The Crow Behind the Mirror_Book One of the Mirror Wars

by Sean M. Hogan

  Eric’s gaze was focused ahead.

  She glanced at her mother, who was standing to her left.

  Grace watched the clock overhead, entranced with the clicking hands.

  Sharon’s attention shifted to the crowd.

  A woman in a gray business suit checked her purse. A small boy, around Sharon’s age, cried on the floor. His dinosaur toy sat with a broken jaw between his feet. A man in a colorful Hawaiian shirt fiddled with his fancy digital watch.

  She adjusted the shoulder straps of her blue teddy bear backpack with fairy wings and glanced at her father’s watch. The red second hand ticked away—feverishly—then stopped, frozen between the nine and ten. She waited for it to kick back into action. But it never did. Just as the urge to tell her father of his broken watch crept in, something white in the watch’s glass reflection made her eyes widen.

  A human skull emerged.

  She turned to the reflection’s source.

  Wedged between the crowds of people stood a man in a blood-red cloak, donning a skull mask. His hollow sockets lit up with flickering flames like candles observed through a jack-o’-lantern’s carved eyes.

  Sharon squinted at him with a child’s curiosity as the people around him froze in place and time.

  “At last—my sweet angel—we are reunited,” said the Cloaked Man.

  ***

  “Beyond all my fantasies—my delusions—like a phantom emerging from a dark labyrinth, he found me,” said Sharon.

  “Who found you?” Dr. Stone rose from her chair. “Tell me, Sharon, who is this man?”

  “He’s forcing his way inside my mind. He’s forcing me to remember.” Tears fell from her eyes as she huddled herself. “And his power over me is growing stronger.”

  The air around the room swirled with a twister’s force, picking up loose papers and books and hurling them into the wind.

  Dr. Stone shouted like a madwoman. “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me who he is.”

  “He is the lord of dreams, of my dreams.” She closed her eyes.

  “He is death,” said Dr. Stone. Her skin bubbled, and her limbs and head contorted into horrid positions no living soul could survive. “Death, death, death,” she chanted, opening her mouth impossibly wide as hundreds of crows leaped out and took to the air. Her skin shrunk to the floor—an empty butterfly’s cocoon husk.

  The crows swarmed, darkening the room and engulfing Sharon in a sea of black.

  ***

  The Cloaked Man stalked toward Sharon, the light dying where his feet touched. He slipped past the frozen people as a serpent maneuvers between tall reeds of grass.

  “Who are you?” she asked, tightening her grip around her father’s fingers. Her gaze fixed on the Cloaked Man. “Show me your face. Remove your mask.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot grant you your request, my sweet little angel,” said the Cloaked Man. “For I am the mask I wear. Our identities intertwined. Both living symbols of death.”

  Darkness raked across the subway station. Encroaching shadows swallowed up everything they passed over, surrounding Sharon like a rushing flood of oil.

  She drew back, letting go of her father’s hand, as she was eaten by wicked void, the darkness drowning out her scream.

  “There is but one mind, one consciousness, one source,” a dark voice spoke, echoing out into the void. “Everything is connected, Sharon. And the Dreamtime is the very fabric which connects all things. It is a reality within each of our minds.”

  A whisper escaped her lips. “I let him slip through my fingers again...” Her hands became visible, illuminated by a white spotlight fixed on her.

  “Don’t worry, Sharon,” the voice cut through the darkness. “Your father is very much alive.”

  “How do you know?” she asked, her hands clenching into fists.

  “Your dreaming eye has been opened.”

  The darkness melted away to reveal Sharon, not as a child, but as her seventeen-year-old self.

  The crowds of people in the subway returned, unfrozen, and began to load in and out of the subway train. They bumped and shoved past Sharon as they passed by.

  She scanned the crowds. Her parents were nowhere in sight. She turned back to the Cloaked Man. He continued his pace toward her.

