The Girl in the Mirror

by Steven Ramirez

  “Carter is with me. And we’ve also got Chief Lou Fiore of the Dos Santos Police.”

  “Hey, Doc,” he said.

  “Hello, everyone. Okay, as I explained, when Peter Moody was here, he made friends with another patient—a young man. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to get a name. But I’m not going to give it to you without authorization. I can, however, provide some details about him.”

  Sarah’s stomach twisted into a knot. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “The patient in question was being treated for schizoaffective disorder. Symptoms included hallucinations, depression, manic behavior, and suicidal ideation. There were also indications of self-harm. According to his chart, he’d been taking various antipsychotic medications. From what I can tell, they were marginally effective.”

  “Dr. Martin?” Carter said. “Can you tell us what happened to him? I mean, was he still there after Peter Moody checked himself out?”

  “That’s the strange part. The hospital’s recommendation was that he stay until treatment was complete. But under state law, adult patients can discharge themselves, unless a court determines otherwise. He left around the same time Peter Moody did.”

  Lou leaned toward the phone. “Dr. Martin, Lou here. We’re going to need a name and address. If I need to, I’ll get an administrative subpoena for the patient records.”

  “Well, according to HIPAA regulations, I’m supposed to ask if this is relevant to an active investigation.”

  “It is.”

  She sighed. “Alright. You won’t need the subpoena, Chief. I’ll fax you the file now.”

  “I appreciate it,” Lou said. “Thanks.”

  Sarah gave out the fax number, and they said their goodbyes. Moments later, Sarah could hear the sound of an incoming call on the fax machine in Rachel’s office. Excited, she headed across the hall and, rather than waiting for the entire file to be printed, grabbed the cover sheet and first page. When she read the name on the file, she gasped. Carter had come in, followed by Lou. The girl looked over Sarah’s shoulder, her face losing its color.

  “So, who’s the patient?” Lou said.

  Sarah handed him the pages and sank unsteadily into Rachel’s chair.

  “Michael Peterson?” he said. “Looks like you were right.”

  Sarah rested her head on the desk. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Twenty-Six

  “Someone has to protect her,” Rachel said, on the verge of tears.

  Everyone had gathered in the conference room again. As the others got their drinks, Lou ignored his and spoke softly to Rachel.

  “I’m not letting anything happen to your sister. I’ll assign an officer to keep an eye on Sarah’s house.”

  Rachel wiped away a tear. “And what if that man shows up here again?”

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “I will protect her, Rachel.”

  “What about private security?” Carter said.

  Rachel scoffed. “What, like a bodyguard?”

  “Well, I don’t know.”

  As the others argued, Sarah sat slumped in one of the chairs, her head on her chin, stunned over what she had learned. The whole situation was unreal. Michael Peterson? He’d been so charming. And that schizo-whatever diagnosis? He’d exhibited none of the symptoms Dr. Martin mentioned. But there was something. His intense reaction to seeing a priest, for example. And to think Sarah had daydreamed about a romantic relationship with him. Rachel stopped talking and, noticing her sister, she sat next to her and massaged her shoulders. Sarah turned to Rachel, her eyes glistening.

  “I need Joe.”

  “I called him. He’s on his way.”

  Soon, Sarah’s ex-husband stormed into the room. Ignoring everyone else, he went to Sarah. When she saw him, she stood and pressed herself against his shoulder as the room went silent. Joe turned to Lou, his expression grim.

  “I’m putting you on notice. If I so much as see that guy come near Sarah, I’ll break his legs.”

  Sarah sat on her sofa, Gary on her lap purring, and her legs tucked under her. Joe walked into the room, carrying a FedEx package.

  “This was left at your front door,” he said. “Looks like it’s from Kansas.”

  “Colleen’s photo album.” She waved toward the coffee table. “Leave it. I’ll look at it later.”

