Double Vision

A short story by Bohie Blackwood
25/4/2020

Will was ripped awake. His mind immediately recoiled, registering the sudden rupture from deep, precious sleep. Someone was shouting. He frowned; eyes still closed. Not yet, he urged. The shouting continued. His eyes stung as he opened them ever so slightly, just one at a time. He lifted up the bottom corner of the curtain by his bed, still raining. The dark clouds made it impossible to tell what time of day it was. He grabbed his watch from the bed side table, squinting to focus on the illuminated screen. 9:30am. He groaned and rolled back over to face the wall, ignoring the outside world.

Will lived on the third floor of a dingy apartment building in the sprawling southern suburbs of London. He worked night shifts, stacking shelves at a supermarket across town, and had only been asleep for two hours. His apartment walls were paper thin. He didn’t know the names of the couple that lived next door, but he knew from the first time he’d heard them that the guy was in pain and the woman was caring for him. They didn’t speak English, and he’d never seen the bloke. The woman shuffles past him in the corridor, eyes always down, never a glance his way. He figured she was embarrassed, or just sad really, and never pushed to engage with her. 

Sometimes he heard others, like the guy who shouts at the game in apartment 307, and someone on the 5th floor that plays the drums in the evenings – but the apartment block’s usually pretty quiet for him when he’s trying to sleep during the day and he’s out of there by 7:30pm, so it’s just when the couple next door start up that he ever really gets bothered. 

The funny thing about the couple next door is, it’s not so much his shouting that gets him. It’s her. She sounds so patient and caring and Will can hear in her voice how much she loves him even though he doesn’t understand her words. He gets this hollow feeling in his stomach and his heart beats real fast and he thinks about his mum. He scrunched the pillow down over his ears, but he knew it was no good. Nothing gets that hollow feeling out once it’s set in. 

Dragging his lanky form to an upright position, he dressed in the same jeans and hoody from the day before and grabbed a granola bar and his jacket on his way out the door. 

When he needed sleep like this and the couple next door started up, Will usually went down to his own secret spot a few blocks away. There was a concrete slab under a freeway overpass that was totally hidden so no one else knew about it. It was right next to a railway line with a scrubby thicket of birch trees and an old dumped washing machine next to it. He had a bare mattress there on the ground and a suitcase full of tattered old books, and he could just loose himself in the noise from the passing trains. He liked thinking about who might be on them, travelling off somewhere important. Like maybe, he thought, there was a group of grieving widows all on their way their one husbands funeral. Or maybe there was a man with a black eye on board who’s catching the train to hospital after spraining his ankle mountain biking. He’d for sure have a beautiful young lady with him, Will thought, wrapping the hurt limb with some dazzling cloth donated by a travelling Moroccan salesman from the next carriage… Will liked this place. It was his place. 

After his shifts, Will always stopped to eat breakfast from the same little café around the corner from his work, Due Fratelli. He enjoyed listening to the old Italian men philosophizing over their coffees and watched the waitress behind the counter who had a round face and a mole on her neck. She never paid him much attention, and he imagined that she had a handsome husband who was a mechanic like his father. One day, Will thought, this husband had been dragged away by the Immigration Police for not having the right Papers and from then on, she received love letters from him from a faraway prison. They’d have to be transcribed, of course, because the husband didn’t know how to read or write… Will always got lost in daydreams like this. His mum used to love his stories, but he didn’t write them down anymore. 

Will didn’t do much of anything anymore. His days blurred into nights in a wearisome reality of work, sleep, work, sleep. Each daily bus ride to and from work was as forgettable as the last. He hadn’t noticed this, of course, until a new guy started at his work, throwing Will’s life into an irreversible spin which felt completely out of his control. 

