Reflections

A single bulb flickered above, casting sharp, shifting shadows across the cold, gray walls of the interrogation room. Detective Callahan leaned forward, his hands planted on the scarred metal table. His voice sliced through the thick, oppressive air.

“You’re lying! One of you killed her—tell us who!”

Eleanor sobbed, her chest heaving as tears carved paths down her pale cheeks. Her hands trembled, gripping the edges of her chair as if it might anchor her to reality.

“No, don’t!” she cried, her voice cracking. “She’s trying to pin it on me, but it was her! Elise did it!”

Across the table, Elise sat motionless, her demeanor an eerie contrast to Eleanor’s distress. She tilted her head, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. Her eyes—sharp, calculating—seemed to bore into the detective’s.

“She’s delusional,” Elise said, her voice calm but laced with venom. “She always has been.”

Callahan’s jaw clenched. He leaned closer, his shadow looming over Eleanor. “You expect me to believe this crap? Your mother’s dead, and both of you have a different story about how it happened. Start talking. Now.”

Eleanor’s sobs subsided into hiccupping gasps. She glanced at Elise, her expression a mixture of terror and rage. “She hated Mom,” she whispered. “Always said she was holding us back, that we’d be better off without her.”

“Bullshit,” Elise snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a whip. “You’re the one who screamed at her last week. Said you wished she was dead.”

Callahan held up a hand, silencing them. He paced the room, his boots clicking on the linoleum. “Let’s go back,” he said. “The night of the murder. Walk me through it, Eleanor. From the beginning.”

Eleanor swallowed hard, her gaze darting to the mirror on the far wall. For a moment, her reflection seemed strange—distorted—but she blinked, and it was gone.

“She’d been sick for days,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Weak, coughing. I stayed by her side, but Elise—she didn’t care. She just kept to herself in her room, sneaking out at night. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know…”

Her voice faltered, and she buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t know she was poisoning her!”

Elise laughed, a hollow, chilling sound. “That’s rich,” she said. “You, the dutiful daughter? Please. You were the one with the herbal obsession. Always brewing your little tinctures. You think I didn’t notice the nightshade you hid in the pantry?”

“That’s a lie!” Eleanor shrieked, slamming her fists on the table. “You’re lying!”

Callahan’s hand slammed down, silencing them both. “Enough!” he barked. He turned to Elise, his eyes narrowing. “Your turn. Tell me your version.”

Elise leaned back in her chair, exuding a calm confidence that only deepened the tension. “It was Eleanor,” she said, her voice steady. “She’s always been… unstable. Mom tried to get her help, but she refused. She snapped that night, smashed the big mirror in the parlor during one of her fits. I found her standing over Mom’s body with shards of glass in her hands.”

Eleanor gasped, her face contorted with shock. “No! That’s not true! You’re twisting everything!”

“Am I?” Elise said, her tone icy. “Tell me, Eleanor, if you were so innocent, why was there blood on your hands?”

“It was yours!” Eleanor shot back. “From when I tried to stop you!”

The room fell silent except for the faint hum of the overhead light. Callahan studied the two women, his expression unreadable.

“You both claim the other’s guilty,” he said slowly. “But there’s one thing you haven’t explained.”

Both women turned to him, their faces mirroring confusion and fear.

Callahan’s lips curled into a grim smile. “The broken mirror,” he said. “Why did you both mention it?”

Eleanor’s breath hitched. She clutched the edge of the table, her knuckles white. “Because it shattered,” she said. “When Elise pushed Mom into it.”

“Liar,” Elise hissed. “She broke it herself, to hide her tracks.”

Callahan leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. “Or maybe,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, “it wasn’t broken by either of you.”

A heavy silence fell over the room, the weight of his words sinking in. Eleanor’s gaze flicked to the mirror again, her reflection seeming to ripple like water.

“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “It’s not possible.”

“What’s not possible?” Callahan demanded.

Her voice quavered as she whispered, “The mirrors… they see everything.”

***

The interrogation room dissolved into memory as Eleanor’s mind dragged her back to the house. Their mother’s house. A sprawling Victorian monstrosity filled with antique furniture, dimly lit hallways, and too many mirrors.

