Boy in the Mirror

by Robert J. Duperre

  Pride built up in Jacqueline—and a small amount of fear, as well. “Who was that, anyway?” she asked.

  “Todd Sowinger,” said Annette. “A big douchebag, and dumb as shit. But he’s pretty popular.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Neil nodded. “Drew Cottard’s his best friend. They’re inseparable.”

  “Who’s Drew?”

  “Oh, only the most conceited pendejo around,” Olivia said. “Grew up on the other side of town, the side with money. His dad’s, like, really rich.”

  “And he’s been dating Hannah Phillips since forever,” added Ronni.

  Jacqueline gave the girl a cockeyed glance.

  “Senior class president,” said Annette. “Tall girl. Really pretty.”

  Jacqueline shook her head. “Didn’t see her.”

  “You will,” Neil assured.

  The desertion of the school was almost complete, and Jacqueline turned nervously toward her waiting bus. The last few students were climbing aboard. “I really gotta go,” she told her new friends. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, we all gotta,” Annette said. “Don’t think my mom wants to drive all the way over here to get me again.”

  “Mine neither,” said Olivia.

  Neil and Ronni nodded in concurrence.

  Annette pulled a fancy-looking phone out of her bag. “Before you go, how ’bout some digits? I’ll text you.”

  Jacqueline frowned. “No cell phone.”

  All four of her new friends stared at her as if she’d spoken Swahili.

  “Home phone number, then,” said Annette.

  “That I can do.”

  Jacqueline told the girl Mitzy’s number, then booked it for the bus just as the doors started to close. There was no hesitation this time even though it was crowded, and a boy with kind brown eyes slid over, offering her a seat. He didn’t talk, instead staring out the window the whole time, but at least he didn’t make her feel uncomfortable. After all, she had Mal against her breast to keep her company, his soft voice echoing in her mind.

  “Soon,” she whispered.

  It took nearly a half-hour for the bus to reach the Chestnut Street bus stop, and she and the spiky-haired kid stepped off. He ignored her, speed-walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Jacqueline looked after him for a moment, shrugged, and turned for home. She’d have time to make nice with the boy come morning.

  As she approached Mitzy’s house, a State Police cruiser pulled out of the driveway and zoomed off. Mitzy’s car was still in the driveway even though her aunt wasn’t supposed to be home until six. What if something happened to her? Panic swelled in her heart, and she sprinted across the lawn toward the house.

  She burst through the front door to see her aunt in the living room, sipping an iced tea and reading a book. Jacqueline stopped short, huffing for breath, her shoulders sore from hauling around her backpack. Mitzy’s eyes narrowed in confusion. She appeared strangely flustered.

  “What’s wrong?” Mitzy asked.

  “The cops…” panted Jacqueline. “Why were they here…‌why are you home…‌?”

  Mitzy placed her book on the coffee table and took a deep breath. “It’s an important day today. I took time off. Wanted to be here if you needed me.” It seemed her hands shook slightly before she steadied them.

  “And the cop?”

  “Just an old friend,” she said with a wary smile.

  Jacqueline thought of Constable O’Reilly up in Colebrook, the way he and Mitzy had seemed more than friendly. “You friends with a lot of cops?” she asked.

  Mitzy winked. “What can I say? They like me.”

  “Oh.” Jacqueline breathed a sigh of relief, remembering the time one of her foster sisters, Leslie, had brought her boyfriend home while their foster parents were away. Leslie had misjudged time, and she had to sneak her boyfriend out the window before they were found together. She’d been flushed and shaking afterward, just like Mitzy, and when Jacqueline asked Leslie why, the girl said, “Because I had sex, stupid.”

  Mitzy had sex with the cop? Jacqueline’s mouth dropped open, and she snapped it shut quickly.

  “How was school?” asked her aunt.

  “Good,” Jacqueline answered shyly.

  “Just good? No stories?”

  She considered telling her about the confrontation, but decided against it. No use making Mitzy worry. “Nope,” she said.

  “An uneventful day is a good day, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay then. Want to go out? Get some Thai?”

