Mirror Image

By AJ McGillan

Have you ever wished you could forget something so bad it gave you nightmares? What if that memory was all you had? Would you go searching for the truth? Would you want to know what happened?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers USA
• Release date: Dec 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463100974

AJ McGillan

AJ McGillan was born in Szombathely, Hungary. She immigrated to Canada at the age of 5 and attended many schools as her mom and sisters moved around BC. After graduating, she worked different jobs until 2015, when she dedicated her time to writing full time. AJ McGillan now resides in Kelowna, BC, Canada.

Book preview

About the Author

AJ McGillan was born in Szombathely, Hungary. She immigrat-ed to Canada at the age of 5 and attended many schools as her mom and sisters moved around BC. After graduating, she worked different jobs until 2015, when she dedicated her time to writing full time. AJ McGillan now resides in Kelowna, BC, Can-ada.

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Dedication

To Dorothy, who read each chapter and told me to keep going because she wanted to know what happened next, and to Trevor who has supported me with my dream of writing.

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AJ McGillan

MIRROR IMAGE

Copyright © AJ McGillan (2018)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Ordering Information:

Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

McGillan, AJ.

MIRROR IMAGE

ISBN 9781947353572 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781947353589 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781947353596 (E-Book)

The main category of the book — Fiction/Thrillers/Suspense

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2018)

Austin Macauley Publishers ™ LLC

40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

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Chapter 1

There was blood, so much blood. Images of red haunted my nights. Another scream echoed in my mind and stirred me awake. I bolted upright as the light was switched on.

Are you alright? Kate asked, running to my side.

Yes, I gasped, only just realizing that I was out of breath and damp with sweat. Kate was a middle-aged woman about 45 years of age, with brown shoulder-length hair that she always wore in a tight bun. She was almost giving herself a cheap facelift with how tight she pulled her hair back. She was a plain woman, her features showing her years of hard work. She stood a mere 5’ but could command the attention like that of a giant. She was a quiet woman who usually kept to herself and frowned at the daily small talk that was required in day-to-day living. She didn’t see a need for it and thought it was a waste of time that could be better spent in silence.

Kate went to get a glass of water and handed it to me. I drank most of it and set the glass down on the nightstand beside the bed. She fussed about and handed me dry pajamas. I climbed out of bed and almost jumped back in after feeling how cold the floor was. I bent down and fished for my slippers that had somehow made their way under the bed. After putting them on, I made my way to the washroom while Kate busied herself with changing the sheets on the bed. I watched as she quickly and efficiently removed the old ones and grabbed a clean set out of the closet in the hall. I changed quickly, eager to climb back into bed. I put the damp clothes into the pile with the sheets when I returned.

Kate was intrigued by this girl. Kate knew she was special from the moment the girl arrived. There were nights when she stood outside the girl’s door, hoping the girl would make a sound, so she had a reason to open the door and see her, to talk to her, even if it was only a few words.

Kate worked the night shift 4 days a week. And besides the elderly man that kept flashing the nurses who went to check on him (because he barely slept) or the old lady at the end of the hall who fell out of bed about three times a night, Kate didn’t have too much to occupy her time.

That was quite a scream, Kate said, trying not to appear too eager.

I screamed? I asked, confused, emerging from the washroom.

With the sheets and I dry, I climbed back into bed and drank the rest of my water slowly as Kate stared at me blankly.

My breathing had calmed to normal when I noticed Kate’s eyes scanning the scars on my arms that were still scabbed over. I arrived here about three weeks ago, full of cuts on my chest, stomach, and arms. Some were long, others small and deep. I have tried to avoid looking at them as much as possible and have never counted them myself. They scared me. I think I remember the doctors saying there were 13 in total. That was the day of my first memory. The doctors say I am repressing or something ’cause I am —let’s see; how did they put it?—evading, no but something like that. Each session with the doctor makes me quieter and more frustrated.

So here it goes: I have amnesia, and prior to my life here, I have no memories at all. The dreams are me, bloody, walking into the hospital. Then I think they kept me drugged up for 5 days or so in the hospital, and after they knew I wouldn’t die, moved me here: the psycho unit, the funny farm, the mental institute. Why? Well, I have no idea who I am, no one came forward claiming me, and also, I overheard the nurses talking about how I did this to myself. So for my safety, they moved me here.