Eleanor had hated those mirrors. They lined the walls of nearly every room, some small and ornate, others massive and dominating entire walls. But they weren’t ordinary mirrors. The reflections always felt… wrong. As if the glass didn’t just reflect but watched.

The night in question started like so many others. Their mother, weak and frail, was confined to her bed upstairs. Eleanor hovered over her, wiping her brow with a damp cloth, whispering reassurances.

“She’s getting worse,” Eleanor had said aloud, though no one was there to hear.

The bedroom was oppressive, the air heavy with the smell of sickness and decay. The largest mirror in the house stood in the corner, its silver frame tarnished, the glass speckled with age. It loomed, casting warped reflections of Eleanor’s movements.

She caught herself glancing at it, then looking away. She could have sworn the reflection wasn’t quite right—her hand lingered on the cloth in the glass, even after she’d pulled it away.

Footsteps creaked outside the room, and Eleanor tensed. She recognized the sound: Elise’s deliberate, unhurried pace.

Eleanor stepped into the hall. “What are you doing up here?” she hissed, her voice low but sharp.

Elise appeared at the top of the stairs, her face partially hidden in the shadows. “Checking on you, dear sister,” she said, her tone dripping with mockery. “Can’t have you accidentally smothering her, now can we?”

“I don’t trust you,” Eleanor snapped.

“Good,” Elise replied, stepping closer. “That makes two of us.”

They stood inches apart, their eyes locked in a silent battle. The hallway stretched behind them, lined with mirrors that reflected their tense standoff. Except… something was wrong.

Eleanor’s heart skipped. In one of the mirrors, Elise wasn’t smirking—she was snarling, her lips curled back to reveal teeth.

“What’s wrong?” Elise asked, her voice soft, almost teasing.

“Nothing,” Eleanor said quickly, breaking eye contact. “Just go back downstairs.”

Elise chuckled, brushing past her and into their mother’s room. Eleanor followed, watching her sister’s every move.

“Sleeping like a baby,” Elise muttered, standing over their mother. She leaned closer, and for a moment, Eleanor thought she saw something glinting in Elise’s hand.

“What’s that?” Eleanor demanded.

Elise turned, her smile maddeningly calm. “What’s what?”

“Don’t play games with me,” Eleanor snapped. She lunged forward, grabbing Elise’s wrist.

Their struggle was brief but intense, a flurry of movement and muffled grunts. As they fought, the large mirror in the corner trembled on its stand. Then, with a deafening crash, it toppled forward, shattering into countless shards.

The sound was like a gunshot, echoing through the house. Their mother woke with a start, her eyes wide with terror.

“What are you doing?” she gasped, her voice thin and trembling.

Elise stepped back, her hands raised in mock surrender. “I was trying to stop her!” she said. “She was standing over you with a pillow!”

Eleanor’s jaw dropped. “That’s a lie!” she screamed. “You’re the one who—”

Their mother’s voice rose above the chaos, desperate and panicked. “No, don’t!”

And then, silence.

The memory froze in Eleanor’s mind. She couldn’t remember what happened next. Just the broken glass, the blood, and the sight of their mother lying motionless in her bed.

***

Back in the interrogation room, Eleanor blinked, her breathing shallow.

“Eleanor?” Callahan’s voice cut through her daze. “Where did you go just now?”

She looked at him, her eyes wide and unfocused. “The house,” she whispered. “It does things to you. The mirrors… they change you. They show you things you don’t want to see.”

Callahan exchanged a glance with the psychologist, Dr. Patel, who sat quietly in the corner, taking notes.

“What do you mean, ‘change you’?” Callahan asked.

Eleanor’s voice dropped to a tremulous whisper. “They show the truth.”

Across the table, Elise smirked. “You’re losing it, Ellie. Always have been.”

“No,” Eleanor said, her voice rising. “You’re the one who broke her! You poisoned her! You wanted her dead!”

“Enough,” Callahan said, his tone sharp. He turned to Elise. “You said Eleanor shattered the mirror. Why?”

“To hide what she did,” Elise replied coolly. “She thinks smashing a mirror can erase what it reflects. But you can’t undo what you see.”