There wasn’t anything remarkable about that Thursday’s night shift until Will’s headphones ran out of batteries at about 1am. He was replacing crackers in the biscuit isle and could suddenly hear two younger girls in isle 7 chatting about a new guy that had started there a week earlier. They liked him, that was clear, and were sharing what they knew about him as they moved away into isle 8. In the break room, Jose from the delivery dock was telling Sandra about the new guy, over a cup of tea. They didn’t look up when Will entered, which made him feel like he was intruding. He heated up his pasta in the microwave and ate it in the corridor outside, sitting on a milk crate. Will thought he saw the new guy from afar about an hour later, chatting to the “cool” night manager, Steve, but it wasn’t until the end of his next shift that he saw him properly up close. 

When he did, Will almost feinted. The new guy looked exactly like him. 

Same black hair from his Italian side, same hazel eyes that looked just like his mother’s, even the same broken lump at the bridge of his nose. Will reached a hand up to touch the bridge of his own nose really instinctually, thinking back to the accident on the swing set when he was four. Will had always felt that it made him look like a thug. The lump on the new guys nose just made him look sort of dashing, like he’d lived a little. No wonder the girls like him, Will thought with a dizzying confusion. The only difference he could see was that the new guy styled his hair backwards with hair gel. Will ran his hand roughly through unruly locks, imagining them slicked back with scented product and girls smiling at him. He watched the new guy with morbid fascination, animatedly muted through the window of the manager’s office. It was like watching a version of him that he’d always wanted to be; confident, easy going, friendly and attractive. The two blokes chatting to him seemed completely engaged in his every word. Will was rostered on out back in the delivery docks for the rest of the night and didn’t see the new guy again, but he never stopped thinking about him, and about the uncanny likeness between them. 

Will left his shift on edge that night. He was shaken up, he felt small. He instinctually headed for café Due Fratelli, craving a sense of comfort and a bit of his own routine, despite the rain that continued to fall. I must be going crazy, the thought to himself as he walked there in the early dark, there’s no way. By the time he rounded the corner to the café he’d decided he must have imagined the whole thing and resigned to get some more sleep in general. 

But as he crossed the street over to Due Fratelli, Will saw through the window that his double was already there. He slunk slowly back up against the corrugated fence behind him, watching on from the shadows as The Double sat down at his booth, engaging confidently in conversation with his Italian men!

Will had a dull feeling in his stomach - a sense of sheer invisibility like he’d never experienced before. He’d been replaced. 

As hungry as Will was in that moment, his stomach was already full with a great and dissatisfied envy. He watched on for almost an hour while The Double ate and flirted with his pretty waitress. He watched him leave the café and followed him at a distance for the short block to the nearest bus stop; Will’s bus stop. Will was entranced. He couldn’t dare talk to him, he felt like the whole universe would implode. When Will’s bus came, The Double got on and greeted the driver with a smile and a friendly chat. 

The bus drove off in a puff of poisonous fumes, leaving Will feeling breathless under a flickering streetlamp, staring into the deep abyss within. His chest was heaving, his reality was crumbling. 

What the fuck is going on? 
Have I died? 
Am I dead?
Was I ever even fucking born?! 

The streetlight above him flickered out. 

-

On their next shift, Will became obsessed with The Double; watching him through the shelves at work, spying on him at the Due Fratelli. The Double seemed completely at ease in himself. He was attractive to women, helpful, gregarious, and seemingly on first name basis with all the bus drivers. 

Will became dark, drained, frazzled… with a confused sense of self-doubt underpinned by a wild and raw envy. 

He’s got the life I’ve always wanted, he thought, The Double is living my life without anyone even noticing that I’m gone!  

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Instead of sleeping he just paced around his house for hours and hours, questioning his own reflection in the mirror. He began to see himself as an illusion; questioning the crooked lump on the bridge of his nose, the dishevelled hair. He pinched his skin like it was made out of modelling clay, leaving big red marks on his cheekbones. Could his reflection be that easy to replicate? He combed his hair back with some water, trying to style it in the same way that The Double did; slicked back and matched with a devil-may-care attitude. To his surprise, his face instantly brightened, and his posture even seemed to straighten up a little bit. He saw himself differently in that moment, a contorted comprehension suddenly dawned on him. 

If he can copy me, then why can’t I copy him?

