All I could do was shake my head. The reminder of Kafka’s rebirth or return—whatever you wanted to call it—was sobering.
“Do they all have to be freakin’ models?”
I chuckled, but it was short-lived.
“Is that…” Desiree trailed off.
I saw it, too. The men who had assaulted us in the club, with the closed-mouthed wolf-head tattoos, stood behind Alexandria—and Eli stood among them!
“How? What? I—I don’t understand,” Desiree stuttered.
“I hope Anna’s okay.” I turned and headed for the door. I’d seen enough.
“Why? What happened to Anna?”
It was hard, but I had to tell her.
Getting back to Provex City—the real Provex City—wasn’t the traumatic travel experience as getting to the symmetric plane. It must have been some kind of gift for someone lucky enough to escape the clutches of their mirror. For whatever the reason, I was thankful something was easier than expected. It didn’t seem to happen often.
Desiree listened to my retelling of the journey to find her as we traveled home by monorail. The only thing she spoke of regarding her nightmare in the symmetric plane was the full name of her mirror, Reid Heisenberg, and its promise to take Desiree to TJ. With all I had read about their falling out, I could almost understand. We both had our obsessions for answers and redemption. But she wouldn’t say what she had to do to get there.
We departed from the monorail at our usual spot, in the field by the highway, within sight of Outer Provex City Medical Center. It sat a half-mile away, with the distance between bisected by the river, but it was still too close. I was sure they were still looking for me. And with Eli seemingly with them now, was I even safe to go home? I needed to warn Mr. Gordon and Jeremy. I didn’t want any more people getting hurt because of me. I needed to start taking more responsibility, especially with the lives of my friends and family. It wasn’t just about me anymore, which caused Anna to pop into my head again.
“Are you all right?” Desiree asked, putting a hand on my shoulder.
I wasn’t really looking at the hospital, but I was facing its ominous direction.
“It’s definitely not safe to stay here,” I said.
“That’s why we’re going home.” Desiree’s voice was soft and calm. “We’ll go see Mr. Gordon. He’ll know what to do.”
“What about your family? Your mother’s worried sick.”
Her eyes dropped, probably picturing how her mother was dealing with her eldest daughter’s disappearance. “I’ll go home, but not before talking to Mr. Gordon.”
“I need to talk to Jeremy.” I said, turning to Desiree.
The cars whizzing by seemed quiet and far away even though we couldn’t be more than thirty feet from the edge of the highway.
Desiree took my hand, and I squeezed it and interlaced my fingers in hers.
“I want to go home, but I don’t want you to leave me,” Desiree said. With her free hand she tucked her disheveled hair behind her ear. “How do you look so good after all of this?”
I remembered freshening up before leaving Nero’s apartment. “I wanted to look good for you when I found you.” It was a reason, but not the reason.
Desiree frowned. “That’s not fair.”
I kissed her softly, through her initial protest, until we were both melting in each other’s arms. She tasted like Desiree and I couldn’t think of anything that tasted better. I nearly dropped Frolics.
“I don’t want you to leave my side, either,” I said, when we both came up for air. Then I kissed her again. “It’s really not safe here.”
“Then let’s go.” She kissed me again.
“Okay.” I kissed her again.
“You keep kissing me,” she said and kissed me again.
I smiled and kissed her back. “Okay, that was the last one.” And then I kissed her again.
Desiree giggled in a way that liquefied my knees and I almost pulled her down into the grass, which would have only led to more kissing—which was a tempting idea. All the danger surrounding me felt so far away in that euphoric moment. She ran a hand slowly down my cheek and took a step back. Our arms were still connected, but nearly fully extended.
“Let’s go, Oliver Lorne,” she said, backing up and pulling me with her. “The kissing has to wait. We have work to do.”
I couldn’t suppress a grin. “So, there will be more kissing?”
“I hope so.”
