The Shadow Is Him

Cedric couldn't figure out which was colder: the icy blows of the air conditioner or the emptiness fermenting inside his soul. Odd, to think that he would indulge in such thoughts of self-pity. It was as if it was all he could do as he sat, with the soles of his feet hovering an inch above the cemented floor. His ripped jacket stuck to his thin legs, saving his bones from freezing.

They held him captive in the interrogation room, but the only questions that surfaced there were his own.

Why? Why did he have to die? Why did I have to survive?

His rage poured out of his pitch-black pupils as he stared at himself in the mirror. He was alone with only himself to look at. He stared at his disheveled face with anger and pity, to the point that the person observing him from behind the one-way mirror was unsettled by his radiating demeanor. It was his lawyer who came there at Cedric's parents' behest.

The lawyer knew she had no business there, for unlike before, she was no longer bound to that sickly man who she couldn't believe was her boyfriend for a time. The Cedric in front of her was all too different from the one in her memories.

With his overgrown beard and ragged clothes, no one could recognize him. He wouldn't talk. So if not for the police scanning his biometrics across their database, then he would long remain a John Doe.

The lawyer turned her petite frame and went out of the dim observation chamber. She nodded at the officer on patrol, and with a slight tilt of a head, the guard granted her permission to meet with her client. She took a deep breath, knowing that the person on the other side was her ex-lover. Regardless of her feelings, she was already there. So, as she wondered why the hell she let herself be persuaded by Cedric's parents to defend their criminal son, she held the cold, brazen doorknob and strolled in.

"Julia," the man huffed, swiveling his face away. His eyelids were pulled apart, gaping at the monotonous, gray floor. "Here to clean up my mess . . . again."

It was bizarre that those were the first words that slipped out of Cedric's lips. How long was it since they last met? It was a mere moment away, yet at the same time, it felt like forever. Of course, Cedric's perception of time was beyond warped. All his days since the incident was spent under the gutter, with no way of tracking the sun's path. But recalling the date the officers told him, he realized. It had already been three months.

Cedric swallowed in shame, aiming his eyes where he could see nothing but his own face staring back. A reflection that gradually turned dark, like wet paint dripping and distorting an image. He blinked before being called back into reality by a voice that he once, no, still loved.

"I'd ask, 'How are you,' but that would be pointless, wouldn't it?"

"I'm not in my best state, I admit."

Julia took a big gulp of air. "Malpractice was a tough case to defend. And now, you've involved yourself with an organ-harvesting scheme. What makes you think I would help you now, Cedric?"

The doctor scoffed, leaning back in a phony attempt to regain some of his pride. "If you're not here to help me, then why are you here? To gloat? You don't have to." Cedric shook his head. "Your words can't pull me down any lower."

Julia clicked her tongue and slid the empty chair toward her. She perched on the white stool like a lady of her stature, her brown heavenly hair flowing down like curtains. Her exquisite hourglass form was as evident as the sun on a clear sky thanks to her silky, white trench coat wrapped firmly around her waist.

"Regarding your case, I don't suppose you told them anything?"

"I kept my mouth shut," he blurted. "I'm not an idiot."

"It's funny, you know. I used to think that as well."

"All I did was make a mistake, Julia." Cedric's words tangled in his tongue. His hands shook, tremors crawling up his hairy arm. "I-I made a mistake . . ."

The lady, with her silky tough, reached out her hand, placing her palm over the doctor's throbbing knuckles. Her sharp eyes were in contradiction to her actions as she spoke while looking at him through the silver mirror. "Cedric . . . What have you done this time?"

"I-I did what I had to do, Julia. . . just as I always have."

"And yet you're here, again. Haven't you suffered enough?" She swiveled to the man. "I am not your fiancée anymore. I will not be by your side forever. Sooner or later, you'll be alone without anyone to help you clean your mess."

Cedric chuckled, his jaw gritting. "You say that as if I am not already alone. Tell me, where were you after the hearing? You were out there, packing your bags. And Mom? She didn't even bother to give me a call. Hell. . . M-my own father couldn't even look at me." He sobbed, voice breaking. "So tell me, what was I supposed to do?"

"Reasons can never justify crime, Cedric. You were caught red-handed harvesting organs for the black market. The bread crumbs all over you; there are testimonies, evidence, and video from body cams."

"I had no one else, Julia. I did what I had to do to put some bread on my plate!"

"And look what happened. You're trapped here, and this time, your license isn't the only thing you are going to lose. With all the charges pressed against you, I doubt there'd even be a debate."

Cedric's throat tightened. "So what, Julia? You can't tell me I don't deserve it."

"For once, we've agreed on something." The woman leaned back, crossing her legs. Her eyes spat daggers as they held tears under her nude eyeshadow, and with her arms tucked inside her, she shook her head. "You were caught in the act of crime. There's no way you'll be able to convince a jury, let alone form a convincing argument. As your lawyer, I can tell you that this case is done for . . . yet still, I came here. Not as your lawyer, but as your friend. You may not be able to win this case, but I can be here to grieve with you. I am sorry for everything, Ced."

Cedric's eyes welled, yet he held it in, preventing tears to rush down his cheeks. "A kid was caught in the crossfire. He's young, only seventeen. He didn't deserve to die."

"I know. I know." She stood and strolled toward Cedric. Each step of hers made the walls that Cedric had erected collapse, beat by beat. She placed her hand over his shoulder, leaning into his ear. "You really have changed. I never thought you'd ever cry after losing someone."

"I cried when I lost you . . . when I lost everyone."

