The Medici Mirror

by Melissa Bailey

  ‘And both narratives featured a woman who had disappeared.’

  ‘Do you think the slave girl ran away from the plantation on the night of the storm or do you think she was already dead?’

  I shrugged. ‘Beats me.’ But what had happened to her had been bothering me since Mr Alexander had first told me the story. The thought triggered an image of footprints, patterns of mud across the Frenchman’s house, leading to his body beneath the mirror. I closed my eyes, imagining him staring into its rippling darkness. And that in turn made me think of something else.

  ‘You know, you’ve never told me what you saw in the mirror. If you saw anything, that is.’

  Ophelia looked at me for a second before speaking. ‘No, I didn’t tell you.’ She smiled faintly and I sensed a reluctance in her to talk about it. A moment or two passed. ‘It made me think of my parents,’ she said at last, looking at me. ‘Strange, don’t you think?’

  After she’d shown me the photographs in her locket earlier today, it wasn’t a total surprise. She always played with the locket when she looked into the mirror. But she was right, it was strange. I reached for my drink, catching sight as I did so of the mutilated hippopotamus. Its head, jutting surreally into the corridor of the bar, seemed suddenly ominous, otherworldly. I took a large mouthful and swallowed. The alcohol shot into my system and I felt a momentary rush. ‘Will you tell me exactly what you saw? In detail. I’d really like to know.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Ophelia. Then she took a deep breath. ‘Well, at first, I saw nothing. It was all darkness, the darkness of the mirror’s surface. But the deeper I looked, the more I concentrated, if you like, the more the darkness seemed to clear – or, at least, I appeared to be able to see through it.’

  I nodded. I knew what that was like.

  ‘The cloudy greyness, the blotchiness of the surface, vanished and instead a landscape started to form, the landscape of my dream. The same dream I’ve had since I was a child, the one I told you about.’

  I remembered it clearly.

  ‘First I saw my mother walking down the beach, then I saw my father following.’ She smiled. ‘It was strange. As I looked at them through the mirror, I felt as if I was standing behind both of them, as if I too was on the beach. I could almost feel the sand between my toes, taste the salty tang of the air. And yet I also knew that I was not on that beach, that I was apart from them, separated somehow, watching. But I had the inescapable feeling that I could be part of it if I chose, if I only chose to cross over into it. Do you understand what I mean?’

  I nodded, although I wasn’t sure that I did.

  ‘I saw the curve of the beach, bright in the moonlight, clouds floating over the sea, dappling its surface with patches of deeper darkness. The stars were bright in the sky. I saw my mother turn, smile at the person behind her, my father, touching the imprints she had made in the wet sand with her feet. And I felt an intense joy, an overwhelming happiness, that I had found them again. My mother and my father. And then my father also turned, looking back to the place he’d come from.’

  Ophelia smiled faintly, then a slight frown crossed her face.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’ve had this dream for years, Johnny. Since I was a child. Ever since my father’s death. It has always been the same. Exactly as I’ve just described to you, as I described to you before. The next thing that happens is that my father turns back and begins to follow my mother once more. It’s the way it’s always been.’ Pause. ‘But the last time I looked into the mirror with you something new happened. Something unexpected. My father saw me. I’ve never felt that before. In my dreams I always felt that I was an observer, not a participant. But clearly this time he saw me. I was present. Or at least there was the tantalising possibility that I could be. He smiled at me and beckoned me to go, to join them, to cross over and be with them. Then I saw my mother turn, from further up the beach, and wave at me. She too was gesturing for me to come to them, to follow in their footsteps.’ Pause. ‘And, in that moment, I felt the longing inside me bloom and explode. It was almost too much to bear.’

  I stared at Ophelia, not quite sure what to say next. For a moment, for a reason I couldn’t quite pinpoint, I felt scared.

  ‘Don’t worry, the feeling’s nothing new,’ Ophelia said lightly. But she didn’t meet my eye as she said it and I wasn’t sure that I believed her.

  For a few moments neither of us said anything, each caught up in our own thoughts.

