Mirrored

Jerry awoke at 5:48, as he did most every morning, to Champagne Supernova by Oasis. It alway amused him to think he had an entire routine based upon a total random and trivial number. He tried to simultaneously drown himself in the wonderfully warm blankets and rejoin the oblivion of sleep and to sing along to his beloved song. Eventually, necessity drove him out of the beloved refuge and onto the cold hard ground, onto which he unceremoniously rolled.

His stomach plunged as he righted himself, and he felt contents of what had been a very good meal last night, though he doubted it would taste good a second time. Perhaps the meal was the cause. The shrimp had tasted a wee bit odd, and Ol’ McGrinky’s wasn’t exactly known for its adherence to health codes. In fact, he wouldn’t have put it past the waiter to have spite in his food. His clothing had been of fien make, but the guy looked shifty, even cruel.

Jerry managed to get a hold of his stomach and keep it down, and stumbled to the bathroom, groping for the light switch bleary-eyed. It flickered on, and he turned to the sink, splashing some cool water upon his face. As he righted himself, feeling a wee bit refreshed, he glanced in the mirror. A thin fortyish year old man, pale with brown eyes stared back. A bit more wrinkled than a man of his age should be, hair a bit more thin and grey. He stepped towards the shower and another wave of nausea hit, causing him to double over and groan in pain.

On a normal day, he’d have loved to have a reason to stay home. To be free of such drudgery and relax, just him and pathogen. But today was not any day.

He worked for a geological surveying company, hired mostly by oil companies. It would be one thing if he were one of the surveyors. They got to go out, take samples, travel, and actually accomplish something. His job, in contrast, consisted primarily of entering the data they collected into a database, which did the majority of the analysis for them. His job was essentially a filler because they were too lazy to figure out how to type data on a laptop or tablet and then plug in a hard drive. Sometimes he was grateful for this oversight. Usually he wasn’t.

But today he got the results of their surveys from two days ago. They’d managed to find something that looked like refined steel and titanium far below the ocean floor. They thought it might be some early submarine that somehow got swallowed up. And his buddy Steve, who was on the survey crew who found that sample, promised him that he’d be able to go with them to dig more and potentially excavate something around there if he used his vacation days. And heaven knew he had enough of those saved up.

He stepped out of his door, painted a bright white that contrasted the dark brown of every door, and began to walk down the street. He felt a bit weak and unsure on his feet from the bad seafood, but his pinstripe suit and the various medicines he’d taken out of the drug cabinet in hopes that one would help strengthened his resolve and kept him moving. A cool wind whipped through his suit, but it wasn’t intolerably cold, perhaps even refreshing.

He stopped by the door to a small coffee shop, and was greeted by the warmth and a barrage of familiar smells, a strength in his veins almost strong enough to cure him of his food poisoning.

He waited behind the couple ordering, then said in the most cheery tone he could muster, which wasn’t saying much considering his current health, “Hey-oh, Matt. How’s business?”

Matthew tilted his head a little, confused, then gave a little chuckle. “Ah, forgot something once more Jerry? What’s it this time? Wallet, phone, perhaps all your marbles? Ha!”

“I dear say, you’re losing your touch! Terribly unconvincing performance. That routine was made and died before you were born, dear lad!”

Matthew’s face sunk from his smile of a good verbal joust to one uneasiness. “Are you okay? You look kind of pale? Are you sick or something?”

“Yeah, a tad bit. I’m also sick of this terrible service, ring me up already with the regular, or I’ll be speaking to the manager, ha!”

“I am the manager. Ha ha. I already made you the regular. It was a pumpkin macchiato with a berry whip and three different sprinkles. I called the name Gary instead of Jerry like always. You took it and walked out.” There was a strange tone of worry that didn’t belong to his goofy young punk face.

“Well… just make me another one then.” Jerry felt an uneasiness creep up his spine.

He typed his phone number into a little box, then his password, pleasegoimpersonatesomeoneelse. He always thought if a hacker ever stole all his accounts and savings, at least he would have the satisfaction of knowing they typed that phrase in at some point and must have been very surprised. 

He shuddered when he noticed there was already one more star for the rewards program then there had been yesterday, but finished paying.

Jerry slurped on the near searing drink as he exited the shop, feeling his anxieties melt with the sugary drink. His regular consisted of whatever the person felt like making at the time plus three mismatched sprinkles. Some of the workers understood that it was just one of those random little things he liked to do to amuse himself, while others thought he was outright insane. It was the second group that really made things like that worth it. He’d suffered through several toxic tasting concoctions, but he was in it for the sugar and caffeine, not flavor.

A block later he stopped at the newspaper stand and was greeted by the familiar smell of paper and ink.

“‘ello there, chap. Back again so soon?” The guy who ran the stand was a lively black man in his thirties, and the two liked to outdo each other with outrageous British accents, a necessity for anyone touting something as bloody outdated as a newspaper. The lad, Charlie, was actually a millionaire from inheritance, but he liked to run the newspaper stand for free. Gave him a purpose and a reason for reenactment.

