The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller Page 24

  “When will I see you again?”

  “We can begin the treatment next week.” he said.

  The prison guards escorted me out of the room. My gaze remained on Dr. Cleo who stood at the door and watched her leave. He gave me hope. That was all I needed.

  I met him the following week. This time, we didn’t talk. He asked me to sit down on the chair. I ate two pea sized red tablets. Fifteen minutes after swallowing them, I went into a state of trance. Everything in the room appeared like a dream.

  “I’m going to hypnotize you,” he said. “Delve into the deepest parts of your memory and form new ones.”

  He counted to ten. When he clicked, voices vanished. I saw eternal darkness. My core was black. It disillusioned me.

  “You had a happy childhood,” his raspy voice embedded itself in my memory. He repeated the words over and over again.

  But all I saw in the darkness was the ugliness that lay buried in the cavity of my heart. He uttered incomprehensible words that slipped into a crevice between my conscious and subconscious mind. His words swam with my own thoughts creating a toxic cocktail of painful memories.

  The thoughts swirled deeper into my mind. I was breathless. A shooting pain seeped through my heart. I was drunk on the concoction, slipping deeper into an abyss. The ray of light at the surface grew further until I couldn’t see it anymore.

  I was in a dark room that resembled the prison walls. It immediately solidified to resemble the prison walls. However, the walls were a bloody red, overlapping the image of the red barn. The wallpaper was peeling off, just like my memories. The sound of disturbed wails echoed in my ears. I shut them is a desperate attempt to block the sound.

  I heard footsteps. They grew in a crescendo. I shut my eyes tightly. When I opened them, I saw a shadow next to me. It solidified into a strikingly familiar portrait.

  Mom. Her gentle smile melted my heart. She inched closer to me. We cuddled together. Her warmth seeped into me. Her fingers trembled. I held on tighter, unwilling to let go of the memory. Her embrace was so tight that it made me breathless.

  Tears streamed down my eyes. The ray of light that disappeared emerged once again. This time, it was red. My fingers wrapped around her waist and drew her in. My tears fell on her blouse and disappeared. Her soft skin melted into mine.

  A shadow stretched over me. The footsteps were gone. Instead, I saw Dr. Cleo gazing down on me. His eyes were dark. I saw a silver object shine on his belt. I drew a sharp breath in.

  “Forget her, let her go…” his harsh voice yelled. The sounds merged into a kaleidoscope images of torture, pain and misery. They were a reflection of my feelings. The echoes of troubled voices in my mind pierced my senses.

  Nothing mattered. My gaze remained on my mother. She was here. She was the only thing that mattered. I didn’t hear his words, but he came closer to my mother. He drew a revolver from his pocket. Its silvery sheen blinded me.

  “Let her go. Erase her.” his hypnotic voice made the walls vibrate.

  He shot. He aimed at my mother and shot. I screamed. The walls of the asylum dissolved into darkness. Oxygen didn’t make it to my lungs. A sharp pain thudded in my heart. It grew like a tumor until it engulfed all sensation.

  She fell to the floor. Her body moved away, but I held onto it tightly. Someone pushed me away. I cried for her. I cried with all the oxygen I had. I cried until my voice gave in.

  Then, I ran. I ran out of the asylum. I didn’t turn back. I didn’t say goodbye. I heard footsteps. He was following me. I ran into the bushes. I was tired. I was breathless. But I ran. I ran into the road. A loud horn shattered my panic. The headlights grew bigger and brighter. They swallowed me.

  I opened my eyes. Sweat lined my body. The hazy patch of beige, white and blue formed a sharp image of Dr. Cleo. His face hung over me. His queer eyes looked into mine. He was a murderer. He killed my mother. I sat up with a jerk.

  My memory had regenerated itself. I suddenly knew why she left me. He was the reason. He tortured us in the asylum. My expression changed as I stared at his face. Why was he here? What was he going to do to me?

  Paranoid with panic, I sat up jerkily.