Eleanor’s hands balled into fists. “You’re lying! You’re always lying!”

“Or,” Elise countered, leaning closer, “maybe you just can’t face the truth.”

***

The interrogation room seemed colder now, the fluorescent lights casting sharp shadows that cut across Eleanor’s face. Her fingers twitched as Elise’s taunting words echoed in her head.

Detective Callahan rubbed his temples, frustration etched across his face. “Let’s focus. Eleanor, you claim Elise poisoned your mother. Elise, you say Eleanor tried to suffocate her. What I want to know is this—who shattered the mirror, and why does it matter?”

Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, but Elise cut her off. “It matters because the mirror is the proof. Proof that Eleanor can’t keep it together.”

Eleanor slammed her palms on the table, rattling the metal frame. “Don’t you dare turn this on me! You’re the one who—” She stopped herself, glancing at her reflection in the one-way mirror beside them. Her image stared back, wide-eyed and trembling, but she could have sworn Elise’s reflection smirked.

“Elise!” Eleanor hissed.

“What?” Elise said, her voice infuriatingly calm.

“You’re doing it again,” Eleanor whispered, her gaze darting to the mirror. “I see you. I see what you really are.”

Callahan stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Enough with the mirrors,” he barked. “Start talking sense, or I’ll have both of you charged!”

His outburst silenced them, and for a moment, the room was still.

Dr. Patel cleared her throat, drawing the detective’s attention. “Detective, may I?”

Callahan waved a hand. “By all means, Doctor. Maybe you’ll get something out of them because I’m at my limit.”

Dr. Patel leaned forward, her voice soft but firm. “Eleanor, Elise, I want to ask you both the same question. Do you remember the moment the mirror shattered?”

Eleanor stared at the table, her fingers tracing invisible patterns. “I do,” she whispered. “It was Elise. She grabbed the stand and pushed it over. She wanted to scare me—she always wanted to scare me.”

Elise rolled her eyes. “Here we go again. That’s not how it happened, and you know it. You were the one who smashed it, Eleanor. You said you couldn’t stand the way it looked at you.”

“I never said that!” Eleanor snapped, her voice rising.

Dr. Patel raised a hand, silencing them both. “The mirror is significant to both of you. Can you tell me why?”

Eleanor hesitated, her gaze flitting to the reflective surface of the one-way mirror again. “It’s because… it shows things. Things you don’t want to see. It shows the truth.”

“The truth?” Dr. Patel asked gently.

Eleanor nodded, her voice trembling. “Our mother… she said the mirrors were special. She said they could show what you really are, even if you didn’t want to see it. That’s why Elise broke it—because she couldn’t face the truth.”

“Or maybe,” Elise interrupted, “you broke it because you saw something you didn’t like.”

The room fell silent. Eleanor’s breathing grew ragged, her hands trembling as her mind raced.

***

The memory returned, unbidden and vivid.

It was late that night, the house eerily quiet. Eleanor had been standing in front of the massive mirror, staring at her reflection. But it wasn’t just her. Elise was there, too, behind her, smirking as always.

“Why do you look at me like that?” Eleanor had whispered.

“Like what?” Elise asked, her tone dripping with false innocence.

“Like you know something I don’t.”

Elise’s smirk widened. “Maybe I do.”

Eleanor’s reflection began to change. The eyes darkened, the lips curled into a cruel sneer. She stepped back, shaking her head. “Stop it. Stop doing that!”

“I’m not doing anything,” Elise said, her voice low and mocking.

Eleanor grabbed the nearest object—a heavy candlestick—and hurled it at the mirror. The glass shattered with a deafening crash, shards scattering across the room.

The reflection fragmented into a thousand tiny pieces, but even then, Eleanor swore she could see Elise’s face staring back at her from each shard, laughing.

***

Back in the interrogation room, Eleanor’s breathing quickened. She looked up at Dr. Patel, desperation in her eyes. “It wasn’t me,” she whispered. “It wasn’t me.”

Elise’s laughter rang out, cold and sharp. “Keep telling yourself that, Ellie. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

Dr. Patel’s expression was unreadable as she glanced at Callahan. “Detective, I think it’s time we talked about the possibility of Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

Eleanor’s head snapped up. “What are you saying?”

