The Girl Who Could Change Fate

Chapter 2: The Man in the Mirror-1

Chapter 2: The Man in the MirrorDespite the fact that it was Saturday, my alarm clock was buzzing in the early hours of the morning. Apparently I forgot to switch the time from my school day setting. Damn.

Not wanting to arise only to turn the stupid thing off, I snuggled deeper into my blankets and listened with anticipated delight as, after two minutes, it automatically ceased. Gratefully, I dove back into felicitous dreams consisting of Alex and his emo hair. Unfortunately, I also forgot that the alarm returns with a blaring vengeance once it's ignored for five moments. Gah.

Sluggishly, I removed my covers, struggled out of bed, tiptoed over to my desk, and slammed my fist on the damn button that would make my alarm clock shut the hell up. On my approach back to nestle in my blankets, I paused to glance outside my window, peeking down into the driveway. I spotted a large moving truck backing up onto the pavement.

They were here. At the crack of dawn.

I sat on the edge of my bed. It had been a month and a half since my grandmother, Erika White, had committed suicide. I never would have believed she would do such a thing. The truth—the reality—that life could actually make you do that…And my grandma had been one of those closest to me. She was the one who had taught me the basics about my power when I was younger, albeit while we devoured multiple bags of Oreos and watched Disney movies. Our favorite had been Pocahontas, as we always pretended between random bursts of singing “Just Around the Riverbend” how the spirits of the forest were actually disguised as Fate. It made the film seem all the more relatable, even though we did accept the fact that our antics were slightly unrealistic.

The truck outside was here to transport the large items from her house to ours'. I was surprised at such a tardied transfer of furniture, and wondered what we would be receiving, since my mother and I were, supposedly, her last living relatives.

As far as I knew, I never had a “real” family. My mom's parents had died several years back; likewise, on the other side of the family tree, my dad's father had passed away from a heart attack when I was only two. I hadn't cultivated a relationship with any of them. Only with my father's mother…my grandmother and I had been very close. Her death had pierced me terribly; and if it hadn't been for Trinity and Jaiden, I wouldn't have been able to survive it.

Unlike her, my father had dematerialized from my life when I was four without even a good-bye. From what my mom insisted, from what my friends persuaded me to do, I was supposed to hate him for leaving me. I couldn't. I don't know why he left, although my mom insisted it was because of another woman. I just knew that I loved him anyways. It was the same as with Alex. He had wronged me in a way, yet my heart endured past to experience a better, more profound sensation that induced me to feel whole, pure, happy. It was acceptance.

The only memory of my dad I had was when I had gone to his parent's house for the Fourth of July. It was just me, my grandmother, and him. And it had been beautiful. I remember lying in the fresh, green grass next to him, smelling the clean scent of blossoming flowers nearby mixed with the stinging stench of smoke and sparklers. We had been gazing up at the ink-stained sky and all its midnight majesty, watching the pale pinpricks of stars wheel above us. Then the fireworks had started, exploding into a vast sea of lustrous, variegated colors. Screaming scarlet, vivid blue, and scorching orange. It had been lovely. Magical. The display of lights. The touch of heat and humidity. The love and protection I had witnessed with my father…it was the best I had ever felt…when the fireworks went off behind my eyelids as I fell asleep in the crook of his arm…

I awoke at 9:53. My back was aching. I must have dozed off with my spine stiff as a board. It was going to be a painful day.

Quickly, I dressed into a green, peace-printed t-shirt and pale blue jeans before leaving my room and dashing downstairs. I nearly collided with the two worker men carrying what used to be my grandmother's towering, gilt-framed mirror up to the second floor. I pressed myself against the wall to allow them passage, then hurried to the kitchen.

The room was painted a lonely gray, with corresponding hard, metal counters and a shining steel table. The wooden, smudge-covered cabinets groaned a gloom under the scratched, strained bark. Only a window that tunneled to the outside was the escape from this disconsolate place, but it was a small means of hope.

My mother stood next to the microwave, waiting as her morning tea simmered. Marianne White was tall, upright, and lovely. Her curly brown hair tumbled down to her waist as though a sylphlike waterfall, spanning just past the graceful bends of her hips. Her gentle, heart-shaped face was petite, to that of an innocent child's, yet radiated a sturdy strength and stunning beauty.

“Hey, mom,” I said, walking over and giving her a brief hug.

She glanced at me with one of her weird expressions, as if she was trying to tell me something deeper but didn't know what it was. She did this occasionally, like every other day, and attested it to a medical condition that I was “too young” to understand—of course, that didn't stop me from Googling these symptoms, but for the first time the Internet failed me, so I wondered what she was hiding…

After her trance-like phase ended, she nodded to me and removed her steaming cup from the microwave.

“Jimmy and I are going out for the better part of today,” she told me. “I've already explained to the workers where I want the furniture placed. It's only some couches for the basement, a piano, a wardrobe, and mirror.”

I noticed how my mother hadn't used “her,” meaning my grandma's, stuff. Recollections that came with all her old items must have pained her, like my grandmother teaching me how to play her piano.

