erica’s mirage
by E.S.P.
I spot my doppelganger at the office luncheon. It's a monthly catered lunch consisting of generic deli sandwiches. We awkwardly chat for an hour, trying to find new topics of discussion with the people we already spent 40 hours a week with. I’m thinking of ways to excuse myself when she walks into the breakroom with my boss.
I gasp. She's slightly taller, and her hair is longer than mine. Still, she has the same sharp cheekbones, hazel eyes, and round face. And her smile. It’s just like mine, or my mother’s when she was younger.
“Hey,” I say nudging my coworker Tomas, inadvertently interrupting a conversation between him and my assistant, Vivian. “Who’s that girl, over there with Jim?”
They both turn to look towards the door. “Oh, that’s the new secretary, Erin,” Vivian says. “I ran into her in the elevator this morning. Today’s her first day.”
“We kind of look alike, don’t we?” I ask. I stare at her long, brown hair. It even has specs of blond in it, like mine. It shines underneath the fluorescent office lighting.
They both turn to look me up and down as if they never seen me before, and I suddenly become very self-conscious of my look today. I woke up late this morning and threw on a wrinkled pair of slacks and a linty, pink sweater. In sharp contrast, Erin had on a smart two-piece suit, typical of a new hire trying to impress the office. Her face is done up with makeup, so thick its almost paste-like.
Tomas shook his head finally. “I don’t see it. Distant cousins, maybe.”
The low chatter comes to a halt as our boss clinks a knife against his thermos. Jim and Erin stand at attention at the front of the room. “Everyone, I would like to introduce you to the new secretary of Love’n Greeting Cards, Erin Martin. She’ll be taking over for Maria while she’s on maternity leave.”
We all politely clap as Erin gives us a sparkling white smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to be here,” she says, her gaze briefly stopping on me while she scans the room. “I look forward to meeting you all.”
We dispose of our paper plates and plastic cups following the announcement, thankful to be dismissed from our hour of forced socialization. I’m debating if I should put aside one of the extra sandwiches for lunch tomorrow when Erin appears in front of me, and I resist the impulse to jump.
“Erica, hi!” Erin says, extending her hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you. Jim was telling me you also started as a secretary and now you’re in sales.”
I shake her hand, which is surprisingly cold and almost limp, opposite to the strong confident handshakes the sales team is trained to give. “Welcome aboard, Erin! That’s right, I started when I was still a college student. Once I got my business management degree I was promoted.”
“Wow, how inspiring! I’m sure I can learn a lot from you.”
“Well, I’m right by the water cooler. Feel free to stop by my desk anytime to pick my brain.”
“Thanks, I will.” Erin smiles again, staring at me unblinkingly. Up close, I realize her smile is tight, stretched across her skin in an almost unnatural manner. It's not like mine at all. It looks like it hurts.
“Well,” I say, shifting on my feet awkwardly. “Bye now. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Bye Erica!”
Walking away, I realize I forgot to put a sandwich aside, but it feels too late now. I feel Erin’s eyes on my back, following me long after I’ve left the room.
*****
Thursdays are usually pizza night, but since my daughter, Anais, is at her grandma’s tonight, I pick up a chicken pot pie and bottle of wine instead. Date nights are few and far between with a young child -- gymnastics practice, swim meets, play dates, school plays, tutoring, etc. take up all my evenings. Before we got married, a supermarket chicken pot pie at home would be considered boring for me and Adam, but when you have a 6-year-old a quiet night in feels like a treat.
When I get home, Adam is still in his work suit, slumped on our living room couch while the evening news plays from our flat screen. “Care if I join the party?” I say, holding up the bottle of chardonnay triumphantly.
His face lights up when he sees me and he jumps up, swooping me up in a hug. “God, I love you,” he exhales into my hair. He smells sweaty and boyish, how he used to after playing football with the guys. Ancient history. “I had the longest day at work ever. Wine might resurrect me.”
“Let’s drown our sorrows over some wine and a 5-star frozen dinner. And please turn this depressing shit off,” I say, gesturing to the TV that is now broadcasting news of a recent homicide. “We’re really starting to become an old married couple.”
I nuke the pot pie in the microwave while Adam pours us two glasses of wine, putting ice in mine just how I like it. I set the kitchen table for two and slump down in my seat opposite Adam, taking a long gulp. The wine goes down smoothly, immediately calming my nerves from the day. I felt on edge all day, and it’s only now that I felt my shoulders finally droop and relax.
