The Pentrals (18 page)

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B
ack at home, I am exhausted. Spending the morning with Ben and evening with Thomas has left me completely drained. I thought it was tiring being a Shadow, always having to be alert, but living in this body is starting to wear me out. Projecting lines and shapes across Talline is one kind of art, but pretending to understand how I feel about the Persons around me is another kind of performance completely.

I sprawl out on Violet’s bed, Mary’s journal in hand. The soft linens are so inviting, it would be easy to just close my eyes and forget about everything. Forget about my dysfunctional heart that refuses to stir when it should and sets off like crazy when it shouldn’t. Forget about Thomas covering me with kisses and Ben setting my skin aflame. It is pointless, anyway, to sort out what each of them means to me. I will not be in this body forever; once I’ve completed my mission, I’m sure I’ll be reassigned, either back to business on the pavement or, possibly, promoted to a higher rank. So why bother worrying? Thinking about boys is a distraction from what is really important anyway. Despite my fatigue, I need to find out what Mary discovered.

I open the cover and look at the meticulously printed handwriting:

Property of Mary Kelly: scientist, scholar, champion of the people.

I study the letters, so different from the rigidity of blue holopane text. Each character takes on a new personality, from the extra curve to her “M” to the gentle swoop of the “y.” Mary was here; she captured these thoughts with her own hand. I don’t know her as Violet did, but seeing these smudges of ink make me feel instantly connected to her. Even though the words themselves are plain, just seeing them written instead of typed gives them additional life.

As I run my finger across the page, it occurs to me I have never properly sat down to read on my own. I learned the skill, of course, alongside Violet, memorizing the ABCs and standing by as she used her fingertips to scribble sentences on classroom tablets. My time spent in school taught me the principles of language, but as a Shadow, my first priority was to watch the reader, not the words before her. Plus, since all Violet’s literature is stored away in her holopane, there was rarely a chance for me to hover over an open page and dive into a story. I could only read what was presented before me, unable to awaken the glass for my own reading material. I have always been curious though of how strung-together letters could captivate an audience. This journal is special, different in both content and form, and I’m anxious to get started.

Violet slides up next to me.

“Are you ready for this?” I ask.

“I think it will be better if you read to me. When I looked at it before, seeing her writing and drawings… it was too much for me to focus on.”

“Okay. Here we go.” Violet positions herself out of the journal’s view, and I begin to read aloud.

January 11

Today is my 17th birthday, a day for the history books. Today I am a woman—hell yeah! Soon the dorks of the Alliance will be here to celebrate. God, I love them. Every girl needs a pack of weirdoes to keep her sane. Speaking of which, I noticed something really weird in the mirror this morning. Under my left eye appeared a green spot. Not like a puss-filled zit, but flat, like a freckle turned sour. Strange. Must be a sign of old age. Whatever. Time to party!

After some rants about the drama of science fairs, another entry:

January 30

Several more spots have accumulated under my eye, like an evil green colony of ick. I’ve tried scrubbing my face with exfoliant but nothing changes. Maybe I’m having an allergic reaction? Note to self: no dairy tomorrow.

February 12

Mr. West says I have the most promise out of all the Science Scholars. Obviously. Still, it’s nice to have someone say it. Some days it is easier to believe than others.

February 23

The green spots will not quit! They now cover half my face. No one has said anything, but they are obviously just being polite. It’s annoying—not even Ben has made a jackass comment. We’re always looking for ways to mess with each other. Now he has a perfect opportunity and says nothing?!? What the hell? Some brother he is. And what about Violet? She’s my best friend. She should say something. I can handle it guys, just tell me I’m disgusting.

“She never had any green spots,” Violet says, shrinking her form down small.

“I know.” I pat her reassuringly, even though I know she can’t feel it.

