Between Reflections

Mirrors are more than they appear.

November 10th, 2016

Mallory had always known there was something special about mirrors. If she looked hard enough, she would notice subtle differences. An extra eyelash or two, a piece of glass embedded under a fingernail, a hole missing in the lace ruffles; if it was different, her eye was immediately drawn towards it.

She was also certain that her "mirror counterpart", as she liked to call her reflection, had a very similar personality and was able to notice the differences. No one believed her, however; they all chalked it up to the adorable ramblings of a seven-year-old with an active imagination and quite a bit of intelligence.

Mallory lived with her grandmother, Olivia; her aunt, Julia; her uncle, Isaac; and her cousin, Paul. Each had such different characteristics it made her head spin to think of the lives their counterparts must lead. She already had her hands full putting together microscopic clues about her own counterpart. Obviously, the world on the other side of the mirror couldn't be too different from her own, as the differences were always so minute there was no way they could indicate any major disparity.

Her mind was so preoccupied with the world of mirrors, she never bothered to ask questions a child in her circumstances would probably ask: “Where’s my real mommy and daddy?” “What’s that exploding noise outside at night?” “Why don’t I go to school like Paul does?”

One day, however, the inevitable happened.

Evelyn Finlay, a very good friend of Mallory’s, asked why she never came to school.

“Why would I want to do that?” Mallory asked, tilting her head.

“Well…” Evelyn paused for a moment. “The teachers are really nice, there are lots of new kids to meet and they have a big playground! It’s only for playing on during recess, though, and recess is never as long as I’d like it to be… and sometimes it gets boring… but it’s a lot of fun!”

Mallory rolled her eyes. “I like what I do better. C’mon, let’s find a stone! We can play hopscotch!”

“But, Mallory,” Evelyn whined, “I told everyone about you, and one of the big kids said you’re a crazy person. I couldn’t let him do that, and then I ended up telling ‘em all you were gonna come to school and tell them about what their mirror counterfeit is like…”

The imaginative little girl’s nostrils flared. “Evelyn! You know I don’t even know about my own mirror counterpart! You want me to go to school and lie, you dummy?”

“I’m not a dummy,” Evelyn cried. “I’m smarter than you are! I already know my times tables up to five! You don’t even know how to multiply!”

“Two times two equals four!”

“What’s four times three?”

Mallory paused for a moment. “Fourteen.”

“Wrong! You’re the dummy, not me!”

Mallory’s cheeks turned bright red. In a huff, she gracefully twirled around and stamped away, teeth clenched.

She tried to throw the door open, as she had seen Paul do many times after an epic afternoon of losing fifteen times in a row at whatever video game he was currently obsessed with, but instead got hit in the back of her head with the slowly closing door as she made her way inside.

“Hello, Mallory,” her grandmother cooed. “What’s going on, dear? You don’t normally come inside this early in the afternoon.”

“Why don’t I go to school like everyone else?” Her tone was that of irritation and immaturity, a possibly volatile mixture if handled improperly.

“You have a very short attention span. Uncle Isaac and Aunt Julia figured out that buying you your own curriculum was cheaper than putting you on some medicine to fix it.” She smiled gently. “Why don’t you go visit with yourself? I’m sure she’s just as frustrated as you are about something going on in her world.”

Mallory tapped her chin, then nodded. Clearing her throat, she announced, “I’m going to visit my mirror counterpart! Please do not interrupt me, as I will be doing some serious… serious…” She struggled to find the exact word, then blurted out, “excrements! I think…”

“Honey, you mean ‘experiments’,” Olivia gently reminded.

“Right.” Mallory turned and briskly marched towards her room. The walls and fuzzy carpeting were all beige; her guardians had asked multiple times if she’d like it to be painted something brighter, but she always said no. What was the point? If it was too dark, it’d scare her at night; if it was too bright, it’d distract her while she tried to study. Beige was fine by her.

Her room was furnished with a small white bookshelf, cluttered with both used and new journals alike; a low gray bed with a wooden frame that gave her plenty of space to grow into; a silver nightstand with black edges and tiny golden specks here and there, the only piece of furniture Malory had ever seen and truly wanted more than anything else; and three mirrors, each with its own style.

