text: MANY PEOPLE BELIEVE THAT MIRRORS REFLECT BACK OUR INNER SELVES. To some extent, they’re not wrong. There was so much blood. So much blood, and none of it my own. Well, save for the gashes on my arms from both my would-be victim’s nails and from the shards of glass blanketing the floor around us. The woman on the floor stared back at me, wide-eyed. She edged backward, the glass slivers chinking against one another as she shoved them aside in her haste. In another world, the sound might not have been unpleasant, reminiscent of the sound made when making a toast at a friendly get-together, or party. This situation, however, could not have been more dissimilar. “H-how did you do that?” She glanced fearfully beyond me to the now-empty sliding closet door; all that remained was the wire frame, bent from the impact. I took a step towards the woman, arm outstretched; an offer to help or a barrier to slow her progress, I wasn’t sure. “No!” She shrieked; her movements increasingly frantic in her attempts to put distance between us. “Get away from me!” “I’m not here to hurt you!” I protested, my arm dropping even as I did so, somehow knowing deep down that my situation was hopeless. She -a stranger to me- looked worse off than I, deep cuts across her torso that had torn through her sequined, halter top dress. Tears streamed down through her heavy makeup, smudging the kohl that lined her eyes. My -no, his - blood was caked under her nails, painted plum to compliment her dress. As a side note, I hadn’t known cuts could hurt so damn bad. The deeper ones throbbed, while the shallower nicks stung, as though I’d poured lemon juice into a papercut. It was somehow both exhilarating and terrifying, all at once. And the fact that it was exhilarating was terrifying too. I knew now why he enjoyed this so much, and I hated it. Sirens yelped outside. Time seemed frozen as I stared back into unfamiliar eyes. Harsh lights, red and blue, spun into the room, casting sinister shadows through the blinds onto our faces and the floor, akin to prison bars. A voice squawked outside, loud and robust over the speakers from the police cruiser. “Marcus Danbury! Come out with your hands behind your head!” Only then did I even realize that I still clutched a switchblade, the fingers of my left hand curled around the knife tightly. No wonder the woman was panicked. She had no reason to believe I wasn’t the same man who had stood in front of her only moments prior, ready to kill and filled with the thrill of the hunt. I threw it away from myself, heart pounding loudly in my ears. I’d left crescent moons in the palm of my hand which now bled freely along with the cuts on my arms. The feeling of being trapped was subtly creeping back in. Adrenaline still surged through my veins, and I searched for escape, throwing myself into action. Through no effort of my own, I’d broken free of my prison at last. By no means on this earth was I going to allow myself to be dragged into another, shackled for another man’s crimes. I moved like I was running through molasses, my legs seeming to catch every edge of furniture, my fingers feeling numb with disuse as I fumbled with door handles. The woman didn’t budge another inch as she watched my crazed behavior. “Marcus Danbury,” the voice came again after there’d been no response on my end. I froze again to listen. “You are wanted for the murder of Alexis Cole, Michael Smith, and Melissa Roberts. Drop any weapons you have and come out with your hands behind your head, or we will be coming in after you.” I decided then that I hated the name “Marcus” too. But, perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. Let’s rewind back to the beginning. My name is Marcus Danbury. I am an echo. A reflection. Some might even go so far as to call me a doppelganger. The former words have a more pleasant connotation, implying that I am merely part of what is already in existence. Doppelgangers, however, are often associated with evil, like being the bad one out of a set of identical twins. There are many stories about doppelgangers and their origins. Only one is true. Doppelgangers exist in what I like to refer to as the “mirror-realm.” We walk the same path as our alternate selves, forever doomed to an empty, silent space like that of an asylum’s padded room. Unlike the doppelgangers in stories told around the campfire, we are unable to act on our impulses, and our desires, left alone instead to our thoughts and our loneliness. Whether we wish to take our opposite’s place or not doesn’t matter, for we are trapped, for all eternity. The only time where this differs is when our counterparts encounter a mirror. Mirrors allow us a glimpse into the real world. We can hear and see what our counter sees, “meet” other people, and dream of a life outside. My dreams, like many others, involved escape. I wanted to take real Marcus’ place, though, not only for myself. He was a terrible man, a murderer, and I felt a burning need to prevent any further harm done by him. For so long, I had watched him hurt others, with his words, and his actions, unable to do anything to stop it. Then, today came my chance. I watched -not for the first time- as Marcus backed into the hotel room, his newest conquest in tow. She pulled at his clothes, and mine wrinkled in the places she grasped, though I could not feel the warmth of her hand. Marcus’ hand was twisted up in her shoulder-length hair, his lips crushed hard to hers as though