The Woman in Reflections
She had always found comfort in forgotten things, the smell of dust-covered books, vast rooms that echoed with each step—any place where she felt calm and loved.
Everything else had been unkind.
Rain crawled down the tall windows of the hospital as her mother guided her carefully through the pale green corridor toward the elevator. The overhead fluorescent lights above them hummed softly, too bright for Amelia, too sharp for her new sight, each vibrating creating a feeling of needles pressing on her new eyes.
“Take it slow, Amelia,” her mother said, holding her arm gently.
“I am not going to collapse, mother,” she replied. Her voice came out weaker than she intended.
Walking felt strange, but not as strange as the sights that came at her with her new eyes.
Most of her life the world was made of blurred shadows, faces only a voice without features. Everything stood before her with a violent clarity. The wrinkles around her mothers mouth. Tiny cracks in the walls near her bed. Raindrops rain racing each down the windows in jagged lines.
She felt overwhelmed by everything.
The colors didn’t seem real. Unnatural.
The lime green scrubs of the orderlies looked bilious under the fluorescent lights. The vase of white lilies at the nurse’s desk glowed so bright they hurt Amelia’s eyes to look at them.
“You’re pale,” her mother said.
“I’m tired.”
“That’s all it is?” her mothers voice came too quickly.
They kept their slow pace down the antiseptic-filled corridor of the hospital.
Wheels of a medical cart squeaked by them. She wasn’t going to miss the smell of antiseptic. It would probably linger in her nose for a long time.
Her gait was stiff and fragile, but her smile radiated joy at finally going home. She hoped the lady wouldn’t follow her there.
“Your sight has returned, Amelia,” the doctor told her as she cried, “but, don’t get too overwhelmed, it will adjust in time.”
The elevator doors opened with a soft metallic sound. Amelia stepped inside beside her mother, catching sight of herself briefly in the mirrored back wall.
For a moment she froze.
The woman staring back at her was her, but also not her. She seemed familiar, yet oddly distant.
Older.
Watchful.
Her dark hair fell straight and loose at her shoulders, her face hollow from years of strain and failed treatments, but the eyes, her new eyes, unsettled her the most. They didn’t feel like hers, but what did she know? She didn’t know the difference. Not yet. Her mother said nothing about any changes. Maybe it was her imagination. The world of darkness became brought into the light.
Blackwater City unfolded beneath a veil of silver rain and harbor fog.
Her mother helped her into the passenger seat of their old white sedan while wind carried the distant sound of ship horns from the harbor.
By the time they reached Mercer street, Amelia’s headache had settled deep behind her new eyes, pressure building beneath the bone.
“You need some food…real food, not the hospital stuff,” her mother insisted with an amused smile. She parked beside a cafe on a narrow street tucked beneath an old bookstore and a sewing shop. Warm light came from the interior, nothing like the hospital. It softened the grey ambiance of the afternoon.
Amelia hesitated as her mother tried to help her out with her umbrella.
It felt wrong.
Every passing face looked too detailed, every movement too sharp and immediate. She could see the water flowing from the gutters and steam curling from the grates down the road. Even the fog that drifted seemed textured, twisting through the alleyways in pale ribbons like living breath.
Inside the cafe, warmth enveloped them immediately.
The murmur of voices were low, mixing with the clink of china, muted by the music from the speakers around the room. Dark walnut framed antique mirrors stretched between brass sconces, their glass clouded with age.Amelia breathed in the smell of coffee and cinnamon, along with wet wool from hanging coats.
They ordered their coffee and cinnamon rolls from the counter and took a booth close by the mirror. The waitress arrived with their coffees as her mother talked about what life is going to be like for her now. Amelia barely looked at her. Her gaze kept drifting to the mirror. Reflections of patrons moved constantly within it, people removing gloves, putting on jackets to head outside, the waitress weaving between tables, and blurred headlights sliding past the front window. Were they supposed to be that deep within the mirror? She wasn’t sure.
“Why are you staring at the mirror, Amelia?”
