THE MANNEQUINS
Chapter One
“Okay, let’s try this again,” Officer Frick said. “Take your time and start from the beginning.”
“Okay Of-officer,” the man stuttered. “I’ll t-try.” His eyes glazed over and he shuddered uncontrollably.
Frick leaned over and shook him back to reality. “Stay with us, Jack.”
Jack blinked, glanced around, and realized where he was. He took a deep breath. After a few more seconds, he finally felt a bit more like himself. “I’m okay now.” He reached for the glass of water on the table to take a sip, but his hand shook and the contents spilled onto his shirt. He stared at the spreading stain while one of the officers pried the glass gently from his fingers and placed it back on the table.
Frick was patient with him. “Don’t worry about the spill.” He handed him a towel.
Jack wiped his hands and then his face, and tried to get his composure back. He glanced up. “Did they find the boy yet?”
The officers sent each other a silent stare and Frick measured his words. “Not as of yet. We’ve combed through the house three times, but we haven’t turned anything up. We haven’t found any of the mannequins you spoke about either. Except for some old, broken furniture, the place is empty.”
Jack swallowed hard. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you? You don’t believe a word of what I’ve said. I know. I can see it in your eyes.”
Officer Puckett jumped in. “That’s not true. Of course we believe you. We just want to piece together exactly what happened. We know you and seventeen members of a film crew disappeared fifteen years ago. Then, early this morning, you mysteriously show up at exactly the same spot where you originally vanished, disoriented and confused – frantically asking about a boy. We just want to find out where you’ve been all these years. To help you.”
Jack ran his fingers through his thinning hair. He had been thirty-two when he and the film crew first went into the house and though now he was only forty-seven, he could easily pass for sixty. His hair was streaked with white, he felt tired all the time, and he was certain he had developed the beginning stages of arthritis from the constant pressure on his joints. It was the damned house that had done it to him. To everyone.
He rubbed his hand against his cheek, thick with a week’s worth of coarse gray stubble, and felt suddenly anxious. His gaze darted around the room, stopping repeatedly to focus on the long mirror on the wall. Thank God, he couldn’t see his reflection from this angle. He turned to the officers. “Can you bring a different mirror in here? Something smaller that I can hold in my hands?”
Frick nodded at Puckett who sucked in his breath, but left the room to find something. Within two minutes, he was back, and propped a two-foot by two-foot mirror on the floor against the wall. It was nestled in a pink, wooden frame. “This okay? I got it from the women’s lounge.” He tried unsuccessfully to stifle a snicker.
Jack knew they were humoring him. Humor the crazy man, give him what he wants, and maybe he’ll give you the information you needed. He wanted to do just that, but for now, he simply stared at the mirror, thinking. He was glad at the angle it was perched. Again, he couldn’t see his reflection. He wasn’t ready for that yet, and neither were the officers. He pulled his eyes away from the smaller mirror and examined the larger one that took up the majority of the wall.
Jack knew it was a one-way version, that he was probably being observed right now by the police precinct’s psychologists. All of them trying to decide if he was certifiably crazy. Or worse, if he was somehow responsible for the disappearance of all those people.
He clenched his fists. He wasn’t responsible for the others. Damn it, he had been trying to help them. Of course, at the time things had gotten so crazy, it was all he could do to keep himself alive. But his sole responsibility had been the boy and he had screwed that up. They never should have gone into the house. “Damn.”
Frick leaned in close. “What, Jack? You say something?”
Jack sat back in his chair. “Nah, it was nothing. This mirror’s fine.” His gaze drifted to the decanter of water on the table. If he peered closely he could see his reflection in the glass. It was fuzzy and distorted, but he would swear his hair wasn’t combed down as his reflection suggested, and that his eyes were alive, not that dead glaze he saw staring back at him. Jack squinted and shook his head to clear his vision. He had to explain to the officers what had happened to him. It was now or never. He took a deep breath and started speaking.
“We were filming a movie.”
Dedication
This book is dedicated to everyone who helped me believe in the dream... you know who you are.
The Search for Starlight Page 24
