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"The Mirror Cannot Lie"

Jim was embarrassed, and all she could do was laugh. A filthy laugh that made her sound common. He'd even apologised, claiming that it had never happened before, and still she laughed.

With her blouse unbuttoned, revealing her blue bra, knickers pulled down around her ankles, and Jim's mess on her thigh, she did look common to him. All of the lust and desire he had for her was gone, replaced with hate.

How dare she lay sprawled across the back seats of his car, laughing like some kind of tramp? Jim thrust his right fist forward, punching her hard in the cheek. She was momentarily silent as she put her hand up to where she had been struck. She looked down at Jim's midriff, at the smear of his semen on his pale skin. She looked further down at his shrivelling manhood, and again begun to laugh.

In truth, Harriet was also embarrassed. She didn't want her first sexual experience to go like this, she wanted it to be perfect. Jim had been so kind to her since they begun going out though, and she really didn't want to lose him. She didn't know why she had started to laugh, she didn't want to, she just couldn't help it. Her face was throbbing from Jim's blow, but despite this, her laughter was getting heavier again.

"I'm sorry" she said through her laughter, as Jim turned increasingly more red.

Jim looked down at himself, and pulled up his pants. "Shut up!"

"I can't" Harriet replied, holding her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the laughter.

Jim raised his fist again. "I said shut up!"

"No Jim!" said Harriet, still unable to stop laughing.

A fist crashed into the left hand side of her face, then another on the lip. She thought she could taste blood as yet another blow connected with her nose. She tried to say "stop", but Jim's hands were around her throat and squeezing hard. Harriet raised her knee up to Jim's groin. It was a feeble strike, but enough to make Jim release his grip. Harriet followed this up by dragging her nails across Jim's face, drawing blood. The sight of these made Harriet freeze. What had she done?

Jim touched the side of his face, checking to see that it was bleeding. His eyes widened as he spotted the steering wheel lock laying in a foot-well. Grabbing the yellow handle he repeatedly brought it down onto Harriet's head, stopping only when he accidentally caught the roof of the car on the upswing. Jim was suddenly brought back to reality, the rage that had gripped him so furiously let go, leaving him in the back of his car, freshly decorated with splashed of blood, chunks of brain and fragments of skull.

Everyone had known that Jim and Harriet were going out tonight, after all, Jim had boasted to many of his mates that "Tonight's the night". It would only be a matter of hours before Harriet would be expected home, and people would worry.

There were three things Jim had to do before he could get away, which he would need to do to avoid a murder charge. Get rid of the body, clean himself up, and clean the car up. He got out of the car looking around at his surroundings. There were no other cars about, a quiet night at the make-out point. In the morning people would come by walking dogs though, so the body couldn't be left in the open. Jim checked in the boot of his car, and as he expected, there was no spade. He breathed a sign of relief when he spotted his sports bag though, he'd have a change of clothes in there, which would solve one of his problems.

Grabbing the torch from the emergency pack, he checked out the area more carefully. He spotted a deep ditch that would hide Harriet's body for a short while. He returned to the car, and grabbed hold of Harriet's cold legs. He pulled her out of the car, and dragged her towards the ditch, rolling her in with his foot. Jim then gathered some fallen leaves and branches, and pushed these down on top of Harriet, hiding her body.

From the back of his car, Jim pulled out the blanket that he often used to protect his car from the frost. He lay it across the back seats, covering the bloody mess below. He changed into his spare set of clothes, trying to wipe the blood from his skin with the dirty ones.

As Jim sat himself in the driving seat he was hit by the realisation that he didn't know where he was going to go next. Whilst his long term plan was to drive onto a ferry and get to France, before moving on towards southern Spain, they'd surely spot the remaining blood on him, or check out the back of the car. Jim held his head in his hands, until he was hit by a sudden realisation. His brother, Paul, was in Portugal.

Jim pulled his keys from the ignition, and checked the others on the ring. Sure enough, there it was, a key that he'd previously had no use for, one to his brothers flat, given to him just in case he ever got stuck in town and couldn't get home. God bless older brothers, thought Jim as turned his car around and headed towards town.

