Mirrors Published by Shane Rynhart at Smashwords Copyright Shane Rynhart 2012 Smashwords Edition, License Notes Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support. Cover image by Flickr user ‘pagedooley’ http://www.flickr.com/photos/pagedooley/2375546920/ Image used fairly under a Creative Commons Attribution license http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en Thank you for downloading this short story, a preview of Shane Rynhart’s debut short story anthology Not Quite Normal. To find out more about the author or the Not Quite Normal project, please visit http://plasticcastlemagic.wordpress.com * * * * * Mirrors Phillip flopped out of bed at seven in the morning. The imprint next to him told him his wife was already up. He stumbled into the en-suite bathroom, rubbing his face and yawning like a roaring lion. As he pulled the light switch, the bright bulb blinded him briefly, and his eyes took a second to readjust. He ambled over to the mirror, and looked into it. The man before him wasn’t really him. This was by far Phillip’s least favourite time of the day. His perfectly crafted hair was scruffy and all over the place like a clown’s. His usually perfectly smooth cheeks and chin were covered in shrubbery. His eyes, normally an attentive lime green, were surrounded by creases and bags. A zombie stared out at him. He smiled at himself a little, as he did every morning, as if to say ‘hello’ to this other person. It smiled back. Perhaps it was the man that he would have been in another life. The same, and yet very different. Poorer. Less attractive. A lesser man. Pathetic. He turned on the tap, and began to clean himself up. * * * * * Shortly after, he was out the door and on his way to work. His hair was gelled back into place, the stubble now working its way through the drainage system. Phillip drove an Aston Martin and lived with his wife in a million pound town house. He was wealthy; there was no doubt about that. He was on the board of directors for one of the world’s largest computing companies. Today, he was on his way to secure a multi-million pound contract with an American businessman on the other side of the city. He loved his job. He was proud of it. It meant everything to him. His wife often joked that he loved it more than he loved her. He shrugged it off, but never denied it. While he sat at a set of perpetually red traffic lights, he looked at himself in the rear view mirror, to make sure he was still pristine. Most would say he was - but it was far from good enough for Phillip. He grabbed his electric razor from the glove box, and touched up his sideburns. He cut perhaps three tiny bristles, before putting it away and driving on. He always made sure he looked perfect: it was just something he did. Something he was reliant on. It kept him sane, but he knew it was probably an addiction. And he didn’t really care. As Phillip sped through the unusually quiet backstreets, he decided to look at himself in the mirror again. There was nothing in the road, so why not? It was still early yet. He saw a tiny spec of cornflake in his front tooth. Disgraceful. He manoeuvred his fingernail up to his teeth and... A thud. A scream. Phillip jammed on the brakes. A young girl fell off the bonnet with a heavy thump. Cracks formed in the windscreen like a cobweb, blood running through the veins like raspberry ripple ice cream. Phillip had jerked forwards onto the steering wheel, bashing his chest a little. He immediately checked the mirror once more, to make sure the crash hadn’t messed up his hair. Only then did he decide to check on the girl. He opened the door and got out with trepidation, like a bird leaving the nest for the first time, and limped towards the un-moving body. He was totally emotionless, in a complete sense of shock. The girl had rebounded off the bonnet and landed a couple of metres away from the car itself. She was lying, face down, in a gradually expanding pool of blood. The girl’s long blond hair was matted and covered in red. One of her arms was twisted out of place and now rested the wrong way round. She couldn’t have been much older than nine years old. She was wearing a school uniform. Calmly, Phillip removed his phone from his blazer pocket and dialled 999. There was no response; he had no signal. He crouched, making sure not to get dirt on his trousers, and felt for a pulse in her neck. There was one there, but it was weak, like a foetus kicking its mother’s stomach. Her breathing was slow and shallow. Phillip stood and looked around, adrenaline finally beginning to kick in. There were no pedestrians around, and the only vehicles he could hear were on some distant flyover. All the shops and buildings, which were so run-down they looked like relics of the War, were closed and totally empty. He was alone with the girl. He had a choice to make. Should he move her into his car and try and take her to a hospital? He’d seen enough episodes of Casualty to know that you’re not supposed to move anyone who’s been in an accident. Plus, he’d probably get blood on his shirt, and he’d be late for the meeting. Should he keep trying for an ambulance, or go and find someone to help? No, that wouldn’t work. She’d probably die if he left her alone too long or, worse still, someone could find the car and presume he’d done a runner. Plus, he’d be late for the meeting. Could he just drive off, leaving her to her fate? After all, she was as good as dead already, and there was no chance of anyone recognising him as running off. The windscreen was a giveaway, though. There would be no way of covering it up. But at least he’d be on time for the meeting... He ran back to his car and sped off down the road (after straightening his tie, of course), being careful not to hit her again. He had his phone in one hand and drove with the other. He kept looking down at his phone to see if he had any signal, but could barely see out of the windscreen anyway. Not long after he left her, Phillip arrived at some busier streets. As he turned onto a main road, he heard a loud siren behind him and blue lights flashed like lightning in his wing mirror. They forced him to pull over. They asked him many an awkward question, about why he had large cracks in his windscreen, and why his car was covered in blood. He explained about the girl, and at first the police seemed unbelieving. But the evidence was right there, and soon put Phillip in the back of their car and told him to direct them. That was the longest car journey of his life. It felt like hours. He looked at his watch every few seconds and kept fiddling with his hair (nervously, now, given the company). Eventually they arrived at the spot. The girl was on the ground, exactly where he’d left her. The police ran out of their panda; Phillip stayed behind. Chances were they’d only end up putting him back anyway. He saw one of the officers, a tall, stocky man, check the girl’s pulse and breathing. An exchange of words. The other copper called in the incident on his walkie-talkie. They both glared at Phillip, before the stocky one walked back over to the car. Phillip’s eyes began to well up. * * * * * A few hours later, Phillip was sat in an empty cell in a police station. He’d been questioned on suspicion of causing death by dangerous driving. He knew he’d be charged soon, there was nothing he could do about it. White, chipped walls contrasted to a bright blue bed, which he was sat on. A cast iron door with a slit for food stood opposite a tiny, barred window. He sat in silence, thinking. What if he had taken a different route? What if he’d left just a minute earlier? But nothing could cover up one simple fact: his vanity had betrayed him. She’d fought as best as she could, but the paramedics just couldn’t save her. She’d suffered massive internal injuries, and probably would have been a vegetable even if she had pulled through. But that didn’t matter now. Phillip sat in silence for a long while, before a sharp suited police officer came to pick him up. Once in the interview room, he was formally charged but released on bail. His car was impounded as evidence, so he was dropped home by the police. When he got back, he told his wife everything. She didn’t know what to say or do. She reassured him that everything would be fine, but he knew it wouldn’t. It had been a long day, and all he wanted to do was try and get some sleep. He went into his bathroom and looked in the mirror. The same other self that Phillip had seen every morning was staring at him with wide eyes. Almost laughing. Cynical. Phillip punched his other self, breaking the mirror, unable to face the man he could have been. The End * * * * * If you enjoyed this story, please visit http://plasticcastlemagic.wordpress.com for more information on the author. Not Quite Normal, Shane Rynhart’s debut short story anthology, will be released digitally soon. Thank you for reading.