Mirror Image: Shattered Mirror Prophecies Book 1

by Bailey James

  “Please don’t be mad. I want to spend time with you. I just need to do this first.”

  His expression softens. “I’m not mad, beautiful, just a little scared. But I understand. In your position, I’d want to do this, too.”

  “Will you come back tomorrow? We’ll do something.”

  He leans over and kisses me, his eyes twinkling again. “It’s a date. I’ll see you bright and early.”

  Relief washes through me. “Great.”

  I watch him leave before turning back to my book. I’ve always been a fast reader, and these books are short, so within two hours, I’ve finished it and have moved onto the next. By six in the morning, I’ve completed all of them and am on the internet researching something. An idea had started to form in the first book and solidified throughout the rest.

  By eight, I’m exhausted but exhilarated. I’ve just found what I’m looking for. The one thing that will prove beyond a doubt I’m not going crazy. The disappearances of the men from Jackson’s side weren’t disappearances. I’m almost sure those men came here. And I have an address for at least one of them.

  Chapter Ten

  Without another thought, I throw on clothes and race down the stairs to the kitchen. Mom is watching the morning talk shows and sipping coffee. She glances up, and her mouth gapes when she sees my disheveled appearance as I burst through the door.

  “Lily? What’s wrong?” She sets her coffee down and stands, the chair scraping across the tile floor in her hurry to get to me.

  With a grin, I say, “Nothing. I’m fine. I’m perfect. Can I borrow the car, please? I have an errand I have to run.”

  She frowns. “I don’t think that’s—”

  I pout and use my cutesy face to sweeten the pot. “Please, Mom? I promise to drive carefully. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  While she thinks about it, I continue to smile at her, hoping she’ll see I really am okay.

  “Where are you going?” she finally asks.

  Shit! I hate lying, but I don’t see any other choice. “The mall. They’re having a sale at Macy’s.”

  She lifts a brow. “It’s barely eight in the morning, Sweetie. They’re not open. If you give me an hour, I can take you myself.”

  Even though it wants to slip, I keep my smile plastered in place. “I’d like to go by myself. I haven’t really had a moment to myself in almost a week. And they are open,” I improvise, hoping she won’t call me on my shit. “It’s an early bird special. Doors opened at five.” I make my voice sound like an announcer for a television commercial.

  She gives a small smile and a little laugh. “All right. I guess it can’t hurt.” She goes to her purse and digs around for a minute.

  When she turns, she holds the keys out but keeps them just out of reach. “You will drive carefully, young lady. And you will wear your seatbelt this time.”

  Like I did with Ty, I lift my shirt and show her the bruises.

  “I did the first time,” I say, a bit more bitterly than I mean to, so I slap more glue on my smile and pull my shirt back down.

  She frowns at my chest, like she has x-ray vision and can still see the bruising but doesn’t comment on it. She starts to hand the keys, a bit absently as if she’s still trying to wrap her mind over why I have seatbelt bruises, but was still thrown from the car, but then shakes herself out of it and yanks them back at the last second.

  “And if you have another hallucination or feel weird at all, you will call me.” She waits for my nod before dropping them into my waiting palm. Her expression tells me she’s torn between telling me no and knowing I need to get out.

  I kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  She follows me to the door and watches the entire time as I carefully back out of the drive. I hadn’t counted on my arm making it difficult to drive—since I usually steer with only my right hand on the wheel—and the left feels clumsy and useless.

  When I’m far enough from the house that I won’t raise suspicion, I pull over to input the address I’d gotten from the internet into my phone. Then, before I can change my mind, I drive straight there, following the little computerized voice.

  Outside the cute townhouse, I park and stare at it while frogs fight for dominance against the butterflies in my stomach. “You’ve come this far, Lily. Just get out of the car and ring the bell,” I mutter.

  It takes three tries, but I finally manage to convince myself to leave the car. I make my way to the door with hesitant steps and, in a quick movement, press the doorbell, wincing when a loud buzzer sounds from inside.

  Maybe it’s too early. I should have waited, I think.

  Too late now, rational me says.

  Probably, I agree, and chew on my lip while I wait for someone to answer.

  Torn between relief and disappointment when no one does, I start back to the car. The door flies open without warning, and a woman with her hair dyed in red and black stripes stands on the threshold.

  She raises a pierced eyebrow when she sees me, and I suddenly want to kick myself for not putting some effort into my appearance before I came. I’m here to prove I’m not crazy, not validate that I am.

  “Can I help you?” she finally asks, when I just continue to stare at her dumbly.

  “Uh, yes. I’m sorry to bother you, but my name is Lily, and,” I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “I’m seeing a guy in my mirror.”

  The woman’s eyes widen, and I’m sure I’ve screwed up. I should have waited to make sure these were the right people. I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. She’s going to slam the door in my face and call the police. I can practically hear the sirens now.

  Then, when I’m about to mumble an apology and leave before she calls for the men in white coats, she swings her gaze in both directions, then reaches out and grabs my good arm and yanks me into the house, yelling, “Rowan! We have another one.”