The first was a full-length mirror that had been affixed to the wall long before Mallory’s birth, with no edges and lots of smudges from the child’s efforts to pull it down so she could see her full reflection; the second, an old-fashioned ornate mirror with a garish brass frame and quite a few unexplainable cracks; and the third was a simple oval mirror that rested on the ground, as long as her arm and chest put together, as wide as her face from her chin to her forehead and as plain as the color white: it was held within a wooden frame that had been scratched and carved into over many years of existence and trading ownership.

The mirror she chose today was the full-length mirror. It started at her waist. In the mirror, a girl with hair the color of a raven’s feather and eyes the color of a chestnut’s shell stared back at Mallory. Her pale white skin was the exact same shade as her own, her purple T-shirt with the pink lacy ruffles was the same… it seemed that absolutely nothing was out of place for a second.

Then, she noticed a tiny stray thread peeking out just above the ruffles. Apparently, something had happened differently in the mirror world where a thread had been torn off the shirt. She had been noticing a lot more rips and holes in her counterpart; perhaps her world was just a tad more violent.

She quietly placed her hand on the mirror, her counterpart following suit as expected. She pressed against it, her eye on the stray string. What is your world like?

She knew she wouldn’t get an answer. Well, perhaps she did get an answer, but the answer was simply the counterpart asking her the same question at the same time, making it imperceivable. Somewhat confused by the idea that had just popped into her own head, she pressed against the glass harder. Is your name the same as mine?

She could feel the surface begin to give away. Her mouth hung agape upon discovering this; she had pressed against the mirror many times before. Why was it giving in now?

One fingernail passed through the surface. She continued pressing, moving the tip of her middle finger, then the tips of her index and ring finger, then it engulfed her pinky. To her delight, an identical hand reached through. She pushed her arm all the way through and groped around, trying to find her counterpart’s arm. The counterpart grabbed ahold of her shoulder just as Mallory tightened her grip around something firm and hard.

She started pulling, trying to get her counterpart into her own world. The counterpart pulled back with the exact same amount of strength.

Undeterred, she continued pulling, tiny beads of sweat forming on her brow. Her shoulder and arm grew sore; the latter from pulling, the former from being pulled on.

She let out a gasp as she was suddenly pulled into the mirror, the seemingly harmless glass engulfing her body as her counterpart finally succeeded in bringing her to the mirror world.

When Mallory emerged from the mirror, she found herself gripping the shoulder of her exact twin. Both girls looked astounded and amazed. In fact, they were too similar for the counterpart to have succeeded.

Something had went awry.

Both girls looked around. Everything was a blank canvas, a faint ticking sound echoing constantly from an unknown source. The ground they stood on was indistinguishable from the sky or ceiling. They had no idea if they were indoors or outdoors.

As they stood marveling, everything suddenly changed color. It went from white to mauve. Slowly, their eyes grew used to it and perceived the mauve as white, never taking their eyes off of the endless land as the change occurred.

Without warning, it turned green. This time, they managed to snap out of it. Facing each other, they let go of each other’s shoulder and tried to hold hands.

Their hands each passed through each other’s, a sensation that was limited to sight alone. Each girl physically felt nothing.

Their eyes met as they withdrew their hands. In unison, they chimed, “Is your name Mallory Frilt?”

They each gave each other a quick nod and swiveled around, both facing forward. “I suppose there wouldn’t be too much harm in walking, would there?” Mallory and Mallory both asked.

“Yes, but we shouldn’t stray too far,” the Frilts warned.

With that, they began to march forward, as if it were a simple game. They canvas around them turned blue, but their steps stayed steady.

As they moved, the ticking noise grew quieter, as if they were moving away from it. Each girl was also growing, a week’s growth occurring in a single step. Their movements grew less sharp. They were leaning towards each other, seemingly unaware of the changes.

Two fourteen-year-old Mallorys began to slouch, their lip slightly parted in an indifferent scowl. Their ruffles had long since become black gauze, draped around their waists and shoulders. They both wore short black dresses with a skull-and-crossbones on the front. Tall black combat boots with buckles aplenty guarded their feet from the indistinguishable ground. The ticking sound had started growing louder again, but more slowly than before. The white world turned the color of vomit. They made no notice.