As if reading my mind, Adam asks, “how was your day babe?”
I shrug. “It was alright. I have a new client that’s overseas, so it takes forever to get anything done with them given the time difference.” I pause, taking a bite of my pot pie. Erin’s face flashes in my memory, her pantsuit and weird smile. “We did get a new hire to fill in for Maria today.”
“Oh yeah?” Adam raises an eyebrow. “You don’t seem excited.”
“I don’t know, she’s a little awkward. Our first conversation, something seemed a little...off.” I consider telling her about our strange resemblance, but decide against it when I remember that neither Tomas or Vivian agreed with me.
“Probably first day jitters.”
“Probably,” I say, and then I feel like a bitch because that probably is exactly what it was. Adam has always been the more empathetic one. “I guess with everything going on in our life, I just want stability at work.”
Adam gets up, standing behind my chair. I close my eyes as began gently massaging my shoulders. “Well, let’s not talk about work then,” he says softly. “Let’s appreciate this time we have tonight, when we can just focus on each other.”
My heart rate increases as Adam slowly strokes my neck, then dots kisses along my neck.
The warmth traveling to my neither region reminds me that it's been so long since I’ve been touched, so long since we’ve been intimate beyond pecks and hugs. I miss intimacy. I miss my husband.
I open my eyes and freeze.
Two pitch black eyes, slick and devoid of pupils, glisten like wet coal in the gloom of the unlit hallway just a few feet in front of us. The eyes bore into mine, unnatural large, like they’re sagging underneath their own weight. The skin of this person is so pale, its nearly translucent.
Silently, while my husband kisses my body, it’s mouth stretches into a wide smile. So wide. Unnaturally wide. Stretching against its pale white skin like invisible hands are pulling the mouth open by each end. The mouth is empty, void of teeth. A wide, gaping cavity.
“Adam,” I whisper, my throat trembling under his hand. As soon as the words leave my throat, the person, the creature, scurries out of sight like a rodent caught in the pantry. “There’s someone in here.” I shudder.
His hands freeze and I’m sure he feels the erratic beats of my racing pulse. “In the hallway?” he asks softly.
I nod slowly, not being able to pull my eyes away from the empty dark hallway. Adam and I have discussed one more than one occasion what we would do if we ever faced an intruder.
And still, despite all those preemptive hypothetical conversations I’ve never felt more unprepared.
“I’m going to search the house.” Adam says. He slowly moves to the counter and grabs a butcher knife. “When I signal, call the police.”
Adam stealthily slips in the dark hall, holding the knife like a baseball bat. I hug my knees to my chest, filling my legs tremble in my grip. My stomach tightens in a gut-wrenching knot. The house is silent, aside from the steady hum of the refrigerator. I keep my eyes glued on the hall, waiting for something to jump out at me.
What the hell was that thing?
A few minutes pass with not a sound. I’m getting to the point of considering the frightening possibility of searching our home for my husband when he reappears in the kitchen, alive and unharmed.
“Babe,” he says at a normal volume, the knife hanging from his hand loosely. “Are you sure you saw someone? I searched the house top to bottom. Nothing. All the windows and doors are still locked.”
“I promise, I did! It was a pale person with a creepy grin. And they had big, black eyes...” I trail off seeing Adam’s face and hearing how silly the words sounded out loud. “Don’t laugh! I swear, I saw something.”
Adam shakes his head. “Ya know, if you didn’t want to have sex you could’ve just said so.”
“Shut up!” I say, swatting his arm. “I swear I saw it,” but I’m already beginning to doubt myself. Its sounds insane when I say it out loud. Who would break into the house just to smile at me?
“Yeah, sure. No more true crime docs before bed for you.”
I conceal my embarrassment through laughter and clean up the kitchen. I’m laughing, but my nerves are still charged, waiting for attack. The moment of intimacy between us has been completely squandered. We go to bed and lay on opposite sides. Though we’re just a few feet of part, there’s lightyears of distance between us.
The moonlight does little to illuminate our room, cloaked in thick, inky darkness. When I close my eyes, I see that pale, frightful grin lurking in the void.
*****
My morning runs are normally quite peaceful but not today, because I’m being followed. I run along a path that traces the lake near my house. It's a safe path, well lit, popular for people with dogs. Only this time I feel the presence of someone unseen on me like a shadow. Each time I turn around there’s nothing but well-groomed shrubbery and the concrete path behind me, my starting point disappearing further and further from view.
