Mirrors

It had been over a week since he encountered the raven-haired woman and the man in the mirror hadn't seen fit to come and speak to him again. Mark was concerned that he had failed him in some way and dearly craved his warm company. Katies mirror was almost complete, just a few added details where needed, and he had started on the second piece of his collection. The mirror had been easier to work with than he had initially thought it would be. The mirror itself was an 18th century which mean it contained a high amount of lead which made it easier to take a simple weld.

"Okay, okay give me 5 minutes to get dressed," Mark laughed at his cat. Mark woke up that morning with a grey furry tail in his face. Mister was hungry for breakfast.

Later that day Mark had some very unwelcomed guests in his shop, the police.

"Good afternoon," said the older of the two suit clad men. "I'm Detective Chaney and this is Detective Burke. Do you have a few minutes to speak with us?"

"Sure, what's up" Mark knew from experience that the question was just a nicety, they would have pressed him if he had said no.

"Any chance you have seen this woman in the last two weeks? She was last seen at a salon down the street and her car is still parked there." Detective Chaney pulled out a picture of the raven-haired woman.

Mark had read somewhere that someone tilting their head after being asked a direct question was a sign that they were lying. So, he had to consciously keep his head straight which was not easy for him.

"Nope, can't say I have seen her. She's a beauty though."

"Do you have any camera's that point to the outside?" The younger detective asked looking around the shop. Curiously he eyed the studio door and took a step in the general direction.

"The only camera that I have is that one," Mark took a step-in front of the detective to prevent him from walking closer to the studio and pointed to the far corner. The camera was pointed into the shop at the counter where they stood. "It doesn't record anything outside and records over itself every 48 hours, but if you'd like you can have the SD card to review."

As the Detective stepped back from the doorway Mark side stepped back behind the counter, his finger lightly caressed the long shard of mirror that had taken the life of the raven-haired woman. Not the cops, the voice whispered to him. So badly he wanted to feel the sweet sticky blood that would run from their bodies. But being there was two of them, and they both had guns, he wasn't likely to survive the tussles that would ensue. I still need you; the whisper came again. Mark knew he had to show restraint and get these two men out of his shop.

"We'd like to see your studio, if you don't mind," Detective Burke was obviously trying to intimidate Mark into allowing them into the back.

"Actually, my insurance strictly forbids customers in the back and since you don't have a warrant, you'd be a customer. So, as you see I can't allow you back there."

"This is a store that is open to the public, just consider us public."

"No, this is the shop that is open to the public," Mark pointed to the front of the building with an open hand. "You can clearly see the sign above the door that says, 'No customers beyond this point'," Mark pointed to the clear yellow and black sign.

"Let's go Burke," Detective Chaney placed his hand on the others shoulder. "Thank you for your time, if you remember anything please call me." He placed a business card on the table then turned to leave.

"He's hiding something," Mark heard Burke whisper to his partner.

"No, he's not, you just don't like to be told no."

Mark sighed a deep breath of relief as he gazed under the counter at the shard and SC card that lay next to it. He needed that kill, but he was right. Mark would have ended up dead in his own shop before he could free him. Marked picked up a dust rag and began cleaning the counter in case they were still watching him. The next twenty minutes whisked by as Mark continued to dust shelves and inspect pieces of his art until he could safely lock the front door and flip the sign to closed.

At last feeling like he was alone and safe Mark retired to his studio. The almost complete mirror was standing elegantly on his work bench and the other pieces were already outlined for the second mirror.

"It's almost 4:30 shouldn't he be walking back towards his car after walking his chosen student of the year home from their afterschool activities?" The man in the mirror was right. Devon Hanson was a science teacher at the local high school and every year he picked one girl to be his favorite. His favorite always got A's and special attention which had nothing to do with science. Hanson wasn't necessarily an evil person; all of his girls were willing participants. Does that even matter, they were seventeen-year-old girl? He wasn't necessarily a good man either. His wife, Sophie, was the innocent.

Mark opened up his laptop to survey the alley behind his studio. Right on time, Mark cracked the back door open just enough to get Hanson's attention. He knew that Hanson would recognize the invitation and let himself in, as this was their regular routine when Mark was up for a visit.

"Hey art freak," Hanson jokingly greeted Mark.

"Hey science freak," Mark retorted back.

"What the hell is that all over your wall? It looks like dried blood." He inquired as he stepped further into the studio.

"It's old paint. I got frustrated and lost my cool." Acting rather nonchalant Mark pointed to the desk in the corner. "Bust it out. I'm pretty much done for the day."

Mark turned on the air purifier and took a seat in one of the easy chairs in the corner where they always sat to smoke and chat. The difference was on this day Hanson probably wasn't going to be leaving this building with a nice high.

The two men spent the next hour chatting about different topics. Overall, it was an enjoyable evening. Mark smiled to himself; it was about to get even more enjoyable for him. He needed what was coming next, suppressing the overwhelming urge to stab him where sat took every ounce of strength he could muster.

"Well, it's time for me to go. I have a zero-period study hall tomorrow. I don't know why the school even bothers with these burn outs, most of them don't even want to go to regular classes much less early study classes."

Mark smiled because he knew it was time. Time for him to have his bloody thirst quenched and, hopefully, be able to free Him. He stood up and casually reached for the death shard. Hanson hadn't moved from his soft comfy easy chair, too stoned to really want to do anything. Mark had made sure he only took small hits and faked it when he could so he would be able to perform his duty when the time arrived. Hanson however inhaled deeply every chance he got.

"This is some good shit, my legs feel wobbly."

"It's the same shit we always smoke," Mark laughed at Hansons predicament and reached out his empty hand to help the man to his feet.

Mark gripped his hand tight and jerked the stoned man quickly to his feet. Using Hansons forward momentum Mark thrust the shard forward into the soft belly of the shit heal of a man he used to call friend. With a quick twist and upward pull blood started gushing out of his belly. Shrill screams came from his throat as pain seared into his body.

Quickly Mark pulled the shard out and begin to stab Hanson in the throat shearing his vocals cords so he could not alert the neighbors or police who might still be in the areas. Over and over again he plunged the shard into Hanson's throat until he fell limp. Lifeless Hanson laid on the floor at his feet.

As Mark opened the door to the basement the stench of rotting flesh hit him in the face like a hammer. The body of the raven-haired woman was beginning to become a problem. Mark carelessly pushed Hansons still bleeding body down the stairs, his stomach couldn't handle the smell enough to go back into his basement.