 “Don’t reckon I am back again so soon, really. Pass me one of those papers like a good lad, and put it on my tab.” Without waiting for Charlie’s response, he picked up one of the papers and scanned the headlines. Not much was happening in the world apparently, because some conspiracy theorist claiming the government controlled everything and had massive secrets dominated the front page.

Charlie wore the face of someone who knew they were involved in a joke, but had yet to know what the joke entailed. “Already put one of those on your tab, good sir.”

“Ahh yes, I’ve heard there is a look alike in town.”

“No, I didn’t give it to a look alike. I gave it to you.”

“Well, this day is certainly an odd one, wouldn’t you say?”

Charlie responded, but Jerry was deaf to his words as he shuffled off, wondering what in the heavens was happening. What if he was losing it? Going through things twice?

Or what if… there really was another one of him?

He should have asked when he’d passed. They’d probably have noticed if he was much earlier then he usually was, right?

Normally he would stop at Berklen’s Deli to get his lunch for later, but that would take a few minutes. Perhaps enough minutes to catch up to his phantom self. He started to run, his suit and tie flapping. He pushed past a couple who shouted cuss words at his back. Long jumped a poor wretched soul slumbering on the sidewalk. He passed the Deli, then two more blocks.

He was out of breath by the time he reached where he always crossed the road. He often went on walks, but running was never really his thing, and it was doing a number on his lungs and stomach. The walk sign went down right as he reached the crosswalk, two streets before the building where he worked (it was the easiest way to avoid puddles).

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone in a pinstripe suit. His height. Thin. Slightly greying brown hair. The man seemed to sense he was being watched and turned around. Jerry let out a gasp. It was like staring into a mirror. The face was the same down to the same wrinkle. Time seemed to pause as Jerry stared at himself.

The man’s eyes suddenly widened in alarm, and he began to run.

“Whatever’s happening, he’s the key. He must know something,” Jerry thought. 

He took a breath.

The random, the bizaare was no longer made by him, at least not the same him.

There was finally something strange, something more.

Something greater than him.

He took another breath.

And ran straight through five lanes of traffic.

Cars honked and swerved, brakes screeched. But he heard nothing. He saw nothing, nothing but the back of himself fleeing from him.

He pushed past people, unaware of their discomfort. The pain and tiredness of just moments before seemed to fade away. And a very new, brilliantly, wonderful feeling began to flood through his veins.

Excitement. Something he’d never really known, not like this.

He was starting to make up ground.

But the other him was still fast. He made it to the door of John’s Geological Surveying Co. before Jerry could catch him, and rushed past the security guard.

The security guard wasn’t the regular jolly security guard, but a serious looking giant with a crew cut.

Jerry tried to rush past him, but the man caught him, pulling his arms to his side and covering his mouth with his hand.

Jerry kicked and punched, and even tried biting, but the strength of just seconds ago seemed to abandon him. The man tossed him into the back of a car whose engine was already running, got in the front and screeched into traffic. 

The door locked from the inside, there was no exit there.

There was a screen between him and the driver. Sound could pass through, but he certainly couldn’t. 

The windows were tinted. No signalling for help.

His phone! Idiot, why hadn’t he thought of that earlier! He began to pat his pockets. Then more desperately.

The driver checked the mirror, then held up Jerry’s phone. Apparently this guy was a massive pickpocket.

Perhaps there was no escape.

“What’s happening? Why were there two of me? Where are you taking me?” He accidentally kicked something, and a clang resounded. He looked down and suddenly felt even more sick. “Why do you have a shovel?”

“You know why I have the shovel.”

The man sounded almost pitying.

The landscape slowly faded from urban to country. The pain in his stomach steadily increased as they went along, until every breath felt strained. 

When the silent driver heard him begin to groan, he pushed in a disc.

The familiar intro of Champagne Supernova began to play.

“I love this song,” Jerry mumbled faintly.

“We know,” the driver quietly replied.

How special people change, how many lives are living strange, where were you-

Jerry screamed through clenched teeth as the pain in his stomach became a burning.

Slowly walking down the hall, faster than a cannonball. Where were you while we were getting high?

The pain began to fade to the background and his vision began to blur, and the song began to echo in his mind like a distant melody, slowly becoming lost to him.

Some day you will find me, caught beneath the landslide, in a champagne supernova in the sky. Some day you will find me, caught beneath the landslide, in a champagne supernova, a champagne supernova in the sky.

Jerry awoke at 5:48, as he did most every morning, to Champagne Supernova by Oasis. He slammed the off button as soon as he was conscious enough to register his surroundings. Jer- he had terrible taste in music. It was important that he catch little slips like that, even in his mind. He stumbled to the bathroom. After a quick shower, a couple layers of makeup, and some brown contacts, he was ready to go.

He stepped outside, still adjusting his tie to make sure the micro camera had a full view, adjusted the uncomfortable wire that led to his ear, and braced himself to drink whatever concoction they gave him to drink that day. 

Keeping secrets had always come at a high cost.