We read on. Through her writing, it is clear Mary’s confidence was crumbling as her Reflection mirripulated her self-image. In the margins are drawings, self-portraits, of the green spots invading her face. She is not an artist of Violet’s skill, but I can still feel her sadness emanating from the pen strokes. The fun, enthusiastic girl from the first entry was slowly being eaten away as the pages turn.

March 3

I’m so embarrassed. I had a total breakdown in front of Mr. West after school. We were setting up some mirrors for a lighting experiment and I just couldn’t take it. All the damned green spots! I was so upset, I even told him about them. Pathetic. I talked about my appearance—with my teacher! I just wanted someone to tell me the truth, that I am unattractive. But Mr. West said he didn’t see them. Liar. As a scientist, I thought at least he could be straight with me.

March 4

Mr. West pulled me aside after class and said when he looks in the mirror, he sees blue veins bulging out of his forehead. At first I thought he was messing with me, just trying to make me feel better about yesterday, but his eyes were sincere. Mr. West is not my type, but he is not ugly. And he’s pretty straightforward, not the self-deprecating type. If he sees veins in the mirror, I believe him.

But what does this mean? Are we both crazy, suffering from rotten self-esteem? Or is it something else? Maybe our eyes are deformed, unable to process light waves properly. Or maybe there is something wrong with the mirrors…

The next several pages are filled with formulas and theorems—everything Mary knows about light patterns and vision. Her writing is exhaustive, covering every angle on the subject possible. I thought I knew a bit about physics, but the depth of Mary’s understanding proves me wrong. I am almost getting lost in the scientific terminology when she reverts back to personal narrative.

March 15

Mr. West and I are in agreement—the problem is the mirror. I think he almost believes the reflections we see are separate beings, capable of making decisions on their own. This is, of course, ridiculous, and makes me seriously question the lax educational standards of this school. Still, he is passionate about the project, so I’ll keep him on. Maybe as my assistant, ha ha!

Mary continues on, detailing her efforts to decode the enigma before her. She cannot figure out why the mirror would show something different from reality and furthermore, why outsiders are able to see the true image while the Reflection’s owner cannot.

Her dedication is inspiring. Even though she constantly hits dead ends, she does not give up. Her entries become more and more scientific, leaving little time for personal introspection, but she still manages to record a few ruminations here and there.

April 6

…
what I see in the mirror is so grossly different from what I see on the holopanes. When I see girls like Celestia, it makes me sick. She is so perfect and I am so… not. I know I am not runway ready, but I am not—CANNOT—be this repulsive. Argh! I need to solve this!

April 14

...
at least I have my girl. She is a breath of fresh air. She understands me, even says she’ll help me learn makeup tricks for the green spots.

“Is she talking about you?” I ask Violet.

“I don’t know. Maybe? She talked about her experiments, but it was hard for me to follow. She never told me about any of this green spot stuff.” She pauses. “Plus, I’m not very good with makeup…” she trails off. Violet is struggling. Hearing her best friend’s words, direct from the source and yet completely removed, is causing her pain.

“Do you want me to keep reading?” I ask. Violet hesitates, but finally says yes.

May 1

…
had a light bulb moment at the movies tonight—3D glasses! Of course! The technology is a little outdated, since obviously all images are projected in 3D, but in physics we learned about how back in the day people would wear these funny looking glasses to make their movies look more dimensional. Oh 2D—how quaint. The frames used polarizing filters to force the eye to merge two superimposed images. I wonder if I could reverse that effect, to pull two images apart. Yes! This could work! I am a GENIUS.

The next couple pages are filled with sketches of glasses, convex lenses, and light waves. Some of the frames are oddly colored with red and blue lenses, while others are dark black or even clear. The shape and tint of the glasses continues to evolve as she rules out theories. A drawing of her Reflection, covered in green spots, lies dead in the margin, with Mary, appearing the way she does in real life, standing over it, cheering.

Finally, we reach her last entry.

