Mirror, Mirror

01|Mirror, Mirror

03, April.
6:58 AM
Somewhere in Glasgow, Montana.

CLAIRE CONNOLLY

My name is Claire Connolly, six days ago I received a post card of Sicily from my identical twin sister, a scribble on the back read,

I'm in danger, I need your help!

Cue Mia Berlusconi, I inherently dub her my evil twin sister. We were twins who ended up in an adoption home after some tragedy of the sorts happened to our birth parents. Mia was lucky, she got picked by a rich Italian family who wanted a blonde haired kid, heard they were part of the mafia, nothing confirmed though, all speculated rumors. I wasn't so lucky, I never got adopted. I resolved to stay in Glasgow Montana after tumultuous transfers from one stateside adoption home to another.
Glasgow was the scruffy part of Montana, a place where you'd imagine they took garbage trucks to offload waste—okay,overly exemplified. It was a dump, but everyone loved the serenity, no gangs or dead bodies, thieving and mugging rarely happened, which seems like a huge contrast in retrospect. It seemed like everyone here was content with what they had or had nothing better to look up to.
I and Mia kept contact for a few years after the adoption but then the letters just stopped. I tried reaching out a couple of times but after a couple of 'return to sender,' I got the message.

—

"Claire! There's someone here, to see you."
A voluptuous, top hourglass bodied girl draped in her bedsheets peeked her head round the corner to see me snuggled up under my duvet and sighs. My ever eccentric roommate turned best friend Maeve Hargreaves, African-American beauty, her hair rolled up in a messy bun with tendrils flying around, if I had to take a bet, she definitely wasn't wearing anything underneath that bedsheet. We were both the oldest at the adoption home so we got jobs and moved out. Our matron was giddy enough to give us two fifty dollar bills and sent us off on our merry way, how we managed to stand on our feet with just that was simply astonishing.

I catch a glimpse of the said person and I don't recognize them,
"Tell him I already have the Savior in my life, please close the curtains?!" I reply tersely knowing some missionary might have come into town and was on the hunt for the next lost soul. I was indeed lost but I highly doubt religion was the answer.

I slide back under the duvet, shuddering at the morning cool that had slithered into the room.
I was burnt out from all the extra shifts I was doing at the only 24/7 bistro in town. While we were still dependent on the government's adoption and guardianship assistance funds or 'GAGA funds' like I and Beaux would call it, I knew they'd never be enough to get me into a reputable college.

"He doesn't look like Jeho—," she pauses and sighs again,
"—one second," I hear her whisper, and then her feet, march-like, making its way to my side of the room.

I let out a groan,
"Go away," I mutter scared of my own voice.

"Are you going to get up out of bed now or should I drag you out?" Maeve says drily.
Maeve never minced words, and I knew better. She never liked to talk about her life before the adoption home but it was a constant rumor that both of her parents were army generals, hence her stern behavior. I yanked the duvet off my body muttering incoherent rubbish. Maeve all the while throwing me a wicked stare. I ploddingly drag myself to the door, whoever they were was about to get it.

"Hi, I'm detective Ramires Deviller," he flashes his badge, a little too fast for my sleepy eyes to follow.

"Detective?" I mutter again almost making it seem accusatory. What was a cop doing at my front door this early. My mind trails off, searching for any possible crimes I could've committed and then it hit me.
I never knew it was a crime to 'test-spray' perfumes, Maeve had hinted it but I never thought it was actually a thing. They'd prolly caught us on CCTV stinking up the whole mall with different scents. How many years would the sentence be,  community service? That would most definitely be a speck on my almost spotless record.