The red digits on the clock next to his bed read: 6:05 by the time David took a break. Voices from the side of the
room caused him to stop midway in his typing. He turned toward the mirror over the sink.
"Quiet all day and now this starts," he mumbled to himself. He walked to the mirror and listened to what sounded
like an argument between a man and a woman. From what he could make out, the man in the room claimed his
wife, or girlfriend, was being unfaithful. David reached up to the mirror on the wall. He gripped it as he leaned in
closer. He felt his heart jump into his throat as the mirror slowly moved to the side. He noticed small crumbles of
white paint falling on the marble counter top.
“What the-”
He slowly moved the mirror and behind it he saw a slightly blurred window that allowed him to see into another
room. A blonde woman wearing a white terry robe had her back toward to him. Closer to the mirror was a tall,
thick muscled man in a gray suit. He turned toward David's direction and began checking himself out in the mirror.
David’s heart raced and without thinking, he ducked below the counter.
After a few seconds, he breathed deeply and peeked over the counter. The slick haired man continued to run his
hand over his smooth hair. The man never faced the woman as she yelled at him behind his back. He finally turned
to her and slowly began approaching her. With all his force, he knocked her to the ground and dropped to his
knees. He grabbed her tiny neck in his huge, bare hands and squeezed until she fell limp in his arms.
David stood and backed away. He couldn’t take his eyes off the window as he watched the man trying to cover
the woman’s body. The first thought that popped in his mind was calling the police. He rushed to the phone and
picked it up. Then something hit him. How would he explain the way he saw the murder?
David immediately thought of rushing to the front desk to let the girl know what was happening. She would
probably believe him. Then again she, and the police he was sure she would call, would think that he was a peeping
Tom. David laughed to himself and shook his head.
“I didn’t see it,” he said aloud. “I did not see it.”
He breathed heavily as he fell back on his bed. For a moment, he tried to push the image out of his head; but he
found the more he tried, the more it played and replayed gain like a bad film on rewind. He walked to the desk to
pick up the Brandy bottle. As soon as he placed it to his lips, he took gulp after gulp and cringed as the alcohol
stung his throat. He sat in the chair and slammed the bottle down. He had to get his mind off the murder. He had to
write something. He closed his eyes and tried to step outside of himself like he did every time he wrote. Images of
the man choking the blonde woman popped in his head. He gasped and grabbed for the Brandy again. He stole a
glance at the clock next to his bed. 7:30. He sighed heavily as his heart began to race once again.
David stared at the blank paper in front of him. He downed the Brandy again, finishing the bottle. He leaned back
on the chair and stared up to the ceiling. His breathing slowly began to grow deeper. His chest rose and fell in a
couple of seconds. David dropped the bottle on the desk. His head felt light as he forced himself to swallow. The
rawness of his throat nearly made him choke as he fell over onto the carpeted floor. He closed his eyes and before
he could think another thought, he fell into a deep unconsciousness.
The Real Miranda is Now Available from:
room caused him to stop midway in his typing. He turned toward the mirror over the sink.
"Quiet all day and now this starts," he mumbled to himself. He walked to the mirror and listened to what sounded
like an argument between a man and a woman. From what he could make out, the man in the room claimed his
wife, or girlfriend, was being unfaithful. David reached up to the mirror on the wall. He gripped it as he leaned in
closer. He felt his heart jump into his throat as the mirror slowly moved to the side. He noticed small crumbles of
white paint falling on the marble counter top.
“What the-”
He slowly moved the mirror and behind it he saw a slightly blurred window that allowed him to see into another
room. A blonde woman wearing a white terry robe had her back toward to him. Closer to the mirror was a tall,
thick muscled man in a gray suit. He turned toward David's direction and began checking himself out in the mirror.
David’s heart raced and without thinking, he ducked below the counter.
After a few seconds, he breathed deeply and peeked over the counter. The slick haired man continued to run his
hand over his smooth hair. The man never faced the woman as she yelled at him behind his back. He finally turned
to her and slowly began approaching her. With all his force, he knocked her to the ground and dropped to his
knees. He grabbed her tiny neck in his huge, bare hands and squeezed until she fell limp in his arms.
David stood and backed away. He couldn’t take his eyes off the window as he watched the man trying to cover
the woman’s body. The first thought that popped in his mind was calling the police. He rushed to the phone and
picked it up. Then something hit him. How would he explain the way he saw the murder?
David immediately thought of rushing to the front desk to let the girl know what was happening. She would
probably believe him. Then again she, and the police he was sure she would call, would think that he was a peeping
Tom. David laughed to himself and shook his head.
“I didn’t see it,” he said aloud. “I did not see it.”
He breathed heavily as he fell back on his bed. For a moment, he tried to push the image out of his head; but he
found the more he tried, the more it played and replayed gain like a bad film on rewind. He walked to the desk to
pick up the Brandy bottle. As soon as he placed it to his lips, he took gulp after gulp and cringed as the alcohol
stung his throat. He sat in the chair and slammed the bottle down. He had to get his mind off the murder. He had to
write something. He closed his eyes and tried to step outside of himself like he did every time he wrote. Images of
the man choking the blonde woman popped in his head. He gasped and grabbed for the Brandy again. He stole a
glance at the clock next to his bed. 7:30. He sighed heavily as his heart began to race once again.
David stared at the blank paper in front of him. He downed the Brandy again, finishing the bottle. He leaned back
on the chair and stared up to the ceiling. His breathing slowly began to grow deeper. His chest rose and fell in a
couple of seconds. David dropped the bottle on the desk. His head felt light as he forced himself to swallow. The
rawness of his throat nearly made him choke as he fell over onto the carpeted floor. He closed his eyes and before
he could think another thought, he fell into a deep unconsciousness.
The Real Miranda is Now Available from:
| The Real Miranda (from the Twist of Fate Anthology) An Excerpt |
