Letters Written in White by Kathryn Perez

backing up even more to get away from her.
    “How do you know I took my own life? Who are you? Who are they?” I say, pointing to the river.
    Panicking, I look back, searching with my eyes for the door to get out of here.
    “You can’t hide here, Riah Winter. You’re transparent now, and every mask you’ve ever worn is invisible. And they—” she gestures toward the river and says “—they are the voices of the River of Regret. Because I can’t find resolve from my own regrets, I must now bear them all, mine and everyone else’s.”
    “I want out of here,” I say, reaching out for the knob of her door. In a rush, a strong wind knocks me against the door, my cheek smashing against the cold surface.
    “You could have washed your daughter’s hair again and again. You should have lived, Riah Winter. You should have lived.”
    Philomena’s voice loudly swirls inside my ears and begins filling my empty insides with horror and despair.
    “I was sick too. I was sick too!” I yell desperately.
    “You gave up. You had choices and you chose wrong,” she cries out, and without knowing what’s happening, I’m through the door and plummeting down, down, down.

 
    “Happiness fades into sadness before our very eyes.”
     
     
    AFTER THE TERRIFYING and eye-opening visit with Philomena, I don’t dare to go back to the room of mirrors and continue my journey into a different perspective on the life I once knew. But I have to. I want the key to that door. I need it.
    Doing as I have been told, I move to the next mirror and the next and the next. The one I stand before now seems to emit a sort of warmth. It’s comforting. I step in closer to it and peer inside. All at once the mirror turns into warm waters, suspended in the air. It ripples languidly. I reach out with one single finger and carefully touch it.
    “Go for a swim, Riah,” a voice beside me whispers.
    I look over, and to my surprise I see a kind-looking woman. Her perfectly oval face is adorned with soft features and caring eyes. She’s dressed in a russet-colored dress. The edge of the skirt is red as if it were dipped in scarlet paint. On her feet are glittering red heels. Long tendrils of platinum-blonde hair tumble over her shoulders, down her back. She’s breathtaking. Her voice is soothing, every word bathed in golden honey.
    “Swim?” I ask. I continue staring at her, awestruck.
    The red bow of her perfect lips part and she says, “Yes, go on now, jump in. You should not fear what awaits you inside. You’ve seen some of the pain. You also need to recall some of the pleasure, for we so often forget the things that once made us feel loved. Go, remember, and never forget again.”
    I blink hard and look back to the mirror and then back to her. I nod and take a small step forward. My front is mere inches from the suspended body of water before me. I look, trying to see through it, but fail. She angles her head toward it, urging me to go. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and jump. I’m instantly engulfed by silken and balmy water. I attempt to hold my breath but soon realize there’s no need. Opening my eyes, I look around me. I’m like a pendulum in an ocean of cerulean bubbles. They float up around me unhurriedly. Above I see a flickering brightness. I follow the bubbles and start to swim upward toward the tawny light.
    Breaking through the water, I emerge. Warm air caresses my face and shoulders. In the distance I see dry land. It’s a beach. The woman was right. Everything here feels pleasant so far. It’s beautiful. I stretch my arms and kick my feet, swimming toward the sandy shore. As soon as I reach it I stand, digging my toes into the soft earth. Just up the shore is a small beach house. I walk toward it, and the closer I get the more familiar it seems. I take a few more steps and stop in my tracks when I hear laughter. My eyes follow the sound and fall upon two people.
    The very moment my mind registers what my eyes are seeing, I