I was shaving in the mirror when that happened. Looking up, I saw my right eye move. It had looked off to the side for a moment but then came back to the mirror an instant later. I had no idea what it had seen nor why it had looked over there.
I reached up to cover it. Through that eye I saw the hand come up and things go black. I was seeing through it again.
But not a few moments ago when I caught it looking away. Had I imagined that?
That was the first strange thing I noticed.
Later that week there was a midday nap when I shouldn’t have been tired. I laid down to watch some old 1930s gangster movie on TCM and then, seemingly a moment later, I was waking up. It was dark outside and the movie long ended.
Weird, yes, but “it’s only a nap, for Pete’s sake.”
Then there was the morning my shoes were by the bed like normal but caked with dried mud. But I hadn’t gone out and it hadn’t rained in Phoenix for weeks.
I wasn’t watching when the news broke. Steve called and asked if I’d been in Seattle yesterday.
“No,” I answered. “I was home and fell asleep on the couch. Don’t even remember putting myself to bed. Guess I was pooped.”
“Sure looks like you on TV,” he said with an edge to his voice before hanging up.
I turned on the set, punched 365 and there was Shep on Fox News.
I didn’t have to wait long.
Four dead and two wounded in a mall shooting in Redmond. Nobody in custody.
The video was short and showed the shooter for only a few seconds but, damn, that sure did look like me. The blued 1911 in his hand barked three times before he ran, crouched and holding the gun at low ready, out of the security camera’s view.
I went to my gun safe. The slide on my 1911 was locked back on an empty magazine and the chamber area was sooty.
“That’s odd,” I said aloud.
I always clean it at the range before coming home. I never store it dirty.
I ejected the magazine and dropped the slide before putting it in my right pants pocket.
I wandered into the bathroom and, gazing in the mirror, I rubbed a stubbly cheek.
There was a single loud bang on the front door.
“Police! We have a warrant!”
There was a massive boom, the door crashed open and black suited Ninja-like shapes rushed in with automatic rifles at their shoulders.
In the mirror I saw my right eye open wide and dart about.
And all by itself, I watched in horror as my right arm reached down into the pocket on that side and began to withdraw the cocked but empty 1911.
Submitted to Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenge, April 19, 2012