Please register or login to continue

Register Login

The Imposter
The Imposter

The Imposter

Franc68Lorient Montaner

I would never have imagined that the actual days of my felicity would be usurped by the presence of an astute doppelgänger whose resemblance would bear a striking likeness to my own natural guise. A stranger who would eventually assume the identity of a forlorn brother of whom I had not known of his prior existence. I was born into a German family of great prestige that was well-established in the town of Darmstadt, where the ancestral surname of Eichenwald was deeply embedded in the lineage of the original inhabitants of the region.

I had been educated in the best schools in Berlin as a child of precocity. I was raised to continue the practice of connoisseurship in wines of my father and his successful father before him, who were from ancestral barons. I had no other direct siblings that I was aware of, nor was there another inheritor to claim the inheritance bequeathed by my father. This, I was led to believe. My name is Martin Eichenwald.

It was the year 1798, and I was living abroad at the time in Vienna, when I was summoned to return to Darmstadt to attend to my ailing father, who was dying from an acute form of a malady—a deadly fever that he had contracted a few days prior to my trip.

I returned as soon as I was able to from Vienna, not knowing what to expect upon my arrival. During the duration of the trip home, I was solely preoccupied with the condition of my father and the possibility of his imminent death. It had been an entire month since I had last seen or visited him, due to my activities and engagements abroad.

Regrettably, my beloved mother had passed away the year before, due to the complications of a virulent illness that had congested her lungs completely. I could not bear the reality of losing my father, for there was still much to learn from him as a son, and as a man.

It was in the eventide I clearly remember when I had arrived at last in Darmstadt, where the servants were waiting for my immediate instructions. Our home was a villa located on the outskirts of the town, a few kilometres beyond the vineyards, near the Upper Rhine Plain.

Unfortunately, I would not arrive in time, for my beloved father had passed away the night before, unbeknownst to me. Nothing could have prepared me for his untimely death, or the dire consequences that had ensued afterward. When I entered his room, there was a sombre shade of death and murk that had pervaded over the once colourful life of my father. His robust fortitude was overshadowed by his pale complexion that sadly demonstrated the depletion of his physiognomy.

I could only observe with a helpless stare, and a sense of rue that would haunt me until the remaining days of my life. He would be buried the following morning, beside my beloved mother within the family cemetery that was adjacent to the estate, in accordance with his wishes.

White roses were placed over his coffin, and a decorative wreath adorned with a red ribbon, as a solemn token of devotion. The morning sparrows had sung in unison his dirge with such a serene melody, and the winds had blown a whistling murmur that sounded like an eerie breeze.

As I stood in obeisance, I harkened to the memories that we had shared throughout my life. They would be experiences that would shape me as a man and teach me the valuable lessons of trust and virtue that I had learned wisely, but I could not eschew the grievous regret that had afflicted my sober reaction, expressed with such candour.

It was when I had returned to the house that I was confronted with the sudden realisation that an unannounced stranger was expecting me, claiming to be my lost brother. What was more astonishing was the fact that the stranger resembled me exactly, with every apparent feature that I had found compelling. I gazed into his eyes with a fixated stare, pondering who he truly was, and why he tarried in his presentation to procure his identity.

I was experiencing a maelstrom of emotions upon the death of my father, and to then learn that I had a sibling who appeared to be an identical twin of mine standing before me was sufficient to elicit scepticism. He was well dressed in an elegant waistcoat and breeches. His linen shirt had exquisite ruffles of fine fabric, with a small turnover collar, worn with a stock. He had an imperious posture that reflected a slight hauteur that was noticeable. He then addressed me with a question that I had intended to query.

'You are wondering, who am I in earnest, and why I resemble you, baron?'

'Indeed, I would be remiss if I did not enquire, Herr...?'

'It is Eichenwald, but you can address me as Leopold'.

'Am I to assume that you are a lost relative of mine?' I enquired.

'Yes, you can make that assumption. I am your identical twin'.

'If you are who you claim to be, then where have you been all of these years?'

'Ostracised by our dearest father in seclusion'.

'What do you mean by that?' I pressed.

'You see, my dear brother. I was sent to an orphanage after my birth privately. I was not wanted by our presumed loving father'.

'Why should I believe you?'

'You could choose to believe me or not, but that is not of my concern, for I have evidence to present that could substantiate my claim'.

'Evidence, such as?'

He handed me a legitimate document, with the name of my father in black and bold print.

'Now, do you believe me?'

It was too real to accept and disturbing, but it did convince me of one thing, and that was that I had to investigate more his so-called claim.

'Forgive me, if I remain sceptical, but I must first verify this document, then I can address you accordingly'.

'By all means, do that. I have no quarrel with your doubts and hesitance'.

