Mirror, Mirror
Grave Dagger flash fiction #2

Lieutenant Sagewater studied his foggy reflection in the bathroom mirror. His face looked blurred, weary, aged. He hefted a hand towel, wiped steam from the glass, and gave his reflection a wry smirk.
All things considered, he’d rather be back in Stoney Cove.
He left the bathroom door ajar and sat on the edge of his bed. The hotel room was comfortable but spartan, a combination he found both functional and off-putting. He switched the bedside lamp on, a beacon of artificial light in the early-evening dusk.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, warning of an advancing stormfront. Twenty-four hours since he’d arrived in New Beltwain, with zero relief from the incessant rain. Low barometric pressure was at least partly to blame for his headache — coincidentally also twenty-four hours in duration.
Sagewater didn’t believe in coincidence. He dialed an outside line on the rotary telephone.
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