Babels of Bedlam - Part 9

I locked the door behind me before crossing to the sink.

“What the hell is going on? Who the hell are you?” I growled lowly. Just because I was losing it inside of my head didn’t mean I needed people on the outside to know.

“You’re not losing it. It’s already lost,” the voice taunted before chuckling.

I clenched my fists. “This may be a joke to you, but-”

“This is no joke, Owen. I’m here to help.”

“How do you know my name? And what do you mean help?” I demanded. I would’ve said that I wished this was all a dream, but I was too intelligent to say something so stupid.

“You are too intelligent, and the honesty is refreshing. Look up.”

I furrowed my brow. Look…

“Just do it.”

And I did, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror. I looked pretty damned pale, and I wasn’t sure if it was the lighting or the situation, nor was I sure if I wanted to know. I looked flustered too, and I doubted that had anything to do with the fluorescence.

“What, then?” I huffed. “I suppose you have something to say about my appearance?”

Before I could shoot off more, the mirror began to ripple, like metallic water, distorting my reflection.

“What… the hell?”

I watched it shimmer and morph until… until the person looking back... wasn’t me at all. My heart pounded painfully against my chest and, all of a sudden, my head felt light and unsteady.

“What’s…”

My words tapered. I couldn’t find the right ones, if there even were right ones.

The eyes that stared back were stark green and bright – not my eyes. The hair was fiery and short enough to display the sharp, distinct features that sat beneath the clear, pale skin – not my skin. A scar, a tiny white discoloration on an otherwise flawless face, made a home on the right corner of the lips.

And then the reflection grinned a terrifyingly wicked grin, its eyes focused on me, on mine, as if it could see me.

“I can see you,” he purred, his lips moving in the reflection.

I restrained the urge to look behind me.

Calm down, Owen, I reprimanded, squeezing my fists until my knuckles went white. If there was anyone here, I deduced, squeezing my eyes shut for a glorified second, I would be in the reflection, as well. This was all mental – I was losing it. This was it; I was completely insane.

“Calm down, indeed. You’re not insane, Owen, not yet.”

My eyes snapped open, spontaneous agitation pressing down my brow. “Wha- Who are you?”

“No, I suppose ‘what’ is a more accurate question.”

The man in the mirror cocked his head at me, scrutinizing me with his emerald eyes.

“Then are you going to answer?” I demanded, my tone donning a sharp edge. My pulse was pounding at illegal speeds and my voice seemed to realize that.

“No,” the reflection answered. “But I am here to help.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, are you, now?”

I resisted the compulsion to touch the mirror, to make sure it was what I thought it was.

The man flashed his pearly whites, giving him a menacing, wolfish air. “I am. And yes, it’s only a simple mirror – no parlor tricks.”

“Help me with what?” I pressed, anger starting to roil. I didn’t like this. Ominous was not nearly strong enough of a word for this.

“Well, with this whole situation you got yourself into.” He feigned an innocent smile. “Erik is obviously not your average run of the mill kind of guy – and nor is Al.”

His accent was thick, but I couldn’t pinpoint its origin. It was a wonder I could understand a word.

“Consider me a guardian angel. You’ll be in need of one very soon.”

“Guardian angel? What are you talking about?” I barked.

He indulged in a single chuckle before matter-of-factly stating, “Because, very soon, very bad people will be after you at a very fast pace. Only I can get you out safely.”

“Bad people?”

“And anyway,” he continued, ignoring my question. “I’m the only one that can restore your memories.”

“Restore my memories?” My tone was snide. “What’s there to restore? I have my memories.”

The man countered with a bemused grin. “Do you?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “Who the hell are you to question that?”

“Hm,” he mulled mockingly. “Well, that’s a fair question I suppose. But let me pose another one. Who are you?”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“Certainly not a nephew.”

My heart palpitated.

“Nor a son or brother, so-”

“I am a nephew.” I cut in stupidly. Confusion struck my thoughts - my words - into dimwitted format. If I cared about that at all in that moment, I would've been embarrassed. “Aunt Alice-”

“Alice?” The man questioned; her name was too saturated with sarcasm for it to be genuine. “Who is Alice?”

“She’s… my aunt.” I answered knowing damn well he wasn’t looking for one.

“Hmm, are you positive?”

“Of course, I’m positive!” I growled. “You call yourself my guardian angel - shouldn’t you know that?”

“I know everything about you, Owen." The man in the mirror stated firmly. The small smile residing on his lips was no longer malicious, but... pitiful. "That is precisely why I ask.”

Desperation seized me. I jammed my hand into my pocket in a frantic search of my phone. Alice would be at work now – she had the late shift in the ER.

When my hand wrapped around my cell, I yanked it out, typing in the hospital’s number, before pressing it against my ear.

This was silly. Why was my body – my pulse - reacting like this? Why did I immediately trust everything he said? Why did I feel like I needed to prove-

“Trying to call her, are you?” The man in the mirror asked, cocking his head.

I turned my back to him as the line picked up.

“Hello, Lownston Memorial Hospital.”

“Hi, is Alice Grace available?” I asked, my nerves having their way with my voice.

“Alice Grace?”

“Yeah, she’s a trauma nurse. Her shift started two hours ago.”

There was a pause before. “Eh, let me check… who is calling for her?”

“Her nephew Owen.”

“Please hold for a moment, Owen.”

“There’s no use waiting.” I shouldn't have been surprised that out of sight was not out of mind for the voice. “She won’t be there.”

I spun to face him despite that. “What do you mean? What did you do? What happened to her?”

He narrowed his eyes, their gaze piercing. “The question is what happened to you, Owen.”

“Sir.”

“Yes," I jumped at the receptionist's voice. "Yes, hello?”

“We have no record of a-”

I hung up quickly, before smashing the phone into the mirror.

"Fuck!"