'In the meantime, may I suggest that you honour my request to leave the estate and return in a few days, when we could better discuss this issue privately? I ask that you respect the process of my family's mourning'.

'Am I not family, my dear brother?'

'As for now, you are an intruder', I answered.

He was a bit reluctant but then acquiesced. 'I shall respect that request, but know that I am no real threat to you, brother. My intentions are good in nature, and I extend my courtesy to you, as your sibling'.

'With all due respect, I shall refrain from making judgment on your character until I can confirm without any shred of doubt, your claim'.

'Understood. I thought you would have welcomed me with open arms, but I see that I am mistaken'.

'Did you really believe that I would accept your claim, without any hesitation? How do I know you are not an imposter?'

Leopold shrugged his shoulders. 'Fair enough! I hope you will express to me sooner than later, a semblance of brotherly love and gratitude, as I have expressed towards you'.

'Only time will tell'.

'Indeed!'

We abated the tense conversation, and the stranger left the estate afterward, knowing the firm conditions I had stipulated. It was difficult to come to the sudden realisation that this anonymous man claiming to be my lost brother was exactly that in reality. Essentially, I had to come to terms with the grim death of my beloved father to then deal with the imposition of a person who was either telling the truth or was a genuine imposter.

My mind was occupied with the funeral and the immediate affairs of the estate that I was not prepared for the presence of the stranger who had appeared out of nowhere, it had seemed, with a puzzling declaration. That night, I contemplated these matters, particularly the arrival of the stranger onto the estate. Verily, if he was in the end my legitimate and estranged brother, then what did he seek and want from my father or me?

In the morning, I was awakened by the peculiar echoes of birds. It was the unkindness of the shadows of the sable ravens that were perched on the branches nearby. It was an eerie caw that reminded me of the day after my father's passing, and that time would offer me no truce in my mourning. As I stood looking out of the window of my room, I saw the distinctive shade of gloom prevail over the gaiety of the gardens and dale. I could vaguely see the vineyards from my room.

I knew how much my father had adored them, with their natural landscape and fruition. I was fortunate enough to have near me an uncle to counsel me in my public endeavours. I would rely on his knowledge and wisdom for my important decisions and actions taken.

What was of relevance to me was the fact that I had to continue the surname and success of my father. Failure was not an option, nor was my resignation. I could not remain idle. There was too much to lose. The stranger had reappeared at the estate again, after several days had passed, and this time he was adamant about persuading me of his assumed identity. I had heard his carriage arrive and the unique sounds of the hooves of the horses.

Although it was still recent since my father had died, I had pondered the matter of his claim with meticulousness. In my attempt to believe him, I had prepared a series of questions that I would ask and demand from him overtly. They were not difficult to respond to, nor that intrusive in their essence.

I was waiting in the hall anxiously when I was informed by my maidservant that the stranger was at the front door outside, waiting to be allowed inside. My intuition had told me that there was something odd about his story and his origin. I took this into strong consideration, as I had greeted him with a firm handshake.

'Perhaps, I suppose that shortly, it will be proven that you are or are not my brother'.

'Am I not worthy of that appellation? At least for today, is it so much to ask to call me brother? Does your pride impede you from uttering that?' He had smiled with a devilish grin that was demonstrative of his incisive wit.

I could not afford to be deceived so foolishly by his charm and propriety. 'In due time. At this moment, my concern is confirming with proof your assertion to the family estate and lineage'.

'Why do you assume so blatantly that I have come to demand a share of the family's wealth? Do I seem like a beggar to you, brother?'

'With all due respect, I have seen a vast share of charlatans before in my life, and you would not be the first nor the last expected'.

'If you were not of my kindred, I would accept those words as an effrontery. You may believe me or not, but I too have a reputation to uphold', he stared into my eyes as he spoke.

'Am I to assume then that you are willing to answer some of my questions?'

'Of course! You can ask me anything you want to know'.

'You said in your previous statement that you were raised in an orphanage. Where exactly, if I may insist?'

'Frankfurt'.

'Where were you born?'

'Wiesbaden!'

'Have you been in other places than those mentioned?'

'Yes! I have been fortunate to travel, but perhaps not as much as you have, dear brother'.

'Why do you take so long to come and see me in person?'

'I had heard about the condition of our father, through a friend of which I cannot disclose the name. Perhaps, it was because I was afraid that I would be rejected by father and by you, brother'.

'A friend you say, who?'

'That I cannot reply. What I can tell you is that now that I am here and present, let us enjoy the company of each other and regain lost time between brothers, with a fine glass of wine? I imagine that the vineyards have been kind to the family's inheritance. The Eichenwald name is prestigious throughout these parts of the country'.

