Chapter 6 – The Mirror Stalker

My morning before work is unsettling.

The bathroom mirror was fogged over when I stumbled in at six AM, and I hadn’t turned on the shower yet, which meant the steam shouldn’t exist.

“Good morning, beloved.”

The voice drifted from inside the glass, soft and breathy like someone whispering through cotton.

I rubbed my eyes, too tired for this nonsense.

“Mary, we talked about the dramatic entrances.”

“But you look so beautiful when you’re startled.”

A pale hand pressed against the mirror from the inside, fingers splaying across the condensation, and the fog cleared in a perfect handprint shape, revealing her face underneath.

Bloody Mary looked maybe twenty-five, with long black hair that moved underwater-slow even though she was trapped in glass, and her eyes were too dark, pupils blown wide enough to swallow light. She wore a white dress that had probably been pretty once, before whatever killed her stained it rust-red across the chest.

She smiled at me through the mirror.

Her teeth were too white, too perfect, like someone had photoshopped a smile onto a corpse.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I slept for two hours because Thalia had a meltdown and my cult tried to commit domestic terrorism.”

“Only two hours? Your eyes look tired.”

She pressed closer to the glass, her nose almost touching the surface from her side, and her breath made new fog patterns that spelled out my name in cursive.

“That’s lowkey creepy, Mary.”

“I practiced all night.”

“You practiced breathing on glass?”

“I wanted it to be perfect for you.”

I turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face, and the shock helped wake me up a little. My reflection looked rough, dark circles under my eyes and bedhead that defied physics.

Mary’s reflection appeared next to mine, even though she wasn’t standing beside me in the real world.

“You should eat more vegetables, your skin looks dull.”

“My skin looks dull because I’m exhausted.”

“I could help you relax.”

Her hand reached out from the mirror, fingers breaking through the glass like it was water, and cold fingers touched my shoulder, trailing down my arm in a way that made goosebumps explode across my skin.

I stepped sideways, out of reach.

“House rules, no touching before seven AM.”

She pouted, her hand retreating back into the glass.

“You’re so mean to me.”

“I’m protecting your probation status, the facility could relocate you to an actual cell if you keep breaking boundaries.”

“They wouldn’t dare, you need me here.”

Technically true, which was the worst part. Mary wasn’t powerful enough to warrant a cell at the main facility, she was a Class-C entity, mostly harmless, capable of minor reality manipulation limited to reflective surfaces. But she was still a monster, which meant she needed supervision.

The higher-ups decided house arrest under my watch was more cost-effective than wasting a containment unit.

So now I had a bathroom ghost.

I grabbed my toothbrush from the holder, squeezing paste onto the bristles.

“I heard you talking to someone last night.”

I paused mid-brush.

“What?”

“On the phone, you were talking to a woman, and she called you darling.”

Oh no.

“Mary, were you watching me sleep again?”

“The bedroom mirror faces the hallway mirror, and I can see through both if I concentrate hard enough.”

“That’s a massive invasion of privacy.”

“I was worried about you, you sounded stressed.”

She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, the movement almost shy, almost innocent, except nothing about Bloody Mary was innocent.

“You can’t spy on me through mirrors, that’s literally the whole reason we set up the curtain system.”

“The curtains were closed on the bathroom mirror, not the hallway one.”

I spit toothpaste into the sink, rinsing my mouth out with cold water that tasted like metal.

“New rule, all mirrors get curtains.”

“But then I can’t see you.”

“That’s the point.”

“Kai, please, watching you is all I have.”

Her voice cracked on my name, genuine hurt bleeding through, and Mary was a stalker sure, but she was also desperately lonely. Centuries trapped in reflective surfaces, only able to interact when someone looked at her directly.

I’d feel bad for her if she wasn’t so intensely creepy about everything.

“You can see me during designated times, breakfast and evening check-ins.”

“That’s only forty minutes a day.”

“Forty minutes of healthy, boundaried interaction.”

“I don’t want healthy, I want you.”

I turned to face the mirror fully, meeting her too-dark eyes that reflected nothing but obsession.

“Mary, we’ve been over this, you’re under my protection, not my girlfriend.”

“I could be both.”

“No.”

“Why not? I’m pretty, I’m devoted, I’d never leave you.”

“You literally can’t leave me, you’re bound to reflective surfaces within fifty feet of this house.”

“Exactly, I’m the perfect partner, no risk of me running off with someone else.”

She pressed both palms against the glass, leaning forward until her forehead touched the surface, and the mirror rippled around her like water, her form distorting at the edges.

“I’ve been alone for three hundred years, Kai, three hundred years of watching people scream and run when they see me, but you don’t run, you talk to me like I’m real.”

“You are real.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did know, and Mary’s existence was a special kind of hell—aware, conscious, capable of feeling, but trapped forever in a medium that made real connection impossible.

It didn’t make the stalking okay, but it made it understandable.

“Look, I appreciate that you care, but caring doesn’t mean you get to watch me 24/7.”

“Just 20/7?”

“Mary.”

“15/7? That’s very reasonable, barely more than half.”

“Two hours, morning and evening, that’s it.”

She made a sound like a teakettle whistling, frustration bleeding into the physical space, and the bathroom lights flickered, the mirror spider-webbing with hairline cracks that vanished as quickly as they appeared.

“You give Thalia more time.”

“Thalia is in a maximum-security cell, it’s literally my job.”