breathing her in. But I could see the glimmer of light that hit the metal of his switchblade, could feel his malicious intent. I tried to shout, tried to do anything to alert the woman, but could only watch, helplessly underpowered, as he turned his back to the mirror and raised his knife. Maybe it was the hiss of the blade, or she’d opened her eyes to see the reflection behind him, but the woman gasped and pulled away in time to avoid the disastrous trajectory. During the fight that ensued, she clawed at Marcus and he slashed back, both parties breathing heavily as they fought for the upper hand. Then, with a mighty shove -they say adrenaline can often help you accomplish feats you otherwise could not achieve-, the woman shoved Marcus into the mirror. I mean, literally. I couldn’t tell you how it happened, only that, one moment, I was in the mirror-realm, cheering the woman on, and the next, I had replaced my counter, the mirror shattered behind me. And now you’re all caught up. “Is there a back door?” I whirled on the woman, dark hair falling into my eyes. “A-a back door? In the Lexington? We’re... in a hotel room.” She stammered in confusion, as though I might have lost my faculties. That left either the main door to the room or the window, both of which were likely covered. Still, I figured the window was my best bet of the two. Halfway to it, I realized I had a hostage. I knew that I would never hurt the girl, but the police needn’t know the same. “I’m really sorry about this,” I apologized sincerely, moving swiftly to cross the room. Shrieking again as I grabbed her roughly by the arm, I pulled the woman so that her back was flush against me, retrieving the knife from where it had skittered under the bed. As I bent to scoop the weapon, I saw myself reflected in the mirror shards. I knew what many did not, however. It was not really me that showed in the reflection, but the real Marcus. Somehow, I could feel the burning ire in his gaze, though it varied not from my own in appearance. Still, I stood quickly, not daring to look again. The blade pressed against her throat, the girl could do little more than whimper now as I lifted the blinds and pushed the window open. As I’d expected, the police waited in the parking lot beyond. I had not expected to be on the second floor, overlooking the pool area, which was enclosed by a white vinyl privacy fence. A maid, drawn by the sound of the sirens, was at the end of the fence, peeking around the corner to watch, her laundry cart left abandoned outside the fence. Shouting to be heard, I called out to the officers. “Go around to the front of the building and stay there, or I kill the girl!” Geez, I felt guilty even insinuating I would do it. “Release the girl and come out peaceably, Marcus. You don’t want this to get out of hand.” The officer, a middle-aged man with a stereotypical handlebar mustache, responded, holding the receiver for his cruiser’s speaker. “Don’t pretend to understand what I want!” I answered, unintentionally giving them the impression of the unhinged murderer that they expected in my desperation to be free. “Do as I ask, and I’ll release her!” The officers talked amongst themselves a minute, but must have deemed me serious enough. “We’re going now. Release the girl.” True to their word, the police locked their vehicles and circled the building, at least far enough that they were out of sight. I had no doubt in my mind that they were ready to rush back in and nab me the minute I emerged, but I had no better ideas. “Go.” I whispered as I released the girl, again dropping the switchblade to the side. Needing no convincing, the girl rushed out of the room as I mounted the windowsill and jumped, wasting no time. If I wasted even a moment to consider my actions more carefully, I worried I’d lose my nerve. The pressure and chill of the water was nearly crushing, but I clawed my way to the surface and then free of the pool, splashing like a half-drowned dog. Already I could hear the officers returning, their sounds of pursuit like thunder. I leapt the gate, making a split-second decision as I saw the maid had followed the officers in all their intrigue. The clothes around and atop me began soaking up the moisture from my skin, and I felt the maid begin wheeling me away from the pool area, likely instructed to get away and resume work by a harried policeman. As soon as I heard the crowd of officers round the bend to investigate the pool, the gate squealing shut behind them, I vaulted free of the hamper, earning a shriek from the maid who’d wheeled me past. “Sorry!” I hissed loudly, breaking into a run. I found Marcus’ motorcycle easily, and jumped astride it, turning over the engine. The man had left his keys in the ignition. ”Cocky bastard.” I thought as I roared free of the parking lot. Hearing shouts behind me, I knew the police would not be far behind, and I revved the engine, picking up speed rapidly. I knew I needed somewhere safe to hide out till things cooled down some. Somewhere to shower, change, and find a less conspicuous ride. Luckily, it was easy to get lost in a city like New York. Perhaps it was because I’d subconsciously walked and ridden the way so many times in the mirror-realm, but, that, pieced together with the snippets I’d caught from passing reflections in glass buildings and windows, helped me pick my way through the streets, ending up at the door of Kowel house, an apartment building on Manhattan Avenue. Pulling my