'For centuries, we Eichenwalds have been prosperous'.

Two glasses of wine were prepared and brought to us by one of the servants. I had to step out of the hall for a moment to tend to a private matter that I had been informed about. When I returned, I resumed my enquiry.

'I have so many other questions to ask, but I shall end them with this last question that has intrigued me since your arrival. What do you want from me?'

'Would you believe me if I said, your acceptance?'

'Surely, that is not all that you seek'.

He had extended his hand, 'It is a beginning, brother'.

'For now, you will have to accept my doubts', I said as I shook his hand and felt a coldness in his shake.

'I have no objection, except one'.

'What is your objection?' I asked.

'Simple, you acknowledge me as your brother. Is that so much to ask?'

'I am afraid that I cannot acquiesce to that demand at this moment, until I have proven your claim logically'.

'What more can I prove to you that I am your authentic brother?'

'Nothing that you say will convince me for now, but if you are truly my brother, then shortly, all the facts will conclude that what you claim is based on the truth'.

'Fair enough. I shall patiently wait a few days more, brother, for you to have gleaned all your facts and substantiated them. Before I leave, allow me to interject one last thing. Even though I am a man of patience, I shall not tarry forever'.

'Is that a threat, Herr?'

'It was not intended to be one, brother'. He drank his glass of wine from a bottle he had brought, hoping to be accepted by the family, then departed the estate. What I did not know at the time was the fact that Leopold had put poison in my wine glass. He had come to murder me with his discreet manner. I would not know this until his death.

I was so occupied with his presence that I had forgotten to drink my glass of wine. My impression of the stranger was uniquely hesitant. Although he was debonair in his demeanour, he still did not convince me of his actual claim one bit. I would receive tidings the next evening about his claim from a sleuth that was hired for the task of investigating this intrusive man.

I would be informed that there was indeed a man, by the name and description of the stranger, who had once been raised at the orphanage in Frankfurt, with the name of Leopold Hoffmann, but there was not much else divulged in distinct details about the origin or background of this man.

The plot of the scheme had thickened, and the crux of the mystery had evolved into a troubling scenario that would require more introspection and guidance. For that reason, I had summoned my uncle Otto Eichenwald to the house that night, in order to speak to him about the ongoing dilemma I was confronted with, after the death of my father. I knew that I could depend on his valuable advice and wisdom. When he had arrived, we began to converse about the matter of my father's death, the affairs of the estate, and the issue of the stranger.

'Uncle, next to my father, you have been the one man who I have deeply revered and trusted. I shall need your assistance with handling the affairs of the family'.

'Your father was indeed a great man of virtue and commerce. There is no need for you to be restless, for I shall aid you in whatever act you require of me to perform'.

'I shall be going abroad for a few days to Vienna. I have some unfinished business there, but I shall be back within a week'.

'Don't worry, nephew. I shall tend to the affairs of the estate in your absence'.

'There is another pressing matter that must be addressed with discretion, and that is the presence of a stranger that claims to be my twin brother'.

'Who is this man? Where is he now?'

'He says his name is Leopold Eichenwald, and I believe he is staying in Darmstadt for the time being'.

'Do you believe him?'

'That is why I summoned you, uncle. You, the brother of my late father, would probably be more knowledgeable than I in regard to illegitimate children that my father had out of wedlock'.

'I am afraid your father never divulged to me whether or not he had other children. Did you investigate his claim thoroughly?'

'Yes, I did'.

'What did you discover in the process that was of pertinence?'

'Nothing, except that he was raised in a certain orphanage in Frankfurt'.

'What other proof does he have that is credible or reliable?'

'He had shown me a birth certificate, with the name of my father'.

'Is that all he has to prove his legitimate claim as your brother?'

'For now. I don't know what to do. Should I just dismiss his claim to the family or seek the recourse of more investigation? Should I denounce him to the local authorities?'

'Not yet. I am interested in meeting this strange fellow in person. Could you arrange for us to meet the three of us?'

'I think I can, but it will have to wait after my trip'.

Two days after our conversation, I had embarked on my trip to Vienna. My fiancée Genevieve was expecting me. I was cognisant of the fact that the trip would not efface the issue of the stranger or the death of my father, but it was an ephemeron that was necessary for my mental distraction.

What I did not suspect was the degree of treachery and evil that the stranger, who had claimed to be my twin brother, would exact upon me. As I was walking from a shop one night, I was approached by two men who proceeded to kidnap me and take me to a dungeon that was located on the outskirts of Vienna. I struggled desperately to free myself from their taut grasp, but I was unable to overwhelm them in the end.