  He laid the box down and sat next to her. Then, he began gently stroking her hair with the backs of his fingers. That simple gesture always soothed her; it reminded her so much of her late mother. She hadn’t thought about her mother for a long time. But now, she was foremost in her mind. She’d died from pancreatic cancer, as Alyssa had warned Sarah six months earlier. Sarah had just turned seventeen. She recalled the endless parade of doctors in the hospital room toward the end. The whispered conversations between the nurses. Her father alone in a corner, pretending not to cry.

  Her mother had lost so much weight during those last days and hardly resembled the beautiful, smiling woman Sarah remembered from a family photo. In that picture, her mother was laughing; her long, flowing hair like Sarah’s billowing. It was that image of her mother Sarah treasured.

  Then, one day, she was gone.

  Sarah’s mind traveled back to Hannah. She had been with her brother that day at the pawn shop, Sarah was sure of it. And that meant she was out there somewhere. They needed to find her. She was the key to unlocking the mystery of Michael Peterson and his connection to Peter Moody. Her thoughts were interrupted when Joe got up, sending the cat to the floor.

  “What are you doing?” she said. “This is your job now. Looking after me. It’s why I refused a police detail.”

  “I have to pee. There, I said it. Also, I’m starving. I was going to cook us up something.”

  “But you don’t cook.”

  “I’m making us omelets. I’m guessing there’s wine and bread, so I think we’re in good shape.”

  “Do you want me to help?”

  “Sarah, I’m perfectly capable of making an omelet. And if you’re nice, I’ll draw a smiley face on the plate in Sriracha sauce.”

  “Wow, who could resist an offer like that?”

  He kissed her forehead and headed for the bathroom. “Why don’t you watch television to take your mind off things? I’ll be back with some wine in a sec.”

  Yep, he still adores me. She glanced at the FedEx package sitting on the coffee table. Coaxing Gary onto her lap, she switched on the TV instead.

  All of the local news programs had ended. Unenthusiastic, Sarah cycled through the channels looking for something that would take her mind off the current situation. She stopped when she reached The Discovery Channel. A rerun of Dubious was playing. Despite the enmity she felt for Ken and Barbie, she decided to watch.

  This time, Donnie and Debbie were in Atlanta, Georgia, visiting a famous plantation home that was supposedly haunted by the ghost of a young girl from Boston who had been staying there with relatives. Apparently, she’d gone for a walk and never returned.

  As usual, Donnie and Debbie interviewed the locals, one of whom was an elderly African-American woman who lived in the area. Her grandmother had worked for the family at the time of the disappearance and had kept a journal. The old woman read from it.

  Everyone says Delilah run away. They thought she was a harlot. Her parents sent her down to get her straight. But I spoke to the girl and knew she t’weren’t no harlot. It was that man, the mass’r. He’s the one tried to make her bad.

  Joe returned, carrying two glasses of red wine. He handed one to Sarah and gawped at the TV.

  “Am I in the wrong house?”

  “Shh.”

  Silently, he slid in next to her. Donnie and Debbie were exploring a cellar.

  “They say this is where she appears,” Debbie said, her voice low and husky for effect.

  Sarah watched as the two personalities explored the cellar, making snarky asides along the way. A ghostly mist began to materialize, which they dismissed as steam from the furnace. By
the end of the episode, the two “proved” once and for all that there was no ghost. Finishing her wine, Sarah switched off the TV.

  A sudden flash of light behind her eyes startled her. She could hear Colleen’s voice in her head. Those three were like peas in a pod. And the girls. Everyone thought they were sisters. She stared blankly at Joe.

  “Obviously, you think there is a ghost,” Joe said, referring to the TV show.

  She got up, grabbed the box, and practically ran into the kitchen. Concerned, Joe followed her and watched as she found a pair of scissors and cut through the packing tape. She practically ripped the top of the box off and removed the photo album. Joe stood next to her as she flipped through the pages and pages of family photos.

  “What are we looking for?” he said.

  “I am such a yutz. Did I use that right?”