His cowlick sprang unceremoniously back out of place and he was brutally reminded of the rotting reality that was himself; invisible, lurker, alone. 

The shadow came back over his eyes. 

It was stupid to even consider it; everyone would see through you in an instant.

He disregarded his own reflection.

The shouting started up again in the next-door apartment, impolitely interrupting his self-obsessed thoughts. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out the front door, pissed off at his neighbour for the very first time. The woman next door was coming out of their apartment with tears on her face at the same time, they almost bumped into each other. Will immediately snapped out of his headspace. He wanted to tell her not to cry, and to ask what was wrong with the bloke, but he stumbled over his words. He gave up trying to say anything and opened the stairway door for her instead. She snuck through quickly, leaving him alone and deeply moved by her situation. His own anger and obsession abated, he put on his jacket against the cold night air and went back in to work. 

That night, The Double wasn’t there. Will looked for him without trying to draw attention to himself, he even asked Sandra if she had seen him and she just shrugged and kept reading the paper. 

When his shift ended, he walked tentatively to Due Fratelli - pausing at the fence to see if The Double was already inside. Will sighed with relief as he sank down into his old familiar booth, smiling at the waitress for the very first time. She didn’t smile back but that was okay, he knew he could chat with her now cause he’d already seen himself do it.

He helped a lady carry her shopping bags onto the bus even though she said she didn’t need help and when he got on the bus itself, he noticed that the bus drivers name was actually written on the ID card above his seat. He used it in greeting and made a little comment about it being a long shift but the driver nodded and “mmmhmm”ed without enthusiasm. Will was literally beaming. He couldn’t believe how easy it was, everyone would think he was The Double in no time. He ran into his neighbour at the entrance to their apartment block. She looked happier than the night before. He held the door out for her, and she smiled and entered through without complaint. He felt at peace. His apartment was quiet, and he laid down and sunk into a deep sleep. 

The next shift passed the same; no Double. He cracked a joke with the waitress... 

The next shift was the same, he even chimed in a bit with the old Italian guys… 

The bags under his eyes reduced a little, he felt like his reflection almost had a healthy glow. He wet the comb and styled his hair back before leaving for work the next evening, and even tried giving his reflection a little smile (though that felt a bit silly). 

But that night at work, The Double was back. 

Apparently, he had taken some time off because his grandmother had died. Everyone was patting him on the shoulder and asking if he was okay and he seemed sad and melancholy. Will watched on miserably. He imagined The Double grabbing a nearby pillow and smothering the life out of his dear own granny just so he could reap the attention of his workmates. 

It makes me sick just thinking about it.

Someone had bought in a tray of muffins in to cheer The Double up and he only took one and left the rest in the break room to share around. Will was furious. 

He paced around the empty room, grabbing a muffin roughly from the tray and peering into it as a symbol for all of the relentless injustices of the world. He raised the arrogant muffin to his lips and slowly took a bite. He felt a rush of power, forcing its helpless flesh between two pounding jaws, grinding it maliciously against the roof of his mouth with a fierce flick of his arid tongue. He savoured the destruction. 

There was a warm gooey bit tucked secretly away in the centre of the thing. 

So, you’re a fancy muffin, he noted with contempt. You disgust me. 

He held the muffin up to his face and stared into the seeping wet chocolate, watching gravity overcome its’ chirpy intentions as it ached and sagged out of the spoiled container. He gave the gaudy little structure a tight squeeze, encouraging the loathsome liquid out. It dribbled through his lips unnoticed as he tossed the remainder of the ill-gotten gesture unceremoniously into the garbage bin. 

There, he stood over it, watching the pitiful thing bleed out over empty take-away containers and coke cans. His leering smile was half snarl, and he flashed his chocolate-stained teeth through a devilish grin, wildly amused by the muffins feeble demise. 