  “Another one of what?” comes the instant response as a thin man with a mustache swaggers—yes, swaggers—into the room.

  He smiles at me as he holds out his hand. I shake it, and he glances down when he bumps into my cast. He exchanges a look with the woman, and when he faces me again, there’s understanding in his eyes.

  “You’ve found a portal.” It’s not a question. It’s a simple statement of fact.

  Relief pours over me like a rain shower. “Yes!” I say. “Can you please tell me what the hell is going on?”

  The woman steps forward. “I’m Cindy. This is my fiancé, Rowan. Why don’t we have a seat, and we’ll answer what we can.”

  She leads the way to a seating area. White leather sectionals are centered around a large glass sculpture of red and violet. The colors flow together, creating an illusion of flames.

  “This is gorgeous,” I tell her, touching it with a delicate finger.

  She grins. “Thank you.”

  The way she says it has me blinking at her before I laugh. “You made this?”

  She tucks her hands in her pockets and leans back on her heels. “Yep. I’m a glass artist. I made all of the sculptures in this room.”

  My eyes roam the room. There are many smaller sculptures. Some hang on the wall or sit on the shelves. A few of the larger pieces congregate along the floor.

  “Are these hand-blown?” I know next to nothing about glass blowing, but I’m hooked on that Netflix series.

  She beams at me. “Yes. I have a studio downtown I use.” She gestures to the couch. “Please, have a seat. Can I offer you a drink?”

  “Uh, water is fine.” I sit on the edge of the closest couch.

  While she goes for drinks, Rowan leans forward. “How did you get hurt?”

  I wince. “I was in a car accident; that’s how I found out about this whole mess. I was driving home from a day out with fri
ends, and when I glanced into the rearview mirror, I saw Jackson—the boy on the other side—staring back at me. I lost control of my car and flew through a guardrail and landed in a lake.”

  His eyes widen. “That was you? About a week ago, right? They said it was a drunk driver.” His eyes are sad when they do a thorough inspection of my face.

  I shrug. “That was me, but I wasn’t hit by a drunk driver. I wasn’t hit at all.”

  “How did you escape?” he asks, as Cindy reenters the room.

  She hands me a glass of water with lemon in it before sitting next to Rowan.

  “Jackson—the boy on the other side? He saved me.”

  “How?” they ask at the same time, and then grin at each other.

  “I-I don’t know.” But I make a mental note to ask Jackson for more details about that. “He pulled me out and then dragged me to shore. He was gone before the EMTs arrived, so they thought I’d been thrown from my car.”

  They exchange a glance. “Is he still here?” Rowan asks at the same time Cindy asks, “Why didn’t he come with you?”

  “No, he went back.”

  Rowan scoots to the edge of the couch. “He was able to go back?” The disbelief is evident in his voice. “How?” he demands.

  Again, I shrug. “I don’t know, but he can’t come back through now.” I think. Another question to add to the list. Maybe I should have talked to him some more before coming here. “I don’t know much about anything.”

  The couple exchanges another look, and it kind of irks me, so I say, “Look. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I need answers. I’ve read five books in the last twelve hours and spent hours on the internet researching this mess. I haven’t slept in almost forty-eight hours. I’m exhausted. Why is this happening? Why is there a portal? Why is it happening to me?” I bounce my gaze between the two of them. “Please, if you know anything that can help me, I need to know.”

  The man sighs. “This is very complicated, and we don’t know much, either. But I will do my best.” He glances at Cindy, who nods. “We believe we were the second to find the portal. As far as I know, there have only been four other couples—including you. Only two have made it over here.”

  “The men who disappeared?” I ask and take a sip of the water to stop my hands from shaking from excitement.

  “Yes, I suppose that’s what it would look like. Jackson told you about that? You know about the first one, then? The one who was committed?” I nod, and he leans closer. “And the women? The ones that went over there. Do you know what happened to them?”

  I look away, not wanting to divulge the sad information, but knowing I need to anyway. “They were killed.”

  Cindy gasps, and her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Oh no! How?”

  Rowan encircles her waist with his arms and pulls her to him.

  I look down at the ground. “I don’t know. According to Jackson, they’re blaming the men. They’ve been arrested, but Jackson said it was quite obvious it wasn’t them. He thinks it was some cult or something. The group that visited the first man, they visited you, too, right?”

  “Yes, I tried posting on the net to get answers from my colleagues around the solar system, but all I got was a group of people knocking on my door, asking too many questions. I didn’t trust them, so I gave them a polite boot out the door. Shortly after that, I came over here to avoid having done to me what was done to him.”

  “How did you come over?”

  He smiles and touches Cindy’s knee. “We don’t know. One day the mirror just…opened, and I walked through. But now, neither of us can go back. Not that either of us wants to, but I did try a few times to see if I could get answers quietly. We can’t even get it to open for us anymore. It’s as if once you pass through, it puts up a block. That’s why we were surprised your Jackson was able to go back.”

  “He’s not mine,” I say before they get any ideas. “I have a boyfriend.”

  Cindy raises an eyebrow. “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  She shoots a look to Rowan that I can’t decipher before turning back to me. “When did you start dating?”