Jim parked his car outside Paul's flat, and ran up the steps. He rifled through the drawers until he found the key to the garage. Within minutes the car was safely locked inside, out of view of the road. Jim went back into the house and loaded as many cleaning products as he could find into a bucket, thanking God for making his brother such a clean-freak.

The back of the car was a disgusting mess. Jim had to change the water on half a dozen occasions before the colour of the blood started to come out of the upholstery. When Jim pulled back the seat to check underneath he was overcome by a sudden wave of nausea, throwing up heavily on the seat he'd just finished cleaning. A chunk of brain had slipped down the back, the very sight of it sickening Jim. The smell of his vomit was foul. Jim gave this a quick clean, before seeing it as a blessing in disguise, the smell giving an obvious excuse for why the car had been cleaned. Jim finished off by fetching fresh blankets from Paul's flat to put back over the seats.

With the car clean Jim could see his victory getting closer. He just had to clean himself up, his arms red with blood after his cleaning activities. He dashed up to the shower, quickly scrubbing at the stained skin.

Once out of the shower Jim grabbed a fresh set of clothes from his slightly larger brother's closet and left the flat, getting into his car and out of town as soon as possible. Daylight was beginning to creep through, and he needed to be on the first ferry for France, before people would even think to look for him. He was able to buy a ticket with his credit card, and had no problems boarding. When the car was checked over there were comments made about the recent clean, but the clinging smell of sick gave Jim an easy excuse for this. Just hours later he was in France, his flight successful.

Jim had got away with murder.

A week or so later, Jim gratefully took his wages from the Spanish fruit farmer. He'd found himself a cheap place to stay, and could get work picking fruit all summer if he so desired. The money was sufficient, and it kept his mind busy during the day. There was even sufficient money for enough alcohol to keep the demons away during the night too. All in all, Jim thought that he was doing fine.

As he drove his car towards his new home, he spotted something in his rear-view mirror. A spot of blood on the rear windscreen. Jim immediately pulled over, forcing the car behind to have to swerve past him. Jim was unbothered by the blast of a horn as he got out of his car and walked around to the back of it. Looking through the glass, he could see no mark other than that left by a bird that had feasted heavily on berries. Jim breathed a sign of relief, and grabbed his hip-flash from the glove compartment of his car. He took a swig, and then looked again in the rear-view mirror.

The mark was still there, next to the bird poo.

Again Jim got out of his car and looked at the rear windscreen. Sure enough there was a mark, though it appeared as nothing more than a dark shadow. How could that be? wondered Jim, so sure that he could see a blood red mark in the mirror.

Jim continued on his way home, with every glance in the mirror making the bloody mark appear larger. Yet when he reached his destination, there was no real mark there. He fetched a cloth and rubbed at the screen, cleaning it inside and out. He was sure there was nothing there. No bird poo, no blood, no nothing. He sat back in the drivers seat, glanced at the mirror, and couldn't believe his eyes. It was still there.

"It's on the mirror" said Jim to himself, smiling. He gave it a wipe, then looked in it again to see no mark. He checked his watch. The bars would be open, he realised, and he set off to drink enough to sleep for yet another night.

When Jim awoke his head was buzzing. Again. He shook the worst of it from his head, and chased the rest away with a swig of whiskey from his flask. He got into his car and checked the mirror before pulling off. Clear. Jim laughed at his stupidity the day before, and pulled out into the road to head to work. A car drove up very close behind him, and gave his a beep. Jim looked in the mirror, it was just a bunch of kids, and they overtook before Jim even looked back at the road.

Jim glanced again at his mirror, sure he'd spotted something on the back seat, but also sure that it couldn't have been. He turned around to look with his own eyes, and saw a little chunk of skull, with a bit of brain attached, sitting right in the middle of the seat. Jim pulled over, got out of the car, and opened the rear door. Looking at the back seat, it was completely clean. No skull, no brain, no blood. Not even a crumb, or hair, it was spotless. Jim ran his hands through his hair. The car was driving him mad. He checked the rear-view mirror, make sure there wasn't another mark on it, but it was still clean after yesterday's vigorous wipe.

