THE MIRROR

*

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own.

Because I’d been sexually assaulted a couple years ago, I was sensitive to predatory behavior. I paid attention to my surroundings. I’d learned to recognize it.

A couple college students had been reported missing in the last month so, I concluded the man in the mirror was hunting. It was 1 a.m. and he moved furtively within the darkness, just beyond the reach of the sickly light. Waiting.

Regrettably, I hadn’t gotten the therapy needed to help me get past the horror and terror of being so helpless. So violated. Even though I felt its constant, draining presence just beyond the sturdy barrier of denial and suppression, I’d never dealt with it. Over time, the pain ‘seemed’ to drift farther away, deeper into the past.

But I felt it always lurking in the background, a persistent drag on my spirit, and my happiness.

The street, which wound through an old, run down, commercial area of dilapidated shops and sagging buildings, was empty. The lighting was weak, a sickly yellow which sifted down through the gloom, revealing indelible, oil stains, glistening shards of broken glass, and heaving, cracked concrete.

The street was a shortcut students sometimes used to get to some apartments at the far side of the campus. The worn sign, “BARTON’S”, hung over a small shop which had been deserted for as long as I could remember.

Even though I’d been warned to stay out of the area, especially at night, I had used the shortcut once, thinking it would be a real time saver.

It would have saved time alright, but for those potential fifteen minutes, I paid a terrible price.

Even in the early dusk, the area was deserted, almost desolate. I felt isolated, almost as if I were on a different planet and being a woman, I figured that if I ever needed help there would be no one to give it, and I would be at the mercy of the night hunters.

I decided right then, once I got home, I would never use the shortcut again.

Turns out, I made that decision too late, as this was the night I was assaulted.

They, the people who had never experienced the horror of that intense violation, said I was one of lucky ones. Because I lived.

The violence set me on a path of self-destruction, compromised my capacity for happiness, shattered my self-worth, and filled me with a rage which had no place to go.

And I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones?

I was still in 'recovery', and I figured that at my current pace, I would always be recovering.

I should have sought help.

My adrenaline was surging. I watched the mirror with heightened senses, unsure of what was happening, or even if it was happening now. The feeling of impending violence was strong.

Maybe, I was experiencing a weird flash back like I endured for weeks after the assault.

A group of college students, mostly men, crossed the mirror directly in front of me. There laughter, happy and boisterous, didn’t fit the dismal surroundings. Their voices became muffled as they disappeared up the road.

I watched the suspect moving along the edge of the darkness at the far side of the street. He was still there, and I knew the scene was real, definitely not a flash back.

In a few minutes a couple, hugging and kissing, high on hormones and unmindful of the danger, walked through the hazy gloom.

Out of sight, off to the side of the mirror, a car turned onto the street, swinging shafts of light across the murky darkness. It rolled slowly past and headed down the hill.

My heart was racing. This was way too familiar.

I heard the tip tap of footsteps.

Then I saw her at the edge of the mirror. She was stumbling down the center of the street, a classic drunk college student dressed in jeans, sandals, a light blouse and long blonde hair.

Oh my god, I thought. What the hell are you doing in this area, at this time of night?

She stumbled past the darkness where I thought the predator had disappeared. He moved from the shadows with the stealth of a panther. He was on her fast, behind her, his arm around her throat. He looked up and down the street as he dragged her towards the darkness, her legs kicking feebly.

I heard her whimpering.

“Not this time fucker,” I whispered, as the lurking rage, buried now for years, burst through the murky surface of the past.

I yelled and pounded on the glass which gave way to the pressure of my fists, which sank up to the wrists in the thick, liquid face of the mirror. I pushed my hands further into the substance, stirred them slowly in the viscous texture, creating what looked like slow-moving waves in water. I pushed my arms in up to the elbows. Still, no pain.

