Mirror Man

by Jacques Von Kat

  As I set the table for tea, I could feel it in my bones that things were getting better. We were going to improve together. I hoped one day soon I could look at all my family again—especially Mum, but that would take some time.

  As we sat at the table, everyone talked and smiled like there had never been anything wrong with our little family. We had so much to look forward to with the arrival of Tina’s baby and with Grandad rejuvenating the family business. Things couldn’t look any rosier for us. He told me he had two more jobs booked in for Monday, and it would be a busy day for us. Mum even talked about getting a part-time job, which caused Grandad and me to exchange another surprised glance.

  I only needed to find out what was going on in the little antique shop, then all my worries would be behind me.

  Everything was going to be perfect.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I spent my days off keeping myself busy. I read the library books I’d borrowed as a distraction and because I wanted to prove to Tina and Pete the baby would be safe in my hands, should they ever need a babysitter. I also studied the journal entries I’d made. I hadn’t realised how many people I’d followed until I flicked back through it. Since I’d started writing in it, I’d followed close to two hundred people, and that didn’t include those I’d shadowed before I’d even thought of starting a journal.

  The weird dreams continued to taunt me whenever I slept, though—except the endings were different now. Instead of The Suit turning and pointing his fingers at me, he now held the guns in his hands and aimed them at my chest.

  On Sunday morning, I washed my bloody denim jacket. Mum even helped with my laundry. Thankfully, she didn’t spot the blood; it would have been hard to explain what happened to her.

  In the afternoon, Tina and Pete came round. She didn’t eat much, said she got her morning sickness in the afternoon and struggled to keep anything down. Mum fussed over her and gave her tips on how to ease the queasiness in her stomach. When I was washing and tidying up the kitchen, Tina came to talk to me.

  ‘It’s like she’s had a personality transplant.’ She laughed. ‘What have you been slipping in her tea?’ she asked.

  ‘Me? Nothing,’ I frowned.

  ‘I know, I know, JC. It’s only a joke.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, wiping down all the surfaces.

  ‘It is nice to see. It’s like we’ve got the old Mum back,’ she said.

  ‘You’ve always had the same mum, Tina. It’s me who’s had a different one to you.’

  She stepped back and clutched her neck. ‘JC…’

  ‘What? Did you think I never noticed how different she was with me compared to you?’

  ‘Well… I… never thought you looked at things in that way.’

  ‘I didn’t. Not back then, anyway. But things have become clearer; matters and words that have been said in the past are finally slotting into place, and I understand them now.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, there’s a whole list of things. But I’ve decided to forgive and forget and be better for our family’s sake, and for the new baby.’

  Tina’s hand drifted from her neck, down to her stomach. She smiled fondly. ‘Wow, John-Michael. I never thought I’d see the day. You’re finally becoming a man.’

  I slammed down the tray I was holding. ‘That’s the problem, Tina. I’ve been a man for a long time, but everyone around here still treats me like a child!’

  ‘JC, that’s not true at all!’ she said.

  ‘It most certainly is! I’m always kept in the dark or waved away when important matters are discussed. I’m tired of being treated this way.’

  ‘JC… I… I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘What can you say?’ I shrugged. ‘You will never understand what it’s like for me.’

  Her pretty green eyes glinted in the reflection on the window as they filled with tears.

  I turned to face her but kept my head down. ‘I’m sorry, Tina, I didn’t mean to upset you. Can I give you a hug?’

  She laughed. ‘Of course, you can, JC. Come here.’

  I wrapped her in a giant bear hug. It warmed my heart to have prolonged contact with my sister. I never wanted to shy away from physical contact again.

  *

  Tuesday morning came around, and new energy ran through me. I almost skipped to the shop, eager to find out more about the guns.

  The bell above the door rang as I entered. Mr Phillips was whistling a merry tune as he walked around the shop with a dance in his step, writing in his ledger.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Phillips,’ I said, bemused at his sudden change in demeanour. Had he managed to get rid of the guns? ‘You look happy today,’ I said.

