A Living Mirage

Life, as funny as it sounds, flows in a circle. And I, personally, never liked circles! I'm more of an octagon kind of person.

Sally snorts at her own thoughts, but groans when the noise is muffled by the hand that is covering the lower part of her face. It smells of sewerage. Grimy, disgusting and somewhat musty. Familiar. Heart-wrenching, stomach-churning, brain rotting, but familiar. Maybe a little too familiar...

His movements are sluggish, as usual. His joints crack with every step and Sally fears he might die on the spot. Although, she is certain nobody would miss good ol' Donovan Peters if he were to suddenly disappear.

They slowly creep into the familiar room, announcing their arrival with every creek of rotten wooden floor. Sally's mind wistfully returns to her life before this. Was there even one? Her memory falters. Why can't I remember?

Her eyes scan the room frantically, sweeping over the unmade bed, splintered floor and boarded up window. Her home. Her cell. Her hands strain against the rope, shaking from the terror of having returned to this fearful place.

"Nph." Her protest is muffled, much like her snort from earlier.

"No, no. This will not do." His voice is croaky and barely clear. If she had not known his actual age, she might have thought him to be on the verge of expiration. His chest presses against the back of her head as he forces her inside. His shove is aggressive and when she falls to the floor, his laughter ricochets off the walls.

She barely manages to get to her knees when the door is slammed, locked and barred.

Donovan's sinister laughter continues to echo as the sound of his footsteps retreats. Sally shakes her head, forcing tears back into her eyes. She won't, no, she refuses to lose any more of them for that monster.

"I told you, it won't work." A doe eyed beauty emerges from the darkest corner of the room. Sally's temper flares and she springs to her feet, charging at the beauty.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Her voice is cold enough to slice through any warmth in the room and the beauty lowers her eyes. Sally tugs on the rope around her wrists until it unties and then uses it to press down onto the other girl's neck. Layla Angelou can rot for all I care! The voice in her head is loud, and she hisses. The girl claws at the rope around her throat and falls back against the wall. Splinters pierce her skin, but she refuses to make a sound.

"It's always you! Why?" Sally's eyebrows are pulled together furiously, and her sharp blue eyes have turned into ice.

"T-to h-he-"

"Don't lie to me!" Sally's outburst receives no reply and her arms finally slump enough for the girl to breathe. But she does not remove the rope. "I," A sob wracks through her chest. "I thought that this time, at least this once, you'd let me go."

"G-go where?" The girl rasps, rubbing her throat. Her luscious black hair cascades down her back and shoulders, perfectly framing her figure. Her green eyes hold a certain complicated depth and her plump pink lips are pulled into a miserable pout.

"I," Sally pulls away completely. "Somewhere, nowhere, anywhere but here." She turns her back on the girl and throws the rope aside, massaging her bruised wrists.

"We can make this work, Sally! I promise. If you just try, you'll see. Please, why can't you just stay with me?

Sally ignores her. This is a conversation they've had before. A fruitless one. Once she's soothed the sting on her wrists, she turns around to face the girl again. Her eyes trail down to her throat and her stomach churns at the fresh burn marks. She knew her throat was already sensitive. She can admit when she was out of line.

"I'm sorry, Layla." Her head nods in the direction of the girls neck, but the girl waves it away quickly.

"Not a problem at all. Happens to us all."

They remain in silence for a good five minutes before Layla walks towards the bed and starts to fix the bedding. She hums a soft tune as she works, sounding rather cheerful. Sally hates it. How can she be so content? In a situation such as this?

"I kept some dinner for you." Layla pulls a corroded metal bowl from below the bed and nudges it towards Sally who reluctantly nears to accept it. The half eaten apple in the bowl is bruised and looks less than appetizing, but she sends Layla a grateful smile and devours it.

"I'll try again, someday. You know that, right?"

Something scratches at the window, scaring the two. Layla nearly trips over her own feet as she rushes to hide behind Sally's figure. Not that Sally has any height advantage over her.