  “You all right?” he asked. I didn’t answer. I continued to look at him, frightened. He was a villain. He was trying to make me forget the person I loved the most. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. No matter how many times I go through this, I can never forget her. Even the deepest corner of my heart is colored with her memory.

  “I want to leave,” I said, raising my voice. He examined me carefully. My orange shirt was soaked in sweat. It stuck to the curves of my back. My brown eyes looked at my reflection in the mirror. I got off the bed. He watched me go. His gaze pricked my back. I went back to my lonely cell. I never saw him again.

  After Dr. Cleo, there were others. None of them managed to make me forget my mother. They didn’t try the techniques he did. The unfinished memories he gave me became my reality.

  A year before I was released, Dan came to visit me in the prison. He sat on the other side of the glass wall. His dark brown eyes examined me. He was so young. So innocent. In the crowd of jaded prisoners, he was an innocent lamb. He had no idea about the horrible things I’d done. He had no idea about the horrible things mom and I had been through. Guilt and regret mixed into a ball and choked me.

  “I found a new job,” he said, excited. “You can come live with me once you’re released.”

  I smiled, my eyes distant. That life didn’t exist for me anymore. He described his job and graduation for fifteen minutes. Then, I was escorted back to my cell. The remnants of hope died within those walls. I slept and woke up. It didn’t matter anymore. I replayed memories of my childhood a million times. Each time, they made me more bitter and resentful. Through it all, my mother’s face endured. I wanted revenge. I wanted Dr. Cleo to suffer the way she had.

  One year later, I saw light for the first time. The prison doors opened. Sunlight forced its way through my blank eyes. My face was stripped of its beauty and youth. My body was weaker.

  “You’re free.” the prison guard said. But I didn’t feel free. I felt sadder than I did when I entered the prison.

  I signed a document he flashed before my lifeless eyes. He let me out. I took a few steps down the road. There was nobody. Only wind and leaves filled my vision. That was when I realized how empty and meaningless my life had become.

  One mistake and it all changed. Hopeless, I treaded down the empty road.

  Chapter 25

  D’s Story (Contd.)

  It was a chilly September night. That was the day he entered my life again. I was alone at home. My neighbor, Mr. Hatter and his noisy cat weren’t home. The television buzzed in the background. I had finished uploading my second post that week. I shut down the laptop. Somebody rang the doorbell. I opened the door.

  When I saw his face, my dreams shattered. Any hope of a normal life evaporated. I could not forget his papery white skin, his sharp blue eyes and his raspy voice. They were etched in the reel of my memory.

  “Darcy,” he said in that broken, terrifying voice.

  My heartbeat rose till it deafened me. I stood wordlessly as the old man approached me. Age left scars on his face. He had developed wrinkles. His eyes closed in on me. I stumbled to the wall for support. He walked in. His strides were large. A thin wall of air hung between us. Panic filled my heart.

  “Stay away from me,” I said. My hands slid on the surface of the table, searching for something sharp.

  “Darcy, I want to talk to you,” he said. His pleading eyes looked to me.

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” I said, my voice sounding firm. My hands stumbled on something hard and smoother. I picked it up. I brandished the porcelain vase in the air.

  “We didn’t finish the treatment,” he continued.
“You have incomplete memories. It’s dangerous-”

  “Go away!”

  “Listen to me,” he said. His gruff voice matched with the sharp ticking of the clock. “I saw the posts. You need to stop. They’re lies-”

  “No! You’re lying to me. You killed her. You shot her.” I screeched. The cat next door squealed.

  “I didn’t kill her. I helped you forget her,” he reasoned. He maintained a safe distance from me. He was afraid.

  “I didn’t,” I said, catching my breath. “I still remember her. You can’t take her away from me.”

  “I can see that,” he remarked. His voice was calm. “I tried to contact you at the prison many times but you refused to meet me.”

  “I don’t want to see you. Go away!”