Filled with the fury of the past, I took a breath and pushed my face into the blurred substance which felt like I was pushing into a sheet of grainy molasses. My eyes were open, but I didn’t feel any burning or discomfort, so I kept pushing through, holding my breath as long as I could. When I could hold it no longer, the air burst from my lungs and I expected to be swallowing and choking on some type of clotted liquid, but I broke through the syrupy substance and gasped at the air.

It took me a couple moments to acclimate myself when I saw them at the edge of the shadows. Her legs were now limp. He was dragging her further into the darkness.

I screamed with all my angry might, “hey fucker.”

His head jerked up and I sensed his eyes open wide, looking for the source of the yelling.

I was walking towards him, wishing I’d thought to bring a weapon.

“I called the police, fucker,” I screamed. “I been watching you.”

I aligned myself in the middle of the street, waved my arms frantically at far away human shadows and distant car lights.

He let her limp body drop to the ground and comes for me. I run, but he is faster. I fight as hard as I can, but he is powerful. I try to scream and his dirty hand clamps roughly over my mouth and pinches so hard I think his fingers will tear through my skin. He twists my head, and I think my neck might snap. The man is strong, too strong. I punch at him, but his fist comes through like a club, knocking me to the concrete. My arms lose their strength and fall to the ground.

“This is going to be fun,” he says when my eyes bring him into a blurry focus.

He grabs my crotch.

I paw at him weakly.

“Follow instructions and you won’t get hurt,” he says into my ear.

I try to fight but am helpless. The light fades to grey.

As I fall into the darkness, I hear distant voices.

*

My eyes open to slits and I see flashing lights. There are muffled sounds, voices.

“She’s coming to,” came a voice.

They are lifting me and carrying me to the back of a van.

No, I think, trying to fight. He is taking me.

“You’re going to be alright,” comes a calming voice from the man sitting next to me. “We are taking you to the hospital.”

Hospital? I think. Or am I actually speaking? I can’t tell.

The darkness comes over me again.

*

When I awoke a nurse was moving in the room and there was a young policeman who stood as soon as I’d opened my eyes. He smiled and nodded.

“Where am I?”

The officer deferred to the nurse who turns to me and with a big smile says, “you are at Crestview General Hospital. You are doing great. I will get the doctor for you.”

The doctor checked me over, assured me that I was doing well and could go home shortly.

“You can ask her a few questions,” he said to the policeman.

“I am Officer Tom Sanders,” he said, his voice friendly. His notebook was out, he said, “Julie, I am sorry to bother you at this time. Please, in your own words, tell me what happened.”

I gave him an abridged version. He asked me some clarifying questions until he was satisfied that he'd gotten the important details. I liked him.

“I have been cleared to take you home,” Tom said, “if you wish.”

I had no other option, so I said, “thank you.”

*

When we got to my apartment the front door was unlocked. I opened my eyes wide when I looked at Tom and he motioned me away. His pistol was out when he pushed the door open.

He was gone a minute or two.

“Clear,” he said calmly when he returned. “The patio door and all windows were closed and locked. You should take a look at the bedroom.”

The first thing I saw in my bedroom was my laundry scattered on the floor. Everything else looked in order.

I sorted through the used laundry and knew what was missing instantly, panties.

The bath was clear and, except for a small ripple in the glass, the mirror was normal.

He closed and bolted the front door.

“Anything missing?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, paused a moment, “my underwear. A couple pieces.”

We entered the bath area, he asked, “anything new with the mirror?”

“A small ripple in its face,” I said looking at it closely. “What really disturbs me is that he took my used underwear.”

We both looked close at the mirror. He opened the medicine cabinet and looked behind the mirror portion then he closed it.

“Here it is,” I said, running my finger down the glass. There was a tiny, new ripple in its surface.

He ran his finger down the edge of the mirror.

“Wasn’t there before,” I said, “I’m positive.”

He said, “no sign of forced entry anywhere. Did you lock the front door when you left?”

“I thought so. I usually do. This time I am not sure.”

“Have you had clothing stolen in the past?”