I turn off the pop music blaring through my headphones and pick up the pace of my run. I feel the presence of something else on this path, though I see and hear nothing. I suppose someone could be hiding in the bushes.t. And where are all the other runners today? I pump my legs faster, feeling my lungs beginning to burn with exhaustion.
My adrenaline allows me to pick up the pace even more. In the dark of the early morning sky, I picture that sinister smiling face staring at me, darting behind trees, hiding underneath the bushes. My shin splints are kicking in from the sudden increase in speed. If I can just get around this turn, the path opens up and there’s a coffee stand on the right and someone could help me and--
I scream as a massive weight knocks me forward. I go soaring to the ground, landing on my hip hard. Thick, hot air beats down on my face. This is it, I think. I’m going to be killed.
Then, a warm, unnaturally large tongue slides down my face. It's a dog.
A big golden retriever at that, the least menacingly dog of all time. My body takes one massive sigh of relief, the tension in my shoulders releasing instantly. The dog pants happily, getting thick drool all over my new running jacket that I drenched with anxious sweat.
I'm losing it.
“Ace!” a feminine voice shouts and the dog jumps off me at the sound. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry!”
My body groans as I heave myself up, and as I do, I’m face to face with my own eyes. Or at least, the woman who looks like she has my eyes.
“Oh, Erin. Hi!” I stammer awkwardly. She aggressively pulls the dog towards her by the leash. He felt as heavy as an adult man, he was probably dragging her all through this park. “I didn’t know you ran here.”
I grimace as I stand to my feet, feeling a dull ache on the arm I used to break my fall. My hand is scraped and bloody. “I’m so, so sorry,” Erin says, frowning. “This is my dog Ace. I normally pay a walker to do this, but I miss the exercise from doing it myself.”
I can’t help but look her up and down. In her running outfit, we do really look identical. we really did look identical. We both have on tight black runner’s jackets, both black, and running shorts.
Though up close, I see bulges of fat pressed against the tight fabric of her jacket. The skin around her thighs is also very loose, and pale. In the light of the rising sun, her makeup free face looks doughy, like the skin has been pulled from her face and never reverted. Her brown hair is pulled into a messy, matted bun – a sharp contrast from the glossy locks she sported the first day I met her.
“Do you run often?”
“Oh yes,” she nods. “All the time. Love running. That’s why I’m glad to see you here, I could use a running buddy.”
She smiles at me like a child who’s impatiently waiting for their mother to take a picture of them. Her dog continues to strain against the leash, but she doesn’t break her gaze from mine, even after he causes her to lose her balance, shuffling on her feet to regain it.
“I should get going,” I say, barely able to disguise the annoyance in my tone. “My hand is all bloody.”
Erin’s smile abruptly drops from her face. She shifts on her feet awkwardly, this time not from her aggressive dog. “I was hoping to run into you and connect, being that I’m a secretary and you used to be also. I want to know how you moved up in the company. We have a lot in common you know. Your assistant told me you love running here.”
“Oh.” I swallow, the saliva in my mouth suddenly become very thick. So, I was being followed. “I have lots of downtime at the office. You can always shoot me an email to talk; you don’t have to...track me down.”
Erin clears her throat and glances at her wrist, which is vacant of a watch. “It's getting late. I better finish my run. See you at the office!”
She breaks into a jog with her dog gleefully joining, practically dragging her through the path. Her running form is awkward, more of a disembodied stumbling than a run. I take a couple thoughtful seconds to myself before starting to walk back to my car. The sky is brightening to comforting light blues at pinks, signally the start of a new day. But still, I can’t help but look over my shoulder every few seconds, Erin's spirit still Prescence on me, as light as a wisp.
*****
My arm aches and I have Adam to wrap it with a bandage before I go to work. I feel like a middle schooler leaving the nurse’s office with my lumpy bandage protruding from the sleeve of my blouse.
To my surprise, there is a small brown bag at my desk when I arrive to my cubicle, with a yellow Post-It on top.
Morning! Sorry about the fall. Breakfast on me. -Erin.
I’m surprised how messy her handwriting is for someone her age. Looks like she wrote in with her eyes closed. There’s blank ink smeared all over the page.
“Yikes, what happened to you?” Tomas asks, pausing at my desk with a steaming coffee cup in his hand.
“Oh,” I say, glancing at my arm instinctively. “Ignore the hack job. I fell this morning and figured I should cover it up. It's all bruised and scraped.”
