“Possession,” Carter said, reaching for the bottle.
“Dr. Martin,” Sarah said, “the Michael Peterson I met—who Joe and I met—was smooth. In fact, he was a real charmer. Nothing like what was described in his file.”
“I thought the guy had it together,” Joe said. “You know, a smart businessman with money looking to buy his next house.”
The doctor knitted her brow. “That doesn’t jibe with the videos of him I watched.” Then, to Sarah, “And he tried to kill you?”
Sarah refilled her glass. “Yeah.”
“Well, I’ve always said, science is good, but it can’t explain everything. Are you sure you didn’t imagine those ravens, though? I mean, it would be understandable considering your stress level.”
Sarah smiled. “There you go talking science again, Doctor.”
Dr. Martin reddened. “Right. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth.’”
“And in Dos Santos, apparently,” Carter said, smiling at Sarah.
They spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about nothing important. Joe had switched to ginger ale early on but decided to let Sarah cut loose. The afternoon wore on, with new people arriving every half hour. Dr. Martin headed out early. Then, other guests started leaving. Soon, it was time for Sarah and her entourage to go. The bottle of Talisker stood on the table, less than half full. Sarah made a frowny face.
“I suppose a doggie bag is out of the question?”
Owen walked in as they were about to leave.
“We have to have catch a plane,” Joe said as Sarah tried drawing a smiley face on the bottle with her finger.
“Sure.” He pointed at the bottle. “That yours?”
“Yeah. Should we dump it, or…”
“Not much of a drinker myself. But today I’m making an exception.”
Owen poured himself a drink and raised his glass. “To Nicole.”
Scrambling, the others found their glasses and raised them. The three Californians made their goodbyes and headed out. Sarah was more than a little tipsy, and Joe and Carter had to guide her to the car.
“Love you guys so much,” she said as she wiggled into the passenger seat, her cast in tow.
“We had no idea,” Carter said, grinning at Joe.
It took three tries, but Sarah was finally able to fasten her seatbelt for the trip home.
“I ask for your blessing and your mercy.”
Harlan Covington ignored the pain in his knees as he knelt facing the confessional’s screen. The last time he was here, Gail Cohen had been killed. The old man had come seeking absolution and was denied. Now, he was back. And this time, it was Michael Peterson who had been destroyed and Peter Moody along with him.
As always, the ritual to summon the ravens had been grueling but necessary. The town of Dos Santos was corrupt—like Sodom—and since accepting the power of the ring, Harlan had vowed to fight the terrible evil until his dying breath.
“You know I cannot forgive your sins,” Fr. Donnelly said.
“You are Christ’s representative on earth—a direct descendant of the Apostles. You have the power to grant absolution.”
“I do. But in this case, my hands are tied, as you well know.”
The old man wept. “Please. I don’t want to go to hell.”
They’d had this conversation many times before, and it always ended at the same place. The priest thought a moment. How many deaths had his friend of twenty-five years been responsible for? It was no matter that those he had dispatched were evildoers and that he was following instructions. It was not up to men to take a life for a life. That was God’s domain. And yet.
Harlan Covington had willingly taken on this mission—a secret mission not sanctioned by the Vatican—to fight evil in the world. And sometimes, that necessitated killing those who committed the evil. What mattered is whether the penitent was truly sorry. But was he? There was no way the priest could know. Only God could see into a man’s soul.
“I meant to thank you for saving Sarah,” Fr. Donnelly said.
“I’m not certain I can promise to keep her safe. Now that he knows, he won’t stop until she’s dead.”
“You must do your best. Ultimately, it’s in God’s hands.” The priest sighed. “Alright. Tell me your sins.”
“I killed a man.”
“Are you sorry for what you have done?”
Harlan thought a moment. Though he was sorry he had to carry this terrible burden, he was not sorry for causing someone’s death. This was a holy war. And in war, soldiers were required to kill their enemy to protect the innocent. Would God punish His soldiers when they were only doing their duty?
“No,” he said. “I am not sorry.”
“Then, you must pray for God’s mercy.”
Thirty
The rehearsal space was packed with millennials, and Sarah had to put up with pushing and shoving as she, Joe, Rachel, and Katy teetered at the edges of the makeshift stage. Thank goodness there wasn’t a mosh pit.
Though this wasn’t her kind of music, she’d promised Carter she would attend the impromptu concert. She owed so much to the girl, who had kept her grounded during those horrifying last hours of the case.
In the beginning, they had planned to pass along the gory details to the Dos Santos Weekly, hoping they would run the story so they wouldn’t end up as liars. Carter volunteered to write an online article—something Sarah hadn’t expected. And what she turned in was immediately accepted by the paper. Sarah had sent the link to Owen and Dr. Martin.
The band took the stage, and the room erupted. It had been a long time since Sarah had attended a live concert, and she was a little in awe of her friend.
First, the other band members appeared—the drummer, lead guitarist—and then the bass player who, it turned out, was an attractive young woman with tattoos all up and down her arms and straight, platinum blonde hair. As they tuned their instruments, Carter ascended, wearing black skinny jeans and a black tank top with the words Never Surrender! imprinted on the front in silver lettering. Everyone in the audience went wild. Apparently, Carter had a lot of fans.
The band performed a set of what Sarah considered typical alternative rock. As the lead singer, Carter sounded wonderful. Her voice was strong and confident. The rapport Carter had with the bass player was evident, and it didn’t take long for her to understand why those two were an item.
The music was very loud, and Sarah found she was getting a headache, which added to the throbbing in her wrist. After forty minutes, Carter turned to the band and said something Sarah couldn’t hear. When she turned back around to face the audience, the band broke into a ballad, surprising Sarah.
Carter sang “Ill Wind” by Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler. She’d remembered listening to a record in her father’s collection that Sarah Vaughan had made in, what was it, 1961? Norah Jones had also covered it in the early 2000s.
Carter’s voice sounded bluesy and sad, capturing the pain and weariness evident in the lyrics. Sarah was in awe. Most of the audience didn’t know what to make of that song but listened politely. When it was over, they clapped, unsure about what they’d heard.
“I loved that last song,” Katy said to Sarah as she and the others made their way to the car.
“Me, too.” Then, to Rachel, “Wish Eddie could’ve heard it.”
“See you tomorrow in the office?” Rachel said.
“Yep.” She held up her cast. “‘It’s just a flesh wound.’”
Sarah’s sister hugged her, careful to navigate the cast. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I—”
Sarah tried a laugh. “Hey, you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
Sarah kissed Rachel and Katy and watched as they got in their car and drove off. Tomorrow, she intended to have coffee at The Cracked Pot and tell Carter how wonderfully she sang. Joe was somewhere getting the truck, and Sarah took the opportunity to think.
She could see a glimmer in the distance. In another moment, Sarah re
cognized Alyssa, floating in the middle of the dark, empty road. And she knew things weren’t going to be peaceful for long. More trouble was coming, and Sarah would be forced to confront it, even though she was sure she could never face a ghost again.
A hand touched her shoulder. She turned and found Joe smiling at her.
“Hey, let’s get out of here. You okay?”
Sarah looked back. Alyssa was gone. But she knew her friend would return with some new dire warning. Tomorrow. She would deal with it tomorrow. For now, she would be with her friend, her lover. Her protector.
“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go home.”
Afterword
Thank you for reading The Girl in the Mirror. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. Will you take a few minutes to post a review and tell your friends? Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and is very much appreciated. Peace and love.
— Steven Ramirez
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