the police station?”
“Yeah. We were both—”
“Have I died yet?”
A long pause from my end.
“Um, yeah, according to the cops.” I glanced at the white cop, who showed no interest in my conversation.
“Then there’s no time to explain all this. Get out of there.”
“But—I’ll be a fugitive,” I whispered, turning away from the cop. “They know where I—”
“Listen. Get up. Walk to the door. Leave the room. Leave the building. Whatever you do, see that big white cop standing there in the room with you? Don’t look at him in the mirror.”
“Huh?”
I glanced back over my shoulder at the cop. Something was . . . off.
“Just go. Now.”
I tried to get a read on the cop, and realized that’s what was off. Even with the soy sauce I was getting zero information from the G. Gordon Liddy–looking detective. I turned my head a few degrees to the right . . .
— Don’t look at the mirror don’t look at the mirror —
. . . to the reflective surface of the two-way mirror directly opposite the cop.
It was just you and Morgan in the mirror, Dave. Even after the white cop stepped forward.
In the mirror it was just me. Standing there, talking on my cell.
Alone.
I spun toward the cop.
“I don’t get it.”
“He’s not real, Dave. Not in the, uh, traditional sense.”
“He’s coming toward me!”
“Go, Dave. You’re gonna start seeing things like this from time to time. It’s important that you not freak out.”
The cop was one step away from me now. His mustache twitched, as if he was starting to grin underneath it.
“So he, uh, can’t hurt me?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure he can.”
A hand clenched around my face. The cop’s fingers dug into my cheeks, squeezing, rigid as iron bars. I thought my teeth would crack into pieces. He pushed me back using my face and slammed me against the wall.
I clawed at his arm, but it was like trying to tear the limbs off a bronze statue. I smacked him across the nose with my phone. His mustache twitched again as if this amused him greatly.
The mustache kept twitching and twitching and then one end of it began to curl up and peel off, like a man’s disguise torn off by a hard wind. Finally the mustache detached completely, leaving a patch of pink, shredded skin. The thing flapped its halves like bat wings—no, it really did—and flew over and landed on my face.
The cop’s mustache bit me above the right eyebrow. I slapped at the thing with my left hand, then worked my leg up and, with all my strength, shoved a knee into the detective’s guts just below the ribs.
A jolt of pain shot up my thigh, like I had kneed over a pile of cinder blocks. But I felt him give, pushed back by the force. The mustache bat flittered over to my ear and clamped down, feeling like somebody doing five piercings at once. I slapped at it again, suddenly realized the cop had reeled back and fallen to a knee on the floor. I should have been free of him but the hand was still around my face—
Ah, look at that. His arm came off.
The man had a six-inch bloody hole on one shoulder now. The detached arm, on its own, whipped around my neck and coiled up like a python. No hint of bone in there now, the arm making two loops around until the ragged stump hung under my chin like a meat scarf.
I thrashed around, tried to pry the thing off. The armsnake was all muscle, tensed and wiry, slowly squeezing off my windpipe.
Colored spots flashed before my eyes, lack of oxygen shorting out the wiring in my brain. I blinked and saw the floor was closer than before. I was on my knees.
The mustache bat flitted around my head, taking stinging little bites on my cheek and forehead. It went after my eye, pulling at the lid, and I couldn’t get my hands up to swat it away. Arms not working right.
The meat scarf squeezed tighter. The whole room got dark. I was on all fours and I suddenly realized the best idea was just to lay down there on the floor and go to sleep.
I
“Yeah. We were both—”
“Have I died yet?”
A long pause from my end.
“Um, yeah, according to the cops.” I glanced at the white cop, who showed no interest in my conversation.
“Then there’s no time to explain all this. Get out of there.”
“But—I’ll be a fugitive,” I whispered, turning away from the cop. “They know where I—”
“Listen. Get up. Walk to the door. Leave the room. Leave the building. Whatever you do, see that big white cop standing there in the room with you? Don’t look at him in the mirror.”
“Huh?”
I glanced back over my shoulder at the cop. Something was . . . off.
“Just go. Now.”
I tried to get a read on the cop, and realized that’s what was off. Even with the soy sauce I was getting zero information from the G. Gordon Liddy–looking detective. I turned my head a few degrees to the right . . .
— Don’t look at the mirror don’t look at the mirror —
. . . to the reflective surface of the two-way mirror directly opposite the cop.
It was just you and Morgan in the mirror, Dave. Even after the white cop stepped forward.
In the mirror it was just me. Standing there, talking on my cell.
Alone.
I spun toward the cop.
“I don’t get it.”
“He’s not real, Dave. Not in the, uh, traditional sense.”
“He’s coming toward me!”
“Go, Dave. You’re gonna start seeing things like this from time to time. It’s important that you not freak out.”
The cop was one step away from me now. His mustache twitched, as if he was starting to grin underneath it.
“So he, uh, can’t hurt me?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure he can.”
A hand clenched around my face. The cop’s fingers dug into my cheeks, squeezing, rigid as iron bars. I thought my teeth would crack into pieces. He pushed me back using my face and slammed me against the wall.
I clawed at his arm, but it was like trying to tear the limbs off a bronze statue. I smacked him across the nose with my phone. His mustache twitched again as if this amused him greatly.
The mustache kept twitching and twitching and then one end of it began to curl up and peel off, like a man’s disguise torn off by a hard wind. Finally the mustache detached completely, leaving a patch of pink, shredded skin. The thing flapped its halves like bat wings—no, it really did—and flew over and landed on my face.
The cop’s mustache bit me above the right eyebrow. I slapped at the thing with my left hand, then worked my leg up and, with all my strength, shoved a knee into the detective’s guts just below the ribs.
A jolt of pain shot up my thigh, like I had kneed over a pile of cinder blocks. But I felt him give, pushed back by the force. The mustache bat flittered over to my ear and clamped down, feeling like somebody doing five piercings at once. I slapped at it again, suddenly realized the cop had reeled back and fallen to a knee on the floor. I should have been free of him but the hand was still around my face—
Ah, look at that. His arm came off.
The man had a six-inch bloody hole on one shoulder now. The detached arm, on its own, whipped around my neck and coiled up like a python. No hint of bone in there now, the arm making two loops around until the ragged stump hung under my chin like a meat scarf.
I thrashed around, tried to pry the thing off. The armsnake was all muscle, tensed and wiry, slowly squeezing off my windpipe.
Colored spots flashed before my eyes, lack of oxygen shorting out the wiring in my brain. I blinked and saw the floor was closer than before. I was on my knees.
The mustache bat flitted around my head, taking stinging little bites on my cheek and forehead. It went after my eye, pulling at the lid, and I couldn’t get my hands up to swat it away. Arms not working right.
The meat scarf squeezed tighter. The whole room got dark. I was on all fours and I suddenly realized the best idea was just to lay down there on the floor and go to sleep.
I
Similar Books
