The Crow Behind the Mirror_Book One of the Mirror Wars

by Sean M. Hogan

  Eric lay asleep in his bed with the virtual reality headgear plugged into his brain. A series of matted wires formed a rat’s nest of tubes and cords pulsing with red and blue light. The headgear made a low pitch humming noise, like a refrigerator. His black hair reflected the sunlight that slipped through the shades. His eyes darted rapidly underneath his eyelids. Though he looked peaceful, Sharon still felt an unease rush over her.

  “It’s been three weeks since he came out last, Winston.” Has it really been just three weeks? I can’t remember the last time we had a real conversation or, hell, the last time he even hugged me? “You’d think he’d be sick of it by now.”

  “Everyone likes dreams, Sharon,” noted Winston. “It’s understandable he would want to stay for extended periods of time.”

  She sighed. “But it’s not real. None of it is real.”

  Winston rotated midflight to face her. “Maybe he’s dreaming of you.”

  She glared at him. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  Winston seemed unaffected by her hostile mood. He made no change in his digital expression across his screen. He just turned from her and scooted down the hallway.

  Sharon glanced at her father one last time before closing his door.

  ***

  The sound and smell of an egg sizzling and crackling in a pool of golden yellow butter made Sharon’s stomach rumble with anticipation. It had been too long since she had last tasted real food. Real food with textures and flavors. Nothing like the bland, synthetic supplements fed to her by way of plastic tubes and god-awful needles while she slept. Even her bed vibrated to maintain her muscle mass and cardiovascular health. She hated sleeping for such long periods of time. For weeks on end sometimes. But her father insisted on it, saying her life depended on it. And if she wanted to live to the ripe old age of six hundred she would have to spend half her weeks on the life support systems. She did the math. They gave her a lot more mornings to enjoy her favorite breakfast. Fried eggs, buttered sourdough toast, blueberry yogurt, red grapes, a tall glass of orange juice, and a side of deliciously greasy bacon.

  And no one cooked better than Winston. He was a devil with a frying pan and always used real Grade-A-butter.

  She sat down at the dining table and Winston served her a plate of eggs. She tried her best not to wolf it down and savor the bites, but she was starving and had little willpower when it came to foods cooked in butter.

  “So, what’s on your agenda today, Sharon?” asked Winston as he cleared the table. He gathered the dirty plates with his retractable metal arms, grasping them with pincers, and placed them in the dishwasher.

  “I’m going to tour the city again,” she answered. “And see if I missed anything on my last visit.”

  ***

  As Sharon walked down the front steps of her apartment, she was greeted by the song of a robotic bird perched high in a tree. The bird was activated by her body heat and let out a prerecorded, randomized call. She listened with indifference. The bird’s song lacked something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. A soul, perhaps.

  She quickened her pace to the monorail subway port, shielding her eyes from the artificial sun. It was another hot day in the city of New Republica, and only a select few still remembered it was the hundredth anniversary of the city’s birth. There would be fireworks tonight and Sharon was sure she would be the only one awake to watch them. In New Republica, one lost track of times and dates. Artificial lights flickered on and off to the beat of their own rhythms. Buildings changed shapes at the whims of their owners. And the neon signs went on forever. Even night and day lost their meaning—just like everything else in the city.

  Maybe, someday, I’ll lose myself here and get swallowed up in anonymity, Sharon thought. For identity is as an elusive concept as the human soul in New Republica. Hell, it wouldn’t even surprise me if one morning I woke up without a name. After all, how could you be expected to remember something no one ever told you? It just takes time to forget—for nothing is concrete in a world run on dreams.

  “Will that be one ticket or two?” asked the robot conductor with long limbs and a cute exaggerated human face, like a child’s porcelain doll.

  “Just one, thank you,” she replied with a manufactured smile.

  The robot escorted her from the gate to the empty rail train. Usually smaller service robots saw people to their seats, but only Sharon was awake today.

