Doppelganger

There are things that really freak me out.  Listening to someone tell an urban legend when I live in lower Manhattan is guaranteed to give me the willies.  I live alone and so it is easy to rattle my cage, especially since I am a timid sort to begin with.  My name is Alex Weedly and I am a junior executive at an imaging company known as Scott’s Solutions.  I make enough to comfortably afford a loft apartment near the Chelsea Hotel.  

I am telling you this so you will understand my trepidation about something that has been happening to me from time to time.  When I first saw him, he was sitting alone at Chimmy’s Bistro on 24th Avenue.  Having just opened a few months ago,  I had gone there a few times for lunch since it is close to my apartment. Seeing him sitting there was just as if I was looking into a mirror at my own reflection. 

There he was reading the newspaper as a refreshing breeze blew down the street. He even had some of my quirky mannerisms as he sipped his tea, the same Earl Gray Tea I have every evening after a hard day at the office. 

His horned rimmed glasses traveled to the end of his nose where he would push them back with his thumb without even thinking about it just like I would have.  And then he’d crinkle his nose as he pushed them back.  He even had his right leg crossed over his left at the knee just as I would have if I were sitting there.  

I could swear he had raided my wardrobe as he was wearing an open collared shirt with a college sweatshirt over it.  Completing this mirror image, I noticed, like me, he was wearing a pair of Sketchers with no socks. Glancing at my feet, I saw I too was wearing the same.  

With an empty plate in front of him, I got this strangest feeling that I was looking at myself sitting at the table.  A surrealistic feeling came over me as I watched him sitting there.  I decided I’d better be on my way before he noticed that I was staring at him from the sidewalk. 

“Sir!” I heard someone call out.

I did not turn around until I heard it again. 

“Sir!” It was one of the waitresses following me. 

“Yes.” I was confused as to why she was following me. 

“You forgot to pay your bill.” She put the bill in front of me.

“Miss, I did not eat here.” I was flabbergasted. 

“Sir, I served you.” Her cheeks flushed. 

“What did I have?” I asked, looking at the tab, pushing my glasses back with my thumb. 

“A Reuben sandwich.” She pointed to it on the bill. 

“It is my favorite, but I assure you I did not eat here.” I shook my head. 

“Oh miss.” My doppelganger raised his hand, “May I have my tab, please.”  

He did not turn his head or notice me standing there with the waitress.  She had a bewildered expression on her face as she turned to see him with his hand raised. With cheeks now crimson, she said, “I am so sorry.  It’s just-”

“We look very much alike?” I filled in the void. 

“Yes, you do look very much like him.” She began to walk toward my doppelganger who still had his hand raised.

Frozen in the moment by the happenstance, I locked eyes with my doppelganger. 

His face seemed as startled as my own.

“What is your name?” He asked as he took the tab from the waitress.

“Alex Weedly.” I answered, swallowing hard.  

“That’s my name, too.” He shook his head.  A cold chill ran down my spine as he said this.

“This is quite a coincidence.” I managed to say as my throat went dry.

“Are you a senior executive at Collins Imaging Inc.?” He asked putting down his card for the waitress to run through the machine. 

“No, I am at Scott’s Solutions…” My voice disappeared as I spoke.

“That’s not possible.” He coughed.

“Why not?” I shrugged.

“Because Scott’s Solutions no longer exists.” His eyes narrowed. “Is this some kind of joke?  Who sent you to prank me?”

“No one.” I shook my head.

“I used to work at Scott’s Solutions.” He replied as he tucked his plastic card into his wallet. 

“So how often do you come here to Chimmy’s Bistro?” I pointed to the sign over the door.

“It’s one of my favorite places to grab a quick bite to eat.  I’ve been coming here for over ten years.” He smiled.

“That’s impossible, it just opened a couple of months ago.” I shook my head.  This conversation was leaving me with a weird feeling in my stomach.

When I was young, before my father passed away, he would get a kick out of telling me stories of strange happenings in the lower regions of the city.  I never had the nerve to tell him that I didn’t like these stories, but he worked in the bowels of the city as a sanitation worker where they would find discarded reptilian pets with rows of sharp teeth.  To me, his world was one of darkness and nightmares that would leave me with the funny feeling in the pit of my stomach as I was feeling now conversing with Alex Weedly or my doppelganger. 

