The Doppelgänger: A Psychological Thriller by P. Wish

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