Doppelganger

DOPPELGANGER

I heard a scream, a screeching of brakes, voices that were yelling in alarm, but dulled by the throbbing in my ears, then I knew no more. The yellow sedan that had hit me as I crossed the street finally came to a halt over my prostrate form.

It was later, much later, when I finally awoke. I was drowsy, but all things considered, I didn’t feel too bad. I reached my hand up to my throbbing head and felt the bandages that were there. I was laying on a bed, above me I could see a whitewashed ceiling and fluorescent lights that were unusually dull. I felt the crispness of the sheets and glanced around me with melancholy interest. I was in some kind of hospital ward. There was an empty white bed beside me and two across the room. One of these was empty, but an elderly lady lay asleep in the other. The walls were whitewashed like the ceiling.

I returned my attention to the elderly lady. She was typical of her type. Her grey head lay at rest upon the pillow. She would have been seventy or eighty I suppose. There was something vaguely familiar about her.

I thought back to the accident for I clearly remembered what had brought me here. I had been crossing Elizabeth Street on my way to the Royal Arcade. I had been in a hurry to pick up something for my wife.

I looked across again at the old lady. She was starting to stir. “Hello,” I said when I saw her open her eyes and look across at me. “Broken leg, I see.” I looked pointedly at the leg that was in plaster and raised above the covers.

“Courtesy of a fall, I’m afraid. I was lucky. I tripped and fell down a full flight of stairs. Could have been killed.” She spoke clearly and steadily. “Clumsy. Comes to us all in the end young man.”

I stared at her for a moment. “My grandmother died after falling down a set of stairs.”

“Did she my dear?”

“Yes. About ten years ago.” I paused for a moment and then continued. “What date is it?”

“It’s the sixteenth of January dear.”

Of course it was. If I had been out for twenty-four hours that would be right. Another thought occurred to me. “The year,” I said desperately. “What is the year?”

“2012.” I could see the concern on her face.

That was okay too. She looked at me closely. “Are you sure you are okay? You must have had a nasty knock to the head.”

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just…It’s just that you are so like my grandmother. I’m a little confused.”

“I think you are dear. My name is Barbara,” she continued. I started. That was my grandmother’s name too. “Barbara Cotter,” she finished.

I stared at her. Was she having some grisly game with me? “When were you born?” I asked.

“Now, that is a bit forward of you, but I’ve never been one that was coy about one’s own details. I was born in Gisborne. January 21, 1935.”

This was more than coincidence. Something strange was happening here. “Did you have a daughter?” I asked.

“Why, yes dear. How kind of you to ask. I have only one child. A daughter.”

“Is her name Samantha?”

The old lady looked at me queerly, and for the first time with suspicion. “Now how would you know that? Who are you?”

“I don’t know,” I lied, laying back on the pillow. I felt nauseous. “My mother’s name is Samantha.”

“Samantha has three children. All girls. Grown up now.” She looked wistful remembering her grandchildren.

I thought back. I had two sisters. Mum had lost a daughter in infancy. Strange coincidences.

The nurse came then and fussed around me. “You seem quite well,” she said. “You may be able to go home tonight. I’ll get the doctor to come and see you. Would you like to call anyone?”

Of course. Jennifer must be worried sick. “Can I call home?”

“Yes. I’ll have a phone brought in.”

A little later the phone came. One of those old fashioned ones with the dial that you turned. I hadn’t used one for about ten years. I dialled home. “Your number could not be connected…Please check the number and dial again.”

I took more care in dialling. Again the same response. This was crazy. What was going on? Again I tried and again I failed. I put the receiver down and lent back in frustration. Jennifer would be very worried. Her mobile…of course. I dialled again. This time it rang.

“Hello. This is Jennifer.”

At last. “Jen, it’s me. I’ve been in an accident, but I’m okay. I’m at the Alfred.”

There was silence. Then…

“Who is this?”

“Jen, it’s me. Steve.”

“Steve who?”

This was weird. “Steven. Your husband…”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are, or what you are playing at.” There was a resounding click as Jennifer hung up the phone.

When I walked out into the street, after being discharged from the hospital, I felt another momentary wave of nauseousness. I gathered myself together and looked about me. Even though it was just after seven p.m. the sun was still beating down strongly. It wouldn’t be dark until after nine at this time of year. I wandered over to the tram stop as one of those old fashioned trams rattled up. You still saw the old ‘W’ class trams occasionally.

