The sun that had shown brightly through the bathroom window a moment ago, now hung lower and further west. Indirect sunlight filled the room. Her tresses no longer dripped water down her back. They were barely damp where they brushed against her bare shoulders. The steam that had hung heavy in the air was gone except for a few wispy curls that hung close to the ceiling. The dissipation brought her reflection into view. Her eyes were drawn away from her image by a cluster of words that had eerily appeared during her mindless absence. Words written in red, in her own handwriting. The letters elongated as the liquid oozed down the smooth surface.
Wherever you go
There go I
Augusta shuddered. The implication set her heart pounding in her chest. Raising a trembling hand, she reached out to wipe the words away, her fingertips skimming the cool glass. She paused, her attention drawn from the writing to the blood dripping from her hand. The droplets splashed into the sink. With growing horror, she slowly turned her palm up. The blood snaked a trail around her wrist like a bracelet.
Shocked, she stared down at her hand, mouth agape. A long gash ran from the heel of her hand to the base of her wrist, the edges puckered. At some point the blood had pooled in the palm of her hand – Caught you red-handed, she thought wildly to herself – leaving it stained and itchy where the blood had dried. How long had she been out?
“How…?” Grabbing a washcloth from the drawer, she rinsed the cut under the faucet, then wrapped the cloth around it to staunch the flow. “I don’t understand how,” she muttered to herself.
An answer came from deep in her brain.
Don’t you? It whispered. This distorted version of her own voice had a cold edge to it, like the sharp blade of a knife.
Trembling, she splashed water on the mirror and wiped it dry with the corner of the towel. The mirror clean, she got a good look at her reflection. Her, but not her. The left side of her face looked funny, the eye drooping downward while her lips pulled upward in a sneer. The vision through her left eye became obscured by a red haze, as if she were seeing through a smear of blood. Attempting a swipe at the eye to clear it, her left arm flopped disobediently against the counter-top; she gawked at it in disbelief. Meeting the eyes of her reflection, she felt someone else looking back. Someone who didn’t belong. Someone who smirked at her.
“Get out!” She yelled at the intruder in her skull. “Get out!”
It replied inside her mind, mimicking her, Get out! Get out!
Tears streamed from her right eye as she tried to wrap her mind around what was happening. The left eye remained dry as it stared at her, the left side of her mouth appearing to smile even as she sobbed. This blatant lack of control had her heart hammering against her ribcage, her breath stuttering in and out of her lungs. The rest of her body trembled and shook. All but her left eye. It rolled in the socket, then winked at her.
Cry, cry, came the mocking voice. Soon you will die, die. And I will be left to live.
Horrified, Augusta stared at her image. Her mind whirling wildly in an attempt to find a coherent solution and put a stop to the growing lunacy.
I can hear you, the voice said. I know what you are thinking. You cannot shut me out.
A sudden burst of fury shot through her. From the counter-top, Augusta snapped up the rat-tailed comb in her right hand. Holding it tightly, relishing the feel of the teeth biting into the tender flesh of her palm, she brandished the pointed end at her left eye.
“I will get you out!” She snarled. “Even if it kills me.”
Crying out in a mixture of triumph and pain, she sank the comb point deep into her eye.