“No,” I said. “Is that normally dangerous?”

Tom looked me directly in the eyes. He spoke slowly, “not necessarily, but it can be. I do not want to alarm you, but you need to be very careful. Most likely this will lead to nothing but given what you saw earlier, you could now be a target.”

My heart was thrumming. Now the bastard was after me?

“Approximately, twenty five percent of the people with these types of fetishes are violent or progress to violence. You may or may not be a target. He may or may not be the man you saw in the mirror. He may or may not be violent.”

“The first thing we do is get a camera,” he said. “I can have it here tomorrow. Tonight, I would suggest you stay home and have a friend stay with you.”

“Yes. I will.”

I said, trying to control my rising anxiety. “Have any missing students been found yet?”

“No,” he said. “Not yet but due to your event this morning, we have added more night patrols in the appropriate areas.”

Tom said, “Julie, you need someone to stay with you tonight for sure. Have a friend come over. I would like to stay over also. I will stay on the couch or in my car.” He paused a moment, “I think it is best I stay on the couch. The kidnapper may have used the mirror for entry to steal your clothes, left by the front door and then left it unlocked deliberately. Maybe to send you some kind of warning.” He motioned with his hand towards the worn couch. “Tonight is important. You are his greatest threat, and he might try something.”

“You can stay,” I said, “the couch is comfortable.”

I walked him to the door and before exiting he turned to me and I thought he was about to say something, or maybe he wanted to.

“Call me please, if you can think of anything,” he said. “I will be back later this evening. Just after dark.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll call,” I said, flashing him a smile I wasn’t really feeling. “Thank you for all your help.”

He turned and was gone. I looked both ways behind him, closed the door and made sure to bolt it.

I called Darla and learned she had left town with her boyfriend for an impromptu weekend.

I figured that since Tom would be back in a few hours I would be fine.

*

The phone woke me up. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sleeping. It was Tom.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Much better,” I said.

“Good,” he paused ready to say something.

“Yes?” I prompted. “Say it.”

“I don't want to leave you alone, but I need to go to the site of your attempted kidnapping. Someone called in, says he wants to turn himself in to me. Says he is the kidnapper. When I get there, I am to call his unregistered cell. If I am not there within an hour, he won’t come in.”

“Do you think it’s safe?”

“Doesn’t normally happen this way,” he said, “but it’s worth a twenty-minute drive to find out. We’ll have the area surrounded. We doubled the patrols already and were probably getting close to him, so he decided to give up.”

“When do you need to go?”

“Now,” Tom said. “If he doesn’t show I will be an hour and a half to two hours.”

“Thanks,” I said, “don’t worry. I feel a lot better.”

“Just so you know Tom, this was definitely real,” I said with conviction. “I get that it’s hard to believe. I barely believe it myself.”

Tom said, “Julie, you did the right thing. Like I said your information is all we have. When people ‘disappear’ from college the police don’t always take it seriously, because it is not uncommon for students to sometimes get a bug and split. Your information will raise the status of the missing student reports to possible kidnappings and get a different level of investigation.”

I appreciated that he was thorough, and as wild as the story must have sounded, it seemed like he believed me. I felt more secure. And yes, I thought, officer Sanders was quite attractive.

“Good night, don’t forget, if you need to, call,” he said smiling. "Don't hesitate. Please."

“I will,” I said, as I hung up. His manner was a bit too friendly, I thought. Probably, violated some type of professional protocol but I didn’t mind at all.

*

It was about fifteen minutes later when I heard a small sound coming from the bathroom. I turned the television sound down with the remote.

I rechecked the entry door, then the patio door, the combination living kitchen area really had no place to hide and I went through the bedroom to the bath.

I pushed the door open and there he was, standing by the mirror, pulling his hands out of the glass. He’d just come through.

He saw me instantly and I tried to move fast. Again, he was faster. I pulled a deep breath for a scream when he was on me, his arm was around my throat cutting the blood flow to my head and blocking the sounds I was trying to force out of my body.

