The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller Page 7

  “Is that you, Darcy?” Susan remarked. She was the first one to come in that morning. Susan’s grey hair and penetrating grey eyes matched.

  “I couldn’t recognize you,” she went on. “You’ve never had blonde hair.”

  “I wanted to try something new,” Darcy said, hesitantly.

  The door opened. Jillian walked in. She hung her coat on the stand.

  “Who is that?” she asked, leaning closer to Susan.

  “It’s me.” Darcy said.

  “Wow! Darcy, is that really you?”

  Darcy nodded.

  “You look so…different.”

  “She wanted a change.” Susan put in.

  “Blonde suits you.” Jillian said.

  “Thank you,” Darcy said, in a low voice.

  Fading twilight was swallowed by darkness. Darcy walked into Chicago L station at 7:30 PM. The vibration of her ringing phone sank into her skin. She dug into her coat pocket and pulled it out. The loud sound of train engines distracted her.

  A packed train stood at the platform. She squeezed herself in before the doors closed. The train moved. The ring died.

  The buzz of strangers was a background music to her thoughts. She saw people listening to music, staring at the window, talking on the phone, reading, chatting with friends and staring at her. Mostly, staring at her. She turned away.

  She stopped by the convenience store on her way home and bought some groceries.

  The temperature was lower than it had been earlier in the day. Her stomach rumbled. Darcy tore a bag of potato chips open and tasted the saltiness. The sodium revived her tired mind. She ate until she finished the bag. She dunked the empty wrapper into the nearest dustbin and walked over to the entrance of her building.

  She heard faint footsteps. She turned. A shadow extended form the base of the tree to her feet. She inhaled sharply. Darcy’s footsteps hastened. She walked noisily. Her eyeballs strained to catch a glimpse of the person who was following her.

  She dug into her pocket. Her hand fell on the phone. She pulled it out and stared at it.

  Low battery. Exactly the two words she didn’t want to see right now. Darcy’s footsteps hastened, fueled by panic. She stopped when the reached the front door.

  Somebody stood behind her. From the back of her eye, she saw the stranger’s blue coat. Her iris dilated. She dropped the grocery bags. Startled by the rustling of grocery bags, the stranger moved closer.

  Blue eyes. His small blue eyes examined her. They were framed with crow’s feet. He was old. Old enough to be-

  She dropped the grocery bags. The milk carton broke. A stream of white milk flowed. She didn’t turn around. Her dark form merged with his shadow. She took a step back.

  He inched closer. The street lamp illuminated a shiny object in his belt. Darcy’s spine went cold. He was going to attack her. Her lips parted.

  Her heels dug into the street. The space between two stones trapped the end of her heel. Her foot twisted. She fell. She let out a weak sound. He closed the distance. The dark figure hung over her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. Darcy turned around abruptly. She head a cat mew. Smokey stood next to Mr. Hatter. Mr. Hatter examined her, carefully.

  “Oh,” she said awkwardly. She squirmed on the floor. He helped her up. “Mr. Hatter.”

  “Are you all right?” he asked. He looked at her swollen ankle.

  “I’m fine,” she said in a falsetto. “I thought you were…never mind.”

  “You dropped the key. I picked it up at Tesco,” he said. He took a step forward. He handed her the key. The shiny object in his pocket was a key. Nervousness drained out of Darcy’s body.

  “Thank you so much,” Darcy said. She breathed with relief. She quickly opened the door. Smokey went into the door first. She walked up the stairs, holding onto the railing.

  “See you around,” he said. He stepped into his apartment and closed the door. She lingered in the corridor, losing herself in the emptiness.

  She walked into her apartment. The zealous heating system blasted her with a puff of warm air. She forgot to turn it off that morning. Her body took a few seconds to adjust to the warmer surroundings. It was boiling.

  The phone rang again. The vibrations travelled through her stomach, tingling her flesh.

  Michael’s name flashed on the screen. She answered immediately.

  “Darcy?” It was Mike’s voice.

  “Mike. How’s it going?”

  “Good…good.”

  “Hi. I wanted to ask you about a book...” he began.

  “For the article?”

  “Yes. I’m looking for a particular book. I’ve tried looking everywhere, but this book is hard to come by. I was wondering if the university library has it.”

  “Wait a second,” Darcy left her bag on the couch. She produced a piece of paper and a pen. “What’s it called?”

  “Doppelgänger.”

  Darcy was silent. The clock ticked by.

  “Hello?”

  “I’ll find out,” Darcy said. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Thanks for the favor.”

  “No problem.”

  “Good night.”

  He hung up. Darcy started at the phone.

  At 8:00 PM on Tuesday evening, Darcy stood before a board that read: Jayne Edgar, Psychic. The shop was situated on the second floor of a house in North Lincoln Avenue.

  Darcy’s legs turned instinctively. The door opened. A red-haired woman in her mid-forties emerged from the door.

  “Darcy Godfrey?” she enquired. Darcy’s eyes met the woman’s brown ones.

  “Yes.” she said, clutching her tote.

  “I’m Jayne. You had an appointment?”

  “Umm…yes.” Darcy said.