  “Dilated by the magical waters you drank. And now your mind has been set free to wander the outer planes of the Dreamtime,” said the Cloaked Man. “But the human mind is complex and convoluted. Layers upon layers, twisting and linking together within your subconscious, endlessly spiraling into the beyond. The longer you stay, the deeper your mind will plunge into the depths. If you go too deep, even I will not be able to reach you.”

  “I’m dreaming?” She shook her head in disbelief as a sudden panic rose inside her. “Mom? Where are you?”

  “She’s not real, Sharon. None of these people are. They are just afterimages. Muddled memories of people you’ve met in your lifetime. And some that you will.”

  “Will?” she asked, pushing past the mob of people who flooded out of the subway train doors.

  “In your future.”

  A man stepped in front of Sharon, blocking her path. The conductor. She could tell immediately from his uniform. He pulled out an old fashioned golden watch from his pocket and flipped the lid open, checking the time. His grin curled up his face and his long, thick teeth showed through his lips. A glare of light reflected off his circular glasses, masking his eyes. “Tickets please.” He spoke the words as if they amused him to say.

  “Sorry,” she said, digging through her pockets. “I don’t have a ticket.”

  The conductor reached into Sharon’s leather jacket pocket and slid out a playing card. He flashed its face to her. An image of a jester graced the front of the card. He rode a unicycle while juggling four strange symbols: a black sun, a white flower, an eye, and a human skull.

  “Interesting.” The conductor’s grin crawled up his cheeks. “So, you’re the joker.”

  “I don’t understand.” She peered at the card. To her amazement, the image of the jester came alive, juggling the symbols and teetering around on his unicycle.

  “Jokers are wild—don’t you know—predictably unpredictable,” said the conductor. “They are the tethering thread that anchors the world. The balancing point between order and chaos.” The conductor waved his hand over the card. With a flick of the wrist and a magician’s sleight of hand, he replaced the card with a blue sphere donning a cute puppy dog face. Winston. “You’ve got the weight of the universe on your shoulders, kiddo.” He tossed Winston into her arms. “Don’t drop the ball.” His final words to her as the doors closed between them and the subway train took off down the tracks.

  Sharon gazed down at Winston. His blue paint melted away, exposing a small globe. No, an actual tiny planet between Sharon’s fingers, stock full of floating clouds and continents and oceans.

  Then the planet grew cold. The tiny world quickly succumbed to a global ice age, becoming an icy tomb.

  Pain raked through her fingers and palms, freezer burn. She dropped the frozen globe and it shattered into a thousand pieces on the concrete.

  “The Dreamtime is not subject to a linear flow of time,” said the Cloaked Man, stepping behind Sharon. “No internal logic binds it. Without an Oracle to guide you through this walkabout, these images will hold no meaning to you. Your efforts to decipher anything will be hopelessly in vain. And eventually, you will be consumed by it. But I can change that.”

  She spun around to face him. “How?”

  “I can be your guide, your Oracle, your teacher.” He spread out his arms. “Embrace me as a father, Sharon. Let me fill the void in your heart. And in return I shall grant you power.”

  “I don’t want any power.”

  “That is because you are weak and afraid.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” she yelled, her breath fuming out.

  “Ah, do my words anger you? That’s good. That is where your true power lies.”
<
br />   He stepped forward, and she stepped back.

  She retreated another step, stopping when she felt her heel hang off the edge of the cement ledge. She glanced back over her shoulder. Behind her were the subway tracks. A dead-end.

  “I’ve read your soul, Sharon. Seen its color. And it is the same shade as mine.”

  “I’m nothing like you.” Her voice echoed across the subway station.

  The crowds of people froze and, in complete harmony, arched their heads back and stretched open their jaws. A rumbling roar bellowed from their gaping mouths. Flocks of crows followed. They rushed out like a bursting dam, staining the air black with ink. The people slumped to individual piles of loose skin and clothes.

  “So, you found us.” The Cloaked Man glared up at the rising cloud of crows. “But you underestimate me. I am not one to be caught off guard twice in the same night.”