Dr. Patel folded her hands on the table. “Eleanor, Elise… you aren’t twins. You’re two halves of the same person.”

Eleanor froze, her mind reeling. “What did you just say?”

Dr. Patel’s voice remained calm, but her words sliced through the air like a blade. “Eleanor, Elise… you’re not two separate people. You’re Emily, a single person with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Your mind created Eleanor and Elise as a way to cope with trauma.”

“That’s a lie!” Eleanor shouted, slamming her fists against the table. “I’m not… I’m not her! Elise is real! She’s sitting right there!”

Elise leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Of course I’m real. Tell her, Doctor. Tell her she’s losing her mind.”

Dr. Patel held Eleanor’s gaze, her tone steady. “Think, Eleanor. Has anyone besides you ever interacted with Elise? Have you ever seen the two of you in the same room with another person? Or have you just convinced yourself of her existence?”

Eleanor’s breath hitched. She clutched her head, shaking it violently. “No, no, no! She’s real! She’s real!”

“She’s real because you need her to be,” Dr. Patel pressed gently. “Your mind fractured to protect itself. The guilt, the pain—it was too much for one person to bear. So, you created Elise.”

Eleanor’s vision blurred, her thoughts spinning. The memories—the fights, the taunts, the laughter—came rushing back. But they were always alone. Always together.

***

Memory Fragment:

Their mother’s voice echoed in the dimly lit house. “Emily, stop talking to yourself! You’ll drive yourself mad!”

She’d laughed it off then, brushing her mother’s words aside. Elise was always there, wasn’t she? Always watching. Always whispering.

***

Detective Callahan’s gruff voice cut through the haze. “So, what are we saying here? That Emily—Eleanor, Elise, whoever—killed her mother because of this… disorder?”

Dr. Patel nodded. “That’s a strong possibility. The two personalities likely fought for dominance, and in the chaos, Emily’s true self—fractured and confused—acted out.”

“No,” Eleanor whispered, tears streaming down her face. “No, it was Elise. She hated her. She wanted her gone!”

Elise leaned forward, her voice dripping with venom. “And what about you, Ellie? Didn’t you hate her, too? All the rules, the mirrors, the way she made us feel so small?”

“Stop it!” Eleanor screamed, clapping her hands over her ears. “You’re not real! You’re not real!”

“Tell yourself that all you want,” Elise hissed. “But we both know the truth. You killed her.”

***

Flashback: The Night of the Murder

Emily—or was it Eleanor?—stood over her mother’s bed, the pillow clutched tightly in trembling hands. The old woman’s eyes fluttered open, fear flashing across her face.

“No, don’t!” her mother had gasped, her voice weak and pleading.

But the words barely registered. The voices inside her head—Elise’s voice—were too loud, too insistent. “Do it. She’s the reason we’re like this. End it!”

The pillow came down, muffling the screams, the thrashing. Then… silence.

When it was over, Emily staggered back, the pillow falling to the floor. She caught sight of herself in the mirror across the room. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with horror. But the reflection wasn’t hers—it was Elise’s, grinning triumphantly.

***

Eleanor’s knees buckled as the memory slammed into her. She fell from the chair, clutching her chest as sobs wracked her body.

Callahan frowned, looking to Dr. Patel. “What now?”

Dr. Patel exhaled, her expression somber. “We’ll need to assess her thoroughly, but it’s clear she needs psychiatric help. This isn’t just a murder investigation anymore.”

Eleanor’s sobs quieted. She lifted her head, staring at the mirror in the interrogation room. Her tear-streaked face stared back, hollow and broken. But just behind her reflection, Elise’s face lingered, smirking as always.

“You’ll never be rid of me,” Elise whispered, her voice echoing in Eleanor’s mind.

Eleanor’s lips trembled, a chilling smile spreading across them. “Maybe not,” she murmured.

Callahan and Dr. Patel exchanged uneasy glances as Eleanor stood, her gaze fixed on the mirror. Her reflection shifted subtly—one face splitting into two before merging again.

The detective reached for the light switch, flipping it off. The room plunged into darkness, but in the mirror, two faces remained, glowing faintly in the dim light.