  Jayne smiled. Her ample cheeks squeezed her eyes, reducing them to straight lines. Her face was flushed. She wore a black dress that extended all the way to the floor.

  “Come in.” Her voice was husky.

  Darcy stepped into the room. She sat on a chair that faced another chair. The window on the right was open. Frail moonlight entered the room. Darcy pulled her coat closer to her body. Jayne closed the window, cutting off the chilly air.

  Darcy placed herself on the chair. She noticed a pack of cards lying on the table. Books on astrology and tarot were arranged messily on the shelf behind the psychic’s chair. Her fingers glided over the smooth surface of the table. The incense stick on the windowsill had almost burned out. It smelled of sandalwood.

  Jayne drew the black curtains over. Darkness fell over the room. Darcy’s violent heartbeat converged into a dim light that hung down from the ceiling. Darcy stared at the square desk that separated her from the psychic. Jayne placed herself on the chair and took a deep breath.

  “Tell me, what brings you here?” Jayne asked, casually.

  “I wanted to know something.”

  “What?”

  “Some strange things that have been happening to me,” Darcy explained, vaguely.

  The psychic proceeded to shuffle the pack of tarot cards. She shuffled them like a professional gambler before handing them over to Darcy.

  “Shuffle them a few times. Your energy needs to soak into them.”

  Darcy’s clumsy fingers dropped a few cards in the process of shuffling. A minute later, she handed the deck back to the psychic. Jayne spread the cards out on the table.

  “Think of a question and pick three cards,” she instructed. Darcy closed her eyes. She picked three cards from the spread. The tarot reader flipped them over and laid them on the table.

  “Hmmmm….a strange combination. May I ask what your question was?” Jane said, scrunching her nose.

  “I want to know some
body’s identity.”

  “Is this a person?”

  “I don’t know.” Darcy said.

  “Is their identity a secret?”

  “Yes.”

  “The cards say a big secret will soon be revealed.”

  “A big secret? What kind of secret?”

  The psychic turned to Darcy and met her gaze. “Death is on the cards.”

  Darcy’s eyes widened. She held onto the edge of the table, trying to breathe.

  “Could you pick another card?” Jayne requested. Darcy’s trembling fingers pulled out another card.

  The psychic turned it over and stared at it for a moment. “Your destiny is being revealed. A deception that has been blinding you will be exposed.”

  “Does that mean I will learn the identity of this person soon?”

  “A series of important events are underway,” the psychic said, off tangent.

  “They’ve begun?”

  “Yes. Expect big changes in the future.”

  Darcy walked out of the door thirty minutes later. She thanked the psychic and parted with a hundred quid, reluctantly. Another impulse purchase. She decided to consult Jayne after she heard Jillian talking about her. Jillian’s friend had consulted Jayne over the weekend. In her state of desperation that was all the bait Darcy needed.

  Darcy walked home. The familiar road lined with shops stretched before her eyes. She walked slowly, her mind marinating in the psychic’s words.

  “Expect the unexpected.” Those were her final words. Jayne had given Darcy a recording of the session to listen to. The CD rattled in Darcy’s bag.

  She passed by array of German shops that lined Lincoln Square. Darcy walked along the street until she reached the door of her apartment. Stony silence surrounded her. Her neighbor wasn’t in. The Victorian lamp outside the door greeted her with its dim glow. She walked to her apartment. Her keys lay in her left hand. They made a sharp, ringing noise.

  Darcy placed her hand on the door knob. It turned. It was open. Her apartment was open. Panic flushed her body. She was sure she locked it in the morning. Why was it open? Who had opened it?

  She reached into her bag instinctively. Her hand hit on a bottle of pepper spray. Her fingers curled around the bottle and pulled it out. With the keys in one hand and the spray in another, she kicked the door open.

  The loud thud was followed by silence. She took a small step toward the door and examined the apartment. There was nobody. She took another step. She stood at the door, peering into the house. The messy magazines and clothes remained. The smell of her breakfast still lingered in the air. The apartment was exactly like she left it in the morning. She stealthily walked on the green carpet.

  “Is anybody there?” she called out. No answer. She approached the closed bedroom door, kicking it door open. The door hit the wall and bounced back with a loud thud. Her bed lay in the centre of the room covered with beige bed covers. Her folded duvet and pillows were arranged over it. There were no creases on the bedsheet. Her eyes instantly hit the floor. Pieces of broken glass lay on the floor. She hurried to the drawers which stood near the pieces of broken glass.

  She touched a piece of broken glass. She smelled it. She sneezed. She smelled dust. Where had the broken glass come from? She looked at the window. It was locked. Nobody could’ve come in through it.

  She picked up a piece of glass. The photo frame.

  Darcy opened the drawer. She unwrapped the box. The picture of her mother was missing. She pulled the frame out. The glass on the photo frame was broken.

  She turned to the drawer. The photo of her mother was nestled on the dark wooden surface. A momentary warmth spread over her chest before it clenched into fear.

  Somebody had come. Somebody who knew about her mother. Her cloudy eyes closed. Not him. Had he found her? Did he find out where she lived?

  Darcy curled up against the stack of drawers and buried her head in her knees. The situation was getting out of hand. She needed to find who was following her. She needed to find the person behind the posts.

