Chapter 5 Doppelganger Trap and Jealousy Explosion

The room at the small hotel became our temporary headquarters. Gabriel's form had strengthened somewhat after a day of rest, though he remained more transparent than usual, like watercolor instead of oil paint.

"We need to get your story and evidence somewhere safe," he said, watching me pace the cramped room. "Somewhere Meridian can't reach."

"Finch," I decided. "My editor may be rough around the edges, but he's trustworthy. If I can get the documents to him, he'll make sure the story runs even if something happens to me."

"Don't talk like that," Gabriel snapped, his form flickering with emotion.

I raised an eyebrow. "Suddenly concerned about my wellbeing, Detective?"

"I've always been concerned," he said quietly. "More than you know."

The sincerity in his voice made my heart skip. I looked away, uncomfortable with the sudden intimacy. "I'll call Finch from the lobby. Arrange a meeting."

Finch agreed to meet me at a busy diner at noon. I chose the location carefully—public enough to discourage violence, busy enough to blend in, with multiple exits. Gabriel insisted on scouting the place an hour beforehand, passing through walls to ensure it wasn't a trap.

"All clear," he reported when I arrived. "No suspicious characters, no one watching the doors."

I slid into a booth, ordered coffee I didn't want, and waited. Gabriel hovered nearby, tension evident in his spectral posture.

Finch arrived precisely at noon, his rumpled appearance unchanged despite the gravity of the situation. I slid the manila envelope containing my article and the evidence across the table.

"This is explosive stuff, Grey," he said after skimming the first page. "You're absolutely certain about these allegations?"

"I've verified everything. Multiple sources, documentation, patterns of disappearances."

"The Guild won't take this lightly."

"I know," I said grimly. "That's why I need you to keep this safe. If anything happens to me—"

"Nothing's going to happen," Finch interrupted firmly. "We'll run the story tomorrow. Front page. By evening, there will be investigations opened, too much public scrutiny for them to risk silencing you."

Gabriel didn't look convinced. "They've killed for less," he muttered, though only I could hear him.

Finch tucked the envelope inside his jacket. "Lay low until tomorrow's edition hits the streets. I've got a cabin upstate if you need somewhere to hide."

I shook my head. "I'll be fine. Just make sure that story runs."

After Finch left, I exhaled slowly. "One more day. Then it's over."

"It's not that simple," Gabriel warned. "Even with the story published, the Guild has resources. They could discredit you, claim the documents are forged."

"Then we need more evidence," I decided. "Something so damning they can't possibly deny it."

"What did you have in mind?"

"The children," I said. "If we can find even one of the missing children and get them to safety, their testimony would be irrefutable."

Gabriel's expression was grim. "You want to break into a Meridian facility."

"Exactly."

"That's suicide, Viv."

"Do you have a better idea?"

He didn't, which is how we found ourselves outside Meridian's research facility that evening. The building was unassuming, a converted warehouse in the industrial district with minimal external security—they relied on secrecy rather than obvious defenses.

"Remember," I whispered as we approached, "you scout ahead, find where they're keeping the children, then guide me through."

"And if there are guards?" Gabriel asked.

I patted my handbag, where a small pistol was concealed. "I came prepared."

"That's not reassuring."

Finding an unlocked side door was easier than expected. The real security, it seemed, was deeper inside the facility. I slipped through darkened corridors while Gabriel scouted ahead, phasing through walls and returning with directions.

"There's a secured ward on the third floor," he reported. "Children's voices. At least five guards."

"Can we reach it without being seen?"

"Service stairwell, then through the laboratory. It's empty now."

The laboratory was a sterile nightmare of gleaming equipment and glass vials. Notes were scattered across workstations—formulas and observations I couldn't understand, though the clinical detachment in describing "subject responses" turned my stomach.

"Through here," Gabriel directed, leading me toward another door.

The children's ward was dimly lit, a row of small beds visible through a glass observation window. Inside, children lay unnaturally still, some with electrodes attached to their temples, others with IV lines running into thin arms.

"My God," I whispered, horror washing through me.

"We need to get them out," Gabriel said urgently.

"How? There are at least a dozen children, all sedated. I can't carry them all."

Before Gabriel could respond, footsteps echoed down the hallway. I ducked into a supply closet just as two lab-coated figures passed by.

"The new formula shows promise," a male voice said. "Subject Seven responded exactly as predicted—complete memory erasure of the target event while remaining functional."

"Dr. Westbrook will be pleased," the second voice replied. "The military representatives are visiting tomorrow for a demonstration."

When they had passed, I emerged from the closet, my mind racing. "A military demonstration tomorrow. That's why Finch's timing is perfect—once the story breaks, they'll have to cancel."

"But these children will still be here," Gabriel reminded me. "We need to—"

He stopped abruptly, his attention caught by something down the hall. "Someone's coming. Hide!"

