by R. L. Austin
2
DARK SIDE OF THE MIRROR Page
DARK SIDE OF THE MIRROR
R.L. AUSTIN
Copyright © 2011 by R.L. Austin.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, downloaded, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the express written permission of R.L. Austin. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover illustration by Herbert Pleiman Jr., http://www.herbchenart.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many thanks to those who helped in the transition of this story from first draft to finished product. Thanks to Mike Blair, Joy Simpson, Bob Whidden, and Nathan Chambers for their editing, critiques, and suggestions; to my mother for her unwavering faith in my talent; to Herb Pleiman for his wonderful cover art, and to everyone else for their support.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 1
The aging taxi pulled out of traffic and rattled to a stop. Emily, sitting between her parents, was staring at the grimy floorboard when her mother touched her arm.
“Emily, we’re here.”
The taxi was parked in front of a large Victorian-style house, a mansion, really. Three stories tall with a big wrought iron gate, the bulky structure loomed over the modest homes on either side. The front of the house was adorned with an abundance of trim work, all of it painted dark green. The trim stood out in sharp contrast to the brown shingle siding that overlapped, row upon row, in a pattern that reminded Emily of dragon scales.
Emily knew her grandmother had been wealthy, but no one said anything about living in a mansion. Her mother, Jean, had grown up in this house, so Emily turned to her for explanation. Jean was staring at the house with the whimsical smile of a childhood memory, making Emily decide her question could wait.
It was difficult for Emily to imagine her mother growing up in a place as foreign as San Francisco. Emily was born and raised on the opposite coast, in Manhattan. To her, the Big Apple was home, and she had always thought of her family as New Yorkers, through and through.
Emily’s father, Paul, hopped out and circled the taxi to open the opposite door. “Okay, everybody out.”
Jean slid out and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Paul, I can’t believe we’re here. I expected the house to look different, but it hasn’t changed at all. Mansel did mention in one of his letters that he made some changes to the inside. I hope he didn’t do anything to my old room. It would mean so much to see it again, just like it was.”
Emily sighed at the thought of her uncle. Mansel, what a crazy name! He was Jean’s older brother, but there was little family resemblance. Jean was tall and graceful, with masses of black hair and green eyes that in the right light were flecked with gold. She was polite and proper to a fault, but she also had a down-to-earth spirit that put even the most reserved person at ease. Mansel, on the other hand, was all arms and legs below a thick mat of wiry gray hair and a perpetual scowl. He wore the same clothes every day, or at least it seemed that way; a long jacket over a button-down shirt and trousers, and always in black. Emily imagined his closet filled with rows of matching outfits, each of them hanging like a deflated Mansel balloon.
Emily hadn’t seen her uncle since the family gathered a year earlier to mourn her grandmother’s death. Unsettled by the memory, Emily fingered her necklace, a green amulet, while she reflected on her grandmother’s last visit and the call they received from the police in the middle of the night. They had discovered her car, smashed and burned down to the tires. Rescuers were able to recover a body from the wreckage, but it was burned beyond recognition. Even dental records were deemed inconclusive, but the medical examiner issued a death certificate anyway.
The tragedy had emotionally overwhelmed Jean, and Mansel hurt her even more by producing a will that left everything to him, including the house. Jean had shown it to an attorney, only to return from his office in tears and without the spirit to challenge her brother’s claim to the family estate.
Mansel didn’t come out of the house to greet them, so Emily followed her parents through the heavy iron gate and up a wide set of stairs made of chiseled stone. The wide front porch had once been painted brown, but the paint was peeling and the wood planks had become warped and uneven, making the entrance to the large house look shabby and uninviting. Emily dropped her suitcase onto a worn-out doormat with only the faintest hint of Welcome still legible. A massive wooden entry door, painted black, dominated the front of the house.
Emily was looking for a doorbell when Jean lifted a wrought iron door knocker with a triangular pendant that must have weighed ten pounds. Emily couldn’t believe it was real. “Is that thing a joke?”
“No, dear, it’s real.” The knocker came down with a boom that echoed through the house like a cannon shot. There was no way anyone would miss that racket.
They waited a polite moment before Paul used the knocker again. The second report was even louder. When no one came to the door, Paul looked at Jean. “Mansel does know we’d be here this morning, doesn’t he?”
Her father looked mildly irritated, but Emily was having trouble working up the energy to get annoyed. She just wanted to sit by herself and mope about leaving her friends.
Jean leaned over the porch railing to look in the nearest window, but the curtains had been drawn. “I’m sure he does. I sent him three letters with details of our flight and what time we would arrive.”
Paul shook his head. “I can’t believe the man doesn’t have a telephone. It would have made this a lot easier.”
“I know, dear. But you know how Mansel can be.”
