Mirror's Edge

By Matthew Delaney

Noah's life was perfect. But it was a lie.

 

When a buried secret explodes back into Noah Ryuzo's life, he finds himself racing against time to fight an opponent he's spent his entire entire life trusting in the hopes of piecing his family and his life back together again.

 

When past and present collide, what will the future hold as it teeters at the brink of the mirror's edge?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Goldhawk Publishing
• Release date: Aug 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223676676

Book preview

"AMIDST THE DARKNESS YOU ARE THE LIGHT. A

HALF CANNOT FUNCTION AS A WHOLE."

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

With love and thanks to Claire, James, and Michael. Thank you for believing in me.

Japanese Name & Phrase List

Chapter One

Have you ever encountered chaos so fractured that it almost makes perfect sense? I have. A paradoxical marriage of surreal and hyper-real – of madness and sanity; clear in its design yet hidden in its intent. That is how it was for me; before the sharp truth that lies at the mirror’s edge tempted the truth from its hiding place like blood seeping from a fresh wound.

It was early. Some might say too early; and they’d be right. It was that in-between-time before the world arose from its slumber – the time when it is neither day nor night; a time where shadows hide within the gathering light and dreams surface oh-so briefly so as to merge momentarily with reality. It had been the same for four weeks now – so haunted in my dreamscape that reality was my only refuge and a glass of orange juice provided what little solace I could cling to.

The nightmare was always the same – a place unfamiliar and somehow known to me; hazy in recollection – cloudy as if gazing at something slightly out of focus. When it happened, in those times, I would see through eyes I didn’t know but somehow registered with on some level – as if the truth were a veil so thin that it escaped naked detection. In that place there were monsters – monsters in human form who I’d run from but never get far. There was a hospital – dark and foreboding despite the volume of artificial light – a bitter irony with oppression dwelling in a place of healing. In that place, I was a mere ghost of a person – struggling for understanding. Quite often the injuries I’d sustain there while fighting to get away would carry over into my waking life. It was like a bleeding effect, where the realms of dream and reality blurred together creating bruises in places I hadn’t injured when  awake  or  invoking  pain  in  places where  no  discernible cause  or  wound  could  be  found.  And  the  fear  that  surged through me when I was in that place gripped me like an iron hand clutching mercilessly at my heart – squeezing hard until my eyes screamed in pain and I awoke to find myself sitting bolt upright in bed – with forehead christened with anxious dew. If only I’d known then what I do now. Not that it would change much, it wouldn’t have made me safe but it would have made me more aware. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Forgive me...

So, anyway, there I was in the kitchen at home – with the pale morning light filtering through the blinds. Irrational though it was, I couldn’t let myself go back to sleep no matter how tired I felt. The muffled sound of footsteps on the carpeted stairwell alerted me to an impending arrival, and sure enough within seconds there was a familiar yet shadowy figure observing me from the doorway.

Noah, sweetheart? What are you doing up? asked Mum. I couldn’t sleep.

The nightmares again?

Yeah...they’re getting worse. It’s been every night lately. It’s like something I can’t switch off, I replied as she fiddled with the coffee-maker.

I’ll make an appointment with Doctor Calhoun for you, came the response after a moment, with Mum stepping over to ruffle my hair in a comforting manner.

Thanks Mum, I answered whilst savouring what measure of comfort I could take from the moment.

A quick shower and change of clothes later saw me sitting around the kitchen table with my parents as we began the morning ritual of breakfast. Some may see this kind of interaction a bit weird or antiquated but spending time together as a family was actually rather  rewarding.  Primarily  it  was  due  to  my  Dad’s  strong Japanese cultural heritage – of upholding the honour, integrity, unity, and moral fibre of the family through accepted norms and practices; all of which was complemented by Mum’s English cultural input. Despite Dad firmly entrenched as the head of our little collective, both he and Mum lived and worked in total harmony  alongside  one  another  –  each  providing  a  balanced blend of ‘ying’ to the other’s ‘yang’.

Some may see being of mixed cultural heritage as daunting – existing between two constants, but I really like it. It wasn’t an obstacle for me – I loved and embraced both parts of my culture in equal measure.

