by J. L. Murray
I looked at my sister, swallowing hard. She was watching the center of the lake. I pulled my fingers into fists and took a deep breath, narrowing my eyes. Then I started to run, toward my sister, on top of the water. The water rising up from the center seemed to harden, taking shape. But I kept running. I was going to save her, I didn't care what the consequences were. I had to save my sister.
The water spread out, reaching toward Rebecca. She didn't make a sound as the water stretched, rising higher and higher, swooping toward her. It looked every bit like a set of wings.
I didn't care. I kept running, even when I knew I wasn't getting anywhere, even when I knew my feet were just sliding in place on the surface of Mirror Lake. I was out of breath, and I couldn't get to Rebecca. I couldn't get anywhere. I started to scream.
“NO!” I screamed. “Get away from her!”
Rebecca turned her head slowly toward me. She was crying again.
“It's okay, Frankie,” she said, smiling through tears. “Can't you see? They're wings. The wings of angels.”
Then the water crashed down around her, and lifted me up off the surface and hurtled me through the air. My back hit the trunk of a tree and knocked the wind out of me. I gasped for breath that wouldn't come, my gasping sounding like the braying of a donkey.
The wings were wrapped around Rebecca. I could see her there in the center. She was still alive, her back arched as if she were in pain, like one of the ladies who spoke in tongues I'd seen once on a trip with my father. She was shaking. I tried to cry out to her, tried to move, tried to do anything. But I could barely catch my breath, gasping and braying as air finally hit my lungs. My chest ached, and my back felt broken.
“Becky,” I said, the name coming out softer than a whisper. Softer than a breath. “Don't leave me.”
The column of water around her, looking so much like angel wings, turned. And then I knew it wasn't an angel at all. I could see its form, becoming less water than animal, with fish belly skin where its eyes should be, and sharp teeth the color of ice.
“The devil,” I breathed.
The thing began to shake, and I realized it was laughing. I could hear its voice, raspy and old, like something dusty and unused.
“Come to us, child,” it said, hissing through the air. It spread its wings out again and I could see my sister there, suspended inside the creature, still visible through viscous skin. “Let me hold you under my wings.”
“Jesus, save us,” I said, looking at the sky like Rebecca had done. Willing the blue sky of late afternoon to crack open, the hand of God reaching down to rescue us.
I ran toward her again, or tried to. But my feet slid around on the water like I was wearing roller skates, and I fell, the water seeming to cradle me. I wrenched my body around to see where the creature was, but it was right above me, the body becoming more solid. I could barely see Rebecca. It reached its wings around me, until all I could see was a wall of wing-shaped water around me, with a circle of sky coming down through the top.
“Becky!” I screamed, but my sister didn't move.
“Do you want to see her?” said the creature.
“Let her go,” I said, my voice so small. I was just a little girl. I thought I was so big and grown up, but now I saw it. I was just a child. “Please. I'm the wicked one.”
The monster seemed to shift, and then Rebecca was hovering in front of me as if she were my reflection, the glassy water wall still around us. I could see my reflection superimposed over her face, Rebecca inside the water that reflected my own face back at me.
“Would you have her live?” it said, its voice grating like fingernails on a blackboard. “Or should I take her body and soul?”
“Let her live,” I sobbed. “Please.”
“Even if she's not the same?”
“Yes, give her back! I'm sorry I was wicked.”
Rebecca floated toward me, out of the water. I thought she was dead, but after a moment, her eyelids flickered open. She focused on me, her foggy smile so surprising I forgot to breathe.
“You're in the water, Frankie,” she said. “You did it.” Then she seemed to take in her surroundings, her eyes widening in horror. “What's happening?”
Her body twisted, out of her control. She was like a puppet on strings.
“Frankie,” she moaned. “Frankie, you have to run.”
“I can't,” I said.
Rebecca suddenly went still. I looked at her, tearing my eyes from her back. I could see her reflection in the water, smiling back at her.
But Rebecca wasn't smiling.
The reflection reached up a hand as my sister stood stone still, unable to do anything but watch as the reflection pushed a hand through the water, looking every bit like a human hand.
Then she fell. Fell into the surface of the water that wouldn't let me through, fell down to the ancient bottom of the lake, her screams silent as I watched her die. A blue hand print across her cheek fading as she struggled for breath.
Then I fell, too. Down into the lake that had frightened me so much. Down into the place I was sure I would die. I saw a blue light, and I woke up wet and dripping, shivering. It was dark, and someone was standing over me.
“Frankie!”
“Becky?” I tried to sit up, but a ribbon of pain shot down my back.
“Hold still, you're hurt.”
“I'm fine,” I struggled to stand, gritting my teeth against the pain. “How are you alive? I saw you die, Becky. I saw you die, I saw you die...” I was crying again, so hard the sobs were nearly knocking me over.
“We have to get home,” she said. “We're going to be in trouble.”
“What?”
“Mama's going to kill us,” she said, her voice strange. “Simply kill us.” I could see the gleam of teeth as she smiled by the light of the moon.
“Becky?” My voice was weak. “What's happening?”
