I awoke to the harmony of the songbirds and the breeze on a Tuesday morning. A day just like any other day. Exactly as the last had been, and certainly to be the same as the next. 


My eyelids peeled back to set themselves, once again, on the stucco ceiling my father had set years ago, and by far his most prideful contribution to the home. Consisting of swirls and spirals that interlaced and overlapped, they created a wonderous sight of never-ending whirlpools. Pushing into one another until their illusory pattern disappeared abruptly into the angles of the wall. 


I began a momentous outward stretch from the center of my bed. My limbs slowly contorting and writhing away from the source of a lengthy yawn. Finalized in a stationary pose that any coroner would have related to a stage of rigor mortis. A held breath and a perfection extension found me frozen in the position until suddenly, and simultaneously, releasing both. Once again, recognizably alive.  


I sat up and threw my legs over the side of the bed. The calamitous slapping of my feet on the hardwood turned into a springboard style leap upright. After a quick stretch, I began to head toward the bathroom for a morning shower. The moment before my feet would touch the inevitable chill of the linoleum, my cellphone started to ring. 


I very casually strolled over to pick up my phone. Curiosity drove me more than anything but wasn't going to give the time for me to process what I would see. 


A momentary fog of disbelief brushed over me. The number on the display seemed vaguely familiar, and completely alien, all at the same time. I was looking at ten digits that were appearing backwards. Not in reverse but mirrored.  


Taking another moment to ponder the sight came at the cost of missing the call altogether. So, for several minutes, all I could do was stare at my phone.  


When the grip of absurdity had released me, I quickly opened my missed calls log. Frantically scrolling down through several days' worth of incoming, outgoing and missed phone calls. Flying well into the prior week without seeing anything that even remotely resembled the call I had just received.  


 I shook off the oddity of the event and went back to my routine.  


  I turned around awkwardly and aimed myself back in the direction of the bathroom. A short walk to a much-needed shower. The old pipes in my house always took a while to warm up, but it never stopped me from jumping right in. Contending with the shocking chill of the water spurned me to quickly lather up and wash in a panic. Impatience being a strong characteristic of mine, it aided in getting the process done. 


  However, the business end of the shower came to an end just as the grace of my water heater blessed me with its kindness. Imbuing me with the need to stand still and enjoy its intimate embrace. It was during the height of this delight that my cellphone began ringing again. 


 I had left my device on the dresser near my bed. Deep in the throes of ecstasy that only a hot shower can offer, I was in no rush to answer my caller. The ringing eventually ran its course and left me alone with the gentle pattering sounds of the water that fell around me. A peaceful melody that was soon broken by a unique notification bell. One that's telling of a voicemail. 


  Stepping out and drying off removed both the water from my skin and the call from my mind. There was no sense of urgency to accompany it, so another call quickly fell to the wayside of the things I had to do today. 


  I was already running over the itinerary of the day in my mind. It was a detailed and itemized sorting that always accompanied me during my regimen. Guiding me through the motions as I streamlined things for maximum production. The grind, and all its facets, have a way of entrancing my mind. Sometimes I felt like I wasn't even part of the world. Not until I sorted it all out in my head. 


  While my brain navigated its way through the labyrinthian thoughts of the rat race, my legs and stomach had another agenda. Exiting the office of my mind's eye found me standing at the entrance to the kingdom of my kitchen. Always a joyous occasion. Always along the same lines. 


  I started skillfully scrambling some eggs and deftly grinding coffee beans to the perfect consistencies. The aroma of both mingling with the scent of the toast that I always lightly burned. A specification I picked up as a child when my father did it by accident. More than once, to be honest, and perhaps developing my liking for it. Nostalgic now, since Dad's been gone for so long. Taking me back to when I was a child, rather than a time of loss. The pain not being too terribly deep as long as I don't think on it too long. 


  Then my cellphone rang again. A thunderous, near nuclear, blast that shattered the calm around me. Ripping me from the childhood memories that were playing out in my head and returning me to my surroundings. The solemnity of silence reminding me of the utter loneliness that I was standing in. Feelings to be suppressed and addressed at another time. 


