Disbanded, Rejoined

A stranger’s shadow following you around is far odder than a cat’s mid-afternoon mating call. Even as Noel has stated it, the shadow of the man she saw dead that afternoon trails her to the CR. The corpse, probably on with its morgue business, can’t seem to detect any difference. It lay on the steel operating table as though it were merely an object of study, never moving. Noel then washes her face on the sink. In the mirror the silhouette of a bald, bloodless paunchy man stands behind her, its focus elsewhere as if deliberating the wonder that is the marbled bathroom floor. Noel gives the mirror a splash so as to blur it. Since she’s turned the light on she’s begun treating the shadow with more caution. She has borne witness to the defining of its outline, like it’s asserting its presence with both the living and imaginary. What if it just jumps on her? What if it strangles her own shadow and evicts it? What if that happens, would she be forever doomed with a fat shadow until something worse comes along? She cuts her train of thought just then on account of an even weirder happening. Something in the shadow’s head part cracks into a liquid-ish, whitish orange shape. Noel is immediately reminded of the rain drops and their appearance once they tumble on the ground. Its mouth is trembling or clearer yet, melting. It’s crying, no doubt. But why does no sound come out? Noel watches as it moves frantically. All this time she never turns to face it; instead, she pertinently and unblinkingly watches it through the mirror. Then as if to synchronize its silent weeping, a soft smattering of sobs finally issues forth. A female voice, it is, but as Noel again consults the image in the mirror, she sees herself quite calm. Then, in the wake of her emotional clamor, she discovers that tears have since begun a long fall unto the sink. She closes her eyes and listens to her inconsolable cries as she and the shadow of the man she saw die become one.