  Jacqueline slid her backpack off her shoulders and set it on the floor. The compact in her pocket grew warmer, as it often did when Mal was impatient to speak with her. “Maybe later,” she told her aunt. “You mind if I go upstairs and change first? These leggings are digging into me.”

  “No. Of course,” Mitzy said, frowning.

  Jacqueline hurried through the dining room, where a stack of receipts was piled up on the table. She paused for a moment. The top receipt was for their night at the hotel in Lancaster. Her aunt must’ve been going over their expenses. She shrugged, and up the stairs she went, sliding into her room. She kicked off her boots and flopped onto the bed. She opened her compact and Mal was there, looking anxious.

  “What happened today?” he asked.

  “Why?”

  “Your heart. It’s been beating a mile a minute.”

  “Oh, nothing,” she said. “I just had a little run-in earlier. And my aunt scared me.” She felt the smile stretch across her face. “You would’ve been proud of me. Not for my aunt scaring me, but the other thing.”

  “I would’ve?”

  Jacqueline nodded emphatically.

  “You have to tell me about it,” Mal said. “The whole thing, all day.”

  She recounted every detail she could remember, and Mal listened intently, nodding when appropriate and wincing when she reached an embarrassing part of the story. When she told the tale of Todd Sowinger, his pale cheeks flushed before he laughed.

  “You have to be careful with those types,” he told her. “They’re unpredictable.”

  “I know. Trust me, I think I’ll be avoiding his crew as much as possible.”

  “Good. And your new friends? How are they?”

  “They’re nice. They’re weird, like me.”

  “Good.”

  “You know what, Mal?” she said.

  “What?”

  “I think I’m happy. Really, truly happy.”

  For the slightest moment, the boy in the mirror’s face shimmered, but it passed quickly. “I’m glad, Jackie. I told you so.”

  “Maybe I really have a future.”

  “Of course you do.”

  The phone downstairs rang twice, and Jacqueline cocked her head, listening. Her aunt’s voice called out, “Jackie, it’s for you! Someone named Annette!”

  It was amazing how excited Jacqueline felt. And to think she’d been wary when first she saw the tiny, platinum-haired girl staring at her from across the cafeteria.

  “Looks like she really wants to be friends,” Mal said. “Good luck, beautiful.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be right back!”

  Jacqueline rushed out of her room and down the stairs, heading toward a smiling Mitzy, who stood there with phone in hand. This is it, she thought. This is home now, this is happiness. Nothing bad can touch me here.

  CHAPTER 14

  The Prophet’s throat was dry. His hands ached, his shoulders slumped, his stomach cramped. He moaned, like the purr of the countless wheeled demons rolling along in the near distance.

  Automobiles. They are automobiles. The Shell calls them cars.

  “The Shell,” the Prophet murmured. He’d spent weeks wandering through the wilderness, trying to learn the world again while his true body grew inside him. He came to understand that the Shell had once been called Cole Mafee, and that boy had shed blood. Beautiful, vibrant blood.

  Over those weeks, the Prophet tore
through Cole’s mental warehouse. He learned about this world’s language, culture, and nuance. He relearned pain and hunger, emotion, the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of digging his teeth into the flesh of whatever wild thing he slew—things he hadn’t experienced in far too long. He felt the exhilaration that came from making that which was once alive, alive no longer. He could see the glow of an animal’s life essence as it slowly ebbed, the glow lessening until all that was left was a blackened husk of skin, bone, and sinew.

  But more than anything, he learned the inner workings of his own borrowed body, its strengths and weaknesses. He dove inside himself and watched his future self grow, black matter wrapping around muscle and bone, becoming stronger each time he fed, waiting for the moment he was bathed in the essence of his mate, the one who would allow him to complete his final destiny—to help pave the way for The Light That Lives.

  He had threaded south through the primitive wilderness, following the Gorgon’s trail, a shimmering purple light on the horizon that only he could see. All of which had led him here, to a truck stop just off the highway in a place called Union.

  His insides cramped. The Prophet was hungry, and that hunger could no longer be ignored.

