosia. We make drugs that can help you.”

  “What kind of drugs?” I asked.

  “Ones that help you forget selectively.”

  “Is that possible?” Realization throbbed at the back of my mind.

  “Darcy, you need to let go of her. You need to let go of those unpleasant memories so you can move on,” he said. “You’ve suffered enough. This treatment will help you erase the pain. You’ll still remember the good times but you won’t remember what happened at fifteen or at eight. Do you want to try it?” he looked at her intensely.

  I was silent.

  “I’ll give you new memories,” he said. I remained silent. “We’ll give you the life you always wanted. A happy childhood, a loving family…anything.”

  “Why? How?”

  “You can’t go on like this,” he said. “Your condition is worsening. This is the only way out. The drugs haven’t been tested yet but…I think this could work. We’ll need three sessions. I’ll first work on erasing bits of your memory. Then, I’ll re-program your mind with new ones. Is it something you’d want to do?”

  “I…I want to try.” I said.

  “I’ll need a signed consent form,” he said. “The prison authorities will collect it from you.”

  I heard a knock on the door. He opened the door. One of the prison guards stood outside the door. “It’s time for you to leave.” Dr. Cleo said.