  ‘I found myself thinking a lot about Amelia while I was away,’ said Ophelia, seeming to change the subject. ‘About her disappearance, about what happened to her. And now something else has just occurred to me. What do you suppose she thought of when she looked into the mirror? What do you think she saw?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ I said. But again, I felt a quiver of apprehension in my stomach.

  ‘I have an idea,’ said Ophelia, her voice quiet but resonant against the hum of the conversations in the bar. ‘I think perhaps she thought about her mother.’

  That night Ophelia went to bed early, wiped out by her journey. But my brain was anything but tired. At first I paced around her sitting room, thoughts tumbling through my head. Then, when I couldn’t stay up any longer, I lay in bed beside Ophelia’s slumbering form, longing for my mind to be still and aching for a sleep which wouldn’t come.

  When I closed my eyes I saw the mirror, a mirror touched, polluted somehow, by a Black Queen. Then the image of a dead body flashed beneath my eyelids. But whether it was James or someone else, I couldn’t tell. I opened my eyes, feeling my heart racing in the darkness and sweat prickling against my skin, marking the bed sheet. Closing my eyes again, I saw the dead beckoning, gesturing to those who were still alive, and in the thick darkness around me I struggled to breathe, unsure whether the feeling was in my dreams or in reality. I heard the torrential downpour of warm rain, pounding the dark, rich earth of Louisiana but in the next moment it became the swift, heavy drumming of my heart in my chest. I tried to slow it down, to calm it to a strong, rhythmic beat. I tried to move away from panic and back to myself, to forget everything that haunted me now. Loss, death, madness, the mirror, shapeless haunting forms at the edges of my vision. I closed my eyes to all of it and concentrated on my breathing.

  Whether I slept or not I couldn’t be sure, but my mind was filled with a dark and dreamless emptiness. Out of this, I awoke suddenly. The hairs on my arms were standing to attention and the room felt cold. But it was quiet. For a moment I remained motionless, listening. All I could hear was the quick, shallow breathing of Ophelia beside me, but as the room was in darkness I couldn’t make out her face. I flicked on the lamp and looked at her again. Her eyelids were flickering and she looked as though she was dreaming. I moved closer to her, still studying her face. She looked beautiful as she slept. Suddenly she opened her eyes. When she saw me looking down at her she opened her mouth.

  Then she began to scream.

  41

  THE SOUND WAS shrill, intense, shocking in the quiet of the night. Instantly I sprang away from Ophelia and at the same time she sat upright, increasing the distance between us. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the screaming stopped.

  For a moment a profound silence reigned as we stared at one another. Ophelia’s eyes were wide, terrified, her mouth open as if poised to scream again. More than anything I wanted to prevent that.

  ‘Ophelia, it’s me. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Johnny?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me.’ Instinctively, I looked at myself, standing naked in the middle of her bedroom. ‘It’s me.’

  Still she looked uncertain.

  ‘What is it? What’s going on?’

  ‘Am I dreaming?’

  I looked at her blankly. ‘No, you’re not dreaming,’ I said uncertainly.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head, unsettled by Ophelia’s continuing bewildered gaze. ‘What’s the matter?’ I said again, equally bewildered.

&n
bsp; Ophelia stared at me for a moment or two longer, then turned her head to look around her. She seemed to take in the bedroom, the familiar racks of shoes, the open wardrobe, the desk next to the window, the photographs on the wall beside it. For a few moments she said nothing, simply looking around her – presumably at the familiarity of it all.

  ‘Ophelia, what’s going on?’

  She turned to me for the first time with something that resembled recognition, wrapping her arms around her and hugging herself tightly. ‘I had a nightmare,’ she said at last. She nodded and frowned, took a deep breath and let it go slowly.

  I walked over to the bed and sat down next to her. ‘Are you all right?’

  She looked at me, clearly still distressed, and shook her head.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said, noticing her hesitancy as I leaned forward to take her in my arms. ‘It’s okay,’ I said, again. At first her body felt awkward, resisting my embrace, but eventually, as I continued to hold her, I felt the tension drop away. ‘Are you all right?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, I am now. I’m sorry, I was confused.’