Sally pats Layla's hand on her shoulder comfortingly before removing it and placing the bowl on the ground. She clamps the apple core in her hand and crouches closer to the window.

Something about this feels too familiar and Sally falters in her steps. Something about the entire night feels way too familiar. Yes, she's been in this predicament for quite some time, but the déjà vu she's experienced tonight has been one too many for her to just ignore it.

The boards used to cover the window start to blur, pixelate. Sally glances over her shoulder at Layla to confirm if she's just imagining things, but the sheer confusion on Layla's face says it all. Everything is real.

Sally stops in front of the window and gasps when she sees the image within the pixelated particles. A scene, much like the one she's just experienced with Donovan, is mirrored in front of her.

A mirage? That's not possible.

She reaches forward, holding her breath as her finger tips breach the surface of the image before her. Sally turns around to face Layla, but her breathing stops completely when Layla's figure has disappeared. Her eyes scan the room frantically, but all evidence of Layla having been there has disappeared.

"Layla?" She tries to call, but her voice gets stuck in her throat. Sally turns towards the mirage again and falls backwards when her eyes connect with those of Layla. Only, this time, Layla's eyes are a forest green, with a small red fire burning inside her pupils. Pain creeps through her body as her back makes contact with the floor. Layla opens her mouth and what comes out is a cruel cackle.

Inside the mirage, Sally can see another version of herself being shoved into the room and then having a fight with Layla. But the difference is that there are two versions of Layla. The one is pressed against the wall by the other Sally, and the other one is standing to the side and laughing hysterically. Like she is watching a form of comedy.

"Oh, Sally dear." The cackling Layla turns to face Sally through the mirage, and the pixelated particles of the window starts to shimmer. Sally crawls backwards when Layla's hand pierces the surface and pale, bony fingers clamp around the frame of the window.

"I remember this." Her voice is muffled by uncertainty, but she manages to push herself up from the floor. "I remember all of this." She says this to herself as confirmation. Her eyes dart around the room and then back at where Layla is still dragging herself through the pixels.

She never understood her unsanctioned hate towards Layla, but suddenly it all makes sense. Every memory stabs at her mind, and for once she understand what is happening. She's always hated Layla because she knew exactly what she was. That's why Layla does this.

Sally runs towards the bed and collects the rope from the ground in the process. "I will escape!" She ties the rope around one of the springs at the bottom of the bed and bites into her hand, hard enough to draw blood. Tears spill from her eyes as she smears her blood all over the rope and then uses her index finger to write three simple words on the bottom of the mattress.

YOU MUST ESCAPE!

She stares at the words, her stomach churning from another feeling of déjà vu. I've done this before? She grits her teeth painfully before reaching up to add something else.

YOU MUST ESCAPE! LAYLA.

Sally crawls out from under the bed and eyes Layla's half emerged figure fearfully. Without a second longer to lose, she runs to the door and starts banging frantically. With every second she's banging, Layla crawls further out of the pixelated window, laughing comically at Sally's terror.

"What's all the ruckus about?" Donovan barges into the room, but Sally ducks underneath his arms and runs with her every fiber to reach the front door. The stairs complain under her weight as she trips down them, but she doesn't stop.

"Oh, Sally!" Layla's voice sing-songs from behind her and she shudders. Sally bumps against torn furniture and leaps over newspapers strewn all over the floor, but her eyes stay focused on the black, bolted front door. Her hands shake as she jiggles the locks around, but they refuse to budge.

"Come on, Sally! I just want to play."

"That's right! We just want to play!" Donovan's voice has turned more laryngeal and Sally's skin crawls.

Please, no!

She ruffles the old newspapers on the table beside the door, searching for the keys, but her movement stills when she notices an odd peculiarity in all of the newspapers. Although they are of different dates and already discolored, they have one thing in common. A picture of her. Although they have been edited and computer generated to show her at different ages, they are all her.

