by Carver Pike
Twisted Mirrors
The Edge of Reflection Book 1
By: Carver Pike
Twisted Mirrors, The Edge of Reflection Book 1
4th Edition
Copyright © 2015 by Carver Pike
Published by Erotic Mayberry Publishing
Written by Carver Pike
Cover created by Carver Pike
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
http://www.eroticmayberry.com
To sign up for the Carver Pike/Chris Genovese newsletter please go to: http://eroticmayberry.com/newsletter-sign-up/
Table of Contents
Dedication
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Dedication
Hi guys! Before thanking everyone I just want to give a fair warning. If you’re used to my erotica stuff, this is not erotica. It’s dark fantasy (dark urban fantasy I guess, minus the sparkly vampires and werewolves) with some very graphic sex and lots of violence.
That said, I dedicate this book…
To my wife and kids who’ve watched me sit at my laptop as they swam, played, and watched movies. They’ve been so patient during all my takeovers and time spent on social media. I love you guys. I do it all so one day I might be able to stay home and do this for a living.
To everyone on my street team for all that you do. Not only do you guys keep promoting me and sharing my stuff but you’re such a kickass team to chat with. You’re great friends. You understand the struggles, pick me up when I’m feeling down, and keep inspiring me to write more. You guys rock!
To my friends and fans. I’m having so much fun getting to know everyone and I hope I can keep on pleasing you through the written word.
And I’d also like to thank Lisanne, the original editor on this project, long before I decided to add a little more sex bwahahaha. I won’t mention her last name cause she’s not too into the erotica stuff but we’ve worked together for a long time and I know she always has my back.
Introduction - Who’s at the Door?
She was in her closet like a coward. Sweat glued her hair to her forehead and mascara ran from her eyes, robbing her of the beauty she usually possessed.
The darkness of her hiding spot stole the rest.
Her eyes shifted left and right in the moonlight that seeped through the slotted closet door. Her bottom lip trembled and her breath came in short, shaky gasps.
She had no idea where the man had come from. All she knew was that he bore a slight resemblance to her husband. Thinking back to a few minutes ago, she couldn’t figure out how things had gone wrong…horribly wrong.
Isabella Manner had been in her room…taking care of business. With her back arched, she let the gentle thrum of her vibrator force the day’s stress from her mind. The kids were downstairs doing whatever the hell they wanted. This was HER time.
Nothing else in the world mattered when she had her bedroom door locked, her blanket pulled back, and her legs spread open.
Her pussy was swollen and begging to burst. The sheets beneath her soaked up the dripping.
Fucking shit. Oh God. Yes…yes…ohhh.
She despised her husband for making her do this to herself, all the time, alone, pleasing herself like this. It was her man’s job to make her come. Yet he was never around. Not since he’d started fucking that tramp from work.
Who was she kidding? His advances had stopped long before that. He’d gotten bored of her. And she’d gotten bored of him. But not once had she strayed.
Instead, she hid away in her room and fucked herself into oblivion.
OK, no more time for thoughts of my cheating husband. Take that from your mind. Concentrate on…oooh shit. Yes, on that.
She shoved the head of the vibrator against her clit and at the same time shoved her finger inside, scooping at the top until she found her own g-spot. This was why she’d kept her fingernails trimmed lately. For this moment. And it was so fucking worth it.
Her eyes slammed shut as the first tremor rocked her body. Her legs closed on her hand, involuntarily, and her knees knocked together.
She felt the butterflies fluttering their wings from her throat all the way down her chest and into her stomach before finally reaching deep inside her pussy.
She’d just hit the downward slope on the highest rollercoaster known to man.
And she came like a motherfucker, actually whimpering out loud as she released her every emotion onto the bedsheet.
It was then, as she lay crumpled up on the bed with her eyes rolled back, that she heard the doorbell ring downstairs.
At first she thought she might be imagining it.
Then she heard it again.
She ripped the blanket out of her way, found her panties and her pants, and rolled out of bed. She opened her door a crack and peeked out to the living room below.
The bell rang again. It wasn’t very late in the evening, but past the usual visiting hour, and it wasn’t often that they had visitors in the first place.
“Joshua, who’s at the door?” she called out.
