--Sam
PS: A little clarification on the title. I'm going to go ahead and swipe the opening definition of Doppelgänger from Wikipedia. It explains the theory better than I could:
In the vernacular, the word "doppelgänger" has come to refer (as in German) to any double or look-alike of a person. The word is also used to describe the sensation of having glimpsed oneself in peripheral vision, in a position where there is no chance that it could have been a reflection. They are generally regarded as harbingers of bad luck. In some traditions, a doppelgänger seen by a person's friends or relatives portends illness or danger, while seeing one's own doppelgänger is an omen of death. In Norse mythology, a vardøger is a ghostly double who precedes a living person and is seen performing their actions in advance.
Andy, Friday, 8:19 PM
Location Unknown
The first time they hit me, it was in celebration of completing the task these hair-brained idiots set themselves out to do. It was a heavy beating, but not too bad. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I had been extremely grateful for my football training then.
They haven’t come near me and my dark little closet for days, now. Save, of course, the occasional midnight slice of cold pizza thrown at my head. I spent most of my time listening to the constant droll of the newswoman on TV. Every once in a while I would hear my name, “Andrew ‘Andy’ Anderson” uttered along with a string of numbers and a warning that anyone who saw him should call the police immediately. I would hear my mother, father, and two sisters sending out pleas to anyone and everyone who would listen, asking them to help find their beloved son and brother. It brought tears to my eyes the first time, hearing my mother’s distressed voice, but I no longer let myself show any sign of weakness.
I knew that today was Friday, which would mean that I have been in this god-forsaken place for four days now. Four days, and my parents and the police have made no progress in their desperate search to find me. Four days, and I heard my captors discuss cheerfully how they would deliver their ransom note, for half-a-million dollars, to my family.
Four days. And on that fourth night, I was found.
Or at least, that’s what the news reporters said.
“…Half-conscious body of Andrew Anderson found at the bottom of Rocky Crevice, not three miles away from his home. Appears to have suffered from a mild case of amnesia, due to head trauma. Police are still unsure as to what happened, but his family is needless to say happy to have him home, safe and sound.”
I pinched myself lightly, wondering how in the world I could have been found, when I was so obviously still here. Was it a ploy? Some sort of trick devised by the police to confuse my kidnappers?
They were confused, all right. Confused, and murderously angry. They came in that night, their ugly faces beat red, their knuckled strained white from the force with which they were balling their big, meaty hands. I would have spat in their faces if I wasn’t so damn scared.
There were three of them, and the biggest one, supposedly the leader, dragged me out of the small closet by my shirt collar, nearly choking me.
“What the hell is this? Some kind of joke?” I looked away, unsure as to how I should answer. Whether or not it was a rhetorical question.
“ANSWER me KID!”
Apparently not. So, I answered, surprised at my voice, gone stale from lack of use. “I don’t know. Really. I don’t have some sort of double or whatever.” I was feeling more confident, so I decided to taunt them. “Maybe you didn’t get the right kid. Maybe I’m not really Andrew Anderson. Maybe, you made a mistake.”
This dude was furious, and I saw his cohorts’ faces go red.
“Well kid, you better be sorry. If you’re not Andrew, then you’re no longer welcome here,” he sneered.
I mocked sadness, “Oh dear, have I outstayed your wonderful hospitality? Darn. I guess you better kick me out, then. A fitting punishment for letting you all down so harshly.”
This dude obviously didn’t get sarcasm.
“I think we’ll do just that,” he said. Then he motioned to one of his buddies, who came up to me, fists raised, and punched me out.
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Sophia, Sunday, 5:17
Hospital Room 606
I looked down at my brother, sleeping on a white hospital gurney. His face was scratched and bruised, and his black, mangled hair was sticking to his forehead, padded down in a light layer of salty perspiration. His skin was a shade paler than normal, and he looked like crap.
But still, it was him. Of that I had no doubt. The freckles on his right hand were still there. His eyes, when opened, were still the same shade of steely grey.
He just didn’t have his memories. When we first saw him, semi-conscious, he didn’t even recognize us. When we called his name in relief, it didn’t even occur to him that we were calling his name. His head didn’t turn, he didn’t flinch, and there was no spark of acknowledgement in his expression when he saw us, like there should have been.
