Killer in the Looking Glass - Wayne Kyle Spitzer - ebook

"I stare at her through the rain. Somewhere a siren is wailing. From the streets below, angry words rendered unintelligible by distance are being exchanged. Gunshots follow. Then screaming. Car horns are being honked impatiently. Somewhere a baby is crying. The Hard Mask seems to fit much looser than before. In fact, it doesn't seem to want to stay on at all."

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Wayne Kyle Spitzer

Table of Contents

Title Page

Killer in the Looking Glass

Copyright © 1989, 2017 Wayne Kyle Spitzer. All Rights Reserved. Published by Hobb’s End Books, a division of ACME Sprockets & Visions. Cover design Copyright © 2017 Wayne Kyle Spitzer. Please direct all inquiries to:

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Shimmering vaguely beyond a curtain of rain and gloom, there is a skyline peppered with glowing embers. Above is a pale moon of terrifying proportions. The moon has twin orbs for eyes. They are rimmed in red and full of loathing.

They are glaring at me.

They are my own eyes, reflected in the rain-drizzled Plexiglass portal of the lifter. Interior illumination and exterior darkness have transformed the portal into a looking glass. A mirror.

I don't like mirrors. Mirrors hurt.

Instinctively, I lift my Recoil pistol and blast the portal away. Cool wind washes in and splashes against my face, tosses my hair. Rain tickles my skin.  Broken glass crunches underfoot as I step away from the opening. I feel much better now. Guns are like medicine, and are used as such often.