TRASH CAT LIT

Terri Rose

I promised my sister I would find her killer. When I do, I will avenge her. 

Opium curls through the air, sweet and slow. It settles into my lungs: my pulse calms to something quieter, closer to hers. 

She’s the only one who can tell me who ended her life. She never appears—only unrecognisable voices. I arrange her silver locket and a clip of her blonde hair before the mirror on the table exactly as I had before. 

I wait. 

The smoke thickens, softening the edges of the room. Eyes heavy, I breathe deep, my pulse barely there. The words come easily; they always do.

“Answer me. Through reflection, not flesh. Stand behind me as you once did. You always came when I called. Speak to me, Lily!” 

I lift my eyelids halfway and stare into the reflection of my red-rimmed eyes. One by one, candles sputter out. Shapes move in the glass, pale and darting.

Murmurs skim past my ears, but I can’t catch the words. My teeth chatter. Every hair on my arms lifts as the words buzz around me, soft and harsh. Near yet far. 

I swallow hard, closing my eyes. Her face flickers behind my vision.

Whispers thin.

The mirror steadies.

Eyes, brown like mahogany, blink at me. 

Not Lily.

I shake my head. “Go. Let her through.”

“You wanted answers,” a deep voice says. 

His image shimmers like a mirage as it starts to evaporate.

“I killed her.”

The room tilts. My breath catches, refuses to return.

“Wait,” I say, reaching out. My fingers crack against the mirror. My heart stutters, ready to stop. 

He vanishes. 

A laugh spreads through the haze. 

Hers. 

I could drift away to her in my sleep. I droop onto the desk, reaching for her hair. It wraps around my fingers as I sink into the fog. 

A presence gathers around me, firm as an embrace.

“Sister, let me be the only one gone. You don’t belong where I am. Live. For yourself. For me.”

I rise, my heart feels like it’s kick-starting. In the mirror, Lily’s lips curve in her beautiful smirk, blue eyes blazing. My skin tingles as if her hand brushed mine. At last.

“Your killer. He’s already dead,” I say and stroke the mirror. The tips of my fingers trace her cheek.

Lily raises a hand, and the kiss she blows somehow heats my face.

“Live,” she whispers. 

The room swings back. I stare into the glass, the last of her presence fading. The smoke clears. Light fills the room as the candle flames whoosh to life. I have my answer.

“I will,” I say. The pulse returns to my wrists.

I sink back into the chair. 

Only my reflection stares back. 

For a second too long, it smiles before I do.

Terri’s prompts were: during an invasion, a medium, a promise

Terri Rose writes speculative fiction and heartfelt tales. Her work has appeared in Twist Lit Magazine, Rat Bag Lit and Quotidian Bagatelle, with forthcoming publication in Micromance Magazine. She lives in East London, UK, with her fiancé and two cats.

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