Joshua, her fourteen-year-old son, was too busy playing video games as usual, so she was forced to travel halfway down the stairs and shout at him a little louder, in Spanish nonetheless. She hated resorting to that out of fear that her son would think of what little Spanish he heard as the “I’m in Trouble Language.” Kids these days didn’t have the patience to learn the language of their heritage.
The Spanish did the trick and Joshua rolled his eyes as he got up from his spot on the rug and dropped his game controller into his twelve-year-old sister’s lap. Anna beamed at the thought of having a go at the game console.
Joshua quickly put an end to her hopes as he called out over his shoulder, “Touch it and you die.”
“Joshua, nobody is dying in this house. Play the game if you want, sweetheart,” Isabella said.
Joshua approached the door as nonchalantly as any other rich suburban kid with few problems would. He had, however, been taught to peek out the window before opening it at night.
“Umm, there’s some dude with a hood over his head out there, Ma.”
“Is it your father?” she asked.
“Dad’s not cool enough to have a tattoo on his wrist. He does kinda looks like dad though.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Isabella asked.
“I don’t know. Come see for yourself,” he replied.
Frustrated, Isabella stormed the rest of the way down the stairs, peeked out the window, and saw the man. He stood with his head down, hidden in the shadows, a foot or two past the patio light.
“Can I help you?” she called out through the door.
“Is Dennis home?” the man asked.
His voice was strange. It sounded as if a ton of phlegm was rattling around in his throat.
Isabella looked at Joshua, who shrugged his shoulders. She wasn’t sure whether she should admit that her husband was working late, or at least that was his excuse. She knew the truth, but really did hope that this time her husband was honest about ending the affair he’d been having with “the woman.” They’d fought long and hard about this one, and finally he’d sworn h
is loyalty to Isabella and promised to ditch the tramp.
“I’m Dennis’ brother, Nick,” the strange man outside added.
“Your dad doesn’t have a brother,” Isabella said to her son.
“He didn’t have a girlfriend either until last week,” Joshua said with a roll of his eyes.
She fought back the urge to slap him and put those eyeballs right back in place. She’d been flying off the handle lately and she knew that in reality her son was just angry with his father. Instead she glared at him.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it,” Joshua added. “He does kinda look like Dad though.”
She was pretty sure she’d met all of her husband’s family. Something didn’t feel right about this man on her front porch. She moved closer to the door and peered through the peephole.
He wasn’t there. Where had he gone?
Through the odd fisheye distortion of the peephole, Isabella saw the empty front porch and the wind blowing through the shrubs at either side of the sidewalk.
Empty. Thank God he’d left.
Then she heard the footsteps thudding on asphalt outside. And he came into view, his face twisted in rage as he barreled towards her.
Isabella wasn’t the smallest of women, but when a grown man kicks a door at full force, there’s no remaining upright. The doorframe shattered and the door exploded inward on her.
She screamed.
She struggled to keep her balance and in the process stepped sideways on her foot, popping her ankle. Hot liquid rushed up her leg as she howled in pain and crumpled to the floor.
“You just couldn’t leave him alone about HER, could you?” the man shouted as he stalked through the door.
“Mom!” Joshua yelled.
It was the last thing he would get out of his mouth. Isabella’s scream caught in her throat as she watched her son dive at the man who shoved his knife blade into his neck.
***
Huddled in the dark closet, Isabella struggled to remember everything that had happened. It had gone by so fast. She closed her eyes and remembered the explosion of the door as it was kicked in.
She remembered the sound of her son yelling, “Mom!”
Then her daughter’s screams.
She barely recalled making it to the closet in the upstairs bedroom, but that’s where she was now and where she’d remain until the police came or until her husband returned home.
Her mouth sloped downward and she fought the sudden urge to sob. She closed her eyes, her lips trembling, as saliva settled at its corners, close to running down her chin. Tears streamed down her face. A slight whimper escaped her lips and she cupped her hand over her mouth to prevent it from happening again.
She had no idea where the man was now. She had run as fast as she could on the damaged ankle. This was her third hiding spot. Under the bed didn’t seem safe enough and once the lights went out, she was afraid to stay behind the bedroom curtain.
Isabella remained frozen in fear as she heard the sound of wire hangers scraping against metal above her as someone slid clothes out of the way behind her. Fear struck at her gut like a dagger as she realized she wasn’t alone in the closet. The controlled breath of someone only inches away sent shivers down her spine.