  ‘And why shouldn’t I be?’ he said as he inspected an old desk. ‘The sun is shining; the birds are singing. It’s a good day to be alive,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I think it looks like rain…’ I told him. I was certain it would rain at some point today; the sky resembled Grandad’s stash of wire wool.

  ‘We’ll be quiet today, then. Perhaps we can have a treat at dinner. You can fetch some of them lemon curds from the bakery. You like them, don’t you?’ he said.

  ‘No.’ I laughed. ‘I like jam tarts. You like the lemon curds.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s right.’ He chuckled. ‘Well, twelve o’clock on the dot, you take yourself off to the bakery, okay, JC?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Phillips, I will.’ Was he trying to get rid of me? I hesitated before heading to my workstation. ‘Mr Phillips, why are you so happy today?’ I asked, chewing on my lip. I was never normally this forward.

  ‘Let’s just say I think I’ve struck a deal for the rare antiques I told you about.’ He tapped the side of his nose.

  I sighed. ‘Great!’ I hoped that included the guns.

  At twelve o’clock I went to the bakery. They were busy with the dinner time rush, and by the time I was served, the heavens had opened, as I’d predicted. I tucked the brown paper bag containing our treats under my jacket and ran back to the shop.

  The open sign had been turned to closed.

  I shook the rain from my hair as I entered and found Mr Phillips wasn’t at the counter. I guessed he’d gone to make the sandwiches and put the kettle on, so I walked into the kitchen, expecting to find him standing there. The kettle had boiled and was still steaming. The bread had been sliced, ready to butter.

  But Mr Phillips was missing.

  I frowned. It was like Thursday morning was repeating itself. I returned to where I’d located him the last time he vanished, but paused just outside the backroom as I heard a voice I didn’t recognise.

  I edged closer to listen better, but they’d stopped talking. Taking a breath, I moved forward again to see who was in there with Mr Phillips. He hardly ever let customers into this area.

  I stood at the entrance and clamped my hand to my mouth to silence my gasp, almost dropping our tarts on the floor. A man in a blue suit with chestnut hair was crouched on the floor in front of my workbench. He appeared to be searching for something, the way his arms were moving, and I could just see a pair of brown trousers and brown shoes poking out from behind him. I recognised the shoes; they belonged to Mr Phillips. He always tied his laces in a single bow. I also recognised the man bent over him. It was The Suit, and I shivered as my mind pieced everything together.

  I froze as I watched him plunge an object into Mr Phillips’s side. The action made me plunge forward too. Mr Phillips groaned out in agony. ‘Stop! Please!’

  Then I saw the shiny blood running towards The Suit’s shoes.

  I took a small step back, then another, until my foot tapped the edge of a box. Before I had time to react, The Suit whipped around, sprang up, and knocked me into the wall. The bag I’d been holding slipped from my grasp, scattering the floor with pastries. He pinned me in place and grabbed at my face as I tried to turn it the other way. He roughly pulled at my cheeks to turn my head in line with his. I tried to avert my gaze, but he only dug his
fingers into my cheeks harder, so I shut my eyes tight.

  ‘Look at me,’ he said. His breath was hot on my face.

  ‘No!’ I shouted.

  I searched for a record to play on my internal record player to escape from the horrid scene in front of me.

  ‘Look at me, or I’ll kill the old man,’ he whispered in my ear.

  My eyes sprung open at those words, and I met his gaze. His eyes were nearly black, like two lumps of coal, just like in my dreams. I wanted to yell and get away. I didn’t like the look in his stare. If I could have found it in me, I would have removed them from their sockets so I wouldn’t have to look into them ever again. The more I looked, the more I felt as though I would disappear into their blackness.

  ‘Tell me where they are!’ he said, spraying spittle all over my face. I tried to move my hand up to wipe it off, but he saw me shift and gripped my wrist, holding it tight against my side. ‘Don’t try anything stupid, boy. I can snap your neck in a second.’ As he said this, he slid his hand down from my face to my neck.