  Towel drying my hands, I rushed from the kitchen to pick up the phone. This time the digits on the display were very clear. 


  The number was my own. 


  My eyes were glued to the screen as my face twisted in confusion. Pausing for an instant that slowed to an eternity. Mouth agape, and eyes wide, I dropped my brow in disbelief. Once again missing the window to answer the call.  


  I immediately went back to my call logs. Only this time the call history said that this number was the source of my missed calls from earlier. Coinciding with the time stamp from around when I was in the shower, and even more strange, was linked to the number that read backwards. I tapped on the most recent call, from myself, and was taken to a small list of the three calls from today. The mirrored number displayed as the oldest received call on my phone. Showing that I had taken months of calls after it. I stood there. Lost. Confused. How long I stared at the screen in my hand was anyone's guess. It wasn't until the redundancy of running over the information in front of me, again and again, finally struck me. Drawing me from my stupor and channeling enough focus to dial my voicemail. 


  I waited. The automated voice answered, I followed the prompts and entered my password. Seconds later I found myself listening to another cog in the machine of madness that had decided to roar into life today. 


  Static and squeals of some ungodly origin fired at each other on the other end. A struggle of frequency and metal that clouded the words that bubbled up from beneath them. I strained to make out anything. Familiar syllables crashed into the rise and fall of a metallic chorus behind it. Frenetic pace drove the words through the storm around them. A storm that fractured their intent into unintelligible fragments. Then I swear I heard the most unnerving thing. I recognized my name, but it was being said backwards. 


  The realization pierced my mind. Reigniting an old memory from a drama class I attended in junior high, when a substitute teacher had the reins one day. A real character, he decided to perform roll call by having the students sound off their names. Backwards. I'll never forget it because 'Mariah' spoken backwards was embarrassing and lasting in those years. 


  The floorboards in the house exploded with life as I dashed for my art room. Never much more than an area to just hang out in, it housed every tool for every creative endeavor that I had ever dreamed to accomplish. Including a voice recorder. Initially for brainstorming and capturing novel ideas in the moment of their inception, it would now serve to translate whatever message was hidden in this mysterious voicemail. 


  I ran through my art room like thief. Reckless abandon aiding my search for the recorder. As soon as I had it in hand, I bolted through the house to seat myself at the dining room table. I toyed with the small machine until I was confidently prepared to use it. Locked in, I played the voicemail at full volume, ready to capture and decipher the cryptic message that lie within. 


  Recorder in hand and attention at the ready, I hit play to listen to the garbled mass of sound one last time. Nearing the end of the audio, I pressed rewind before it ended. The voice that came back uprooted my sanity. 


  "Mariah, you're not going to understand this at first, but I am you. From a different place, a different dimension. If you get this message, I need you play the frequency at the end of it. Stand in front of your mirror in the bathroom when you do. This is about our father. Please, Mariah, do this for us. Do this for our family."  


  My mind reeled as I pushed away from the table. I tried to stand up, but the blood had already left my head, and I began to swoon. A failed attempt to place my hand on the table and catch myself had missed by a mile. Luckily, I blacked out before I doubled over, and the weight of my body drove my face into the floor. 


  It would be several hours before I woke up. When I did, I was lying in a smattering of blood and had gifted myself a black eye. The wet crackle of pulling my face from the floor was sobering. I had been unconscious, and in a very uncomfortable position, for quite some time. I sat upright, to rest on stiff, aching, bent knees, and my rear end. My eyes searched for anything recognizable in my now darkened home. Every breath I took was deep and exhaustive, as though I hadn't even attempted to do so in a lifetime. My chest hurt, my face was numb, and head was pounding as though I had been attacked with a hammer. 


  I painstakingly pushed myself up to my feet and found the nearest light switch. Still slightly disoriented, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. 


  The world around me seemed to be trembling. A steady vibration, almost like the hum of an electrical current, was affecting my eyesight and equilibrium. Pulling a glass out of the cupboard and running the water seemed an unending task. My limbs felt heavy, and my eyelids ached. All I could do was simply stand at the sink and gaze out the window while the water ran into oblivion. Listlessly I pushed the cup under the faucet and let the rush of water overfill it. The feeling of the water running over my hand was just as surreal as the information that I was trying to process. I simply existed in that moment while trying to interpret what happened. I was trying to understand what it was that I had heard. 