Her head spins and bile pushes up her throat. Sally backs away from the table until her back bumps against a kitchen counter. A voice inside of her yells at her to run, but her feet stay plastered to the ground. Layla's comical laughter has turned into sinister screams and Sally can finally hear Donovan's heavy footfalls approaching the staircase.

She shakes her head to clear her thoughts and almost releases a sigh of relief when she notices a pair of rusty keys peeking out from below a chipped teacup. Sally grabs the keys and rushes to the door, willing her trembling hands to still and complete the task.

One lock clicks open, then another, and finally the last one. Sally nearly sags to the floor in relief, but manages to keep herself poised enough to pull the door open. She runs out of the door, down the two stone steps and onto the asphalt ground. She manages to run all the way to a broken down truck when Donovan's voice booms in the form of a roar.

She ducks behind the truck and presses her back securely against it. Her chest rises and falls erratically and she makes sure to slow her breathing as to not make a sound. She lowers herself to the ground and pulls her knees to her chest, begging for a door of any of the surrounding houses to open and for someone to come to her rescue.

But no one does. Ever.

The silence that follows Donovan's roar is deafening. Layla has also stopped cackling and not even birds can be heard. This is the first time Sally scans the houses around them, only to notice the degraded state every one of the houses are in. They are old and decrepit. There is no possibility that anyone can live in these houses.

Her heart stutters and her entire body goes cold. She turns her gaze towards the side mirror of the truck and finds a terrified version of herself staring back. Her eyes widen at the words scrawled onto the mirror in old, dried blood.

NOT SAFE. FOLLOW ARROWS!

Her lips part, but no oxygen enters. She manages to push herself to her feet, albeit shakily, and glances around the truck. Donovan is standing in the doorway, looking around calmly. Behind him the low hum of Layla's singing fills the air.

"Run, little mouse. Run, little mouse. Let's all have some fun."

Goosebumps spread across the entirety of Sally's body and she hisses before pushing against the surface of the truck and taking off in the direction of the first arrow that's drawn beside the writing on the mirror.

Layla's laughter fills the air, but Sally ignores her as she pushes her legs and pumps her arms harder, harder. Her eyes scan the surrounding area as she runs, looking for any sign of an arrow. The arrows lead her all the way to an abandon parking lot of a large business. Her eyes fleet around frantically, but she sees no more arrows.

With Layla's humming from behind as her motivation, she runs into the building and ducks below the entrance gates, but when she stops in front of the doors of the elevator her entire body freezes. From the surface of the elevator door, albeit blurry due to the deterioration, she can see two glowing orbs smiling back at her. Those orbs are illuminated by a red fire burning from the middle of the black pupils.

"Poor little mouse." Layla leans over Sally's shoulder and skims her cold fingers across her cheek. "It's so easy to lay a trap for a mouse who loves its cheese." She laughs hysterically and leans onto Sally for support.

"T-this is n-not the end." Sally bites back, curling her hands into fists. Layla stares at her through the reflection of the elevator door before laughing comically.

"You're right, dear. This," She waves her hand around as if showcasing her to an audience. "Is simply the beginning. And we," She points a finger at Sally and then back at herself. "We are going to have a lot more fun together."

Sally rips herself away from Layla and spins around, but Layla tuts, snaps her fingers and then slaps her palm against Sally's forehead in one swift movement. "There's no rush, dear." With her words, Sally's world starts to spin and her eyes flicker before she is consumed by darkness.

And the next thing she sees is the familiar cold, creaking hallway of Donovan's apartment. He forces her down the hall with his chest pressed against the back of her head and his hand clamped securely around the lower half of her face.

Life, as funny as it sounds, flows in a circle. And I, personally, never liked circles! I'm more of an octagon kind of person.

Sally snorts at her own thoughts, but groans when the noise is muffled by the hand that is covering the lower part of her face. It smells of sewerage. Grimy, disgusting and somewhat musty. Familiar. Heart-wrenching, stomach-churning, brain rotting, but familiar.

But for the first time, it seems just a little too familiar...