At this point, it looked like they hadn’t walked in inch, but they were moving. They weren’t tired. They weren’t aware. They weren’t there. But they were.

The bodies built for a fourteen-year-old were still holding the seven-year-old that once occupied them. But each was being overpowered by an immense sense of boredom, something too great for either to overcome alone. It welled at the very bottom of the walking shells, their intangible nemesis taking on a physical form. Each girl did their best to remain in the upper half by firmly gripping what they could inside the arms.

As for their leaning, they were inside each other’s heads. Literally. It was a sight to behold: two slouching, tilted, black-clad teenagers appearing to share a single head, complete with a nose and a half, three eyes, half a mouth and four ears, not to mention lots of thick black hair. They still grew, but it was considerably slower.

The ticking stopped.

The world was grey.

They were now twenty.

They looked like a couple of modern young ladies: a nice blouse, jeans, sandals with high-heels and more straps than would ever be necessary and a scarf. Their once-black hair had been dyed chestnut. Just a few inches taller than their fourteen-year-old selves, the boredom had grown like a malicious tumor, and the real Mallorys were powerless to stop it. This wasn’t their world. They were playing by rules they had never even heard of.

They had also completely merged down to the bottom of the neck, making it seem like they shared an abnormally large chest. Their eyes were now completely glazed over, staring ahead, unblinking at the vast and formless land around them. Whether they were going up or going down, going left or going right, going straight or going in circles, was of no concern to the bodies. They would walk no matter what.

While their height stayed the same, their shared face grew more wrinkled. At thirty years old, the only body part that remained unconnected was the legs. They shared a red wool sweater and some very nice-looking jewelry.

Their surroundings turned a disgustingly bright yellow, a detail that the fused bodies didn’t care to notice. Their eyes were of no use at this point. The ticking had resumed, much faster than it originally was, but quieter and erratic.

The two Mallorys were uncomfortably squished together, crowded by each other and the physical boredom that controlled the walking shells. They tried to think, to bring up some past research that even hinted at what might be going on, but it was immediately silenced by the stirring dullness.

Everything turned purple.

There was a forty-year-old woman walking in the midst of color, her clothes the same as the thirty-year-old’s, her hair dotted with the occasional greying strand.

The ticking had resumed its normal pace and volume.

Both Mallorys were panicking.

The boredom was now threatening to crush them. It seemed to be flexible, almost squishy, but any thought or movement caused it to grow larger, and the girls quickly learned that stomping it into a more dense glob only provoked it.

The woman suddenly stopped. She was physically unable to move another step. She made a rigid turn and resumed walking, no invisible wall to stop her. The ticking was ridiculously loud now.

Struggling to find or make an opening, they were pressed against the walls of the no longer breathing shell. The hollow mechanism continued its grim march toward the location of the noise.

Without warning, the boredom expanded, tearing a large hole in the vessel. Both Mallorys used it to their advantage and tore it wider and wider until it suddenly cracked and shattered. They were free and seemingly unharmed. The shell’s bits lay around them, the boredom slithering away, and a velvet couch beckoned their eyes from off the ground.

Looking up, they saw a woman-like thing sitting lazily on the couch. She looked like she was a porcelain doll someone had broke and tried to glue back together after losing a few of the pieces. Each crack was sharp and defined. Her eyes were two green marbles, each with their own intricate swirling pattern. She wore a tattered ballgown made of aged papers that was lined with thick gobs of pink wax. In the midst of her chest, a broken clock ticked, its numbers blurred beyond comprehension, its needles two sharp bones.

“Take it,” she said weakly, in a voice reminiscent of broken glass and nails on a chalkboard. Gently, she lifted the ticking clock off of her chest, gasping slightly as she did so. She held it out to the girls. “Take it.”

Neither girl did as she was told, but asked in unison, “Why?”

With a disappointed sigh, the woman dropped the clock. It shattered, its remnants bouncing off the ground and remaining static in mid-air.