Head Trauma, they had said. He had ‘mild amnesia’. The doctor’s words, not my own, and they didn’t seem to fit him. It didn’t seem to make sense that my brother, my always perfect, sarcastic, cynical, annoying brother was mentally crippled to the point where he didn’t even recognize me, his twin. We looked nothing alike, of course. My mother had said jokingly once that we were exact opposites, like the devil and the angel. While he was dark in hair color and dull in his eyes, my hair was a bright shade of feathery blonde, and my warm sea-blue eyes nothing like his own. When he went out in the sun, he tanned. I burned. While he was all muscle and brute force when it came to sports, I was graceful and soft in ballet. He was judgmental, observant, sardonic, angry, outgoing and funny, with a heart of gold. I was shy, wide-eyed, quiet, calm, practical, and level headed with, as my mom said, “a spirit that would entrance and captivate even the most introverted of humanity.”
In short, he had always been the protector, and I, the protecteé.
I felt oddly out of place hovering over his weak, battered body. It wasn’t actually as bad as it looked. The doctors said that there was no internal bleeding, organ damage, etc., etc. I hadn’t really listened to them when they talked about it. The words held no ounce of reassurance to me; I had to sit, and wait to see things for myself.
So here I was, seeing, and quite disappointed at that. He had been in the hospital for two days, and had only woken up once for a few minutes, under a doctor’s care. Or maybe ‘woken up’ wasn’t the best way to phrase it. More like, regained consciousness. I could tell by the way he was breathing that he wasn’t really sleeping. The breathing came slowly, but not deeply. I could hear each shallow intake of air like the ticking of a clock. In fact, when I looked, his breathing pattern almost matched it, catching pace with the slow tick tick every ten seconds or so.
For a while I was so focused on the second hand of the clock, that I didn’t notice when the breathing came more regular and quiet. Like he was trying his best not to disturb me.
And sure enough, when I turned around, there he was. His big, fuzzy grey eyes staring up at me with a thick sort of recognition.
“You’re my sister, right?”
I rolled my eyes and smiled. He seemed normal to me. Maybe the amnesia was only temporary. “Duh.”
“No, seriously,” his eyebrows furrowed together, like he was trying his hardest to remember the answers to a test. Maybe that’s what this felt like to him now, who knew? “I’m really not sure… I think the doctors showed me a picture of your… I mean, our family. He said you were my twin…”
He looked up at me again, his eyes asking for a confirmation.
“Um, yeah…” I started, suddenly unsure. He seemed so distant, so strange now. “That’s me, all right.”
“Yeah.. um, Sophia, right?”
“Yeah.”
For a minute or so after that, it was silent. I realized suddenly that I probably should have called the nurses in to tell them he was awake. But I hadn’t really talked to him in days, and I didn’t want to add to that count. I figured a few minutes more of alone time wouldn’t hurt.
Andy propped himself up higher on his elbows, scooting back into a more comfortable sitting position. I felt an echo of pain as he winced, something obviously hurting him.
“Careful,” I half-warned, half whispered.
He shifted a little bit, then through me off with a smile so Andy that I couldn’t help but smile back.
“I am.”
“Yeah, well you weren’t being so careful when you fell off that cliff,” I scorned. I usually wasn’t like this around other people, but my brother rubbed off on me. Or maybe I was making up for what he seemed to be lacking at the moment.
It was meant as an ice-breaker, but it had the opposite effect. He just looked all sullen and forlorn and said, “I know.” He seemed guilty, and as usual, it had an echoing effect on me.
“I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have.”
“’s Fine,” he mumbled.
His stare was empty as his eyes flickered to a picture across the wall, just a random canvas with strokes of fiery colors, the type of generic painting found in hotels and fancy businesses.
“So, I was wondering…” I hesitated, unsure of the correct way to ask.
“What happened? Do I remember anything?” He was looking at me again, and his face was hard and depressed. “I really, truly do not know. I don’t even know if I ever will. Not even a flicker of an image popped into my head when the doctors asked me that same question when I was conscious god knows how long ago. I barely even know what’s going on now, let alone what happened then. All I know is that I have amnesia, obviously, fell off a cliff, and am sore as hell.”
I looked away from his penetrating, accusatory gaze.
“Well, I guess I can’t tell you much more than that…”
His look hardened, pleading. “Can’t you? Nothing? What about me, who am I? You have no idea how much this fricken’ sucks not to know anything. I don’t even know the basics, like, my favorite ice cream flavor, or my favorite book… If I even read.”
