The night is frigid, the moon a mere sliver in the sky. As he drives along the deserted road, he spots her—a lone figure trudging through the darkness. He pulls over, the engine purring softly, and rolls down the window.
"Hey," he calls out, his breath visible in the chilly air. "Need a lift?"
She glances at him, her eyes wary. "No, thanks. I'm fine."
"But it's freezing out here," he insists. "And this road isn't safe. Come on, hop in."
She shakes her head, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. "I appreciate it, but I'll manage."
He leans across the passenger seat, his voice gentle. "Look, I'm not some axe murderer. Just a guy trying to help. You can trust me."
She hesitates, her gaze flickering between him and the dark expanse ahead. "I don't know you."
"I don't know you either..." He extends his hand.
She eyes it for a moment, then reluctantly shakes it. "Katherine."
"Nice to meet you, Katherine." He gestures toward the warm interior of the car. "Seriously, it's warmer in here. And I promise not to kidnap you."
She chuckles a hint of warmth in her eyes. "Fine. But just to the next town. No detours."
He revs the engine, feeling victorious. "Deal."
As soon as Katherine's in the car, he drives off into the night.
Sheriff Forbes stands in the dimly lit morgue, the cold air clinging to her skin. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting eerie shadows on the pale tiles. The body lies on a stainless-steel table, covered by a white sheet. The room smells of disinfectant and decay.
She glances at the case file in his hand. The victim is a young woman, found in the woods near the creek. No identification, no witnesses. But there is something peculiar—the resemblance. The victim's features echo those of someone she knows.
Liz picks up the phone and dials the number. It rings twice before a tired voice answers.
"Hello?" She answers.
"Elena." Liz clears her throat. "Hello, Elena, this is Sheriff Forbes. I need you to come to the morgue."
"The morgue! Why?" Elena asks.
"We found a body," she explains gently. "In the woods. She bears a striking resemblance to you."
The silence stretches across the line.
"I need your help," she continues. "To identify the body."
"What makes you think I know this person?" Elena's voice cracks.
"I don't know," Liz admits. "But we need your help. It might be a coincidence, but I can't ignore it."
"Give me an hour," Elena replies resolutely and ends the call.
The morgue door creaks open, and Elena steps inside. The sterile room hums with fluorescent light, casting a cold glow over the lifeless figure on the metal table.
Elena stands at the threshold, her breath catching as Liz raises the sheet.
It is as though Elena is looking into a mirror. She is looking at herself. The woman on the table has the same brunette hair, high cheekbones, oval face, and straight nose—but she doesn't recognize her.
Her trembling fingers brush against the woman's cheek. The skin is cool, and unyielding. Elena glances at the toe tag: "Jane Doe."
How can this stranger resemble her so closely?
The medical examiner, Dr. Parker, clears his throat. "Remarkable. The resemblance."
Elena nods, unable to tear her eyes away. "But who is she? How did she end up here?"
"We're still investigating," Liz replies. "No ID, no fingerprints in the system. Just a note with your name and address on it."
Elena's mind races. A twin sister she's never known. A doppelgänger? Or something more sinister? She leans closer, studying the woman's face. There are subtle differences—the scar above her left eyebrow, the faint freckle on her jawline.
As if sensing Elena's turmoil, Liz remarks, "You don't have any cousins?"
"No, Liz, you know I don't... I'm the only child of only-child parents," Elena comments absently.
The morgue's sterile air clings to Elena's skin like a shroud. Her breath hitches as she stumbles backward, knocking over a tray of instruments. The metallic clang echoes through the room.
Outside the morgue, the corridor stretches endlessly. The flickering fluorescent lights seem to mock her. Elena pushes through the heavy door, her heart racing. The hallway is dim, and the air tastes of antiseptic.
She runs, her footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. The walls blur past. As she bursts through the exit doors, the night air hits her like a slap. The moon hangs low, casting shadows on the asphalt. She stumbles across the parking lot, her breath ragged. The world spins around her, and she collapses against a lamppost.
Above her, the stars blink. She closes her eyes, willing herself to forget the sterile room and the lifeless body.
But reality holds her firmly in its grasp. And so, when Liz comes outside and extends a hand to help her to her feet, Elena latches on.
"Come inside. I want to ask you a few questions."
"I don't know how I can help, Liz. I don't know her." Despite her protest, Elena follows Liz back into the police station.
Sheriff Forbes steps into the dimly lit room, the scent of old wood and dust clinging to the air, and offers Elena a cup of coffee.
The flickering lamp casts elongated shadows on the walls, contributing to the somber mood.
"We found a note in the victim's pocket with your name and address. Can you explain why?"
Elena's eyes dart toward the window as if seeking an escape. "I… I don't know, Liz. I've never seen that woman before. Why would she have my information?"
Sheriff Forbes leans against the cracked wooden table, studying her. "You're sure? Because she looks remarkably like you. Same brunette hair, same brown eyes. It's uncanny."
