Chapter Four
“Ihad a visual hallucination yesterday.”
My therapist frowns. “What was it?”
“I was looking in the mirror, holding my new kitten—here she is. Isn’t she cute?”
“Adorable. What happened?”
“I was holding her, but when I looked in the mirror, there was no cat in my reflection.”
“What were you wearing?”
“Um. My usual work clothes. I stopped by the shelter right after work. Black skirt. White blouse. I think I had a pink vest on yesterday.”
“I’m willing to bet you simply had a moment of blurred vision where your clothing, the lighting, and the cat’s fur blended together in such a way that while you could feel the cat and knew you were holding it, for a moment, it looked as though your arm was empty. That is a very small kitten.”
“She’s a runt and had underdeveloped lungs when she was born. She might not get a lot bigger,” I say, brightening at my therapist’s suggestion. “You think it might have just been a trick of the light?”
“Basically. Visual hallucinations usually trigger some deep emotions of fear, rage, or sadness. If you were simply confused and didn’t stick around to examine the situation, I’d say you were simply mistaken.”
I want to believe that. I really do.
But I don’t. That would be good luck, and I don’t have good luck.
Or do I? Three weeks in Pine Ridge have taught me that I am a damn good paralegal-slash-receptionist, that I can make new friends, that I can go out at night, and that I still have a style—and even dreams— of my own.
My luck is starting to run good.
“There’s another phenomenon you should be aware of, too.
It’s called the Troxler Effect. When we stare at our own image too long, the brain begins to misfire.
You see, our eyes were not intended to go around and gaze at our own reflections for extended periods of time.
They’re survival tools, not beauty tools.
Stare at yourself for too long, and your image will distort.
That’s likely where that whole Bloody Mary urban legend comes in.
So don’t jump to conclusions, Aggie. You’re doing the best you have in all the time I’ve known you. I’m so proud of you!”
AGGIE! THE GIRL’S NAME is Aggie.
Aggie just got my slip-up scientifically explained away, and I’m sort of relieved. I like watching her—especially when she’s reading in bed at night.
“Hsssss.”
“Oh, Berry,” I whisper as the kitten jumps up on the bed and reaches tiny pink paws towards the wall where my prison hangs. “Look, cat.”
Whatever I’m going to say is stilled as little claws manage to connect and the tiny body lurches upward, sending my frame swaying side to side on the thick coil of wire that stretches across a single nail.
Berry is going to climb my frame. Knock me off the wall. Probably shatter me.
Death by kitten. What a way for a thousand-year-old phantom to go out, huh?
“Strawberry,” I whisper soothingly. “Truce? Truce, kitten? Look, Berry, watch!” I transform into a small brown bird and flit across the glass.
The kitten stills. Drops.
Now I’m a yellow butterfly.
A swallow.
A spider.
A blue bird.
Berry watches, kitten eyes taking in everything. Tiny hindquarters start to shimmy.
Berry may be little, but she is fierce. A born hunter.
“Oh, darling!” I can’t help but laugh as she launches towards the glass with one heroic spring, the pink pads of her paws smacking against the slick surface before she slides to the floor with a startled “Mrp!”
I let her catch me when I’m a brown moth next, dramatically fluttering and losing strength under each bat of her paw. I drop out of sight, and Berry sits like a triumphant queen, licking her paws with pride.
Damn it.
I think I’ve made a friend.
When Aggie goes to work the next day, Berry curls up on the corner of the bed closest to my mirror. I appear in my true form and speak softly to her, and she purrs, falling asleep in the sunlight that reflects off my surface.
Ugh. If I scare away the human, she’ll take the cat.
I rather like this cat.
Maybe... Maybe I’ll behave a little longer.
After all, I don’t mind watching Aggie fall asleep, either.