Boy in the Mirror

by Robert J. Duperre

  “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “You don’t need to speak with her like that,” Aunt Mitzy said. “She’s not your child.”

  “Don’t tell me how to act in my own house!” he shouted, whirling on the woman. Jacqueline’s heart raced, and Papa Gelick’s neck flushed.

  “Roger!” exclaimed Mrs. Gelick.

  The pastor shook his head, his eyes flitting from side to side as if in shock. He ran a hand through his hair. “I apologize, Miss Sarin.”

  “It’s quite all right,” Mitzy replied, seemingly not bothered by the outburst. Jacqueline felt envy creep up. Mitzy was strong in a way Jacqueline could never be. The woman peered Jacqueline’s way, gestured toward the hallway with her chin. “Jackie, I think you might want to go upstairs. We’ll get this sorted out, I promise.”

  “That we will,” added her foster father.

  Jacqueline defiantly snatched another three cookies off the tray and breezed out of the room. When she rounded the corner, heading for the stairwell, she found Sarah, the Gelick’s seven-year-old daughter, sitting on the bottom step, elbows on her knees.

  “What’s happening?” the girl asked. “You goin’ away?”

  “Maybe,” Jacqueline said, patting Sarah on the head and striding past her. She bit into another cookie, and just like the first two, it was soft and moist, and melted in her mouth. It tasted like heaven.

  The voices of the adults drifted up the stairs. “The girl is my blood,” Mitzy was saying. “If anyone should care for her, it should be family.”

  Papa Gelick laughed, and it was the most disheartening sound Jacqueline had ever heard. “Do you know what her father did?” he said. “Trust me, you don’t want her. She’s a handful. That’s why she’s here. The child is the offspring of a monster, and only Jesus can save her.”

  Jacqueline didn’t wait around to hear her aunt’s reply. She dashed into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her as hard as she could, punishment be damned.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jacqueline’s bedroom was a barren place consisting of a bed and dresser and nothing else. The walls were adorned with framed scripture verses and a pair of paintings, both of Christ. When she’d first arrived, Jacqueline had asked Papa Gelick if she could hang up the only two pictures of her parents that she had, but she’d been shot down.

  It was in this room that Jacqueline had spent most of the three months she’d lived with the Gelicks. And while she did indeed sleep and pray as ordered, she also plotted her eventual escape from this cruel place.

  Cruel place.

  Jacqueline’s guilt reared its ugly head. She was being judgmental and mean, and she knew it. The Gelicks might’ve been rigid and a bit odd, but neither the pastor nor his wife had ever done anything outwardly cruel. Even when she was paraded in front of Papa Gelick’s congregation every Sunday and made a spectacle of, the pastor had assured her it was to show the good God-fearing folks of Colebrook that even sinners could change if they accepted the grace of God. Even if he and his congregation were way more fundamentalist than any other Protestant churches she’d been to, it was really just an annoyance.

  They’re trying to help you, her conscience scolded.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  The tears came hard and fast, and she curled up in a ball on her bed. Her mind was a jumble of contradictions. She’d been a girl without a family for so long that she’d started to identify as such. Just the possibility that it might not be true was enough to make her feel hope for the first time in a long while, which in turn made her unravel.

  “Please don’t cry,” said a voice in the room. “I don’t like it when you cry.”

  Jacqueline lifted her head, wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sucked in the last of her sniffles and slid off the bed, making her way across the bedroom.

  Her compact was on the dresser, an old thing with rusted hinges. The blush inside had long been used up, but it was her most prized possession, a relic left behind by a mother she never knew.

  Jacqueline pried open the case and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Once again she marveled at how alike she and “Aunt Mitzy” looked. The resemblance was so uncanny that she could have been the woman’s daughter.

  Downstairs, the Gelicks bid good day to Aunt Mitzy, and Jacqueline faintly heard the woman say she’d be back in a week so they could “clear up any confusion.” The front door then closed, followed by the crunch of tires rolling down the driveway. The tingling in Jacqueline’s stomach disappeared. She glanced back at the mirror.