  “We need to finish what we started.”

  “No. I’m okay. I’m all right…” I said. I lowered my arm.

  “No, you’re not. You’re crazy. You’re unstable.” his sharp tone was abrasive. The rasp and trapped air grated my eardrums.

  “You’re the one that’s crazy.” I said. My fear-stricken eyes vibrated. Before I knew it, I hurled the porcelain vase at him. He stepped away. It crashed against the wall. The white bone china crumbled into a heap of white dust on the carpet.

  “You killed her,” I insisted. My eyes were searching the room for something to defend myself with. I ran my hands over the television stand.

  “No. You killed her,” he said. I wanted to attack him but there was nothing. He backed off. The violent expression in his stormy blue eyes subsided. I didn’t move. He placed a piece of paper on the table.

  “I’m resigning. I’ve decided to quit. I’ll be at my apartment in Chicago until the end of this month. If you change your mind, come see me. Let’s finish what we started.”

  The door closed with a loud thud. He was gone. I sunk to the floor. Relief surged through my blood. I exhaled. My eyes turned to the heap of broken porcelain. His words hung in the air.

  “You killed her.”

  I held my hurting head in my hands. Her face swam into my vision. The hatred rose in my heart. A woody scent lingered in the air. His disgusting scent. I crawled to the door. A piece of porcelain pricked my knees. A drop of red blood oozed out of the wound. I pressed the cut. It stained my fingers. The sticky red blood stuck to my fingers. I picked up the card he left behind. My fingers stained it with red.

  Dr. Cleo Williams

  CEO, Ambrosia Pharmaceuticals

  He was CEO. I wanted to tear the card but my fingers stopped. No. I wouldn’t tear it. He was wrong. I was right. I’d make him see that. I stood up and walked to the laptop. I turned it on. I heard the neighbor’s cat mew.

  My eyes moved to the shiny kitchen knife that lay on the kitchen top. A few pieces of oxidized apple lay on it. Red. Again. It was a sign. It was a sign of death. Blood. Revenge.

  The news of Dr. Cleo’s resignation was all over the TV. It overshadowed the successful testing of the Dimension Crawler. News channels harped about his sudden resignation. There was much speculation on the new CEO.

  I knew one thing. He killed my mother. He was the only one that knew what happened to my mother. He appeared in every nightmare I had for six years. It was time to put an end to it.

  I crept into his apartment in Central London one fateful Sunday night. I was armed. I covered my face with a dark hoodie. My legs glided on the slippery marble floor. I ignored the guy at the reception and made my way to his apartment. His visiting card remained clutched in my hand.

  I stepped into the elevator. It rose, towering over the low city. The chiming bell rang. The elevator doors opened.

  A long corridor stretched before me. It was lined with a dark brown carpet. He lived in apartment no. 343. I found the apartment after a few steps. They were embossed in gold metal on the surface of the polished wooden door. I rang the bell The sharp sound vibrated though the surface of the door.

  The door opened. Clear blue eyes. Crows feet. Crooked smile. And papery white skin. It was him. He held the door wide open. I stepped in. My boots clicked on the smooth floor. I walked in.

  “Anything to drink?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He sat beside me. I moved away. He turned to me.

  “It’s been a long time.” he said. I nodded, concealing my expression under the shadow of my hair.

  “I would like to go through the procedure again. It failed last time. I see it’s taken its toll on you,” he explained.

  “Where is my mother?” my voice was concentrated as a laser beam. He was surprised.

  “Darcy….” the irritating airy voice filled my ears. My sensory organs curled in disgust.

  “I know she is alive. Where is she?” I re-iterated, cutting through the silence. I leaned closer. He backed away. His face lined with shock. The shock transformed into a softer expression. The softness touched the edges of his face that shriveled like a prune.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s in the past.”

  “It does. To me.” His blue eyes didn’t cast their spell on me.

  “She’s fine. She’s better. Wherever she is.” he said.

  “What happened to her?”

