Mirror Man by Jacques Kat (ereader for textbooks txt) 📗

slamming his cup down. ‘I don’t want myself embroiled in whatever you’ve done. I shan’t tell your grandad I’ve seen you, but I want you out of here.’

‘Fine. I thought we were friends, Fred,’ I said, watching him intently. It was refreshing to see a face in the flesh. You couldn’t always see everything in a mirror or reflections. Reflections were the worst, and some mirrors had distortions, diluting faces. In the flesh, I saw it all. Every pore, blemish, mole, and freckle. If I’d been able to see all these things before, I’d have much better descriptions of people in my journal.

Fred didn’t say a word, and I left, slamming the door behind me.

I paused on the threshold and looked on the ground. I noticed the laces on one of my trainers had come undone. I scratched my head; they should never have unfastened. I always tied them in a double bow like grandad told me to do. There was nothing worse than tripping over your laces or bending down all the time; it was a waste of good energy, he would say, and I needed all my energy right now. It had to be a sign: a sign of bad luck, I thought.

I needed somewhere to hide.

I couldn’t return home and bring this to their door. What if The Suit found me there? There was no way I’d let him hurt my family. Instead, I headed to our abandoned car showroom. No one would ever think to look for me there.

I approached the drive and looked towards the entrance. Thick tall trees lined the drive to my left. I knew they were perfect to hide behind, and so I kept to the grass on the right-hand side to avoid my steps crunching on the gravel. That way, I would be able to hear anyone coming down our drive.

I headed away from home, into the dreaded night. I’d never been out this late. The dark couldn’t be trusted with its shadows and eerie sounds. I preferred the light and its reflections.

I hesitated every few steps, listening to the sounds of the night. A light wind rustled the old branches, and one of them cracked. I flinched as it conjured recollections of Mum smashing my mirrors.

The wind blew louder and swished round my ears. A strange noise caught my attention; it was getting louder and louder, causing my stomach to roll. My eyes caught a flash of white. For a second, I thought it was a ghost, but it was only a discarded carrier bag stuck in a tree.

I released the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding just as the bag escaped the branches and flew off into the night, then I carried on creeping towards the showroom. By the time I got there, my heart was practically beating out of my chest.

I located some old bits of cardboard, dusted them down to sit on and tucked myself into a dark corner. When my heart slowed down, I drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.

In my dreams, I chased The Suit after he killed Mr Phillips. I put my hand out to touch him, but he would get farther away from me every time I got near. He’d glance over his shoulder and laugh. He was the only thing I dreamt of all night long.

Chapter Sixteen

A crow cawed in the distance, and I woke abruptly, yelling out Mr Phillips’s name.

Light had started to creep through the gaps in the newspapers taped to the showroom’s windows. As my eyes adjusted to where I’d slept, I roughly swept my hands through my hair, removing any debris that may have landed on me in the night. My shoulders hunched up as I cringed at the memories of yesterday and from having to sleep in an abandoned building.

The building, once the life and soul of our family, was now the only reminder of what had been. I shook the sad thoughts away.

I checked the time. It was still early, but I knew what I had to do next. I struggled to my feet after sleeping on the cold damp floor all night, then dusted off the rest of my body.

I had to do right by Mr Phillips like he had wanted me to. I had to get the guns. I couldn’t let The Suit get them. He may have had them in my dreams, but I wasn’t going to let him touch them or taunt me with them in reality. If I ever never needed power against The Suit, those were the tools to get it. With them in my possession, I’d be able to keep my family safe and be in control—like blackmail. Plus, I knew Mr Phillips wouldn’t want them getting into the wrong hands; they’d be safer with me. This is what he meant when he said I’d figure it out.

I removed the keys and pocket watch from my jacket and hid them. There was an old-parts rack lined with fifty slanted pigeonhole boxes. I selected the sixth column down and the sixth box across and placed the items in carefully. I didn’t want to end up losing them before I made my way back to Claude’s Antiques.

I walked there slowly, hiding where I could in case Mr Phillips had been discovered and I had to conceal my presence. When I got to town, I pulled up the collar on my jacket in an attempt to conceal my face and dipped my hands into my pockets.

That’s when I spotted him watching me from across the road. His face was swollen, bruised.

What happened to him? I wondered.

Two other men in black suits stood farther up the road from him. They were bigger, more menacing.

My stomach dropped. Had he brought his friends along to help get me?

This was bad.

The Suit moved to cross over, but the town bus passed by, blocking his path. I turned on my heel too quickly, losing my balance. At that moment, a cyclist who had decided to