“You give Loki more time.”

“Loki doesn’t watch me shower.”

“I don’t watch you shower!”

“You watched me shower last Tuesday, you gave commentary on my shampoo choices.”

Her face went red, blush spreading across pale cheeks like watercolor.

“You use too much product, it’s bad for your hair.”

“Not the point.”

“And you missed a spot on your back, the left shoulder blade area.”

“Definitely not the point.”

I grabbed my deodorant, applying it while trying to ignore her staring, and Mary tracked every movement, her gaze intense enough to feel like physical weight pressing against my skin.

“You’re beautiful when you do mundane things.”

“I’m putting on deodorant.”

“I know, it’s intimate, domestic, like we’re a real couple.”

“We’re not a couple.”

“We could be, I’d be so good to you Kai, I’d never make you fill out paperwork or deal with cult leaders, I’d just love you quietly from the mirror.”

“That’s not the selling point you think it is.”

She laughed, the sound echoing weirdly like it was coming from multiple directions at once, bouncing off surfaces that shouldn’t exist.

“You’re funny when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered, I’m tired and running late.”

I checked my watch—6:47 AM, which meant I needed to leave by seven-thirty to make it to the facility on time.

“Let me help you pick clothes.”

“I wear a uniform Mary, there’s no picking involved.”

“But you could wear the navy shirt instead of the black one, navy brings out your eyes.”

“How do you even—you know what, I don’t want to know.”

I left the bathroom, heading for my bedroom, and the hallway mirror showed Mary’s reflection following me, walking parallel on her side of the glass. She kept pace perfectly, her bare feet silent against whatever surface existed in her dimension.

“I’ll be quiet today, I promise.”

“You say that every morning.”

“This time I mean it.”

“You said that yesterday too.”

I pulled the uniform from my closet, the standard-issue black tactical pants and fitted black shirt with the facility logo, nothing special, nothing worth commentary.

Mary appeared in the bedroom mirror anyway.

“The black is good too, very professional, very authoritative.”

“Thanks.”

“It hugs your shoulders nicely.”

“Getting weird again, Mary.”

“Sorry, can’t help it, you’re just very hug-able.”

I changed quickly, keeping my back to the mirror, and it wouldn’t stop her from seeing—she could probably access the reflection from my watch face if she wanted—but it felt like maintaining some dignity.

“I left something for you.”

Her voice was quieter now, almost hesitant, like she was afraid I’d reject whatever gift she’d made.

I turned around.

“What kind of something?”

“Look on your desk.”

The desk sat against the wall, covered in facility reports and takeout menus, and sitting on top of the mess was a single red rose made entirely of frost. The petals were delicate ice crystals, intricate and beautiful, already starting to melt in the room’s warmth.

“Mary.”

“I made it last night, took four hours to get the petals right, and I know you can’t keep it, but I wanted you to have something pretty.”

The rose caught the morning light, refracting tiny rainbows across the wall, and it was genuinely stunning work, the kind of detailed craftsmanship that required serious concentration and skill.

“It’s really good.”

“You like it?”

She sounded so hopeful, so desperate for approval, like a kid showing their parent a drawing from art class.

“Yeah, I like it.”

Her smile could’ve lit the whole room.

“I’ll make you one every day.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to, it gives me something to do besides miss you.”

The rose dripped onto the desk, water pooling around the stem, and in ten minutes it would be completely melted, gone like it never existed.

Kind of poetic, actually.

I grabbed my keys and phone, shoving them into my pockets while mentally running through today’s schedule.

“I need to make breakfast and head out.”

“Can I watch you eat?”

“That’s a weird request, Mary.”

“Please? I miss food, I miss the smell of it, the way people’s faces change when they taste something good.”

I sighed, too tired to argue about something this harmless.

“Fine, but no commenting on my chewing.”

“I would never.”

“You literally did last week.”

“That was constructive criticism, you eat too fast, you’ll get indigestion.”

I headed to the kitchen, Mary following through every reflective surface, and she jumped from the hallway mirror to the microwave door to the toaster surface, her form compressing and stretching to fit each space.

I pulled eggs from the fridge, cracking three into a pan, and the sizzle filled the quiet kitchen, familiar and grounding.

Mary watched from the toaster reflection, her face distorted by the curved chrome.

“You should add cheese.”

“I’m adding cheese.”

“And maybe some vegetables, you need vitamins.”

“You sound like a mom.”

“I sound like someone who cares about your health.”

The eggs cooked quickly, scrambling into fluffy yellow curds, and I added shredded cheese and a handful of spinach because Mary was lowkey right about the vegetables.

I ate standing at the counter, shoveling food into my mouth while checking my phone. Three emails from the Warden about today’s evaluations, five texts from Miller about Loki trying to convince the night guards that gravity was optional, one missed call from Elizabeth that I absolutely would not return.

“You look stressed.”

“I am stressed.”

“You should take a vacation.”

“Can’t, the prison would implode.”

“Then take me with you, I could live in your phone screen, we could travel together.”

“Mary.”

“I know, boundaries, I’m working on it.”

She smiled sadly, her form flickering slightly in the toaster’s reflection like a weak signal trying to stay connected.

The eggs settled heavy in my stomach, warm and filling, and I washed the pan quickly, leaving it in the drying rack.

With that, my breakfast is complete and it’s time for me to go to work.