As I sat down in the tram I was able to take stock of my surroundings. There were unusually few people on the tram. Those that were, seemed dressed strangely in old fashioned and rough clothing. Their eyes were lowered, there was a feeling of oppression about them.

I looked out the tram windows as we rattled down the street. The few cars that were about were old and looked in poor condition. Surely, there wasn’t a car that I could see that was manufactured after 1970. Maybe some sort of rally, all the other traffic must have been redirected I thought vaguely.

After the tram ride of twenty five minutes or so, I alighted at the corner of Swanston and Burke. I turned left down Burke Street towards the apartment I shared with Jen. Here too, the streets were unusually empty. What the hell was going on? Rubbish lay about the street, all the shops were closed. The windows shuttered. Most of them had bars on them. I had never seen bars on the shops in Bourke Street before.

I wandered dazedly down the street and eventually stopped at the building that housed our apartment. If it was our building. It wasn’t even the same colour as it was yesterday. It was the right address, though the brass numbers that were on the cream pillar yesterday, were now replaced by white roughly painted numbers on the metallic grey pillar.

I went inside to be greeted by an unfamiliar concrete floor and a flight of concrete steps leading to the upper levels. A bare light globe shed a little light on the shabby exterior. Where was the clean marble floor and shining lift that made up our foyer?

I ran up the stairs to the fourth floor, all the time experiencing the same dour concrete surroundings. I got to my door and tried to insert my key. It wouldn’t go in. Not surprising really, considering everything else that had happened. I knocked loudly on the door, the noise reverberating around the hall.

The door opened a little way, the security chain still attached and a woman’s face looked out at me.

“What do you want?” It was Jen. It was her voice, yet…it wasn’t. She looked terrible. Her scared face looked out at me. “What do you want?” she repeated.

I turned away from the door. This wasn’t my Jen. She wasn’t even wearing the heart shaped locket around her neck that I had given her for her last birthday.

What could I do? Where could I go? I had to stop and think a bit. I wandered down the street and turned down an alleyway. The bar that Jen and I went to occasionally was in its familiar spot, squeezed between two low rise buildings. I went through the door and into the dingy interior. This too was not as it was in my world. The lighting was dull, the air full of cigarette smoke, though there were few people sitting at the booths.

The barman, a young fellow with a beard, dour look, and a blue and white chequered flannelette shirt, looked at me non-comprehendingly as I passed across my credit card. No plastic fantastic in this world obviously. I removed some coins from my wallet, vaguely worrying about the effigy of Queen Elizabeth, but apparently she was queen here as well.

I sat down in a corner booth in a dark corner and took a mediative sip of my drink. I looked around the bar. There were five others. Two girls and three guys. They looked and dressed like those I had already seen on the tram. None of the casual business suits or bohemian style artist clothing that I was used to seeing here, whenever I came with Jen.

It seemed impossible, but my world had changed in the twenty four hours that had passed whilst I had lain in that hospital ward. Perhaps somehow I had awoken in another world. Everything I had seen was drab, grey and depressed – the people, the buildings, the weather – everything.

A sudden thought occurred to me. I wondered if I was in the phone book. I jumped up and hurried over to the barman who directed me to the booth. I ignored the old fashioned phone and picked up the phone book and carried it back to my seat.

I went straight to my name, Steven Anderson. There were other Anderson’s, but no Steven. The elderly lady from the hospital ward was listed. Was she my grandmother? What about friends? Neil Thomson? No, he wasn’t there. David Barker? No. Elizabeth Forster? Yes, she was there! I rushed back to the phone booth. I put some money in the slot and quickly dialled. After two rings I heard Bess’ familiar voice.

Elizabeth and I had gone to Melbourne University together. At one stage we had been more than friends. I had often wondered what life would have been like if I had married Elizabeth instead of Jessica.

“Hello.”

“Hello Elizabeth. It’s Steven. Steve Anderson. You probably don’t know me, but…”

“Oh Steve. Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

“Huh…” Her reaction caught me by surprise. “I ummm…”

“Where are you?” Her voice sounded concerned. I gave the name of the bar.

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

I returned to my seat. Five minutes later Elizabeth hurried into the bar. She wore army fatigues and a knitted black top and her hair style was strange, but the long blonde hair was unmistakeable. She saw me immediately and hurried over. I stood up to greet her and extended my hand, but she brushed that aside and kissed me. Clearly in this place Elizabeth and I were still friends.

We sat down opposite each other and she clasped my hands. The heart shaped locket that I thought I had given Jessica dangled around her neck…