BROKEN SYMMETRY: A Young Adult Science Fiction Thriller (27 page)

A code, easily deciphered. The mirror led sourceward, back to a reflection only two levels deep.

While I plastered a much more visible blue X at eye level, Damian typed in the door override, then let us into the hallway. The sudden brightness blinded me. Every light in the office had been switched on.

“Now what?” I said, but I knew the answer.

“Room B.”

I nodded, dreading what another crossover would do to him.

We unlocked room B and stepped inside. This time, the mirror’s symmetry was broken.

“So he went through A, then he went through B,” I said. “Easy enough.”

He smirked. “Just you wait.” 

Damian went through first, and I followed. After the crossover, my ears started ringing
—
screaming
really
—
and for an agonizing minute I clutched at my skull, wincing, before it faded. Damian, his expression hard, showed no signs of further damage.

Four levels down.

A reflection of a reflection of a reflection of a reflection. We had nested four crossovers.

The lights were on in the hallway again, mirroring the level above us.

“Back to room A,” said Damian.

We went back up the hall and entered room A again. The mirror reflected neither us nor the flashlight, swallowing the cone of bluish light whole.

“Broken symmetry,” said Damian.

“So he went through,” I said, stepping toward the mirror.

Damian grabbed my hand. “Not necessarily, Blaire. Now it gets complicated.”

“
Now?
” I said “What the hell have we been doing, playing tic-tac-toe?”

I could see the muscles working in his temples as he thought something through. “Actually, I don’t think we’ve even started playing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He crossed over A first, right?”

“Right,” I said.

“B was still intact though. We saw it was still intact, right?”

“Right.”

“Which means B’s reflection should have been intact too. But it wasn’t. So we knew he crossed over through B next.”

“And then A,” I said, peering into the mirror, “He went through A, otherwise I’d be staring at my reflection right now.”

He pointed to the bottom left corner of the mirror. “Then how do you explain that?”

I followed his finger to a tiny piece of blue tape, marked with the message
S2
, this time backwards.

A chill prickled up my spine.

Damian smiled and rubbed his forehead, an expression that was just as much amused as exhausted.

“Wait,” I said, “this mirror leads
up?
”

“No. That’s an illusion. It leads to a reflection of the source that’s even deeper.”

“But it has blue tape.”

“Charles broke B’s symmetry
after
A’s was already broken. B would have reflected mirror A
as is
, broken symmetry, blue tape and all.”

I looked between him and the mirror, now an open doorway. A portal to the next level down, where the nightmare thickened. And then I understood. “This mirror’s symmetry would be broken regardless of whether or not he crossed over it, so we have no idea where he went.”

Damian eyed me cryptically, with just a hint of a smirk. “Welcome to the first branch in Charles’s maze.”

***

“We have to assume he took it,” I said, finally. “These are the only two mirrors. He’s probably just going back and forth.”

“If not, it’ll lead to a dead end,” he said. “Only one way to find out.” He blew me a kiss and stepped into the mirror.

“Damian, wait!”

But he was already through. I had no choice but to follow him. My body passed through the glass and another wave of nausea coursed through me.

Five levels down.

We found the hallway dark again, mirroring the state of the office at the top level.

Damian flipped on the lights, filling the corridor with a dim yellow hue.

“It doesn’t look right,” I said.

“Like there’s a film over your eyes. I know.”

“Because we’re five levels down?”

“It’s going to get worse.” Damian fumbled with the keys, his fingers trembling, and unlocked room B.

“So he went A, B, A, then B
—
”

The door to room B swung open, and Damian aimed his flashlight into the musty room. The beam bounced back, reflected by the still intact mirror. “Dead end,” he said.

“How is it intact again?” I asked. “Mirror B was already split; we just walked through it.”

“Remember how the lights were off,” he said, “even though they were on in the two levels above us? And remember the blue sticker, saying we were going back up to the top of the maze?”

“You said that was an illusion.”

“It was, but it also means this reflection perfectly mirrors the top level, where the lights were off and B was still intact.”

“But it’s not the top level,” I said.

“No. It just
mirrors
it.”

“So if he didn’t take B, where’d he go? Did he get off at this level?”

“I don’t know,” said Damian, backing into the hall. “I don’t know.”

Something at the end of the hall pulled my gaze past Damian.

The bathroom.

Seeing the surprise on my face, he swiveled and following my gaze to the bathroom door, now wide open, spilling flickering white light into the hallway.

“That door was closed,” I said.

Damian’s expression hardened. “Rooms A and B aren’t the only mirrors in this building.”

“The bathroom mirror,” I whispered. “He crossed over through the bathroom mirror. Where the hell is he going?”

