You be me for awhile...

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. It was me, sort of. But not exactly. I couldn’t quite put a finger on it…

I turned off the bathroom light, afraid to look to see if my image remained in the drug cabinet mirror after I turned away.

I shut the door harder than I intended.

“That was unnecessary,” my wife, Carole, scolded, without even looking up from the book she was reading in bed.

“Sorry,” I muttered. I climbed into bed beside her.

“Listen to this,” and she read aloud from a pulp novel titled Noir to Hide. "'... we were trying to convince the cat, when danger struck...’ Who writes shit like that? Sounds like something that phony detective you were telling me about might write.”

“I’m not sure he was a phony. He disappeared, threw away a life of luxury to live his life as a two-bit private detective. He was delusional, but it’s all rather complicated... I rather not discuss it further.”

I’m a psychiatrist, and I just finished one of the most baffling cases of my career, which I foolishly discussed with my wife. Carole is a bright, insightful woman whom I was almost always able to share my doubts, opinions and triumphs with–to which she knew exactly what to say. But I knew in my gut that this one was not one she could let go of easily. Neither could I. Especially not now, not after what I had seen in the mirror.

“And the woman? Was she pretty?” Carole asked, feigning nonchalance.

“What woman?”

“There’s always a woman.”

“Oh! Yes. She was pretty, in a damaged sort of way. Did I mention, that the detective she hired to find her husband ended up actually being her husband?”

“That makes absolutely no sense. But it explains why you spent so many late nights over there treating her...”

Her weighted words hung in the air.

“Fregoli is a complex delusion,” I lamely explained.

“Seemingly.”

“Yes?”

She smiled. I always fell for that one. My name is Dr Oolong Seemingly.

“No, but really. How complex is it? You never really explained it to me.”

“I tried, but you–"

“Try now.” Carole dropped her book into her lap and stared me straight in the eyes. “I’m listening.”

“To put it simply, Fregoli syndrome is a delusional belief where the subject sees familiar people as different persons. Sometimes within hours, days, months or even years. Generally, it’s someone they feel is persecuting them, but it can be anyone.”

“Give me an example," Carole said leaning forward.

“Okay. Say your mother was constantly badgering you to…” I had to think for a moment… “not marry the man you were in love with.”

“Like you?” Carole chided.

“Ha. Ha. Yes. So, if you suffered from Fregoli syndrome every time your mother came by or called you might not recognize her as your mother. You might literally see her as someone else, possibly someone you knew–like an old school chum–or sometimes even see her looking physically different. Like… Jennifer Aniston. Get it?”

Carole looked puzzled. “I think so. Who was it that was actually suffering from it in your case? The detective, the husband or the wife?”

“It was rather complicated… can we change the subject?”

Carole’s very intuitive. She could sense that there was something about the case that lingered and continued to nag at me. “Okay, shoot. What do you want to talk about?”

I took a breath. “What do you think it is?”

“Oh, not again.” She picked her book back up. “You know I don't want to talk about it.”

“So, you do believe me.”

“No. I think it’s ridiculous–”

“I need to figure this out. It's gnawing away at me.”

She put her book down again. “What's to figure out? You were shaving, You thought you saw something in the mirror, you turned around and it was gone!"

“Not something. A ghost.”

“You were half asleep!”

“I saw it!”

“Just stop it, Oolie! You're doing this just to scare me. Why do you want to scare me?”

Carole pulled the covers up to her chin. Her eyes darted around the room. “Is this some demented psychological experiment of yours?”

“What? No! I'm not trying to scare you. I’m dead serious here.”

I reached for a joint to calm my nerves. My hands shook attempting to get the flame from the lighter to ignite the joint. Success! I took a deep drag. Carole reached out from beneath the covers. I handed her the blunt. She took several deep puffs. She didn't surrender it back.

“You know I don't like spooky things,” Carole said as a cloud seeped out of her nose and clenched teeth.

“I don't either,” I said. I fished around for another joint.

“Hah! That's a laugh. You minored in parapsychology. You even rented this place because you heard that the last tenant was murdered.”

“He didn't die here,” I reminded her. “Besides, it was cheap.”

“Still, it was his apartment, and it’s supposed to be haunted by a ghost his or someone else's. I don't care which.”

“Actually, I rented it because of you. You love noir. He was supposed to be some famous private detective who died mysteriously. I thought you'd get a kick out of that.”

She laughed again, a sharp, brittle bark. “Famous? He was a low rent dick chasing down wayward husbands for flop money. But, hey, thanks for thinking of me.”

“You're welcome.” I hated it when she got this way.

“And besides, murder mysteries are not the same as ghosts. I hate ghosts!” she added.

“So you’ve said. Repeatedly.”

“Yet you keep bringing it up!”

“I'm sorry I brought it up.” I snubbed out my joint and climbed under the covers, my back to her.

Carole remained quiet for a few moments. Then she turned and wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m sorry babe, I’m just unnerved. And for the record I don’t think you’re crazy, a little weird, perhaps, but aren’t all psychologists?”

She kissed me on the forehead.