Tomas winces. “Must’ve been a hard fall. Did, um, Erin push you?”
I guffaw then follow his questioning gaze to the messy Post-It. “Oh god, no! I ran into her running this morning and her dog jumped on me and knocked me over. It was a total accident; he was just a big dog.”
“Erin lives all the way in Central. I didn’t know she ran by you.”
“In Central Islip?” I question. Central Islip was the next town over, at least 20 minutes away by car. Seems like a lot of work to load a dog up in a car and drive to my town, when Central Islip had beautiful running trails of their own.
He shrugs. “That’s what I heard.”
In the silence I follow Tomas longing gaze at the mystery bag on my desk. I roll my eyes, picking it up and peering inside. It looks like a chocolate chip scone.
“All yours,” I said, handing the bag to Tomas. “It has chocolate.”
His face lights up and he digs in the bag excitedly, flakey scone crumbs dropping to the floor. “Your chocolate allergy has blessed me once again,” he says, before taking a big bite. His smile immediately falls and he chews slowly, seeming to take an exorbant amount of time and effort.
“Are you alright?” I question raising an eyebrow.
“This is the chewiest, most stale scone I ever had, but I do appreciate you giving it to me.”
I scoff and shake my head. She can’t even get an apology gift right. What is wrong with this chick?
Tomas returns to his desk and I stuff the scone under some papers in my garbage can, in the likely event that Erin stops by my desk again. I power on my ancient desktop and scan through my inbox. The greeting card business isn’t particularly demanding in March, and majority of my emails were spam. One was a general office email about recycling, two were submissions from local artists. One was from Erin, with the subject line reading “I just wanted to pick your brain...”
My cheeks flush with irritation. 24 hours of knowing this girl and we were already on our third forced interaction. She’s like a shadow I can’t shake.
I click on the email, but the body is empty. Hmm. Its labeled as entering my inbox at 7:03 AM. I usually finish my runs at 7 AM. Which means she likely sent it while still at the park. I picture her in the car with her massive dog, passive aggressively thumbing away at her phone screen. I didn’t think my remark was rude, but clearly, she took offense to it.
But you know what, I’m glad I said it, I think, taking a sip of my now tepid coffee.
Boundaries in the workplace are important and almost impossible to establish once a personal relationship has developed. Not that I see that happening between me and Erin.
My eyes focus on her circular profile picture. Sent by Martin, Erin at 7:03 AM. The photo is small, but I can make out Erin sitting on what looks like a loveseat. She stares unsmiling at the camera wearing a grey sweater and a white cast around her right arm.
I glance down at my own arm, which isn’t exactly in a cast, but still looks eerily similar to Erin’s in its thick bandaging. Although it's clear we’re nothing alike, the physical similarities are even more striking in the unfocused, grainy photograph. Erin’s hair is pulled back tightly, similarly to the way mine is now, and even her sweater looks similar to my knitted grey blouse.
The main difference is her eyes. Even though they’re sharply pointed at the camera lens, they’re simultaneously unfocused and empty. I glance at my own profile picture in the right-hand corner of my computer, my professional headshot I had taken at JCPenney's a few years ago. My eyes are scrunched from my big, wide smile. A healthy red blush is in both my cheeks, and my posture is natural while still professional. I look like a happy person, someone you’d want to rope you into a greeting card contract.
I can’t imagine looking into the camera lens without any semblance of happiness, then actually making that photo my profile picture. Must’ve been an awkward photo to take for whoever the photographer was. Erin looks like a miserable, more gravely injured version of me.
I type the word “doppelganger” in my search engine, curious to see if anyone else has similar stories. At the top of the results page, the definition generates.
Doppelganger: ghostly double of a living person, especially one that haunts its own fleshly counterpart.
My heart pounds vehemently, pounding like a weighted metronome in my chest. Like an apparition, I picture those black eyes boring into my own from the shadows of my hallway last night. I exit the browser quickly, my hands trembling with disquiet.
Glancing around the office, my colleagues are absorbed in their work, oblivious to my distress. I’m losing it, I think, exhaling heavily. I must not be getting enough sleep. I’m seeing things. I don’t believe in ghosts, anyway. I never did.
I spend the next few hours distracting myself by making cold calls. The day surprisingly flies by and soon enough it's time to pick up Anais from her afterschool ice-skating program. I mumble goodbyes to those who are also eager to get out the office before driving over to the recreation center.
