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“Ugh.” I rub a hand down my face, tired at the prospect of managing all these moving variables and knowing I have no other choice but to go along with Christian’s plan.
I draw a warm bath and slip below the water, careful to not allow my head to submerge. My thoughts were like this tub of bubbles, each in their own world until popped. Misty pads into the room and plops herself in front of the windows. Soon after, she begins to snore softly.
“Don’t worry Misty, I’ll take you with me when we find a way out.” Her ear twitches at my words, and I fall back against the tub. The water nozzle spouts hot water, filling the room with steam, clouding every surface. The heat calms my racing thoughts, and I finally relax.
It only lasts a second.
Flashes of the creatures burn their way into my mind. Crooked mandibles. Teeth hanging loose. Dead sunken eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to quell the anxiety that rises in my chest. Could these creatures be a product of botched experiments? My gut churns, and a cold dread washes over me as the disturbing thought takes root. I need to gain access again, the next time with a camera.
Content with the idea, I let a wave of calm wash over me.
“Hello Marisa.” My eyes flash open at the sonorous drawl. What’s staring back at me is incomprehensible. It’s me, framed within a mirror on the far wall. My heart lurches in my chest.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
It beats like a drum at war. There are no mirrors in this room. How is this possible?
Words become clay upon my tongue.
“Marisssaa.”
Silver ribbons twine themselves along my shins. The light goes dark. A tremulous vibration skims along my skin. The light returns. I’m not in the tub. My body is standing across the room.
No, wait—my feet hover slightly above the tile.
Blink.
I’m back in my other body, the one in the tub. There is no feeling but a hollow awareness of being present without belonging. My soul seems to be volleying between my body in the tub and the one in the mirror.
Blink.
My reflection in the mirror blinks, black ichor pools on the curves of her lower eyelids.
That is not me.
Still, I’m frozen in place.
“Don’t look so confused,” the voice purrs. “This has always been your gift.” The sound bounces around the room, settling behind me with a deep timbre.
Slipping away like a rug under a table, the room shifts. The tile stretches and blends with thinning steam. The scent of soap is replaced with salt.
When the room settles again, I’m standing in a bedroom I don’t recognize. Tall windows, curtains drawn open, an obscenely large portrait atop a mantle. The wallpaper is intricate and feminine. And her. Daisy—what I’ve come to know her as—is standing at the center of the room. Her hair falls loosely down her back, dark waves catching the warm light. She’s dressed in a silk dress, the fabric clinging to her frame.
“You’re late,” she speaks.
I follow her slicing glare. There is someone else in the room. A man, half-turned toward her, half-cloaked in shadow.
“You’re impatient tonight,” he replies, voice low.
Daisy scoffs, then strides across the room. She places a finger on the man’s shoulder condescendingly and jabs. “I don’t think we have the luxury of time anymore. We should use her.”
I try to move closer, but I remain anchored. I’m like a ghost in a haunted house. A soul trapped.
“What makes her so special?” the man asks.