  ‘It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.’ I ran my hands over her hair, again and again, trying to calm her with the repetitive movement. ‘Shall we go and get a drink?’

  ‘Yes, good idea. Something strong.’ And for the first time since she had woken she smiled.

  Ten minutes later, sitting in the warmth of the kitchen, we had drunk two glasses of Jack Daniel’s each. I was pouring us a third when Ophelia finally spoke.

  ‘It was the weirdest thing. You know those dreams where you’re aware that it’s a dream?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘But it feels very real. Not dreamlike at all. And you can’t wake up.’ She frowned and reached for her glass. ‘I remember it all clearly. Probably because it wasn’t new to me.’

  ‘What?’ I really wasn’t following what she was saying. ‘You’d had the dream before?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not making much sense. But perhaps I should just keep going?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, downing my drink.

  ‘It began with darkness. I was surrounded by it. At first I thought I had just woken up and it was the middle of the night. I remember raising my hand in front of my face but I couldn’t see it. It was pitch dark in the truest sense.’

  I looked at Ophelia, beginning to feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Then I realised that I was standing upright, not lying down. I swung my arms at my sides but I couldn’t detect any movement. Just as I was about to panic, I began to see candlelight in front of me. As the flame grew I was able to see where I was. Do you know?’

  I nodded, slowly, unwillingly. I was beginning to feel sick. ‘You were in a small room with a low ceiling, a mirror on the wall to your right and a doorway next to it with a dark passageway beyond.’

  ‘A mirror in which I could see only the very faintest reflection of myself and a passageway which I felt I would never be able to reach.’ Ophelia licked her lips, which I suddenly noticed were pale and dry. Her eyes were wide, afraid. ‘And as I stared into the mirror trying to see something, something in me knew that I should try and get out of the room. That something bad, something terrible had happened there. And yet I couldn’t. Something else stopped me. I could feel it quite distinctly. An overwhelming desire to stay.’

  I nodded again. Strange as it was, this was all familiar territory for me.

  Ophelia took a deep, uneven breath. ‘Suddenly I heard a noise and I turned to see a man sitting in an armchair, his head tilted downwards. On the floor at his feet was a green shoe. He had obviously dropped it and was distressed, muttering and rubbing his hands together. But I couldn’t see his face. I remember trying to but I couldn’t.’ She paused for a moment and took a sip of her drink. ‘Then something came into view on his left. All of a sudden. It was bizarre, very cinematic, like the flickering and then unfolding of a film. I saw a pair of feet, perched on the edge of a bed.’

  Ophelia’s voice cracked and I thought I saw tears begin to well in her eyes. ‘At first I wasn’t able to look beyond the feet and calves. No matter how hard I tried. And all I could think was that it reminded me so much of what you had told me about the dream you had. And that demonstrated to me that it was a dream and that I was conscious of that. Then I saw the feet again, so familiar.’ Ophelia looked at me, her eyes wide, intense and glistening. ‘Finally I was able to make out legs, then a torso and chest. It was a woman’s body, unmoving.’ Ophelia put her hand to her neck instinctively and reached for her locket. She rubbed her fingers over its smooth silver for a moment or two before continuing. ‘And just as in your dream, I couldn’t see her face. But it didn’t matter. My heart filled with a sense of dread and foreboding. I knew her anyway, this woman, and I knew with a sudden certainty what had happened to her. Just as I was about to run from the room, the man looked up and caught sight of me, watching him and the woman in the basement. After all, that’s where it was.’

  She looked at me straight and I nodded.