The doctor thought my amnesia was temporary. He thought that I would have my memory back after a few hypnosis sessions, but the more he tried to pry, the stronger the doors that held my mind shut became. Slowly, I started disliking my appointments. The doctor made me feel as if it was my fault that I couldn’t remember. During hypnosis, all I could remember was the blood and being so scared that I would start screaming hysterically, and he would have to snap me out of it so it wouldn’t cause more damage.

He kept telling me that when I was ready to remember, my mind would open up again, and that I needed to be patient. Yeah, right. That is what he said, but telling me one thing and clearly getting frustrated when not seeing the results was getting annoying for him as well.

Kate fussed about me for a couple more minutes, then turned to look at me.

Do you need anything to help you get back to sleep? she asked.

No, I think I will be alright, thank you, I said, faking a smile. Kate turned out the lights and shut the door and I laid down, wanting to remember something, anything besides the blood. At the same time, it scared me a lot; I was scared a lot these days. Who was I before this?

The dreams I had kept me up most nights and scared me into silence during the day. The last couple of days though had me faking half smiles and turning to idle chit-chat to help lighten the mood, ’cause the nurses have been watching me like a hawk. I figured out the cheerier I seem, the less pills they try to force on me.

That night, the dreams didn’t return.

I awoke to the rain dancing on the windowpane the next morning. I rolled over to look at the drops trickling down the glass. There was something about the rain that seemed to refresh my mind, like it was washing away any of the bad stuff that was in my mind. I looked around my small room. It was dull, and everything was white. There was a small single bed, a nightstand, and a lamp. On the opposite wall was a small cabinet for my clothes. That was it. I got up and slid my feet into my slippers. The floors were always freezing cold, and I hated that. I grabbed some clothes from my cabinet and headed to the shared washroom across the hall from my room. Upon opening my door, I adjusted a fake cheery smile on my face and nodded as I passed a nurse in the hall. I entered the bathroom, showered and dressed, then made my way down to the common room. It was about 4 doors down from my room, on the left. This was a large room with mostly games and books filling it. In one corner was the T.V., which was always set on one channel, since the others always came in fuzzy and distorted. The room had a couple of couches and chairs that surrounded it, and along the wall, there were several tall windows that were barred to prevent patients from trying to fly. Three long couches were lined up against that wall with bookshelves in between each. This room had a little more color but was still drab. I took a seat by the window to watch the rain when I saw some people casually walking with umbrellas. One couple had their arms entwined as they tried to keep dry. Some were running with a soggy newspaper held above their head.

I smiled as I tried to picture myself out there, but the smile faded when I tried to think of where I would be headed if I had a job or if I would be meeting someone for coffee. I turned my head from the window and glanced around the room. There was an elderly man at the checker table getting very frustrated that he was losing Over by the T.V, a young girl was mimicking the advertisements. But all this was making me miserable as I looked around. I was not like these people; I was normal, except for the fact I couldn’t remember my past before waking up here and the dreams I had. The nurse came in and announced that breakfast was ready. Happily, I stood up, allowing her voice to take me out of my thoughts. Everyone else headed out for breakfast as well, except for the old man.

Come on, Peter, it’s time to go eat, the nurse said, trying to coax him from his chair.

Not now, I am winning. He is not going to beat me this time, he said, looking at the empty chair across from him. The old man was clearly losing, but the nurse did not want to antagonize him by pointing that out.

The game will be here when you get back. Are you sure you don’t want to come have breakfast? They are serving your favorite today, Cheerios. At the mention of the cereal, his eyes lit up.

Can I bring it in here? I only have a couple more moves to beat him. He’s a cheat and will probably move some of the pieces by the time I get back.

I am sure your friend knows the rules of the game, and cheating will disqualify him from the match, the nurse said, playing along.

Yes, yes, you’re right. You hear that, Robbins? Any cheating and you’ll be disqualified from the tournament, the elderly man stated, waving his finger at the empty chair across from him.

By the way, he is not my friend, Peter said to the nurse.