  Darcy glanced at her reflection in the mirror. The lines around her eyes were deep. Her hair was limp and scattered. The beating of her heart matched the rhythm of her dilating pupils. Her eyes trailed to her lips. They curved into a lopsided smile.

  She knew who did this. The blogger had come to her house. That is where she had written those posts. Darcy swallowed. The photo she uploaded matched the one in her drawer. She remembered the half dusty photo frame. The facts came together into a ball. Darcy sunk to the floor. She was being watched.

  Chapter 8

  Darcy sat in her neighbor’s apartment. She wore a grey dress with a pair of black stockings. She inched forward. Mr. Hatter examined her carefully with his deep blue eyes. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened. Darcy didn’t react. Her eyes met his with a steady expression. Smokey curled up in a wooden basket by the heater.

  “Why did you want to see me?” he asked, his eyes moving over Darcy suspiciously. Darcy moved in her seat. She coughed to divert attention.

  “I never had the opportunity to know you,” Darcy said in a low voice. 7:00 AM on Wednesday morning was not the best time to get to know your neighbor. Mr. Hatter was grumpy.

  “Oh,” he said, puzzled. “What did you want to know?”

  She always thought that Mr. Hatter was a grumpy old man who hated the fact that she watched TV at an incredibly loud volume. He was a retired police inspector who volunteered at a local drug rehabilitation center on weekdays. His ears were very sensitive. She wondered if her night-time TV viewing disturbed him.

  “Uh…I was just wondering if you want to say anything to me…” she began, awkwardly. “Is the TV too loud?”

  “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Especially at night. Smokey is sensitive to sounds.”

  Darcy sighed. Smokey was the one that made the most noise.

  “I’ll keep it down,” Darcy put in.

  “I don’t mind,” he said. “I’m not back from work until eight.”

  “I see.” Darcy said.

  “Is there something you want to ask?” he craned his neck, his eyes fixed on her.

  “Uh…it’s nothing important, really,” Darcy stuttered. “I was wondering if you could keep an eye on my apartment.”

  “Keep an eye?” He raised an eyebrow. His sleepy eyes widened. “Is something troubling you?”

  “No…nothing in particular,” Darcy covered up. “I want to be careful. Some strange things have been happening.”

  “Be careful,” he said. “Chicago is not the safest city. You don’t know who comes and goes.” Darcy didn’t react. A minute later, she nodded.

  “Have there been any incidents of theft or breaking in here?”

  “Hmmm…the last time something was stolen was three years ago. Lincoln Square is a relatively safe area but you can’t be too sure. Did somebody break into your house?”

  “I think someone is following me.” Darcy’s tone dropped. Her words sucked all sound from the atmosphere. Mr. Hatter’s blue eyes looked at her queerly.

  “A stalker?” he said, finally. She was silent.

  “That is dangerous- not just for you but for the other residents too. You should report it to the police.” his tone was serious. She nodded.

  “I want to but I don’t have any proof.”

  “No blank calls? E-mails? Letters?”

  “No but when I came back home yesterday, my apartment was open.”

  “God. Do you think somebody came? Was something stolen?”

  “They knocked over a photo frame and the glass broke.”

  “This is serious. Why don’t you report it as theft?”

  “Do you think I can get footage from the security cameras?”

  “Ummm…they
’re doing maintenance checks on the cameras. I don’t think they were working yesterday. They’ll do the checks again this Sunday,” Mr. Hatter said. Maintenance checks, of course. Did the person who broke in know about that?

  “I’ll report it,” Darcy said. “Could you keep an eye for me, in the meanwhile?”

  “All right. I’ll message you if I see someone suspicious. I think I have your phone number. I’m off to work at two in the afternoon and I come back at eight,” he said. “But I’ll let you know if I see something.”

  “Thank you,” Darcy said. She stood up. “I need to work.”

  The train was late that day, and it was always on time. The crowd on the platform multiplied exponentially within fifteen minutes. They squeezed Darcy. It was getting difficult to breathe. Darcy turned her head to the left. It was the only part she could move. She craned her neck for any sign of the train and saw a sea of heads. The constant stream of carbon dioxide raised the temperature of the platform.

  In the distance, Darcy saw the bright lights on the train. The sharp sound of the train’s base rubbing on the track jolted Darcy. Relief cut across her senses. The crowd pushed her into the nearest coach. Before she could find a place, the train parted.

  Darcy reached the library at 9:30. She ran up the slippery marble stairs, slipping twice in the process. She made her way to Susan’s room.

  The room smelled of coffee. Jillian sat in one corner of the room, sipping a cup of coffee from Starbucks. There was a distant expression in her eyes. Her face was pale. Darcy hung her coat on the stand.

  “Jillian, are you feeling all right?” Darcy asked as she unwrapped her scarf.

  “Huh?” Jillian was distracted. She swirled the cup of coffee, releasing some stream.

  “You looked…ummm…disturbed.” Darcy said, undoing her coat buttons.

  “You know, something strange happened yesterday.” Jillian said, her large green eyes filled with worry.

  “What do you mean?” Darcy asked.