Mirror Man

by Jacques Von Kat

  ‘You’re starting to scare me, JC. I’m off to fetch your grandad,’ he said, reaching for the door handle.

  I darted across the room and put myself between him and the door.

  ‘No, you can’t leave,’ I growled. The noise my voice made startled me. I brought a hand to my stomach as I felt it churn. My body had reacted in a way my brain hadn’t asked it to.

  Fred held his palms up. ‘John-Michael, calm down. Now, I don’t know what’s happened or what’s going on, but I’ve never seen this side to you, and I’ll tell you something, I’m not liking what I’m seeing.’

  ‘Sit down, you’re not going anywhere,’ I said; my voice remained louder than I’d expected.

  Fred sighed and backtracked to the sofa, where he sat with his elbows on his knees, watching me carefully.

  I had a lot to process. I was doing what everyone wanted me to do. I had looked at someone without using a mirror. As the awareness of what I’d done sank into my brain, I realised it did feel strange and uncomfortable. And I knew my gaze could go either way now; I could sink back into the world of mirrors and reflections or fight against it.

  Though looking at folk was the least of my problems now. What of my family? Would they believe me when I told them what happened? And what about the police? Would they believe me?

  ‘Can’t we talk about it?’ Fred asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  ‘Not right now, Fred, I’m not ready, and I need time to think. Can you put the kettle on and rustle me up something to eat? I’m famished,’ I said, hearing my stomach grumble again.

  He looked at me like I’d asked him to cook me a three-course meal. ‘Fine. But you’re going to have to tell me something,’ he said, getting out of his old, battered chair.

  I waved him away and looked out the window to my house. All the lights had gone out except for the kitchen. Whether my grandad had stayed up or left it on for me, I didn’t know.

  ‘Couple of slices of toast, do you?’ Fred asked from his kitchenette.

  ‘Yep, thanks, Fred. I’m really sorry about this,’ I said as he banged crockery and cutlery, taking his frustrations out on them.

  ‘I’m going to need more than an apology,’ he said, bringing back the toast and tea.

  I hummed but didn’t share anything.

  ‘Do you want something to clean them?’ he said, nodding towards my hands when I didn’t speak.

  ‘Oh.’ I held my hands out in front of me to inspect them. I flexed them and winced. The knuckles were bruised, and the skin had been scraped off. They really did look as if I’d punched a wall. ‘Yeah, I best get them cleaned up,’ I said.

  Fred fetched me a cloth and a bottle of TCP. I dabbed at my knuckles and removed the dried blood. I’d have scabs in the morning, and there would be no hiding it. I put the cloth in the sink and ate the toast. Fred sat at the table, drinking his own cup of tea, not taking his eyes off me as I moved around his home.

  ‘Are you going to let on what’s going on, or what?’ he almost snapped at me.

  ‘I can’t tell you what happened yet. I need to work it out through my own mind first. I’ve got some decisions to make,’ I said, sitting at the small round table.

  ‘Well make ’em fast and get out of my home,’ he said, slamming his cup down. ‘I don’t want myself embroiled in whatever you’ve done. I shan’t tell your grandad I’ve seen you, but I want you out of here.’

  ‘Fine. I thought we were friends, Fred,’ I said, watching him intently. It was refreshing to see a face in the flesh. You couldn’t always see everything in a mirror or reflections. Reflections were the worst, and some mirrors had distortions, diluting faces. In the flesh, I saw it all. Every pore, blemish, mole, and freckle. If I’d been able to see all these things before, I’d have much better descriptions of people in my journal.

  Fred didn’t say a word, and I left, slamming the door behind me.

  I paused on the threshold and looked on the ground. I noticed the laces on one of my trainers had come undone. I scratched my head; they should never have unfastened. I always tied them in a double bow like grandad told me to do. There was nothing worse than tripping over your laces or bending down all the time; it was a waste of good energy, he would say, and I needed all my energy right now. It had to be a sign: a sign of bad luck, I thought.