  He was there.

  His eyes, gun-metal gray, gazed up at her from behind his reflective prison. His white, slightly tousled hair flopped over one side of his face. He smiled his perfect smile. “Hey there, Jackie,” the boy in the mirror said.

  “Hi, Mal.”

  Jacqueline had first discovered the boy who lived in the compact a week after her father’s arrest. Child Services had escorted her home to collect her valuables before she was sent to a group shelter in Newport, Vermont. She’d been in a daze, tossing random odds and ends into her travel bag, when she heard someone call out her name. She’d followed the voice to her father’s bedroom, but saw nothing but an unmade bed and laundry scattered everywhere. She was only ten at the time, but she knew enough to understand that her daddy wouldn’t be sleeping in that bed any more, that those clothes would never again hang off his slender frame. Not after what he’d done.

  Jacqueline had started crying again—there had been so much crying in those days after the incident—when the voice called out again. “Please don’t cry.” She followed the sound of humming to the drawer in her father’s dresser where he stored Jacqueline’s mother’s old keepsakes. She rummaged through knickknacks and costume jewelry until her hand touched a metal disk. The brass surface of the thing was warm. When she’d opened it, he’d appeared, white hair, gray eyes, and all. He’d introduced himself as Mal, her guardian angel. Jacqueline had been young enough at the time to believe him without question. She’d been naïve enough to have faith in things like hope and miracles.

  Five years changed so much.

  With each subsequent move to a different foster home, she’d retreat further into her relationship with the mysterious boy in the mirror. It was in moments like this, when the last of her optimism seemed ready to crumble away completely and leave a dead husk in its wake, that her simple, childlike belief that the unreal boy actually existed made her sane.

  She went back to the bed and sat down, placing the open compact in her lap. She grabbed her brush and ran it through her long, black hair, tugging at the roots, letting the pain come. Doing so let her remember that she was still capable of feeling something. In the mirror, Mal watched her, his ever-present smile faltering.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, lips twisting into a thin white line.

  Jacqueline sucked snot into her nose. “I’m just sad.”

  “Is it him? The pastor?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Then what?”

  She sighed. “A woman came. She said her name’s Mitzy Sarin. You know her?”

  “Nope. Never heard of her. Related to your mom?”

  “Yeah. Says she’s her sister. I didn’t know I had any family left. But we look alike. A lot alike, so it’s gotta be true.”

  “Gotta be, or you hope it is?”

  Jacqueline shrugged. She had no answer for that.

  “What does she want?” asked Mal.

  “To take me away from here.”

  Tears again rolled down Jacqueline’s cheeks. One fell from her chin and landed on the mirror. The bead of salty fluid immediately vanished.

  “I don’t like it when you cry,” Mal said. “This is a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” Jacqueline sniffled.

  “Well, where does she want to take you?”

  “Connecticut, I think.”

  Mal’s smile widened. “That’s good. That’s very good.”

  “Is i
t?”

  “Yup. Have faith, Jackie. These things always work themselves out in the end.”

  She sat there in silence for a while, the beautiful boy in the mirror gazing up at her. She wanted to believe him, but her life had been one catastrophe piled on top of another, from her mother’s death when she was three to her father’s horrible acts to the countless love-deprived homes she’d found herself in afterward. It was dangerous to think anything would change. She just couldn’t set herself up for disappointment again, no matter what Mal told her.

  “You’re right,” she finally said, placating him. “Just think positive thoughts.” A sad smile crossed her lips. “At least I have you.”

  “That you do,” Mal said with a wink.

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course. You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, Jackie. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Mal.”

  Jacqueline peered out the window. The sun was setting, and she suddenly felt dead tired. She closed the compact, placed it beneath her pillow, then took off her clothes, slipped on her nightgown, and climbed beneath the covers. The residue of Aunt Mitzy’s cookies still lingered in her mouth, and when she licked the back of her teeth, she felt a strange, calming sensation come over her. Jacqueline succumbed to the feeling, closing her eyes, wondering about Mal. Was he floating through space, drawn back through the fabric of existence whenever she opened the mirror? Or did he exist purely within the confines of the compact, his soul trapped for eternity like a genie, waiting for her to rub the mirror in the right way to release him?