She willed herself to run, to crash through the closet door and do her best to escape, but her muscles refused to react. Her fight or flight instincts were replaced by panic and the realization that she wouldn’t get far on her damaged ankle. She closed her eyes and accepted that she’d be joining her children soon.
But nothing happened.
Isabella’s head began to spin and bile rose in her throat as she waited. She knew that her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her. However, the chance that it could be toyed with her. She needed to look behind, to the darkness of the closet, and see for herself. It was either that or force her feet to finally move and do her best to escape the house.
Unable to commit to either action, she turned ever so slightly, her head stuttering as it moved on her neck. Fear gripped her as out of the corner of her eye, she caught the glimmer in his.
Blue light shining through the slotted door and the shadows between the slivers made the psycho’s face seem divided, like evil had been stacked upon itself, in layers, creating a demented serial killer puzzle of sorts.
He inched closer, his teeth razor sharp and jagged, and his nose crooked, as if it had been broken many times and had never healed properly. A glossy film covered his black, soulless eyes. Hanging around his neck was a leather band with random body parts dangling from it; a pinky finger, a nose, an ear, and other chunks of flesh hung in front of him like a chandelier of horror.
She screamed, but just as the sound escaped her lips, the killer’s cold blade ran across her throat. Her yelp turned to a faint gasp as all sound bubbled out through the new opening in her flesh. His left hand grabbed her neck as if attempting to staunch the wound, but then it squeezed, opening the wound wider. Her blood –and her very life force– poured down to the hardwood floor at her feet.
***
Outside, four police cars came to a screeching halt in front of the house. Eight uniformed cops jumped out; two secured the perimeter and the other six prepared to enter. The sergeant in charge whispered commands at his people.
“If he’s in there, he’s an animal. He took out eight at his office. The neighbors reported screams, so be extremely aware of your surroundings. Let’s go.”
With the front door destroyed, the cops carefully made their way over the shattered remains and fanned out as they entered.
“Jesus,” the sergeant in charge whispered as he stared down at Joshua’s bloody body lying at the foot of the couch.
His throat had been stabbed several times and he was bleeding from a wound in his side. His eyes were wide open, dead.
The two cops who’d gone right made their way into the kitchen, and then one of them stepped back with a hand over his face, fighting back the urge to vomit. Anna’s body was draped over the kitchen island. Blood ran down her bare forearm and dripped from her fingertips onto the linoleum floor. A bloody slash ripped the front of her t-shirt right down the middle. Her left arm was folded across her chest and her middle finger had been cut off.
***
Upstairs, Nic Nac was dragging Isabella’s body out of the closet when he heard the footsteps below. He quickly pressed a knife to her foot and chopped off her pinkie toe. He scooped it up off the floor and placed it in his pants pocket.
“For later,” Nic Nac whispered.
He made his way into the master bathroom. The cops’ footsteps were heavy on the stairs. With no time left to waste, he gripped the counter top and leaned in close to the mirror.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he spoke to his reflection.
The mirror began to shimmer and liquefy, and he watched as the face looking back at him began to change. The forehead smoothed out and the nose straightened a bit. The jagged, yellowed teeth aligned and whitened. His reflection’s repulsive features softened and filled out.
Within seconds, Dennis stared out at him, looking confused and lost. Nic Nac laughed as he reached through the mirror, grabbed Dennis by his shoulders, yanked him out of the mirror and hurled him onto the hard floor.
Dennis curled up into a ball on the floor and whimpered.
“See ya later, sucker,” Nic Nac howled before he dove into the mirror.
The last thing he heard was the sound of the cops busting through the door and Dennis crying out, “Wait, I’m back?”
Chapter 1 - Office Politics
Come on, man. You know you wanna pick up the phone and make one more call.
Gabriel “Gabe” Cutter willed himself to show an ounce of workplace motivation before day’s end. Defeated by his overwhelming desire to give up, he leaned way back in his chair, ran a hand through his long brown hair, unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, and loosened his tie. Blood slowly began to circulate back to his forehead.
Gabe was a y
oung thirty-five, rapidly making his way into a premature mid-life crisis, stuck between the mundane world of financial advisor hell and his own unwillingness to leave it all behind and leap into something new.
His military background taught him enough self-discipline to work the day in and day out, but not the humility to admit to himself that he was doing it all wrong and needed a change. Somehow he’d gone from a life of action to one of trying to assist people who already had way more money than he had, to try to make more.