Then, as if coming out of a trance, he blinked a few times and looked around; the Dilbert calendar on the wall, the electric kettle with the broken lid, the cheesy “You’re The Only Thing I Like At Work Other Than The Coffee” magnet on the fridge, and a queasy sort of nastiness took hold in the pit of his stomach; remorse. Recoiling from his own reflection in the small mirror above the sink he tried desperately to wash the chocolate off his mouth before anyone saw the incriminating evidence. He wet a tea towel and rubbed at the chocolate that had snagged on the chest of his pale blue work shirt. It smeared further. He used hand soap, scrubbing manically at the chocolate’s vicious grip which inevitably lessoned somewhat but the wet patch that ensued left a bigger clue! And always… always, that muffin glared up at him, gloating triumphantly from its throne of narcissistic pleasure. 

He began to panic, splashing cold water on his face, lashing out at his reflection in the mirror. He tried to instil an air of authority over his body parts;

Eyes, you are way too wide. There’s too much white in there and for fucks sake calm those pupils down! 

No response… 

He gave up and rubbed and rubbed at that damned wet patch again, waving wildly under the hand dryer trying to get the damned machine activated. When it finally came on, he was mortified by the noise, trying desperately to shut it up before the whole building came running. He shut the power off at the switch. The sudden silence was deafening. 

He had to get out of there. 

It was 3 am and pouring with rain when he made his escape. He feigned an air of confidence walking out through the service entry, avoiding eye contact with a group of guys smoking ciggies under the EXIT sign. No one looked over. He walked purposefully into the outside air, then broke into a run. 

The rain was hammering down. Wide puddles on the street reflected headlights passing by, giving Will a dizzying sense of vertigo. A taxi honked him out of the way yelling obscurities into the distance. The world was spinning. When the bus pulled up, he pushed two drunk girls aside to get onboard first, choosing a seat right down at the back. Out the window he saw a young couple kissing under the narrow roof of the bus shelter. Will felt an aching tug at his heart that often happened when lovers were nearby. As the bus drove off, they broke apart and Will twisted his body around in a crazed spasm of flailing limbs to get a better view of them. It was him, The Double and the waitress from cafe Due Fratelli. 

“No! No, no, no, no! C’mon!” He banged on the window. 

The drunk girls we’re giggling at him, but he didn’t notice. 

The bus picked up speed heading south on Route 16. 

It was him though…The crooked nose, the black hair, it was all right fucking there! 

He hadn’t even gelled his hair this time, it was all chaotic like mine! 

Will was a mess. He sprinted from the bus stop to his apartment block, bursting through the front door and bounding up three flights of stairs in a few seconds. His head was pounding, his heart was aching. He didn’t know what to do, he felt like crying. He felt like screaming! He sank onto the floor and hugged himself. 

Hours went by and there he stayed. He thought he heard a knock at the door but wrote it off as a dream, and then suddenly, as if it was just another day, the sun came up. Long beams of light crawled towards him along the mottled brown carpet until he was pressed right up against his own front door horrified by thought of their burning touch. 

But then they found him, and he survived. It wasn’t so bad, after all. He felt warm like an old friend had come in to check on him. He felt heartened by it, deciding in time to walk down to his secret underpass spot and get some proper sleep.

The walk down there calmed him down. He moved to the sunnier side of the street, dodging puddles from the evening rains, breathing mist out in the morning air, walking through patches of rising steam. 

It can’t have been The Double making out with that girl, he reassured himself with the sun on his back. He was at work and besides, she’s married to the mechanic.

He warmed his hands in his jacket pockets, taking deep breaths and relaxing into the familiarity of the journey to his own little private sanctuary, a journey he had made so many times before. He smiled to himself at the memory of finding this place, unused, unloved. It was always right there waiting for him, just as he had left it. 

He checked no one was around before veering right just before the overpass began - slipping a little on the steep dirt that lead down into thick scrub. It looked like a dead end, but he had found a way through. He knew to take a hard left there and follow the treeline under the bridge and down through a gap in the fence. He’d put a palette in front of it, months ago, to hide it from the council. He smiled again at his own ingenuity, but the smile quickly faded... the palette wasn’t there, not as it should have been. It was dragged off to the left, upside down and halfway into a big muddy puddle. He didn’t understand, he would never have left it like that. He had left it leaning up against the hole in the fence, like he always did. 