  I needed somewhere to hide.

  I couldn’t return home and bring this to their door. What if The Suit found me there? There was no way I’d let him hurt my family. Instead, I headed to our abandoned car showroom. No one would ever think to look for me there.

  I approached the drive and looked towards the entrance. Thick tall trees lined the drive to my left. I knew they were perfect to hide behind, and so I kept to the grass on the right-hand side to avoid my steps crunching on the gravel. That way, I would be able to hear anyone coming down our drive.

  I headed away from home, into the dreaded night. I’d never been out this late. The dark couldn’t be trusted with its shadows and eerie sounds. I preferred the light and its reflections.

  I hesitated every few steps, listening to the sounds of the night. A light wind rustled the old branches, and one of them cracked. I flinched as it conjured recollections of Mum smashing my mirrors.

  The wind blew louder and swished round my ears. A strange noise caught my attention; it was getting louder and louder, causing my stomach to roll. My eyes caught a flash of white. For a second, I thought it was a ghost, but it was only a discarded carrier bag stuck in a tree.

  I released the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding just as the bag escaped the branches and flew off into the night, then I carried on creeping towards the showroom. By the time I got there, my heart was practically beating out of my chest.

  I located some old bits of cardboard, dusted them down to sit on and tucked myself into a dark corner. When my heart slowed down, I drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.

  In my dreams, I chased The Suit after he killed Mr Phillips. I put my hand out to touch him, but he would get farther away from me every time I got near. He’d glance over his shoulder and laugh. He was the only thing I dreamt of all night long.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A crow cawed in the distance, and I woke abruptly, yelling out Mr Phillips’s name.

  Light had started to creep through the gaps in the newspapers taped to the showroom’s windows. As my eyes adjusted to where I’d slept, I roughly swept my hands through my hair, removing any debris that may have landed on me in the night. My shoulders hunched up as I cringed at the memories of yesterday and from having to sleep in an abandoned building.

  The building, once the life and soul of our family, was now the only reminder of what had been. I shook the sad thoughts away.

  I checked the time. It was still early, but I knew what I had to do next. I struggled to my feet after sleeping on the cold damp floor all night, then dusted off the rest of my body.

  I had to do right by Mr Phillips like he had wanted me to. I had to get the guns. I couldn’t let The Suit get them. He may have had them in my dreams, but I wasn’t going to let him touch them or taunt me with them in reality. If I ever never needed power against The Suit, those were the tools to get it. With them in my possession, I’d be able to keep my family safe and be in control—like blackmail. Plus, I knew Mr Phillips wouldn’t want them getting into the wrong hands; they’d be safer with me. This is what he meant when he said I’d figure it out.

  I removed the keys and pocket watch from my jacket and hid them. There was an old-parts rack lined with fifty slanted pigeonhole boxes. I selected the sixth column down and the sixth box across and placed the items in carefully. I didn’t want to end up losing them before I made my way back to Claude’s Antiques.

  I walked there slowly, hiding where I could in case Mr Phillips had been discovered and I had to conceal my presence. When I got to town, I pulled up the collar on my jacket in an attempt to conceal my face and dipped my hands into my pockets.

  That’
s when I spotted him watching me from across the road. His face was swollen, bruised.

  What happened to him? I wondered.

  Two other men in black suits stood farther up the road from him. They were bigger, more menacing.

  My stomach dropped. Had he brought his friends along to help get me?

  This was bad.

  The Suit moved to cross over, but the town bus passed by, blocking his path. I turned on my heel too quickly, losing my balance. At that moment, a cyclist who had decided to mount the pavement whizzed by. My flailing arms caught him, and we tumbled onto the pavement.

  ‘What you playing at?!’ the cyclist shouted at me, drawing the attention of PC Williams, who happened to be strolling by on the other side of the street.

