Boy in the Mirror

by Robert J. Duperre

  “I’ll rip you apart,” she growled into his face.

  “Daddy?”

  Hearing the little girl’s voice snapped Jacqueline back into herself. She stared at the man beneath her, at the side of his face as it began to swell and redden, and let go of his hair. She kicked herself along the floor, staring first at her hands, then at the doorway. Little Sarah was standing there, teddy bear cradled in her arms, eyes wide as saucers.

  Jacqueline swallowed hard. It was hard to keep from trembling. “Sarah,” she said softly. “Go to your room. It’s okay.”

  The little girl didn’t move.

  Footsteps pounded down the hall, and Mrs. Gelick appeared, her blond hair sticking out in wild knots on both sides of her head. The woman glanced at her daughter, confused, and then peered into the room. When she saw Jacqueline there on the floor, holding her nightgown up with one hand, Mrs. Gelick’s eyes widened. She quickly turned her head as Papa Gelick tried to pick himself up off the floor.

  “What have you done,” Mrs. Gelick whispered.

  At first, Jacqueline assumed the question had been aimed at Papa Gelick, but then she saw the disdainful looks the woman gave the both of them. She ran into the bedroom and dropped down beside her husband. Mrs. Gelick helped the man to his feet and supported him as he stumbled, drunken and dazed, toward the doorway. “You idiot!” she growled, slapping him on the back of the head.

  The whole while, Little Sarah quietly sobbed in the doorway.

  Finally, without another word for Jacqueline, the Gelicks left the room. Mrs. Gelick slammed the door behind her, leaving Jacqueline alone with her pain, fear, anger, and confusion. She could hear the woman railing into her husband as they went down the hall. Jacqueline stood up, feeling lightheaded, and stared at her hands. She’d just thrown a grown man off of her, and then struck him so hard that it nearly knocked him out. She looked at her knuckles, saw the flesh wasn’t marked at all. It didn’t even hurt. “What’s happening to me?” she whispered, her tears finally flowing now that the immediate danger had passed. She collapsed on the bed.

  Mal was calling her from inside his mirror prison, but she didn’t reach under the pillow to retrieve him. She simply lay there and cried.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jacqueline awoke out of a dream in which she strolled along the shore of some far-away beach, holding hands with Mal. She felt so happy, so at peace, that when the first waft of salty bacon smoke struck her nose, she eagerly sat up.

  The pain in her throat, along with the memory of the previous night, ruined what little tranquility remained from her dream. She remembered the seething wantonness in Papa Gelick’s eyes, felt the weight of his body as it pressed into her, suffered the derision and guilt, and the horror of potentially being sullied.

  Then she remembered her violent outburst, spurned on by a rage so deep and enveloping that it set her whole body on fire, as if she’d become the living embodiment of hate. How else to explain how a five-foot-three inch girl who barely weighed a hundred pounds overpowered a man nearly a foot taller and double her weight? And why the hell had Papa Gelick attacked her in the first place? None of it made any sense at all. It made her feel dirty, and perhaps even evil, just as her foster father had said.

  The strangeness and unbelievability of what’d happened threatened to drive her mad, and worst of all, Jacqueline just knew that if Sarah hadn’t come to the doorway at that moment, she might’ve killed the man. Somehow, that thought was more frightening than the attempted rape had been.

  With the world closing in on her, she reached beneath her pillow, grabbed hold of the compact, and opened it. There was Mal, as beautiful and caring as ever. The boy in the mirror gazed up at her, a look of dire concern on his face. His lips twisted into a frown.

  “Why’s your neck all swollen?” he asked.

  Jacqueline shook her head, on the verge of tears.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  She chewed on her lip and said nothing.

  “C’mon, Jackie. Tell me what happened. All of it.”

  The floodgates opened and she explained it all, from waking up with Papa Gelick’s hands on her to the horrors that followed. When she arrived at the part where she shoved him off the bed, Mal’s eyes darkened.

  “My God,” he said.

  “Mal, what’s wrong with me?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said in a soothing tone. “Nothing at all.”

  “But what happened…”

  “Could’ve happened to anyone, Jackie. Adrenaline is a funny thing.”

