Mirrors

Mirrors

The Great Monarch stormed through the palace, trying to look intimidating. He was posturing because he was afraid. More than afraid, he was terrified. And though he was a member of one of the most powerful and feared regimes in history, he was frightened by one of the most common things imaginable: mirrors.
He and three other men had set into motion a seemingly unstoppable military coup. With brilliant political maneuvering, military savvy, and brass knuckle diplomacy they had taken control of most of the Americas in under three years. There had been resistance, of course. And there had been comparisons to the Nazi regime. But the opposition had been quelled, and dissenting voices were silenced. Then, when they were comfortably in power she started appearing. A pale woman stood with his reflection, sometimes in from of him, sometimes behind. But it was different in one mirror, the one on his desk. In this one he did not reflect at all. It was only her.
The Great Monarch’s name was David. He stomped down the long corridor to his private study. The hall was lined with mirrors. In each one he saw the woman keeping gracefully in stride with him. David stared down at the floor and tried not to look at the walls. The architects that had converted this capitol building had used mirrors extensively. Quite unfortunate for him. He reached his study and burst though the large double door, which he promptly locked behind him. He knew that he would still see her, but locking the doors gave him a small sense of comfort. He turned to the desk. It was a massive mahogany piece of furniture strewn with papers, ledgers, and notebooks. But pushed to the back was the mirror that he feared and hated the most. It was a small beautiful standup mirror, edged in silver. It was currently covered with a silk handkerchief. He needed to work, and he couldn’t concentrate when it was uncovered. David sat and began to write his next speech. But he couldn’t concentrate now, either. He felt like he had to look at it, conquer his fear, like small child forcing himself to watch a monster movie. He was, after all, one of the Great Four.
He pulled the silk off the mirror, and sure enough, she was staring at him. He glowered. It went on like that for some time, and then she held up her hand. She was holding a small folded piece of paper. She placed it on her tongue and closed her mouth. David tasted something pulpy the moment she did it. He reached between his lips and drew out a small folded piece of paper. He opened it. And on it, in black ink, was a small skull.
“Go to hell,” he whispered.
She smiled back demurely. He began to breathe heavily; closer to a panic attack than he had been since he was young. She tipped him a delicate wave. David screamed in anger and threw the mirror into the far corner, where it shattered. He stared at the pieces for a full ten minutes, trying to calm himself.
His terror passed and he turned back to his desk and began to write his speech.

The next night he walked to the upper levels of the palace, where he would deliver his speech from a balcony. He had slept terribly, but now he felt energetic and happy. The other members in the Great Four had their talents. Harold was a military mastermind; Jeremy dealt skillfully with politics, and Mark was good with money. He was the great speaker. His speeches had swayed more people to their side than Harold’s soldiers. He loved being on stage, his audience hung on his every word, and he loved that control. David stepped out onto the balcony, and stared down at the crowds thronging the street below. Spotlights swung dramatically against the starless night sky. He began to speak. He was not a man of imposing figure, but his voice was a deep, booming bass. It was the sort of voice that commanded respect. And when he finished each sentence his audience punctuated it with a cheer. David was flushed with excitement; he had them in the palm of his hand. He was orating on their favorite subject: crushing those who opposed the regime. He felt powerful, they agreed with what he said because he told them to. David hated them though. He hated their ignorance, their sheep-like mentality. But he loved them for the same reasons; it allowed him to bend their minds to his will with very little effort.
Another cheer sounded from the street below. He raised his arms and face to the sky, feeling like a god. He delivered the last lines: “And we shall crush the resistance beneath the weight of our unity! They are disunited and leaderless, and that disunity will be their doom! While they live in fear, you rest well at night knowing there are four great men leading you! We shall have victory!”
With the last words four banners on the rail of the balcony unfurled, each one emblazoned with a face of one of the Great Dictators. The applause was deafening. Cameras flashed, but he continued to stare at the sky for dramatic effect. Eventually he looked down, a satisfied smile on his face. The smile faded.
There was no one in the street.
No one but her.
He could still see the cameras flashing, and he could still hear the cheers, but he saw no one but the pale woman. She stared at him with the dark eyes he hated so much. He did nothing but stare as she cocked her head to one side. And though he could not quite tell, he was certain that she was smiling at him.
David turned quickly and walked back through the doors. Once out of sight of the cameras he ran back to his room and locked the doors behind him. He opened his liquor cabinet and drank himself to sleep.

The others were furious at him. After the speech he was supposed to meet with the press. He was the one to handle public relations. He stood in his room with a glass of scotch in his hand while Harold stood behind him chastising.
“…furthermore you’ve been acting very strange lately. This odd fear of mirrors you seem to have seems to be getting worse. And to tell the honest truth it’s weighing on our nerves. If you don’t shape up I’ll-”
“You’ll what? Sic your enforcers on me? Maybe call out the special police to follow me around?” David was more than a little drunk. He knew he shouldn’t be saying these things to the man who controlled the army, but he was too inebriated to care. “Face it Harold, you need me. Besides we all have our little quirks. As I remember you’re the one who’s afraid of clowns”.
Harold flushed with embarrassment. Even intoxicated David could talk circles around any of them. He stuttered for a moment and said
“Just don’t miss any more press meets, you piece of shit”.
“That I may be, but I’m the piece of shit who has a silver tongue”.
Harold turned and stomped out. A few feet down the hallway, a guard stopped to salute him and Harold punched him in the face.
David grinned as he watched him crash down the corridor, lashing out any anyone nearby. He felt vindicated. He needed that sort of release of tension. But he made a mental note to not antagonize Harold for a while. He had a vicious temper, and he controlled all the meanest thugs.
David looked at the glass and stopped grinning. The face of the woman was smiling over the shoulder of his reflection. She drew her finger across her throat in the classic sign of death. David pitched it into the corner where it exploded into tiny fragments among the remains of the mirror.

