We last saw Frank here as part of a three part story
Frank stood in front of one of the apartments many mirrors and looked back into the kitchen area. Lola has posted a newspaper cutting on the fridge. He stepped back into the room and snatched it from under the magnet. His nails were still tacky from the coat of rose-pink polish Lola had insisted on. He flexed his fingers carefully so as not to smudge them, though the article before him made his stomach churn.
FUGITIVE BANK ROBBER PRESUMED DEAD
His mugshot stared back from the page: hard eyes, rough jaw, a man who didn’t smile for cameras. According to the story, the police believed he’d drowned in the river during a botched escape. Case closed. Investigation terminated. Dead. He was dead. He looked at another mirror. A stranger stared back. Her cheekbones were sharp, her lips plump and glossy, her hair pinned up elegantly. The white miniskirt she wore clung to her curves, curves Lola had paid surgeons handsomely to sculpt. Not a fugitive. Not a man. A doll.
“Isn’t it romantic?” Lola’s voice floated in from the doorway. She breezed in carrying a breakfast tray, humming, her bubblegum-pink robe swishing around her ankles. “Our anniversary gift! The state has declared you officially deceased. It’s like a second wedding certificate.” She set the tray down and kissed him on the temple, leaving a faint lipstick print. “No more police. No more hiding. No more of that dreadful mugshot.” She snatched the paper and flung it into the trash. “Now you can live as who you really are. My perfect, beautiful doll.”
Frank stared at his reflection again, heart hammering. He cursed how many mirrors she had put up. Her ceaseless reminders. “Lola, I can’t keep doing this.”
Her smile stiffened. “Can’t?” She leaned over him, her perfume thick and sugary, her nails resting lightly on his throat. “Darling, you are doing this. You’ve been doing it for a year. And I’ve never been prouder.”
He tried again, weakly. “Maybe it’s time I… left. Started fresh.”
Her nails tightened, just a fraction. “And go where? As who?” She laughed, high and sharp. “You're dead. Everyone knows it. You want to stroll into a bank looking like this and shout, ‘Remember me?’ You’d last five minutes.” Lola softened, stroking his cheek with mock tenderness. “Besides, I’ve booked something wonderful for us. A little touch-up on that voice of yours. Permanent this time. Once it’s done, nobody will ever doubt you again.” She kissed his cheek, then whispered in his ear, “When they hear you speak, Frank will be gone forever. But, sugarplum, forever looks so good on you, so why don't you smile?”
The stranger in the mirror with the soft eyes and painted lips stared at him. A stranger who had his heartbeat, his thoughts, his prison sentence. He tried to imagine the man in the mugshot, the man in the article. But the harder he tried, the blurrier that face became. Finally, he did as he was told. In the mirror, the doll smiled back.
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