  I have no idea why that’s relevant, but I answer anyway. “About a year ago.”

  “A year? That’s unusual,” she mumbles.

  “Unusual?”

  “All of the other couples have been single before they met their partner through the portal. We wondered if that had been a fluke because maybe all this has something to do with finding our partners or something. Like its fate or something.”

  I laugh and then realize they’re serious. “Oh.” I look down and study my hands. “Why do you think that? I mean, there has to be more to it than that, right?”

  Cindy shrugs before linking her hand with Rowan’s. “We don’t really know. The mysteries of the universe and all that, but we aren’t complaining.”

  Even though that answer bothers me, I can’t help but smile at them. They are cute together. They remind me a bit of Mom and Dad.

  “So, the others have come to you, too?” I ask, remembering what she said earlier. “You said I was another one, right?”

  She nods. “Of the three couples we know of, two have gone to the other side. One has stayed here. It seems like the best bet is to stay here if the other two died,” Cindy says, giving me a look.

  I nod to tell her I understand her warning. “Does the couple who stayed still contact you?”

  Cindy shakes her head. “No. The man, Carson, was nervous when he came here with Lacey. Now we know why; he must have known about the others. She brought him here to tell me thanks and to introduce us. But they didn’t stay long before they took off like the devil himself was chasing them. We haven’t heard from them since.”

  “He was the last?”

  “Until you,” Rowan states.

  My cell rings, but I ignore it. “So, this is really happening then? There are other dimensions, and my mirror is the portal to it?” I stare at my hands. Here I am, sitting in the living room of a couple I’ve never met, discussing other dimensions like it’s a common everyday occurrence.

  What has happened to my life?

  Cindy moves to sit next to me and takes my good hand in hers. “I know this is hard to take in. I was sitting where you are right now, but I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I didn’t tell anyone. I was too afraid of people thinking I was crazy.”

  “I thought I was hallucinating at first,” I confess. “I hit my head pretty hard…”

  She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I posted my experiences on the internet, trying to see if anyone was the same, but no one really was. I got a few hits on Reddit, but they mostly thought I was trying to start an RPS and wanted to help me with my ‘story.’” She does finger quotes. “I wanted to ignore Rowan, make him go away, run away myself. But something kept pulling me back, and one day I started believing it.”

  I could see how the people thought what she was talking about was the start of an online roleplay story. It has all the hallmarks of it.

  “What did you do after you started believing?” I ask.

  “At first, we’d just talk.” She laughs. “All the time. He did his own research, and then he’d tell me about it, but mostly he’d tell me stories of his experiments and his life, and I’d tell him about my art. Somewhere along the line, we fell in love.” She stops and smiles at Rowan, and they share a look so intimate it makes my own chest ache with it. “I’d never been happier when he managed to get over here. Then the second woman contacted me, she’d found me through my Reddit post, and it started all over again.”

  When she doesn’t continue, I ask, “What happened to her? The second woman.”

  “She disappeared. We assumed she’d gone to the other side, but we weren’t sure. A few weeks later, another one came, and soon she, too, disappeared. And then the last one? Well, you kn
ow. They hopped a plane and never came back. Now you’re here.”

  “So, this all happened pretty recently?”

  “Yes,” Rowan says. “Our first encounter was only a little less than a year ago. Although,” he warns, “there may be others we don’t know about.”

  I nod, it makes sense. If they were worried about this cult, most people wouldn’t blindly go visit someone they found on the internet like my stupid ass did. I sigh, I really should have made sure these people are who they say they are. I make a mental note to do so—and to check if there are others like us—when I get home.

  We sit talking for a few more minutes, and I learn more about Jackson’s world, and the more we talk, the more convinced I am this is real. It doesn’t seem possible, but it feels real. Besides, even my overactive imagination can’t have come up with some of the things Rowan is telling me. Like Tyler said, I’m all about reality, not science fiction.

  They have holo-rooms like in Star Trek, colonized several planets and their moons, and exploring new galaxies is no more complicated than flying a plane to France.

  Rowan tells me they use cloning frequently, from just a few cells to complete organs. Deaths from organ failure are non-existent. They simply grow a new one for you in a lab if you need it. If for some reason, they can’t, they have biomechanical devices to replace whatever it is that’s broken—from organs to limbs.

  They even use nanotechnology to cure their version of AIDS and other STDs, cancer—even the common cold. Something like COVID wouldn’t have even put a dent in someone’s day there. They just activate a syringe full of nanobots and inject them under the skin. The tiny robots attack any unhealthy tissues, or cells, or viruses and then repair the broken ones until the body can handle them on its own. Then the doctor activates a kill switch, and the nanobots deactivate and are broken down by the body and flushed out. Apparently, there have been bad side effects to just leaving them indefinitely inside the body. I want to ask what, but the look on his face tells me I probably don’t want to know.

  I don’t know how long we talk before my phone rings again. A glance at the screen shows me it’s my mom. I silence it and let it go to voicemail, but I stand with a sigh and a groan from how stiff my muscles are.