“As deep as he can.”

We tiptoed back down the hallway, and the hairs rose on my forearms. Damian poised his hand on his gun and leaned into the bathroom. I peered over his shoulder.

Bloody handprints dotted the sink, the basin plugged and filled with a pool of pink water, but otherwise the bathroom appeared intact.

“Maybe he just came in here to wash his hands?” I offered.

“It’s possible,” he said.

We stepped farther into the bathroom, and immediately noticed the discrepancy. On the other side of the mirror, the door to the hallway remained empty. Where our reflections should have stood in the mirror, we stared into an empty room.

Broken symmetry.

***

“So he crossed over through the bathroom,” I said. “So that’s A, B, A, then C.”

“
C?
”

“We already have a B.”

Damian rubbed his jaw, eyebrows scrunched together. “He broke the symmetry, but I’m not sure he crossed over here.”

I sighed. “What now?”

“It’s too easy,” he said. “He left the door open and planted blood on the sink to mislead us.”

“We’re five levels down, Damian. He probably figured he’d lost us.”

“Not Charles.”

“Well, if he didn’t go through B and he didn’t go through the bathroom mirror, then he must have used a different mirror.”

“Or gone back up through A.”

“But we checked all the mirrors on that level.”

“Not the bathroom . . . not
C
,” he said. “We need to check it just in case this is a dead end.”

I nodded, hating how much each crossover might be damaging him, how much more of his body we destroyed with every wrong turn. I couldn’t let him go any deeper.

Not while I could.

We crossed over through A again, back up to level four. Out in the bright hallway, we found the bathroom door locked from the inside
—
a good sign
—
and forced the door. Sure enough, the mirror’s symmetry was broken. And not only that.

A bloody handprint was smeared on the back of the sink, only partially wiped off
—
as if Charles had attempted to clean up from the other side then given up.

“Bingo,” said Damian. “It’s A, B, C.”

“He’s making it easy.”

“No, he’s breaking symmetry through all the mirrors as quickly as possible, so the permutations multiply.”

“Next time, just agree with me,” I said.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He planted a palm on the edge of the sink and was about to hoist up a leg.

“No.” I grabbed his elbow and pushed him away from the sink. “From now on, you do the thinking and I do the exploring. You’re staying here.”

“Not an option, Blaire.”

I locked eyes with him. “That’s an order.”

“I’m not letting you go alone,” he said.

“And I’m not letting you go any deeper,” I said. “At least not until we solve the maze. We both know you won’t survive.”

“Blaire, I can’t let you go alone,” he repeated.

“You’re
staying
—
” I said, and before he could react, I snatched his gun out of his pants and leveled the barrel at the bathroom mirror, “or I break the mirror and orphan us both.”

“
Blaire
—
” he lunged for the weapon.

I jumped out of reach, cocked the gun like I had seen him do so many times, and returned the barrel to the mirror. The trigger depressed a millimeter under my finger. “Swear to me you won’t crossover,” I said.

“Blaire, stop it!”

“Swear it.”

Our eyes drilled into each other, but I wasn’t going to back down. I couldn’t.

I was in love with him.

Finally, in a strained whisper he said, “You have five minutes. If you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming after you.”

“Fine,” I said.

To my relief, he yanked the gun out of my hand and took out the clip
—
I had no idea how much more pressure would have fired the gun.

“Charles crossed over through C last,” he said, returning the weapon to his pants, “meaning A and B already had broken symmetry. Once you crossover, you’ll need to explore both paths. After that, all three mirrors will be possible branches, so you’ll need to explore each one. If you see your reflection, you’ve hit a dead end. If you haven’t found a dead end by three levels down, then come back; we can assume that’s the branch he took. And no matter what, put up tape on every mirror.”

“I can’t put on tape and be back in five minutes.”

“I changed my mind. You have three minutes.”

“
Three
minutes?”

“Two minutes.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll put up tape.” I dropped the backpack on the floor, hiked up my dress to mid-thigh, and raised a leg onto the sink.

“Blaire, stop.”

I ignored him, pushed off with my other leg and stood on the sink. “Don’t peek up my dress; I know you want to.”

He
did
. “Nothing I haven’t already seen . . . cute panties.”

I kicked him away from the sink, a hot blush burning my cheeks. My head brushed the ceiling, and I raised my hand to the mirror.

“Blaire, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m having tea up here, what the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”

“What did I just tell you?”

I rolled my eyes. “
What
, Damian?”

“Tape, Blaire.
Always
put up tape.”

I paused, my palm on the mirror. “Why? You’re going to be right here the whole time
—
”

“I don’t care. Wait here.” He left the bathroom, left me standing on the sink like an idiot, and returned a minute later with two rolls of masking tape
—
one red, one blue.