A blue mist swirled around the pieces, growing thicker and forming a menacing cloud.

The girls backed away, watching as the couch was consumed by the mass.

No longer in rhythm, one of the Mallorys turned around and ran for her life, shrieking in terror. The other turned to watch, then sat down and began to cry. Neither knew what to do.

As the cloud approached the crying Mallory, she buried her face in her palms and hoped dearly that whatever was about to happen wouldn’t hurt.

It consumed her within seconds, her final thought being, That’s funny, I can’t feel anything.

---

“Mallory, it’s time for dinner.” Julia walked into the little girl’s room. It smelled of smoke and iron. Mallory was sprawled out on the floor in front of a mirror, motionless.

“Mallory?” She bent over and gently shook her. “Mallory, this isn’t funny.” Trembling, she turned Mallory over.

Half of the little girl’s face was a mass of wires, circuits and metal plates. A bright red light was blinking deep inside of where her eye socket used to be.

---

“...Project Mallory was unable to handle the sensory overload. Whatever it was that she discovered, it was either incredibly confusing or destructive.” The man put down the clipboard, biting his lip. “I know how hard you worked on her, Schuel. We’re all in mourning.”

The frail and elderly woman gripped the arms of the wooden chair she sat in just a bit tighter. “Mallory is dead?”

The man paused for a moment before finally answering with, “Yes.”

The woman let out a sigh and leaned back, now relaxed. “That’s all right,” she said calmly. “Mallory gave us more information than any other child. Is the next one ready?”

“Project Kevin will need another month or so before release. While most of what she saw and felt was destroyed, Project Mallory did leave behind some new information. It was quite complex and required quite a bit of knowledge we didn’t have installed already to make sense for Kevin.”

“Do you have any idea of who the family will be?”

“Helfet and Drein are working on it. They’ve found a few adoption agencies that might be willing to take Kevin in, but no word on whether or not someone can adopt him before he’s… uh… ‘born’.”

“Very well. You may go back to work now, Milton. And see to it that Kevin has an actual personality. I’m getting tired of all these ADHD, overly-sensitive brats.”

---

December 23rd, 2016

Cynthia Schuel was typically described as a heartless, cold-blooded old crone whose greatest joy in life was to scare any and all children she came across out of their minds with bone-chilling tales.

Today, however, everyone who saw her thought she was the sweetest grandmother who had ever lived. Her eyes were red, her nose leaking and her mouth unable to fully muffle the hlf-sobs that continually tried to escape her lips.

“...t-take good care of h-him,” she stuttered. “I-I’d hate for… anyth-th-thing to happen to the poor ch-child… losing him right after the mother would j-just… be… t-too much…” She whipped out a handkerchief and buried her face in it, bawling far more loudly than she had originally intended to.

It’s a robot. It’ll be destroyed someday. It doesn’t love you. It doesn’t understand love. It’s programmed that way. It’s an emotionless automation created to discover more about the little nooks and crannies of reality people so often ignore.

It was the same script that her mind blared over mental intercoms every time the newest project was given away. Her heart was pounding rapidly, each beat reminding her that maybe, just maybe, this could be it. This could be the last robot, the last experiment, the last discovery.

The very idea, at this point, seemed plausible. They knew what happened within one hundred steps of entering the mirror; if this went as planned, there would be nothing left undiscovered and no work left for her to do.

The adoptive parents said something in a comforting tone, presumably to get her to quiet down. At this point, Cynthia had stopped caring about what they said. The child had exchanged hands and there was nothing left to do but sit back and watch. With a soft, genuine smile and one final sniff, she shook hands with the father and turned away.

Derek Milton sighed and clasped her shoulder with a calloused hand. “Drein says we managed to salvage one last piece of information from Mallory that could improve Kevin’s chances of finishing the job. We weren’t, however, able to document it properly before giving you the final report. Deadlines and whatnot.”

“Mm.” Her eyes avoided the faces around her. Happy soon-to-be mothers and fathers joyfully accepted tiny children from the arms of mournful teenagers and ratty-looking couples surrounded her, glee and sorrow mingling in the air. It was incredibly uncomfortable and gave her no desire to talk, the illogical portion of her brain suggesting that the opposing moods could suffocate her if she opened her mouth too much. Ridiculous, yes, but she wasn’t willing to risk it.