  I freed myself from the mess, shoving the cyclist’s bike off me and into the road, and ran towards the shop. The Suit was nowhere to be seen, but I could hear PC Williams yelling after me.

  I ran in through the unlocked front door. A sense of dread clung to me as the bell chimed, but I pushed it aside and dashed through to the backroom.

  I hovered near Mr Phillips’s body, though I didn’t look. Instead, I turned and stared at the paper bag containing the remnants of our lemon curds and jam tarts. A pang of terrible guilt washed over me; I hadn’t done a thing to help him.

  The bell rang behind me. My time was up.

  ‘John-Michael, why didn’t you stop? Where’ve you been all night? Your mam and grandad have been worried—’

  I remained still with my mouth shut as PC Williams arrived next to me.

  ‘By ’eck…’ He pushed past me and crouched, checking Mr Phillips for a pulse. I kept my gaze on the lemon curds, watching him from the corner of my eye. ‘Did you just find him like this?’ he asked, looking up at me.

  ‘Yes… no… yes,’ I stammered.

  The constable stood quickly. ‘Well, which is it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said.

  I heard him use the phone, and I sat on the chair at my workbench.

  ‘Did you do this?’ he asked as he returned.

  I shook my head. ‘No, I never laid a finger on him. Honest!’

  ‘Do you know who did?’

  I bit my lip to hold back the tears. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right, don’t move. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  I didn’t move an inch while I waited. I could hear sirens getting closer and closer until they were right out front. PC Williams returned.

  ‘John-Michael, you’ll have to come down the station with me. Now, I’m not arresting you, but once we’re there, you’re most likely going to be their number one suspect. Do you understand what that means?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I whispered.

  ‘Good. I don’t think for one minute you did this, and I’ll provide you with assistance the best I can, but you are likely in for a rough ride.’ He went to take me by the arm, then apparently changed his mind. ‘John-Michael, is what happened here the reason you never came home last night?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. I was scared he’d follow me and get me too.’

  ‘Alright, son. Come on.’

  He took me out the front door, where a small crowd had started to gather, and put me in the back of the police car before going back inside with some other officers. I guessed The Suit had to be long gone now. I kept my head down as people walked up to the car to get a glimpse of the person in the backseat, and ten minutes later, PC Williams drove me to the station where another officer practically threw me in a cell.

  Before the latch locked behind me, he whispered, ‘You’ll end up in Borstal. They’ll love you in there.’ I didn’t know what he’d meant, but I didn’t like the sound of it.

  I inspected my surroundings. There was a fixed bench, and it stank of body odour, urine, and vomit with a layer of bleach lingering over the top of it all. I didn’t like it in here, not one bit.

  I banged on the door. ‘When can I come out, please?’

  No one answered.

  I gently perched myself on the edge of the bench and folded my battered hands in my lap. I’d never been imprisoned before, and I imagined all the criminals who’d sat here in the past.

  I hadn’t killed Mr Phillips. But then again, I hadn’t helped myself, either. I hadn’t called the police when it happened, and I’d returned to the scene of the crime. Every finger in this town would point at me; the weird kid who couldn’t look at anyone. I’d prove my innocence… somehow.

  I didn’t know how long I was in the cell for, but I managed to play two full albums on the record player in my head before I heard any sounds from outside the door.

  Keys rattled, and the door swung open; PC Williams stood in the doorway. I glanced up as far as his mouth, which sat in a tight line, as though his lips had disappeared.

  ‘Stand up, lad, you’re going to be asked some questions now,’ he said.

  ‘About what?’ I asked dropping my head.

  ‘Two detectives are going ask you about what happened to Mr Phillips.’

  ‘But it wasn’t me. I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘I know you didn’t, lad. But it’s not me you have to convince. You’ll have to tell them everything you know. Do you understand?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’m going to be in the back of the room at your grandad’s request. You can’t have a parent or guardian with you, you’re too old, but we’ve worked it out with the boss. Because of your… difficulties communicating sometimes.’