“Nothing,” she said. “We have to go home. I don't have time for your dreams.”
“Dreams? It wasn't a dream. You saw it, too.”
“I just saw you fall out of a tree,” she said calmly. “You hit your back, fell into the lake. I saved your life.”
“It was real!” I yelled. “You're lying!”
“Why would I lie?” Her smile widened. “I'm not the wicked one.”
I gave Dekker the short version: First my sister, then my mother changed. At first I noticed little things, like them laughing when I got hurt, or keeping food from me on nights when my father wasn't home, or them sleeping in the same room all of a sudden. About them leaving together and not coming back for days on end. I didn't tell Dekker how jealous I was of my sister. I didn't tell him how I would cry when they left me alone, or when, at the age of sixteen, timid and afraid, I told my father everything. He called me a liar, and struck me across the face. I watched guilt seep into his his eyes when he realized what he'd done.
A week later, he was dead.
I didn't tell Dekker how, after I was killed, I woke up on a metal slab, cut apart and put back together again with black thread. How, shaking and alone and vomiting chemicals that reminded me of frogs suspended in jars, I'd staggered out of the morgue, passing out in a stained white sheet in an alley reeking of urine. Frankenstein come to life, but without anyone to tell me what I was. How I was possible.
That night, ravens stood sentry around me, dozens of them, squawking and screaming at anyone who tried to approach. They brought me bits of food from the garbage and, when I was strong enough, hopped along in front of me to show me the way to a car some poor bastard had left with the engine running. Heavy metal blared on the stereo as I eased in, reeking of piss and shit and formaldehyde, and drove away. I followed the ravens, winding through the back streets out of town, and out of Florida. I left the car at a gas station in Savannah, where I helped myself to some clothes from a Salvation Army donation bin.
I made my way to the highway and stuck out my thumb. I didn't tell Dekker any of that. I told him abou
t the mirrors, the murders, the police consistently calling them accidents.
“Hard to believe the police don't know,” said Dekker. “I'm not one to accuse cops of being dirty, but...”
“Well, I don't really have a lot of experience with that.” I was so tired, lack of sleep and stress catching up to me. “Usually I just sleep with them and they tell me everything.”
“Low blow, Mourning. Do you steal everyone's car, or am I special?”
I tried to smile, but I couldn't. “Dekker, you don't understand. There's no bad guy here. These people are innocent. Sort of.”
“But what can we possibly do about it?” He shook his head. “Look, Frankie, this is insane. How can we fight something we can't see or understand? Mirrors? Reflections? Evil spirits taking over people's bodies? You know this is crazy.”
“Of course I know that,” I snapped. “It doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense.”
“So what do you want to do?”
I closed my eyes. “I want to put the pedal to the metal and get the fuck out of this place. I can't be here. I can't think straight when I'm here.”
“Here's what's going to happen,” he said. “You're going to get some sleep. You're exhausted, dead on your feet. I'll take you back to your room, or wherever you're staying, and I'll go out and take care of my car and...the trunk. I'll meet back up with you when I'm done. In the morning, we'll go talk to the sheriff.”
I barely hesitated. “Fine. Go straight after the stop sign there. But you can't take my car.”
“I've got mine at the bar I accosted you at,” he said, dimpling.
“Good. I'll tell you where Shawn lives. It's not hard to find if you know what you're looking for.”
“Just give me the address and I'll punch it into the GPS.”
I laughed. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“There aren't any road signs here. You can't GPS your way around. It's different from Chicago.”
“Not so different.”
“How do you figure?”
He glanced at me. “People die here just as easy as they do in the city. And someone's always willing to cover it up. Doesn't matter where you go. Humanity.”
“Okay, Mary Sunshine. Up here on the left.” I was looking out the window so he couldn't see my face. Lucy was sitting in a rocking chair on her porch. She watched us drive past.
“Odd,” I said.
“What?”
“Lucy. I've never seen her smile before. She's grinning like a corpse tonight.” We pulled up to my cabin. I looked back toward the big house, but Dekker was opening my door for me and I stepped out into the cold air, pulling my jacket tight. Dekker moved to put an arm around me and I flinched.
“You just look cold,” he said.
“I'm not really used to being touched.”
“You didn't seem to mind the other night.”
I didn't know why, but Dekker turning our night together into something tawdry or funny offended me. It shouldn't have. It was just sex, just like every other time I'd screwed a stranger. But by the look on his face I knew he felt it, too. He couldn't look at me for a little while, and when he did, his eyes looked mournful under the filter of halogen lights through the cedar branches.
“Frankie, I don't know what this is. I'm sorry. I don't know how to act around you.”
“Call it what it is, then,” I said. “You're getting what you want, right? Getting rid of your body, your car, and you get to kill the bad guys. And a little something on the side doesn't hurt.”
“It's not like that and you know it.”
“I'm not fragile, Dekker. I know what we are. I know what I am. I'm comfortable with the person I've become.”
“Are you?” he said, his dark eyes flashing in the dim light. His eyes flickered to the roof of the cabin as a raven lighted upon it, silent but watching us intently. Another joined the first, followed by a third.
