Behind the Crooked Mirror [Sample]

Behind the Crooked Mirror
By: Matthew Kay

Chapter One
         Slowly Vincent awoke from his self-induced slumber in the middle of a room he knew all too well. The floor and walls were blank white and in the center of the ceiling was a single florescent light fixture. It was not a clean room by any means; the walls had scratches where other men [and most likely Vincent too] had scraped at the hallucinations in front of them, there was a spot in the back that was stained green and red, and the mirror on the wall had been cracked and partially shattered as though a fist had slammed into it. Right next to the light was the vent that carried in new air, which didn’t help at removing the rancid stench of bile soaked into the walls, the stench of toxin-laced sweat that had seeped permanently into the room. When his body regained attentiveness, Vincent quickly sat up only to lay back down sprawled from the pain flowing through his body. The partially yellow florescent lights flickered and buzzed, giving his splitting headache just one more stimulant.
         Sudden pain screamed through his body as his stomach tried to churn up vomit, but it was already severely ulcered and lacked the hydrochloride inside of him. His veins burned for something, anything, to dilute his life and take away the pain. A sharp pain lingered throughout his body, spiking sharply and sporadically like a thousand needles pricking him at even the deepest recesses of his body. His intestines felt as though they were writhing inside of him, pushing on his ever-beating heart. A heart that was pumping his hot blood throughout is body, ridding it of the very substance which he had washed his sorrow away with. No matter how far he ran, it was never good enough for everyone else, they would find him. The stimuli of the room were like deadly, unknown secrets taking power away from the dictator. This man was once great, but now he had been reduced to a blithering degenerate, a prisoner of his own war.
         He closed his eyes and tried to slip away, but it wasn’t happening; his body refused to go into shock. His body pined for release and freedom, to escape until the battle inside had been won. However, Vincent had gotten himself here and he had to pay for his consequences and if he had to, he would pay. But a war with no reason or aim is worthless, and he knew that. His prize was outside his prison walls, outside of his misery and agony. Laying here, he was glad that his prize was not there to see him. The victory had been wrought before and he hoped it wasn’t in vain to be broken and stolen from him. That he had finally driven the one thing he wanted most away by his depravity. Who was this prize of his? He closed his eyes and envisioned his image of true heaven, beauty, love, and redemption of self; Mona Kaffkey Glasgow.
         All of Vincent’s doubts about himself disappeared when they were together. The doubts of his worth completely dissipated when he was near her. When he was down, her smile could make him smile. If Vincent needed support from someone, Mona could give him all the faith he needed to fight through the day. She added to his instinct of self-preservation and could make him invincible to the world; impervious to degradation of himself. They had put each other through a lot and still came out swinging and, more importantly, in love. He was as crazy for her now as he ever had been, even if he didn’t say it enough. But who could love him? Who would be able to love someone so addicted to a toxin that degraded life to the very core and threatened to take everyone else down with him? And in this detox center nonetheless...
         As he thought, his pain faded to black, then as he noticed that it grayed back in and then surged straight back to white hot searing pain. His mind was wiped to slate and all he could concentrate on was keeping himself from going insane like he did last time. This place had an eerie history of insanity, suicide, and rioting. Twice in less than a month there were riots in the eastern section of the prison. Once all the members of cellblock D had reported seeing a dark shadowy figure walking the halls and weird noises echoing through the prison walls. So the Warden Dan White put the prison in lockdown and found no such person or cause for the reported noises. Almost three days later, two inmates had committed suicide by cop by taking shards of glass to other inmates’ throats. It had been originally been diagnosed as a riot-starting situation until a note was found in their cells. Vincent had been there for all of that...

Chapter Two
         Three days had passed and Vincent had gotten considerably better but was not allowed to leave because of the two week policy. Even though physically he was ameliorated, he had a severe need for hearing another human voice. At least in prison the warden would let him call his wife but in this place, it wasn’t going to happen. He knew that even if he could have used the phone to call anyone, nobody would help him. And if he called Mona, she might leave him after a lengthy fight that he didn’t want to put her through. The pain running through his body had steadied itself from his days in seclusion. From his best guess he only had two more days until he was out of this wretched hellhole. Mathias might have gotten him out before but Vincent had just left the Horde and there was no way that Newblood would help him now that he had turned his back to him.
         For every person who decided to cross Mathias Newblood, there were ten others ready to retaliate in his defense. Heading almost every retaliatory strike was Vincent, he was not a man to be reckoned with for he was the leader of the Horde’s right hand man. Very few people had ever seen Mathias in person and that was the way he decided to keep himself safe. Nobody knew where he lived or was at any particular time and therefore it was near impossible to take the Horde down without taking extremely overblown measures. Also to secure his concealed status in the public eye, he conducted all of his business over the phone and through letters, with only a few very selective executions featuring an appearance by this powerful and fearsome man.
         Vincent remembered the very call that got him out of the Horde for good. It was a bright and sunny day when the phone rang and Mathias noticed that something in his voice was amiss, something that deeply disturbed him. Mathias saw it coming and now it was all going to unfold on that very day. It wasn’t like he was getting blind-sided by this. The past weeks Vincent had slowed his heroin intake to nothing, the jobs he took kept getting less and less involved, and every day he kept sounding less enthused by the minute. He couldn’t know what to think of this when it happened though, when he heard the words, “Mathias, man. I’ve gotta quit this. I can’t get into specifics, but I’ve gotta quit. It’s been a long road and I just think it’s time I find a better life for myself. I know this must sound bad, but I really want an early retirement.” Mathias deliberated a decision in his head and, with very little animosity, let him go. He only left Vincent with a few strict guidelines and told him to “stay the fuck outta the Horde’s way.”
         Three months later, he was safe. No retributory signs were given and he had gotten a secure job at a local dive/music shop named Alison’s. The yearning for everything; the drugs, the violence had all decayed and he was desperate to get Mona back. He spent his leisure time at the library studying subjects like psychology and philosophy. If he could not have her back, then he was at least going down with a fight. He needed to prove to her that he was not just some low-life thug stuck down in a negative life, he was an actual somebody. The last thing he could remember was walking home from his late night shift and closing shop. Then everything went gray and he was here, back in detox.
         He was wracking his brain for a slight memory of what had happened, but it was completely blacked out. Nothing came to his mind, there was just him locking the door to Alison’s and walking down 27th street towards home. He hadn’t slept in three days before and for all he had known he simply collapsed in the street. However, he had started talking to Kris the previous weeks. Kris wasn’t in the Horde, but he was Vincent’s main dealer throughout most of his life. When Vince and Tory, his mother, moved to Deicide Kris was the first person to talk to him.
         The past few days had been riddled with moments of raging physical pain and serene mental tranquility.