Their sheer strength in numbers was more than mine. What did they want and why did they kidnap me was unknown to me? I would soon have my answer. When I awoke the following morning, the door to the dungeon creaked open wide suddenly, and there standing before me was no other than my presumed brother Leopold, with a stare and expression of his countenance that was conspicuously evil.

In the beginning, I did not know what I was doing captive in a solitary dungeon, and what the situation had to do with Leopold. The dungeon had a terrible stench of moss and mould that had pervaded over the dilapidated walls, which were evidently eroding with the duration of time.

There were hissing and squeaking rats that were gnawing at my garments, as I observed them with absolute horror and disgust. It was literally like being confined to the depth of the chasm of hell alive. I would soon learn that Leopold was the mastermind behind my planned capture and sequestration.

‘What is the meaning of this, Leopold? Set me free at once, or there will be consequences’, I had demanded.

‘It is simple, brother. You are a guest of my hospitality’.

‘This is how you treat your guest—with such disdain, and as a prisoner?’

‘No more disdain than what our beloved father imposed upon me as a child’.

‘Even if that is true, why must you punish me for his iniquity or actions?’

‘Your point is well expressed and has a measure of truth, but regrettably I must confess to you that you shall never see the light of day again’.

‘What do you want from me, you fiend?’ I had insisted.

‘Fiend, you dare to call me? Is that not a harsh name to call your brother?’

‘This is how you intend to prove your existence to the family—by kidnapping me?’

‘I prefer to call it usurping, dear brother’.

‘Is this what you intend to do? Usurp my name?’

‘I intend to usurp much more. I shall have your life, while you rot away wretched in this dungeon. It is time that you feel the abandonment I had felt for years, brother’.

‘What are you saying?’

‘Your wealth will become mine, even your beloved fiancée. She is beautiful indeed,’ he had uttered with audacity.

‘If you harm her, I shall personally hunt you down, Leopold’.

He had reflected a facetious smirk on his face and laughed before replying, ‘I do not plan on harming her—but as for you, I have prepared a proper welcome’.

With a sword in his hand, he had sliced the upper right side of my countenance, leaving me with a hideous scar that I would never forget and that would mark me forever. Then, he left me alone to fend for myself and survive in the darkness of the dungeon in which he had imprisoned me. I would languish in that darkness, while he returned to assume my identity.

He took control of the estate and its affairs, convincing my uncle and Genevieve that he was me in person. He left behind a few servants to tend and feed me, so that I would not die too hastily. He wanted my death to be a slow one—one that would please his Machiavellian imposture.

Within the span of a cruel week, I had lost both my father and my status. The days and nights became a hellish inferno, debilitating my will and reason. The thought that Leopold was usurping me constantly tormented my mind. I could not escape the bitter realisation that I was unable to alter the predicament I faced.

Leopold perfected my mannerisms and virtues, and began to spend the wealth he declared was naturally entitled to him. He had studied me well and learnt the successful traits of a businessman. He sought to gain the trust of my uncle and fiancée with his cleverness and charm, demonstrating his intellectual prowess and command of language.

He took trips abroad with Genevieve and purchased trinkets of value to win her affection, but she soon began to sense the difference—his indifference, and the distinction between Leopold and me. My uncle would notice as well, but remained befuddled by the usurpation. Neither of them knew that I, the real Martin Eichenwald, was languishing in a remote dungeon outside Vienna with my anguish.

Months passed, and I continued in my deplorable state of wretchedness, until one day, I was freed from my imprisonment and isolation. I was visited by a certain woman—a scorned lover of Leopold. She did not reveal her name at first, but was aware of my situation.

Out of retribution or spite, she managed to sneak past the instructed servants in charge of my supervision and enter the dungeon to free me. As I observed her closely, I was puzzled by her actions, yet immensely grateful.

At the time, I did not know that Leopold had numerous enemies pursuing him with vengeance. He had left behind a trail of bitter individuals he had deceived, all as a result of his vile machinations.

‘I have come to free you, Baron Eichenwald’.

‘Who are you, and how do you know my surname?’ I asked, excitement rushing through my veins.

‘I am Eva. It is not important who I am, but what I have come to do—and that is to take you away from this horrible place, so that you may return and assume your rightful position in Darmstadt’.

‘How do you know that I live in Darmstadt?’

‘Now is not the time, Baron. We must leave at once, before the servants discover us and foil our plan’.

‘Go whither?’

‘I shall take you to my home, then escort you by carriage to Darmstadt’.

Despite my exhilaration at the prospect of freedom, I was hesitant. ‘How do I know this is not a calculated ploy to lure me to my death? How can I trust you?’

‘At this point, you have no other option. If it will assuage your doubts, then know that I too have been a victim of that scoundrel Leopold’.