Emily knew her uncle was strange, but she still found it hard to imagine anyone not having a phone. She looked down at the suitcase at her feet, wondering what they would do if her uncle wasn’t home. They had nowhere else to go, which made her feel like a vagabond, and in a way, she was. Paul was a former boxer turned corporate accountant, and he didn’t make a huge salary, so their relocation to the West Coast had pinched the family’s finances. They couldn’t afford to buy a house right away, forcing Emily’s parents to make the difficult decision to move in with her uncle.
“It will be for only a couple of months,” her mother had promised back in New York. “Three, at most.”
Emily dreaded the thought of living under someone else’s roof, but she was determined to act mature and not complain.
Her father was tapping his foot when the door finally opened with a rusty screech that raised the hairs on the back of Emily’s neck. She leaned forward, half expecting to see a butler wearing white gloves, but the doorway was empty. That’s creepy.
“Go away,” a voice growled.
The door started to close, but Jean quickly stepped forward. “Mansel, it’s us.”
The heavy wooden door creaked open again, this time wide enough for Emily to see her uncle. The house behind him was dark, so his black clothes and gray hair made him look like a disembodied head. Okay, that’s even creepier.
“Is today the day? I forgot.”
Mansel stood in the doorway, unsmiling, until Jean asked, “Can we come in?”
“You’re here now, so I suppose you should.” He shuffled back until he was swallowed in darkness.
Emily tried not to be obvious as she leaned over and whispered to her mother, “Why is it so dark in there?”
She was surprised to see her mother’s poised expression dissolve. “Um, I know I should have told you before now, but your grandmother never got around to installing a modern electrical system, and as far as I know, Mansel hasn’t done it either.”
Emily’s mouth fell open. “You mean there’s no electricity?”
“No, that’s not what I said. The house does have electricity,” Jean assured her, “but it’s a very old system and not always reliable.”
Emily breathed a sigh of relief when a light came on inside the house. It wasn’t very bright, but it was steady.
They entered the house and Emily stopped dead in her tracks. The house looked more like a Hollywood movie set than a home. An ornate marble staircase swept up the right side to a wide balcony framed by floor-to-ceiling curtains that were so black they absorbed the light around them. The ceiling itself was hidden in a gloom that the feeble light of a single chandelier was unable to penetrate, and the walls were covered in an old-fashioned wallpaper with the deep red color of blood. It was all so outlandish that Emily felt an urge to laugh, but no one else was smiling.
Jean gave her brother a minimal hug. “Thank you, Mansel, for allowing us to stay here until we get back on our feet.” She leaned back, still holding his shoulders, and looked him over. “You look pretty much the same, except for that scar.”
Emily could also see the scar. It was over her uncle’s right eye, and she didn’t remember it from a year before.
Mansel shrugged his sister off. “It’s nothing. And now that you’re here, I have some rules that must be obeyed.”
Emily stiffened with amazement, and annoyance, at her uncle’s brusque manner. He could at least say hello before he started talking about rules. She looked at her parents, wondering how they would react to Mansel’s rude welcome. Paul had his eyes closed, as if he were concentrating on something very important. Emily recognized the expression; it meant he was struggling to control his temper. Her mother, however, surprised her by nodding her head in acceptance. “Yes, Mansel, I knew there would be.”
“Good. Rule number one. No one goes into my study.”
“Understood, right Emily?” Jean turned to her with a raised eyebrow, waiting for a reply.
“Uh, sure.” Emily wondered where her uncle’s study was and why it was off limits. Not that she wanted to go in his study anyway.
“Rule number two. No electronics of any kind.”
Emily heard it clearly, but the implications were just beginning to penetrate her tired brain when Jean said, “Okay, Mansel, we won’t use any electronics.”
“What?” Emily’s startled cry echoed in the stillness of the house. “But what about all of my things: my TV, my mp3, my computer?” Emily grabbed her green amulet necklace and rubbed the smooth stone. It always gave her comfort when she was feeling stressed. Paul put a commiserating hand on her shoulder, but her mother stared past her with a pained expression that confused Emily.
“Emily.” Jean paused to take a deep breath. “We are now in Mansel’s house. As long as we are under this roof, we will abide by his rules. Is that understood?”
This can’t be happening. It’s impossible! And why is Mom acting this way? Emily couldn’t think of an explanation, and her mind went fuzzy from the effort, but practical thoughts snapped her out of a growing mental daze. Without her phone she couldn’t text her best friend Tracy, or her other friends. She’d be isolated. “My phone, can I at least—”
“Emily!” Jean cut her off. “Not inside this house. Those are Mansel’s rules, and I won’t tell you again.”
A protest was forming in Emily’s mind when she noticed a tear sliding down her mother’s cheek. This was only the second time Emily had seen her mother cry, and it snapped her out of her own self-pity long enough to grasp the situation. Mansel had waited until they arrived to make his demands, and by doing so, he put his sister in a horrible position. With nowhere else for them to stay Jean couldn’t refuse to follow her brother’s rules, and to make matters worse, she had to enforce them.