bike into the alley next to the building, I saw a small planter underneath the first-floor window. During the cooler months of winter, someone had put a cover over the greenery, protecting it from the harsh frost that accompanied the dawn. Sending out another silent apology, I borrowed the cover, -revealing tiny blue flower buds- tossing it over my motorcycle. My feet carried me the rest of the way to the intercom at the front of the building. A voice came over the speaker, and my heart panged painfully at the sound. “Hello?” I cleared my throat. “Hey, Lindsey. C-can I come up?” There was a beat of silence, and then I heard the telltale buzz of the front door. Taking advantage of her momentary weakness, I found my way in and up to her room, lifting my fist to knock. I didn’t even get that far before the door cracked open, though I quickly noted how she had not removed the chain to let it open fully. “What do you want, Marcus?” She hissed; blue eyes narrowed as she regarded me with distaste. They widened in surprise as she took in my appearance. I imagined I looked like death warmed over. The ride had dried most of my clothing, but the front of my shirt was still damp, I smelled like dirty laundry, and my arms were still sliced like ribbons, my hair shaggy. More than anything else, I hated what Marcus had done to Lindsey. She had been his only real love in this world. The only thing he’d regretted losing. And like him, I too had developed real feelings for Lindsey. From the bits and pieces of life, the snippets I’d gathered, I was able to see that Lindsey was genuine. Kind. A bright light in comparison to Marcus’ dark soul. Maybe she’d thought she’d be able to change him, once upon a time. But when she’d glimpsed his real self, the part he’d tried to keep hidden from her, she’d backed off, running as far as she could have -emotionally anyways- like the smart girl she was. “I know you want nothing to do with me, Lindsey, but I need your help.” I pleaded. Something about my tone, or my appearance, must have convinced her of my desperation, because she conceded, closing the door long enough to remove the lock and allow me entry. “What is going on?” She demanded, her brunette ponytail falling over one shoulder as she re-locked the door behind me. I fell into her kitchen chair, slumped with relief. “I reflected on who I was as a person and I’m making some changes,” I joked, recognizing the irony of my word choice. “I mean it, Marcus, I want answers, now. Do you know that the cops are looking for you? Your face is plastered all over the 6o’clock news! I’m crazy for even letting you in here!” “Malcus,” I decided. It was a small thing, but it was my first step towards independence, changing my name even by that one letter. “What?” Lindsey hesitated, breaking her tirade as she heard me. I stood again, careful to keep distance between us as I watched her shrink back. That hurt me, to know she feared me. “I know this will be hard for you to understand, but I’m not the same Marcus you knew. I don’t just mean that I’ve changed. I mean that I’m literally not him. You have to believe me... Please. But I have the same feelings for you that I believe you have for me, and I want to be with you.” I added as a side thought, “anywhere but here.” Lindsey, a no-nonsense person, was listening very carefully, clearly torn between tossing me out and hearing what I had to say. Her curiosity won out. “You have five minutes to explain what the hell you’re talking about.” I explained for what seemed hours, even drawing doodles to help her understand, though I realized afterward that my stick people were awful silly looking and did little to assist, more a fidget for my hands as I worked out nervous energy. Finally, I realized I needed to stop, and leave the rest up to her. She was silent for a time, staring at me curiously. “You drew those with your left hand.” That was all she had to say? After everything? “Yeah?” Then it dawned on me. Marcus was right-handed. Miraculously, Lindsey believed me. My sudden left-handedness, coupled with other definitive differences, helped to convince her. My tattoo of a wolf having switched shoulders, cowlick on the opposite side of my head, phone which showed all the characters backwards -a fun discovery which rendered the device more or less useless-, and my general attitude all contributing factors. We spent the next several hours in preparation. Thankfully, it turned out that she had as much desire to be with a good version of myself as I did her. Lindsey packed, I showered and changed into some clothing my counter had left behind, and she let me nap while she made sandwiches for the road and packed the car. She’d taken the first shift driving also, only switching with me when we’d stopped to refuel in Philadelphia. Lindsey’s head bobbed in her sleep as the sun rose behind us. It brought the hope of a new day, of new beginnings and possibilities. I had sworn to do better by Lindsey, to not become what Marcus had, and to lead a better life. I wanted nothing more than to get the chance to live my own life, and I wanted nothing to do with the path he’d carved. Looking in the rearview mirror, Marcus’ dark eyes gazed back into mine. I turned the mirror away from myself, focusing on the road ahead. She might have taken what I said at face value, but I knew Lindsey still was working to fully understand everything. I wondered how I would convince her that we needed to find a home with no mirrors?