I saw the truth plainly reflected in her eyes and expression. It was enough to convince me. From that moment, we pledged our revenge against the doppelgänger. ‘I am ready to leave when you are’.

We scurried past the servants undetected, through a hidden tunnel located on the far side of the dungeon. Once at her home, I took a much-needed bath and rested on a bed I had not felt in months. It was indeed refreshing to feel like a man again, rather than a caged animal.

The thought of exacting revenge upon Leopold and regaining my status compelled me to return to Darmstadt with determination. There was no doubt in my mind that I would reclaim what was rightfully mine in the family hierarchy. I would not allow a charlatan like Leopold to go unpunished.

I would unmask him for who he truly was. It was not wrath that consumed me, but rather a matter of honour—particularly, preserving the honour of my deceased father, whose reputation would otherwise be tarnished by Leopold. He was in Mannheim when I returned to Darmstadt with Eva. What I would soon learn upon my return was that he was about to wed my beloved Genevieve.

I discovered this whilst crossing a street in Darmstadt and overheard Genevieve speaking with an unknown woman about her upcoming marriage. Eva and I stayed at a local inn until I had the chance to expose the daring impostor.

My heart sank with disgust and disbelief at hearing the dreadful news. I could not allow her to marry Leopold. I had to prevent the wedding, and there was little time left to ponder how to accomplish this.

Thus, I devised an immediate plan—one I hoped would prove effective. I knew I had to convince not only Genevieve and my uncle, but all of Darmstadt. That would not be an easy task. With ingenuity and resolve, I created a plan that I felt confident would yield success.

The first step was to confront Genevieve about the impostor—before confronting Leopold himself. Knowing she was to be married soon, I did not have much time to speak with her. Eva agreed to assist me in my effort to regain my identity. Genevieve was staying at a nearby chalet and happened to be alone when I entered her room unannounced.

I stared at her natural beauty from the corridor, as the door to her room stood open. Her familiar smile and sparkling eyes were reminiscent of the jovial days of yore, when I had been in her company. I wasn’t certain she would recognise my authentic guise or mannerisms, but I was willing to risk her rejection—at whatever cost—so long as I could regain her love. I then spoke, as she turned to see me.

‘Genevieve, it is I—Martin’.

Her expression was one of utter disbelief. ‘Martin? But that cannot be. You’re supposed to be returning from Mannheim. That scar on your face—who are you?’

‘Do you not recognise my voice, the way I utter your name?’

I stepped closer, and we looked into each other’s eyes. She remained baffled and speechless for a moment before finally uttering, ‘Martin, is it really you? How can that be? Then who is the man I have sworn to marry?’

‘An impostor—his name is Leopold’.

‘But he resembles you. How can that be?’

‘That I cannot answer fully, for he claims to be my twin brother—a lost sibling my deceased father had out of wedlock’.

‘Your twin brother? Since when were you made aware of his existence?’

‘Since the day he arrived at the estate, after Father’s passing’.

‘But where have you been all this time?’

‘Locked in a wretched dungeon by that madman, Leopold’.

‘Then how did you escape and reach Darmstadt?’

‘I was aided by a young woman who, like you, was a victim of Leopold’s maniacal mischief’.

‘How did he find you in the first place?’ Genevieve asked.

'I suppose he was informed about the passing of my father somehow and had decided to act on his impulse of vengeance. But now, it is my time for vengeance. An act of usurping cannot go unpunished'.

'Martin...you are not an evil man of revenge. Please, I beg of you, let the authorities handle this man and not you!'

'Trust me, Genevieve. I am prepared to confront him and offer him something that he did not offer me—a way out'.

We embraced one another with a firm hold and rekindled the burning flame of our love anew after months had elapsed. I was relieved to know that she had believed me and confided in my words, yet I knew deep down that there was still Leopold to confront—and it would have to be sooner rather than later.

The encounter with him could no longer be avoided or delayed. I had realised that he would not willingly relinquish the power and status he had usurped, without resistance or dispute. I would come to learn that he was prepared to die for what he considered his.

I escorted Genevieve to a carriage that awaited her, to take her to a hidden location where Leopold could neither find nor harm her. I considered myself extremely fortunate to have saved Genevieve from that scoundrel—my supposed twin brother.

Verily, if ever there were such a man of duplicity, it was Leopold in human flesh. I had Eva stay with Genevieve while I awaited Leopold’s triumphant return. Though reluctant at first to comply with my request, she ultimately agreed. Her veins boiled with justice.

She had a score to settle with Leopold, and I had promised to assist her in that endeavour. In the meantime, I needed her to remain with Genevieve. I returned to the inn, ruminating repeatedly over how the confrontation with Leopold might unfold, and what his reaction would be. I sensed he had already been apprised of my escape and was likely preparing for my appearance at the Eichenwald Estate.

