Rating: PG-13
Category: drama, angst, general
Setting: after the final scene
Summary: Facing more demons in the night. Sort of a sequel to "Gaze No More," but can be read alone.
Warnings: language
Spoilers: the whole movie, perhaps? TMR
Feedback: It's a beautiful thing... sleeperdown@yahoo.com
Website: http://www.dreamwater.net/pottedcactus/erjika
Archive: Are there archives for TMR?
Disclaimer: They're not mine, even though I could take better care of Peter than Tom :( No money has changed hands across the Atlantic.
Plot bunny: =:`( <-- angst bunny
AN: Lyrics and title from Loreena McKennitt's "The Mask and Mirror."
Would you like my mask?
Would you like my mirror?
He splashed cold water on his face. Drops slithered off, their trails glistening in the dim light. Another nightmare, another fucking nightmare. He had to get away from all this, but he was trapped on this boat. He should never have agreed to go with Peter to Greece, should never have gone out to see that sunset, should never have kissed Meredith...
He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to dispel the darkness. He stared into the sink, hypnotized by the water trickling down the drain. He'd made a mess of being Dickie Greenleaf, but an even bigger mess of being Tom Ripley.
He looked up at the mirror. Hollow eyes in a gaunt face focused listlessly on him. All he wanted was to be someone else. And he was. For one sweet, terrifying month, he was. But what he got was taken away from him too soon, then mockingly handed back the moment he saw that innocent, rich blonde in the sunset.
Those haunted eyes continued to stare at him. Everything he had done, was it worth anything now? The eyes changed colours, the whole face melting into something else. Dickie's face replaced the one in the mirror, a sly smirk on the lips. Tom blinked; it was gone. Just another illusion, nothing to worry about. Right?
He peered into the mirror, searching for what he did not want to see. He heard Freddie's raucous laughter in the background, as the face in the mirror morphed into Dickie's again. But there was no smirk this time. A soft, gentle smile touched the face's lips. "I have the key," it whispered.
"NO!" Tom smashed his fist against the mirror. Shattered glass sparkled, sharp glitter on the counter. One shuddering breath after another. The laughter died.
He checked to see if there was any blood on his fist. He straightened his clothing, ready to leave for dinner. He looked into the cobwebbed glass, his image fractured into something unrecognizable. Calm, smooth voice. "Dickie Greenleaf, pleased to meet you." He left the room.
~finis~