“Your favorite ice cream is strawberry,” I stated. “You do read, and your favorite book is a cross between The DaVinci Code and The Catcher in the Rye, although you would never tell anyone you read, because you’re too ‘macho’ for that crap. You don’t generally listen to music, you’re a linebacker in football, you’ve had three previous girlfriends, but at the moment you’re single. You say you want to become a professional football player, but everyone knows that your too good at math for you to do anything outside that field. You love dogs, kids, and banana‘s, you were afraid of the dark up until you were eleven, you collect grey rocks, and you hide a ragged stuffed animal under your bed for protection, although you would never ever admit to that. I‘m not even supposed to know.” I spat out facts about his life, without pausing to take a breath. “Anything else you want to know?”
He frowned. “Of course. Everything. But at the moment I’m a bit put down by the fact that my sister knows more about myself than I do…”
“Well, your amnesia is only temporary. It will all come back eventually.”
He hesitated, unwilling to take my reassurance. At the same time, the nurse came in to check on things. The short, middle-aged tan woman’s eye’s opened wide in surprise when she saw that Andy was awake.
She gave me a stern look, “Hun, why didn’t you buzz us in?”
I deliberated for a moment, the decided to go with the truth. “I just wanted a few minutes alone to talk to my brother.”
She deliberated this for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave now. Your parents are waiting for you outside, and it’s time to run some more tests on your brother here.” She smiled at Andy reassuringly, tapping his IV tube with a knowing look.
“I… guess I’ll just go then. See you later, Andy.” I half-waved goodbye to him, and then left my brother alone, confused, and by the looks of it, quite depressed.
He half-smiled back, and I walked out to the waiting room, where my little sister, Katie, was nodding off against the head of one of the chairs. Her little blonde head bobbed up when I came in.
My mom, Clarice, had a bag slung over her shoulder, her thick black hair hanging in ringlets down her back. She was beautiful, in a graceful, tired sort of way. She looked up placidly as I walked over to where she and my tall-blonde-and-handsome dad were waiting. To onlookers, we would look like some kind of family from the movies. On the outside, we looked rich, beautiful, and happy. In reality, though, we were tired, lonesome, and a bit on edge.
“Hey, honey. How’s he doing?” My mom asked, her voice strained from worry.
I hesitated before saying, “He’s awake.”
Katie, full of seven years of cuteness, perked up instantly. “Can we see him? Mum?”
My mom looked a bit shocked at the news. Before she could say anything, I interrupted, “The nurse said we had to leave him alone. He still can’t remember anything, and she thought we might overwhelm him”
Ok, not true. In fact, they could probably go and see him if they wanted to, but I didn’t think he could handle them. I thought that they would overwhelm him. I was trying my best to help him, and I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that he really couldn’t withstand the onslaught awaiting him from our family.
My dad, silent up until now, agreed. “She’s right. He must be incredibly confused. We might as well stick with our plans and go home; I’m sure he’ll be awake tomorrow.”
My mom sullenly agreed, and my sister pouted in defiance.
“But I want to see my bwather!” she pouted, reverting back to her r and w speech impediment, something my parents had spent hundreds of dollars on trying to fix.
“B-RO-ther, honey,” my mom chastised lightly, which made my sister pout even more.
“Well, I’m going out to the car. You guys come whenever you’re ready.” I walked out, and my family followed reluctantly behind. I was in a rush to get out of the hospital, now that I knew my brother was okay, at least in theory. This place smelt like canned green beans and old people, not the most pleasant combination.
My dad caught up with me, and we walked in pace until we got to the elevator. I pushed the down arrow, then leaned tiredly against the wall.
“So, how was he?”
“Fine. He still doesn’t remember anyone, and he’s really confused. But he acts like himself, which I suppose is a good thing.”
My dad grunted, not altogether reassured.
The elevator pinged as my mother and sister caught up, going more slowly and sullenly. We huddled in the compact space, and I ignored the ball welling up in my chest, the familiar sensation that reared its ugly head every time I was in an enclosed, compact space. My mom noticed my suddenly rigid stance, and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
It didn’t help, but the gesture was nice. I held my breath as the floor numbers decreased. 7...6...5...4...3...2... At the last stop, the doors opened, and I nearly threw myself out, anxious to be able to breath again. One more thing to add to the list of things that differed between my brother and I: I was claustrophobic, while he was agoraphobic. He, however, had grown out of his irrational fear. He had needed to, in order to play football. But even that wasn’t so bad, since there were so many people on the field that he ended up getting totally surrounded regardless…
Breathe, I told myself. I waited near the entrance of the hospital, paying no mind to the clean, white walls, or the pale people being wheeled about. My mom signed out at the front desk, and we left.