  My footing in reality slipped from away as soon as I lifted the glass of water to my mouth. In that moment, my eyes drifted up from the sink to the window above it, and I saw my reflection. Only it was standing in a different position than I was. Bracing itself with both hands on the edge of the sink and leaning it for a closer look. Watching me. 


  My eyes began fluttering uncontrollably in an effort to bat away the horrifying sight. My consciousness working in tandem with my body to try and block out as much of the traumatic event as possible. Then, mere seconds before the cold tide of the darkness could pull me under again, the image decided to catch up with me. A series of movements occurred that were so rapid, they appeared broken. Flashing in a display reminiscent of a flipbook. The stranger in front of me grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and assumed the same stance as I did. Continuing its observations with an unnervingly new depth. 


  The glass slipped from my hand and shattered against the kitchen floor. I began stepping back from the counter, unable to look away from with the other person. Adrenaline and dread coursed through my veins. Keeping me upright and capable of instinctually fleeing.  


  Removing myself from the view of the window immediately felt like a mistake. Fear prodding the suspicion that my reflection may not be there to look back at me if I returned to the window. I felt I had granted it freedom. That it was now loose in my home. 


  I was unable to take my eyes off the kitchen doorway. Afraid that the other someone might leap out at any second. The recorder caught my eye as I meandered backward., I snatched it up, clutching on to it tightly as I returned to the safety of my bedroom. Short, tense steps found the backs of my knees making contact with my bedframe. Signaling that I was able to finally sit down and contemplate my next move.  


  What in the hell was going on? Nothing about this made sense. This has been my home since I was 9 years old. My Dad built this house with a little help, and his bare hands.  


  I played the tape again. Trying to regain a hold on logic and escape the fugue state that was gripping me. This time, the voice in the message sounded foreign to me. The sounds that played in the background seemed to transform. Random cacophony became a darkly intentional symphony. Almost beginning to sing to me in some way. The ending notes now sending chills down my spine and reawakening the intense vibration that had been in my vision earlier.  


  My head reeled once more. I became slightly nauseous, and needing the bathroom.  


  I rose, wobbling, to make my way to the bathroom. Despite the feeling I was walking out onto the deck of a ship at sea, I pushed forward. Expecting to find a moment of peace in the cold embrace of the porcelain. What I ended up seeing escaped my cognition at first. 


  I moved past the mirror towards the toilet, but I was alone in doing so. Unaccompanied by the partnership of my reflected counterpart. I turned around to check on my oversight, as surely as it was imposed by my stress, to see myself still sitting on the bed. Staring at the recorder. I froze. The other version of myself turned her head to look at me. A strange look that I couldn't quite place an emotion or intent to. Then she stood up and made her way to the bathroom. Walking past the mirror, toward me, and out of sight. Assuming she stood next to the toilet, as I now did, I slowly walking back into our field of vision. Utterly aligned once more, I carefully began examining myself.  


  Everything appeared normal. Again. At this point, I decided to calmly walk over and grab the recorder. I would return to the bathroom and follow the instructions of playing the recording there.  


  I stared at myself until the visage became almost alien. Then I hit play.  


  The voice on the recording sounded off again. I was planted firmly in anticipation of what was to come. As the woman speaking ended her short monologue, everything in the room took to an incomprehensible silence. As though the molecules of everything around me stood in hushed audience.  


  The tones emanating from the device became a force of physical manipulation. The impact of which was causing everything around it to behave beyond the laws of physics. The counter to moved back and forth slightly. It seemed as though an object with a fourth dimensional gravity was affecting the third dimensional objects around it. Happening in a way the mind was incapable of grasping on its current plane. My personal belongings appeared to melt into the counter, only to hear them hit the boards underneath as they passed completely through. Toothbrush, mouthwash, various makeups, clattering down to a new resting place. The vibration that had touched me earlier was pounding through my entire being. I tried to brace myself against the counter, but it was entirely impossible. My hands pressed through the material, and I fell effortlessly to the floor below. It took everything I had to brace myself and return to my feet.  