Hand in hand, we went to transition home—and suddenly, I was standing in the field alone, looking at the passing hover cars. Desiree was gone.
“What the hell?” I said, looking around to see if I was missing something.
Desiree returned a few seconds later.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I—I don’t know.”
We tried again, and again I found myself standing in the field alone.
When Desiree returned for a second time, we both took a seat in the grass.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to leave my side,” she said and gave a weak laugh.
“I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Do you feel all right?”
“I feel better than I’ve ever felt. This doesn’t make any sense. I’ve done this a hundred times.” I dropped Frolics into my lap and rubbed my face roughly with both hands. “This is the easy part, right?”
“Let’s just rest for a few minutes. Maybe that’s all you need.”
Desiree leaned her head on my shoulder, but I didn’t reciprocate. I sat up straight, staring ahead, looking inward. What was happening? Transitioning from home to Provex City and back had become second nature. And Desiree was having no problems. What the hell was wrong with me? Was it from the drugs I’d been given? Did Alexandria still have a hold on me? Were they on their way to get me right now? I glanced back at the hospital.
“It’s going to be okay,” Desiree said, lifting her head from my shoulder. “You know that, right?”
“I don’t know anything anymore,” I said coldly. My frustration was building extremely fast. This was the straw that—the straw I wanted to chew up and spit out. “Why did you disappear? I’ve told you everything and you’ve told me—”
“I’m sorry, Oliver. I…” Her voice trailed off.
Desiree pulled me to my feet and we attempted one more transition. I failed again.
“I’m going to get Mr. Gordon. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Desiree said when she returned a few seconds later. “I promise.”
I plopped down in the grass and pulled my knees up to my chest. Looking up at her, I wondered if this would be the last time I saw her. She began to walk away and fade, but stopped and came back.
Desiree dropped to her knees in front of me, placed both hands on my cheeks, and kissed me hard. “I love…that it was you who came for me.” She pulled the folded piece of paper from her jeans pocket and handed it to me. Desiree gave no explanation as to what she’d handed me, jumped to her feet, and faded away.
I was once again alone, sitting in the grass, with only Frolics and a gift from Desiree to keep me company.
“Nero, you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet,” I said, but there was no answer. I hadn’t heard from him since he’d vanished from his apartment. He was high on my list of people I least wanted to talk to, but… He was a part of me, and even with all we’d been through, I still felt connected to him in a strange way. But he seemed to be gone—like TJ.
I unfolded the paper and either waited for Desiree to return with Mr. Gordon, or Alexandria and Kafka to find me sitting here alone. I tried to push the latter scenario out of my head and began to read.
TJ & Desiree (H)
TJ stuffed the envelope into Desiree’s mailbox. He had already made up his mind. If she wouldn’t talk to him, then this was all he could think to do. He looked up at her house to see if anyone was watching. If her mother saw him standing there, the police were probably alr
eady on their way. TJ wished Desiree would come to the window, but she didn’t. All he had left were memories.
Halfway down Wheeler, TJ saw Eli ride past on his bike. Eli was more of Todd’s friend, and even though they had hung out together numerous times in group settings, TJ didn’t feel like they really connected. And now, since he seemed to be hanging out with Desiree more, TJ couldn’t help but feel jealous and even more rejected.
Eli gave TJ a suspicious glance, maybe because TJ was wearing long sleeves in eighty-degree weather. Neither boy said a word, and Eli continued on his way to Desiree’s house.
TJ jogged across Santa Clara, and continued running all the way home.
The house was always quiet in the late afternoon with both of his parents still at work. TJ missed the afternoons spent with Desiree, alone and uninterrupted.
Now the house felt uninhabited, silent, with just him creeping through the rooms like a ghost. He already felt dead. Everyone seemed to be pulling away. He didn’t know what Desiree had said about him, but he felt eyes on him wherever he went. The only place he felt safe anymore was his room. My room. Not that he deserved to feel safe anymore.
