and gulped down the rest of its contents, just as some movement caught her eye out in the garden. She marched over to the back door, stepped out and threw the empty wine glass towards the cat, yelling obscenities as she did so. The cat got lucky, and darted to safety at the far end of the garden and up a tree.
Mrs Green went back inside and calmly closed the door behind her, humming a cheerful song as she walked back to the table and lifted a tin of paint from a plastic bag. She gave a smile as she regarded the label with the name and colour of the paint on the side, 'Devil Red’. Left in the bag were some brushes and a rolling kit, along with the receipt showing her loyalty points from the purchases.
T aking her decorating products to Graham’s office, she looked out of the kitchen window into the garden and saw that the cat was back.
‘ You fucking pest,’ she yelled, and spat at the window.
20
Ben had locked himself in Eve's bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, staring thoughtfully at his reflection. This was the face of a killer, the face of a mad-man. But this was him, this was Ben, it couldn't be.
Ben had always been polite and wary of his p's and q's, and always tried to put other people's feelings into his thought process when making decisions.
But, of c ourse, he was no saint either. He had grown up in the city and been involved in the occasional row, he had gotten angry at certain car drivers who didn't follow the rules of the road, or those of the public who were just plain rude and pushed in on queues or didn't say thank you when you helped them or let them pass by.
But that was normal , wasn't it? Even if it wasn't, Ben always had his father to lean back on.
His dad was the calming influence in his life, the one who taught Ben to respect nature, the man who taught Ben to help other's before helping himself, the person who taught him that learning to forgive made you more of a man than someone who carried a grudge, and even worse, someone who acted on that grudge.
But his father was gone.
Just two months after his father had passed, Ben was losing it; losing the self-control, losing the love and respect for life. Could Eve be the one to help him back onto his feet, back to normality?
He was still 'compos mentis' ninety-nine per cent of the time, of this he was sure. How dangerous was being 'non compos mentis' one per cent of the time? But he was also aware of the voices in his head, the sudden waves of uncontrollable emotion that coursed through his veins, and the reflections, how could he forget the man in the mirror?
He'd first noticed the man in the mirror a few days after his father's death.
He was in the depths of despair by then, after the initial shock of the accident, then denial, and then came the despair, and with that was the sense of hopelessness, which caused him to grow angry.
He had seen a counsellor to help with his coping of the grief, and discovered that these were normal reactions to someone who had lost such an important figure in one's life. Different people cope in different ways; some people accept the situation after just a few days, others take months, some years. But with regards to his stages of grief, Ben was going round in circles. He had given up on the counsellor, even though he was far from accepting the situation and moving on.
Ben continued to stare at his reflection, wondering when his alter ego would make an appearance. He would often do this, trying to figure out if he could predict the next showing, then maybe one day control it. Although controlling your alter ego would mean it wasn't an alter ego at all, it was just you, but maybe with a different perspective on the things around you.
He wanted to know if his father had often done the same. Had he stood in front of a mirror and waited for his 'evil self' to give some murderous instructions or crude remarks, or maybe do that little twinkle thing with his eye, just to let him know he was still
Mrs Green went back inside and calmly closed the door behind her, humming a cheerful song as she walked back to the table and lifted a tin of paint from a plastic bag. She gave a smile as she regarded the label with the name and colour of the paint on the side, 'Devil Red’. Left in the bag were some brushes and a rolling kit, along with the receipt showing her loyalty points from the purchases.
T aking her decorating products to Graham’s office, she looked out of the kitchen window into the garden and saw that the cat was back.
‘ You fucking pest,’ she yelled, and spat at the window.
20
Ben had locked himself in Eve's bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, staring thoughtfully at his reflection. This was the face of a killer, the face of a mad-man. But this was him, this was Ben, it couldn't be.
Ben had always been polite and wary of his p's and q's, and always tried to put other people's feelings into his thought process when making decisions.
But, of c ourse, he was no saint either. He had grown up in the city and been involved in the occasional row, he had gotten angry at certain car drivers who didn't follow the rules of the road, or those of the public who were just plain rude and pushed in on queues or didn't say thank you when you helped them or let them pass by.
But that was normal , wasn't it? Even if it wasn't, Ben always had his father to lean back on.
His dad was the calming influence in his life, the one who taught Ben to respect nature, the man who taught Ben to help other's before helping himself, the person who taught him that learning to forgive made you more of a man than someone who carried a grudge, and even worse, someone who acted on that grudge.
But his father was gone.
Just two months after his father had passed, Ben was losing it; losing the self-control, losing the love and respect for life. Could Eve be the one to help him back onto his feet, back to normality?
He was still 'compos mentis' ninety-nine per cent of the time, of this he was sure. How dangerous was being 'non compos mentis' one per cent of the time? But he was also aware of the voices in his head, the sudden waves of uncontrollable emotion that coursed through his veins, and the reflections, how could he forget the man in the mirror?
He'd first noticed the man in the mirror a few days after his father's death.
He was in the depths of despair by then, after the initial shock of the accident, then denial, and then came the despair, and with that was the sense of hopelessness, which caused him to grow angry.
He had seen a counsellor to help with his coping of the grief, and discovered that these were normal reactions to someone who had lost such an important figure in one's life. Different people cope in different ways; some people accept the situation after just a few days, others take months, some years. But with regards to his stages of grief, Ben was going round in circles. He had given up on the counsellor, even though he was far from accepting the situation and moving on.
Ben continued to stare at his reflection, wondering when his alter ego would make an appearance. He would often do this, trying to figure out if he could predict the next showing, then maybe one day control it. Although controlling your alter ego would mean it wasn't an alter ego at all, it was just you, but maybe with a different perspective on the things around you.
He wanted to know if his father had often done the same. Had he stood in front of a mirror and waited for his 'evil self' to give some murderous instructions or crude remarks, or maybe do that little twinkle thing with his eye, just to let him know he was still
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