  I watched the mirror as an invisible touch disrupted it. A fantastic rippling springing forth from several points on its surface at once. Like the still of a pond that had broken by a handful of thrown rock. Pressing at me as though I were in the body of water.  


 My gleaming reflection danced with the motions. Glaring with intensity from a dozen sets of eyes. Something I took notice of before a sky piercing chime deafened me. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as the noise filled the house. Like the sound of a grand bell made of glass, issuing its final, shattering ring. Hitting with a frequency that continued to rise until it became a single tone. Then everything stopped. A screeching halt that took my breath away. 


  My Otherself looked at me and smiled. Breaking from the illusion that we were a tethered being.  


  The light was refracting in an altogether new fashion. At first it was hard to make out what I was seeing as an unknown brightness illuminated new shades and sources of light. Lines and colors swam around in front of me, weaving in and out of one another. Giving and taking form as though reality sat atop an oil spill. Similar, yet apart, from the pixelation of tears welling up in my eyes. Giving a strange life to the assumed concrete nature of the world. Then restoring back into the known order of the figure in front of me. Then she turned and walked toward the bedroom in the back of the mirror. The distance lent me the ability to recognize what I was looking at. Forcing me to realize that it was the mirror that was parting my senses from understanding what they were trying to interpret. 


  She sat down on the bed and picked up the phone. Dialing a number I couldn't make out, she put the phone to her ear and looked back at me. My phone rang from my bedroom and startled me from my entrancement. With an uneven and awkward gait, I plodded over to the bed on this side of the madness. Standing above my phone, I looked down to see my phone number displayed as the incoming call. Slowly, I extended my arm to pick up the line. Shaking and nervous, through teary eyes, I answered. 


  "Ye... Yes?" I stammered. 


  "Mariah! I'm so glad to see everything worked! Today, we've made our father proud!" stated the stranger. 


  My vision narrowed as I heard the words in my own voice. References of gratitude and my father were worlds apart in any experience of the last ten years of my life. When he moved away, my mother and I had become estranged. His choices cementing ironclad isolation in my mother. She became inconsolable and incapable of doing anything by herself. Reaching the point that she wouldn't even try going to the bathroom without someone helping her.  


  Our relationship eventually came to a drawn out and dramatic end. A frustration that moved to separation as I watched her spiral into an infantile state. Only motivated by rage and spitting venom at me around every corner. She was self-enfeebled, and furious that I wouldn't aid her until she left this mortal coil. The loss of my father made her feel as though I owed her the remainder of my life. An assumed attempt to fill the void he left. Eventually she would let me know that it was a payment she expected in kind. After, of course, allotting me the charity of birth and a descent childhood. It was a sickening twist on the care a mother is responsible for in the life she chooses to make. Leaving me no choice but to walk away with a grief that still stains my soul. 


  "Who... are you?" I whispered. Noting this... person, had given pause to allow all the time I needed to process her words, and the situation. 


  "Hey, I'm looking right at you. Have a seat. I'll explain everything." she said. A cool breeze seeming to carry her words. 


  I turned to look back at the bathroom. A horrifying image of myself leaning over the counter and peering back at me from the mirror. A thin smile spread across her face, with eyes squinting to match the hidden value of her lips. She lifted her hand, brought it to a horizontal plane, and let it fall slowly. Motioning for me to sit down. Without much thought, I followed orders. 


  "Good. So, first off, how are you feeling? In theory, the frequencies and vibrations needed for this to happen should be harmless. However, there's no precedent here, so that's strictly in theory. You don't appear to be bleeding," she stated, looking me up and down, Are you nauseous at all?" 


  Her questions were followed by an inquisitive gaze. An angled stare that unnerved me and robbed me of words. I could only sit there as my arm drifted casually away from my head. 


  "Well?" she pressured, "You don't seem alright." 


  The stupor I sat in so comfortably decided to take its leave. I positioned myself upright and let my phone fall to wherever its destiny would take it. I had able to hear her just fine without it since I had answered the call. 