May 15

I’m so tired. I feel just like how the beast in the mirror looks. I’ve been working so hard. It doesn’t help that sometimes I feel like I am being watched. It’s weird, but I feel like a presence is hovering over me, looking over my shoulder. Mr. West has promised to keep our work a secret… if one of those Scholar asswipes thinks he can take my ideas and use them for his own, he will have to answer to a serious beat down. Beware science nerds!

It doesn’t help that the Adonis is always in my business. He says he’s interested in my studies, but since when? I thought he was only interested in telling me how I’ll never live up to my mother’s beauty. I wish he would just go back to the lab and leave me alone.

“Who is the Adonis?” I ask.

“Mary’s dad. It’s her nickname for him, because he’s so insanely perfect looking. The two of them don’t really get along, ever since her mom died. I think she resents being left with her adopted parent and not her real one,” Violet answers.

Hmm. Sometimes I forget Mary is not William’s natural daughter. Ben was brought into the family, and Violet’s life by extension, later in life, while Mary was always around. Mr. Kelly has always seemed so friendly and welcoming. I wonder what he and Mary would disagree about?

We sit in silence for a bit, letting the information digest. The journal’s content has me buzzing, but I can sense Violet’s weariness. The farther we read, the more agitated she became, almost as if she was being haunted. Maybe I should have read to myself. I did not think about how this would affect my Person.

I lie still so she can relax and get some sleep. There is no need to decode every word with her tonight, or even at all. Her shock at some of the content proves she had little to no idea of what Mary was up to, and will not contribute much additional insight.

With as little movement as possible, I skim through the journal again, rereading pertinent entries.
“I am not—CANNOT—be this repulsive.”
Mary was a very analytical thinker. Yet even though logically she knew something was wrong with her Reflection, she still struggled to keep it away. How could she not? With no way to truly see herself, her Reflection had power over her, just as it did for Violet, and if I’m being honest, for me. Do I not recoil every time my eyes meet the glass? Am I not afraid to see the monster in the mirror? It seems that even the smartest among us can be fooled.

They are clever, really, these Reflections. Throughout childhood they appear normal, and then are cautious to make a gradual transformation. Switching to full-on nightmare mode overnight would be too jarring, too unbelievable. But slowly twisting a Person’s appearance, day after day, it is easy to see how one could fall into the trap, falling prey to the monster’s mirripulation. They watch Persons for almost two decades, finding out their insecurities and then use their fears against them. The Reflections are predators, using vulnerability as their bait. It’s disgusting.

Why the 17th birthday though? It cannot be coincidental that the day a Person becomes a legal adult her bright future becomes clouded with darkness. Mary was exceptionally smart, undoubtedly destined to do big things. Yet even though she pushed ahead in her experiments, her writing showed a girl who was struggling to hold on to her own sense of self. It seems like such a waste to purposely crumble a life just beginning to build. Pentrals are supposed to support their Persons, not drag them down.

I thumb over the remnants of ripped pages in the binding.
Sometimes I feel like I am being watched.
Of course Mary was being watched, by Blue. But she could not have known. Unless, would discovering Pentral deception make her more aware of her Shadow? No, that does not seem right. If she felt eyes on her, they were of this realm. And maybe, they did not like what they saw.

I get a queasy feeling in my stomach. Why would someone be against Mary’s theories? Surely, most people would celebrate her breakthrough. I move my glance away from the journal and into the mirrored wall opposite the bed. The same tortured image waits for me, sitting with a blue journal in its lap. I cringe, even though I know it’s fake. To be followed by this Reflection my whole life? It would break me. What a relief it would be, to finally see one’s true self. Mary would be a hero. She would be the pride of Talline. What would anyone have to gain from the Reflections’ continued mirripulations?

Unless you were not bothered by what is waiting in the mirror. Being confident in one’s image would certainly put you at a distinct advantage in this city of glass, where every turn is greeted by a demon. Being free from monsters would catapult you, even make you a star.

Suddenly I shoot up, feeling breathless, like I just got punched in the gut. Violet stirs, but I try to sort through my fears on my own.