【Draft 1】Mirror（7）Abby
Oh no...I am naked, in a video.
My heart stops. Two seconds later, it drops to the bottom of my stomach, to the floor, and then lands on China.
I want to close my eyes, but I can’t. It feels unreal, yet the images look very real. Displayed on the wrinkled white sheet, is a nude body with pale white skin and platinum blond hair.
MY body.
MY hair.
After a couple of minutes, the camera zooms in, taking inventory of every inch of me, every freckle, every intimate part. There's no audio, but the heavy breathing in the background gives me goosebumps, as if the person holding the camera is fighting the urge to touch the subject lying in front of him. Well, I assuming it is a he. Would it be worse if it were a she? No. It doesn’t matter who or what this person is, because the fact remains that I’ve been filmed, naked!
But is this all there is? It looks like I was sleeping, or passed out. Exposed. Vulnerable. Defenseless. The idea of being touched grosses me out, but the thought of what happens after the video ends petrifies me even more. Please, please let the video stop here and tell me the cops kicked down the door and this whole thing ended as if I slept through a nightmare. As if it never happened. Or this unconscious me were a plaster cast made as a prank. As ridiculous as it sounds, I need to busy my mind with these silly thoughts because I can’t handle how this could actually go down.
Endless horrifying possibilities starts to hijack my brain like terrorists as someone arruptly opens the door and walks in without knocking. I snap the laptop shut and guard it like it were some sort of incriminating evidence. Leaving it in plain view here is just not an option.
“So, Ms. Louie, were you able to identify if the girl in the video was you?” The person, whom I recognize from his voice as Officer Sherman, begins in a no-nonsense tone.
I squint my eyes to take a good look at him, but from five feet away he’s only a stick man with his hands on his hips.
“Are you okay? Why are you squinting your eyes like that?” He asks, sounding more confused than concerned.
“My eyes are very sensitive to light. Photophobia, extreme nearsightedness, astigmatism, etc, in case you are not familiar with the eye problems that come with albinism.” I explain as patiently as I were to anyone who would like to know more about albinism, “assuming you wouldn’t turn off the light, can I put my glasses back on?”
The stick man nods his head at me, hands still on his hips. I slip on my glasses and point at the door, “and close the door, please.”
The door closes like it’s been ordered to shut up. Officer Sherman turns around to face me with an annoyed face. I can see him better now. He looks exactly like a typical cop. Middle-aged, thinning hair, a little on the short side, bulky with a tightness in the waistband like he frequents the doughnut shop more than others.
Pointing at the laptop with a wallet, he repeats the question I’ve been hoping he’d forget, “was the girl in the video you?” He says it so causually, like I haven’t just seen the most devastating video ever. I can swear I see a tiny smirk on his oily face as he taps his booted foot waiting for my response.
“Yes.” I answer hesitantly.
“But are you sure?” he asks again automatically.
I hate that I have to elaborate, “this genetic order is very rare, Asians with albinism in this country are even rarer. So...I suppose it was me.”
“I need you to tell me,” he points at the laptop again with the wallet that I now realize as Chase’s, “that you are 100% sure that was you.”
My confidence wavers every time he shoots me with the same question. “It certainly looked like me, but I have no idea when or how I was filmed.”
“Most victims don’t,” he tells me bluntly. “Could’ve been taken when you were sleeping naked or passed out from...” he glances at me meaningfully, “...a variety of substances.”
“No!” I snap, “I never sleep naked or use drugs!”
Sherman doesn’t make any further suggestions, but takes a different approach, “have you been intimate with Mr. Fisher?”
I frown as I recall the two times I had sex with Chase. I did fall asleep after our first time. Chase ate some of the cookies I made, which I didn’t find out until after, but he didn’t even know they were laced with marijuana. We were so nervous we skipped the foreplay, so I woke up with my bra on. It had the these tricky straps he couldn’t possibly take off and put back on properly. In the second time, I passed out from the cramp before he drove me to the hospital. No way, there couldn’t be enough time to film this long video and rush me to the hospital. Besides, I bet I’d look very painful even in an unconscious state.
“No, that wasn’t me,”I announce adamantly.
“That was a quick change of answer.” He comments with a smirk. “The thing is, even if you’ve never been intimate with your boyfriend, there are a lot of opportunities where...”
“No, I’ve had sex with him,” I cut him off, “but that wasn’t me.”
“How do you know for sure?” He sounds genuinely curious.
“I just do.” I look him in the eye as I speak, “and I am not comfortable to discuss my sexual experience with you.”
He’s a bit taken aback by my firm statement. “Okay. But I can’t just take your words for it without valid evidence, especially because you changed the answer in under five seconds. Besides, your boyfriend insisted that was you.”
“What? Why?” I am stunned. Sherman responds with a shrug, “I am not sure. That’s why he needs to stay here for a little longer and explain some more after he sobers up.”
“What do you mean by ‘sober up’?”
“He’s currently under the influence. Stoned. High as a kite, actually.”
As much as I find it hard to believe, I need the answers directly from him, not this jerk. And in order to do that, I have to get him out of this mess first.
“Wait a second!” I panic, desperate for anything to stall for time, “can I see the video one more time to double check?”
Sherman tilts his head, looking amused like he’s watching a skit. “As a couple, you two should get to know each other a little better. Okay, go right ahead.” He gestures for me to open the laptop.
“In private, please.” I stand my ground with my head held high.
Sherman turns towards the door in a huff. Before he walks out of the room, he looks back and comments with a crooked grin, “just an FYI, your boyfriend mentioned he wanted to make you his sex slave before he passed out.”