  The growing need for answers took my words on an escalation from low and slow, to swift and shrill within seconds. 


  "What is going on right now? How can I hear you? How are you... you? What does any of this have to do with my dad? I am so confused!" I exclaimed.  


  My counterpart changed her stance to square up with where I would be, if I was in front of the mirror. An eerily mechanical motion that deviated neither her gaze nor angle of her neck. She then gestured for me to come closer. 


  My legs started to operate without my consent. I stood up from the bed and sauntered arbitrarily toward the bathroom, as though I hadn't been instructed by the whims of my reflection. 


  The idea briefly crossed my mind to wonder if this was a delusion, or a demon. A million thoughts hit me simultaneously as I made my way across my bedroom and tried to reason out the last twenty minutes of my life. 


  My heart began racing as I got closer to the mirror. Pumping in my chest so hard that I could feel the heat in my ears. Pulsing white spots hammering out from behind my eyes to its rhythm. The formation of erratic constellations that changing with every beat. 


  Now, standing in the bathroom, I was once again face to face with the entity in the mirror. 


  "I am you, in a sense," she began, "Different in many ways, but I am you in the ones that will come to matter. We can hear each other because the phone call you answered syncopated our atomic frequencies. Before, we were only linked via light refraction on a nearly identical plane. We currently exist in two dimensions that are bound. This, mirror, is a medium that translates that information from one side to another. We were always following our own free wills, but our universes are aligned by some predestined thread in the grand tapestry of multidimensional probability. Creating the illusion that we are watching ourselves. When in reality, we are watching the events of another universe unfold in real time. Everything you and I are experiencing now is either a direct product, or byproduct, of your father and his research. Along with his application of everything he had accomplished in his life. Up until he and my father had separated from one another. Carrying on with the project in their own fashions after that. Sharing their research and making this possible." 


  I was beginning to get frustrated with how my brain couldn't cope with any of this. Multiple dimensions. My father's knowledge and cooperation in any of this. The fact that I was speaking to myself. I began to wonder if perhaps a chemical leak, or something biological, had made its made into my water supply. 


  "Sounds, plausible." I spoke hesitantly. My limited understanding of anything quantum was topical at best. Leaving the information being presented as seemingly truthful enough. 


  "What do you know about my father? And why have you done anything with whatever he was researching? What are you trying to accomplish by reaching out to me?" I asked.  


  Her lighthearted and matter-of-fact demeanor changed so very slightly.  


  "Our father was an accidental genius. There was an event that took place on the job when he was the head of the metal fabrication plant. We were just kids. As I've come to find, there was an issue with the cables holding up some of the industrial emission stacks they were creating. A faulty line snapped and caused one of the stacks to come crashing down and almost killed him. He was attempting to get out of the way and evade being crushed to death. A clumsy misstep caused him to trip and land flat on his back. Propping himself up, he watched the stack swing past him and collide with a steel support beam in the building. During that moment, the devastating impact caused the one-way reflective mirror on the manager's office to visibly ripple. His intrigue over that moment turned into an obsession. Our father then spent all his free time trying to recreate the vibration that caused it. In doing so, he found a way to break the quantum connection that tied him to his Otherself. Opening a line of communication with a liberated version of himself on this side. Free to speak, move and think independently of each other from that point on. I have carried on with his work. Now, I'm very excited to see the fruits of my labor. I cannot wait to see what profound breakthroughs we can accomplish together!" her exclamation echoed through my house as her joy became almost maniacal.  


  I shied away from the mirror. Thinking of her words, I began to work up the courage to further question her motives. 


  "My father's dead. He moved away more than ten years ago and passed away in Connecticut. I attended the funeral. Besides that, I've lived in this house since then and I haven't found paperwork or research of any kind. It seems absurd, honestly." I informed her. 


  My Otherself's eyes shot to the floor. Then she closed them tightly, releasing unexpected tears. 


  "My father died... a little over ten years ago. After his death, I went through his belongings. That's when I found his notes on his discovery, and that he had been able to reach out to his counterpart on your side. I needed to contact you and try to see if I could fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle he left me." she murmured. Her tears having become steady streams on either side of her face.  