A few days later they sat in the boardroom discussing their empire, and what to do with it. They had had these meetings at least once a week since they came into power. It was Mark’s turn to deliver his report, and as always he was prattling on about taxes, spending, trade, and all things of that ilk. Harold and Jeremy were at least pretending to listen, but David looked intently at the surface of the mahogany table. It was polished to mirror sheen and she was yet again looking over his shoulder. Since the night he saw her reflected in the glass of scotch he had been able to see her in many reflective surfaces. This time she was mouthing words at him. As far as he could tell she was saying your time is coming over and over. He suddenly slammed his fist down onto the table. The other three started in surprise.
“Would you like to say something?” asked Mark hesitantly.
David felt sick to stomach. He stood up slowly.
“I think I need to use the restroom”.
Harold rose and walked quickly to David. He was breathing deeply in anger. He pushed David roughly back down into the chair.
“And I think you need to stay for the rest of this meeting”.
David looked at him and vomited at his feet. Harold looked down in surprise, and then backhanded David across the face. He balled his fist and prepared to strike again, but Jeremy jumped up.
“Stop it now!” He yelled. Jeremy was the diplomat in the group, and rarely ever raised his voice. And when he shouted, the others knew he meant it. He walked over to Harold and stood toe to toe with him. David, though still feeling ill felt admiration for his comrade. Only the other monarchs dared to confront Harold, but only Jeremy had the courage to do so within arms reach. Jeremy reached into the inside pocket of his suit and pulled out a wad of money. He held it out to Harold.
“Buy yourself a new pair of shoes,” he said laconically “And for Christ sake knock of the machismo bullshit. Your penchant for hitting people seems to be growing as of late,” He turned to David “And you, I don’t know what the hell has been your problem lately, but you need to get over it fast. Or I’m going to start hitting you.”
Jeremy returned to his seat, leaving Harold and David gaping after him in disbelief. Mark who had been silent through all of this cleared his throat
“Uh… I think that’s just about it for my presentation,” He gathered up his papers and scurried out. Although gutsy in financial maneuvers, he avoided face-to-face confrontations as much as possible. Harold composed himself.
“I think this meeting is over. We’ll meet again tomorrow.” He looked to David “And I would consider it a personal favor if there were no more interruptions out of you.”
David lurched to the nearest restroom. As he walked through the door he saw her in the mirror over the sink. Before he vomited again he saw her in the toilet water. When he was done he closed the lid and rested his head on it. He wouldn’t go to the meeting tomorrow. He would go to his room and get drunk, and then stay in bed as long as he possibly could. He would try to think up a solution to this dilemma. The woman in the reflections was driving him out of his skull, but he couldn’t go to a psychologist. If word got out that one of the Great Dictators was seeing a headshrinker, the resistance would almost defiantly gain support. He didn’t even know why he had started seeing her, or what she was. Was she figment of his imagination? A sign of insanity? A ghost?
There was a knock at the door.
“Hey, are you almost done in there?” It was Mark.
“No”
“Come on, David! I’ve really got to get in there!” he sounded agitated
“Screw off. There are other bathrooms.”
Mark muttered irritably for a few seconds, and then David heard him stomp down the hall. He began to giggle. There was no reason to be laughing; he had just angered the only one of the other Great Dictators who wasn’t mad at him. That thought only served to tickle his fancy and he began to laugh harder and harder, until he was all but hooting with it. He got himself under control and stood up, still short of breath. She was in the mirror, laughing soundlessly at him. He closed his eyes against the sight and walked out.

David was sitting at his desk at midnight. There was another small standing mirror on the desk. She wasn’t in it. She hadn’t been in it for hours. He had stared at it since 10 o’clock just to make sure. He felt relief. No more fear, no more paranoia. Maybe things would be better now.
He heard the door open and close behind him. His heart stopped for a second, his muscles tensed. He looked to the mirror. She was standing in front of the door with a small smile on her face.
“Go away,” he whispered
She shook her head slightly and began to walk toward him. His breath sped up, his adrenaline began to flow, but he couldn’t move. His eyes were fixed on the mirror. She was right behind him now. Tears began to flow down his cheeks.
“Please go away,” He whimpered
Her smile widened, and she reached out toward him. He closed his eyes and then felt a light hand touch his shoulder.

Harold stood in David’s room while the guards searched. David’s pallid, waxy corpse sat slouched at his desk.
“Tell me again, what happened?” He asked one of the men, his voice boiling over with anger.
“A maid came in this morning and found him dead at the desk. The doctor said it looks like he had a heart attack.”
“Bullshit!” Harold screamed, “A healthy young man doesn’t just have a heart attack! It was the resistance. They poisoned him.”
“Sir there’s no evidence of that…”
He punched the guard in the stomach as hard as he could.
“I don’t need proof. I need somebody convicted of this crime,”
He looked at the gasping man on the floor with distaste and prepared to walk out, but something caught his eye. In the mirror he saw the reflection of a pale woman. He stared in disbelief.
She smiled and drew her finger across her throat in the classic sign of death.