Anyway – breakfast, right, so – there we were – sat occupying three seats out of the four around the circular kitchen table. I often thought that the fourth seat should be occupied as well; and I’m not entirely sure why the matter captivated me so much – it just did and had done for as long as I could remember.

The report from parent’s evening was very good, Noah, it’s good to see you’re applying yourself, said Dad whilst negotiating a sip of fresh orange juice so as not to spill any on his work shirt.

Thanks Dad.

Any university will be lucky to snap you up, sweetheart. added Mum.

Being an only child came with its quirks – most notably the concentrated emotional investment that hadn’t been the diluted by the presence of siblings. In my case there was a bit more to it than that – not only was I an only child but, from what had been explained to me, I was the only child they could have – and even that was at the cost of various medical treatments; so it was understandable to me why at times they were more full-on than some of my friends parents. I understand that I represented an important marker in their relationship, so it never aggrieved me to do all I could to make them proud and live up to whatever expectations they held for me.

Anyway, that morning it was overcast – the kind of morning where you just want to hide under a duvet until the sun wakes up again. But with the terror of the recurring nightmares still fresh in mind I opted to take my chances outside, hoping that school would prove a suitable distraction. I left shortly after Mum and Dad had each gone to work – just, as luck would have it, light drizzle descended from above – carpeting everything with a moist film  that  made  all  colours  seem  more  vibrant  against  the brooding clouds. I tried anything I could to distract my thoughts away from the hostile dreamscape that had seared itself into my conscious,  deciding after  some  deliberation  to drown  out the images with the playlist on my mp3 player.

I had to pass a parade of shops on the way to the bus stop and found myself drifting into the newsagents for no real rhyme or reason  –  finding  some  bizarre  comfort in  the  detachment of looking at the colourful array of magazine covers. It was as I was glancing at the TV magazines that I saw something impossible that once more exhumed the dreamscape to the surface – as there, right in front of me, on one of the TV magazine covers was a picture of me looking particularly angry; and I’m not just talking stubbed my toe kind of angry but full-blown looks could kill (and probably level a small city) kind of angry. Within milliseconds my attention was drawn to the colourful headline flanking the cover picture – He Knows... I know what? It didn’t make any sense and so, fighting against an urge to run out of the shop, I cautiously picked up the magazine and dared to glance inside – flicking through the pages which, for some reason had the title phrase repeated over and over again like a twisted mantra. Feeling a chill race down my spine, I threw the magazine back down and rushed out of the shop - never once stopping or looking back until I had turned the corner at the end of the road. Just what the hell was that? Why had I been on that cover? Was it a dream...or hallucination? I wasn’t sure. It all seemed too real and so confusingly plausible for some unknown reason.

I must have just missed the bus I’d usually have caught by mere seconds as by the time I reached the stop, a red double-decker was all but a lingering memory in the distance up ahead. Dammit! What was with the world today? Or me for that matter? Anyway, with nothing left to do but wait it out I began vaguely switching focus between the road and my feint reflection in the Perspex bus shelter while keeping vigil for the next bus. And then, without invitation or reason the scene in front of me blurred momentarily out of focus until in that moment, that place, I was somewhere, someone, else altogether...

It started with a scream so pained it would make angels weep, emerging from a face that felt both familiar and strange to me in equal measure. I was back there,  in  that  nightmare place  –  with  its  false light  that  embraced  the darkness and walls that screamed with silent torment. It was some place like a hospital as that aroma of clinical sterility assailed my nostrils. It was so real – as if I were lucid dreaming – with every sight and smell registering just as they would in the waking world. I was running through the corridors that felt like a prison while my insides were longing to escape such clinical confines. Without knowing why, I instinctively knew that I had to escape at all costs – that this would be my only chance. Turning a corner to catch my breath I suddenly became aware of being chased by a handful of stern-looking attendants. But why were they chasing me? And how could I get away? Time was short. I knew that. I wouldn’t get another shot at this, not after...wait...after what? It was like I was tuned into a radio station where I could only make out certain bits of what was being said, or coming into a movie half-way through and not having the foggiest idea what was going on.

