I DONT KNOW
Then something slammed against the mirror with wall-rattling force to create a spider-web shatter the size of a basketball. The lights went out and a blast of cold tore through the bathroom, plunging the climate from rain forest to arctic circle. Lyle leaped for the light switch but his bare foot hit a puddle; he slipped and went down just as he heard another booming impact break more of the mirror. Glass confetti peppered him with the third impact. He crouched on his knees with his forehead against the floor, hands clasped over the back of his head as whatever was in the room with him pounded the mirror again and again in a fit of mindless rage.
And then as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
Slowly, cautiously, Lyle raised his head in the echoing darkness. Somewhere in the house-down the hall-he heard running footsteps, and then his brother's voice.
"Lyle! Lyle, you all right?" The bedroom light came on. "Dear God, Lyle, where are you?"
"In here."
He rose to his knees but could find neither the strength nor the will to regain his feet. Not yet.
He heard Charlie's approach and called out, "Don't come in. There's glass on the floor. Just reach in and hit the light."
Lyle was facing away from the doorway. When the light came on he looked over his shoulder and saw a wide-eyed and slack-jawed Charlie staring at him.
"What the fuck-" Charlie began, then caught himself. "Dear Lord, Lyle, what you done?"
Charlie's use of a word he had expunged from his vocabulary since he'd been born again told Lyle the true depth of his brother's shock. Looking around, he couldn't blame him. Glittering slivers and pebbles of glass littered the floor; the big mirror looked as if Shaq had been bouncing a granite basketball against it.
"Wasn't me."
"Then who?"
"Don't know. See if you can find a blanket and throw it on the floor so I can get out of here without making hamburger of my feet."
While Charlie went looking, Lyle pushed himself to his feet and turned, careful to stay in the glass-free circle of floor under him.