As long as I sat near a window, the car didn’t bother me. I occupied myself by mentally re-running my chat with Andy over and over in my head. The more I thought about it, really, the more off he seemed to be. And not just, I-can’t-remember-anything off, but there was something about him that was different. Like he was Andy, but not quite. Like an imperfect copy. The change itself was barely perceptible, and I couldn’t quite put a finger on it. But my gut was telling me that something else happened on that cliff, something that made him not him.
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Andy, Sunday, 5:30
Driving
Two days into this, and I was starting to really, really, regret my big, fat, sarcastic mouth. This was the only time I’ve ever wished I was more like my sister, Sophia. She knew how to control what she was saying. She was smart, sharp, and clever, and could have probably figured a way out of this. Sure, she’s shy and quiet, but I swear to god I would have given anything to have gotten her set of DNA. For once I wished I was the angel, not the ‘devil’ as my mom has oh-so-jokingly called me.
Where am I? In the back trunk of a freaking car. Yeah, that’s right. Not only is it terribly cliché, but incredibly uncomfortable. And cramped.
Thinking of it now, I probably wouldn’t have traded places with my sister. Claustrophobia sucks, you know?
After that dude knocked me out, I spent another day in that closet, my nose throbbing and bleeding. It felt like someone had stuck a leech on my face and stabbed it open. Weird, I know, but a fairly accurate description of what a broken nose feels like.
So, twenty-four hours spent listening to the news and them trying to figure out what to do with me. They spewed out the general schemes: Kill him (in various different ways), drug him, give him back (that guy had gotten a nice thump on the head for his genius scheme). I had been long past caring, of course. Slightly malnourished, thirsty, and sore, I dozed in and out of a beaten stupor. When I was alert, I listened to the news and anything in the way of an update on my case. Unfortunately, it seems that "a boy found" has nothing on "a boy lost" in the news industry. I had only heard my name in passing saying that I was in stable condition. I thought about my broken nose and snorted at this absurdity, making it throb. The real me was hardly stable.
My ‘nappers finally decided that they didn’t want to keep me any longer. They figured that if they drove awhile and found a good spot, they could abandon me and let nature take it’s course.
Hence why I am inside this car in the freaking first place. I silently thanked God that it was a slightly larger SUV, instead of one of those tiny cars you always see in movies.
I was bound and gagged, of course. These guys were nothing if not thorough. I wondered placidly as I was thrown from side to side where they would be taking me. Something inside me screamed the forest. The lush, thick, nasty forest. To be sure, there was plenty of that around here. Being early spring, the leaves were a fresh coat of green, and random flowers were blooming all over the place. But that’s what sucked; the more vegetation, the less I would be able to see, and the less chance I had of actually making it out alive. Oh, joy.
How much time had passed? We had been on the road for what I assumed was about twelve hours. They stopped once for gas, but that was it. Nothing, nada, zilch after that. Just constant cruising over occasional bumps that tossed me towards the other end of the car. I was sure by now I had some nasty bruises going on.
I couldn’t even do anything to pass the time. Sure, I could think, but I had without a doubt done enough of that over the past… what was it? Four, five days?
So I sat there numbly, just waiting, listening, and hurting. Hurting, oh so bad.
It wasn’t until I woke up that I realized I had fallen asleep. Asleep! Imagine that. I wasn’t sure how I managed it, but I did. It was restful, even. Until they opened the trunk and let in all that unwanted daylight. For a moment, I remained motionless, blinking off the terribly bright light spilling in.
As I was ridding my field of vision from sun spots, a man grabbed me by the shirt collar and dragged me out, choking me in the process. I gagged when he put me out onto the dusty dirt road and wheezed a bit, somewhat put off by the space surrounding me.
I was alone, in the middle of nowhere- and I mean that in the literal sense. Besides the dirt road, there was no sign of human habitation anywhere near here. The trees and bushes and crap all around me were absurdly overgrown, and I could almost feel the mosquitoes that were surely camping out in the underbrush, eyeing me hungrily.
The man who took me out didn’t even bother to talk to me. Not that I minded- I didn‘t have much to say. Instead, he walked back off into his car and drove away, leaving a cloud of dirt and sand in its wake.
Alone. Alone. In a relatively wide open space. Alone.
I started to hyperventilate a little, that long forgotten fear creeping up on me, clutching my chest tightly, clamping my lungs together as a ball formed in my throat. I closed my eyes, trying my best to ward off this ridiculous fear. It’s just an open space, just an open space… It’s not even that open, really. There’s so much plant life around… C’mon, seriously!