  ‘And he was suddenly incredibly angry at my presence and what I might have seen take place in that room. He challenged me, asked me what I was doing there, then stood up and approached me. He was dressed in an old-fashioned black suit, with a waistcoat and jacket, and I knew, just like you said to me about your dream, that if he reached me there would be trouble.’ Ophelia hesitated as she looked at me. ‘And I tried to will myself awake. Like I said, I knew it was a dream, and that I should in theory be able to exert control over its outcome. But as the man came to a stop in front of me, very close in front of me, I knew that I had no control over this. The outcome had already been written.’ Ophelia stopped and looked at me, tears in her eyes. ‘And like you, I knew I should have tried harder to escape that place while I had the chance. Now I knew it was too late. He was going to kill me.’ Her voice petered out.

  I stared at her for a second, shaking my head. ‘I’m sorry. It’s horrible, I know. Are you okay?’

  She nodded and took another sip of whiskey. ‘Yes, I’m okay. I didn’t see it, or feel it. I woke up. But I knew how it was going to end.’

  I stared at her. So she had had exactly the same sensation as me even though I too hadn’t died in the dream. I shook my head again. I didn’t understand it. It didn’t make any sense. ‘It’s strange that you should have had a dream like mine – how can that be?’

  Ophelia shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ Pause. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t identical to your dream.’

  ‘No? Sounds pretty similar.’

  ‘Similar, yes. But it was different.’ Ophelia took a deep breath. ‘Your dream was about James and Amelia. You didn’t know it at the time, but it was them.’

  I felt a creeping uncertainty rise up my back. ‘Yes. Yours wasn’t about them?’

  ‘No. It wasn’t.’

  My throat felt suddenly parched. I picked up my glass and then realised that it was empty. Replacing it on the table I saw that my hand was shaking slightly. ‘Who was the man, then, the man seated in the chair?’

  Ophelia paused. ‘It was you.’

  ‘Me?’ My speech stuttered to a halt as I struggled to grasp the implication.

  Ophelia nodded and bit down on her lip.

  I knew I had to ask the question even though I didn’t want to. ‘And the woman on the bed?’

  Ophelia nodded, confirming what I already knew. ‘It was me, Johnny.’ Her voice faltered and then regained itself. ‘It was me.’

  42

  WE STARED AT each other for a long time before I finally broke the silence.

  ‘So you were lying in Amelia’s place on the bed?’

  Ophelia nodded.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I was grasping at straws, I knew, but I couldn’t help it.

  ‘Of course. I knew it from the moment I saw the feet on the bed. They were my feet, Johnny. I’d know them anywhere.’ She added quietly: ‘I’m sure.’

  I nodded, trying to take it in, this picture
of Ophelia inert on the bed in the underground room.

  ‘And before you ask, it was definitely you in James’s place. In the chair and . . . later.’ She exhaled hard, refilling her glass once more. ‘And do you want to know what else I knew?’

  I nodded, although I wasn’t sure that I really did.

  ‘I was dead, Johnny.’ The words fell heavily into the gap between us at the table. ‘The Ophelia lying on the bed was dead.’

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I tried to think. But nothing came other than the obvious. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I just know. In the same way that I knew that the body on the bed was mine, I also knew I was dead. I felt it.’

  The matter-of-fact way in which she said it made me shudder. I opened my eyes and looked at her face. At the green eyes, intense, serious, at her red lips, parted slightly as she breathed harshly. I thought of her dead body lying motionless on the bed, underground in the darkness.

  Suddenly Ophelia spoke. ‘I think Amelia was dead, too. In the dream you had of her.’

  My mind shifted instantly to the same dream of Amelia, moving upwards from her feet and calves, over her thighs and body, halting at the green ribbon draped around her neck. It had looked like a necklace, so innocuous. But perhaps it had been more than that. ‘How are you so certain?’

  Ophelia shrugged. ‘A feeling. Plus the symmetry of the dreams. Everything matches except the people. So if I am dead, she is dead.’

  I took my glass in both hands, needing to anchor myself around something small and real and concrete.

  ‘James killed Amelia. In that basement. I think that’s what Amelia has been trying to lead you to. That I am following in her footsteps and you are following in James’s.’

  I paused for a second before I spoke. I wanted to make sure that this was the inevitable, unavoidable conclusion. ‘So in this dream you just had, you think I killed you?’