  The crows swarmed and, now in full force, descended upon the Cloaked Man.

  He threw up his hands, conjuring flames and setting his body ablaze in a hellish inferno.

  Dozens of crows fell to the earth, screeching as the flames consumed them like weathered old newspapers. The vast majority broke off the attack and hovered above the Cloaked Man. They became his personal dark storm of twisting clouds, protesting with shrieking caws and the occasional lone kamikaze rush.

  He continued his relentless pace toward Sharon. “He won’t keep me from you this time.”

  “Stay back.” She swiped her arm at him, hitting nothing but air—except more than just air shifted. The floor tiles bent and arched before her feet. The brick subway pillars swayed like thin willow trees in a hurricane. She peered down at her bare palm and trembling fingers, forming a fist when the revelation hit her. “If this is a dream…”

  The Cloaked Man stopped.

  Sharon’s gaze rose to meet his. “Not just a dream—my dream.” She stretched out her hand. Blue flames ignited in her palm. “I control what happens here. My head my rules.”

  He made a dash straight for her.

  She hurled the blue fireball. “And you’re trespassing.”

  Boom. The blast connected, sending him skidding back on his heels, smoke and smoldering soot rising from the burnt patch on his chest.

  “How’s that for weak?” she snapped back.

  The Cloaked Man brushed himself off. “You’re only hurting yourself, child. An entire ocean could fit in the gap of knowledge between us.” He snapped his fingers and fire ignited on her left leg.

  She reeled in pain and cupped her calf, smothering out the flames as best she could. It’s not real, she told herself, none of this is real. So why? “Why can’t I will the pain away?”

  “The mind makes it real,” he told her. “Phantom pain lingers long after—”

  “I’ve had enough of your bullshit,” she roared, throwing up her arms and conjuring a dragon’s breath of blue fire.

  He countered with a blast of his own.

  For a brief moment, they seemed to be at a stalemate, neither budging an inch in their tug of war of flames, until Sharon felt her heels slide back toward the edge.

  “You can’t win,” he told her.

  “Shut up.”

  “Give up.”

  “You first.”

  The red flames began to overtake the blue.

  Sharon struggled to keep her footing, but it was no use. She was losing ground too fast to think. She slipped, falling backward off the ledge and landing hard in the middle of the tracks, just narrowly missing the flames. As she scrambled to her feet, she pushed off the metal rails and felt the vibrations surge through her fingers. Another train is coming.

  A light at the end of the tunnel pierced through the darkness. The light blinded and enveloped her with its beam.

  “Grab my hand, Sharon.” The Cloaked Man reached for her from atop the ledge. “Now, before it’s too late.”

  She shook her head. “Go to hell.” This is all a dream. Just a dream, damn it. Get a hold of yourself, Sharon. None of this is real. She took off toward the speeding train, meeting it head-on in a game of chicken. One way or another, I have to end this nightmare. And the only way to do that is to—

  “Wake up,” she screamed with all the air in her lungs.

  Her scream echoed as the light consumed her, ripping the train and subway apart and shattering the Cloaked Man like glass.

  He exploded into a thousand pieces. His scream muffled out by hers.

  ***

  A firework screamed as it rocketed through the night sky, exploding in a brilliant bouquet of sparkling colors, raining down thousands of tiny streaking lights. The glow of the spectacle painted Sharon’s and Jeff’s bodies in dazzling flashes of hue as they sat together on the lush green grass. More fireworks thundered—spreading out like flowers—in the distant twilight and sprinkled down like shattered colored glass. The two never let go of each other’s hands throughout the first and second act.

  Sharon and Jeff had spent the afternoon and most of the evening at the festival of New Republica, alternating between carnival games, roller coasters, and junk food. Together they observed the city from atop the Ferris wheel. For the first time since she could remember, Sharon had enjoyed herself. No anxiety. No anger. No emptiness. Her smile never left her face. When they had their fill of cotton candy and fried treats Sharon took Jeff by the hand and led him to the green hills to watch the fireworks. The pair chose a spot where they could overlook the city.