I tried desperately to get myself under control. After all that had occurred to me in the past few days, it was stupid to lose my cool over big spaces. My eyes still closed, I pictured myself back in the small confines of the car, safe, surrounded by walls no more than two feet away.
As much as I didn't wan't to be back in the car, imagining any sort of confinement was a good thing. Slowly, I relaxed. It must have been ten minutes before I allowed myself to open my eyes , afraid that my panic attack would start all over again.
When I did open my eyes, it wasn’t so bad. I pulled myself together, then rolled onto my side, my hands and feet still bound tightly together, and my mouth still taped shut.
I needed to find a way to get out of these bindings. Do that, and I had a much better chance of survival. I would be able to walk along the road until I found someone who might be able to help. Someone who could take me home.
Hands first. I shimmied them a little, and maneuvered them so that I could try and pull on the ropes, but it was no use. My best bet was probably to find a rock of some sort, sharp enough to break the rope. I would have to roll around to find it though, since I couldn’t use my feet. I rolled my eyes. Great. Just fantastic. I was vainly glad that there was no one around to see. What a show that would be.
I rocked side to side first, so that I could gain momentum. I aimed for a cluster of trees just off to my right, then went off, rolling slowly but surely.
It was awkward, of that there was no doubt. I could slowly feel the ropes digging into my skin as I jerked myself around. As I looked down at my ankles, I could see they were already starting to turn an angry red color, the skin rubbed raw.
But I made it, ultimately, then started to scope around for a sharp rock or stick of some sort. Hell, maybe a friendly beaver would come along and friggen chew the thing off. Whatever worked.
As luck would have it, I found a medium-sized rock half-buried in the ground that seemed sharp enough at one point to cut the ropes. I let out a mental cry of triumph, then sat with my back to it, arms out, trying to position myself just right.
I felt around a bit until I found the sharp point to the rock, and shifted so that the stretch of rope between my wrists was up against it.
Then, I started sawing. At first, it was in slow, unsure movements, but as I got the hang of it I was able to move my wrists back and forth more rapidly. I could feel the rope heating up, which I hoped was a good sign.
I kept at it for minutes more, until my wrist shifted the wrong way, and got cut painfully on the rock. The tape over my mouth muffled my scream, but the stinging brought tears to my eyes. I could tell without even looking at it that it was oozing blood, and it felt like the cut ran along my vein. Shit.
I thought franticly of what to do. I would need to stop the bleeding somehow, but I would need my hands for that. I reluctantly glanced back, to see the extent of the damage and how much of the rope had been cut.
I had been right. The cut did go right along my vein, and I winced as my movement rubbed more rope against the wound. But it seemed that the rope had, in fact, been cut nearly halfway. If only I hadn’t cut myself, I could have been free in no time.
Think fast, think fast, I told myself. Blood was starting too pool beneath my hands, drenching the grass and dandelions clustered there, streaking down the sides of the grey rock, staining everything a dark shade of crimson. I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t think I could chance cutting it against the rock any more, not without cutting myself again.
Finally, dizzy and frantic, I got to my knees and pulled, straining my hands apart from each other in a near-desperate attempt to…
Snap!
It worked! I could feel my hands moving separately, away from each other, my right hand, the whole one, coming around to my lap. I kept my left hand behind me, not wanting to see the blood, or get it all over me. I was enough of a wreck without having to look like I had just committed a murder.
Now all I had to do was find something to wrap around my hand. The first thing that came to mind was my shirt, and after some hesitation I took it off, trying to work around my injured hand. I knew the smart thing would be to rip it into strips, but I didn’t have the time. I really needed to stop the bleeding, now.
I took the dirty ball of cloth in my fist and pushed it against my left wrist in relief. I was topless now, but it wasn’t like there was anyone to see me. I was thankful that the weather was nice, and not as cold as it had been just a few weeks ago.
The dirt and stiff sweat caked on my shirt made the wound sting a little, and somewhere in the back corner of my mind I worried about an infection. But no, no… I couldn’t think about that now. There wasn’t any point, anyways. It’s not like I could do anything about it at the moment, so instead, after ripping the tape off my mouth, I preoccupied myself with untying my feet. It was hard to do with only one hand, as the other hand was clutched bleeding against my chest, but I succeeded none-the-less. Being able to actually breath through my mouth helped as well. Bruised, tired, and bloody, I was finally free. The only thing I had to worry about now was finding my way out of these endless woods.