Derek put his hand at his side. “Does that mean ‘tell me more’ or ‘shut up’?” He raised an eyebrow at her, wishing desperately that one of the other interns had volunteered to accompany her before he could have opened his big, fat mouth.

“It means tell me and don’t expect a reply.”

He pushed the thin bridge of his glasses back up his nose. “Well, the time between Mallory leaving this world and her expiration is exactly zero seconds. It seems that one of two things happened: either the land between mirrors has different natural laws, rendering time an immeasurable thing; or time in this world froze.” Derek watched his mentor’s face, looking for any sign of interest or surprise. “Hopefully, Kevin will help us distinguish which it is. We put in two clocks. One has a sensor to detect the same atmosphere of pure oxygen found in the mirror place and will escape from Kevin as soon as possible. We implanted it on his right heel, so once he’s angry and curious enough, we’ll make sure he takes his socks and shoes off. Once he enters, the timer will be left on the mirror’s surface and will keep a running time on Earth. Another timer inside of him is also able to detect the pure oxygen atmosphere, but it’ll stay with him to keep track of the time inside, if there is any.”

“Pure oxygen atmosphere? You never told me any of that,” Cynthia snapped.

“You’ve been distracted lately. We all know you skimmed the report, by the way, so we took the liberty of going over Kevin ourselves before passing him onto you.”

“What the hell makes you think-”

“You always get distracted whenever it comes time to release a new robot,” Derek replied dryly.

Cynthia said nothing, only clenched her fists and wondered what other mistakes she made that her teammates were well aware of.

He glanced at her and put his hand back on her shoulder. “Hey, you’re a human being. We all have problems. No one thinks you’re any less of a scientist. When Yvonne made the first robo- er, Bonnie prototype, you remember how much she cried when it-”

“She.”

He paused for a moment and pulled his hand away. “When… she died of whooping cough because the parents didn’t vaccinate.”

“That’s showing weakness. Getting attached to these meaningless creations could potentially spell the end of this mission. What if I were to grow so fond of one that I wouldn’t allow it to ever leave or explore the mirror? After all, it’s already proven to be dangerous. Out of ten robots, one lived past the age of ten years, and that’s because he continually failed at his job. We eventually had to shut him down. How do you think that would’ve gone over had one of the interns become infatuated with Harold? We could’ve never done it. They wouldn’t let us. They’d tell everyone we’re wasting government money and lying about our organization. It’d spell the end for us, Derek, and I’m not letting that happen.”

He opened the exit door for Cynthia, scanning the parking lot. “Do you remember where the car is parked?”

“Don’t try to change the subject!”

Derek couldn’t help but grin. “Tell you what: we’ll resume this particular conversation tomorrow, after you’ve gotten some sleep. Something tells me you need it.”

Without another word, she marched past him across the lot, forcing a green minivan to skid to a halt. A very frustrated father shouted something at Cynthia from behind the windshield as she continued her stride.

She reached into her pockets, littering the concrete with pieces of trash and pennies as she discarded everything she thought was blocking her from getting the keys to the company car. Distressed, she turned to take a brief glance at Derek.

His smile stretched from ear to ear as he waved the keys, reminding her of who was going to drive back.

She spat a few expletives, then marched straight towards the black compact that had yet to fail, but everyone knew it was just around the corner. Dented, scratched and rarely washed, it had been five years old when they had bought it twenty years ago. It was a wonder that it still ran.

She tapped her foot, fingers wrapped tightly around the handle as Derek delicately stepped off the sidewalk and looked from left to right to left again before ever-so-slowly meandering across the road. He did his best to avoid eye contact with her for about a minute as he took his time.

“Derek.” Cynthia’s voice was calm and sweeter than honey. “You have ten seconds to start this car before you are officially and permanently terminated from your job.”

His face paled ever so slightly, but he failed to quicken his pace.

