Bethany carried a box of bathing articles out of the elevator and down the hall to her new apartment, 342. The place was furnished and stunning, with an entire wall of glass overlooking the city. Opposite this glass wall was a full-length mirror, set in an ornately carved mahogany frame. It was flanked by two bookcases, full of books that matched her taste. Better yet, she had read less than half of them.
She set the box on her toilet and distributed her shampoo, conditioner, razor, and soap to the shelves in the shower and the cleaning chemicals to the cubby under the sink. She set her toothbrush in a coffee cup that said “Smile” in rainbow-filled block letters. On the counter she set her toothpaste and a bottle of foaming hand soap. There was a ring between the counter and toilet for a hand towel, but her towels were still in the laundry boxes in her car. There was also a bar for toilet paper, empty, with an indent into the wall to accommodate a full roll. She turned her eyes to the mirror.
Pale, with light brown hair cut off at the jawline, a button nose and dimples, Bethany tucked her hair behind her left ear and winked a green eye at herself. She flashed a smile and turned away. This was her second apartment, and she was enrapt. The previous one had been in a bad neighborhood, but as a grad student she had taken what she could find within her means and bought a can of Mace. She hadn’t needed the pepper spray, but it had helped her feel like she could navigate the dirty streets safely. Now, however, the streets were safer, she assumed. Her rent had gone up, so she hoped so.
She heard a clatter and a long string of foul language coming from her bedroom.
“You better not scratch my floor!” She called through the open door. She was answered with a bit of grumbling, then another clattering, and then her handsome friend Trent came out of the room.
“This bedframe is trash. I told you that when I took it apart. I can’t get it together without new bolts, these ones are stripped.”
“Some help you are. I needed a man, not a whiner.”
“Yeah, well, you could have hired a man. For free, you got a Samaritan.” He admonished her mildly, crossing to the kitchen area. He took a soda from the refrigerator and cracked the tab back as he leaned against the counter. “You love it.”
“The Samaritan? Hardly.”
“The place. I can tell.”
“Yeah, it’s gorgeous.”
“And you start work Monday?”
“No, Wednesday.”
“Nice.” He took a series of obnoxious gulps, then checked his watch. “I’d better go now if I’m gonna get this bed put together tonight. Can’t have you sleeping on a couch. Or, even worse, the bed that was already here.”
“Trent, no. I need my bed. That’s a no go.”
“Beth, the point of a fully furnished apartment is to do less work moving in.”
“Spoken like some kind of Samaritan.”
“Nope. Pure American, there. You wanna come with me? You can check out the nearest hardware store.”
“Big pass. I have the most important items left.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. Well, I’ll be back.”
“Later.” Trent left, humming as he went. The song was some kind of metal song, which sounded ridiculous when hummed. She laughed at his back. She knew that he was smitten by her, but she just needed help moving. In truth, she thought he was attractive, physically. It was his interests that turned her off. He enjoyed playing loud music, listening to loud music, horror movies, video games (oddly, not very loud, whenever she had witnessed him playing them) and hockey. He also wrote a lot, but she had never read anything he had penned. She imagined he would have let her, but she had never cared to.
Bethany moved to the kitchen and poured herself a bit of gin into a nice glass that had been left in the cupboard, then filled it the rest of the way with one of his clear sodas. That was another benefit to having Trent around: he was as afraid of drinking water as he was afraid of being thirsty, so he always brought a twelve pack of soda anywhere he went. She sipped the drink and wandered about the apartment, her apartment. Running her free hand across the high back of the loveseat, she gazed out through the wall of windows. The city’s lights had come on, and the view stunned her.
She spent a few minutes taking in the view, then set the remaining half of the drink on the kitchen counter before heading back down to the parking garage. It was well lit, but the smog and filth that had accumulated upon the lights gave it a dingy, almost seedy feel. The doorman had smiled as he held the door and offered to accompany her to her car, but she had declined. Her previous neighborhood had trained her to face walks through the night. He had nodded and smiled again, but she had the sense that he may be watching her from the glass door that joined the building to the garage. He was an older gentleman, and his kindness did not feel like creepiness. Had he been any younger, she felt sure that it would have.