  He had avoided humanity almost completely since his awakening. This glorious thing called life was fickle, a theory given sentience, much like he’d been at one time. When he drew close to the woodland creatures, they immediately retreated, even the larger predators. They seemed to know, on some basic level, that he was a threat, and they would defend themselves with all they had. The Prophet’s shell had ample scars from various claws and hooves to prove it.

  The traffic from the highway continued to speed by, only there was now a greater lapse of time between the dull vroom of engines. The Prophet could smell the occupants of the trucks he hid behind, people sealed inside metal shells, their bodies giving off wonderfully pungent odors that drifted on the air like microscopic seeds. The incubating form within him howled for blood. He tried one door handle after another, but all were locked. For a brief moment, he considered smashing his borrowed hand through one of the windows, to forcibly rip one of the truck’s tenants from inside, but decided otherwise. Both his hands were still aching from a conflict with a wolf three nights before, the last time he’d eaten, and if there was one sensation the Prophet hadn’t missed during his time in the abyss, it was pain.

  Hinges squealed, and the Prophet crouched down behind a big rig’s tires. The door of a truck across the lot swung open and a figure dropped to the ground. Another form leaned from inside the truck, handed a wad of fluttering paper to the one who’d stepped out. The truck door slammed shut.

  The Prophet watched as a woman strolled across the parking lot. He altered his eyes to allow in more light than a human would have been able to, yet another of his newly discovered talents. He saw that the woman was slender, with long dark hair and tanned flesh. She wore a tight top that ended just above her stomach, a short skirt that was shimmering and black, and thigh-high boots. The Prophet knew what she was; in his past life he’d devoured many women who sold their bodies for coin. If now was like then, she was likely a woman without a home, one with few connections to the civilized world. The Prophet grinned, a second set of teeth growing inside his mouth, forcing their way through the gums, sharp as razors.

  The woman’s high heels clicked on the pavement, her hips swayed as if she was trying to seduce those sleeping inside the truck cabs. She approached a waiting automobile parked next to a squat building that had a plaque stating “Information” above its front door. The Prophet scooted from shadow to shadow, silent as a thought, growing nearer with each passing second. His borrowed heart thrummed in anticipation. His foot struck a stone, sending it clanking across the blacktop. The Prophet froze.

  The woman turned around, hands on hips, and stared into the darkness. “Who’s there?” she asked. “That you, sugar? You want some more?”

  For a moment, the Prophet considered dashing into the woods behind the information booth. Headlights continued to flash by on the highway, illuminating the rest stop for long seconds at a time. All it took was one human to notice something was wrong and then others would come. He’d learned long ago that humans swarmed like deatheater moths when frightened. The Prophet was strong, and deadly, but until he gave birth to his true self, he could do nothing against sheer numbers.

  “C’mon, man,” the woman called out. “Don’t scare me.”

  Her aura pulsed light purple, tendrils of red seeping in. She was still calm, but beginning to grow uneasy. The time to act was now, before the woman tried to run off or call for help. The Prophet shrugged his shoulders and calmly walked out into the open. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled with his lips only, so as to not give away his second set of teeth. The sneakers on his feet crunched on gravel. The tendrils of red dropped away as the woman calmed.

  “Kid, what’re you doing out here so late?” the woman said. “Where’s your parents?”

  Before she could say anything more, the Prophet charged, preternaturally quick. His hand latched over the woman’s mouth just as she was about to scream. His jaw yawned wide, revealing sixty long and slender, piercing pincers, and then he descended on her. Teeth jabbed into flesh, releasing the sweet nectar of life. He slurped the salty liquid down, intoxicated by the invigorating energy that coursed through his veins.

  Someone rustled behind the Prophet, and he was so engrossed in his meal that he almost didn’t realize something might be amiss. He released his death-grip on the woman—bloody bubbles popped as she struggled to breathe through her mutilated neck—and turned around. One of the truck doors opened, the driver stepped out.

  The Prophet grabbed the dying woman by the collar of her meager top and yanked her along the blacktop and over the curb with such speed that the rough surface ripped the flesh on her back apart, leaving a trail of crimson that ran onto the grass beyond. The Prophet didn’t care. Humans had horrible eyesight. They wouldn’t see the marks until the sun rose in the morning, and by then he’d be long gone.