My eyes widen, but I shake my head to ignore his remark. That’s something I can grill Chase about later. The laughters of Sherman and some other cops travel to my ears as he walks away. I can hear them mutter something about winning a bet and legal age, but I quickly shut the door and open the laptop cover to rewind the video from the very beginning, watching more intently this time.
It’s kinda creepy to study my own body this way, paying so much attention to every detail. What makes it harder is that I don’t have any birthmarks or moles and don’t exactly know what a particular body part of me looks like, so I gladly skip the most mortifying swimsuit area and pause the video to look at the exposed parts to compare, like my arms and legs.
The video comes to an end before I discover anything I can present as proof. Everything matches! Not ready to give up yet, I start from the beginning again and notice something different on the face this time. A couple loose strands of silvery hair partially cover the left eyelid of the girl, whoever she is, suggesting that she naturally parts her hair on the left. I touch my forehead and, just as I remember, I part my hair on the right! To be sure, I take a selfie to confirm and yes, the hairline on the forehead tells me the same.
Jumping to my feet, I swing open the door and yell, “Officer Sherman, I’ve found it!”
Apparently, the shout is a little louder than necessary, because he doesn’t look pleased when he comes out of the room across the hall.
“Jesus, I am not deaf!” Sherman grunts, “what exactly did you find?”
“She parts her hair on the left, and I on the right!” I point to my hairline as I show him a victorious grin.
He saunters into the room and stops in front of the desk where the laptop sits. After a couple of looks between the paused image on the monitor and my face, he concludes with a smug smile, “I would call that a conincidence, not evidence.”
“No! That’s how you find out the natural parting of your hair!” I push my hair to the left side, creating a huge hair disaster. “See this mess? Her hair would’ve covered her whole face if it had parted on the wrong side.”
“Jesus, half of her face is covered by hair! What kind of proof is that?”
“No, how do you not see the difference?” I grab the lab top and shove it to his face.”
He pushes it aside with a huff. “Okay, if you insist, you can try to present that to the judge and see what he says.” He walks to the door and motions me to leave. “It’s getting late. We’ll call you if we need any assistance from you.”
Frustrated at how easily he dismisses me, I pull my hair like a crazy girl as I stamp out of the room to the reception area. Just as I take a last look at Sherman’s back, a sense of deja vu comes over me, and I suddenly remember how I met him for the first time - he called me by a different name. It’s like he’d mistaken me for another person.
“Wait!” I call after him, “why did you call me ‘Ms. Bauer’ when I first came in?”
Sherman halts midstride, and turns around to throw me a nonchalant glance before he replies with a shrug, “she’s just another albino girl.”
As much as I hate the word “albino”, I ignore it and focus on this new information, “does she look a lot like me? So much alike that you thought I were she?”
A light bulb goes off in my head the second the last sentence leaves my lips. “Was she...the girl in the video?” I begin cautiously.
Adverting my gaze, Sherman gives me a generic response, “at this point, the identity of the girl in the video has not been determined yet.”
“But back in the room,” I point to the door behind him, “you didn’t believe I wasn’t the girl in the video, which meant you thought I was her. And now you are telling me you don’t know?”
He crosses his arms as he retorts, “well, you two do look a lot alike. She’s three months older but you two can pass as twins.”
“So there IS another girl!” I exclaim without a care in the world, and accusingly ask, “why didn’t you tell me there’s another girl?”
Sherman sniggers, “here’s a valuable lesson for you, young lady - as law enforcement officers, we can legally lie, bluff, and withhold information as necessary during investigation.”
Darn it, he’s right! Letting out a defeated sigh, I search for a comeback that can take him down for good. The wheels in my head are turning at light speed now. “Wait, was she the same girl...what’s her name again...Oh, Erica, Erica Bauer! Was it she who reported Chase for violating the restraining order, because she thought Chase was the restrained guy watching the video?”
Suddenly, everything clicks into place. I helpfully answer for him before Sherman opens his mouth, “of course she was! Why else would she been involved in this?” The further I trace the sequence of events that lead to this mess, however, the more questions pop into my head. My brows knit together as I mutter, “it still doesn’t prove who the girl in the video was though. But if you knew both Erica and I had a 50-50 chance, why did you insist I was the one? Did you want me to be her? What’s in it for you if I were the girl in the video?”
Uncrossing his arms, Sherman argues with his hands on the hips, “I have no preference which one of you is the girl in the video! It’s my duty to protect the privacy of Ms. Bauer. And you, as a minor,” he points at me to emphasize, “need protection even more.”
I narrow my eyes, not trusting a word he says now. “Yeah, that’s very professional of you,” I comment sarcastically. As I ponder over his response, two words “minor” and “protection” spark another realization - I am a minor under the protection of the child porn law, and Erica, being three months older than me, is not! The bet I overhear from the cops comes back to me at the same time and bam! I’ve got it!
I inch closer as I ask, “do you want to set him up for the child porn charge? Because of some stupid bet you sick cops make? Like who arrests more people?”
Sherman chokes on his own saliva at my words, but he clears his throat and quickly regains his composure, “that’s ridiculous! And disrespectful to all law enforcement officers! Regardless of who that girl is, anyone filming these videos without consent will be charged with violating...” He pauses to scratch his balding head, “...California Penal Code Section 647(j), and US Code 1801.” Seeing my frown, he gladly supplies, “also know as ‘Peeking Tom Law’ and ‘Video Voyeurism Law’, both of which are misdemeanor punishable by imprisonment for up to a year. In addition, if the girl in the video reports any unconsentual sexual intercourse, he’ll also be facing rape charge.”
“What?” I almost pass out at his last statement. Is this a joke? Really?