“All the one’s I know,” I agreed.

“Maybe we should move,” Carole whispered.

“I can’t leave just yet,” I said then silently added, Not until I figure this thing out.

"It’s affecting our lives.”

“How?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“You brought it up just when we were–"

“Making love?’

"Love? Is that what that was? I do not know what that was, but it sure wasn't love. Not even fucking. You were staring up at the ceiling, completely silent, detached from reality the whole time. It was some real spooky ass shit."

"You came faster than–"

“That’s not the point!” she stared hard at me. “It was really creepy.”

We laid silent for a moment.

“It appeared just as I was entering you. I lost myself. I'm not even sure where I went.”

“Shut the fuck up! If you are going to tell me I was just fucked by a ghost, I am so out of here, and for good this time. Is that what you are going to say, Oolie? That you let me get fucked by a ghost? You better be sure of your answer.”

“No... It was me.”

“Good answer.”

“Or something...” I whispered. But she heard me.

“Fuck!” Carole rose and angrily paced the room. “Damn it, Oolie. Why do you always have to ruin everything?”

“How am I ruining anything? I would've hope you'd be a little more understanding.”

“A little more understanding? You're not making any sense. What are you even trying to say? Um... Oolie? That you were possessed or something?”

“No! Of course not, I'm just... so confused. Please, come back to bed. I need you. I'm… scared.”

Carole hesitated then returned to sit on the edge of the bed, prepared to flee at a moment’s notice. I must've looked scared. Or sorry. Or both.

Carole sighed, “Okay, talk to me. Tell me everything, from the beginning, maybe we can figure this thing out.”

I laid back on the bed. I closed my eyes. “It started happening a few weeks ago. Little things. A glimpse in the toaster, a reflection on the screen when the TV set turned off... a second shadow–"

I heard a loud CRASH coming from the direction of the bathroom. I sat up and Carole clutched tight to me.

“WHAT WAS THAT? she screamed.

“Probably the neighbors,” I reassured her.

We listened for a few moments longer. Silence. Our eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go on,” I suggested.

She surprised me. “No. Let’s solve this. Now.” She looked determined. No use to question it.

“Okay then.” I took a deep breath then continued. “The more often I saw him the more solid he became. As if by my very observations he was coalescing into a live being. You know.”

Carole waved me to continue. “That’s too trippy to contemplate right now. And this morning? What happened this morning?”

“This morning. Looking in the mirror as he stared back at me with that Cheshire grin, I finally realized who the ghost is.”

“Who? Who is it?”

This was going to be the hardest part to explain.

“Me. It was me staring at me from behind my reflection. "

“You? You're haunting yourself?”

“Yes.”

Carole burst into laughter. “Shit, Oolie you had me going there for a moment!” She pounded me playfully with her fists. “Damn it! I was so scared! Don't you ever do that to me again!”

I let her hit me. She needed to get it all out to prepare for what was coming next.

“That's truly hilarious.” She leaned across me and found what was left of the roach on the bedside table. I felt the warmth of her nude body lying on me as she worked the lighter and sparked up. She rolled back to her side of the bed. I could hear and feel her visibly relax.

“Wow, the mysterious haunting of Dr. Oolong Seemingly solved! And you didn’t even have to summon up your dead detective to help you unravel it!” She chuckled then fell silent. I waited a moment then said: “What if I am actually dead?” I felt my face for solidity as I said it.

Carole pulled my hands away and kissed them. She snuggled up to me. “Weird, yes? Dead, no.” She kissed me smack on the lips. A devious look filled her eyes. “Hey! Do you think maybe your ghost will show up again a little later tonight? Admittedly, it was a bit spooky while it was happening but that was one hell of a climax.”

Her question bothered me. I climbed out of bed. “I need a drink of water,” I muttered.

In the bathroom I filled a glass and stared at my reflection. I leaned forward. My reflection leaned forward. But it’s not quite me. I look younger, healthier. Better.

“Who are you?” I asked.

"Who are you?" My reflection echoed back.

His voice sounded different. Meaner. Colder. His lips didn't move in-sync with mine.

“I can tell you are not my reflection so stop trying to pretend to be me.”

My reflection laughed. “Sure took you long enough.”

I leaned in close. “Tell me right now. Who are you?” I used my most menacing voice.

“I’m you,” he replied innocently. “Who do I look like?”

“Someone or thing trying to look like me.”

“Well spot on, Sport. I’m your ghost.”

“What?” I stepped back. “How can you be my ghost? I’m not even dead.”

“Aren’t you?” my reflection cocked his head. “Are you sure about that?’"

“I don’t… this is insane. I would know if I were dead.”

“Okay. Then maybe you’re just crazy and you're imagining me.” He shrugged. "Your choice.”

“No! I’m not going to pick. I’m not insane. And if anyone’s a ghost it’s you!”

My reflection said nothing. We stared at each other.

‘What do you want?’ I finally asked.

“I want you to stop haunting me,” he replied.

“What?”

“I’m trying to accomplish something here with our life and you keep watching me. It's creeping me out.”

“How am I haunting you? You're haunting me.”