Setting off again I soon found myself confronted by a secure door with a glowing green ‘Exit’ sign above it and locked with a swipe card reader. Ordinarily this would have been game-over and yet somehow it didn’t seem to faze me – like I was expecting it – and, as if functioning on autopilot, I reached into one of the pockets in my faded black jeans and produced a swipe card. At first I was puzzled - if I had a way out all this time then why had I been so fearful? But closer inspection answered that question for me as the card belonged to someone else and there, staring back at me was the face of the family Doctor I had known for as long as I could remember – Doctor Alastair Calhoun. But why was he in this nightmare? I’d never had any fear or bad experiences of him before.

Forcing the questions back, I swiped the card furiously through the reader slot and heaved a great sigh of relief when the red light relented to a green one followed by a dull ‘clunk’. Needing no further encouragement, and with mere moments before the attendants caught up to me I pressed the chrome handle down and swung the door open – revealing an outside space – bathed in natural (if somewhat overcast) daylight. And with that I took my first step into the world outside, determined not be denied...

In a flash I was back at the bus stop – coming to my senses just in time to see the bus I’d been waiting for pulling away from the kerb without me. I ran over – trying to get the driver’s attention but it was no good – if the driver had seen me, he or she clearly wasn’t interested in stopping for me. Dammit! Now I’d be late for sure.

Believing, somewhat naively, that I could make better time on foot rather than waiting for the next (inevitably crowded) bus, I set off towards school. I suppose I was angry at myself more than the situation because I couldn’t control what was happening with these  nightmares  –  even now  as they  were  spilling over into reality and imposing themselves upon my conscious existence. It was like being sucked into a completely different world – one of paradoxical familiarity and detachment.

As it turned out, the rain that accompanied me most of the way proved quite refreshing - with some semblance of cleansing reassurance washing over me with every drop. With every brick and concrete parade I passed along the way, that nagging conscious desire for understanding was working overtime trying to decode these experiences – finding, after much deliberation, more questions than potential answers. Was I losing my mind? No – I didn’t believe that. Whatever this was felt external to me somehow despite the unspoken notions of intimate proximity. Was  it  a  mere  reflection  of  things  I  was  absorbing  in  my conscious state? Again, I didn’t believe so – there wasn’t any discernible link between what I was experiencing in either place. In waking life I had no fear of anything medical, nor did I feel trapped  in  any  way  so  it  just  wasn’t  plausible  that  those nightmares were a projection of repressed thoughts. But in that place, that hyper-real dreamscape, I felt so different – so angry, almost like  another person  entirely,  so  determined  to rise  up against a force or entity I couldn’t put a definition to.

Arriving at sixth form a little after quarter past nine, I did my level best to sneak in ‘under the radar’ – managing to get inside the Common Room before the air turned stiff with authority...

Mr Ryuzo...so glad you could find the time to join us.

It was Ms (extra emphasis on the ‘z’) Fletcher – the youthful, stern and perplexingly attractive assistant head of sixth form and my form teacher. With every encounter her aura and authority reigned down upon me like Aphrodite waxing lyrical atop Mount Olympus. She just had this air about her – an unmistakable and unquantifiable edge to her personality that, no matter how stern she got, you still always saw the good in her.

Sorry, I...missed my bus...well, two actually... I answered, finally shaking my thoughts of her loose for a moment.

In an instant Ms Fletcher’s left eyebrow curled upwards as she readied her next volley.

You’re an ‘A’ grade student and that’s the best you can come up with?!

She did this. She’d say something, often rhetorical, with such laser-guided precision so as to reach beneath your skin and speak to you in a way others could not; and just like anyone else caught in this situation, I couldn’t help but remain silent – unable, or unwilling, to mount a counter-offensive. As she continued to glance at me with eyes still determining my fate, I mused that perhaps such displays of interpersonal power-politics formed part of the attraction. It wasn’t that she was a ‘bitch’, well – maybe to some; but for me it was more her articulate affirmation of identity and   inner-strength   –   that  innate   ability   to  express  one’s confidence and depth of character.

Mrs Saunders will be missing you in A2 Sociology  – you’d better hurry. I wouldn’t want her getting upset, now; Lord knows there aren’t enough tissues in the world to deal with that little crisis.