Sorry, my mistake, she said and escorted the old man to breakfast.

The dining hall was across from the common room and down a short hall. It was simple, had rows of tables with benches and an assembly line where the food was dished out or handed to us depending on what it was. Cereal was easy: they would give us a carton of milk and a bowl of pre-measured cereal. You also had a choice of orange or apple juice. I omitted the juice, ate my cereal dry, and drank the milk instead. Breakfast came and passed with only a couple of incidents. I heard the orderlies rushing about but wasn’t paying attention to what actually had caused the commotion. The routine of the day progressed slowly as usual. After breakfast, we walked back to the common room. It was what they called free time. Normally, we would have all been allowed outside, however, with it raining, it was not something they were going to let us do today. Then came lunch and my scheduled appointment with the doctor.

So when I first got here, there was a lot of empathy and patience. Most of the time, not much was said at my appointments. In the beginning, he just wanted to listen; he wanted to make sure I was ready to talk, to tell him about my dreams. By the second week, I started to have my dreams more, so he asked questions to try and get me to remember the details but didn’t push on my past. Once we had dove into the details of my dreams and he had made sure there was nothing more to add or figure out, he moved on to try to get my past unlocked. He tried regression, hypnosis, and a couple of other things I can’t remember the name of. As of yet, there was no progress on my past, and now my visits were usually chit-chat twice a week about how many dreams I’ve had, and if there was anything new added to my dreams. He said in the last session that we would be stopping with the hypnosis since I kept panicking and screaming. He didn’t think that it was helping and overall could be doing me more harm than good.

After the doctor’s visit, there were games and entertainment of some kind. Usually, it was arranged by an outside company that came in to do volunteer work, then it was dinner time and a movie (if you chose to watch it), and then time for bed.

I often wondered as I lay in bed what my life was like before this. Did I have a normal life? What plans did I have? Was I happy? Then recalling the doctors, I thought maybe I wasn’t. They thought I had done this to myself. If that was true, then I couldn’t have been happy. All my dreams of blood and the screaming, would they ever stop? How could I make them stop? How could I fix myself, so that I could move on and be normal?

Another week went by, and the lack of returning memories was getting the doctors and I more frustrated. By this time, the medication they had me on had stopped, and I only got them when my nightmares got worse.

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Chapter 2

I woke up after what was a somewhat okay night. I stood in front of the mirror, brushing my hair. I suppose I was about 20-ish, with straight brown hair, down to the middle of my back. I had blue eyes, a small nose, average-sized ears and lips, and dimples when I smiled. Overall, I was kind of plain, and I stood about 5’7’’ with an average build. I guess I was probably not really big on the whole working out thing. I found myself staring into the mirror. The more I looked, the more I couldn’t help but wonder why no one had come for me. Wasn’t there anyone out there that missed or cared about me? I couldn’t have been all alone, could I? I suddenly felt really sad and alone. Was I an orphan? And if so, when had I become one? Had I ever had parents? Did I ever have someone that I loved or loved me? Why could I remember how to read, write, and remember all the fundamentals on how to do stuff but not know anything about myself?

I spent an hour outside, walking the grounds after breakfast, and the rest of the time sitting by the window. Most of the time the nurses left me alone, although I still had to fake a smile at them once in a while.

Another nightmare woke me that night. I was sobbing uncontrollably when Kate came in to sedate me. Not knowing how to make me feel better, Kate said nothing as she tucked me back into bed.

Kate? I said, and she turned to look at me.

Yes?

I know it might be too much to ask, and I don’t know if there is a code or anything, and you don’t have to answer. But would you mind telling me something about your parents?

Kate looked shocked at the question.

I mean, since I can’t remember mine, I — never mind. Don’t worry about it, I said, and rolled over, sighing deeply.

Sundays were the best. My dad would wake us up with the smell of the big family breakfast coming up the stairs; my brothers would sound like a stampede, going down them to get it. With 4 brothers, it was hard to get much food, but on Sundays, when I would go downstairs, my dad would have a special plate put aside, just for me. Pancakes, bacon, hash browns, eggs, and toast. I also remember that every Friday, when he packed my lunch for school, he would put popcorn in it. I never asked him why, but I really did enjoy it, Kate said, smiling at the pictures running through her mind.