  “Yeah, but what—”

  “Hang on…”

  She continued until she reached a color snapshot of three children—a boy of eleven and two little blonde six-year-old girls. Peter, Hannah, and Nicole. It looked as if it had been taken in the backyard. They were wearing swimsuits, and their bodies were glistening with water droplets. Behind them, a colorful toy sprinkler was giving off a huge spray of water.

  Sarah continued staring at the photo, her mouth falling open. The boy was standing off by himself, and though he was smiling, his eyes were hooded and distant. But the girls. It was remarkable—they looked like twins. She noticed they were smiling at each other, as if sharing a secret.

  “Which is which?” she heard herself say. She turned to Joe. “I was so wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All this time, I thought Peter had murdered his sister, right? But she turns up alive and living in Lawrence with her brother.”

  “Then, you thought it was the cousin.”

  “Right. But that couldn’t be because, one, the ghost I saw was a dead ringer for Hannah. And, two, Nicole called her mother a week after her disappearance.”

  “Didn’t Lou say he thought the girl could’ve been a runaway?”

  “Yes, who looked like Hannah. Although, I always thought that was a stretch.”

  “So, who have you been chasing all this time?”

  “Joe, Nicole never called her mother. Hannah did, pretending to be her cousin.”

  Her hand trembling, Sarah looked at the photo again, concentrating on the girls.

  “The girl in the mirror is Nicole.”

  “I still think she ran away,” Joe said as he and Sarah dug into their omelets.

  “That’s what everyone else thought. Joe, this is good, by the way. What did you put in it?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “Fine. Jewish cooking. Who knew? Look, Peter had been obsessed with both those girls since they were little.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Nicole’s mother, Colleen. I think when her daughter came to stay with the family, Peter must’ve seen his chance to finally seduce her. But unlike Hannah, she wasn’t having any of it. So, he killed her.”

  Joe was about to take another swallow of wine when Sarah took it away from him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I need you sharp. Look, I think Nicole’s body is buried in the forest somewhere. And I know how to find out where.”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “You’re taking me to the storage facility.”

  “Now? Great, and you had to turn down Lou’s offer of a bodyguard.”

  “That’s where you come in. And thanks to me, you’ve only had one glass of wine.”

  “What about Carter? I thought you wanted her to see the mirror.”

  “I’ll update her later. Apparently, she and the band have made up, and they’re rehearsing tonight.”

  Joe got up and cleared away the dishes as Sarah went to get a jacket. By the time she returned, he’d put everything in the dishwasher.

  “Time to charm a ghost,” she said.

  With practiced silence, Mary closed the library door after her and returned to her room upstairs. She would come for the coffee things later, after the guest had departed. When the man arrived, he was well dressed and polite, but there was a look in his eyes—an unspoken anger mixed with desperation, and it unsettled the housekeeper. She’d seen that look before. It was when that woman—Gail Cohen—had come to see Mary’s employer. She, too, had looked desperate.

  Once inside the safety of her bedroom, Mary crossed to the small writing desk by the window and sat. She found her rosary lying by itself, the once-black beads worn from use. She’d received it when she entered the convent as a novitiate. She had gone there to spend the rest of her life in prayer. Prayer for the sick, the lost, the fallen. Back in the secular world, working for a strange man with access to dark powers sanctioned by the Church, she never stopped praying and would continue until she breathed her last.

  In the library, Harlan Covington poured out two cups of strong black coffee and brought them to his guest. He set one down on a side table and kept the other for himself. Taking a seat, he faced a grim Michael Peterson.

  “Thank you for coming,” the old man said. “Try the coffee. It’s Ethiopian.”

  Though Michael seemed uninterested in refreshments, he picked up his cup and took a sip.

  “It’s pretty good.”

  “This particular blend is very hard to come by. I get it from a supplier in San Francisco.”

  Michael’s hands began shaking and he set the cup back on the table, spilling the hot liquid onto the saucer. When he looked at Harlan again, his eyes were fierce, as if he’d transformed. As he spoke, he stammered.

