Voices in the Mirror

by Ross Turner

  Richard raised his free hand and paused for a moment, holding his wife off the ground still by her hair. He looked across to their children, Johnathan and Maddie.

  The girl was trembling and terrified, as he expected, but the boy was unmoving and unemotional.

  The look in his eyes was almost unnatural, and it scared Richard, for it was a look he had only ever seen once before.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, boy!?” He demanded of Johnathan, covering his fear with as strong a façade as he could manage. “Get out of my sight!!” He ordered.

  And with that he brought his heavy hand down with a sharp crack and struck his wife square across the face. He released his firm grip on her hair as he did so and she crumpled heavily to the floor.

  Maddie let out an involuntary sob, and it was suddenly all too much for Johnathan.

  His sister saw his body shudder and felt something change in the air all around him once again.

  She had thought for a moment she had him back, after he had broken through the door, but soon enough she knew he would be gone again.

  The change lasted but a mere second or two, but she felt it nonetheless. The space that Johnathan had occupied in the room, his frame tiny in comparison to their father's, suddenly was not filled with the body nor aura of a terrified twelve-year-old.

  Instead, his aura spread and morphed and evolved, and before long all three of them could feel it. Stood in Johnathan's place, though physically he had not changed, was certainly not a young boy, or even the remnants of one, but a different person altogether.

  The change was even more drastic than before, and Maddie’s heart felt as though it would explode from her chest.

  “Johnathan…?” His little sister whispered, clinging to the hope that he might still be there somewhere. Or, at least, that was what she’d clung to before.

  But this time she knew her words were futile, for it was most certainly no longer even partly her brother that stood before them now.

  Who was it?

  Whomever the aura belonged to, however, it felt familiar to Maddie, yet she could not for the life of her place it.

  Maddie’s mother, Emily, looked up from the floor then, seemingly with new hope pooling in her eyes, shrouded by thick, pain stricken tears. Though now, undoubtedly, her gaze was dashed with newfound courage, stirred up by something, rather than simply desperation and defeat.

  “It can’t be…” She whispered, just loud enough for Maddie to hear. “How…”

  “What the…!?” Richard started again, but he was not given the opportunity to finish that sentence.

  The man who stood in Johnathan’s place exploded forward in a sudden flurry of movement and crashed into Richard’s chest. The impact sent him reeling backward as if a bull had struck him.

  Recovering slowly, clutching his battered ribs, Richard clambered sluggishly to his feet. He finally found his footing and charged forwards, swinging a heavy fist toward the man’s unprotected face, but again, with seemingly unparalleled experience, the unknown figure ducked and blocked and weaved as a flurry of blows were thrown at him.

  Eventually, after not all that long, in his fatigue, Richard exposed a weakness, and his opponent immediately exploited the opening.

  A sharp kick to the side of Richard’s leg dropped him to one knee, and from there he was surely finished.

  Driving his knee heavily into the side of Richard’s ribs, forcing the air from his lungs, Johnathan, or whoever he was, was in complete control. A quick strike to the side of Richard’s neck sent his eyes rolling in their sockets, and the victor raised his hand high above his head to deliver what even Maddie knew would be the final blow.

  The young girl held her breath until her lungs burned and felt as though they would burst, but still she was too petrified to move.

  “Arthur…?” Maddie’s mother whispered then, trembling from where she lay on the floor.

  The sound of her voice broke the heavy tension in the room, and the walls all around seemed to heave a huge sigh of relief.

  Suddenly the man who stood in Johnathan’s place relaxed his grip on Richard, and his furious, clenched fist loosed and opened. He allowed Emily’s supposed husband to slide limply to the floor, unconscious, but alive.

  The figure stood where her son should have been turned then to Emily with love in his eyes, and Maddie could see even from where she stood, shaking, frozen and terrified, that the look in his eyes and the expression on his face were not her brother’s.

  Nonetheless though, whomever they belonged to, it was clear that they loved and cherished and cared for her mother with all their heart.

  The man who stood in Johnathan’s place, although fully grown, yet somehow at the same time still merged with the meagre body of a twelve-year-old, knelt beside Emily and scooped her gently into his arms.

  He lifted her effortlessly from the ground and held her close, shaking slightly, though Maddie somehow sensed that it was not out of fear, but instead great relief.

  Emily buried her head immediately into his shoulder and fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.

  He turned and placed her tenderly down on the bed.

  Cupping her cheek in his hand for a moment, he looked deeply into her eyes and tears coursed down both of their cheeks openly.

  Emily smiled then: a genuine smile of happiness long lost that brought a twinge of pain to even Maddie’s heart, for she had never seen such a look in her mother’s eyes.

  Then, as if knowing he had very little time left, the man kissed Emily lovingly on her forehead and turned away, walking immediately over towards Maddie.

  The young’s girl’s mother said nothing, but the look on her face as he turned to their daughter was one of both total adoration, and at the same time terrible loss.

  Her hand reached out involuntarily after him, longing for him to return.

  The man that was Johnathan, and then also at the same time most certainly not her brother, placed his hands softly on Maddie shoulders then, kneeling down to looked her adoringly in the eye.