“You know as well as I do that I’m serious,” she continued in the same casual tone. “So, I must ask, what the hell is it that you’re waiting for?”

Within seven seconds, a blur of mousy brown hair and a thick olive-colored coat made its way past sixteen cars, unlocked the compact, hopped inside and started it.

Cynthia opened her door on the passenger side and delicately sat down, a small smile on her face. “I must admit, you’ve always been rather easy to scare.”

“Shut up.”

---

Masquerading as an agricultural business developing new plant hybrids, Emerald Leaf Inc. was founded by Cynthia Schuel in the nineties. It was a small company of twenty scientists and ten various workers, people whom Cynthia had grown to trust with her life’s work. The robots required extensive programming, and the monitoring materials weren’t exactly cheap, which led Cynthia to believe that the only way they could properly produce robots and learn about the intricacies of the universe was to pose as a nonprofit organization.

A considerable amount of thought was put into what they should be, but the first idea they came up with ended up as their final plan: creating new plant hybrids in the name of ending world hunger. With this, of course, they could appeal to both the yuppies and the progressives by experimenting with traditional methods as well as genetic modification and developing two separate funds for each.

As a result, the government soon took interested and would occasionally throw a pretty penny their way in exchange for ridiculous amounts of paperwork. That was the reason Cynthia hired seven of the “various workers”, as she hadn’t the slightest idea of how to forge evidence.

They were also visited by the media every now and then, usually following a suspicious receipt given to the government or Cynthia having a public tantrum. Everyone hated it and loved it at the same time: acting was the highlight of it for most of them, whereas the others got to become screenwriters for the company play. It was a big affair and rarely failed to open old wounds with sour co-workers who now had to act like best friends working in the same department.

Derek Milton tried to look forward to the visits, as his childhood dream was to become a famous actor, but usually failed to deliver a decent performance. The only reason he still got to speak at the conference was because he was one of the few employees that wasn’t afraid to talk in front of people writing down your words and cameras broadcasting your every action.

“So, Derek, how’d it go? Are you ready for the press conference?” Meredith Drein gave him a wickedly large grin, knowing very well that he had a terrible memory.

“It went fine,” he said absentmindedly, hanging up his coat and reaching for a lab jacket. “They loved Kevin, Cynthia managed to calm down, the car didn’t break down… the press conference?”

“That’s right,” she purred. “You have all the information on our next project.”

“Um. What are we supposed to be, again?” He pushed his arms through the sleeves and pushed some hair out of his face. “On second thought, did you mess with my notes today? I’m sure I have what I need somewhere.”

“I didn’t, but I think Thomas did. Or maybe it was Kiara. I dunno, just check under the hydroponic props if you don’t find them in your backpack. I saw something sticking out from under them.” She turned away and pulled out a thick stack of papers with plagiarized gardening gibberish typed on them.

“I personally think GMOs have the potential to be extremely dangerous. It’s a bit difficult for me to pretend that I’m trying to develop new strains of them.” He checked the pockets for rubber spiders or soggy worms a fellow intern might’ve hidden inside of them. Around the lab, he was known to be gullible and ditzy at times, making him the perfect victim for the pranksters. “I mean, I just don’t think it’s a good idea to mess around with Mother Nature, y’know?”

“But there’s nothing wrong with investigating other dimensions and potentially destroying reality as we know it,” Meredith replied nonchalantly.

“That’s totally different!” Derek’s brain then began to search for reasons why his current line of work was less dangerous than GMOs. It failed to find any. “Ignore my previous statement.”

“Gladly.” With that, she walked off to speak with the newbie, a chatty woman who was almost as wide as she was tall.

Author's Note

This is a novel I scrapped ten pages in after reading up a bit more on the multiverse theory. The idea was supposed to be that your reflection was someone else in a parallel universe, there were ways to go between the universes and a bunch of other rules I made up, but now I'm not sure if I should go through with it. Advice on what to do with it would be appreciated, as well as any general criticism.

Reviews

[Auxiliosophiae]

It's a very interesting idea. The characters at the lab seem very human, which is good. The revelation of Mallory being a robot definitely throws the reader for a loop. Over all, good. I think you should try and continue it.