I rolled over, Thank you— and paused.

I wonder if my parents did anything like that. Your dad sounds really nice.

He was; being his only daughter, he spoiled me and I know it.

Was?

Yes, he died a few years ago.

Oh, I’m sorry.

No, no. He lived and died, leaving behind a legacy in his children. That is the way life is. Can’t stay young forever.

No, I guess not. But I am sorry for bringing it up. The memories must be painful if he has passed away.

Yes and no. Once people die, it is good when situations come up when we can think about them again. That way, they are not forgotten. Anyway, you should get some rest.

Are you married?

No, I was once but not anymore. Not wanting to further push the subject, I simply yawned, sleepily.

Thank you again, Kate.

She smiled.

You’re welcome. I hope the rest of your dreams are happy ones.

I am not sure if I was just too tired but I thought I heard her call me something as she shut the door. It sounded like ‘Ruby’.

By the end of the session with the doctor the next day, we were glaring at each other and thought that I would be better off seeing a new doctor that they had hired. Maybe they would have better luck with me he said. I would start seeing him next week.

I sat at the window again, watching the never-ending rain pour down on the streets. I looked at the clock on the wall: 15 more minutes.

Time passed and right on time was the linen truck, three times a week. Always prompt, I headed to my bedroom for some quiet, and laid my head on the pillows. I think I passed out at some point, thinking about Kate’s parents, pretending that they were mine. Good dreams filled my thoughts and I felt my hair being brushed back and tucked behind my ear.

I miss you, Ruby. Come back to me, the voice in my head said, and then the sounds faded to a whisper. The dreams didn’t come that night and so I slept well.

I was actually smiling for real the next day; I was completely rested. I casually stood, reading Jane Eyre by the nurse’s office, and looked towards the locked doors that kept everyone in here. I watched as the janitor pulled his cart out of a room about halfway down the hall.

Did you want something?

Um, yes, I thought quickly, I was wondering if my new doctor would keep seeing me on the same days as I have been or if the days are going to change?

One sec, I will check the chart, the nurse said and headed into the office.

I looked down the hall again; the janitor was gone and I watched as orderlies were putting laundry down the chute at the end of the hall. The nurse came back from her office.

Looks like they have you down for the usual one on Thursday. After that, none are scheduled. I suspect that the doctor will discuss future appointments during Thursday’s session with you.

Thank you. I said, smiling, and stuck my nose back in the book and walked back to my window seat and continued reading.

I wondered if I had ever read this book before. Did I like it? Did I like to read? With not having too much to do in here, and not remembering much outside of here, I couldn’t tell if I liked it or only read it because I was bored. I mean, I was enjoying the book at the moment, but in here, reading was a great way to pass the time; out there, I may have been too busy. I could have been a student, but again, how could I know what to think of who I was when no one had reported me missing? I dove into the book to stop myself from thinking further on the subject. It would have a spiral effect if I did; I would get depressed, the nurses would see me, and then I would get drugged up again.

Shift change with the nurses was in 18 minutes; 1 hour after that was dinner: roast beef and mashed potatoes with some baby carrots, today. That night, the dreams came again.

I was walking down a road—gravel or something similar. It hurt my feet. There was darkness all around me—vague shadows—but I couldn’t see anything clearly—feeling so much pain from everywhere. I was so scared; I could see the lights up ahead—very bright. The hospital, I need to make it. With grass under my feet and still darkness all around, I suddenly heard cars whizzing— getting closer. The lights getting brighter as I walked. I don’t even know how my legs had the strength to propel me forward. I could barely feel anything anymore. I was screaming, hoping someone would hear me and help. But no one stops. No more grass under my feet, as I enter the hospital parking lot. I’m so close; I need to make it. People. I see people. I’m still screaming for help and they are running away. Why? Couldn’t they see? I entered the doors and saw some men pointing their guns at me. They were saying something; what was it? I am still screaming, still trying to get them to help. More people running —they are not lowering their guns. What are they saying?

Drop it. Everyone is now scared. I’m scared.

"Please, help me. Why is