The Things I Never Told You

I slept late the next morning, waking up with a pounding headache, a goodbye gift from the overindulgence in wine. The memory of what I'd - what we'd done the night before came back to me like a tonne of bricks, leaving me very much wanting to crawl back under the blankets and not come out for a week. I staggered to the bathroom instead, taking a couple of aspirin and climbing into the shower.

When I came out of the shower, I found his words on the mirror. 'Come talk to me. - Ben.'

I rubbed a towel over my head and stared at the words, feeling a smile tug at the corner of my mouth unbidden. There was so many uncertainties, but it couldn't completely nullify the soft thrill I felt at remembering that he still wanted me, regardless of my revelation - he'd instigated that. As long as he didn't regret it....

I pulled on a pair of boxers and my robe, passing through the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. The timer on my coffee maker was still set to brew at my regular wake up time, and the half pot of coffee had been cold for a few hours. I poured myself a cup anyway, throwing in milk and sugar and sipping it as I went into my office.

He'd stolen my reflection and was seated at the desk with pen in hand before I'd even sat down. But for a long moment he merely looked at me, a little smile on his face that could almost be called wondering. Then he lifted a hand to cup his cheek, brushing his thumb against his lips, and I smiled at the gentle sensation of touch. "Morning, Ben."

I saw him give a soft, fond chuckle, then turn to writing. 'Sorry to pass out on you so quickly last night," he wrote, smile a little sheepish. 'It was really tiring, keeping hold of you for that long. But it... was really hot, Larry. Are you okay?'

"Just hungover," I replied, taking another sip of my coffee. "And also more than a little surprised that we... that you, um. Well, I'm not exactly sure what that was other than really great, but I... I thought you'd be freaked out by what I said." But then, I'd said it long before we started communicating like this, and he was still here....

I saw him give another soft laugh, and shake his head. 'No. It's... a bit hard to explain. But I'll try... I owe you that much.

I watched his lips press together, shifting in a very Ben-like gesture of worry. After a long moment of contemplation, he started to write again. "You know how they say... when you have a near death experience, your whole life flashes before your eyes? There was a pause, and I nodded even though I knew he wasn't waiting for my response. Finally his hand moved again. 'Larry... when that happened, I only had one regret. I knew I'd done my best for my family, I even came to terms with the accident. My only regret was you, never telling you how I felt about you and how much you meant to me. That's why I started hanging around you, trying to help you. That's why last night... you know.'

I felt my mouth go dry and swallowed hard. "So... have you appeased your regret, now? It was just something you needed to do to move on?"

He looked up at me sharply, stricken, and gave a sharp shake of his head. 'God, no. Larry, I slept next to you last night. It felt so... I haven't been so at peace with myself in a very, very long time. I wish we'd never grown apart. I wish I'd told you this so long ago. I was a coward. I'm so sorry.'

I glanced away, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by his words. "Ben, you were married. And I was just as much of a coward as you."

When I looked back to the paper again, he'd written, 'I want to stay with you. I'll stay with you as long as you want me to, I'm just worried that... I'm hurting you by hanging around. I wish I could give you more than this....'

I shook my head, wishing very much that I could reach out to touch him. "No. No, Ben, you... I don't want you to go. I can't... I can't accept a world without you, please...." I raised my head to look at him with a sudden surge of determination. "I'm going to get you out of there. I swear it, I'll find a way."

He gave a little sad smile. 'I've seen what getting out of here looks like, Larry, and it's not very nice. I don't think it's possible for me. As far as I can tell the human souls that were trapped here are just... gone. Set free to go wherever it is our soul goes when we die.'

"But you're not dead."

'Aren't I? Maybe I am.'

I gave a sharp shake of my head. "You're not. Last night... there was nothing dead about that. I'm going to get you back."

I saw him give a soft laugh in the mirror, and his hand lifted to my shoulder to give a reassuring squeeze. 'Did it really feel so real to you? I liked watching you, I liked knowing what I was doing to you.'

"It felt very real," I replied, feeling my pulse quicken at remembering. "You can do that any time you like, Ben."

'If I get out,' he wrote, 'I'll do it for real. If you want me to. I still want to.'

I managed to nod, reaching out to place my palm to the glass, looking up at him. "I've never stopped wanting you to."

He smiled, a little wondering, a little shy, and placed his hand on mine. More than anything I wished that I could see him as him, and not as my reflection. "I'm going to try and go see some people," I told him. "Occult researchers. There's a few in New York, maybe they'll know something that we don't. I might need you to do this to convince them I'm not nuts, do you think you can come with me?"

He nodded, and turned back to the paper. 'Yeah. Gotta go now, then. Talk to you later.'