His heart started pounding again, he squinted into the harsh shadows of the morning sun... Nothing, no one. He got down on all fours this time to slip quietly through without touching the fence. When he got back to his feet he stayed hunched over, wiping his hands on his jeans to brush off the wet stones that had stuck. 

Cautiously, he followed the familiar path as it wound its narrow way through the tight thicket right down to the train line. 

Will felt violated. Unsure. Afraid. 

The misty thicket seemed denser than usual, and the narrow path seemed to go on for ever. His mind flashed with possibilities of who could be in there, in his sacred space. 

Maybe it’s the grieving widows who need a place to live now that their husband is dead, and they’re cooking Nonnas’ recipes on an open fire… Even if it was, they’d never let us eat with them. They’d chase us away with stiff little brooms as soon as they saw us. 

Maybe it’s the lady next door who’s run away from her husband. 

Maybe it’s the husband who’s crawled his way down here to moan and wail all day!

He groaned at the thought, looking over his shoulder suspiciously to make sure no one heard. But he was alone… He walked on.

Maybe it’s the waitress with the mole on her neck... 

Yeah, she’s torn up all the letters from her husband and gonna jump a train out of here.
Maybe she wouldn’t notice…

Notice our hair? 

Yeah…

Maybe… 

There was no glance from afar. The beauty of this place was that you couldn’t see it until you were in it. He was out of the safety of the bushy scrub before he knew it was happening, stunned like a dummy in the stark morning sun. He shaded his eyes to gain a deeper understanding… And then saw him. Rummaging through the suitcase of books like the owned the damned thing. The fucking Double. 

The guy stood up in shock at Will’s sudden appearance, dropping the book from his hands onto the dusty concrete floor. Will gasped at the scene, wildly offended by the mistreatment of his own property, I would never do that. The Double kicked it a bit to try and hide the evidence, then realising he was making things worse he bent down quickly and picked the book up, dusting it off and taking a few steps forward to hand it to Will. 

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…” 

“You didn’t mean to?! YOU DIDN’T MEAN TO?!”

Will ran forward with unabashed fury, tackling The Double around his middle. They fell back together onto the dusty mattress, tumbling in a confused frenzy of limbs and old books from there to the concrete, to the dirt, then back to the concrete. The sound of a passing train echoed loudly off the roof above, muting the scuffle for a long moment. Will had never punched anyone before but he was trying to now as they wriggled back and forth together in a cloud of concrete dust. He finally pinned The Double down and had his arm pulled right back ready for the blow of all blows when Will saw his face close up for the first time. 

It’s not me… It wasn’t him! 

It was someone else entirely, a whole other guy! 

He had dark hair, sure, but it was a thinner texture and the lump on his nose looked more rounded than Will’s. He leaned his head to one side, taking this new guy in. He was narrower in the shoulders too, and had a thinner face, kind of angular… Will blinked a few times while the dust settled. His eyes came into focus. The train had passed by and the subtle sounds of the nature thicket returned. 

Then the guy started crying. His arms went up protectively to hide his face, and his body twisted under Wills legs trying to curl up into a ball. He sobbed openly, his knuckles pressed into his eye sockets, tears smudging the dirt on his cheeks. 

Will was confused. Then abashed. Then annoyed. He got up.

“Why are you crying for? I’m the one that’s supposed to be crying!” 

“What? I mean, I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He sat up, wiping his dribbling nose with one long swipe of his right palm. “I followed you here months ago. I live in your apartment block.” 

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do! I’ve lived there for two years.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Yes, I have!”

“No, you haven’t. I would have seen you.” 

“We pass each other all the time! You never notice me.”

“No, we don’t!”

“Yes, we do. Stop it!” 

“I would have seen you! You look just like me!” 

“I know. I thought we must be brothers at first, but I asked my mum and she just laughed.” 

“You asked your mum?” 