The one thing that was constant, the one thing I felt I could count on was time, but for some reason as I stood talking to Alex, I felt its fluidity like an ocean wave cresting over me leaving me where I would lose all control.  

“Where do you live?” He asked me.

“At the Crestwell Arms.” I answered feeling quite proud of my village roots.  This was my home and there was nothing he could say or do that would change that fact. 

“Crestwell Arms?  My God they tore that eyesore down a decade ago.  The plumbing was shot and all of the electrical outlets were suspect.” He laughed as we walked together.

“What are you talking about? It’s right over there.” I pointed, but to my amazement the velvet sign with gold shimmery letters was gone and in its place a sign that read “Overture Heights.” 

“That’s where I live.” He nodded.

“What happened?  Where is my apartment?” I stammered. 

“You are looking pretty pale.  How about we sit on this bench?” He held out his arm.  Suddenly I did not feel so good.  It was a warm twilight, so I sat down and held my knees. “Are you going to be alright?” 

“I think so.” I took a deep breath.  The city smelled like a burning cigarette to me at that moment, but I began to feel better. “This morning, I woke up and felt just fine, but after talking to you, I’m not so sure.  I’m not so sure about anything.  What day is tomorrow?”

He looked at me as if I had just landed from outer space, “Tuesday.” 

“Well at least I am not going totally crazy.” I chuckled.

“There are a lot of strange things in this world.  When I saw you, I knew that I was not seeing things.  I have seen you before.  I have heard stories about doppelgangers and I figured that I had found mine.  Don’t be freaked out.” His voice was soothing and calming. Perhaps he was right.

“But you have the same name as I do.” I suddenly remembered that chilling oddity. 

“Alex Weedly is a common name.” He assured me.

“It is?  I have never met anyone outside my family that had that name.” I pointed out.

“Just another coincidence, right?” He nodded.

“I suppose.” I shrugged.

“Well then, let’s just admit to that.” He tilted his head, “I need to be getting on home.  My wife will have dinner waiting for me.” 

“You’re married?” I was startled.

“Are you?” He asked with a smile.

“No, I’ve never found the right one to be honest.” I sighed.

“One day you will.” He stood up and walked across the street to the Overture Heights.  It looked like a swank newly renovated apartment complex.  

I don’t know how long I slept on that bench, but a cold draft woke me.  Blinking my eyes open, I saw the velvet sign with the gold lettering “Crestwell Arms.” 

Once again my stomach flipped.

It wasn’t there when I was talking to Alex, but now here it was.

Slowly I walked across the street.  Raising my eyes, I saw the gold letters, noticing how there were folds and holes in the letters that I had never noticed before.

“Hey Alex.” Mr. Popolopolis greeted me as he stubbed out his cigar before walking in the door.  A few weeks ago, the owner, Mr. Georgalise decided to make the apartments a “no smoking” place. I didn’t smoke, so this change had little effect on me, but for Mr. Popolopolis, who enjoyed a cigar on his evening walks, had to make sure his stoggy was out before entering the lobby.  The sweet aroma from his cigar still trailed him as he walked into the lobby. 

“How are you, Mr. Popolopolis?” I asked, feeling much better now that I could go home to my apartment at the Crestwell Arms. 

“I have this feeling something bad is going to happen tomorrow.” He rubbed his neck with his hand.

“Any idea?” I asked knowing that his premonitions could sometimes be more accurate than the weather forecasts on television. 

“Nope.” He shook his head, “You know back in the old country, my nana would have these visions that would come true.  Sometimes I get them, but not as clearly as she would get them.  I could not seem to focus on my premonition.” 

“It’s okay. Maybe it won’t come to pass.” I assured him as I walked into my empty apartment.  My loft was quite spacious considering it had one occupant, me.  I did not have a lot of furniture, but I had a great view of the village.  

There was a voicemail on my machine and when I pressed the button, Mr. Huston's voice sounded, “Hey Alex, just checking in with you.  We have a big day tomorrow and I want you to be ready to pitch out ideas for our new client.  I know you will knock ‘em dead, kiddo.” 

I sometimes hated the way he interjected himself into my life during the off hours when I was supposed to be relaxing.  He seemed to think he owned me sometimes, but then I had never returned any of the salary I had deposited in my account.