Jim sat in the car for several moments, unable to compose himself enough to drive on. He emptied his hip flask, enjoying the warmness as it hit his stomach. He had to get rid of the car. He took it to a local dealer, who spoke enough English to make trade possible. Jim was completely aware that he was getting ripped off, but he just had to get rid of that car, even if his new vehicle was several years older, and covered in rust.

Given that he would be very late for work, Jim decided to give it a miss. A trip to the supermarket to pick up more whiskey would be a far better idea, he figured. He drove his new car onto the highway, and headed along the dusty road towards the town. As he glanced in the rear-view mirror he spotted a mark on the rear-windscreen. Blood. Jim's heart raced, as he looked around, but saw nothing. Looking again into the mirror he was sure he could see blood on the seats, and broken bone fragments. Again he turned around to see nothing. Once more he glanced in the rear-view mirror, this time he could see Harriet, laying there, covered in blood, smashed to pieces. At the very same instant that Jim saw Harriet open her eyes, his car crashed through the barrier separating the road from the bank of the river. Jim, frozen in terror, was unable to stop the car from continuing down the bank, and into the murky depths below.

As the car filled with water Jim struggled to escape. He tried his seatbelt, but it was jammed shut. He tried to open the door, but the pressure of the water made this impossible. When he realised there was no escape he relaxed momentarily, glancing for a final time into the rear-view mirror, where he saw Harriet, laughing.

nice... i dont usually read long posts, but after i read the first few lines it was verry gripping and i read on. Very well written, i mean very very very well written. But it did spoil it when you said bird poo. You could of skipped that

Nice - I actually READ that one.

I liked that.

Top stuff.

Yep, poo was bad, but the sh word isn't for these forums.

And 'flight' as in the past tense of flee.

Right about the highway thing too.

But hey, this is a first draft. ;o)

*Waits for cyclone to yell at Blank*

I think it needs a bit more time spent on some parts for instance the beating with the sterring lock. Not your time, story time. A bit more description maybe. Apart from that, great.

And if he did take a ferry to France I highly doubt the car would be checked. I've been to France by ferry nearly every year of my life, the car's never been checked.

Cyclone wrote:
> Kyz22 wrote:
>
> "next to the bird poo." – Excrement or something else, poo
> is too childish for the rest of the story and stands out like a sore
> thumb.
>
> Why?
>
> Is that S**tself not a needlessly pointless, and perhaps a tiny bS**t
> childish comment?
>
> So 'S*S**t' would automaticly make the story better? In that S**t 'fS**ts
> in'?

I suggested excrement and at the end of my post I said "
Hope you don't think I am being picky and you can ignore them if you want, just my views :-D"

Dont jump at me wS**thout anything to shout about.

Kyz22 wrote:
>
> "next to the bird poo." – Excrement or something else, poo
> is too childish for the rest of the story and stands out like a sore
> thumb.

Why?

Is that S**tself not a needlessly pointless, and perhaps a tiny bS**t childish comment?

So 'S*S**t' would automaticly make the story better? In that S**t 'fS**ts in'?

Brilliant story there mate, just a few things I picked up on that didnt seem to calculate.


When he puts her in the ditch she wouldn’t be cold already – takes a few hours for a body to lose all its heat.


"his flight successful" – Erm, He got the ferry…


"next to the bird poo." – Excrement or something else, poo is too childish for the rest of the story and stands out like a sore thumb.


“He drove his new car onto the highway, and headed along the dusty road towards the town.”
A highway indicates it is concrete at least, not a dust road.


Hope you don't think I am being picky and you can ignore them if you want, just my views :-D

Hmm. Well written. Despite the slightly familiar storyline. But still good.

(no offence or anything. I'm in a critical mood)

:)