Bethany brought up a box of clothes, her key in hand. She moved down the hall to find that she had left the door open. With a frown, she slowed and peered through the door. Nothing seemed different… until she heard whispering. It might have been the booze, or that Trent had worn her nerves down, but she found that she was suddenly incensed. Being prone to anger was not out of character for her, after all. She took several heavy steps into the apartment and turned into the living room.
A woman stood at the mirror, gesturing wildly and whispering. Bethany clocked the light brown hair as she dropped the box.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Bethany cried. The woman turned to face her. Astonishment widened her eyes and dropped her jaw. Bethany took a step forward. “You see an open door and just waltz right in and start talking to the mirrors?” The lady’s eyes widened more. Her mouth opened wide, and Bethany thought she knew the look in her eye. It looked like horror to her. She took another step. “You’ve got to go, ok?” Bethany watched her back away, mouth open, hands coming up as if to ward her from the younger woman. Bethany froze when she heard another whisper. Fear chilled her, beginning in her navel. The woman began to shake, her eyes suddenly darting across the room. Several times they moved to the mirror before popping away as swiftly as possible.
“Who are you talking to?” Trent’s voice came from behind her. She blinked and whirled to face him, a sense of vertigo making her feel dizzy.
“This woman was in here when I came up from…” Bethany gestured, palm facing the woman. Trent’s eyes narrowed, and his eyes flitted between them. He bounced his shopping bag on his knee for a moment.
“Bethany… that’s…”
“What? You know her?”
“I mean… Beth, look.” Bethany turned to face the direction her palm faced. It was the mirror. Her reflection looked out at her, red-faced and bewildered.
“No… I…” She peered around the room. “She was where I am. And I was where you are. No… this isn’t right.” Bethany looked back to the mirror. Something about it unnerved her, so she stepped away and placed her hands on her forehead. Trent set the bag down on her counter, then chuckled.
“Jesus Christ, Beth. How much did you drink?”
“What? Half a glass.”
“You needed four sodas for half a glass? Bullshit.” She felt dizzy again as he rounded the counter and moved to the fridge. He did not open the door, however, because he stopped at a crunch that they both recognized. The crunch of broken glass underfoot. He stood, looking at the floor for several seconds, then looked at her. “Look, I know this last year was hard for you, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”
“What?” She moved to the counter, put her hands out to steady herself.
“Smashing bottles, I get it. What is wild, I think… is that I put that bottle in here this afternoon, three quarters full. I was gone, maybe thirty-five… forty minutes?” She could not handle him right now. Leaning forward, she slipped her elbows to the countertop and rubbed her eyes. His voice faded to the background. She sighed. A whisper filled her ear:
“Do it. Nice and deep, girlie.” Her head ached, and a different pain radiated from her wrists. She was staring into space, unmoving. Unseeing.
“Beth! Hey, sorry it took me so long. I guess 5 pm is a shit time to drive around here.” Trent entered her peripheral vision. “Whoa! The fuck are you doing, lady?” Trent ran to her, pulling his flannel off and bunching it up. He pressed it to her bleeding wrist, knocking the shard of broken bottle from her unresponsive fingers. Must’ve severed the tendons. Ligaments. Something… “Jesus. Nope, gotta call 911. You hold this?” She moved to help. She was dizzy, lethargic. Cold. She looked around, found herself on the floor in front of the mirror. The thoughts that came were sluggish as they protested the change in reality. She moved her eyes to its strong, dark mahogany frame with its ornately carved crenellations and frilled sworls. Movement in the mirror drew her attention, and she moved her eyes to look. She saw herself, pressed against the glass, fingers splayed. Eyes wide. Skin pale. She whispered, from the wrong side of the mirror: “Get out.” She blinked and recoiled…
The bottle was cold from its time in the fridge, she noted, as she screwed the top back on. She had poured the glass full of gin over a few cubes of ice. Whistling a tune, she moved over to look at the mirror. Bethany stood in the mirror, panicking. She smiled at the trapped post-grad and waved as she took a sip.
“Thanks for the body, little girl.” She said.
“Who are you talking to?” Trent asked, entering the apartment, the bag of bolts bouncing against his knee.
“Oh, just myself. You care for a drink, love?”
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