I turned on the television to some loud game show and turned it off after a few glaring minutes of utter hysteria. 

I was restless.  Meeting Alex had unsettled me.  Something had unnerved me when he talked about Scott’s Solutions and the Crestwell Arms not being in existence anymore.  It was almost as if I no longer existed. 

My alarm went off.  I was not even aware I had fallen asleep on the couch.  I have been doing that more and more lately.  My life did not seem to have any flavor in it any longer. Sleep, wake, take a shower, drink some rancid coffee, take the subway to work, come home and fall asleep on my ratty old couch, this seemed to be my whole life, my whole existence lately. Maybe Mr. Popolopolis’ premonition needed to happen, something, anything to wake me from my predetermined life.  

“Hey Mr. Weebly, how’s it hanging?” Ed our doorman and nephew to Mr. Georgalise asked as he opened the door for me.

“Fine, fine.” I answered as I walked out the door to the sidewalk.

“You have a swell day, ya hear?” He called after me.  I waved as I walked to the subway station.  It was a lovely calm early autumn day, the kind of day that New Yorkers lived for with the crystal blue skies and fluffy billowed clouds with a breeze with a hint of the coming change of season. 

I stopped dead in my tracks.  There he was walking on the other side of the street.  As much as I had told myself he was nothing but a figment of my imagination, there he was, in the flesh, as real as the pedestrians he was walking with.  I was grateful I was able to duck into the subway to avoid any further contact with my doppelganger.

Premonition.  

I could feel something bad was going to happen.  I couldn’t seem to shake it.  Closing my eyes when I got on the subway to lower Manhattan, I could not shake the image of Mr. Popolopolis’s face as he told me of his premonition. 

“What do you think about that new tax on sundry items the mayor is proposing?” I heard a fellow passenger say to the person sitting next to him.

“Them politicians are all alike.  Always after your money.” The woman next to him waved her hand.

Premonition.

Something bad.  

The car swayed as we picked up speed. 

Nothing out of the ordinary.

I was ready for our ten o’clock meeting with our client.  Mr. Huston had nothing to worry about.  I had my ducks in a row.

I got off at Liberty Street in lower Manhattan and began walking to my office.

There he was again.

“I am here to help you.” He said without emotion.

“Help me?” I was stunned by his sudden presence.

“Yes.  I had a dream last night and it seems to be coming true.” He grabbed my arm.

“What are you doing?  Let me go or I will call the police.” I tried to wrench my arm free of his grip.  

“If you go to your office this morning, you will not return home.” He began pulling me away from the entrance to the building where my office was.

“What are you talking about?” I was flummoxed by his rude behavior.

“You must trust me, the sooner we get away from here, the better off we will be.” He forced me into a cab.

“Crestwell Arms.” He said to the cabbie. 

“Are you kidnapping me?” I was kicking my feet trying to get myself free.

“Hey buddy, quit kicking the seat, woulda.” The cabbie growled. 

“We don’t have much time.” 

The cabbie forced himself into the morning traffic.

“Let me go.” I demanded.

“In due time, Alex.” He insisted.

After we had managed to get a few blocks away, I heard a deafening bang.

“What was that?” I asked, turning my head.

Smoke was everywhere. 

“Holy mackerel, what the heck was that!” The cabbie flinched. 

“Scott’s Solutions is on the one hundred fifth story of the south tower of the World Trade Center.” Alex, my doppelganger informed me, “No one survived from your office. It was my duty to save you from this disaster.”  

“How did…” I could not finish my question as I watched people running from the south tower.

“We got a bottleneck for sure.” The cabbie sighed. 

“Just let me off here.” My doppelganger pointed.  The cabbie stopped as he opened the door and joined the crowd fleeing from the mayhem.  

I never talked to him again.  

I can only testify that if he hadn’t stopped me from entering that building, I would have been one of the victims of that awful day.  

A few months later I got on this dating site and got married a year later.  Sure enough Mr. Georgalise closed the Crestwell Arms when he collected an offer for his place to a developer.  My wife and I moved into the Overture right after it opened.

Every now and then, I think I see him in my peripheral, a shadow or a quick glimpse of him on his way to some unknown destination.