  ‘I… I…’

  ‘Answer me!’ he shouted.

  ‘Are… W-what… where?’ I stammered.

  ‘The eggs, the eggs,’ he said quickly, his head moving from left to right.

  ‘I… I… don’t know!’

  The Suit hummed thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure you do…’

  I couldn’t tell him. He’d hurt Mr Phillips, and they didn’t belong to him. Plus, Mr Phillips didn’t want anyone to get their hands on them. I could only presume he meant The Suit. It was down to me now to keep them safe; Mr Phillips was my friend. I had to honour his wish.

  Mr Phillips groaned again.

  ‘Is he going to be alright?’ I asked.

  ‘That depends on you,’ The Suit snarled, looking over his shoulder. ‘Now, tell me where they are,’ he said. At that moment, he released my face and dragged me by the shoulder to the seat at my workbench. He shoved me down so roughly I almost toppled off.

  ‘Stay there.’

  I wiped my face with my sleeve and massaged my cheeks where he’d dug his fingers in. Thankfully, he hadn’t drawn blood. I watched The Suit as he rubbed his smooth face and glanced frantically around the room. There wasn’t one hint of stubble on his face, and his hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. Now I was beginning to think I’d given him the entirely wrong nickname. I wanted to escape from here into my head and play my records, but I had to focus. Now wasn’t the time for my childhood escape methods.

  I peered down at my feet and spotted Mr Phillips’s pocket watch peeking out from under the chair. I could only look at my feet, otherwise, I would see Mr Phillips, and I didn’t want to see him in the state I knew he was in.

  ‘Can I tie my trainers?’ I asked The Suit.

  ‘What?’ He turned to look at me but never bothered to examine my feet. ‘What a flipping question. Do you understand the gravity of the situation you’re in?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really,’ I said. It was true I didn’t have a clue. I was sure whatever I did or said would be wrong for the situation I’d found myself in.

  ‘Well, blow me,’ he said. ‘Go on, tie your bloody shoes, you retard.’

  I bent down and pretended to tie my laces, though they were, of course, already fastened. Instead, I scooped up the watch and deposited it in my pocket before he could see.

  The Suit bent down to Mr Phillips again. ‘Where are the eggs, Claude?’ he asked.

  Mr Phillips groaned louder, then spluttered.

  ‘You’ll tell me, Claude, or I’m going to hurt this retard assistant over here.’ He looked back at me with his creepy smile, and suddenly tears were stinging my eyes. I hated being called that. The kids at school used to call me it before I stopped going. I wasn’t a retard. I’d looked it up in the dictionary. There was no way a retard would be able to fix clocks like I can.

  The Suit started checking Mr Phillips’s pockets; I knew he wouldn’t find anything, as he had been doing that when I first came in.

  I had to get away from here. The nearest exit was the backdoor. I knew I could make it there before the front, but could I leave Mr Phillips here with this man? And if I left, what if he caught up with me? What would he do?

  What about Tina, Pete, and the baby?

  Grandad, Fred, and Mum?

  It was all too much to handle.

  My head pounded as though it would explode.

  My breaths came thick and fast.

  I saw my dad’s and Daniel’s glassy eyes.

  Then—

  Chapter Fourteen

  When I came to, I was slumped on the floor, my knuckles were bloody and sore, and The Suit had vanished.

  I scrambled over to Mr Phillips. The colour had drained from his face, his chest had stopped rising, and I’d seen that same glassy stare before. The shop had been ransacked, probably in The Suit’s search for the safe keys and the guns.

  I checked the safes. They were still locked.

  I stood and turned in a slow circle, taking everything in.

  Then I ran.

  I ran out through the back door, and I ran through the alleys and back streets. I could hear heavy keys jostling in my jacket pocket. I pulled them out. They belonged to Mr Phillips. I shoved them back in my pocket as I carried on running, wondering how they had ended up in my possession.

  I didn’t stop running until I came to the community centre. I went and hid behind the bins at the back and sat on a dry patch in the corner.