I'd had the small lists of names and phone numbers for weeks, compiled while I was still at the office. I'd never tried to make contact, though. Something in my mind saw it as the last step before descent into true madness. Well, if this was madness, then I was already well and truly insane now.

The second person on the list was a Doctor Merde, though I had suspicions that the title was appropriated. On the telephone he seemed all too willing to meet with a police office who was investigating supernatural deaths. I grabbed the Gary Lewis crime scene photos and a few other pieces of information. Almost as an afterthought, I grabbed the Polaroids of Ben's writing off my desk, then headed out to my car. "Hope you're with me," I found myself saying, though there was no response.

With nothing to focus on but driving, my mind slipped back to everything that had happened since last night, and most of all, what he'd written to me this morning. Suddenly I was looking at every memory of him differently, the new knowledge bringing a painful clarity to it all. How had I not known? He had cared for me. How had I been so blind as to deny it, to push away possibility of he and I ever being more than we were?

I reached my destination and parked, but stayed in the car, letting my head fall back against the head rest with a soft sigh. How different would things be now, if I'd gotten over myself and my fears and just told him how much I loved him so long ago? I couldn't begrudge him his marriage to Amy, not when the fruits of it were my godchildren. But if I'd told him when he came to me after he and Amy started having difficulties... maybe I could have supported him through the accident and the suspension. Maybe I would have never needed to refer him to that fucking job, and he'd still be here....

"Ben, I'm so sorry," I murmured, and ran a hand through my hair, feeling suddenly very tired. "This whole thing is my fault... the Mayflower, the - "

I felt a rush of cold, and a firm squeeze to my ass that made me yelp in surprise. I looked around quickly at the rear view mirrors, but he'd already gone. "Hey - that was my ass, you know. But okay, I'll try to stop guilting myself," I said. Then I grabbed my bag out of the back seat and headed up the walk to my appointment.

Doctor Merde was a surprisingly normal looking man in his sixties who had worked in pharmaceutical research before his retirement. He greeted me warmly, and we sat down in a well kept living room. "I'm a little surprised you've contacted me," he said frankly. "I've always assumed that you'd have your own experts."

His words confused me. "I'm sorry... we?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "I can sign a confidentiality agreement, if you want. Aren't you involved in some secret shadow branch of the government?"

I gave a soft laugh despite myself. "Like the X-files? I'm just in crime scene investigation, actually. And unfortunately this visit is more to do with a personal investigation than official police business. I'm sorry if I've misrepresented myself."

Merde looked a little disappointed, but nodded. "No, its no problem. Tell me about your investigation?"

I took the file folder from my bag and paused, well aware that what I was going to say sounded more than a little unbelievable. "I've read excerpts from your book," I started. "Spirits, ghosts and the world beyond ours'. Do you... believe in what you wrote about? The people you interviewed, the theories you created?"

He regarded me for a long moment before replying. "I believe there are similarities in supernatural experiences that correlate, that indicate that they very well could be real. I believe that the people I have interviewed are convinced of the reality of their experiences. I have not personally experienced anything supernatural, though I have a close friend who has. One of my interviewees, actually, though her name has been changed, of course."

"Of course," I echoed, staring at the folder.

Merde tilted his head slightly, glancing at the folder. "You don't believe in it, though."

"I didn't until recently," I admitted. "But I've since seen things... and unless I'm going insane, then this stuff is real."

He chuckled softly. "Police detectives are all the same, aren't they? Something happens and you look for a realistic explanation. Why don't you tell me about your investigation, Captain Byrne?"

I nodded and swallowed, then opened the file and handed him the Lewis crime scene photos. "They ruled his death a suicide. He slit his own throat with a piece of broken mirror. But if you look here...."

"No blood on the weapon," he noticed immediately, and I nodded.

"But in the reflection, it's covered in blood."

"You think he died because his reflection did?"

"Or that his reflection killed him."

He nodded slowly. "These photos could have been doctored. Did you see this in person?"

"No," I admitted, "but there would be no reason to do so. It was ruled a suicide, and blood splatter analysis indicates that there couldn't have been anyone else in the room with him."

"I'm not saying I disbelieve you," he told me, setting the photos down on the coffee table. "But people come up with photos like these all the time just to titillate others. Is this all your investigation is based on?"

I shook my head. "That man was a night watchman at the old Mayflower department store. The one with the explosion several weeks back. Doctor Merde, every person who has held that position has eventually ended up dead, and their families as well. They've been ruled as suicides or murder/suicides, no one's made the connection before now. I think there was something in the mirrors there that was killing them. The explosion happened when it got free."