  She found her seat and thanked the conductor again. Once alone she retrieved a book from the entertainment compartment underneath her seat, the cover blank and gray. She opened the book and flipped to the first page. The words and letters on the page were nothing but scribbles, scurrying around on the white paper like a horde of furious ants.

  She massaged her eyelids.

  “Hello,” said a human voice. “Is this seat taken?”

  Sharon’s gaze rose from her book, meeting the dark, gentle eyes of a brown-haired boy around the same age as her.

  He smiled at her, pointing to the seat in front of her.

  “Oh no... no... please sit,” she said clumsily, stuffing her book under her seat. He had caught her completely off guard. Seeing a human face—never mind a cute boy her age—was the last thing she expected today.

  The boy sat down.

  “It’s funny. I didn’t expect I’d have company this morning,” she said, returning his smile.

  “Well, I hope the surprise is a pleasant one.” His eyes met hers, and she responded with a downward glance.

  “Not to be rude,” she said with a shy grin, “but I’m curious. Why are you still awake?”

  He laughed. “I should ask the same question of you.”

  “I can’t dream.” She averted her eyes to the window and the passing scenery of the city.

  The monorail gained speed.

  “That’s silly. Everyone dreams.”

  “I don’t.” Her gaze fell upon a flock of mechanical birds that took flight from a metal tree with copper leaves. “When I wake up I remember nothing, just empty blackness.” She returned to the boy’s gaze. “You never answered my question.”

  “Oh, me?” The boy pointed to himself. “I just like the quietness of the city.” He peered out the window, out at the city. “The silence of a city with no past, no memory, no burden... New Republica. I like that. It’s like you’re floating on clouds.” He turned to Sharon and offered up his hand. “My name’s Jeff, by the way. What’s yours, beautiful?”

  ***

  “Sharon, I want you to tell me about this city again. The one from your dreams—New Republica,” Dr. Stone said, leaning back against her red cushioned chair. She scribbled something down in her little notepad. “For instance, are you happy in New Republica?”

  Sharon squirmed in an old-fashioned, black leather couch. To her the room felt cramped, the walls of the quaint psychologist office closing in on her and gaining ground with every short breath she took. Her gaze wandered around the room as she contemplated her answer.

  Old black and white photos rested in picture frames on the walls. The people in them were hard to make out. Their faces were blurred and out of focus, their positions shifting with the light. Phantom images. Slowly they faded away, leaving empty rooms and chairs, abandoned schools and parks.

  “It’s not really a city, New Republica,” said Sharon. “A city requires importation to sustain itself. New Republica needs nothing. It’s in perfect balance.” She sighed a deep breath. “And it’s not a dream.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Dr. Stone glanced up from her notepad. “How does New Republica make you feel?”

  Sharon wiped the sleep from her eyes. “Terrified.”

  “Why are you afraid, Sharon?”

  “Because I get a sensation of eternity there. That I will always be in that city. No matter what.”

  “One would think that would be a good feeling.”

  “People need urgency.”

  “Is that so?” asked Dr. Stone. “An
d you think mortality—death—gives people that?”

  Sharon retrieved her glass of water from the coffee table and took a sip. The taste was overwhelmingly metallic. “The price of intelligence is insanity. Jellyfish and ladybugs don’t go crazy if you lock them up in a cage and throw away the key. People aren’t jellyfish. Insanity just needs a little time to set in, that’s all.” She stared at her distorted reflection in the glass of water. The ripples pulsed in reverse, inward. “The only thing standing in its way is death. Take that away and... it’s just a matter of time.”

  Dr. Stone set her notepad on her lap and locked eyes with Sharon. “You feel trapped, Sharon? Is that why you tried to kill yourself?”

  ***

  Sharon spent most of the afternoon lying on her back on her school’s rooftop, watching the clouds drift across a crystal blue sky with a golden sun. A flock of birds soared above, casting shadows over her slender form.