Though somewhat nervous at first, my unease was gradually replaced by a determination to unmask him. I could not prevent Eva from seeking her own revenge against Leopold. I only hoped she would not be permanently tarnished by it. I left the inn that evening in disguise, fearing detection, and made my way to the home of my beloved uncle, Otto Eichenwald—knowing that I must convince him too.

As with Genevieve, I could not be certain I would succeed in persuading him. He was like a second father to me. It was difficult to accept how much unnecessary hardship I had endured, all at the hands of a ruthless conniver who had orchestrated his deception with cunning skill. I could not permit him to remain a danger—not only to my family, but to society at large. He was not a foe to be underestimated. That, I had learnt the hard way.

I was fully determined to outwit him and not fall prey to his calculated schemes once more. Along the way to my uncle's house, my thoughts were occupied solely with the need to expose the impostor. Once I arrived, I waited patiently amongst the trees near his garden for the moment he stepped into his carriage and left the estate. I had not foreseen how difficult it might be to persuade him. Yet I knew he was a man who would recognise me by my character, despite the hideous scar that now marked my face.

As with Genevieve, I had to choose my words with care, ensuring they reflected my truth. Though I had much to lose, I felt that I had already lost something far greater—the irretrievable episodes of time stolen from my life. It was a haunting reminder of how swiftly and drastically life can be altered.

When the moment came to speak with my uncle, I approached him slowly from behind, just as he was about to leave the premises. I called his name, and he turned to face me.

‘Uncle!’

‘Who are you, and how did you get inside the estate?’ he asked, startled.

‘I am Martin, your nephew!’ I replied.

‘Martin, my nephew?’

‘Yes, uncle. I have returned to Darmstadt to reclaim that which was usurped from me’.

‘What do you mean—usurped?’

I began to recount the tale of the doppelgänger, explaining how he had imprisoned me and assumed my identity against my will. As with Genevieve, his expression was one of disbelief and astonishment. But it did not take long for him to believe me, for he had already harboured suspicions about Leopold’s behaviour during my absence.

It seemed Leopold had begun to reveal his true nature. I did not wish to believe that he was, in essence, my alter ego—a thought I found deeply unsettling. I explained my intentions and asked my uncle if he would aid me in recovering my honour, for the sake of my father. He reassured me that he would do all in his power to assist me. His honour, too, was at stake. I informed him that I was staying at a local inn in Darmstadt.

The morning after my visit to my uncle, I prepared myself thoroughly. I was certain my evil counterpart, Leopold, would return that day, and I contemplated the upcoming confrontation with a heightened sense of suspense. I left the inn and headed to the Eichenwald Estate, unsure of what would transpire when I finally came face to face with my supposed twin.

Every time I looked into the mirror, I was reminded of the horrific scar Leopold had inflicted upon me. It was a mark I would bear for the rest of my life, unwillingly. During my imprisonment, I often thought of vengeance, yet there was more at stake than the restoration of my prestige. I could not allow revenge to compromise my intellect or character.

I lay hidden in the bushes before the house that had once been mine. Soon after, I saw Leopold’s carriage enter the estate through the open gates. I knew then that the hour of reckoning had arrived. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I approached the house.

I managed to enter undetected and made my way to the room where Leopold was seated. The servants were preoccupied and paid no heed to my intrusion. I carried a pistol concealed within my waistcoat, should I be forced to use it.

I knew I had to be cleverer and braver than Leopold to succeed. He was at his escritoire, penning a letter, when I entered the room quietly. At first, he mistook me for a servant.

‘I shall be requesting a glass of wine to soothe my nerves, after my long trip’.

‘Indeed. May I suggest another glass for me?’ I said sarcastically.

He recognised my voice at once, startled by my unexpected appearance. ‘That voice...I recognise it clearly’.

He turned and rose to his feet, visibly shocked. It appeared he had not been informed of my escape from the dungeon where he had condemned me.

‘Mein Gott—how did you escape?’

‘I see you were not told of my escape, brother’.

‘I’ve been preoccupied with estate matters and preparing for my marriage to Genevieve. I shall have their heads for letting you escape’.

‘It is too late, Leopold. There is no turning back now. You cannot prevent your downfall’.

‘Fool! Do you think anyone will believe you? Look at you—a man with a hideous scar on his face. They will think you mad!’

‘Perhaps some will. Others will not. What matters is what my loved ones believe — and they believe me’.

‘You mean your overbearing uncle and your pathetic fiancée?’

‘Indeed’.

He laughed and mocked me. ‘I don’t need them anymore. I have all the estate’s assets in my name’.