Her satirical wit was equally as enchanting as she was in person and, again, I delayed a response as I dwelt in the energy of the moment.

Right...yeah, I stumbled eventually, still enchanted by her spell, I’d better get going...

With that I turned to leave, getting only three or four steps away before her voice called unto me again.

Oh,  and  Mr  Ryuzo...you’re  forgiven.  She  offered  with  wry smile and sentiment so deep it made oceans seem like puddles.

Breezing into the humanities block moments later I entered the classroom and quickly made my apologies to Mrs Saunders – the petit, middle-aged sociology teacher best characterised by her flowing light-brown knitwear cardigan and butterfly hairclip that helped her hair permanently defy gravity.

Sorry I’m late. I uttered.

It’s okay, Noah, take a seat. She answered softly.

It was as I looked out at the sea of faces that I caught a glimpse of my best friend Jake and quickly shuffled towards the vacant seat one row removed from the back that he had saved for me.

Thought you weren’t gonna make it. uttered Jake as I removed a handful of items from my rucksack.

So did I.

Jake  was  a  little  taller  than  me  which  gave  him  a  perfect advantage in basketball (and navigating through crowds). We’d been friends from fairly early on in high school – ever since Jake had joined part-way through the year when his family had moved into town. Jake shared my passion for basketball and both of us had earned our way onto the school team – becoming jersey numbers ‘07’ (me) and ‘24’ (Jake) on the Lincoln Road Aurochs.

Thankfully the rest of the lesson provided a safe environment to (albeit temporarily) cast off the worry of the nightmares and as the bell chimed Jake turned to me with excitement plastered all across his face.

Free period. Wanna play some three-on-three basketball? Some of the others should be getting out of English about now.

Sure. I answered.

Great, ‘coz we’re gonna need to cram all the practice we can endure with Coach wanting us to bring home some silverware from the county tournament this year.

Well it’s our last year – we might as well try going out with a bang.

Joining some of our team-mates, we commandeered one of the vacant playgrounds and immediately entered into a fierce three-on-three game.  There was something electric for me about playing basketball and being on the school team. I loved every minute of it; savoured every second that my feet skimmed across those courts and lined-up shots towards the hoops. The thrill of competing surged through me like a second-blood every time I played and I never wanted it to end. It was the concept of many coming together and working in total synergy that captivated me most – to share that deep connection and common sense of purpose was something that resonated strongly with a part of me that I could define in no greater terms.

So there we were – Aurochs versus Aurochs – with Jake, Reece and I on one side all moving in-sync like waves on an ocean – ebbing and flowing alongside one another’s movements so as to operate greater than the sum of our individual efforts. We ended up playing the best of three games – with the goal of each to score ten hoops before the opponents. Narrowly losing the first game we turned up the heat in order to equalise – leaving everything hanging on the deciding third game. It was tense; coming right down to the wire with literally everything weighing upon the nail-biting final few plays. Seeing an opening, I raced towards the opposing hoop after catching a long-shot from Reece – only to be blocked at the pivotal moment by Mark – a spritely yet built-like-a-tank six-former from Year Twelve. I wanted to make the shot and bring home the win but I knew Mark’s ability well enough to know he’d stop it and if we lost possession of the ball now there was no guarantee that we’d be able to pull it back in time to make a difference; so seeing Jake open I launched the ball in his direction and watched on as he dribbled it the final few paces to an optimal shooting point. In that moment, as the ball flew towards its target one could practically feel our collective anticipation riding alongside it until it struck the hoop, bounced slightly before striking the hoop again, softer this time, and falling through the netting – securing our win. Fate decided in an instant – there in the blink of an eye. Jake, Reece and I all looked to one another flashing relieved smiles and light, nervous laughs between ourselves. We had done it – we had pulled it together and won. Our unity had paved the road to victory.

It was as we were making our way past the science block, just as everything seemed so blissfully normal, that it happened again. I felt off-balance at first – having to stop as dizziness took hold of me  until  everything  around  me  took  on  a  strangely  ethereal quality – blending into a singular silky veil of blurry figures