  “It must be hard,” Sharon said, as a human-shaped shadow crept over her, “being friends with the crazy girl.”

  Sarah stepped forward and forced a smile. “It has its perks. Like free access to experimental drugs.”

  “Funny.”

  “I aim to please.” Sarah massaged the back of her neck. “Do you still think you’re dreaming?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Sharon gazed at the golden sun. It was different now, appearing to her as a giant blinking eye. “Because none of this makes any sense. Not anymore.”

  “And your fantasy world with the crow—that makes sense?”

  “Like I said, I’m crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy, Sharon,” she said, stepping closer. “Just confused.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “Well, I’m not. I know what’s real. I’m real.”

  “Prove it.”

  “How am I supposed to—?”

  “Walk off the ledge.” Sharon halfheartedly pointed to the edge of the roof. “If you’re telling the truth I won’t see you tomorrow. Then I’ll know which of my delusions is the real one. Problem solved.” She gave out a weak cynical laugh. “Well, narrowed down at least.”

  Sarah folded her arms. “That’s not funny.”

  The breeze picked up. An awkwardness filled the cool air as they both waited for the other to speak. Finally, unable to take the quiet anymore, Sarah broke the silence

  “How’s therapy going with Dr. Stone?”

  “Just peachy, thanks for asking.” Sharon rolled on her side and curled up.

  “Did you guys talk about your accident?”

  Sharon remained quiet.

  Sarah clenched her fists. “Answer me.”

  “It wasn’t an accident, Sarah. I simply walked off the edge and gravity did the rest.”

  ***

  She glanced up into his brown eyes, took his hand, and smiled. “Sharon,” she answered. “My name is Sharon Ashcraft. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jeff.”

  Jeff held onto her hand, tightening his grip and refusing to let go. “Interesting, so you still remember that at least.”

  The monorail slowed to a gentle crawl. The lights overhead flashed and a dinging sound repeated.

  “Remember?” she asked, frowning.

  He loosened his grip and she pulled her hand free.

  “I didn’t expect my master to find you here,” he said. “He even went so far as to create his own dream environment to trap you and quicken your metamorphosis. Something like that takes time and forethought.” He bit down on his thumb. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he planned this all out. You coming to Tuat… our meeting...” He nodded to himself. “He’s more dangerous than I first anticipated.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “That’s good. You’ll be much happier that way. Trust me, ignorance is bliss,” he mused. “They say the souls in heaven have no memories of their former lives. They are given clean slates. Washed and cleansed of their past deeds. Absolved of their sins. A lovely dream.”

  “Is that what you think heaven is?” she asked. “A dream? Then why stay awake?”

  “Sorry, I misspoke. Unfortunately dreams never stay the same for long. They’re constantly changing. Endlessly evolving as they march along. And sometimes a dream turns into a nightmare. That’s not heaven. Not my idea of heaven at least. No, I want something more permanent, more concrete.”

  The monorail came to a stop. “We have arrived at Main Street,” the overhead intercom cut in with a blare of static. “Next stop, Copperfield. Have a pleasant day.”

  He leaned in and brushed a lock of Sharon’s hair back behind her ear. “Something I can touch and feel.”

  She shot up from her seat. “I think you have me confused with someone else. But I wish you luck, and I honestly hope you find what you’re looking for, Jeff.” She turned from him and headed down the aisle.

  Jeff chased after and grabbed her hand.

  She spun to face him. “What?”

  “I think you’re right, Sharon. I’m sorry.” He performed a gentleman’s bow before her. “It wasn’t my intention to scare you off like that. It’s just... you look so much like her. But speaking with you now has made me realize just how different you two really are. That girl I knew was so full of fear and hate. Nothing like you.”

  Sharon hugged herself unconsciously and looked away. “She sounds like a sad person.”

  “The saddest.” Jeff took her hands into his. “Please, let me accompany you a bit longer. I don’t want to be sad either.”