  “Mal, am I…‌am I a monster? Like him? Like my dad?”

  “Absolutely not. You’re beautiful, Jackie. The most precious creature who’s ever lived. And that’s the damn truth.”

  Her nose twitched, her stomach rumbled from hunger, but Jacqueline didn’t want to leave her room and the only person in the world that made her feel safe, even if that person was trapped inside a mirror the size of her palm. A groan escaped her lips.

  “You should go eat,” Mal said as if he’d read her mind.

  “I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna see him. Or her. Mrs. Gelick.”

  “You have nothing to worry about, Jackie. There’s nothing they can do to you. Maybe last night is just what they needed to let you go off with this Aunt Mitzy of yours without a fight.”

  Jacqueline couldn’t help but smile at that.

  Mrs. Gelick seemed edgy as she watched her husband and daughter pick at their bacon, eggs, and biscuits. The left side of Papa Gelick’s face was covered with an ugly purple bruise to match the one blooming across Jacqueline’s throat.

  Jacqueline took her place at the table, her chair squeaking on linoleum as she shuffled closer. Little Sarah glanced up at her and smiled timidly before going back to moving her eggs across her plate with her fork. Mrs. Gelick squinted in her daughter’s direction, passed her husband a nasty look. Papa Gelick winced, staring down at his plate as if afraid to look anywhere else.

  No one spoke the whole time Jacqueline sat with them. The only sounds were metal scraping against porcelain and the crunch of chewed bacon. Jacqueline’s stomach roiled. Even Sarah, who was normally an oblivious, blithe girl in the morning, seemed entirely unnerved. She scrunched up her little face and appeared paler than usual, her hand not holding a fork obsessively fiddling with her blond curls.

  Jacqueline could relate. She too was having trouble eating; her stomach was in knots, anxiety caused a headache to spike behind her eyes. It was difficult to swallow given her swollen throat. I shouldn’t be here, said a resilient voice in the back of her mind. I should be upstairs calling the police. Still another part of her was awash with guilt, replaying the previous night’s events. Papa Gelick’s drunken accusation was on a constant loop in her thoughts. You taunt men with your body. You lead them to sin.

  “Please excuse me,” she finally said, having nary eaten a bite. She fled into the adjacent hallway, somehow conscious that Mrs. Gelick’s eyes were on her.

  As she hurried away, Jacqueline thought of the first time she’d let someone see her naked. It happened three years ago, with a boy named Billy Carlson. She’d been living with a family in Dover at the time, and the boy had promised he’d do her chores for a whole week if she’d let him have a peek at her naughty bits. In her youthful naiveté Jacqueline had complied. Billy reneged on his offer afterward, and Jacqueline got even by stealing twenty dollars from her foster mother’s purse and then giving the money back to the woman, telling her she found it in Billy’s dresser. Billy was sent back to juvy after that.

  She sat down on the steps leading upstairs and planted her elbows on her knees. It’s all my fault, she thought. All of it. If it hadn’t been for her own actions, she wouldn’t have ended up at the Gelick’s house at all. Her lower lip quivered with self-hate.

  The events that led to her coming to Colebrook happened seven months ago, just after her fifteenth birthday. After years of migrating from temporary home to temporary home, Jacq
ueline had thought she’d finally found a place she could live for the rest of her life. It was a well-kept group home run by Walter and Simona Korvaks, a husband-and-wife team over in Keene. Everyone there was nice to her; it was like being part of a family. She was really, truly happy. The Korvaks refused to tell anyone about her dad’s dirty secrets and the kids in the small school she attended accepted her immediately. She lived each day as if none of the world’s badness could touch her.

  Then he arrived.

  Tyler Burton was a troubled seventeen-year-old boy who’d been arrested numerous times for breaking and entering, as well as assault. His father had died years before and his mother was a drug addict. The Korvaks took him in, apparently believing their particular brand of hippie-dippie love could rehabilitate him.

  Jacqueline immediately found herself drawn to Tyler’s brooding, bad-boy charms. From the first day he arrived, she would linger outside the door to his bedroom, hoping he’d acknowledge her. Even Mal’s warnings to stay away fell on deaf ears.