A police car siren bellowed outside. Or maybe it was an ambulance or fire truck. It sounded like the siren was moving farther away—but it had to be coming here. Desiree’s mother had called them, he was sure of it.
TJ marched into his parent’s bedroom. He knew exactly what he was looking for. In his father’s closet. On the top shelf. Under a pile of dusty sweaters. TJ pulled out a Springfield Armory 1911 pistol.
He went back to his room, closed the door, and turned the lock. After placing the gun on top of his dresser, TJ dragged the wooden beast in front of his locked door, barricading it completely. He would be closed off from the outside world forever.
TJ snatched his journal with the missing final entry from off the desk, bent down, lifted up the free corner of the carpet, and buried it. He made sure the edges of the carpet tucked neatly under the baseboard, intrigued by the thought that it would one day be discovered. An intimate part of him would live on.
Pictures of Desiree and him flashed and fizzled as the screen saver on his computer. He watched the snapshots of wonderful memories cycle through their relationship with the 1911 pointed at the floor. Finally, TJ hit the keyboard to drive the pictures away, scrolled through his music albums, and played Elliott Smith’s most haunting song. The soft sound of chirping crickets. The light strumming of an acoustic guitar. And then the voice that somehow managed to bring tears to his eyes.
“Because your candle burns too bright. Well, I almost forgot it was twilight.”
TJ jumped onto his bed and dropped down cross-legged. He looked at his reflection in the closet door mirrors across the room, feeling no need to wipe his pink eyes or shiny cheeks.
He pointed the pistol at his reflection.
“Are you looking at me?” He saw himself smirk for the first time in weeks. It wasn’t a full smile, but it was close.
The pistol was heavy in his hands. TJ clicked the various buttons and levers on the gun until he found the magazine release. It was loaded, as he knew it would be. TJ shoved it back into the magazine well until it clicked into place. The hammer was already cocked.
TJ pointed the pistol at his reflection again.
“I don’t see anyone else here.” He let his finger lightly massage the trigger.
TJ pictured Desiree rushing around the hotel room in a towel, franticly picking up her clothes, and then disappearing into the bathroom. He never really saw her again. She was gone forever. He needed to disappear, too.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the memory of her reading Almost, Maine lines with him. She sat across from him on the bed. The Desiree of memory just smiled at him and then slightly bit her lower lip, waiting for him to lean in and kiss her.
TJ turned the pistol on himself, sticking the barrel upside down in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.
But the trigger wouldn’t move. He pressed it as hard as he could and nothing happened.
TJ dropped the pistol into his lap and looked at his reflection with tears streaming down his cheeks. Someone was crying for him. And the Desiree of memory was also in the reflection, leaning her head against his shoulder and resting her hand gently on his shooting arm.
He shook his head and threw back his shoulders. Fiddling with the levers again, TJ soon found what he thought was the safety, near the rear of the gun.
He took a deep breath and lifted the pistol to his mouth again, holding the weapon backwards in his hands, resting the cold barrel on his lips. He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger, and again, the trigger wouldn’t depress.
TJ dropped the 1911 down beside him and buried his face in his hands. He couldn’t stand feeling so despicable and helpless. He ripped off his shirt and used it to wipe his face. The tears would not stop. He let out a muffled scream, and then threw the crumpled shirt to the floor.
He looked across the room at his scarred body. There were scabbed slashes up his arms, down his chest, and across his stomach. The very first cuts that read “my room” were still clearly visible, but looked like nonsense in the reflection. It felt good to destroy something. The cuts had felt good, but they were not enough anymore.
“I can’t forgive you. Not now; not ever.”
The memory of Desiree faded and the reflection was once again only him.
TJ grabbed the pistol and inspected it closer. The magazine release. Thumb safety. Hammer cocked. He then noticed another lever on the back of the grip. He pressed it with his thumb. Press, release. Press, release.
“Was it or was it not your whole plan to get me drunk so you could have sex with me?”
