The Stranger
Stumbling towards the bathroom, Celie’s stomach began to flip flop rapidly as she raised her gaze to the mirror. She reached up to touch her aching face but was suddenly overthrown by a wave of nausea.
Celie stood lifeless in front of her reflection.
“Who are you? What are you?” it asked her pleadingly whilst tracing her sculpted nose and blackened jawline. Raising her hands up to the mirror, Celie ran her fingers across the smooth surface, tracing the lines of the face that mirrored a far and distant expression.
“I don’t know, I’m not sure,” whispered Celie in response to the stranger, her voice as she spoke this was like a soft caress.
“Think! Fast! Hard! Think!” growled the mirror image furiously.
“Ce…Celi…Celie Murray,” stammered Celie as she searched the corners of her brain.
“Correct.” approved the stranger as a pair of bright yellow eyes bore into hers and right through her soul. Tears rolled down her delicate cheeks, the tears she feared that would one day turn against her. “Yes. That’s right. Yes,” coaxed the reflection as its eyes slowly softened and smiled, embracing Celie.
After retreating tirelessly to her bedroom chamber, Celie began to procrastinate, an endless train of thoughts impeded her mind.
I walk on eggshells every day. I hope and pray I don’t do anything wrong. I have to think carefully about where I go, who I speak with, what I buy and what I wear. I am continually depressed and anxious. Ultimately, I live my life in constant fear. Never ending. Why couldn’t death just take me in my slumber?
In fear of overworking her mind, considering her deteriorating health, Celie decided to focus on her oppressor.
How could I have ever mistaken a pair of gentle blue eyes and an amicable smirk, for a kind and humble gentleman? A glance of infatuation was all it took. I remember how it started small with the occasional arguments or belittling. After a while, the outbursts of anger became more cruel and frequent. The hurtful things he would say to me creep into my daily mind-set; eroding my soul to the very core. It made me question everything about my life; it still does. It turned my own mind against me. It turned him sour.
Brushing off the foreboding voice that echoed in Celie’s head, she understood what needed to be done. Her conscience spoke to her softly. It was only a matter of time. A car engine revved into the driveway. He had arrived. It had begun.
***
Exiting the car, Gregory kept his eyes firmly to the ground as he approached the front door. Feeling no need to observe his surroundings, his familiarity with both the street itself and the looks of distress he caused passers-by were all too familiar.
Upon entering the house, he perceived the kitchen door swinging closed and sighed with a sense of achievement. He could hear hands dealing with the clatter of his alcoholic beverages, being poured into a glass and also the opening and closing of various cupboards. He had her well trained he thought proudly. A slight creak no more, as the wooden planks beneath his feet groaned as he flicked off his shoes.
“Good afternoon Celie. I hope you are well,“ teased Gregory mercilessly as he swung open the kitchen door.
The brightness of the landing opposite the kitchen spilled into the room engulfing the freakish blackness that consumed Celie. The figure stayed motionless for a second, maybe two. With a slight stumble, Gregory entered the room, forcing the door shut behind him, plunging the room into absolute darkness once more. Celie immediately straightened her back.
“I’ll be with you in two, Greg,” whimpered Celie without looking back, feeling his eyes on her form.
“No problem. Take your time,” sniggered Gregory, smirking at her distress.
Creep.
Placing the eggs on a plate, Celie presented it to Gregory accompanied by the large glass of wine that she had poured earlier. Gregory demolished the contents of his plate in record speed. Celie watched intently as every swig of alcohol Gregory took, set out a rhythmic strain of melancholy. He would be drunk soon. Gregory rose and passed her the dirty dishes. A sense of relief poured over Celie as she turned her back and advanced towards the kitchen sink.
Suddenly, a rough hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, weaving her long tresses through his fingers. Making her listen, he forcefully whispered in her ear, “Did I tell you to do the dishes? How dare you turn away from me!”. The pain tore through her skull as she fought back the threatening tears. Gregory used her hair to propel her face into the scolding frying pan cooling in the sink. “Let this be a reminder to you. You do nothing without consulting me first. Or before you know it, I’ll put you to death in your sleep bitch!”. The stench of alcohol infiltrated Celie’s nostrils, heaving heavily she winced at the fire erupting upon her face. Gregory released her and made his exit.
“I’m going to take a bath. I’m knackered,” grunted Gregory.
***
A surge of drowsiness overcame Gregory as he swayed from side to side before regaining his balance. Finally undressed, he plunged into the bathtub. Succumbing to the warmth and comfort of the lukewarm water, Gregory’s eyelids begun to feel heavy.
“Leave me, Leave me, Leave me.” Murmured Gregory disorientated, unaware of what he was doing. Gregory fell into a deep slumber.
He silently slid under the water, freed by a light feather like sensation, wooing him like an infant. However, this would not last long. As the poison Celie had added to his wine earlier took hold, Gregory’s lungs squeezed smaller by the pressure, chocking and gagging on nothing. His throat burned with trapped air whilst his heart raced vigorously. All that could be heard now was the rumble of the clear liquid that surrounded him.
As he opened his mouth to scream, a surge of bubbles erupted. Slowly, he lost his sight and conscience, slipping away, becoming enveloped by the darkness below.
***
Observing the ceiling above her head, Celie sought anxiously for the slightest tremor, movement or sound. There was nothing. All was silent. He had been up there for some time now, thought Celie. Celie convinced herself to worry drastically. It only seemed natural to check up on him. Knocking softly on the bathroom door, Celie enquired after Gregory. “Gregory, hunny? Is everything okay? You’ve been awfully quiet,”. Celie was met with an eerie silence.
“Gregory!” sighed Celie, her eyes widened and exclaimed “Oh, no!”. Rushing to the home telephone, Celie dialled 999 immediately.
“This is the police. Please state your emergency,” asked a gentle voice, igniting Celie’s emotions. It all came too natural.
“It’s my husband. I think he may have drowned! Oh, lord! Please come quickly! Please...Please...,” sobbed Celie frantically. All too precise.
After setting the receiver down, Celie approached her dressing table mirror and began to brush her tangled locks. Each caress from the brush, liberated her. Like soothing kisses, Celie was overcome by a sense of euphoria.
An uncanny reflection grinned back at her.
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