It was when I started my new job in London, I won’t say what it is, but it is a very well-paying job I may not be qualified for. Still, if you know what rent is like in the better part of London, you’d know you’ll need a wealthy income.
My first day there was like any other job. I was touring through my department when I glanced at a large bloke who looked at me oddly. Not how you would look at a new co-worker, but more like how you would look at your bosses when they come in and find out you haven’t been working. I would describe it as confused yet panicked.
Later I was introduced to him, his name was Bradly, and he was my superior. I still remember how he approached me like one would a grizzly bear. He stammered, “No… Do I?” He stared at my face, registering every detail, “No… I don’t know you. Do I?”
To break the ice on the odd interaction, I said, “No. We haven’t met.” I told him my name.
“We haven’t, have we? Sorry,” he shook my hand, “My name is Bradly, just call me Brad. Wow. Sorry, do you have a twin or something? Sorry, no. You just look like someone I know. One of my neighbours, I think.”
I looked quizzically at him, “Well, I don’t have a twin, and I don’t know you. Sh-shall we…”
“Oh, right. Let me show you the ropes. Sorry. You just look so similar. He must be your lookalike or something. Sorry. Urr. You look nice.”
I smiled at him.
We became good friends over the next few months. Brad was very upbeat and friendly and occasionally quite weird, in a good way. He knew how to have a good time, drink like an Irishman with his mates from work in the pub and support his favourite football team (Arsenal). Brad was the average middle-aged Brit. He looked like it too. As I said before, he was a big bastard. He had a growing potbelly and a round jolly face. I wouldn’t call him as good-looking as Sylvester Stallone, but he was handsome for his age.
Yet it was clear a large part of Brad’s life was a mystery. According to my co-workers, he was single, and no one had ever been around to his place. Despite his reclusiveness, I was the closest person to him. And we were a lot more than just friends.
I still didn’t know much more about him than anyone else, particularly when I knew he knew more about my so-called doppelganger than he let on. My primary reason for suspecting him was how he got my name wrong on several occasions. He blushed the hardest the first time he did it: when he called me “Sunny.”
I recoiled from him slightly, “What did you just call me?”
He blinked a couple of times and corrected himself while apologising.
“Is that the name of my lookalike?” I asked him.
He looked off into the distant corner of the pub as he replied, “Y-yeah. Sorry, you just look so much like him.”
I met his eyes head-on and suggested, “Do you think I could meet him sometime?”
It was the first time we argued. It wasn’t a big row, just enough to put a few days between us. Whenever Brad called me Sunny after that, I just ignored it.
For whatever reason, Brad didn’t want to talk about my lookalike. I found this strange since that drew him to me in the first place. It was obvious my replicant was more to him than a neighbour. I considered whether he was having a secret affair with Sunny, and after he met me, Brad wanted to play the field. And I didn’t think Sunny was being had on the side. It didn’t explain why he was so secretive about his relationship with Sunny. I just assumed he was yet to come out of his closet, as neither of us had made anything official between us, after all.
Time and time again, Brad refused to let me come and see his home. It was like he had something to hide. And this had me curious.
So one evening after work, I followed Brad home. Not in a stalker way, but more in a concerned co-worker way. Besides, I knew he was the kind of person to take the gesture lightly.
Brad’s place was an upper-class house that must have been worth half a million. It was more than what I could rent, but Brad had it passed down to him from his family, who he often bragged were quite well off. It was such a nice house; it made me wonder even more about his private life. If he wanted, he could host high-class dinner parties with his friends. Why would he keep the place to himself? It wasn’t like him.
He entered his lavish home, closing the door behind him. I walked up and considered knocking. I hesitated to let him know I was there and reconsidered my actions. Maybe stalking him home may have been a bit much, as he clearly didn’t want any work friends to see his place. But I had made it that far, so I thought, what the hell! I knew he was the forgiving type, and we were definitely more than work friends.
I pressed my knuckle against his door, but before I could knock, the door shifted forward. Pushing on the door lightly, it opened.
With this revelation, I thought about sneaking up on Brad to teach him to lock his door properly. Once again, I thought, I’ve made it this far, might as well.
Then, as I crept along the entrance hall to explore further, I heard something from a door opposite me. I first thought it was the house creaking under its weight, though as my mind processed the subtle noise, it sounded more like a rattle. Some people might judge me for nosing around another person’s home without their permission. I can’t help it; I’m the prying sort of person. And I’m glad I did.
I put my ear to the door to listen for the sound, and after a few moments, there it was again, a metallic rattle in an echoey room. I waited for it again. The next time, it sounded like a soft metallic scrape, like something was briefly dragged along a concrete floor. And this time, I knew what the sound was of. It was undeniably a metal chain. Does he have something chained up in there?