  “Wh-where… where is th-the mirror?”

  “I’ve had my people following Joe and Sarah, but no luck, I’m afraid.”

  Michael stood. “I’m running out of time.”

  “I am aware. Please sit down.”

  “No!”

  Sighing, Harlan set his cup down carefully and wiped his mouth with a white linen napkin.

  “We both want the same thing: the mirror. I will find it, but you must give me more time.”

  “I told you, I don’t—”

  “Have more time. So you said. Give me until the end of the week. In the meantime, I suggest you lay low.”

  “You mean, l-like Gail?”

  The old man looked away. “Her death was unfortunate. A tragedy.”

  “Sh-she was murdered. Why c-can’t you…find—?”

  Harlan stared coldly at Michael, his eyes dark and intense. Whatever it was he was conveying without words, it disconcerted the other man.

  “You would do well to remember who you’re speaking to.”

  Covering his mouth to suppress a sob, Michael turned toward the door. Harlan stood stiffly and walked him out. As they approached the foyer, Harlan could feel the phone in his pocket vibrating. At the front door, he shook hands with his chastened guest and, after he had departed, closed the door.

  When he brought out his phone, the attorney saw one missed call. He returned to the library, unlocked the phone, and dialed.

  “What have you found out?” Harlan said.

  “It looks like they’re moving the mirror.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I overheard Sarah talking about Casa Abrigo. I think they might be bringing it back to the cellar.”

  “That’s good news. Will it be the two of them?”

  “No. The chief will be there.”

  “I see.” Harlan looked up for a moment. “Looks like we’ll need a distraction. Stay close to them, but don’t let them see you.”

  “Right. Speak soon.”

  The old man disconnected and absently rubbed the finger wearing the ring. He thought of Sarah and the promise he’d made to keep her safe. That might no longer be possible. Sighing, he dialed his phone.

  “Michael? Sarah is on her way to Casa Abrigo. And she has the mirror. You should go there now.”

  Harlan disconnected and left
his office to make the final preparations.

  Tim Whatley returned the phone to his pocket and, using binoculars, continued observing Joe and Sarah as they loaded the mirror onto the bed of Joe’s pickup. Except for these two, the storage facility was deserted. A lightning flash lit up the sky, followed by thunder.

  He felt a chill that reminded him of the darkness descending on them all. As he had so many times before, he wondered whether Harlan Covington was a part of that darkness or its sworn enemy. He prayed that it was the latter. If Harlan’s plan failed, Sarah Greene could very well wind up dead.

  He heard a noise somewhere nearby, which spooked him. Seeing nothing, he returned to his unmarked vehicle and waited for Joe and Sarah to leave.

  Twenty-Seven

  As Joe made his way in the darkness up San Marcos Pass Road, Sarah gazed out her window at the still blackness. The rain was coming down hard, and Joe had to keep his speed down so he wouldn’t damage the mirror.

  “One more time for the record,” he said. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  Smiling, she touched his hand. “We need to end it. And I feel like this is the only way. Besides, Lou and his gun will be there.”

  There was something up ahead. Why wasn’t Joe slowing down? The headlight beams fell on a naked figure standing in the middle of the road in the rain. Her hair was matted, her skin almost translucent. Her eyes were missing.

  “Joe, watch out!”

  He slammed on the brakes, causing the truck to shimmy, then glide to a stop. Breathing hard, he turned to Sarah.

  “Okay, do you want to tell me what—?”

  “There was a woman.”

  He reached over to the glove compartment and retrieved his flashlight. Then, he climbed out and pointed a beam into the darkness. The only sounds were the rain and his engine idling. He went around to the truck bed and checked the mirror. Secured tightly by ropes, it appeared to have survived the jolt without any damage. Eventually, he returned to the truck.

  “There’s no one out there, Sarah.” He put away the flashlight. “Let’s try to get to the house in one piece, okay?”