The Pentrals (16 page)

“She told me about her Reflection being too upsetting to look at. She described a pattern of green splotches that covered the left side of her face. Obviously, this did not match the girl sitting in front of me. It became clear the Reflections were altering human appearances, manipulating the mirrors. A
mirripulation
, if you will. For when I looked at Mary in the mirror, she appeared normal.”

He jaunts over to the room’s giant holopane, and brings up a series of notes. Words and formulas printed in what must be Mary’s handwriting float around me. “We began running some tests with light and mirrors, trying to understand how Reflections were able to show two images at once: the distorted view for the Person, and the correct view for everyone else.

“Wait, so, Mary knew about Pentrals?” I ask. I cannot believe I would have missed her talking about my own realm.

He shakes his head, blonde hair flopping. “Mary is a girl of science. Convincing her of supernatural forces seemed hopeless. So no, she did not officially know. But it wouldn’t have mattered. Even with my knowledge of how they work, I could not figure out how they were managing this illusion. I tried touching the mirror, in an attempt to communicate with my Reflection, but it either could not or would not respond. However it is achieving this trick, it has to be something of this world, something we could figure out through science.”

I think of my effort to reach out to my Reflection, how it stood motionless, unwilling to connect. My head starts to spin. “I don’t understand. If you know the Reflections are breaking rules, why don’t you just stop them? Report their crimes to Class Four and put an end to everything?”

“For the same reason you’ve been doubtful of any misdoing. Up until right now, were you completely convinced your Reflection was wrong? Did a small part of you believe what you saw was true?”

I nod, guiltily. I did not want to accept the monster in the mirror as a reality, but the more it followed me, the harder it became to shake.

“We tend to give weight to our worst fears. Try as we might, nightmares always seem more plausible,” Mr. West says.

It is awful, but true. Didn’t I assume moments ago I was marching off to my punishment? My automatic response was negative, with no conceivable happy ending in sight. I was saying goodbye to my sanity before I even knew if it was being taken.

He switches off the holopane and takes a seat. He seems to be winding down, like his energy source is powering off. “When Mary was in the accident, it was devastating. Not only for her, but also because we were on the edge of a breakthrough. She was developing a pair of glasses that would reveal the Reflections’ double takes. It’s all there in her journal—“

The journal. Violet left it with Mary at the hospital.

“Antares, we need to find those glasses. The Class Fours need evidence. Some sort of proof the mirripulation exists.” He looks down, rubbing his hand on his pants. “This being my first assignment, they are hesitant to act on my word alone. Playing the role of teacher, it limits my access to those in Mary’s life...”

“And I have nothing but access,” I interject.

“Exactly.” He looks back up, eyes pleading. “Will you help?”

I feel a swelling in my chest. In a matter of minutes, I have gone from death row to worthy accomplice. A mission, in need of my help. No longer subject to acting on the will of others; I have the chance to put my stamp on something of my own. Maybe my switch with Violet was not so random after all. Maybe I was destined to make a change, a difference in the lives of others.

“I’ll do it,” I say, grinning.

Mr. West bounds up, rejuvenated. “Wonderful. Read her journal, it will give you more insight.”

“Why do you think she kept a journal? I mean, it’s a bit unconventional. Wouldn’t it have been easier to keep all her findings in her holopane?”

“Well, Mary was very competitive, protective of her work,” Mr. West says. “She kept a lot of things to herself. She didn’t like the connectivity of holopanes, how easily information is shared and distributed. She didn’t entirely trust that her ideas were safe in glass.”

I guess I can’t blame her. It seems like very little is safe in glass.

It’s been crazy, learning more about my universe, actually conversing with another Pentral and not just exchanging random thoughts. I feel like the world is opening before my eyes, possibility spilling over. Still, I have to ask, “Mr. West, are there others like you?”

“Of course. Class Three is a respected ranking. Although me being in the same place for so long is uncommon. It becomes easier though, to spot other Pentrals.”

“Like how?”

“There are ways. For example, earlier when I touched your hand, did it feel odd?”