“Yeah, I asked my mum! She lives a few stops away.” He waved his left hand loosely towards the train line.

Will stood back and took him in. He looked to be about the same age – 20-21 years old. He had a navy-blue jacket over a white t-shirt on too but his was a workwear zip up that was fraying up near the hood. His jeans were black too, under all the dirt, but his shoes were Reeboks, not Nike’s, and they were grey, not green. He had muddy streaks on his face where his tears had gotten mixed up in it all. Will felt ashamed. “You’ve lived there for two years?” 

Will looked out towards the railway line, his memories from living in the old apartment block were swimming loosely behind his eyes. His mum had died when he was 14 and he’d left school soon after, obsessed with writing music. He worked in a record store downtown for a while trying to catch a break in the industry, but it didn’t come before the record store closed down. By 17 he was broke and stocking shelves in a grocery store, living next to a dude with some mysterious chronic pain. 

It felt like the last few years had gone by in a blur. A monotonous ride of night working and day sleeping and escaping down here to his underpass spot when the weather allowed. Not only could he not recall this guy right here in front of him, but Will couldn’t really see any faces clearly, not in his minds’ eye, at least. He was struggling to even recall the sad lady next doors’ face, let alone his co-workers… 

I don’t even write anymore… 

He turned back around to – 

“What’s your name?”

“Jacob.”

“Jacob?”

“Jacob.”

“Will.”

Jacob snorted a little, embarrassed. 

“Hi, Will.” He said it a bit sarcastically as he wiped the last of his tears and pushed himself up to standing. He seemed more composed now.

“You followed me here?”

“Yeah, I mean... I dunno, one time. Ages ago. I stopped at the fence that time but when I saw you’d left work early last night, I kinda figured you’d be down here. You looked kinda weird last night, like… upset.”
“So that was you at work?”

“What do you mean, it was me?” 

“I mean… just… I dunno, my minds been playing tricks on me a bit lately.” Will tucked a stray lock of hair back behind his ear.

 “I didn’t know that you worked there, I swear. I only started a few weeks ago, and I didn’t say hi or anything ‘cause I thought you might think I was stalking you or something.” 

“Stalking me?” 

“Yeah, you know, ‘cause we live in the same apartment block.” 

“But I didn’t know that we lived in the same apartment block.” 

“Yeah, but we do…”

“We do… we do…” Will trailed off. He felt like he was standing on solid ground for the first time in weeks. 

“So, like, what do you do down here?” Jacob was looking around, taking it in.

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Umm, I dunno. Read, sleep.” Will felt a bit odd about the place now. He wished he’d swept or something. 

“What kind of books do you like?” 

“Oh, umm, anything really. I started off reading biographies of muscicians I liked, but then that kinda grew into…” He crouched down and picked up a few of the scattered books, throwing them all back into the suitcase together. Jacob read the titles out loud as he helped – “The Invisible Man, Fear and Loathing…”

“Yeah, there’s a great bookshop down on 6th, have you ever been there? Super cheap. I used to work at a record store across the street.” 

“Nah, I don’t know that one.” 

“Oh, dude, you got to check it out.”
“You used to work at a record store?”
“Yeah, I wanted to be a music producer.” 

“Oh, cool. I play drums!” 

“You play drums?!”

“Yeah!”

“That’s you?!”
“Yeah, I live on the 5th floor.”
“I know, I can hear you from my place!” They were both smiling now, and Will could see Jacob’s smile was different from his, too. It sort of hung heavy on the left side, where as Will’s was more front-on. The more he looked at him the more differences he saw. Will even felt kind of relaxed around him, like it wasn’t that bad having him here in his space. 

They sat down next to each other on the mattress, silent for a bit while another train passed by - jammed with passengers on their morning commute. 

“So, that wasn’t you with the waitress?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Will thought even if it was, it was none of his business. 

He changed the subject. “Sometimes I like to sit here, just like this, and imagine the people on the trains and where they might be going…”

“Oh yeah?” His smile was encouraging. “Like, what do you mean?”

-