“Those birds, I saw them at the old church. And the bar.”
“They're just ravens.” I shrugged and moved to go inside, but Dekker caught my arm, his eyes still on the birds. He moved his eyes to my face.
“What do you want from me, Dekker?” My voice was soft, too soft. I should be all hard edges and broken glass, but instead I was soft.
“Who are you, Frankie?” he said. “Why do ravens follow you? Why is your own reflection hunting you? How are you alive when every report lists you dead?”
“And who are you, Thomas Dekker?” I pulled my arm from his hand. “Why is a detective going around killing people? Why does he care who I am after I stole his car and his wallet? You make even less sense than me.” I walked away, shoving the door behind me, but Dekker stuck his foot out, stopping it, walking into my cabin.
“Bunk beds?” he said.
“You take what you can get.”
“Frankie, come on. I want to talk.”
I walked into the bathroom, but stopped in the doorway, the sight of my reflection like a punch in the guts. She was me, but she wasn't. She was dressed like me, her face looked just like mine. The only thing different was the pair of horns curling up from her head. A prickle behind my eyes surprised me, but not as much as the sensation of my lip quivering.
“Fuck,” I said, covering my mouth as my reflection screamed at me without a sound, her eyes narrowed slits. I leaned against the door because the feeling had gone out of my knees. I felt a body squeeze past me and Dekker was draping a blanket from one of the beds over the mirror. When he turned around, I tried to cover my face, but he took my hands in his.
“You don't have to pretend with me.”
“I have to pretend with everyone,” I said, my voice thick. “Why should you be any different?”
“Tell me something true, Frankie,” he said, his eyes desperate. “I don't want anything from you that you don't want to give. I don't want you to tell me anything you don't want to. But I need to hear one true thing. I've told you everything, now you tell me something.” He watched my face. “Please, Frankie. I need to know you.”
I let go of his hands and for a moment Dekker looked more alone than anyone I'd ever seen. I took a step back, out of the doorway. He raised his hand as if he were going to reach for me, but then he put it down, clenching his fists at his sides. I took a breath, watching him. Then I put my hands to the buttons of my shirt.
“No, Frankie,” he said like a sigh. “That's not what I meant.”
“Shut up and listen.”
He did. And when I was finished unbuttoning my shirt, I let it fall off, down my arms and to the floor. I reached behind me and flicked on the light, a bare bulb illuminating the room in a harsh light. His eyes were at my abdomen, traveling from just below each shoulder, to my sternum, and down my stomach where the scar disappeared into my jeans.
I straightened my back as he looked, resolute in wanting to keep my face like stone, to keep my eyes dry, to return his gaze with an icy glare. That's not exactly what happened, but at least I managed to stand up straight.
I looked away when his eyes traveled up to my face. I reached back and turned off the light again. Still, Dekker was completely silent. I could feel him still staring at me, and I reached down for my shirt and hastily pulled it back on.
“You wanted something true,” I said. “But not really.” The truth was, I didn't want him to know, either. I felt hot shame coloring my face, and I wished I'd never shown him. I’d shown Roo and Julia, but this felt different. I was in charge the night before. I was in control. This felt like chaos, like neither one of us could control what was happening, we were just careening through the world now, trying to hang on to something solid.
“It's true,” he said, his voice a croak.
“You wanted something true.”
“That's not what I meant. I thought...”
“You thought what?” I let myself sink onto the bottom bunk, my body feeling too heavy, too real.
“I just thought...” He swallowed noisily, seeming to be try
ing to find the right words. “I didn't think it was really you. All the reports, the pictures, I thought there must be an explanation. Someone who stood in for you, someone who looked like you.”
I laughed harshly. “You've met me. Do you really think I'm some kind of mastermind?”
He took a tentative step toward me, then turned to look over his shoulder at the blanket-covered mirror. He turned back to me. “Tell me.”
“I've never told anyone.”
“Tell me anyway and hope for the best.” He walked slowly, as if he were a zookeeper in a tiger cage. He eased himself down next to me, our legs touching. My instinct was to pull away, but I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of him seeping through my jeans, making me feel strange. He reached out slowly and grasped my hand lightly.
“I don't want to,” I said. “But I will. I don't know why, but I think I have to.”
“Because the birds told you to?”
I frowned, looking at him. “The ravens don't talk to me.”
He gave me a dimpled half-smile. “Just checking.”
I took a deep breath, holding it for as long as I could, then blowing it out. I closed my eyes. And then I told him.
chapter nine
I
died on a Thursday, and that should have been the end of it. I heard from one of the guards that the crowd of protesters outside were crying their eyes out over me. But I didn't see any of that. What I did see was the half-burned face of my mother, wedged between reporters and bloggers who thought describing a woman’s death was actually news. It felt like we were the only two people left in the world: this thing with my mother's face and me. She hooked her eyes into mine and it was almost like I had my mom back. Flawed as she was, she always did what she thought was right. This thing, though, this thing just stared. This thing spread lips that looked just like hers, twisted on one side with scar tissue. This thing showed teeth that looked like my mom's and crinkled her eyes just as my mother had done.