I pressed a red strip onto the mirror, and looped the rolls around my wrist.

“Bigger,” he said.

“Will you shut it,” I said.

“You asked to go alone. These are my conditions.”

Fuming, I dragged the red tape back off my wrist and plastered half the roll into the glass.

“Don’t waste it,” he warned.

On my way through the mirror, I kicked him in the face with my trailing foot. Then I was through.

It was a mistake to be so high.

I tumbled off the sink, head spinning, and my body slapped the floor. The impact knocked the breath out of me. Wheezing, I crawled to the toilet and threw up what little I had in my stomach. Nausea ravaged my organs. I spit, and yanked toilet paper across my mouth.

What the hell?
I had just been five levels down two minutes ago, why did this time suck so much?

“Blaire
—
” came Damian’s muffled voice, concerned.

“I’m fine,” I lied, quickly wiping away my tears. I dragged myself to the door.

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “For once in your life, would it kill you to put up some goddamn tape?”

But I didn’t put up the tape.

I stood frozen in the doorway and stared out at the shimmering hallway. A message spanned the acoustic paneling between rooms A and B, drips frozen in place. Inked in blood. The letters peeled, littering the floor with black flakes.

A message left by Charles.

Blaire, you are the one thing that doesn’t belong.

Chapter 25

“
That means we’re
on the right track,” Damian reassured me through the glass. “Anything that’s changed means he’s been here. Don’t let him get to your head.”

I suppressed a swallow and crept up the hall. First stop, room A
—
broken symmetry.

The mirror led deeper.

I picked at the edge of the red tape, but my quivering fingers just jabbed the roll. I couldn’t unpeel the end. Heart pounding, I raised the roll to my teeth and bit off a section, then stuck it to the glass. It came off on my finger.

I tried again, but my saliva and sweat had weakened the adhesive. I propped it on a fingernail, then touched it the glass. Somehow, the tape stuck.

Before I accidentally brushed it off, I crossed over.

On the other side, the air tasted stale. My limbs and lungs throbbed, and I knelt to catch my breath. Only there was no breath to catch.

I stood up straight, panic rising in my throat. Though my diaphragm contracted, my body told me I wasn’t breathing.
Couldn’t
breathe.

Oxygen deficit.

I remembered the feeling from cross country
—
from overtaxing my lung’s capacity in the final sprint, finish line in sight.

Only the finish line wasn’t in sight. I wasn’t even sprinting.

Six levels down.

Lightheaded, I stumbled back toward the mirror. I needed air.

No, Blaire
. If I went back, then Damian would have to crossover. I sank into a fetal position, forced my lungs to hold in the air, to use it. I couldn’t let myself pass out. Not an option. At some point, my body acclimated. But the fear of suffocating never went away.

Eventually, I rose to my feet and marked the mirror with a chewed off section of blue tape, then stumbled out the door into the hallway, which no longer bore Charles’s message, since this was a deeper reflection of a higher level. Blackness encroached around the edges of my vision. I blinked it away.

Next stop: room B.

You can do this, Blaire.

***

I’d gotten so used to broken symmetry, my reflection in the mirror in room B startled me.

Symmetry intact.

Which left the bathroom mirror.

I trudged down the hall and stepped into the bathroom, and found the symmetry broken.

Another branch to explore.

After I applied red tape, I hiked up my dress and climbed onto the sink, then crossed over.

Seven levels down.

On the other side, I paused to catch my breath, and my mind returned to Damian.

Standing in this very bathroom on another level. And where was that . . . somewhere above me? In a different universe?

I put up the blue tape and trudged back up the hallway, pausing to peer into room A.

Broken symmetry.

Another freaking branch.

I let the door shut behind me and stuck on a piece of red tape, which I ducked under to crossover.

Eight levels down.

Tape applied, I exited room A
—
and felt my scalp bristle. Charles’s message, written in blood, again stretched between rooms A and B.

Somehow, I had doubled back.

“Damian?” I called.

No answer.

I hurried into the bathroom, but he wasn’t across the mirror. I collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor, cradling my head in my hands. This was hopeless.

I was eight levels down, not five. In a deeper reflection of a higher level, like he had explained. Suddenly, I desperately needed to hear his voice again.

I hurried back to room A and crossed over, breathing easier on the other side.

Level seven.

But which mirror had I crossed over before that? I went to the bathroom, expecting to see blue tape. Instead, the glass was bare. It led to a deeper level.

I raced back up the hall to room B. Asphyxiation numbed my thoughts, blurred my short term memory. How much time before he came looking for me? Not enough. How much time before I suffocated? Frantic, I slipped into room B and shined my flashlight at the mirror
—
and almost jumped back in surprise.