I twisted the old door knob, pushing the door open. Behind it were stairs descending into a dark space. This filled me with a new dread. What does Brad have locked up down there?! I pondered. It was one thing to have something chained up in your house; it was another to have something chained up in your basement kept from public view. And it was then I realised I just stumbled onto Brad’s secret.
Before deciding whether to retreat or go down, I sensed Brad coming to close his front door. Swiftly and as quietly as I could, I stepped down and pushed the door closed. The only light source came from the sunlight from around the door. Luckily, this was enough to see the light switch next to me.
With nowhere else to go, I flicked on the switch and ventured down. The basement light slowly flickered on, like I’d imagined the lights in a bunker during the first world war would turn on. The scene before me couldn’t look any more wrong.
On the floor in the corner, a man lay naked and covered in filth. I couldn’t see his face; he was curled up in a ball facing away. But he slowly became animate as I trudged down to his level. His body uncrumpled slightly, jingling the chain around his ankle, as the man’s eyes gazed up at me with discontent through long, matted hair. But, within the same instant, his eyes turned to that of the dreary dead. And, with a little more speed than before, he stood up. I got face-to-face to have my first good look at him. He looked almost exactly like me. He was my lookalike.
I instantly knew what Brad meant before; if I hadn’t seen him stand up, I would’ve assumed I was gazing into a mirror. Or at least a distorted mirror. His features though almost exactly like mine, were ever so slightly off. Only slightly. It took me a few seconds to see the differences. And before people say he is related to me, I can assure you that the man I had seen in that basement had no relation to me whatsoever. It was pure coincidence.
We investigated each other’s faces for some time, almost mirroring each other to make the differences more apparent. It was a truly bizarre and unique experience: meeting my doppelganger, especially given the circumstances.
But, as fast as the amazement suddenly came, the sudden realisation of the situation came faster: Bradly is keeping my doppelganger chained up in his fucking basement!
At the time, I was in denial of that conclusion. Even as clear as the evidence was, the feeling of not truly knowing your best friend’s true nature is a feeling that can’t be described. My mind tried rationalising the situation and giving my friend a moral explanation for keeping this man in his basement, or better, maybe the man was locked up in Bradly’s basement without his knowledge. However, no logical explanation made itself known.
I think our hearts skipped a beat when we heard the door above us creak open and Bradly’s thunderous footsteps marching down the stairs. I had to hide. The chained-up man also knew this and quickly pointed to the broom cupboard under the stairs whispering, “In there.”
I hid and peeked through the door slit. Through it, I saw Bradly come down and approach the man in the corner. “Sunny!” he yapped, “How’s my boy?!” I couldn’t see what he was doing to Sunny; I could only see Bradly’s back. But from the context of what he was saying, I assume he was stroking Sunny. “Yes… you’re still OK. ” That freaked me out; he said the exact same thing when we flirted.
Bradly continued, “Now, how ‘bout you explain the light being on? I know I turned it off when I left you.” He leaned down, and I could see Sunny looking helplessly at me. “Looks like you haven’t escaped your chains… humph.” Bradly slowly stood up again and whispered something into Sunny’s ear. I don’t know what he said, but the horrified look on Sunny’s face told me enough. Just as slowly, he turned his head to look directly at me. He knows where I am!
Bradly moved towards me, and Sunny grabbed his leg, holding it with all his might. I knew what I had to do at that moment. It was do or die!
I leapt from my position and scrambled for the stairs. I fled on all fours like a hound out of hell, and I swung the door open and sprinted out the front with Bradly wailing at me to come back, and I ran down the street like a madman. I kept running, and I didn’t stop until I knew, without a doubt, Bradly wouldn’t catch up to me.
Eventually, I came across a pedestrian. “You all right, mate?” he asked.
There was only one response I had to give, “Call the police!”
Later, the police arrived at Bradly’s house and found it empty. After questioning the neighbours, they found out he left in his car not too long after I ran out, and he was carrying what apparently looked like a body wrapped in bin bags. The police tracked him down and found him burning something by the Thames. It was Sunny’s body. Bradly was arrested and later questioned. He admitted to kidnapping Sunny but not to sexually abusing him and murdering him.
So, who was Sunny? Sunny was never his real name, just the name Bradly gave him. He disappeared around a decade ago from a local park as a kid. No one suspected Bradly of kidnapping him. I wish I tried more to save him; he died because I ran.
I don’t even know what to say. I would have never thought Bradly was capable of such horrible things. And I now have to live with the fact my friend was a kidnapping murderer. Yet, it gets worse. After the detective I spoke to told me the rest of the story, he also informed me that Bradly was trying to send me what looked like love letters.
I could only unmask Bradly because I happened to look like his chained-up victim. So, if there is a lesson in my story, then make it this: know who your friends are. Because, for all you know, they might be just like Bradly.