‘You mean mine, Leopold’.

His wicked grin faltered as reality dawned upon him. ‘So long as you’re dead, I shall remain master of the estate’.

‘That’s the thing — I am not dead’.

I shut the door as he reached for a pistol in his escritoire. I thwarted his attempt, drawing my own weapon and pointing it at him.

‘I shall give you two choices, Leopold—vanish and never return, or face me in a duel like a man of honour’.

He accepted at once. ‘I’ve come too far to lose what I’ve taken. And what I’ve taken belongs to me!’

‘That is where you are wrong—and it is a mistake you will soon regret. Vengeance shall not blind me, but its taste will be sweeter than I ever imagined’.

‘We shall see whether or not you speak the truth, brother’.

‘Words do not speak louder than actions, Leopold’, I replied.

I led him through a secluded chamber that concealed a tunnel leading into the estate’s forest. There, we would determine our fate. My uncle awaited us—the sole witness to our duel. The ominous cawing of ravens echoed from the trees around us.

Leopold was no foe to be taken lightly. Soon we stood before each other, pistols in hand, our gazes locked with mutual anxiety and resolve.

Perhaps I had been foolish to demand a duel when I could have had him arrested and imprisoned. But I wished to punish him myself—for his unrepenting perversity. Everything I had planned since my escape had led to that moment. My uncle gave the command. We took our paces, turned, and halted. It had been agreed we would fire at the same time.

We were given only two bullets in the pistols to achieve our objective and end our quarrel. I had no idea whether Leopold was an expert marksman, but I would soon have my answer. He was the first to shoot, striking a bullet into my left arm. In return, I shot him in the right hand—the one he relied upon. At once, he dropped his pistol, whilst I held my position with composure and resolve.

He was given the chance to retrieve it and fire his last bullet, and he attempted to do so. Fortunately for me, he missed. The shot strayed and struck a nearby branch. It was then my turn, and I could have killed him if I had wished. But I chose instead to wound and humiliate him, aiming for his remaining hand. He screamed and cursed, writhing in pain from both injuries.

'Now, you will feel my pain, Leopold'.

'What are you going to do with me?' He asked.

'I gave you two options. One was a duel, which you have failed miserably. The other was to leave Darmstadt and this estate for good'.

'Are you telling me that I am free to go?'

'That all depends on you, Leopold. Stay, and you will be imprisoned—as I once was. I would leave you to rot in the same dungeon where I languished. Or you may choose exile'.

He remained reluctant to relinquish his status, yet he was compelled to choose exile.

'I shall choose the latter'.

'There is one thing I shall remind you of. If you ever return and attempt again to usurp my name, my reputation, and above all my life, you shall find yourself arrested on the charges of which you have long been suspected. Do not think I am ignorant of your enemies—they are closer to finding you than you believe, brother'.

It was enough to persuade him to depart the estate at once and never return. But as I let down my guard, he snatched up my pistol and attempted to shoot me. Fortunately, my uncle, who had been watching, carried a pistol in his waistcoat. Seeing Leopold’s desperate move, he shot him dead on the spot where he stood. It was finally over.

I rejoiced in reclaiming my name, my relationship with my uncle, and my beloved Genevieve. Eva became a friend to the family and visited us often.

I was freed of the imposter that was Leopold. The doppelgänger was vanquished and consigned to the shadows from which he had emerged. It was never proven that he was my brother, nor a legitimate heir to the Eichenwald Estate. Yet, I would have offered him a token of the family's fortune and a position within the baronage, had he chosen a path other than usurpation.

That possibility would never be realised.

As for my dear Genevieve, we would be married a week later. In time, we were blest with a son and a daughter, who would carry on the Eichenwald legacy with pride and honour.

After the duel and the swift, brutal shot fired by my uncle, the stillness that followed was not peace—it was exhaustion. The kind that seeps into the bones after years of betrayal, silence, and stolen identity. The servants had dragged Leopold’s body away with more efficiency than reverence. The blood had already soaked into the grass by the time I returned to my chamber, not even bothering to change from my torn shirt. I simply sat, staring into the fireplace, watching the embers curl like forgotten memories.

That night, I could not sleep. My mind was a siege—visions of my imprisonment, his cruel laughter, the parade he made of my name. I had thought that regaining my life would bring clarity, some triumphant renewal. But all I felt was the phantom weight of a shadow that had nearly consumed me.

At dawn, I descended into the old wine cellar—one of the few places in the estate that had remained untouched during my absence. There, hidden behind a false wall I remembered from boyhood, I found a small trunk. Inside: letters, sketches, documents—pieces of his plan. Meticulously drawn signatures forged to perfection. Letters sent under my name to allies I had not seen in years. Even a sealed letter addressed to Genevieve, declaring my supposed madness and death, signed with trembling compassion as though written by a grieving brother. The audacity of it sickened me.