My reflection.

So if it wasn’t C and it wasn’t B, then I must have gotten turned around somewhere. I had to go back
up
through A.

I tugged open the door back to the hall, and that’s when I heard it.

A door latched shut
—
Damian
, searching for me. Which meant he crossed over again. At the thought, my insides squirmed . . . or was it Charles? I rushed into the hallway, but couldn’t pinpoint the source, either the bathroom or room A.

***

“Damian!” I yelled.

No answer. The doors, walls, everything was soundproofed. Right now, I could be on the same level as him, oblivious.

I stood still and listened. Noises pricked my ears. Whirring fans and insect-like clicking seeped from the walls itself, from ancient circuits and machinery Charles had installed, long since corroded and mutated. Here, the line between living and dead blurred.

Either A or C.

Damian must have known B was a dead end and so hadn’t bothered to check. Of course, in the five seconds I was hidden inside the room, he had come and gone. Most likely, he had just checked the bathroom mirror for tape, seen none, and gone back up through A.

I scurried into room A, where a chewed up piece of blue tape hung off the frame. Not where I had put it, but blue nonetheless. A good sign. I crossed over.

Nausea cut through my body. Great, now going
up
hurt.

Six levels down.

Panting, I ran into the hall, past Charles’s message. The sight of the flaking black letters made me pause. Charles’s writing only existed on level five, where I left Damian, and level eight . . . and, of course, deeper. I’d been to eight and back, so this had to be level five. Relief flooded me
—
I was already back to where we split up.

“Damian?” I yelled again

No answer. I checked the bathroom, but nobody stood across the mirror. Focus, Blaire, focus. I cranked on the faucet and splashed my face with cold water, which snapped me out of my daze.

My gaze lifted to the mirror, which I knew led to level four, where I had last seen Damian
—
and slowly traced the perimeter.

Tapeless.

My throat tightened. I had put up blue tape on this very mirror . . . Damian had insisted. And on the other side, I had plastered on so much red tape he even cautioned me not to waste it
—
I could swear it.

Yet this mirror was untouched.

Now I understood why it was harder than ever to catch my breath, why my fingertips tingled, pale and cold. Why blood withdrew from my extremities, supplying whatever trace amounts of usable oxygen remained in my bloodstream to my organs and abandoning all else.

Prickles scampered across my skin. In my rush to find Damian, I hadn’t put up a single strip of tape; I had simply backtracked, assuming the path was obvious. But somewhere above me
—
or below me
—
how many levels down I couldn’t even begin to guess, I had made a wrong turn.

I was lost.

***

In the hallway, my breath misted. I squeezed my arms to my chest, and my skin bristled with goose bumps. The dress did little to warm me.

Come on,
think
 . . .

My eyes darted between room B and room A, which I had just crossed over. Either one could lead up or down. I took a labored breath, and pressure stung my sinuses.

What if I never saw him again? Just like that. A single wrong turn, forever damning me to the endless depths of this maze.

Orphaned.

At the thought, my panic sharpened. I would never see my friends again. I would never go to school again. I would never be alive again. Just like that, I had let the source slip through my fingers, thrown it all away
—
and with it, myself. In retrospect, my own carelessness chilled me.

Now only one thing survived from my world. Damian.

Losing him was not an option.

I ran into Charles’s office, lit only by the blue glow of the computer screen. Had Charles come in here? Curious, I leaned around the desk. An error code hovered at the screen’s center. If he had, I doubt we would ever know what for.

I grabbed the fattest looking permanent marker I could find and jogged back into the hall. On the door to room B, I wrote in big brown letters, “Damian, I’m lost. I went this way.”

Then I entered the room and stepped through the mirror. The glass cut through my body, but I felt nothing.
Nothing?

I couldn’t even tell if I was going up or down. My shouts went unanswered in the hallway, so I jogged to room A and wrote a similar message as my first on the door.

The crossover through A sprawled me out on the ground, and I crawled to the corner and dry heaved. Somehow, I knew this was the deepest I had ever crossed over.

And the wrong direction.

I dragged myself back through the mirror, but the damage didn’t quite leave my body. I felt it linger somewhere inside me, like a coating of tar. I dragged my body into the bathroom. The mirror loomed above me, unreachable.

I curled into a ball under the sink, wheezing. My lungs clenched and pulled at nothing, sucked in lungful after lungful of vacuum, each one leaving me emptier than before. The air was poisoning me, I knew that much.

Better to just hold my breath.

I clamped my nose and smothered my mouth against my knees, sealing in whatever air I had left.