Dev had been reading and re-reading the short little journal for hours. He had gone through a pot of coffee and a new pot was percolating. He glanced at the clock, 5:30. He had to get ready for work. Wandering into the bathroom he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, pallid skin with dark circles. His facial hair seemed longer than it should. He desperately wanted a shower.
Undressing slowly he thought about the events of just the last 24 hours. How on Earth could it possibly be only one day had passed? The book, though no longer driving him insane, had not revealed anything. For starters, it wasn't written in English. The few illustrations had been strange, esoteric symbols and disturbing images of human bodies in different stages of decay and dismemberment.
The first thing he had done when he had arrived home was look in his dictionary and Encyclopedia Britannica for the word Numen. It was "the spirit or divine power presiding over a thing or place." It was used to refer to the "divine power" of the ancient emperors of Rome or referring to the "magical power residing within an object."
It seemed a little on the nose if this journal was a source of so called magic to have it scrawled on the first page. But maybe the writing and illustrations were instructing the owner of the book as to how to attain numen. Just based on the illustrations, it seemed like torture and human sacrifice were required. Some people would go to any length it seemed for power, whether it was real or not. After all, Magic? Dev finished showering and reached for his towel.
He wiped a circle in the steam on the mirror. Cleaner but still rough. He prepared shaving cream and stropped his razor. He stopped momentarily, thinking about the difference in the symbols in the illustrations and the writing. The words were in some foreign language yet still somewhat familiar but the symbols were lost to time if they weren't complete gibberish to begin with. He streaked a couple he remembered with his finger in the foggy glass around his reflection. Before he finished the last sign, he smelled flowery perfume and a feminine voice seemed to call out "Don't do that." He recoiled from the mirror.
He raised the razor and started to shave. As he was finishing, he nicked his jaw and a drop of blood trailed down his neck. Cursing, he inspected the cut in the mirror and gasped. He reflection was still, its finger still poised to complete the final symbol now with a drop of blood at the tip. The reflection raised the razor to its throat and jerked the blade in a violent motion carving his flesh in a gaping wound that sent arterial spray at the mirror.
Dev covered his face to avoid being covered in blood and heard malignant laughter reverberating through his mirror. He looked through his fingers like a child and saw the warped creature from his car.
"Break the circle" the woman's voice called from the recesses of his mind again. Dev punched his mirror. The laughter echoed through his house, deepening to the sounds of mountains scraping the depths of Hell. He heard screaming. It was him.
-
After cleaning up his cut hand and getting dressed for work, the drive felt so astoundingly normal. He made all the right stops and signals, and arrived on time. Still, he could not shake the feeling he was being not just watched, but tracked. He refused to look at his mirrors the whole ride. He trudged through the doors and went straight to his desk, not bothering to remove his coat or hat.
"Whoa there, Brígh! Look what the cat dragged in! Wait, what happened to you?" Jim Appleton was pouring coffee and hurried over to Dev's desk inspecting his hand.
"I, uh, my medicine cabinet fell off the wall and it hit my hand. Or I hit it, that is." Dev gulped the coffee, it was so hot it burned his throat.
"Dev, buddy, what's gotten in to you? Where have you been? Captain Townshend's on the warpath."
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"What do you mean where have I been? I just saw you yesterday. We joked about your state of dress and talked a bit about my case, remember?." Dev said, perplexed.
"Dev, that was days ago." Jim's concerned confusion turned rapidly to worry.
"Nice try, Appleton. April fool's day is months away." Dev had a sudden realization that he was starving.
"No foolin'. I covered for you for a couple days but when you didn't collect your paycheck I started to worry."
"Brígh! Get your sorry hide in my office! NOW!" The Captain was standing in his door, hands balled into fists at his side. Dev stood up and removed his hat. He looked down at Appleton who quickly averted his gaze and returned to his own desk. Dev made his way over and the Captain slammed the door behind him. "Care to explain your absence?"
"Captain, I don't know what you mean. We just spoke yesterday about the murder at the mill. You told me to drop it if I didn't find anything pertinent in a couple days." Dev defended himself. "And I never would have thought of you as a jokester, going along with Appleton's shenanigans." Townshend slammed his hand on his desk. It startled Dev.
"That was eight days ago, Detective! Try again!"
"Eight days? But that's impossible." Dev said confused. He had blacked out. But for over a week? "Captain, I promise you, that was yesterday for me."
"Do you know how I..." Captain Townshend sighed, straightened his hair and sat down. "After I told you to drop the case, I'm sure you had mixed feelings and wondered why. Call it a 'gut feeling'."
"A feeling, sir?" Dev asked trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "How am I supposed to react to that?"
"Just listen. I'm sure you either thought I was a coward or corrupt." The Captain stood and walked to his window and looked out to avoid Dev's eyes. "When you didn't show up, I thought somehow you had become another victim to a deranged killer. I had a thought that maybe you had stumbled onto something and hoped that you were just laying low. Jim was beside himself. He actually threatened to have me removed if I didn't do something. I was going to file a missing persons report today then in you strode, looking like you'd been on a week long bender. But I know that's not you."
There was a knock at the door. It was Jim. "Come in." Jim entered and sat on the corner of the Captain's desk.
"Where have you been?" Jim asked. The Captain sat back down. Dev noticed as they exchanged haggard looks. They truly had been worried. Dev felt at a loss. There was no way he could explain the missing time and he didn't think they would believe him about magic and blackouts. He rubbed face and rested his chin on his hands. Either he was losing it or he had stumbled into something so volatile and dangerous that involving them could end up in them getting injured or worse. Dev's mind flooded with images from the book, the warped face doppelganger, the actual murder. He did the only thing he could.
He lied.
"I met a woman." The disappointment that flashed across his mentor's faces hurt. The Captain turned away. Jim's face got red with anger.
"You let us think... For days? Dev, you can't just disappear for a week and blame a dame! What'd you do, elope and have a honeymoon?" Jim stomped over and picked Dev up by his shirt. "Just tell us what's going on!"
"Detective Appleton, that will be enough! Wait outside." Jim dropped Dev back into his seat and ripped open the door. He looked back over his shoulder, a look of a mixture of despondent relief plastered to his face. He closed the door softly. "You're suspended without pay, pending an investigation." Dev took out his badge and looked it over.
"Captain." Dev choked up for a moment. He had a million things to say, and a million more to say to Jim. He regained his composure. "I'm sorry." The words felt bitter in his mouth. The Captain responded similarly by motioning for Dev to put the badge on his desk and refused to look him in the eye. Dev grabbed the door handle. "I'm sorry." He repeated. The entire station was silent. A pall hung in the air. Dev collected his hat and exited the building.
He got in his car and considered what had just happened. He was probably not a Detective anymore. He may not even have a job. He was so out of sorts that he briefly forgot the murder and horror that he had been through over the apparent last week. Where had he been? What was happening to him? He buried his face in his hands to hide the despair on his face and let out a sob.
He must be losing his mind. He rocked in his seat and let that idea form in his mind. Madness. He didn't want to go to a sanitarium. Insanity. He had delivered particularly troubled killers to Glore Psychiatric Hospital. Demented. It was a terrifying prospect. Lunacy. He would put a bullet in his brain before living like those poor souls, unable to feed themselves, living in their own filth.
He opened his eyes and in his rear view mirror he saw a woman sitting in his backseat. He turned to face her only to see he was alone. He turned to look in the mirror again.
"We need to talk."