  My eyebrows scrunched together. ‘My communication is fine. I just need a minute sometimes.’

  ‘Come on, son. We both know you aren’t the same as everyone else. Best I’m in there with you.’

  I chewed on my lip for a moment. Judging by the direction of his chin, PC Williams was looking at the clock on the wall, like it was too painful for him to look at me. I couldn’t look at him, either. Whatever had happened to allow me to gaze at Fred’s face had faded away.

  ‘My grandad is here, you said. What about Mum?’

  ‘Her too. They’ve both been speaking with the detectives. That’s why you’ve been in here so long.’

  My heart sank. They were bound to think it was me, since I hadn’t come home last night. I had to tell the detectives about The Suit, but would they believe me?

  Well, they would have to.

  PC Williams took me through to a room that smelled like the ashtray on the table. He sat me down in a hard, blue chair and stood behind me with his arms folded. I eyed him in the mirrored glass in front of me. After a couple of minutes, two men came in dressed in brown suits. They both smoked. I lowered my head and focused on the scabs that had formed on my knuckles.

  ‘This is Detectives Lightman and Green. They’re going to ask you some questions, John-Michael,’ said PC Williams.

  The detectives sat down. One of them scraped the ashtray towards them, then blew his cigarette smoke in my direction.

  ‘I’m Detective Green,’ the man said. ‘Do you smoke?’

  I shook my head. I’d never smoked, but I could certainly do with a big glug of my grandad’s best whiskey right now.

  ‘We’d like to ask you a few questions,’ said the other man, Detective Lightman.

  Their two pairs of eyes stared at me intently, like I was a horrible murderer and should be sent to prison for the rest of my life. I kept my head tucked into my neck as a way of avoiding their burning stares.

  ‘Do you know why you’re here today?’ asked Detective Green.

  I nodded, then shook my head. I did know, but also, I didn’t. None of this was my fault.

  ‘Your boss Mr Phillips was found dead this morning by you and PC Williams. You better tell us everything you know about it, and don’t leave anything out.’ He raised his voice at the end.

  I kept my eyes on my hands. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Tell us what you did,’ coaxed Detective Lightman.

  I took a steady breath and focused to make sure my w
ords came out in the right order. ‘I didn’t do anything to him,’ I told them. ‘It wasn’t me,’ I reiterated.

  ‘Do you know who did?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Yes, I mean—’

  ‘Which is it?’ interrupted Detective Green. ‘It’s a simple enough question, John.’ He lit another cigarette and sucked it deeply.

  ‘It’s John-Michael,’ I said.

  ‘Fine, John-Michael, I’ll ask again. Do you know who killed Mr Phillips?’

  I nodded my head.

  Detective Green slammed his hand on the table, making me jump. ‘Who?!’

  ‘I’m scared,’ I said. ‘He said he’d snap my neck.’

  The other detective spoke now. ‘We know you’ve had some umm… difficulties, but you’re going to have to start telling us something, John-Michael.’

  This time, I slammed my hand on the table. ‘I’m not a retard!’ I said.

  ‘Hey now, easy, lad. No one’s calling anyone any names here. We just want to know what happened to Mr Phillips. You’re going to have to give us some answers soon, or we may as well have PC Williams put you back in holding until you can tell us.’

  ‘No need for that, is there?’ asked PC Williams from the back of the room. ‘He said he didn’t do it, and he’s obviously scared. Give him a minute to tell you.’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head, closing my hands into fists. ‘I don’t want to go back in there. I want to go home.’

  ‘Right. Well, if you want to go home, you’re going to have to start sharing a bit of information. You better tell us the whole truth and not a Jackanory,’ said Green.

  ‘Okay, I know who did it. I know who hurt Mr Phillips,’ I said, finally lifting my head for the first time in the interview. I looked over their heads at PC Williams’s reflection. His eyes widened as he finally looked in my direction. The atmosphere in the room shifted as they all waited for my answer.