I slipped back into the closet, leaving the door cracked slightly. Through the narrow opening, I saw a guard escorting a young woman in a nurse's uniform. She moved with the shuffling gait of the heavily sedated, her eyes vacant.

"New subject for ward B," the guard was saying to someone I couldn't see. "Found snooping around the perimeter. Westbrook wants her processed immediately."

As they passed under the hallway light, I got a clear view of the woman's face—and felt my blood freeze.

She looked exactly like me. Same height, similar build, even her hair was styled like mine. The resemblance was uncanny, as if someone had deliberately sought out my doppelganger.

"It's a trap," Gabriel realized, materializing beside me in the closet. "They were expecting you to come. That woman—they're using her as bait. Or as a replacement."

"A replacement?"

"Think about it. If you disappeared, but someone matching your description was seen alive afterward, no one would look for you."

Horror washed over me as I understood. "They're going to kill me and replace me with her. Have her recant the story, claim she made everything up."

"We need to leave. Now." Gabriel's voice was tight with urgency.

"We can't leave her—or the children!"

"We can't save them if you're captured too," he argued. "We need to warn Finch, make sure the story runs tonight instead of tomorrow."

Reluctantly, I nodded. We made our way back toward the exit, moving carefully through darkened corridors. We had almost reached the side door when alarms suddenly blared throughout the facility.

"They've found us," I gasped.

"This way!" Gabriel led me down a different hallway, phasing through walls to check for guards. "There's a loading dock with the door open!"

I ran, heart pounding, following Gabriel's ghostly form through the maze-like building. Behind me, I could hear shouts and footsteps. The loading dock was just ahead, a rectangle of night sky visible through the open doorway.

Then I heard the click of a gun being cocked.

"Stop right there, Miss Grey."

I froze. Dr. Westbrook emerged from the shadows, a pistol aimed steadily at my chest.

"I must admit, I'm impressed by your persistence," he said conversationally. "Though not by your intelligence. Did you really think we wouldn't be prepared for you?"

"The children," I said, stalling for time as I tried to think of an escape. "What have you done to them?"

"Advanced their potential. Served their country. More than they would have accomplished aging out of those orphanages." He gestured with the gun. "Now, you'll be coming with me. We have a special treatment prepared just for you."

Gabriel appeared beside Westbrook, his spectral face contorted with rage. "I'll kill him," he snarled, though I knew he couldn't touch the physical world with enough force to do harm.

Or so I thought.

With a surge of ghostly energy, Gabriel thrust his hand directly through Westbrook's chest. The doctor gasped, clutching at his heart, his face draining of color. The gun wavered in his grip.

"Run, Viv!" Gabriel shouted, his form flickering violently as he maintained contact with Westbrook's chest.

I didn't need to be told twice. I bolted for the loading dock, hearing Westbrook's strangled cry behind me. Outside, I ran blindly into the night, not stopping until I was blocks away and certain I wasn't being followed.

Only then did I realize Gabriel wasn't with me.

"Gabriel?" I called softly, turning in a circle. "Gabriel!"

Nothing. The emptiness beside me was palpable, a void where his spectral presence should be.

Panic rose in my throat. Had he exhausted his energy completely this time? Had he moved on to whatever lay beyond? The thought was unbearable.

"Please," I whispered to the empty street. "Don't leave me."

Silence answered.

I made my way to a public telephone and called Finch, my voice shaking as I explained what had happened. He promised to run the story in the morning edition and urged me to come to his office immediately.

The Tribune building was quiet at this late hour, just a skeleton staff preparing the morning edition. Finch met me at the service entrance, his face grave.

"The story's being typeset now," he assured me. "First edition goes to print in an hour."

Relief washed over me. "Thank you."

"You look terrible, Grey. There's a cot in the storage room if you need to rest."

I nodded gratefully. The storage room was dusty but quiet, piled with back issues and office supplies. I collapsed onto the narrow cot, every muscle aching with fatigue.

"Gabriel," I whispered into the darkness. "If you can hear me... I need you."

No response came. Tears pricked at my eyes—grief for a ghost, how absurd—but I couldn't deny the hollow feeling in my chest. In our short time together, Gabriel had become essential to me in ways I hadn't fully understood until his absence.

I must have fallen asleep, because I woke suddenly to the sound of shuffling paper. The storage room was still dark, but something had changed in the air—a familiar presence.

"Gabriel?" I whispered hopefully.

A faint glow materialized at the foot of the cot, gradually taking the form I knew so well. Gabriel appeared, his spectral form dimmer than I'd ever seen it, but unmistakably him.

"You're alive," he said softly, relief evident in his voice.

"I'm alive," I confirmed, sitting up. "You saved me. Again."

