Mirror She-Me

I first saw her in the mirror.

Me, but not-me.

Same, but not-same.

Beginning, flashes, something caught in the corner of my eye. Turning and then just seeing. Myself. Normal. Shrugging. The woman in the mirror responding as she should.

But then, stopping. Her own movements. No denying her presence.

There were differences; hair length and colour, not-same.

And similarities; eyes, same. Expression when scared witless, same.

She can’t talk to me. She is frustrated. She can’t hear me. More frustration.

I write a note, scribbled on the back of a supermarket receipt.

Noticing; when did I stop buying paper?

What do you want? A simple question, maybe a simple answer.

Flailing, wildly. Tapping on the glass, banging on the glass. Surely it will break? What then?

She looks around, trying to find something to write on. I see her surroundings. The room is dark, there is a candle. A candle? I frown. Where is she-me?

I lose her as she moves away from the mirror. I see myself. My real self. The one here, in the hall, in my house, daylight, familiar.

She reappears. She has… what is that? Coal? Strange. She writes on the mirror, it is backwards. I cannot make it out.

More frustration. Then she’s gone. The mirror-window between us closes.

I shake my head. Imagination?

I walk to the kitchen. He is there, tied to a kitchen chair, where I left him. Not imagination. Real. He is asleep. I wake him.

He looks around, startled in his sudden now-awake.

I tilt my head and look. His bruises are healing. I haven’t thought this through.

I untie him and we stumble to the bathroom. I keep a gun trained on him. I don’t want to clean up his piss.

He groans as his legs support his weight. He slumps against the wall in the downstairs bathroom. It’s colour-coordinated. A nice house. No-one would expect.

I take him back to the chair. Knots. I learned well.

Voice croaky, un-used. Almost a whisper. “When will you let me go?”

I frown. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know what’s next. This story has kept me alive since she died.

I shrug. “I might not. You might die here.” Attempt at nonchalance. It almost seems to work.

“You won’t kill me.” Confident.

“Why not? You killed her.” Did I answer out loud? I can’t be sure.

He meets my eyes. “You’re not like me.”

He’s right. I’m not. I have a shadow-sister, a me-not-me in the glass. He can’t boast that.

The mirror. I walk away, back to the hall. I need to know. He cannot have my attention right now. There are bigger things.

I turn quickly, and she’s there. The room is still dark, the candle burned lower. Time has passed. More time than here. Odd.

I look at her again and then look past.

She is not alone.

I squint at the darkness. She stands back to let me see. It’s her. We are there together. Something stirs. I almost catch it. The room looks familiar. Do I know this place?

A noise! My attention snaps away. The kitchen. Door open, swinging on its hinge in the breeze and he is gone. Maybe knots not so good.

I think and tilt my head. A habit. Problem solved? He cannot tell, because he would have to tell it all. But am I safe?

I return to the mirror. It has my full attention. I look again. I look.

A bed, sheets dirty. A tiny window, greasy, dull. A cellar, then. I close my eyes. I can smell the must. I do know this place.

This time, when she taps the glass I can hear it. I glance back to look at her and she shakes her head, once, twice, slowly. She is telling me no. But no to what? I falter, unsure as to whether to trust her-me.

There is an awfully good chance this is all in my head.

She points. To my-her sister. She is on the bed, bound. A nightshirt.

I turn away. I can’t do this. It’s too much. I’ve been there before.

This is a memory.

These are things I had forgotten, misplaced, chased. These thoughts do not belong in my head any more. I’ve moved past them. I caught him. I caught him. Revenge. Vengence.

But I’m brave, I look again. She points to the little window and then runs across the room and smashes it. Shards. I know what happens next.

I watch as she-me slowly cuts the bindings on her wrists. She is free, but he is oh-so angry. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have done it. I should have left her tied, bound, safe. A laugh. Safe? We were never safe. I have forgotten what safety means.

The story replays in slow-motion. The door opens. He descends. He sees. I stand in front, he swipes. I’m gone, stars and darkness. I cannot help her. I did this to her.

She is a doll. He can do what he wants. I cannot stop him. He reaches, hand around her neck and snaps. Life gone. Lifeless. Limp. I run. He’s forgotten to shut the door. We have never tried this before. He didn’t expect it.

I cannot see where I am running. The light is bright. Somehow, I am home. Home is empty. She is still in the cellar.

Too much. I step back. Mirror is just mirror. I look. Hair long, lank. I was doing better for a while. Circles. Dark. No sleep. Sleep means dreaming, and dreaming means waking, and forgetting that’s she has gone. No. The forgetting isn’t the problem. It’s the remembering that hurts.

I don’t recogise myself in the reflection. The other-me looks more familiar.

I avenged. I found him. I took him. I made him hurt. I lost him. The kitchen is empty. Gone but not-gone. He will wait. He cannot let me go. I’m a risk.

She was telling me not to leave, but it’s okay. The once-shake, twice-shake. Stay here, with me. Don’t go outside.

But it’s okay. I know, now, what the she-me was telling us. I know, now, how my story ends. I embrace it. I need it. I want it.

Three steps out into the garden. Dew. My feet are wet.

And then I feel it. Cold steel against my neck. I see her. She reaches out. My body collapses, this chapter over. End.