“Berry! What’s up, girl?” The human rushes over and picks up the hissing cat, standing in front of the mirror as I whisk myself into a new shape. Her shape.
But I don’t have a kitten to hold. I didn’t think that fast, didn’t manipulate matter quick enough.
I see her eyes stray. Stare.
This is it. I hold the breath I never use. One day, some human is going to shatter the surface of the glass and end me.
Maybe I’ll be relieved.
But it’s not this one. Not today.
She looks at our mismatched bodies, hugs the kitten tighter, and sighs as she closes her eyes, a sad smile tugging her lips. “I guess they’re right. I’m getting worse.”
Chapter Four
“Ihad a visual hallucination yesterday.”
My therapist frowns. “What was it?”
“I was looking in the mirror, holding my new kitten—here she is. Isn’t she cute?”
“Adorable. What happened?”
“I was holding her, but when I looked in the mirror, there was no cat in my reflection.”
“What were you wearing?”
“Um. My usual work clothes. I stopped by the shelter right after work. Black skirt. White blouse. I think I had a pink vest on yesterday.”
“I’m willing to bet you simply had a moment of blurred vision where your clothing, the lighting, and the cat’s fur blended together in such a way that while you could feel the cat and knew you were holding it, for a moment, it looked as though your arm was empty. That is a very small kitten.”
“She’s a runt and had underdeveloped lungs when she was born. She might not get a lot bigger,” I say, brightening at my therapist’s suggestion. “You think it might have just been a trick of the light?”
“Basically. Visual hallucinations usually trigger some deep emotions of fear, rage, or sadness. If you were simply confused and didn’t stick around to examine the situation, I’d say you were simply mistaken.”
I want to believe that. I really do.
But I don’t. That would be good luck, and I don’t have good luck.
Or do I? Three weeks in Pine Ridge have taught me that I am a damn good paralegal-slash-receptionist, that I can make new friends, that I can go out at night, and that I still have a style—and even dreams— of my own.
My luck is starting to run good.
“There’s another phenomenon you should be aware of, too. It’s called the Troxler Effect. When we stare at our own image too long, the brain begins to misfire. You see, our eyes were not intended to go around and gaze at our own reflections for extended periods of time. They’re survival tools, not beauty tools. Stare at yourself for too long, and your image will distort. That’s likely where that whole Bloody Mary urban legend comes in. So don’t jump to conclusions, Aggie. You’re doing the best you have in all the time I’ve known you. I’m so proud of you!”