Terrifying, actually. “Yes, it was so cold, like you had frozen me.”

He chuckles. “In a sense I did. Extreme sensations like that are not normal. They act as an alert of such, forcing fellow Pentrals to pay attention. Then there is the oculoy.”

I stare at him blankly. Am I supposed to know what that is?

He laughs, shaking his head in embarrassment. “Of course. You’ve never seen one.” He rolls up the sleeve on his left arm, revealing a small mark on his wrist. A symbol, permanently tattooed on his skin, only rather than outlined in the usual black ink, it is gold with a faint shimmer. There’s a horizontal line with ends that coil in opposite directions, curling in an inverse reflection. Resting on top is a semi-circle, with a tiny dot in its center. Four identical lines fan out from above, in what I assume must symbolize the four Pentral classes. At first I’m sure the design must be a sunrise, which makes sense considering how much Shadows and Reflections rely upon light, but the longer I stare, it is almost as if the symbol is looking back at me, like a watchful eye. I can’t remember ever seeing anything like it, and yet instantly I feel I’ve been given a piece of my ancestry. All these lines, connecting the dots to a community I’ve yearned to understand. An oculoy.

“It’s a mark of high rank. Symbolizing the vigilant presence of Pentrals in the human realm,” he says, pride beaming. He rolls his sleeve back down.

Seeing the oculoy gives me hope. Hope that I can do this. Knowing I am not alone. Mr. West was a Class Two like me, and look at him now—empowering other Pentrals. Maybe that could be me someday. Maybe I can do something right.

For the first time I have reason to believe things will be okay, that everything is as it should be. Or will be, once I get done revealing the Reflections as the frauds they are.

* * 21 * *

T
he next morning I head to the hospital with a renewed sense of self. No longer am I a puppet, following the whims of others. I am an agent of my own destiny, determined to complete my mission and make my mark. I won’t let anything stand in my way. Not this time.

The route is practically paved with mirrors, but for the first time since jumping into Violet’s body, my Reflection does not haunt me. Silently it continues to stalk my path, swollen lumps and blotchy skin popping up on every building and street corner, only now it has no power over me. I know something it does not. At a crosswalk, I stop to take a good hard look in a shiny streetlamp. The convex shape of the pole pulls my features into an even more distorted arrangement, but I don’t care. I move in close, my nose inches from the glass.
You are nothing but a mirripulation. I will destroy you.

Talline Hospital is quiet for a weekend. I have tagged along for countless visits with Mary, and the weekends usually seem busier, probably due to Persons’ work schedules. Still, while I am familiar with the building floor plan, I am surprised at how the space feels exactly as I imagined. I have not guessed correctly about most of the human world, but this place feels as cold and sterile inside a body as I envisioned from down on the floor. How can anyone become well here?

Stepping off the elevator on Mary’s floor, I hear music coming from down the hall. The faint strum of a guitar adds much needed life to the formal environment, and I follow the melody straight to Mary’s room. I stand outside the doorway and eavesdrop for a moment, catching what must be the end of a serenade.

If I forgot my name, couldn’t see my face

My heart would still ache for you

If all my memories had been replaced

I’d find my way back to you

I recognize the voice and for some reason, my heart jumps into my throat. It is Ben, singing softly to his sister. I panic and briefly consider leaving, but remember the journal. I cannot go empty handed, but feel it would be rude to interrupt such a private moment. I wait for the last note to strum before tapping on the doorframe and peeking in.

“Oh hey,” Ben says, blushing. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” I say, looking at the tile.

“No, it’s cool. Come in.” Ben is seated on Mary’s right, so I pull up a chair on her left. Nothing has changed since I saw her last. A collection of Violet’s drawings still rotate on the holopane, shining their brilliant colors on the hospital equipment, though Mary’s eyes remain closed, unable to see them. I give a quick look down at Violet clinging to my feet. Even though from her angle she cannot see Mary, just being so close to her best friend must be hard.

“That was pretty, that song. I didn’t know you play guitar,” I say to Ben.