  Seeing him up so close now, Maddie racked her brain to think who this man was. Though it might have been her brother’s face and body, still clearly it wasn’t. Yet still, as she had realised earlier, she still felt as though she already knew this man.

  He smiled then and kissed her lightly on her forehead, just as he had done to her mother. Pulling her gently into an embrace, Maddie accepted it, for some reason willingly, and held him tightly, feeling warm and safe and complete once more.

  They pulled each other close and Emily smiled and even let out a joyful sob.

  Then all of a sudden he shuddered, as if he feared that his time was up.

  Fresh tears streaked down his face again as he released Maddie, holding on to her for as long as he possibly could.

  He cast one quick fleeting, and admittedly longing glance back at Emily, before immediately tearing his streaming eyes from her and departing.

  Vanishing from the bedroom and away into the darkness, the man that was Johnathan disappeared, merging amongst the shadows of the night, leaving his Emily and Maddie alone.

  They looked at each other for a moment, both in shock and amazement, but it was only for a second or two before Maddie tore across the ruined bedroom and leapt into her mother’s arms, and the both of them sobbed and heaved with terror and fright and relief.

  Chapter Nine

  Raindrops heavy with sin and regret fell thunderously down from the pitch black skies, smeared grey and blurred by clouds filled to the brim. It was as if the night had been hanging precariously upon a single thread, and even the slightest movement either way would tip the balance.

  Johnathan’s head spun as the cold night’s air whipped about his face and body. He blinked awake, his eyes weighty and painful, almost as if he had been concentrating too hard. Feeling groggy, as though he had just awoken from a deep sleep, the young boy brought his hands up to his face and rubbed his eyes.

  His hands were col
d and his fingertips were chapped.

  As his senses began to return to him, Johnathan realised exactly how cold he was, and as he glanced around and shivered violently, he saw exactly why.

  He found that he was stood alone outside, in the middle of the night, and though the ground beneath his feet was still relatively dry, the heavens above had not long opened, in more ways than one, and the new, fresh rainfall was stealing the warmth from his skin.

  The bewildered young boy saw also then that, not only was he outside, surrounded by strange darkness, but that he was stood directly before Father Peter’s church, staring up at its great, looming silhouette in the dim of the night.

  Of course, it was not, strictly speaking, Father Peter’s church, Johnathan thought to himself then. It belonged to the people, both to those who still lived, and to those who didn’t. Or, at least, that was how the young boy envisioned it to be, in his mind, in this bizarre situation he found himself in.

  The vibrant stained glass windows stretched high above him. Their usual warm glow was absent, leaving the images they cast dark and cold and empty. The morning had barely begun after all, and Johnathan imagined that Father Peter would be sleeping soundly at this hour.

  But oh how wrong he was.

  Within what seemed like only seconds, the heavy doors that marked the main entrance to the church, groaned and creaked slowly open. A nervous, flickering candle came into view, carried upon a silver bowl.

  The dancing light illuminated Father Peter’s outline and face, decorated as per usual by his long, thick robes. His tired eyes were weary with deep concern and responsibility. Although, in seeing Johnathan, his worry seemed to dissipate slightly, and a brief expression housing relief flitted across his aged face.

  He seemed to have been expected Johnathan.

  Without even the need for beckoning, Johnathan’s body seemed to respond automatically, and his legs carried him forwards. Father Peter stepped aside without as much as a word, allowing the boy to enter, and closed the door behind him with a loud bang, only amplified by the night engulfing them.

  Still carried by his legs, seemingly without a thought, Johnathan heeded Father Peter’s silent wishes and walked around to the pew closest to the lectern at the front of the nave, as the Vicar set about lighting the candles nearest to where Johnathan had taken his seat.

  Finally, after what felt like decades, the old man finished lighting all the candles it seemed that he deemed necessary for whatever was about to come, and sidled along to take a seat in the pew next to the young boy.

  There was an eerie déjà vu to the scene, and Johnathan couldn’t help but shudder.

  “Johnathan…” Father Peter began almost immediately, his voice soft and careful and admittedly even cautious.

  This was the first time there hadn’t been an abrupt silence to begin their conversation.

  “Father Peter…” He replied, not knowing what else to say, staring numbly at the Vicar, overwhelmed.

  Father Peter sighed deeply then and rubbed his ancient face wearily.

  “I have been praying for you of late, my boy…” He offered then, revealing the fact that he perhaps knew more about everything that had happened recently than Johnathan did, but nothing else. “I know you have been struggling lately…”

  His guise had the desired effect however, and Johnathan seemed to focus more keenly for a moment, as if a spark had just suddenly ignited.

  “Do you know what’s happening to me?” Johnathan asked then. “What’s going on?”

  “I know it’s been difficult, Johnathan…” The Vicar started, buffering the truth. But Johnathan didn’t want to hear it.

  “No!” He the young boy suddenly demanded, most uncharacteristically. “What’s happening to me!?”

  “I don’t know John…”

  “NO!” Johnathan cut him off again with a shrill cry, rising suddenly to his feet as his voice boomed and echoed around the great, stone hall. “TELL ME!!”