“It all feels…too surreal.”
“That’ll pass.”
The waitress came back with some napkins her mother forgot. She immediately started talking again–too casually, too brightly–about ordinary things. Groceries. The weather. Amelia tried to listen but found herself staring at the mirror again.
A man stood near the front counter in a gray wool coat, absently reading a newspaper while he waited for his order. Completely ordinary, middle-aged, tired-looking. Nothing special to Amelia. Then she noticed the stain first, a dark stain on his collar. At first she thought it was rain water. But in the mirror, it moved. A thin line of blood slid slowly down the side of the man’s throat.
Amelia froze, her eyes wide, filled with fear.
Her head began to pound with her rising pulse.
The blood thickened.
It crept beneath his collar, dark red against his pale skin.
Another rivulet followed, slipping downward toward the floor while the man calmly read a page of the newspaper.
No one reacted, not even him.
They didn’t even notice.
In the reflection, the blood dripped steadily on to the black-and-white tiled floor beneath him.
Amelia’s breath became shallow.
The man lifted his coffee cup casually. No big deal.
More blood slid from beneath his jaw.
“Amelia?”
Her mother’s voice was distant.
The mirror became sharp, unnaturally clear.
Then the man in the reflection slowly lifted his head.
And looked directly at her.
She shoved herself away from the table so violently, the chair screeched across the floor.
Heads turned.
The real man near the counter looked at her in confusion. His neck was perfectly fine. No blood, no wound, nothing to worry about.
“Amelia?” her mother rose from her chair, “what happened?”
“There was blood,” Amelia whispered and pointed to the man.
The cafe became completely silent, all eyes on her.
The man wiped his neck awkwardly, glancing toward other patrons, wondering if he was injured. They shook their heads and looked at Amelia with sadness and confusion.
“There was blood,” she repeated weakly.
Her mother apologized for her daughter and gathered their things.
“We’re leaving,” she said quietly.
As the moved toward the door, Amelia glanced at the mirror.
For a second, the man’s reflection turned toward her.
Smiling faintly.
The rain began to beat harder as they left the cafe. Wind swept cold mist through the narrow sidewalk, carrying the distant smell of saltwater. Her mother kept Amelia close as they walked toward the car. She had rested her hand lightly on her daughter’s shivering elbow, afraid she may stumble.
“You must be overtired,” she said carefully. “That’s all. There’s nothing to worry about Amelia.”
Amelia kept her gaze forward, ignoring everything around them.
It felt like everyone and things watched her.
Reflections followed her. In the rain puddles. The storefront window. The polished metal of the car door. Faces blurred and stretched strangely within the grey afternoon light. More than once she thought she saw pale figures lingering just behind passing strangers before vanishing completely.
“You don’t believe me do you? That I saw blood?” Amelia asked her mother after she had climbed behind the wheel of the car.
Her mother sighed. “I believe you saw something… maybe. It is more likely you are tired and need to have a good night’s rest in your own bed. Recovery will take time.” She hesitated a few moments, “The doctor warned us there would be side-effects while your brain adjusts.”
Us.
The word settled heavily on Amelia’s chest.
It had always been ‘us’ during her years of blindness. Doctor appointments, medications, life. Repeated so many times it made her feel hollow inside.
But, now Amelia could see. Would it still be us, she thought.
She pulled up outside their house. Dusk had begun to shallow the city. Her mother insisted on helping her inside.
“I think I can manage.”
Eleanor followed her anyway.
The house felt cold. Colder than she remembered.
Her mother went to the kitchen to make tea neither wanted, while Amelia found her way to her room. She removed her coat and hung it up. Her fingers felt all the surfaces, bringing back memories.
She sighed deeply, finally feeling at home. A sense of calm finally calmed her overwhelmed heart.
They drank their tea, then ate their dinner at the table.
“I think you should get ready for bed. You need rest. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
Exhaustion weighed on her limbs.
Amelia dressed into a familiar smelling pajama and slipped beneath familiar soft blankets.
Sleep came quickly. Then came the dreams.