  Or maybe he wasn’t there at all.

  While she pondered this, Mal’s sweet voice, muffled by her pillow, sang her to sleep.

  “Pretty little lady with a heart of gold. Poor pretty lady, without a dream, without a home.”

  CHAPTER 3

  She dreamed she stood in front of a large mirror, the images of her parents gazing at her with love. Jacqueline reached for them, piercing the mirror’s liquid surface, but they were out of her reach. Their images faded, loving smiles dissolving into blackness. Jacqueline pleaded for them not to leave her.

  A heavy pressure shoved against her chest, urging her to wakefulness. She tried to roll over, still groggy, but the pressure held firm. Jacqueline’s eyes snapped open. The bedroom was nearly pitch-black, and she heard heavy breathing. An alien hand slowly inched its way across her abdomen, fingers bunching around the fabric of her nightgown, pulling on it.

  She recognized Papa Gelick’s voice when he groaned.

  Jacqueline’s heart went thump-thump-thump. She knew from experience how to react; her muscles went stiff and she held her breath. This wasn’t exactly new territory for her. There had been two past incidents in different foster homes where someone had come on her unwontedly like this. The first time it was Mr. Gleeson, when Jackie was eleven. She’d kicked and screamed, trying to get him off her, but all she’d accomplished was a stiff beating and being subsequently thrown back into the arms of Child Services, Jackie too young and scared to tell them what’d happened. The second time she’d simply lay still as a statue, locking up her body and pretending to be frozen. She hadn’t seen the perpetrator that second time, but her ploy worked, since he gave up prying at her body after a short time and left her alone. In the aftermath of that one, Jacqueline ran away.

  Neither would work this time.

  Papa Gelick breathed slowly, deeply, seeming to growl with each exhale. He stank of liquor, which was unheard of. The pastor hated alcohol. His hand crept over the nightgown’s light material, brushed past her bellybutton. The fabric hiked up, exposing her knees, then her lower thighs. No, no, no, she thought, the combination of nausea and fear making her gag. Please go away, please go away!

  But Papa Gelick remained hovering above, his outline like that of an ogre. His finger wrapped around the top of the nightgown and he yanked, breaking one of the shoulder straps. Fingernails raked across her upper chest, then his arm pulled back and he muttered, as if chastising himself. Jacqueline yelped and kicked out as hard as she could, connected. Papa Gelick let out a harrumph and staggered backward. Jackie scurried across the bed away from him.

  “Stop it!” she shrieked.

  Papa Gelick froze there in the virtual blackness, his outline heaving.

  “God has a plan for all of us,” he said, his words slurred and strangely emotionless. “Even the worthless and damned, like you.”

  He shook his head and slapped himself. “No, that’s not true. Stop it.”

  He turned back to her.

  Jackie slid one foot off the bed, then the other, and proceeded to back up against the wall, trying to get as far away from the looming beast of a man as she could. If she reached the window, maybe she could fling it open and crawl onto the roof. It was only a ten-foot drop to the grass below…

  “You were given to us for a reason,” Papa Gelick said, sounding even drunker than before. He moved strangely, his upper body swaying against his lower as if fighting himself. His words came out staggered. “You were sent to…‌to heal this community…‌to build Jesus’ flock. The Lord knew I could fix you, that I…‌could fight the evil hidden inside.” He coughed, and it sounded like he almost puked. “Stop it,” he whined, then regained himself. “The Devil has many pawns, many faces. This is just a test, another challenge for me to endure.”

  “You’re n-not making sense,” Jacqueline said.

  The man laughed. It was a conflicted sound. “It makes all the sense in the world. No it doesn’t. Yes it does! The woman who came to claim you was a demon, Jackie. A dirty, banished-from-hell demon. Just like your father. Just like you were before you were saved. She wants to take you away from God. Do you want that, Jackie?”