  I couldn’t go home.

  I couldn’t go back to work.

  Mr Phillips was dead, murdered by The Suit; the man who had announced in my dreams that he was the Mirror Man, not me.

  What if they blamed it on me?

  Why did my hands hurt? It felt as though I’d punched a wall over and over.

  I brought my knees up to my chest and slowly rocked back and forth.

  I had nowhere to go.

  What if The Suit came back? For the guns, or for me?

  Would he seek me out and kill me too?

  When I thought about it, it wasn’t really a question of would he, but when would he?

  I shouldn’t have left.

  I should never have run.

  I’d been wrong about myself. I wasn’t a man at all. A man would never have run away. I was still a kid in a man-sized body.

  And I was in big trouble now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I hid in that position until dark; rocking back and forth, jumping at every noise, and trying to make myself disappear from existence.

  When I was younger, Mum said I sometimes had disruptive outbursts where I would sweep the ornaments off the mantlepiece or paint the neighbour’s dog with green wall paint. I never remembered doing any of these things—especially to the dog. What had I been thinking? It was as though I blacked out from the world for a short period of time, and when I came back, Mum would be cleaning up the mess. I would get a clip round the ear after every incident, even though I couldn’t recall what had happened. Luckily, I hadn’t had one of those blackouts for an exceptionally long time—until today, that is.

  I looked at my knuckles.

  But what had I done?

  I checked my watch; it showed ten to ten.

  I’d missed my tea, and I was cold, tired, and dirty.

  Would Grandad and Mum be looking for me? Would they even care I hadn’t come home yet? Did they know about poor Mr Phillips? Would Mum think I’d killed him?

  My mind threw dozens of questions at me, making me feel faint and dizzy like I had in the shop. I shook it away. I had to get up off the floor; my backside was numb, and I had to get inside. I wouldn’t be safe here if The Suit came back.

  The only place I could go was Fred’s. I wouldn’t tell him anything, not yet. Not until I knew how much trouble I was in.

  I made my way to Fred’s, taking all the paths where I wouldn’t be seen by anyone still out at this hour. I had to be careful. The Suit could have been stalking me right
now.

  When I got closer to home, I checked for any police presence. There were no cars about, but all the lights were on. I went around the back, climbed over the fence, and walked up to Fred’s cottage. I lightly tapped on the kitchen window, then the door. That was our secret knock.

  He quickly opened the door and yanked me in by my arm.

  ‘Hey!’ I said, rubbing my arm instinctively. Oddly, the grab hadn’t left me feeling weird, as it usually would. Maybe hugging Tina had helped with my aversion to people’s touch.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘And what’s happened to your face and hands?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, tucking my hands under my armpits. I walked over to the only mirror in the living area and inspected my reflection. My cheeks were marked red where The Suit had squeezed my face.

  ‘Doesn’t look like nothing, JC. Tell me what’s going on. I’ve had your grandad here twice saying you didn’t come home from work, and now you turn up here, looking like you’ve been fighting with someone. Have you been home yet?’

  ‘No…’ I said, turning around to look at him. My gaze settled on his face, and I noticed he had a wonky eye. His brow furrowed.

  ‘John-Michael,’ he said. ‘You’re looking at me. You never look at me.’

  ‘Oh. I am, aren’t I?’ I said, though I didn’t take my eyes off him as I watched all the expressions his face contorted into. ‘What’s happening?’

  He muttered something under his breath and rubbed at the back of his neck. ‘You tell me. Seriously, what’s happened to you, JC?’

  I didn’t know what had happened to me, but I was looking at someone in the eye for the first time since I was a toddler. It could have only been The Suit’s doing; he must have done something to me when he made me look at him, as though he had snapped it out of me with those dark eyes of his. He had been able to look into my eyes without flinching, and he was far from unnerved by them. Though I was unnerved now. Would I be able to keep it up? I didn’t think so now with the way Fred was looking at me as though I’d grown a second head.