  “Johnath…” The Vicar attempted again, but again unsuccessfully.

  “NO!!!” The young boy yelled, stepping menacingly closer to the old man, fear and anger in his eyes.

  “JOHNATHAN!!” Father Peter suddenly bellowed, exploding to his feet, his great voice not so much reverberating around the massive chamber as much as completely filling it. There was fear in his eyes also, but it was driven by uncertainty more so than anger.

  They stared at each other in the dim, flickering light for a moment, both unsure of what the other was going to do, until, after a few more moments, Johnathan finally cracked.

  The young boy’s shoulders and chest heaved slightly, almost unnoticeably at first, though it was enough for the old man to know what was coming next.

  Within seconds, Johnathan’s barriers crumbled and he collapsed in tears into Father Peter’s awaiting arms, protective and secure in these times of terror and uncertainty.

  Between mumbled sobs Johnathan tried to speak, even to apologise, but it took several attempts for him to finally string together anything remotely coherent.

  “He…He was…He was beating her…” He eventually managed. “He…I…I had to…I’m sorry…He was…What do I…” His words descended as another wave of guilt ridden panic swept over him, and he shook evermore violently with every sob.

  Father Peter did not reply at first, and simply held the young boy, understanding his pain, having felt similar such a wrench many times himself in his time, and waited patiently for it to pass. At least now he hoped the danger of an immediate recurrence was passed also.

  After quite some time, the worst of Johnathan’s grief faded, and Father Peter sat him down again in the pews.

  “Do you remember the story I told once Johnathan…” Father Peter began then, seeming to change tact completely. His voice carried a tone of bemusement, worry and contemplation, somehow all in one, and Johnathan’s curiosity, admittedly amidst his sorrow, peaked slightly.

  “Story?” The young boy questioned before the old man could finish, having found his voice again by now.

  “About how Riverbrook was founded?” He finished simply, raising a curved, grey eyebrow slightly at his young audience.

  “You said a traveller was lost.” Johnathan started, closing his eyes as if to visualise the tale he had been told and remember it. “He found a river, followed it, stopped here, and built the village.” He summed his recollection up then. “Other people came too…” He added then. “And he got married and they had children.”

  “Very concise.” Father Peter kindly commended him. “But he had never been lost.”

  “Sorry?” Johnathan questioned, confused.

  “He had never been lost.” The old man repeated.

  “But you said…?”

  “No…” The old man corrected him gently then. “I said he didn’t know where he was. I knew him, Johnathan, and he was a great man. He always knew exactly where he was going, even if he didn’t know where he was.”

  That didn’t really make much sense to Johnathan, and his forehead creased in thought.

  “But they’re the same thing, aren’t they?” He eventually asked, but the old Vicar shook his head with a warm, kindly smile.

  “No, my boy. They most certainly are not.”

  Johnathan did not ask another question straight away then, for he was perplexed by the old man’s words.

  They did not make sense to him in the slightest.

  It’s impossible to know where you’re going, if you don’t know where you are, he thought.

  Surely?

  Finally, after much silent deliberation, he finally piped up another question: the only one that really seemed relevant.

  “Why?” He asked.

  “Why what?” The Vicar replied, as if playing some sort of game.

  Johnathan knew he knew what he meant, but he answered him anyway.

  “Why did you ask me if I remembered the story?”

  “Because…” The old man started, though clearly he was de
ep in thought, as if carefully considering his answer. He finally continued. “If you didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to tell you what I’m about to tell you.”

  “Why not?” Johnathan immediately asked, and almost just as immediately, the old man broke into laughter.

  Johnathan was very confused by this point.

  “What’s funny?” He questioned, admittedly a little hurt, feeling as though the old man was poking fun at him.

  “Nothing, my boy, nothing.” The old man assured him, coughing to clear his throat and sighing, though quite joyfully. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just, anybody else would have asked what I was going to tell them, not why I couldn’t.”

  “Isn’t why you do, or don’t do something, just as important as what you do?” The young boy immediately replied, and Father Peter practically beamed back at him, almost as if that question was momentous beyond belief.

  “You would make your father very proud.” The old man said suddenly then, and a thick lump caught in Johnathan’s throat, taken aback by the comment, and he felt physically sick to the stomach.

  Shock held him for a moment, but then that shock dissipated entirely, and his expression turned into a fierce and vicious scowl.

  “I am nothing like him.” The boy replied, his voice heavy and low like thunder.

  “And that’s exactly why I wouldn’t have been able to tell you…” The old Vicar replied.

  Johnathan’s glare remained, but he said nothing, allowing the old man to continue.

  “Richard is not your father, Johnathan.”

  The shock returned then, tenfold, and this time its grasp was unshakeable.

  Johnathan blinked and his mouth hung slightly agape, but not words, nor or even thoughts, would come to him.

  “My boy, your father, your real father, was named Arthur Knight, and he founded Riverbrook.”

  Now there was most certainly no chance of words finding their way from Johnathan’s tongue, even though countless questions raced through his mind. But Father Peter seemed to sense this, and simply gave the boy the answer he knew he needed.