Emily knew she’d hate herself for making her mother feel any worse than she already did, but something had to be done. She looked at her father, hoping he would stand up to her uncle. Paul was staring at the ceiling with clenched teeth, and Emily watched him twist the handle on his briefcase until it snapped. The black case fell to the floor at his feet, as helpless without its handle as Emily was feeling.
The situation wasn’t going well, not at all. The only person left to appeal to was her uncle. “Uncle Mansel, I promise to use my headphones when I watch TV or listen to music. You won’t even hear it.”
Her uncle stared at her necklace before he deadpanned. “I didn’t say anything about volume. I said no electronics. That should be easy enough to understand, even for a child.”
His response was so emotionless that Emily was still trying to form a reply when he announced, “Rule number three. Jean, you and your daughter will dress like women, not men. Women wear dresses.”
Emily was already struggling with her uncle’s second rule, so the new one pushed her beyond a breaking point. “No way! I won’t do it.”
Jean grabbed her arm. Not hard, but firmly enough to get her attention. “Emily, we’ll discuss this later.”
Emily gaped at her mother, open mouthed, but another tear was running down Jean’s cheek as she turned back to Mansel. “Yes, we will follow your rules as long as we are under this roof.”
“But…but…” Emily sputtered.
Jean squeezed her arm before she could say anything more. “Emily included.”
Emily opened her mouth to object, but she could feel her mother shaking, and her protest died with her mother’s first sob. It had taken her uncle only minutes to destroy her life. No electronics, no phone, and she had to wear dresses. Emily’s thoughts were reeling, but it didn’t take long for shock to give way to anger, not at her parents, but at her uncle. He had lured them in, only to manipulate them with rules they couldn’t challenge. Jean might be his sister, and making her cry was probably Mansel’s way of proving he was in control, but Emily hated him for it. Jean’s continued sobbing pushed Emily to decide that her uncle would never see her cry, no matter what he did or how hard he tried.
“Very well.” Mansel turned away as if nothing unusual had happened. “Your rooms are this way.”
Emily quickly stepped in front of her mother and planted her feet. “Are you okay?” Paul also turned his back on Mansel and added a comforting arm around Jean’s shoulders.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Jean put on a brave smile. “This was a bit of a surprise, but I’m tougher than I look.”
Mansel led them up the sweeping staircase to the second floor. “This way.” The three of them followed him down a long hallway until Emily’s uncle stopped at a nondescript door and turned to Jean. “This will be your room.”
Jean took a protective position in front of Emily and stiffened her back. “Thank you, Mansel. This will be fine for us, but what about Emily? I would like her room to be near ours.”
“She’s on the third floor.”
Jean unexpectedly smiled for the first time. “In Nana’s old room?”
Emily could see the look of excitement on her mother’s face, but she didn’t know why. She also wondered who Nana was.
“Yes. My study must be quiet, and that is the farthest room.” There was no emotion in her uncle’s voice.
Jean wrapped her arm around Emily’s shoulder and squeezed. “Emily is mature for her age, and she’s quiet. You’ll see.”
Emily was still upset about her uncle’s rules, bordering on disbelief, but she was grateful for her mother’s praise.
“All children are loud.” Mansel snapped before he turned and stalked away. The back of his black jacket was wrinkled and dusty, as if he had been dragged across the floor.
Emily helped her parents
lug their belongings to their room. When they were alone, Jean faced Emily and Paul. She looked tired and worn. “I’m so sorry you two had to go through that. I didn’t think—”
Paul was quick to stop her by placing a finger on her lips. “Shh. You don’t need to apologize, dear. Your brother is a bona fide ass, but I’ve already come up with a plan to get us out of here. My first meeting on Monday is with the division chief. His name is John...something-or-other. I used to work with him in New York. He’s an okay guy. I’ll ask him if it’s possible to get an advance on my salary. If he approves, we can be out of here in a week. Even an apartment would be better than this.”
Jean put on a brave smile. “Paul, I appreciate what you want to do, but we have enough debt as it is. Let’s all stick to the plan so we can save our money. I can deal with Mansel, honestly. It’s only three months out of our lives, and before you know it this will be a bad memory.”
“More like a nightmare,” Emily quipped.
Jean laughed. “You won’t get any argument from me.” Her eyes were still liquid as she cupped Emily’s chin in the palm of her hand and looked at her. “But I would be so thankful if we could stick together and make the best of this situation until we do get out of here. Please?”
Emily opened her mouth to launch another protest against the ban on electronics, but stopped when Paul wrapped them both in his arms and gave Jean a kiss. “You are amazing, honey, and that’s why I married you. Okay, I’m in.”
With her parents united, Emily felt even more desperate. “But—”
“Okay, then it’s settled.” Jean cut off Emily’s protest before it could get going. “We are going to stay here until we’ve saved a little money.” Emily still wanted to protest, but her mother rushed on to the next subject. “It’s time for you, young lady, to see your new bedroom. Follow me; I have a surprise for you.”
Emily lowered her brows, “Am I going to like this one?”