  After a while Tyler gave her what she wanted. He let her join him when he snuck out of the house, and together they’d steal booze and get drunk or stoned in the woods behind the Korvaks’ house, Jacqueline sitting in Tyler’s lap with his arms around her to fend off the cold, but they always made sure to cover their tracks and be in their assigned beds before anyone woke up. Tyler told Jacqueline that he’d lived in enough undesirable places to know when he had a good thing going. But Jacqueline, and her raging, unchecked hormones, wasn’t satisfied.

  One day in early spring, her angst reached its breaking point. It was a Sunday, and the Korvaks had taken their other four foster children to church, leaving Jacqueline and Tyler alone in the house. She waited for the sound of the front door closing and snuck out of her room, tiptoeing down the hall and into Tyler’s bedroom, where she slipped beneath the covers while he slept. She kissed his neck the way she’d seen people do in dirty internet videos, stirring him awake. Tyler had looked shocked to see her, but he didn’t push her away. Instead, he brought his lips to hers. It was Jacqueline’s first true kiss, full of tongue, spit, and clanking teeth. She ran her fingers through his snarled, dark hair, and Tyler’s body began to shake. Jacqueline asked him if he wanted to touch her down there, but he seemed hesitant. Jacqueline took control, ripping off her shirt and underwear, again using those dirty videos as a guide, and tried to make purring noises that were supposed to be sensual but sounded funny instead.

  The bedroom door suddenly swung open, and there stood a horrified Simona Korvaks. The woman brought a hand to her mouth and gasped before calling for her husband. For the next hour, the couple peppered the mischievous teens with pointed questions.

  The only steadfast rule in the Korvaks’ house was No Touchy Feely, written on a placard in the foyer. Jacqueline, fearful of being tossed out of the one place she’d felt happy, lied and said Tyler had tricked her into doing it. Tyler became furious, screaming how she’d snuck into his room, how she’d kissed him. But Jacqueline refused to change her story. The Korvaks watched them blame each other with disappointment in their eyes, until Tyler finally called Jacqueline a whore. Jacqueline had recoiled at first, and then lunged at the boy, scratching his cheek, drawing blood. That was the end for both of them in the Korvaks’ group home. For Jacqueline, if felt like the end of happiness altogether.

  Jacqueline shook her head, trying to get Tyler out of her mind. Maybe Papa Gelick’s right, she thought. Maybe I am evil.

  Jacqueline squeezed her eyes shut and punched the step she sat on, sending sharp pain across her knuckles. She started crying. There was nothing she wanted to do more than slam her head into the wall; at least the pain would distract her from the horrors of her past. She then heard someone breathing and glanced up through a haze of tears. Mrs. Gelick stood across from her, leaning against the wall. She offered Jacqueline a forced smile.

  “Jackie,” the woman said, “what happened last night…‌it wasn’t your fault.”

  Jacqueline sat shocked, her mouth dropping open.

  “There might be a problem,” her foster mother continued. “To tell you the truth, I’m concerned for your father. He wasn’t acting like himself. I’d like to ask you a favor. Is that okay, if I ask you a favor?”

  Jacqueline nodded dumbly, even though she wanted to tell her he wasn’t her father.

  “What happened…‌that’s only between you and us, okay? No need to get anyone else involved.”

  “Wait…‌what?” said Jacqueline. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course. Roger’s a good man. A holy man. He had a moment of weakness.” She glared over her shoulder at the kitchen. “Trust me, it won’t happen again. We can go back to being a family, like we’re supposed to.”

  Jacqueline’s eyes narrowed, her guilt turning to anger. “We’re not family,” she growled. “I could call the police.”

  “You could,” said Mrs. Gelick. “But then again, who’d believe who? You’re a delinquent with abandonment issues. Your file’s a mile thick, and my husband’s a pillar of the community. Other than your neck, you have no mark on you. Especially not, you know…” The woman’s face grew soft once more, and her fake smile returned. “That’ll do nothing but cause problems. Let’s just let sleeping dogs lie, unless you maybe want to find a new home in the psyche ward at New Hampshire State Hospital.”

  “But—” Jacqueline began.