TJ firmly gripped the handle of the pistol.
“Was it or was it not your whole plan to get me drunk so you could have sex with me!”
TJ brought the gun back up to his mouth, holding it upside down, his finger shaking on the trigger.
“WAS IT OR WAS IT NOT—”
The trigger finally depressed, and TJ found his long awaited moment of peace. The soft trill of crickets gently faded away.
29
Next Steps
Desiree was the first to return, followed by Mr. Gordon and Jeremy. Jeremy didn’t look much better than the evening he’d stabbed Kafka. Mr. Gordon had a warm and sympathetic expression. Desiree pulled me to my feet and hugged me like we hadn’t seen each other in months. It’d felt like that to me, too, even though it had probably only been about an hour.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my face buried in her hair. I could feel her heart beating. I could feel her chest pushing against mine as she breathed. I could feel her breath on my neck, and I never wanted to let her go.
“I’m not good at goodbyes,” she whispered.
When we pulled apart from the embrace, I handed her TJ’s letter. She stuffed it in her pocket and backed up to let Mr. Gordon and Jeremy into the circle. Jeremy was next to step up and hug me.
“You crazy, stupid son of a bitch,” he said, crushing me with his strong arms.
“It’s good to see you, too,” I wheezed.
“And I hear you picked out her clothes,” Jeremy whispered in my ear. “Nice job.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at Jeremy’s comment while I looked at Desiree over his shoulder. Her eyes were locked on mine suspiciously, curious as to why I was laughing.
When he released me, I held up the small stuffed animal and his expression turned to wonderment.
“Frolics,” he said and took the toy dog. Jeremy disappeared into a memory, staring down at the long-forgotten pet transformed into a child’s toy. After a few moments he looked up. “You gave this to Nicholae when we left.” He paused. “I shouldn’t have let you go alone.” He put his hands on my upper arms and looked me square in the eyes. “That’s not gonna happen again.” Then he looked me up and down. “How do you look so good after the hell Desiree said you’ve been through?”
I didn’t have an answ
er. Everyone looked at Mr. Gordon for an explanation. His look gave little away, but it was slightly sullen. He held a computer tablet that looked much like the one I had left with Darius.
“What happens when you try to go home?” Mr. Gordon asked.
No “hi, great to see you, Oliver.” No “thank God you’re alive.” He was all business.
“Nothing,” I answered. “Nothing happens. I can’t even see anything from back home like I could before. It’s like it’s not there.”
“Have you heard your mirror recently?”
I shook my head.
Mr. Gordon asked me to retell my final moments with my mirror, so I did, and watched as a wave of horror flashed across Jeremy’s face. Desiree had already heard most of it on our ride home. Mr. Gordon looked in awe of me, which was a little unnerving.
“You did that on your own?” Mr. Gordon asked.
I nodded.
“I thought a person couldn’t overpower a mirror…” Jeremy looked questioningly at Mr. Gordon.
“Oh, it’s possible because there have been a few people who’ve done it. One person in particular.” Mr. Gordon looked intently at me. “How do you feel, Oliver Lorne?”
I was taken aback when he said that and it took me a moment to respond.
“Good—surprisingly good.”
“Who was that one person?” Desiree asked. She had taken my left hand, sending tickling sparks surging through my body.
Mr. Gordon reached for my right hand and examined it in his—the large scar where the tattoo had been and the silver dots circling my wrist—and then let it go.
“Kafka,” I said. It wasn’t even a question; somehow I knew.
“Yes,” Mr. Gordon confirmed. “He was the first, proving it was possible, but keeping the secret to himself for a long time. Then when he began building the Lorne family, conquering one’s mirror became a rite of passage, a prerequisite to be admitted into the family, to be granted the family emblem.”
“The wolf-head tattoo,” I said.
“The open-mouthed, wolf-head tattoo,” Mr. Gordon clarified.
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