The town’s recreation center is mildly underfunded, and the ice-skating rink is about the size of most backyard swimming pools. That’s why I can tell as soon as I get out my car that my daughter isn’t there.
Her instructor, Miss Amy (just Amy to the adults), skates around leisurely with the handful of kids that are left on the rink. I stand on the outside of the rink, waving to get her attention. She points a skate into the ice to stop herself, looking startled when she sees me. “Erica?” she says with a noticeable inflection at the end. “Did you forget something?”
“Hi!” I greet. "Is Anais in the bathroom?”
“No, uh...” she looks around in confusion. “Erica, I swear I just saw you pick up Anais. Remember, I said you look a little tired and you said you were in pain from a fall this morning?”
I immediately feel the hair on my exposed neck bristle, a feeling I have gotten frequently within the past few days. My smile drops as instantly as I put it on. “You gave my child to a stranger?”
Amy raises her hands, her eyes wide in desperation. “Erica, I swear I just saw you pick up Anais and go inside towards the magic show exh---”
Before she can finish her sentence, I take off, pushing past wobbly kids and their parents to inside the rec center. As I race to the lobby where the weekly magic show takes place, I picture myself on the phone with police, then on the phone with my husband to tell them that someone has kidnapped my child, and I’ve failed at my primary duty as a mother.
Onstage is a suited man who is spinning around a giggling child. I scan the crowd and see an old woman with her grandchildren, a large family who are all focused on a screaming infant in the mother’s hands, and a woman in a too tight jacket, holding the hand of a child with hair in four long braids that I plaited myself two days ago.
I approach them in quick strides, forcefully grabbing Anais by the shoulder to confirm it's her. She looks at me in confusion that melts into a smile. “Mommy!”
I pull Anais into a tight hug, inhaling the scent of outside on her clothes and baby lotion on her skin. “Anais! How could you come in here without waiting to ask me first? You know better!”
“You’re squeezing me, mom,” she coughs out through the grip of my tight hug. “Your friend told me it was okay.”
In the joy of finding my child, I’d completely forgotten that there was a reason she was taken from me in the first place. Erin stares with an expression of mild bemusement, her blank eyes looking me up and down. “Hope you don’t mind,” she starts. “I was here for the magic show and recognized Anais from the photos on your--”
A loud smack echoes through the lobby as I strike Erin across the face. Anais screams, holding onto my arm tightly. “The nerve of you! Don’t you ever come anywhere near my child again! Stay away from me, my home, and my family,” I snarl in a voice that’s low and level and sounds nothing like my own. Spit sprays from my mouth and lands on the dark blue tiles. The family with the baby is slowly backing away from us, but I don’t care who’s watching. I want to kill Erin. I want her to pay. For right now. For this morning. For all of it.
Erin stays still. Her face is still turned downward from the force of my slap. I tighten my grip on Anais. “Let’s go,” I said.
Anais is quiet in the back while I drive. All the parenting books I’ve read would disapprove of what I want to scream at my daughter, so instead I said nothing, gripping my hand around the steering wheel so tightly that it aches. All the time I spent teaching her about stranger danger, and for what? For her to walk off with the first person that mildly reassembles me? What would’ve happened if I was ten minutes late? Anais is too old to be that foolish. In moments like these, being a mother was a nightmare. And what the hell was Amy thinking? Do Erin and I look that much alike, that they can have a whole conversation without her realizing it isn’t me?
When we arrive home, Anais immediately goes running to the kitchen where Adam is making dinner. “Dad! Mom slapped someone at the rec!” she exclaims.
Adam scoops Anais up in a hug, shooting me a quizzical look. “Did she?” he asks in his dad voice. I say nothing but navigate to the fridge to retrieve a bottle of wine and pour myself a hefty glass. I’m drained, pissed, and my wounded arm is throbbing in pain.
“Why don’t you go start your shower so we can eat?” Adam says to Anais, who happily scurries up the stairs. I feel Adam’s gaze settle on me again and I take one more sip before turning to face him.
“My coworker tried to kidnap Anais.”
“What?” Adam gapes. “How? You brought Anais to work?”
I shake my head. “When I went to pick her up from the rec, she was missing. Miss Am-- I mean Amy insisted she saw me come pick her up already. When I found her, she was holding my coworker's hand by the magic show, the same one who fucked up my arm this morning.”
“Did she explain why she took Anais?”
“She couldn’t. I slapped her right across her face. I was so angry.”