  “No,” Mrs. Gelick said, softly yet forcefully. “We’re not having this discussion anymore. What’s done is done. We only want what’s best for you. In fact, we’re having adoption papers drawn up come Monday. I know that’s what you want.”

  Jacqueline’s jaw dropped open.

  “Now go upstairs and pray,” the woman told her.

  Fear froze Jacqueline’s insides. Mrs. Gelick nodded politely and headed back toward the kitchen. Jacqueline shrieked, and then leapt to her feet and bolted up the stairs. She ran down the hall and into her room, slamming the door. They can’t do this. THEY CAN’T! She stood there panting, staring at the pictures and verses hanging on the walls. She tore them all down, one after the other, slamming religious icons against the floor and screaming while glass shattered. She dared the Gelicks to come up and stop her.

  They never did, so she destroyed it all.

  It didn’t make her feel any better.

  CHAPTER 5

  Morning passed into afternoon, and Jacqueline heard nothing but normal household sounds downstairs—dishes clanking in the sink, the vacuum cleaner running, the patter of little Sarah’s feet. Jacqueline’s room became hotter by the second as the late summer sun streamed in through the windows, but she remained seated on the floor with the compact in her lap, the shattered remnants of Jesus surrounding her, and accepted the discomfort.

  The rumble of tires rolling over a dirt road lifted her out of catatonia. Jacqueline quickly got to her feet and rushed to the window. Aunt Mitzy’s black sedan pulled into the driveway, and the woman herself stepped out. Mitzy wore a long yellow sundress that clung to her body. Her eyes flicked upward as she strolled confidently toward the house, oversized purse tucked beneath her arm, and she smiled wide before disappearing beneath the front porch’s awning.

  Jacqueline’s heart thrummed. She hadn’t expected Aunt Mitzy to come back until next week, and by then the Gelicks might’ve rushed through the adoption process, which couldn’t have been good. But here Mitzy was, looking determined. Jacqueline dared feel a glimmer of hope.

  There came knocking on the front door, then heavy footfalls. Mrs. Gelick shouted, follow by more footsteps. For an agonizingly long time after that, there was silence.

  Finally, people started talking. Jacqueline pressed her ear to the door, heard Aunt Mitzy’s voice, speaking confidently and without pause. Everyone else in the house was quiet. Sarah came running up the stairs; the little girl’s bedroom door clicked shut seconds later.

  Jacqueline glanced at the compact in her hand and considered opening it to ask Mal what s
he should do. Aunt Mitzy’s rant kept going, however, and she had to hear what she was talking about. Jacqueline tossed the compact onto the bed, nudged open the door, and slipped out of the room. The stern voice grew louder. Jacqueline tiptoed down the stairs until she heard Aunt Mitzy loud and clear.

  “You really have no choice in the matter,” Mitzy said.

  “We’ll see what the police say about that,” said Mrs. Gelick.

  “You called the police?” laughed Jacqueline’s aunt. “That won’t do you any good.”

  “Says who, you?”

  “Yes, me.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “Because it’s amazing how much information you can find if you just look hard enough.”

  Papa Gelick remained silent. Jacqueline held her breath, pressed her back to the wall, and poked her head around the entrance to the living room.

  The particulars were sitting much like they had been the day before, with Aunt Mitzy on the loveseat and Papa and Mrs. Gelick on the couch. The look on her aunt’s face was stern and self-assured, her light brown skin almost glowing in the dim light. Opposite her, Papa Gelick looked pale beyond measure, with the exception of the ugly purple bruise marring left side of his face, while his wife’s cheeks were beet red.

  “What’re you talking about?” Papa Gelick finally asked, his voice sounding miles away.

  Jacqueline looked on as Aunt Mitzy reached into her oversized purse, took out a manila folder, placed the folder on her lap, and flipped it open. She rummaged through the small stack of papers inside. Jacqueline’s foster parents sat quietly on the couch as if afraid to move. Even Mrs. Gelick seemed more worried than angry now.

  “Ah, there it is,” said Aunt Mitzy, lifting one of the sheets and holding it before her beautifully painted eyes. “You know what’s funny about secrets? Most times it takes money to hide them, and money always leaves a trail.”