My eyes prickled as a lump formed in my throat. I swiftly went to the closet and pulled out a box of cereal, then went to the 'fridge for milk.

“By the way, that mirror is going in your room,” my mom added, sitting down at the table.

“Oh…That's nice.”

I mulled it over as I poured milk and cereal into a bowl and took my place across from her. My mom loved that mirror, loved pretending to pose in front of it, loved looking at herself. Naturally, giving it up to go in my bedroom was a bit of a shocker.

I peered at her secretly as I munched on my cornflakes. She appeared just as comely as usual, with no mask or mark of flaw that hinted deception. She was tired, though: her only defect blemishing her beautiful face.

I decided that I was feeling very grateful towards her, so I wanted her to have an enjoyable day. A thin ray of sparkling sunlight streamed through the window, and I thought of it as a form of fire, that it could become fire.

And I knew my wish would come true.

An hour later my mom was set to leave.

“Just call me if you need anything, okay honey?” she said.

That would be most likely impossible, as my mom didn't even have a cell phone.

“Er—yeah, sure.” I went along with it anyways.

“The men are almost finished, but if any of them harass you, let me know. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” She didn't have to worry—no guy would ever consider hitting on me.

“All right. I'll see you later, honey.”

As soon as she made her exit, I hurried upstairs. There was no way I was staying here all by myself. I entered my room and was about to cross to my desk for my cell when I stopped dead in my tracks: my grandmother's mirror stood next to my closet, its glass effortlessly reflecting my whole room.

Slowly, cautiously, I moved closer to it and stared back at myself.

An instantaneous wave of nausea and nostalgia struck me.

When I was seven years old, my grandmother had received this mirror as a gift from a friend. I remembered this because I had seen it being carried to her bedroom, like it had been carried to my bedroom this morning. I also remembered how, that very afternoon, we had pretended to model in it. I remembered that we used to do that every time I visited after she got that mirror. This mirror. And how, in front of it, she taught me for the first time the “Song of Fate”:

“When evens become odds,/When the head shakes, not nods,/When light passes to dark,/When a form of fire begins to spark,/When a presence turns into an absence,/And all shifts to imbalance,/Think on the motion to create,/For you can now Change Fate!”

Oh God….I missed her so much!

I was halfway sobbing without even knowing it. I wanted her back, just wanted to pose with her again in front of this mirror, just wanted to play with her like I used to, just wanted to see her—be with her—one final time…so I could say good-bye.

Thick tears were flowing down my cheeks. Blindly, I wiped them away with the back of my hand, gazing absently into the mirror, seeing what seemed to be a shadow of a man's head creep in from the upper side—

I screamed and jerked backward, leaping onto my bed with surprising speed.

What the hell was that?!

I didn't move for what seemed like an eternity, only stared into the mirror's glossy surface, watching my crouched self brace with the sheer terror of a preyed animal.

I was pretty damn sure I had seen someone in it—definitely sure…I think.

Maybe I had imagined it through my tears, a voice from the back of my head suggested. Please God, let that be it. I dearly hoped so. But I had to do something…just in case.

With my eyes glued to the mirror, I jumped off my bed, stumbled over to my desk, and started frantically searching for my phone. I felt around for what seemed like hours but in reality was probably a minute—I was just scared, that's all. Finally, my fingertips traced my mobile and the next second I was hectically dialing Jaiden's number, my eyes never leaving the mirror.

My thoughts were scrambling around to order themselves. What would I tell him? Would he believe me? Did what I see was even real? Or did I truly just want to talk to him?

Abruptly, I hung up.

How did I even know there had been something in the mirror? I had been crying, so it's not like I could see well. Maybe it was only a shadow from the sun…

After a moment of hard contemplation, I decided not to call Jaiden. I didn't want to worry him when my only evidence was what I saw, and when what I saw could have easily been deluding. So instead, I looked Trinity's number up in my address book and pressed “SEND” on her name.

“Hello? Lacey—”

“Hey, Trinity, listen. Can I come over?” I knew I sounded desperate, but I needed to get out of this house, away from that mirror. And I was praying that Trinity was free now.

“Sure. Is there something wrong though? You sound really freaked out.”

“I'll explain when I get to your house.”

Within a minute, I was out the door and down the driveway. Hopefully the moving people didn't jack off while I was gone—it's not like they didn't know where the exit was after they finished their job.

I started to relax once I was walking, my breathing returning to normal, and even took leisure in observing my surroundings. The small creek behind houses fringing the street could be discerned, glinting peacefully in the early beams of the morning sun. When smaller, my grandmother and I would fish at its muddy banks, casting out bits of our hotdogs from lunch as bait on strings tied to sticks. We never had much luck catching any minnows and so sort of cheated by using our gifts.

Smiling slightly at the recollection, I glanced down: the sidewalk below my feet was cracked and crumbled, with weeds sprouting between the enormous blocks of concrete. I liked the wild mess. It made me kinda believe I had been living in a jungle when I was little, since everything took on a “larger than life” meaning at such young ages. Then again, I had always been an 'effed up kid—what with my gift of Changing Fate and all.