"I wasn't sure I could find you," he admitted. "After... what I did to Westbrook. It drained me completely. I've been trying to reach you for hours."

"Did you kill him?" I asked hesitantly.

"No. But he felt me—my hand through his heart." Gabriel looked down at his translucent hands. "I didn't know I could affect the living that way. It was... disturbing."

"You did what you had to do."

He moved closer, his form strengthening slightly as he neared me. "The story?"

"Going to print now. By morning, everyone will know what Meridian has been doing."

Gabriel nodded, satisfaction briefly crossing his features before turning to concern. "The Guild won't give up easily. They'll come for you, try to discredit you."

"Let them try," I said with more confidence than I felt. "The evidence speaks for itself."

We fell silent, the weight of all we'd been through settling between us. Gabriel hovered beside the cot, his spectral glow the only light in the darkened room.

"I thought I'd lost you," I admitted finally. "When you didn't follow me out of Meridian."

"I thought I'd lost myself," he replied. "For a while, I was... nowhere. Just consciousness without form. It was only by focusing on you that I found my way back."

The implication of his words hung in the air between us. I reached out instinctively, my hand passing through his chest where his heart would have been.

"I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come back," I whispered.

Gabriel's expression softened. "Viv—"

The door to the storage room burst open, flooding the space with harsh electric light. Finch stood in the doorway, his face ashen.

"Grey, you need to see this."

I followed him to the newsroom, Gabriel drifting behind us. On Finch's desk lay the early morning edition of a rival newspaper, its headline screaming in bold type:

TRIBUNE REPORTER FOUND DEAD: SUICIDE NOTE CONFESSES FABRICATED MERIDIAN STORY

Below was a photograph of a woman's body, face-down in the river. Though the face wasn't visible, the clothing and hair were unmistakably similar to mine.

"They're using your doppelganger," Gabriel realized, horror in his voice. "They killed her and made it look like you committed suicide after fabricating the Meridian story."

Finch, who couldn't hear Gabriel, pointed to a smaller headline: "Tribune Editor Denies Knowledge of Reporter's False Claims."

"They quoted me," he said, bewildered. "But I never spoke to anyone!"

"When did this paper go to print?" I asked urgently.

"Two hours ago. They rushed a special edition."

"Before our story could break," I realized. "They're getting ahead of us, controlling the narrative."

"We need to run your story immediately," Finch decided. "With a statement from you, alive and well, refuting this suicide nonsense."

"No," Gabriel interjected, though only I could hear him. "That's exactly what they want. The moment you show your face publicly, they'll kill you for real."

I repeated his concern to Finch, who frowned deeply.

"Then what do we do?"

"We need to find the one thing they can't refute," I said, an idea forming. "The children. If we can rescue even one child from Meridian and get their testimony—"

"Too dangerous," Finch and Gabriel said simultaneously.

"We don't have a choice," I insisted. "They've already framed me for suicide and false reporting. No one will believe anything I write now without irrefutable proof."

Finch sighed heavily. "I know that look, Grey. You're going to do something reckless regardless of what I say."

"I need one day," I told him. "Hold the story for 24 hours. If I don't come back with proof, run what we have and hope for the best."

As Finch reluctantly agreed, I caught Gabriel's expression—a mixture of admiration and fear that made my heart twist uncomfortably.

Back in the storage room, I outlined my plan to Gabriel. "I need to return to Meridian tonight. With everyone focused on discrediting me publicly, security might be lighter."

"Or heavier," he countered. "Viv, this is madness. They've already tried to kill you once."

"I won't go in blind," I promised. "You'll scout ahead, make sure it's safe."

Gabriel's form flickered with agitation. "And if it's not safe? If they're waiting for you?"

"Then we find another way."

His spectral face softened. "You're the most stubborn woman I've ever met, alive or dead."

"Is that a compliment, Detective?"

"It wasn't intended as one," he said, but there was fondness in his tone.

As dawn broke outside, I lay on the cot trying to rest before the night's mission. Gabriel kept watch by the door, his form gradually strengthening as time passed.

"Gabriel," I said softly, half-asleep. "If I don't survive this..."

"Don't," he interrupted sharply. "Don't say it."

"If I don't," I persisted, "I want you to know that meeting you—even as a ghost—has been the most meaningful thing in my life."

His spectral form moved to my side, a cool presence that somehow brought comfort rather than chill.

"If only you had known me when I was alive," he said softly.

"Would you have liked me then?" I asked, curiosity overcoming caution.

"I would have loved you," he replied simply. "Just as I do now."

The words hung in the air between us, impossible and undeniable. I reached for him instinctively, my hand passing through his as always.

"Rest now," he whispered. "I'll watch over you."

As I drifted into sleep, I thought I felt the ghost of a touch against my cheek—like the memory of a caress rather than the thing itself. And somehow, it was enough.