  ***

  “Your mother said you tried to follow a crow off the roof of a building,” said Dr. Stone, closing her notepad. “She said that you believed it would take you to another world. A fantastical land behind a mirror.”

  Sharon squirmed on her black-cushioned couch. “I just wanted to get back home.”

  “Did you believe the crow was calling you? Why do you think he wanted you to follow?”

  “What else did my mother tell you?”

  “Only that you two haven’t been communicating as of late.”

  “Silence is golden.”

  “Like the crow’s eye?” Dr. Stone leaned in. “The one fused with a flock of crows? What do you think it represents, Sharon?”

  “I saw him again.”

  “The crow?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Who? Who did you see, Sharon?”

  “In my sleep, he speaks to me,” she finally answered. “In my dreams, he hunts for me, like a phantom that haunts my thoughts—my memories—speaking with a dark voice that shouts my name.”

  ***

  “Sharon,” shouted Sarah

  Sharon was lost in the moment, frozen in a trance on the sidewalk as she stared at a murder of crows perched on the branches of an old oak tree outside her school.

  Sarah grabbed her hand. “Listen to me,” she said, making Sharon look at her. “They’re just crows.”

  She quickly averted her gaze from Sarah, glancing back at the crows like if she looked away for too long she’d miss something. But they were just ordinary birds. Doing what crows do, cawing to one another in rude noisy calls. “He’s supposed to come back for me.” Tears streaked down her flush cheeks. “Only he can take me home.” The Crow Boy. “I hit him. I was so angry.” That poor ghost of a lost boy, confused and all alone. He needed help—my help—and I… “Oh god, why did I hit him? I’m so sorry.” She fell to her knees, her strength buckling under her weight. “I want to go home. I want to see my Mom.”

  Sarah knelt down to her level. “Sharon, your mother is dead.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “Your father, too. They both died before you were born.”

  She shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Think about it. Can you even remember their faces?”

  Sharon tried remembering, but her mind drew a blank. Her thoughts and memories were jumbled and entangled in a hopeless matted mess. Like the book on the monorail in
New Republica. Like in the dream she had back in Tuat with Morrie and the crow, her final exam taken in her underwear. She bit down on her lip, drawing blood, hoping the pain would give her clarity and focus. I’m still in the Dreamtime. I’m still dreaming. Bits and pieces of her memories came flooding in and, with it, a surge of reason. In this world, I never moved. I never met the crow. And certain things were out of place. Mrs. Stone was now Dr. Stone, her therapist instead of her new principal, and what Sarah said about her parents. It’s wrong—all wrong.

  The crows let out horrid cries as they violently flapped their wings and snapped their beaks.

  “Jeff,” Sharon whispered. “He got me into this mess.”

  “Who’s Jeff?” asked Sarah. “You have a new boyfriend I should be aware of?”

  “I have to find him.” She wiped the tears from her face, stood up, and took off running. “And force him to take me back.”

  “Wait,” Sarah yelled. “Where are you going?”

  Sharon tuned her out as she sprinted down the street.

  Everything around her began to melt—the buildings, the trees, the cars, and the people—their colors running off in blurred streaks. The world was a fresh painting in the summer heat.

  “You can’t run forever, Sharon,” said Sarah, melting like a wax sculpture. Her voice distorted into something truly inhuman. “Sooner or later you’ll have to face reality.” Her face peeled off, revealing a skull with red glowing eyes. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  ***

  The clock, high on the subway station wall, gleamed in the light. The longhand struck thirteen and lined up parallel with the shorthand. Crowds of people bunched in tightly packed groups waited for the train.

  Sharon stood sandwiched between her parents, humming a cheerful tune she learned from the morning’s Sesame Street episode she saw while eating a bowl of Cheerios for breakfast. She squeezed her father’s hand, wrapping a few of his large fingers inside her tiny five-year-old grip, as if he was a balloon and letting go meant losing him forever to float among the clouds. She rocked her father’s hand back and forth, swaying to the music, as she peered up at him and smiled.