Merde regarded me for a long moment, and gave a slow nod. "It's not a completely unbelievable theory," he replied. "So, assuming I buy into it, how can I help you, Captain?"

I took a deep breath. "I need to know how to get someone out."

"Out?"

"Of the mirrors," I explained. "The last night watchman, the one who put an end to the murders, he got stuck inside the mirrors. I need to get him out again."

"Have you tried an exorcism?"

"Jesus, no! Ah - sorry. No, he's not a demon, it's not a possession. And he's not dead."

He gave a little frown, but nodded. "What makes you believe that he's stuck in the mirrors?"

I swallowed, then pulled the Polaroids from the folder, handing them to him. "These can't be doctored, right? I've seen him. I've communicated with him. He can hear me, but he can't speak to me. But he can write."

He peered at the photos for a long moment. "If these are real, they're extraordinary."

"If they're real? They're Polaroid photographs."

"Of course, but this set up could be cleverly accomplished by using a piece of glass."

I resisted the urge to give a sigh of exasperation, setting the rest of my file on the coffee table. "Do you have a mirror I can use?"

"A mirror?"

"Yes," I replied. "I'll show you, right now. Bring a video camera if you want."

"All right," he said after a moment, and stood, taking a cell phone from his pocket. "Come with me, please." There was a long glass mirror in his dining room, running along the length of the wall. I turned with my back to it, watching him as he started recording with the phone. "What am I looking for?"

"You'll see," I replied, then glanced out around the room. "Ben?"

I felt a shiver run through me, and Merde jerked tense, taking a nervous step back from the mirror. "Astounding. How....?"

I glanced over my shoulder to see that my reflection had turned to the mirror and moved several feet away, standing with his arms folded over his chest. He glanced to me and gave a little smile, and I felt a surge of relief. Merde was seeing this too. I wasn't crazy, I wasn't just imagining all of this out of some heartbroken need to keep Ben with me. This was real, and he was really with me... which meant everything he'd said to me that morning was real, too. "He can hear us, but we can't hear him. The first time this happened it was only for a couple of minutes, but now he can stay with me for quite a while."

Merde was shaking his head slowly. "Can you move for me, Captain Byrne? Independent of your reflection? Can you walk in front of it and then move behind me?"

I glanced at Ben, who looked amused, then crossed in front of the mirror as requested, moving to stand behind he camera. Ben moved to stand where I had been, lifting a hand to his chin and brushing his lips lightly with the side of a knuckle. I felt it, and smiled.

Merde was talking rapidly at the phone, moving around the room to catch different angles, then opening the window and hanging the phone out, remarking about how the mirror was mounted on an external wall, how it was impossible to set this up as an illusion. Then my reflection gave a small wave, and I felt him leave, my reflection once again my own.

"Fascinating." Merde saved the video on his cell phone, shaking his head. "Truly remarkable."

"He can't stay for long," I tried to explain. "He says it's tiring. He's getting stronger though, it was only a few minutes the first time it happened."

"Or perhaps you are getting stronger," he suggested. "Has he told you if he's tried this with anyone else?"

I shook my head. "I don't think he'd want to, honestly."

"And this is the longest that your friend has controlled your reflection?"

I remembered the sex and forced back a smile. How long had that been? Ages, and yet it was over too soon. "Perhaps thirty minutes."

"I see. Well, I have to say, Captain Byrne... I have friends, I know people who say they can talk to the dead. But I've never seen a display of the supernatural like this. They would call you a very powerful medium."

"Fuck." I stared at him, trying to keep a look of disbelief off my face. "Look, I'm not a da- a psychic. And he's not dead."

He gave a little shake of his head. "Well, Captain, I'm afraid I can't help you - I've never heard of anyone getting a live person out of a mirror - or one being stuck there in the first place. But I can refer you to couple of people I know. Maybe they can help."

