Death is Black and White

"Are you okay?" I ask my mom when she pulls up. "You're white as a sheet." 

"I'm going to be a grandmother," she mutters, sounding trancelike. 

Josh stands next to the car awkwardly, like he needs permission to come with. "Should I...?" 

I roll my eyes and pull him in. "Come on," I tell him with a smirk. 

My mom's totally in shock, like she's been in denial or something. 

"I just can't believe it," she keeps on repeating. The minutes it takes to get to the hospital drag on for what seems like days. 

We find a spot to park by the doors and practically sprint to the front desk. The receptionist tells us to stay in the waiting room while my mom goes to help Miranda. 

"Her name's going to be Abby," I tell Josh excitedly. 

"That's pretty. Is she named after anyone in particular?" he asks. 

"No, I don't think so. I mean, I have a great aunt Abigail, but she smells like Vaseline and butterscotch." 

I gaze into the mirror hanging on the wall across from us absentmindedly. "You know," I tell Josh, "I could have sworn that before we left for the movies, I looked in the mirror and my eyes were blood red." 

I tilt my head and stare at my reflection. Josh's voice grows distant the longer I stare. "Wait, what?" he asks. 

I get up to get a closer look at myself. "My eyes were red..." I mutter. "Wait, come here." 

He gets up and stands close to the mirror, too. "They still are," I whisper. "Don't you see it?" 

He shakes his head. "You're eyes are blue, Lyd. Listen, maybe you should sit down..." 

I ignore him. "Is it just me, or is my skin...gray?" 

The longer I look at the mirror, the less I look like myself. My hair is darker than it should be, my eyes are filmy and red, and my skin is loose and dull looking. 

I think we should get a few things straight, says my conscience, but my lips move in the reflection. As if it's a totally different person. 

"Is this even a mirror?" I ask quietly. 

"I think we should sit back down," Josh says. His voice is full of sadness that I can't place. He's finally realized it- I'm truly insane. 

I ignore him, though, and keep looking at my relection. Or whatever the hell it is. 

I'm not your conscience, it says. But I know everything. I knew you were going to die before Lotty even did. I knew Lotty was strong even when she was alive, and now she's even stronger. But I'm even stronger than her, and smarter too. You do know why she hasn't showed up in a week, right? Because she's ashamed. Lotty is dumb, which is why she's dead. If she had just listened to me, I would be alive even now. 

The voice is raspy and forced, something I've never noticed until now. 

I tried to train her; each time she killed someone I got stronger. I was strong enough to take her soul that very night that she was killed, but she didn't listen to me when I told her to refrain from killing anyone  else. That's what Lotty was planning on doing with you, love, but I seem to have scared her off, as far as I can tell. 

Memories of the dream I had about Lotty's death flood through me. As she died, she was being screamed at. 

"The white lady," I whisper so quietly that I can barely recognize my own voice. 

The image in the mirror shifts, and I'm staring at the tall, graceful White Lady. Terror radiates from her superior stature in the mirror and I take a step back. 

"Lydia?" Josh asks, tugging on my arm, but I won't budge. 

Lotty just didn't get it. She wouldn't be able to handle the process like I can. You see, there's a way to come back after you've died. All you need is a child and a lot of negative energy. The younger the child, the better, but you'll have to do. Aging will go twice as slow, so we'll be together for maybe another two hundred years. 

"Josh, I want to leave," I say. "Now." 

"Well then let's go," he urges me. Everything around me seems blurred around the edges, and my feet won't comprehend the concept of moving. The White Lady smiles and I cringe. 

And by "we," I mean your body and I. You wanted to die anyway, right? Well this will be better. Your heart will still beat but I'll rip out your soul.

It'll be quick.

And easy. 

We'll both be happy, she says. 

"I don't want to die," I say out loud.

It's for the best.

Then the glass from the mirror shatters and a force knocks me to the ground, leaving me breathless and gasping for air. 

"Holy shit," Josh exclaims and tries to get me standing, but I push him away. People are rushing over and asking all sorts of questions, but I definitely can't answer them and Josh doesn't have a clue. 

I feel like I'm being strangled all over again, except this time it doesn't stop. I cough and scream in pain as one of my lungs rips open, and blood starts filling the other. Nurses have gathered around me and are lifting me onto a stretcher, but I know I'm a goner. My vision gets fuzzy and they wheel me down the hall. My mom is in one of the rooms with Miranda, and she glances out the window on the door. 

I guess of all the things that could have been said as the last words I would ever hear before my soul got ripped from my body, "What the fuck" isn't exactly what I would have imagined. But coming from my mother's mouth, it sounds kind of fitting.

I close my eyes and wait for that infamous "white light." 

It doesn't come.