I weakened, fell into a grey darkness.

*

When I awoke, he had me tied spread-eagled to the bed, a gag stuffed deep into my mouth. The gag was in too far, and it was hard to breathe. I pulled a thin stream of air in through my nose. It was barely enough.

He was straddling me, watching me breathe. He pinched my nostrils closed. I began to gasp for air and gag on the cloth stuffed in my mouth. He released the pinch, let me breathe until my body’s heaving slowed and my gaze steadied on him.

“If you are quiet, you get air. Understand? Nod if you understand.” His face was pressed close to mine. His eyes, opened wide, stared straight into mine.

I nodded.

“The next time I need to close off your air it will be longer, and it is really going to hurt.” He spoke calmly, nodding, as if speaking to a child but his eyes looked wild. “Understand?”

I nodded again.

“If you are good to me, you won’t get hurt,” he said. His voice was reassuring. “If you fight me, you are in for a lot of pain.”

I figured he’d kill me. He wasn't wearing a mask. I could identify him.

“Now, I am not going to cut you, I am going to cut your blouse open, so don’t panic and start thrashing around or I will hurt you.”

He pulled out a small knife, made a show of grabbing my top button and slicing it off. He did it with each button, being careful not to hurt me. He pulled my blouse open, looked down at my breasts and placed a hand on each one.

A small corner of the cloth had slipped down my throat and I was coughing hard against it. He looked at me closely, realized the problem and pulled the gag from my mouth. He gave me a few moments to stop choking and then he put the gag back in, but not as far. Then he looked at me to make sure I was comfortable enough for his party.

“I want you conscious for this,” he said. He slid off of me, keeping his eyes fixed on mine. He grabbed my crotch, feeling as much as he could through my jeans.

Instinctively I tensed and strained against the ropes, trying to push my knees together. His face was in front of mine, shaking ‘no’ slowly.

I was losing control and I began to squirm as much as I could, making sounds against the gag.

He cut the button from the top of my jeans. I was shaking my head no.

“Please,” I screamed into the gag. It came out as a muffled sound. The terror was rising fast.

He held the knife in front of my face, moved his head slowly in an exaggerated 'no' motion until with my heart still clanging in my chest, I stopped moving.

“Stay calm,” he said pleasantly. “You’re going to enjoy this.”

He reached for the zipper on my pants, I heard the zipping sound.

“Almost there,” he said. “This is going to be fun.”

“Freeze,” Tom commanded as he stepped from the bathroom door. His pistol was raised in his right hand, steadied by his left. “Don’t move.” His voice was powerful, filled with anger. "Drop the knife."

The kidnapper nodded yes to him slowly, smiled as if cooperating. He jerked the knife high above to stab me in the chest with all his might.

Tom was ready and the pistol boomed. Twice. The kidnapper fell off of me to the side. Then, he slid to the floor.

Tom was on him, kneeling on his back, he pushed the knife away. He felt for a pulse.

He stood, pulled the gag from my mouth and I gasped for air. He cut my hands and feet loose from the bed.

Tom sat on the edge of the bed next to me. Gasping for air, I hugged him, sobbing desperately, as the horror and terror of both of my assaults, uncontrollably burst from the depths of my heart.

*

Turns out, the kidnapper did not show at the site. As Tom was leaving the specified area, he saw the shape of the mirror, a rectangle of shifting color, hovering near his police car. He realized instantly the plan had been to lure him away from me and he climbed into the mirror.

If he’d driven back to my apartment rather than go through the mirror, he never would have made it back in time to save me.

I gave the mirror to the police department figuring maybe they could do something useful with it, like save somebody’s life.

Tom and I are going out next week.

I made an appointment to see a therapist.

They say it is a hard road, difficult to confront the demons of the past, but I believe with all my heart, that finally, after two years, my healing has begun.

I am thankful.