He gave me a list, made a few phone calls, and then I thanked him and went on my way.

~~~~

I talked to three more people that day - one scholar and two psychics, and Ben and I performed our little parlour trick when necessary, though his appearances grew shorter each time. None of them had any answers for me, however, apart from one of the psychics who tried very hard to convince me that Ben was what he called "the restless dead", and was only left on this "plane of existence" in an effort to complete unfinished business before he could reach nirvana. I wouldn't accept that - I couldn't accept it, couldn't bear the thought that he was only here to make amends and move on.

I returned home late in the evening, exhausted, and went straight to bed, assuming that Ben would be too tired to talk. "I'm not giving up," I murmured, curling up under my thick comforter and crisp sheets and burrowing into my pillow, comfortable in just my boxers. "Just need to think, just need to come up with a new plan. Or maybe keep bothering people until we find someone who doesn't look like they've just seen Jesus Christ when you move in the mirror."

I yawned, and felt a gentle caress on my cheek. "Mmm. Thanks, Ben. Get some rest, okay? You've done a lot today. Don't worry about me." The touch continued though, stroking down my neck and over my shoulder, the touch warm and gentle on my skin. I felt my pulse quicken despite myself, giving a soft sigh as I felt him pinch my nipple lightly. "Ben, you don't have to do this...."

Warmth pressed to my lips, a second caress to join the first, hands stroking over my chest, my stomach and sides. My body couldn't help but respond to that, to the shivers of pleasure it sent through me, and the heady knowledge of his hands on my body. "God, Ben... just don't wear yourself out.... jesus, that feels good...."

I shifted to stretch out on my back, accepting that this was going to happen, that I was going to let him do this to me again. That I wanted it. The room was dark apart from a slight illumination from the city lights outside, so I couldn't see what he was doing in the mirror, but god, could I ever feel it. I gave a soft moan at the touch of his hands on my thighs and shifted to kick off my boxers, the sheets cool against my quickly hardening cock. "Felt so good last night," I murmured, sighing as I felt one hand tease the base of my erection, the other on my chest, stroking, toying with a nipple with his fingertips. "Reminded me of before, when we were young. Made me remember when you used to climb into my bed and we'd stroke each other like this, or you'd let me suck you off... oh, god - !" I bit my bottom lip as I felt his fingers curl around my cock, stroking firm and agonizingly slow.

"Larry..." my name was hardly more than a breath, just a sigh, the same as it had always sounded on his lips in moments like this. I drew a shuddering breath, trying to arch up into his hands.

"Yes. Oh god, Ben, yes..." It was even more intense tonight, if that was at all possible, more real, his hands stroking me, working my cock, sending hot shudders of arousal through me. Perhaps it was the lack of alcohol. I let myself enjoy it unrestrainedly, feeling his fingers press to my lips and sucking on my own again, muffling groans of pleasure. When I felt his caress on my inner thighs it was almost disorienting, and I pulled my knees up to keep the illusion in tact, picturing his hands on my skin, pressing back between my legs, teasing me....

"God..." I couldn't help but push against it when his fingers rubbed against my ass, one slick fingertip pushing slowly, carefully inside me.... I drew a sharp breath at the sudden connection of this being done to me because he was doing it to himself, and the mental image of Ben fingering himself was almost enough to make me come. I wrapped my fingers around the base of my cock for a moment, squeezing hard, trying to calm down. "Oh fuck - Ben, you don't have to do this. Oh, god!" The penetration deepened, and my whole body arched tense at the sensation, my head thrown back on the pillows. I clenched my eyes shut as he began to pump the digit in me slowly, his other hand still stroking my cock. "Jesus, I wish you were fucking me right now...."

I felt him pull back, felt the penetration thicken, the pleasure and burn of it shuddering up my spine. The mechanics of it didn't matter, just what I was feeling, just what he was doing to me as he did it to himself, fingers pumping slowly, pleasing me. My cock was slick with pre-come, and I could feel his fingers whisper against the head of it, stroking slick and fast up and down the length of my erection, drawing me quickly closer to release. Then his fingers crooked, searching and unerringly finding that hot, sensitive spot inside me, sending hot shocks of bliss up my spine. "Fuck, Ben!"

My entire body was trembling from the stimulation, aching for the need to come, and it was all I could do to keep my hands clenched in the sheets, to stop from jerking myself off and coming just like that. I wanted him, I wanted to feel him pull me to climax like he'd done before.

"My lover..." the words were just a tease, just a whisper like before, but I knew for a certain that it was him. "Larry!" a helpless gasp, my name, and it was all I could handle. My hips bucked up off the bed and I came, sensation hot and bright, sizzling in every nerve. I could feel his hand stroke me through it, his fingers still crooked inside me and teasing against my sweet spot, coaxing shudders of sensation from me again and again before finally easing away and leaving me boneless and trembling on the bed.

"God." For a moment I couldn't do anything but pant, trying to come back to myself. His touch was a gentle caress to my thigh, and fingers that whispered gently across my lips. "I haven't come that hard in ages," I breathed into the darkness, and the hand on my thigh squeezed gently. I wiped the come off my chest with the already soiled sheet, rolling it up and kicking it down the end of the bed before turning on my side, exhausted.

"I'll change the sheets tomorrow," I mumbled. "No getting jizz on the comforter."

I felt a light, teasing smack to my ass, followed by the now familiar shiver as he left. Somehow, though, I still had a sense of him with me, and I could almost feel him curled against my back as I drifted off to sleep.

~~~~