"That's okay, Ced. The most important thing is that you never lose yourself." She swallowed, her porcelain fingers clenching on the man's arm. "But that's all for now."

"W-what?" The doctor squinted. "You're leaving already?"

"I can no longer represent you, Ced. It's too much of a conflict of interest, and I don't want to entangle myself with your mess." She lumbered toward the exit, her body affixed to the opposite direction. She could not turn and show her face. Not with the tears drenching her face. "I'm sorry, but I'll make sure you'll have a competent lawyer. This is the end, Ced. Coming here is a mistake. I apologize."

Julia left in a slow hurry, and as her silhouette moved through and away from the door, the room retreated back into its domain of silence. As if the environment around Cedric was grieving with him, the place became perpetually dark and devoid of color. Everything around him was made up of a realm woven together by shadow threads, everything fuzzy except for the clear reflection he had been watching.

It was eerie, a reflection that buzzed like that of a glitching television. His face blurred before clearing up, similar to a camera shifting its focus. It was like that for hours, but now, something was different.

Cracks appeared from the surface of the mirror, slowly flaking off of its frame. With each shard of glass gradually floating off, Cedric could see his reflection staring back at him, although bearing different expressions.

Anger. Grief. Fear. The feelings that had long been bubbling inside his heart became images that appeared before him. This life-like reflection was a vivid dream that Cedric could only spy on, but not interact with. His body would not heed to his calls. It was, after all, a mere symptom of his fracturing mind. Hallucinations, he believed.

So, with nothing else to do but wait out the phantasm, he let his mind float into an unknown abyss. His body drifted out of his chair, toward the ceiling of the interrogation room that appeared like the peel of a calm pond. He phased through it, astral projecting into the empty wilderness.

As the very fabrics of the cosmos unfolded before his eyes while the voices of all creatures seeped into his ears, Cedric felt something he had never felt before. Freedom. With the sheer beauty coursing through his veins, he would not let any antipsychotics enter his system. He'd rather bathe in his delusion, forever and ever . . . and ever.

Thus was the case before the screeching of a loud train erupted from the silence. A sound that dragged his worst memory into recollection.

He was there again, the same place, the same night. He had no corporeal body, and instead, he was a phantom, invisible to everyone there. He shook and squinted. Not again.

Cedric spun his gaze, directing his eyes toward the iron vault-like door before phasing through it like a needle through the fabric. His heartbeat dropped as his eyes lay upon the view.

It was him, there, standing across the table while pulling the liver out of a corpse. No.

Everything was too vivid to be a memory, too accurate to be a dream. His invisible head clenched even harder as Stiller, his friend, walked toward the operating table with a cheeky grin that he always carried.

While Cedric was busy cutting through tissues and flesh, the other had his eyes peeled open, observing ever so keenly. Every cut of a knife, every twitch of his finger—Stiller watched it as Cedric did back in his youth.

Stiller was a mirror to Cedric. The only difference? One cracked sooner than the other. The doctor had never noticed the way Stiller studied him, for his attention never dared to derail from whatever he was doing. Although deep inside, Cedric knew that Stiller was there, looking up to the failed doctor like a paragon from heaven. It was a shame that heaven never suited Cedric's persona.

He hovered above the ground, just as someone without legs would. It was the first time the doctor experienced something as intriguing and daunting. Lucid hallucinations like this one could only happen once in his life, it was a waste to stay in such a depressing scene.

Bidding his goodbye with one final glance, Cedric's consciousness turned its back to wander into the depths of the outside world. Like a kite being wafted by the breeze, Cedric sailed with the wind beneath his phantom limbs. But just as he reached the threshold and escaped the tormenting vision, invisible chains pulled him back toward the ground.

He crashed, or at least his spiritual form did. He had no flesh to feel pain, but he was bound by a force that wrapped around his body like enormous fingers. Cedric was forced into a frozen state, unable to respond to the scene unfolding before his eyes.

W-what is happening?

He had no eyelids to slam his orbs shut, so all he could do was watch, watch as two men bolted into the room, interrupting Cedric that was too preoccupied at the surgical table to care. He could hear his own voice, muttering in the background, distorting in his eardrums. But much worse, he could hear the steps nearing the door, the steps that beat like a drum.

The door flew out of its frame, and all Cedric did was observe. . . observe like an all-knowing deity incapable of action.

The doctor, who was busy with his work, turned in shock. And as he did, the Cedric that was watching pictured his own face with precision, with every muscle drawing his expression being clear as a starry night.

The events unfolded as they did a night ago. Their pistols were drawn and . . .

Cedric felt like throwing up as he realized that he was about to witness Stiller dying. Fuck.

The young boy, as reckless as he was the night before, clutched on the forceps he was holding, jabbing it against the fire extinguisher. White smoke erupted, and Stiller bolted like a prey escaping its predator's den.

However, as Cedric may recall, officers were stationed outside. As Stiller leaped out of the gassy chamber, the world did not wait a second, and gunshots erupted. After it came the loud sound of the bullet train, just as it did the night before.

Cedric watched.

He screamed, "Stop!" but his voice could not break reality. A bullet soared through the air, as fast as the sound of the gunshot. Although, something peculiar happened. The bullet froze in its trajectory. The officers' faces were unmoving. The train was motionless in its tracks.

Time stopped ticking; hearts stopped beating.

Except for one thing.

The Cedric that he was observing turned toward him, carrying a sinister smile that curved like the crescent moon across his cheeks. The being was not him . . . It was something else, something more sinister.

Its lips parted, the lips as parched as Cedric's. And while carrying the face that he loathed, the being whispered. "This won't play out as you wanted . . . unless, of course, you change it."