Adam pinches the bridge of his nose, like he’s trying to quell his anger. A slightly different reaction than what I was expecting. “Babe, that’s a firable offense at the least. It's also an assault charge.”
I set my wine glass down with a loud clang. “Are you listening, Adam? This woman took our daughter and walked away with her!”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” he says, glancing with concern at the steps Anais just ran up. “Babe, lots of people go up to their colleagues' kids when they recognize them in public. I get that it scared you, but you can’t just go around assaulting people.”
I stare at my loving, patient, pacifist husband and I want to slap him too. If he had the day I had he wouldn’t be dismissing this. “I don’t care what other people do. Erin almost broke my arm this morning after she followed me on my run. Erin sent me a weird email today and left a scone I’m allergic to on my desk! Erin used our likeness to trick Amy into handing over our child today. But I guess somehow, I’m in the wrong!”
Adam shakes his head vigorously. “No, no, you’re not, that’s not what I meant. I want to keep Anais safe, and that includes not letting her be affected by what we have going on in our lives.”
“But she’s already been affected. Can’t you see?”
“Did you ask Anais what Erin said to her? Why she went with her?”
“Uh, no...” I sputter, realizing that in my anger I hadn’t spoken to my child at all. I hadn’t even bothered to check in on her and see how she was feeling. What kind of mother was I? “I didn’t, I was so upset abo--”
“Dad, look, I’m a dinosaur!” Anais’s shrill voice interrupts us as she comes jumping down the stairs in her dinosaur onesie, leaping into my husband’s arm. He immediately switches back into dad mode, and Anais laughs hysterically as he starts tickling her. I watch them like a voyeur, unable to free myself from the heaviness of the day. And when it's time for bed, I stay wide awake staring into the dark, waiting for the shadows to move and smiles to appear.
*****
The next day there’s a box on my desk. I take a peek inside. Its assorted pastries and muffins with gooey chocolate icing drizzled over them. The sweet, sugary smell is thick, coating the back of my throat like I’m actually tasting it.
In handwriting somehow sloppier than yesterday is a Post-It that reads Sorry :(
I crumble the note in my hand until it becomes a tiny ball. Was “stay away from me” not clear? Is she dense? Clearly, she needs me to more direct.
Before I have time to think it through, I’m walking towards Erin’s spot at the front desk in quick, angry strides. She sits slumped over her computer, her spine jutting from her hunched back like a goblin’s. As I approach, her head snaps up. Her hair hangs in a frizzy mop framing her ghoulish face. Through the brown strands she peers into my eyes unblinkingly, her eyes so dark they're nearly black. I could’ve sworn her eyes were hazel. Like mine.
Erin’s chapped lips part into a wry smirk. “Can I pick your brain?” she mouths.
“Woah there!'” In my haste, I walk right into Tomas. He puts his arms on my shoulders to steady me. “Running off to see your new shrine?” “H-huh?”
“Did you check your email? You’re employee of the month!”
I stare at Tomas blankly. Over his shoulder I see Erin look back down, her face turned away from us. “W-wait, what?” I stammer. "We don’t even do employee of the month.”
He shrugs. “It's a new incentive apparently, and you’re the very first one. Come on, I’ll show you,” he says, throwing an arm around my shoulder and leading me to the break room.
Sure enough, the room is decorated with gold balloons. There’s a platter of muffins on the table, leaden with chocolate chips. A banner reading “Congratulations Erica: March Employee of Month” is hung up on the wall and underneath it, a massive, framed photograph of Erin.
I gasp, stopping dead in my tracks. Tomas grins, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “It's great, isn’t it? A little gaudy, but that is a nice photo of you.”
I’m speechless, with all the words I want to say clogged deep in my throat. Erin stares down at us from the wall, her smile frozen wide in the glossy headshot. Arms crossed, posture polished, she beams with manic glee as if she’s mid-laugh at some joke only she understands. The grin stretches too far, the corners of her mouth creeping unnaturally toward her temples, just like the thing I saw in the kitchen. Her eyes shine too bright, glinting coldly under the fluorescent lights. And then, as I keep staring, entranced, her left eye snaps shut, then opens. A gleeful, fiendish wink.
Photo of E.S.P.
BIO: E.S.P. is the author of two novels, a poetry anthology, and a short story collection. A native New Yorker, she holds a degree in Advertising and Public Relations from the City College of New York. Outside of writing, she enjoys reading, weightlifting, and spending time with her two pet bunnies and two tuxedo cats.