  I felt the wounds in my own heart re-open. The loss striking me almost as it had the day, I heard the news myself. Obviously, I related to the depth of the hurt she had experienced. Making me wish I could help her in any way that I could. 


  "What do you need from me? Is there something I could do to help you?" my words rushing forth recklessly, and without hesitation. 


  My doppelganger wiped away the moisture from her face. Looking back up at me with a laser focus, she raised her hand. Stopping me from continuing to offer any aid. 


  "Do as I do. Place your hand on the mirror and follow my instructions." she commanded. 


  Inhibitions on the situation had all but left me now. My relation to her cause and plight made my want to assist her immutable. So, I followed her lead. Placing my hand in the exact position her was in and centered as close as I could get it. Miraculously, we aligned perfectly as soon as our hands made contact. A moment that flashed panic and fear across every fiber of my being. Our hands made contact as though the mirror was no longer there. 


  A terrifying smile spread across her face. Then she started pressing her hand through the barrier. Her will seeming to move my arm towards hers and across the invisible threshold that separated us. Our limbs were making an illusory cross as her hand came out of the mirror towards me, and mine towards her. It appeared to fold our own arms back in on themselves. The seemingly wrong palm facing either party. Overwhelming dread diced my psyche to pieces once more. 


  I tried to pull my arm and hand back out from the mirror. The simple act of trying exhibited my loss of control. An instinctual panic ran through me like a brush fire, and I began franticly thrashing about. I quickly discovered that I was simply giving ground. More of myself pressing into the other side with every movement. I placed both feet on the lip of the counter and leaned back with all my weight. Using every ounce of me of strength my legs had to try and pry myself free. In that moment I knew that no amount of force that I could exert was changing my course from entering the mirror. I was firmly anchored to whatever was on the other side.  


  My twin saw my flailing's and made her move. She planted both of her feet on the edge of her countertop and grasped my half visible forearm with her hand on this side. Her right arm pierced through the rippling glass and latched on to my shirt. I lost my balance, as it forced my free hand through the mirror. The sudden instability causing me to lurch forward and create an opportunity for my Otherself. She easily used her weight to fall forward and leverage me into the mirror. 


  Millennia seem to pass in the moment I crossed that threshold. Light and sound merged into a conflict of unparallelled cataclysm to my senses. My vision whited out, and sound deafened my hearing to silence. I felt as though I was somersaulting forward. Every second carried the fear I would face plant into the solidity of the floor in front of me. My equilibrium was out of control. I mouthed pleas and sounded screams that were inaudible. Lost in the chaos of my dimensional transition. An unforeseen final spin landed me on the side of my head so hard that I felt some of my teeth crack. The force dislodging others and ejecting them from the other side of my face. Blowing holes through my cheek like buckshot from the explosive impact. Then everything went from a blinding light to a numbing black within that instant. Then I awoke for a third time that day. 


  I rolled over on to my back and found myself looking up at a vaguely familiar ceiling. I recognized the pattern, but the colors were much different. Using a weak arm, I lifted a shaking hand to my face. Trembling, I ran my fingers over the holes in my cheek. The small throbs of my heartbeat still forcing blood out of the jagged openings.  


  My eyes spun around in a wide circle to drink in the contents of an unknown room. The mirror was a glaring window of color that shown like an old television screen in a dark room. Everything aside from it was in a photo negative color scheme of my own home.  


  I blinked with an unquenchable fury while trying to focus and interpret a vast array of previously unknown hues. Silvers and blacks of an undiscovered rainbow surrounded me. Dancing and flickering within inconsistent lines, like a flame trying to escape the confines that bind its existence. The restraints of physics having enough power here to maintain a portion of the authority it had held in my world. 


  My first attempts to sit up identified broken ribs and shattered fingers. Identifying all the points of contact when I had come over the counter. Hitting the floor was the last thing that happened, before it was the first thing I remembered. Before realizing that someone else was now in my ho.  