I burned it all.

Every page, every seal, every calculated deception. I watched them disintegrate in the hearth, curling like serpents in the flame.

Later that morning, I summoned the magistrate. I handed over the signed statement Leopold had drafted under duress just before the duel—a confession of identity theft, conspiracy, and falsified records. He had hoped it would grant him clemency, but now it would serve as the final proof. I insisted on a public statement to clear any lingering rumours that might suggest his legitimacy or our kinship.

I did not mourn him. I did not speak his name.

At his burial—which I did not attend—I had the groundskeeper place no marker over the site. No stone, no cross. Let the earth swallow him and his ambition. Let there be no memory of him here.

Genevieve, wise and gentle as ever, noticed the change in me. I was no longer the man she had known before my vanishing, nor the hollow echo she had feared I had become. I was something else now—something colder, sharpened by betrayal.

One evening, as we walked the length of the orchard, she turned to me and asked, ‘Do you regret not showing him mercy?’

I looked out at the horizon, golden with the coming dusk.

‘I did’, I said. ‘But mercy is wasted on wolves in the clothing of kin’.

We never spoke of Leopold again—not in the house, not in the village, not even in whispers. In time, the estate flourished once more. We celebrated births, feasts, and quiet evenings. But the space where his memory might have lived remained unoccupied, sealed and untouchable.

He had wanted to take everything from me—my name, my legacy, my beloved. In the end, I denied him even remembrance.

The winter that followed was the harshest Darmstadt had seen in decades. Snow clung to the branches like frostbitten hands, and the wind howled through the valley with the voice of something ancient and unmerciful. I spent most days tending to estate matters, walking the halls of Eichenwald not as a nobleman basking in victory, but as a survivor reclaiming a ravaged home.

There were places I had avoided rooms he had favoured, corridors that echoed with false authority. But eventually, I made my way to the East Wing, to the study he had occupied. It was left untouched since his death, as though even the servants feared disturbing what lingered there.

The door creaked as I entered, and the stale air carried a strange scent—ink, pipe smoke, something metallic and faintly sweet. I stood still for a moment, not out of fear, but out of deliberation. I would not flinch in this house again.

His notes were scattered on the desk—strategies, names, even sketches of me as I had once looked, almost lovingly rendered. It was as if he needed to become me down to the flick of the wrist or the curl of a signature. There was a notebook he had kept locked, but I broke it open with the brass letter opener I once used as a boy.

Inside: dreams. Not of conquest or cruelty, but fragments—frustrated scrawls about a life unlived. 'They would never call me heir'. 'He was always the golden one'. 'I did not ask to be born in the shadow'. It was not remorse. It was resentment, pressed into every page like venom into skin.

I burnt it, too. But slower this time. Page by page. I watched his words perish in flame, not to erase him, but to cleanse the room of him. That was when I found the portrait.

Hidden behind the bookshelves, nearly forgotten, was a canvas turned to the wall. I flipped it around and met my own eyes—or rather, the eyes of the man who had worn my face. He had commissioned it during my imprisonment, dressed in my coat of arms, standing with one hand perched on a globe, as though the world were already his. The painter had captured him well—ambition in the mouth, duplicity in the eyes.

I did not burn this. I had it carried down into the family vault, locked behind iron gates. Let it remain a silent warning for generations to come that even noble blood may carry a poison, and even kin may wear the devil’s skin.

My children would ask, years later, about the sealed room and the portrait they were never allowed to see. I told them only this: 'There once was a man who wished to be someone else. He nearly succeeded. But he forgot that the soul cannot be forged, only lived'.

Genevieve understood without needing explanation. She never pressed. Her love was the one thing Leopold could never mimic, and perhaps that is what doomed him most.

As spring thawed the land, I stood once more at the edge of the forest, where the duel had been fought, and ran my fingers over the gnarled bark of the tree that still bore the mark of his stray bullet. I traced the scar with my thumb and whispered into the wind.

‘You’re nothing now. Not even my ghost’.

I left the surrounding forest with no desire to return. My life was no longer shared with him in memory or in name. The Doppelgänger was not simply defeated. He was extinguished—like a false star that had flickered briefly in a borrowed sky to be buried in the ill-starred pages of history.

Recommend Write a ReviewReport

Share Tweet Pin Reddit
About The Author
Franc68
Lorient Montaner
About This Story
Audience
18+
Posted
3 Mar, 2024
Words
8,158
Read Time
40 mins
Rating
No reviews yet
Views
2,172

Please login or register to report this story.

More Stories

Please login or register to review this story.