  Jeff gently brushed a lock of Sharon’s hair behind her ear. “Stay with me.”

  Her gaze met his and she lost herself in his warm brown eyes.

  “Like this, forever.” His confidence was overwhelming.

  “Just the two of us?” she asked, placing her other hand over his.

  He rested his hand on her cheek. “Just like Adam and Eve.” He leaned in.

  She closed her eyes.

  The heat of their breath overlapped. Their lips connected and they kissed.

  A firework exploded in the night sky, blooming into a golden flower.

  Her eyes flashed open. The blast echoed inside her mind, forming into a scream, a scream that uttered two words. Wake up.

  Sharon broke free from the kiss and pushed away from him. “You’re an Emo-sha.” She let the words slip out against her own will.

  He looked at her. “What did you say?”

  “It’s what your master said. When I asked him who he was.” She brushed her hair out from behind her ear. “Is it true? Is that what you are?”

  Jeff’s hair bled red, inking to a deep crimson. His irises shined like rubies. “I am an emotion.”

  “Joy...” The word came out of her mouth by the way of too much effort and grief.

  “That’s the one,” said Joy, his smile a jester’s grin. “So, you’re finally awake. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, beautiful? I’ve only heard of a handful of people who have successfully awakened in the Dreamtime. And they go by the title of god.”

  “I guess that makes me special,” she said, turning from him. “Though I can’t take all the credit. I had a little help.”

  The golden flower of light still hung in the night sky. The firework morphed into a blazing eye.

  “We could have had a life together. Without memories and regret. Without guilt to drag us down like the chains and shackles of damned ghosts and tormented souls,” said Joy. “Open your eyes—Sharon—before it’s too late. The Dreamtime could give us a fresh start. A clean slate.”

  “My eyes are open now.” She peered up at the blazing eye. “I finally realize that I don’t want what everyone else wants. What you want. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me. I don’t want heaven.” She let a sad smile show through her resolve. “What I want… I can never get back. I thought maybe you had the answer.” Sharon stood up and spread out her wings. “But I don’t think you’re happy either, Jeff. I think you’re just as scared as me.”

  Joy frowned for the first time since he gained his name.
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  A flock of mechanical birds flew overhead. Their oily insides leaked out and coated them in jet-black ink, turning them into crows.

  A single black feather fell into Joy’s hand. His frown deepened as he crushed the feather.

  “Maybe no one is happy,” said Sharon. “Maybe happiness is the real dream. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe we fear and suffer to give us something to strive for. Something more than we could ever hope to hold onto. Maybe there is no point, and we suffer simply because we can. Either way...”

  The crows surrounded her.

  “I’m going to find out for myself.” She took a step forward.

  ***

  Sharon took another step forward. Then another, until she stood over the edge.

  “Sharon, stop,” said a familiar voice behind her.

  She looked around and found she was back on the school rooftop. The yellow sun shined bright in the cloud-checkered blue sky. She glanced back over her shoulder.

  Sarah inched toward her. “Sharon, whatever you’re seeing right now, it’s not real.”

  She smiled. “I know.”

  “No, you think you do, but you don’t. Whoever you were talking to just now doesn’t exist. The crow doesn’t exist. The man with the skull mask doesn’t exist. You need to wake up.”

  Sharon gazed at the empty space before her. “I intend to.” She looked down, squinting at the shrinking city below. The people and cars were scurrying around like ants. It was as if she was standing on the edge of a skyscraper.

  “Enough,” Sarah screamed. “Don’t take the coward’s way out. Suicide is the same as running away.”

  A black twister of crows formed below. The tornado opened up—unveiling the eye of the storm. Golden light shined on through.

  “You’re right.” She spread her wings. “No more running. No more looking back. I’m going to walk my own path now.”

  “Wait!” Sarah lunged for Sharon.

  But it was too late. Sharon stepped off the edge and let gravity do the rest.