  The Prophet placed the woman down behind a thick copse of trees. Her aura was gone. He peered around a trunk, watching as the fat truck driver yanked down his pants and pissed on the grass. The man then wagged himself three times, zipped back up, and turned back toward his vehicle. The Prophet breathed deeply, astonished at how oblivious people now were. When last he walked the land, they’d been an infantile race, frightened to the point of bashing in the head of anything that seemed threatening. Funny what difference a few thousand years made.

  He bent over the woman he’d killed, clicking his teeth together, digging in with vigor.

  CHAPTER 15

  The overhead fluorescents were brighter than Jacqueline remembered, the bricks didn’t seem so drab, and the putrescent green of the lockers actually looked vibrant and beautiful for once. With each passing day, Jacqueline’s life became more livable than ever before.

  It was Monday, the start of her second week of school, and she raced to greet the morning, new toy in hand. Over the weekend, Mitzy had brought her out to pick up a cell phone. “I can’t have you going out with your friends if I have no way to get in touch with you,” Mitzy had said.

  Friends.

  The phone was of the old flip variety, a horse and buggy compared to Neil’s 4G Porsche, but it more than served its purpose. Almost as soon as she’d gotten it, she’d called Annette to tell her the good news. The phone was constantly buzzing since, as her new friends texted her.

  As if on cue, the hunk of plastic vibrated. Jacqueline flipped the phone open to see a text from Ronni. Oliv want 2 no if u up 4 games aft skool. Jacqueline stepped out of the flow of traffic and chuckled. Text-speak baffled her; so did making plans for after school at seven-thirty in the morning. We’ll talk, she wrote before snapping the phone shut and slipping it into her bulging jeans pocket. Her finger touched the compact hidden in there, and she felt Mal’s warmth from within. She closed her eyes
and imagined he was next to her, actually felt his hand in hers. Jacqueline shivered. She looked around sheepishly, hoping no one had seen.

  As she strolled through the corridor, hiking her backpack into a more comfortable position, she wore her best, friendliest smile. Instead of being ignored, she was greeted by nods and even the occasional wave. One boy, a fellow sophomore named Ben, shyly turned his eyes away from her when she said hi. He was blushing. Jacqueline’s flesh prickled with warmth, her eyes felt like they were bathed in joyous fire.

  This is what happiness feels like, she thought. I wish Mal could share it with me.

  The crowd parted slightly, and she heard a familiar male voice ring out. Jacqueline scampered toward the lockers, turned her back, let her hair fall in front of her face. A small group of upperclassmen walked by, engrossed in their own conversation. She glanced up when they were past and stared at Todd Sowinger’s back as he playfully punched one of his friends.

  He’s cute.

  Jacqueline yanked on her hair, trying to get the thought out of her head. It was wrong. This was a boy who’d been a jerk to Annette and said horrible things to Neil, who’d looked like he wanted to bash her head in when she challenged him. And now she found herself thinking about him all the time! He was handsome in a rugged, dangerous way, and she liked the sound of his voice. During lunch with the Otaku Clan, she’d watch him from the corner of her eye while her friends chatted about video games, anime, and comic books. He reminded her of a jock version of Tyler. Sometimes, in the classes after lunch, when she closed her eyes she imagined sitting on Todd’s lap as they reclined beneath a full moon, a fire raging before them, his arms wrapped around her waist.

  Maybe I just have a thing for bad boys, she thought, and then groaned at the idea that she might be a living cliché. It’s only because I can’t be with Mal, she reasoned.

  She got to her locker five minutes before the homeroom bell. After unlocking her padlock, her fingers found the locker’s metal latch and gave it a pull, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried it again, but still nothing. A dark thought struck her and she bent down, looking to see if someone had wedged something into the hole, but she couldn’t see anything. Once more she pulled up on the latch, but it was like the thing was frozen. She felt suddenly nervous. It was silly, really; there was nothing in the locker she really needed at the moment, but in her mind it was still something ‘going wrong.’ And if there was something Jacqueline had known all her life, once one thing went wrong, everything did.