Police sirens blazed all around him. Footsteps slapped against the sidewalk, doors slammed, instructions were screamed.
It was all a blur to him. The pretty, dark-skinned officer had wrapped him in a cozy blanket and left him in the back of a van.
Sarah and Kirby were being questioned inside.
They had tried questioning him, but he couldn't utter a single word. He just kept staring blankly ahead as if his mother would drive down the road and return to him.
Was it really true? Were Reflections real?
The memory made him shudder. Some neighbours had come out of their houses, perching on their porches to find out what happened.
When he looked at the house, Sarah stood there, a pink blanket wrapped around her sagging shoulders. Her eyes were full of unshed tears.
Ray looked away - he didn't want to cry.
If only the ground would open up and swallow him just then.
A speeding SUV came to a rough halt at the side of the road.
His dad.
The usual calm expression he always wore had vanished. His eyes were wide with disbelief and unaccepted grief.
Ray heard the tires squeal and the doors slam, but didn't look up.
The tears he had been trying to hold back burned behind his eyes at the sight of his dad.
Darrick reached his son as quickly as he could.
"Tell me it isn't true." He grabbed Ray's shoulders, searching his face frantically.
Ray didn't respond. He couldn't.
Sarah started approaching, her arms wrapped around herself beneath the blanket.
"Hi, Mr. Darrick. I'm so sorry for your loss." Her voice broke.
He turned to her slowly and patted her shoulders.
"Thank you, dear."
Ray could see how torn his father was by the news. He had actually expected a whole rant of 'I told you so'.
Nodding at him, his dad went into the house, his hand trembling.
Ray watched him, unaware of Sarah sliding in beside him.
"He was right all along." She murmured.
He jerked, surprised to find her beside him.
"About what?"
"About the mirrors. She had disappeared through a mirror."
He tensed. "I don't want to talk about it."
She let out a deep breath and faced the gathering crowd.
He felt her slender arm on his back, rubbing soothing circles.
"Did it have to be her of all people?" He asked.
Kirby descended the porch steps and walked towards them.
A loud shattering noise from a room upstairs drew everyone's attention.
His father had done what he probably should have done in the morning - he broke the mirror.
A slight drizzle started.
"We should go inside, Ray." Sarah said.
Kirby reached them.
"I don't think the police lady believes our story."
Sarah's grip on Ray tightened.
"I can't believe it either, but she was real. I have to warn my mother to get rid of all the mirrors."
"But, some officers say that people have been giving statements similar to ours - they don't know what to believe." Kirby continued.
A car pulled up around the curb.
A blonde lady in a thick sweater, scarf and jeans rushed out.
"Ray!" She pulled him into a warm embrace as soon as she reached them.
She was Sarah's mother, Mrs. Tolen.
She smelled like sweets, chocolates and muffins.
Mrs. Tolen cried into his hair - his mother was her best friend.
"You're going to be fine, okay?" She kept saying as she patted his back.
After a while, she went into the house.
Kirby squeezed in beside them.
"We should really go inside. The rain is getting heavier."
Ray didn't stir.
The droplets became more heavy, descending on roofs in loud patters.
Sarah and Kirby were forced to remain there with him.
And the tears flowed freely.
He had struck his own mother, giving the other woman a chance to kill her. If he hadn't, she wouldn't be dead.
It was all his fault, he thought to himself.
As if sensing his guilt, Sarah leaned in. Her hair was soaked by the rain, her shirt clinging like a second skin.
Ray couldn't see past the droplets in his eyes.
"It isn't your fault."
—
"Is that everything you want to carry?" Darrick asked, not meeting his gaze.
His father's eyes had sunk in, his face pale. He was wearing a black cardigan and grey slacks.
Ray looked down at his suitcase and nodded.
Without a word, Darrick slid into the driver's seat and strapped on his seatbelt.
Ray stared back at the house he had once called home. His mother's designs still hung around the porch.
She was everywhere - that's why they were leaving.
It had been two weeks since it happened. The funeral had taken place a week after.
He couldn't even use his phone - because he couldn't bear to see his reflection on another screen.
The ride was silent. His father didn't turn on the radio as usual.
They pulled up at their house on the other side of town.
Darrick had wanted to leave town completely, but Ray couldn't bear to lose his friends.
"Just rest. You don't have to unpack today."
Ray watched him disappear through the doorway. The lawn was well-kept, the flowers overgrown.
The last time he had been here was when he was four.
Sighing, he picked up his little box and went through the door. The paint on the porch railings were in need of repair.
Inside, the furniture was covered with dust clothes. The curtains were drawn, leaving the room in partial darkness.
Ray went up the stairs, taking them two at a time. All mirrors had been removed prior to their arrival.
The sound of rushing water came from the room directly across his.
Sometimes, he feared his dad would drown himself in a bathtub - he blamed himself for everything.
At the end, the police department closed the case off as suicide.
After uncovering the dust clothes in his room, he did a little dusting. The air was thick and stale.
When he was done with his cleaning, he went down to the basement to keep the dust clothes.
The door was locked. He plucked a key from the closest book shelf and unlocked the door.
The stairway leading downwards was dark. He flipped the switch. Dead.
Grunting, he went up to fetch a flashlight.
As he descended the steps, the air became chilly. The atmosphere was thick with dust. Every item was coated with dust.
He dumped the clothes in a big box and turned to leave.
Ray's flashlight caught on something. He turned. The reflected ray was colourful, rainbow-like.
The item laid on the floor next to an old crate of supplies. He picked it up and blew off the dust on it.
It was a mirror shard.
His first instinct was to throw it away, but he noticed the golden marks framing the edges.
Shards weren't a threat, only whole mirrors were.
When he looked closer, he realized he couldn't see himself.
What did that mean?