Chapter Two

We finally receive introductions from our first two characters.

            I leaned on the dirty counter, as my face came into the mirror.  I had aged tremendously since the last time I’d seen myself.  For a moment, I stared deep into my own eyes.  One was exactly the way I remembered it from childhood, a pale green ocean staring out from a frame of white, and dotted with a pupil.  I remember staring into the mirror, trying to committ my eyes, and my face to memory before I lost them forever.  My other eye, though, was different.  It seemed back lit, the whites giving a soft glow under which the tiny shapes of circuits could be made out, the black was a lens, it seemed too reflective, and endlessly deep.  The iris was an artificial green, the color of grass, too precise to be natural.

            I blinked the crosshair back into existance, but nothing changed.  Numbers flashed across my vision, listing diameters and circumfrances, listing off the dimensions of my own face.  I blinked it away, sickened by the unnaturalness of it all.

            The killer, his wound rebandaged, dabbed at the dried blood with his white shirt, before discarding it into the pile and reaching for a fresh, black one.  He struggled for a moment with the sleeves, trying to work his injured arm through the sleeve without aggravating the wound.

            “Let me help you.”  I told him, stepping back from the mirror and toward him, across the tiled floor of the filthy gas station bathroom.  The killer seemed reluctant to accept, but finally tossed me the shirt.  It was like dressing a resentful child.  I tried to talk while I worked the sleeve up his arm and carefully over the bandage.  “My name’s Lux Bryant.”  I introduced myself,  if only out of necessity.  I’d only managed to get one sleeve on when he mumbled something and took it into his own hands.  Only to struggle with the buttons.

            The killer paused for a moment to reevaluate me, as if there were something for him to lose in entrusting me with any personal information.  He seemed surprised, as though he imagined this moment would never come.  “Jay Makris.”  He responded dryly, before he returned his gaze to the buttons.

            I left him to fumble with them.  “You need to see a doctor.”  I told him, as if he didn’t already know.  It was my first try at a stern voice, at least, one where I could actually see a reaction.

            I should’ve been able to guess that the killer had a problem with weakness.  He scoffed at the remark, as though I were vastly overreacting.  “Have you seen yourself?”  He asked, the very image of arrogance.  “You look like something out of a sci-fi flick.  What do you think they’d find inside of us? “

            I bristled, raising my voice. “What about you?”  The killer’s self-importance enraged me, along with the fact that he could stand there, all bloodied, and say that he didn’t need a doctor.  “You have a hole in your shoulder!”

            The killer stood straight, his blue eyes blazing, but even his threatening posture wasn’t enough to quell my anger.  I’d always been stupid.  My eye measured, and numbers streamed across my vision at a sickening pace, calculating, before I knew the results.  Even injured, the chances were slim that I could overtake the killer.  Without the numbers, I could’ve figured that out.  But in the past, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.  The air felt thick with tension, as though it were clogging my lungs.

            A rough knock at the door startled me from my thoughts, and though I was still fuming, I packed the bloodied clothes back into the shopping bag, but before I lowered the sunglasses to hide my false eye I shot the killer a harsh glance, which he returned in full.  I threw open the bathroom door, and let it slam back closed, pushing past the waiting customer, my blood still boiling.  I couldn’t help but wonder how I was to survive breathing the same air, and taking up the same space as the self-righteous oaf that followed me out.