  Sitting up was beyond me. My legs felt like they had baseballs bats taken to them. Whimpering accompanied willpower in lifting my legs and painfully bending them at the knees. I placed my feet flat on the floor and took a long, deep breath. A preface to pushing myself in small, painful bursts to reach the toilet. Excruciating effort put me in enough pain to bring tears to my eyes. It took several damaging attempts to finally maneuver myself up and into a sitting position. Now, stationery and panting, I could see into the mirror. A horrid image of myself sat on my bed with her legs crossed. What I saw was no longer the woman I had been speaking to. 


  A nightmare was sitting with its back to me. Heaving breathes labored in its chest as it rose and fell. Shoulders arching and relaxing in melodic rhythm with the wheezing noises that escaped its lungs.  


  I looked in the mirror and yelled at a pitch of rage that skirted the lines of screaming and crying. The wail broke the creature's focus. Its head lifted and turned slowly to the side. Throwing a glance over its shoulder at an unnerving downward pitch. Casting a glimpse of a single, purposeful, eye. It cackled as it haphazardly moved from the bed to the bathroom. Taking a stance to face me directly. 


  The blood in my veins ran cold. The thing on my bed was an exact copy of everything about me. A true image of myself, without inversion by the standard of a mirror. Changed in every shocking manner that the blackened light world around me had changed my home.  


  Pain in my joints left me immobilized. Even the thought of standing up was grieving my every muscle and tendon.  


  "What have you done?" I snarled.  


 A wanton laughter burst from its maw. Minute after minute passed as it was entertained to no end on its own radical joys. Once fulfilled, it aimed its psychotic stare back in my direction. Against charcoal skin her silver lips had peeled back to outline a bleached tooth grin. Her hair appearing in static snake-like tendrils that cared not for what she was doing. Pitted eyes sat locked in endless and cavernous spirals that echoed shades of silver and white. Tones that one would expect to see dancing off of a metal surface catching the moonlight. 


  "I have taken your place," it said after some time. "Truly, our fathers stumbled across something incredible, but there's more to our circumstance Mariah." 


  Rage kept my heart beating in that moment. My body felt death caressing it. Enticing it to accept a final embrace and fall into a last love that would free it from its woes. My mind and soul knew better, though. Logic was leading the charge against the deceitful lust of death's interests. 


  "Your father is dead." it rasped. "Murdered and replaced by my own, from there, all those years ago. You were not estranged. You were orphaned. Now, I will live as you, here. Free of any choices either of us have made. Free to start over and reunite with my father." 


  Its sheering, monotone voice carried through the air like a hot nail being dragged across glass. 


  A momentary surge of adrenaline gave me the false hope of rising to my feet. Helping me to discover the true extent of my injuries. My knees buckled in a valiant attempt to release my ankles from an unbearable weight. Dropping me to the floor as soon I tried. A small cry escaped my throat as I came down hard on my tenderized kneecaps. 


  "Aww... careful now. You've got a long time left to live." the creature cooed sarcastically. "And it may be a little more difficult for you on that side if you're all beat up." 


  Her cynicism replenished her maniacal laughter. The grinding and shredding of her glee tore its way through my eardrum. Boring into the core of my being and creating an alcove unto itself. One where my soul would harbor the seeds of vengeance. 


  The deceiver turned from the counter at which it stood. Then marched off with a cheerful gait into the reaches of my home. There it would assume my identity. It was unfathomable to even attempt to grasp the extent of the damage it would cause. Clearly not of the same personality, it would surely catapult the sum of my life into the void. Lack of presence would ensure the death of friendships and the loss of my entire career. Worst of all, despite everything, the thought of losing my home and everything it meant to me, hurt the most. The heirlooms, memories past and the ones yet to come, and anything that may lay hidden from my father's apparently storied life.  


  Then clarity hit me for the first time today. Whatever she had done, had been done in this world. However, she had accomplished her insidious deed, had been a replication of my father's findings. Those findings had to be here. It was then that I knew what I had to do. 


  I would watch my Otherself through every mirror and reflection in the world if I had to. I would track down my other-father and observe him in silence. I would use every tool and facet this world had to offer to remedy the injustice of this sick fate. I would do everything I could to find my way back.