“No. You’re haunting me because you're the one who’s dead. You've been dead for quite some time.”

“No. No. Shut up! You're not real!” I yanked open the medicine cabinet and removed a bottle of pills I shook out three then two more. I popped them in my mouth, refilled my water glass and drink. I waited for my nerves to settle then gingerly closed the medicine cabinet door. My reflection was still there waiting.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

"Get out of my head!”

“I'm not in your head.”

“Where are you then?”

“Just behind you, in your shadow. Waiting. But now I’m done waiting for the empty, vestigial, autonomic shell of what’s left of you to finally keel over. I'm stepping in before it's too late.”

“Too late for what?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself. It intrigued me.

“Too late before you ruined our life. You've squandered and fucked this one up so bad that I had no choice but to interfere. You've gone nowhere and achieved even less. Your attempts to cure troubled people are laughable, as you're a bigger mess than all of them put together. You disgust me!”

He paused.

“By the way, Carole's about to leave you.”

“What! How do you know?”

“For one I listen, always. And besides I was just inside her. She holds no secrets from herself, not like you. I'm sure you've suspected as much.”

“Yes." I sighed. "I guess I’ve known for some time. I'm a loser and really don’t deserve her,” I agreed with candid resignation.

“True. But it doesn’t have to be this way. She doesn’t have to leave."

“Really?” I grabbed the mirror by its sides and pressed my face against the glass. Our eyes just inches apart. “Tell me how to fix it. I’ll do anything!” I pleaded.

"There's only one way," He said moving in closer.

"What's that?" I asked.

“Surrender.”

“Surrender?”

“You all but have. Give me a chance. Give up the ghost in you for you.”

"What? What are you saying?"

“Just slide over. Let me in. What have you to lose? You're spiraling down towards nothingness as it is.”

“Is Carole really about to leave me?”

“Can you blame her?”

“Who are you talking to in there?” Carole called.

“No one!” I yelled back. “Just myself.”

“See? Like I told you. You're weird,” she laughed.

I turned back to my reflection.

“She's all I have to live for."

“I can convince her to stay," His voice grew excited. Like a pitchman closing gin on a sale. “I know what she desires. I know how to turn your life around. What do you say? Do we have a deal?"

“For how long?” I was falling under his spell. He was quite the convincer.

He shrugged. “Not long just give some time to turn your life around.”

“Give me a ballpark? Are we talking days, weeks…”

“Sure. However long it takes.”

I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that,

“And what about me? What happens to me while I’m waiting?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, of course it matters!”

“Nothing. Nothing changes. We trade places. You slip into the shadows, into this mirror world."

"I live in a mirror?' I said, incredulous.

"Hey...it's not so bad. You can relax. Take it easy. Besides you’ll be inside with me every step of the way, experiencing your new life, but only as a voyeur, or a passive ghost, as it were.” His expression turned cocky. “I may even let you feel Carole for real now and then, if you’re not too greedy about it.”

“That’s sound awful.”

“Yet it's better than the life you’re going to have otherwise.”

“How do you know?”

“I've seen the future, I've been there. It's not pretty.”

“Tell me! I need to know!” My voice was shaky, I didn’t really want to know. Would anyone?

“Okay,” he said, “but remember, you asked for it. Look just past me, See there? That’s what’s left of your so-called life playing out in those myriad reflections...”

I looked past him. The reflection of the bathroom door behind me turned misty and was replaced by a grainy, movie montage of my life forward. I gasped! “That’s my life?”

“Yep, just a few short years from now.”

“But… I’m…. bald!”

“Yes, and fat. And alone. And an alcoholic. Not to mention…”

“Enough! I’ve heard enough!”

Caroled called out from the bedroom. Her voice coyly. “Oolie, come back to bed! It's getting cold... and I’m getting hot!”

“So, what do you say, sport?” my reflection asked. “Just give me the word, and I’ll slip right in.”

“It’s only temporary, right?”

“Yeah. Scout’s honor.”

“Will I experience everything you… I mean… how real will it be?”

“As if in the flesh. The brain can’t tell the difference between reality and perceived reality. You should know that.”

That was true. He made a valid point. I actually thought about it.

“And my life…er our life from this point on?”

“Love. Success. Fame. Sex. Lots of sex. All the things you were destined for before you sabotaged it.”

I stared into my eyes in the mirror that weren’t really my eyes. I looked for a loophole, a trap, I saw none. I looked past him to my life unraveling behind in the mirror like a lousy movie with a sorry, pathetic ending. I still didn’t know who this was. My alter ego? A demon or ghost in disguise trying to steal my soul? Or my own demented, crazed self?

Did it matter? Did I have a choice?

I had slipped into this… being earlier. And it felt right. I realized part of me had died truly somewhere along my life, maybe all of me, and I was just too stubborn to admit it? I really had no choice. What did I have to lose? If nothing else I would make a hell of paper for Psychiatrist Monthly.

And he did promise it would only be temporary.

I re-entered the bedroom and Carole saw something in me that instantly lit her up. “Hey! You are back, tiger. Are you ready for an encore?”