Elena's gaze drops to her lap. "I've heard rumors about doppelgängers, Sheriff. Maybe she was mine."
Liz's brow furrows. "This is the note," she hands the piece of paper protected in plastic to Elena. "Do you recognize the handwriting, anything?"
Elena's shock continues to grow. "It's my father's handwriting. How is this possible?"
"Have you ever met her? Cross paths? What about lookalike cousins?"
"No, Liz, you know I don't. Jeremy and I are the only children of an only-child father. Aunt Jenna doesn't have any kids."
"She knows you from somewhere? What about your parents, Elena?"
"Liz, you're best friends with my Mother. Maybe Dad met her somewhere and commented about our uncanny resemblance."
"I have a dead girl with your face lying in the morgue with your name in her pocket."
"I'm at as much of a loss as you are, Elena counters, suddenly defensive.
Liz studies her, torn between suspicion and empathy. "Maybe you should talk with Miranda. Perhaps she knows something... I will find the truth, Elena. But right now, you're my only lead."
As the room darkens, the shadows merge—the living and the dead, secrets entwined like ivy on an old fence. Liz wonders if she'll be able to unravel this twisted tale or if it'll remain buried, like the roots of that ancient white-oak tree.
By the time Elena arrives home, the numbing shock of seeing the dead woman is deepening rather than wearing off. The victim had been stabbed in the chest, possibly four to five hours before she was found. She'd been wearing jeans, a winter jacket, and fleece-lined boots. Robbery had probably been the motive as the only thing forensic techs found was the note.
Elena switches on the foyer light and looks across the room. From her windows, she can see the moon illuminating the forest outside. She tosses her coat over a chair, goes into the bathroom, and changes into pajamas and a robe. The house is pleasantly warm, but she feels chilled to the point of illness. She realizes she's avoiding looking into the bathroom mirror. Finally, she turns and studies herself as she reaches for a washcloth.
Her face is pale, her eyes staring. Her hands tremble as she releases her hair so that it spills around her neck.
In frozen disbelief, she remembers the woman's unseeing brown eyes are so very much like her own. Dental charts will be made when Dr. Parker does the autopsy.
Elena realizes she is trembling. She hurries into the kitchen, opens the refrigerator, and removes a bottle of wine.
She settles on the couch and hugs her knees, the wine glass in front of her.
The phone rings. It is probably Damon, so she hopes her voice sounds steady when she answers it.
"Hope you weren't asleep."
"No, just got in. How's New York?"
"Aside from the fact that you're not here, it's alright."
"I miss you."
"I'm hoping to be home tomorrow afternoon. I have some things to tell you about the case but it can wait until I see you."
"I have something to tell you, too." Elena decides that the last thing Damon needs to hear is that a woman with a striking resemblance to herself has been found stabbed to death.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not tonight. I'm tired, exhausted, to be honest."
"I'll hang up then. I love you."
"I love you, too, Damon. Bye." Elena ends the call.
For a long time, Elena lies in bed, dozing fitfully. Her room is shrouded in darkness, the only illumination is from the moon's faint glow outside. She stirs, her senses jolted awake by a sudden noise—a sharp rapping against the front door. Her heart races as she sits up, disoriented and half-asleep.
The noise persists—a rhythmic thud, like someone impatiently knocking. Elena swings her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet touching the cool wooden floor. The old house creaks in protest as she tiptoes toward the door, her breath catching in her throat.
As she reaches for the doorknob, the noise ceases abruptly. Elena hesitates, her hand hovering inches away. What if it is an intruder? She glances back at the clock—2:37 AM. Who could be visiting at this ungodly hour?
Summoning her courage, Elena turns the knob and pulls the door open. The night air rushes in, carrying the scent of damp earth. But there's only the empty porch, bathed in moonlight. Her gaze drops to the welcome mat, and that's when she notices it: a crumpled piece of paper, wedged between the door and the frame.
She picks it up, her fingers trembling. The note is handwritten, the ink smudged in places.
KATHERINE WAS A MISTAKE.
Her pulse quickens. Who left the note? And what does it mean? She glances into the darkness beyond the porch, half-expecting to see a shadowy figure lurking among the trees. But there is no one—just the rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.
She folds the note carefully. Once inside, she casts one last glance at the empty porch.
Whoever left the note vanished. And as Elena closes the door, she wonders about the cryptic message with a chill of uncertainty.
Welcome to my 170th story. This is loosely based on a novel summary I read. I have NOT read the book. I only looked at the sample Amazon offers. There are similar elements but there are many differences, too. I will reveal it at the end of the story to give proper credit.
I hope you like it. Reviews are love!
Thank you to Eva. Love you!
Chapter title: "Evil thenceforth became my good." ― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Cover image found on Pinterest. Credit to its maker.
Have a wonderful day.