Patient 42

The Patient: “Fragment” They bring her a mirror today. “For progress,” says Dr. Lang, setting it gently on the table like it might bite. His hands tremble as he backs away. The orderlies won’t meet her eyes. The woman stares at the reflection. She doesn’t recognize the face. Pale skin. Hollow cheeks. Eyes too wide, as if stretched to fit more seeing. Lips twitch with thoughts not her own. Still, there’s something familiar. Something just beneath. She blinks. The mirror flickers. Now she’s Eve. She remembers the white room that breathed and the stitched-mouth woman who came from the cracks. Eve carved into her own ribs to find what was whispering inside. She still feels the rusted spoon in her hand. Still tastes metal. Another blink. Now she’s Marla. She sees the flames licking across her childhood home, the mirrors twisting like liquid as something crawled through them. She remembers being called hollow, remembers the long fingers wrapping around her mind. She remembers smiling as the fire danced. Another blink. Now she’s Delia. She sees the spirals in her drawings, the tongue twitching in her hand. She hears her father's voice from the mouth of a creature too tall to be real. She remembers swallowing something warm, remembers the voice that wasn’t hers curling in her throat. Three faces. Three names. One smile. The woman leans closer to the mirror. Her reflection doesn’t move. It stares back. “You’re ready,” it says in three voices layered as one. Eve’s fear, Marla’s fire, Delia’s hunger. She touches the glass. It ripples. And then it pulls her in. When Dr. Lang returns, the mirror is shattered. The bed is empty. On the wall, written in blood and wire, three words loop in spirals: “I am one.”