  “You know…” A crafty expression spread over his face. He stood up and moved to the cupboard. He opened it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Aren’t you here to correct your memories?”

  “I’m not who you think I am,” I said.

  He swirled around. His movements weren’t as fast as they used to be. He was seventy-five now.

  “I want to meet her.” I put in, quickly.

  “She doesn’t want to see you.” his voice was firm.

  “You know where she is.”

  “No. Darcy, she’s gone. She’s dead.” there was a sharp edge to his voice. I moved closer to him. His criticism made me vulnerable. I swallowed. My eyes drifted to my bag. A hard revolver protruded.

  “Tell me,” I begged. “I want to see her again.”

  His heavy eyelids hooded his eyes. “We need to finish this. Your memories are dangerous. You’ve mixed up the reality with your visions.”

  I moved back to the bag that sat on the couch. Freedom was within my reach. I pulled the revolver out of the bag. I held it out, aiming for his heart.

  “Darcy, what are you doing? Put that down!”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” I maintained a steady gaze. My fingers shook as they inched toward the trigger.

  “You can’t run forever. You need to face the reality.” there was fear in his eyes. He was afraid of me. It filled me with a sadistic satisfaction.

  “Shut up.” I could control him. His body moved with the revolver.

  “She’s toxic for you -”

  “Shut up!” I pulled the trigger. I only realized what I had done when his body crumbled to the floor. Blood spread on the floor. The faint smell of iron wafted through the air. My hands clamped my mouth shut.

  I ran out as fast as I could. I left the revolver on the bed. I didn’t make eye contact with the guy at the reception. I got out of the building, my heart thudding. I’d killed another person. My eyes closed. The guilt, power and pain soaked into my blood. This was my salvation. It was also hell. I walked away.

  A week passed. A month passed. I was convicted of the murder. I didn’t say anything in my defense. I didn’t know what happened. I didn’t know why I went crazy again. The intense desire to kill possessed me. I wanted to know who lived inside me.

  My sentence was reduced because I had a serious mental illness. A new psychiatrist was assigned to me. He came to see me twice a week. During my sessions with him, I discovered that my schizophrenia and depression had relapsed. I underwent regular counselling sessions. After five long years
, I was able to retrieve my memories.

  At thirty-five I was released from prison. I knew no one. No one knew me. My family were strangers. I hadn’t seen the for fifteen years. I walked down a road filled with strangers who cast suspicious glances at me. I had been to jail twice. It was difficult to rent a house in the city.

  Dan helped me find a house. I had no words to say to him. I’d made the same mistake more than once. I moved into a small flat in Chicago. Those fifteen years changed the course of my life. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I didn’t know what I could do. I was afraid to go out. I didn’t want to see people. I didn’t want to see the terror in their eyes when they looked at me.

  I knew the truth, but the truth didn’t help me. I wished I knew the truth before it all happened. I wished I knew the truth before my mother died.

  I spent my days cooped up in my room, pondering my life. Nothing lay for me in the future. My life was over. All my hopes had been crushed. I didn’t know why I was alive anymore.

  “You loved to write,” Dan reminded me during one of our conversations. I did. Of all the things he said that resonated with me.

  So I began writing a blog. It was a way to keep myself going. I wrote about the things I did everyday. I wrote about my fantasies. Every time I did, her face floated in my mind. She was my fantasy. She was also my biggest nightmare.

  I saw her gentle blue, yes and light hair that shone like a halo. I couldn’t forgive myself. I was guilty. I couldn’t blame him anymore.

  My fingers moved across the keyboard. Each week, I wrote about the things I did. I wrote my nightmares. I wrote my fantasies, and I wrote about her.

  One day, Darcy wrote back to me. My eyes read through her message a million times. It was only three words long.

  Who are you?

  Those three words changed my destiny. My life that was frozen began to move. The messages thawed me out of my empire of ice. I found meaning to my life. Somebody like me existed somewhere in the world.