“Oh sure, just trying to cover all fantasy bases over here. Athlete, musician, professional heartthrob, etcetera,” he smirks. I have noticed how he never smiles with his whole mouth, as if using his entire face would give away too much, reveal too much about what emotions he has locked away. Still, even at half, it’s a nice smile.

“Well, it’s always good to be prepared,” I answer.

“I’ll probably take up cooking next. Girls like that, right?”

“Sure.” I don’t really know what girls like, only what has excited Violet in the past. “Don’t forget to rescue a puppy while you’re at it,” I add.

Ben laughs. “Genius! Who could resist that? Plus Mary always wanted a dog.” His face falls, the joke is over. We sit in silence awhile.

“I miss her, Violet,” he says to me while looking at his sister. Tears are forming in his eyes but he fights them back. I have only ever seen him like this once before, the night of her accident. Thomas and Violet had no problem letting their emotions show, but Ben teetered on the edge, not knowing how to handle it. “What if she never wakes up?”

Ben’s hand is on the foot of the bed, and I consider taking it. Sparks be damned; this is Violet’s friend, and he needs support. I place my hand on the sheets and start to slide it his way, but before I meet his fingers, I make contact with Mary’s Shadow.

Blue, the Shadow of my Person’s longest companion. I would have to say I know her better than any other Shadow, which still is not saying much. We spent years outlining Violet and Mary dancing, playing, laughing, always alongside each other but never completely engaged in the other’s world. We exchanged thoughts here and there, but kept our Pentral commitment top priority. From what I experienced though, Blue, who named herself after the sky we spent so much time looking up at, was lovely. Her sentiments were always welcome.

But here, lying motionless in a hospital bed, is not the Blue I knew. When my hand meets her form, a low, rumbling moan enters my consciousness. She has been lying here for months, no variation to her routine and no way to change her status. This must be the first Pentral contact she has had in ages, but she cannot even form a single word, let alone a cohesive thought. Her mind, so starved for activity, aches to find something to say, but cannot. She lets out one more tortured groan before I move my hand back to my lap. I am unable to listen for another second.

My eyes become full, an unfamiliar feeling. It is too much—Ben mourning his lost sister, Blue suffering like a Class One prisoner—and I cannot hold it in. Water starts flowing, warm and wet down my cheeks. I have watched Violet cry and understood the tears to mean sadness, but until now, with droplets running down my face, it was never clear how deeply connected the action is to the emotion behind it. My grief is too great for my body to hold within; the water acts as a clearing agent, expunging the pain. The tears exhume the well of sorrow within, and I allow myself to drown in the moment.

I am so consumed with my sadness, my most painful emotion to date, I don’t notice Ben has moved from his chair over to me. It is too late to resist as he wraps his arms around me. The moment our bodies touch, the current is there just as before, running from my shoulders to every inch of me. But instead of shooting us apart, the spark almost binds us together, wrapping us in its electric strength. The tears slow as I adjust to the warmth Ben supplies. I feel guilty, accepting his comfort when I should be the one consoling him, yet I do not refuse. His strong arms are like an anchor, keeping me from completely sinking down. But I am not adrift—the lost boy found a way to save me.

“I don’t know about you,” Ben says over my sobs, “but I figure, if you’re going to burn me alive, might as well do it where I can receive immediate medical attention.”

I laugh, tears transferring from my face to his shirt. I feel better, but stay in his arms a minute longer. I look up at him and see his face has relaxed as well.

“What’s going on with that anyway?” he asks.

“I really can’t explain it!” I say through lingering tears.

“You mean, you’re not gonna say you have the hots for me?” he jokes.

I snort. “Um, no, especially not after you said that.”

A nurse comes in to check Mary’s vitals and we jump apart as if caught in a crime. We sit in silence, awkwardly eyeing each other as the nurse updates her holopane charts. I don’t know why we are both acting so strangely. Violet and Ben are friends; shouldn’t friends be able to comfort each other? It is not like we were holding hands or nuzzling one another. Lots of people of different relationship statuses exchange hugs, right?

“So, I think I’m gonna get going,” Ben announces once the nurse leaves. “Do you want a ride home?”