  With a lump in her throat, Jacqueline croaked out, “No.”

  “You say that, but your voice lies,” Papa Gelick said. His movements steadied, as did his speaking voice. “I can hear it, and see it. I see it when you eat, when you sleep, when you even breathe. You tell us you pray for forgiveness, and yet when I check on you at night I hear no prayers, no whispers or pleas. You’ve turned your back on God and become a temptress and a seducer. You taunt men with your body, your actions, trying to lure them into sin. To lure me into sin! You have the devil in you, child. You have to get him out.”

  Papa Gelick lumbered to the side. A moment later, the lamp on the dresser clicked to life, momentarily blinding her. When stars stopped popping in her eyes and her vision came clear, she saw that the man’s cheeks were red and swollen, and drool oozed down his chin. He was naked from the waist up, and his chest hair glistened with either spilled liquor or vomit. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he gawked at her, a desperate, angry look in his blue eyes. What had once been a reasonably attractive man had become a monster.

  Jacqueline tried to back up further, wishing she could phase her body through the wall. For a moment she felt lightheaded, close to fainting. Papa Gelick took a step toward her on wobbly legs. That frightening, desperate look never left his face. More drool dripped off his chin, plinking on the floorboards.

  “I’ve tried everything,” the man said groggily. “Nothing’s worked. It’s the depravity. The horrible depravity.” It looked like he was in pain, half his mouth struggling not to smile. “And sometimes…‌the only way…‌to get rid of depravity…‌is to feed it.”

  Without another word he lurched forward. Jacqueline tried to slide down the wall and out of his reach, but her body was stiff with fear. Hands wrapped around her throat, lifted her. She choked for air, her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. Papa Gelick spun around, flinging her toward the bed. She landed on the floor with a thump, only to have her tormentor lift her up and drop her onto the mattress.

  “You need this,” muttered Papa Gelick’s trembling voice.

  The man climbed atop her, his weight crushing Jacqueline’s chest. His left elbow dug into her throat while his eager right hand groped, smacking against the side of her stomach, moving
ever downward to her thigh. Jacqueline squeezed her eyes shut and tried to scream, but the force of his forearm on her throat was too great. All that came out was a hoarse whimper.

  Jacqueline felt new levels of fear; it seemed her heart would burst, it beat so quickly. She struggled beneath the man, eyes bulging and mind going fuzzy, while Papa Gelick pawed at her. None of the awfulness she’d experienced over the last five years came anywhere close to this. For a split second, she wished she could die.

  Papa Gelick released the pressure on her throat, allowing her to take a gasping breath. He leaned in close and pressed his mouth to her ear. “Please…‌fight me,” he slurred, sounding desperate.

  Upon hearing those words, that invitation, another emotion bubbled in Jacqueline’s gut and wiped out her fright. Raging heat burned in her temples, brought fire to her veins. She suddenly wanted to rip the man on top of her limb from limb, to pound Papa Gelick’s face into the wall again and again until it became so crushed and misshapen that no one would ever mistake it for human. Electrical charges went off all throughout her body, exploded in her vision. It was as if someone ignited a series of fireworks inside her, and it felt wonderful. It felt powerful.

  “Get…‌OFF ME!” Jacqueline screamed.

  She swiped Papa Gelick’s hand off her thigh with one arm and drove the flat of her opposite hand into his chest. Amazingly, the man let out a gust of putrid breath and lifted into the air, careening off the edge of the bed and smacking against the floor. Jacqueline’s brain went into overdrive, her vision went red. Her body moved as if of its own accord, tucking into a crouch and springing off the bed, driving her knees into Papa Gelick with such force that he was compelled to his back.

  Jacqueline didn’t feel in control of her body, and it was the most intoxicating sensation ever. She lashed out at Papa Gelick, connected squarely with his cheek. His head rocketed to the side, a stream of bloody spittle ejected from his mouth. She grabbed the top of his hair and lifted his head. Papa Gelick’s glassy eyes stared back at her, disbelieving.