Dedicated to all the readers out there
who, on rainy days,
find comfort in the nearest museum.
Table Of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHPATER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR'S NOTE
A PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM DANA
September 15, 2013. Brooklyn, New York
The young girl stared with a terrified gaze at the package in her hands. And with those hands, now trembling, she nervously untied the string laced around it.
When she finally got the cardboard box open and realized what was inside, she shrieked in horror.
An amputated, bloody finger lay at the bottom.
The familiar wedding ring still embracing it.
Next to it, a white envelope flecked with tiny red stains. It took several minutes until the girl managed to reach out her hand.
She took out the note and started reading:
Remember how Daddy taught you counting to ten with his fingers?
Well, not anymore!
And every day, he’ll have one less.
Nine days to go . . .
CHAPTER 1
September 12, 2013. Fairland, Oklahoma
19:57
The captain surveilled the suburban house where the sneaky bastard and his family resided. They’d managed to dodge his vengeful hand for nineteen years – but now it was finally over.
Two of his most loyal soldiers stood beside him, guns loaded. It was time to settle the damn score.
As anxious as the captain was, he knew it was best to wait until it was completely dark so they could go unnoticed.
Like it even fucking matters, he sneered.
Moments later, the sun had finally set. At this stage of the evening, the streets of the town of Fairland were already completely desolate. A tumbleweed could be seen drifting in the breeze, along the side of the road, as if borrowed from a scene in some old western.
I can’t believe you managed to stay in this hellhole for almost twenty years, Webber. I woulda put a bullet in my head a long time ago.
The orders were clear: everyone – but the target – should be eliminated.
The captain signaled his men to get ready.
***
The Mitchells sat down for dinner at exactly eight o'clock, like they did every evening.
“Max, do you know where Becky is?” asked Emily while placing a silver platter of corn on the cob on the table – one of her daughter’s favorites.
“She texted me earlier, saying she would stay for dinner at the Osbornes,” her husband answered. “She and Ashley still have a whole entire chapter on World War I left to study.”
Brandon dropped three steaming cobs from the platter onto his plate. He picked one up and started nibbling through it from side to side.
“And what about you? Get anything interesting in the mail?” his mother asked eagerly.
The nineteen-year-old rolled his eyes before focusing back on the cob. He was supposed to hear back from the colleges he applied to any day now.
“Don’t worry, there’s time,” his father tried to reassure him.
This time Brandon didn’t even bother to lift his gaze from the yellow cob.
“Oh, Max, don’t forget to pick up your suit from the dry-cleaners; Edi and Lily’s wedding is in two days,” Emily changed the subject.
“Mom, do we have any coke?” asked Brandon, finally kind enough to shift his gaze from his plate, only moving it to focus on his empty glass.
“In the fridge . . .” she muttered reluctantly, following her son with her own gaze as he shuffled into the kitchen. She would have preferred that he pour himself some ice water from the pitcher she’d placed in the middle of the table.
“Wait, the wedding is in two days?” exclaimed Max. “Because I’m not sure I’ll have time to–”
An abrupt thud interrupted him; someone had broken through the door. Before he had a chance to get up out of his chair and check what was going on, a blasting gunshot deafened his ears, and his beloved wife’s head slumped onto her plate. The blood trickled from the bullet entry, above her right ear, staining the white tablecloth. Her left cheek lay peacefully on the china plate, her eyes wide-open, glazed, and empty.
Max could barely detach his eyes from the gory scene to look directly at this animal who had just taken his wife from him, now holding his gun straight at him at point-blank range.
The all-too-familiar face struck him at once. He instantly recognized the figure standing before him.
“Where’s Brandon?” demanded the assailant with an evil smirk.
The dumbfounded father’s eyes widened in terror and uncontrollably glanced to the right – giving away his son’s location – a mere second before glaring back at the man who had destroyed his life.
“Over there!” the gunman ordered the man to his left. Only then did Max realize this murderer was not alone.
Too late. The crack of the gunshot – and the deathly silence that followed it – jarred on his ears.
“It only seems fair; an eye for an eye. You took my family from me, so now I’m taking yours.”
At that moment, Max realized that the nightmare he’d feared above all, for all these years, had finally come to his doorstep.
Welcome to hell.
It only takes a moment for your life to fall apart: your wife is killed before your eyes, your son is shot to death, and your sworn enemy stands before you and says, “Your family is already doomed. From now on, I’m your new god. I will decide whether you live or die and exactly how it will happen. I think you understand by now that you have no choice but to play along.”
Max’s steel-blue eyes pierced the man who stood before him: Ray Helborgen, head of the most notorious crime organization in New York. At this point, Max just wanted to tell him to go fuck himself and run straight toward the blessed barrel of his gun; death would become his salvation.
But then he remembered – Becky. A sh
iver ran down his spine. Max couldn’t let anything happen to his innocent daughter. He must save her. Helborgen could never learn about her existence. He had to keep these scumbags away from here before she got back.
“You win, Ray. I’ll do whatever you say. Just get me the hell out of here before I get sick.”
CHAPTER 2
September 12, 2013. Fairland, Arizona
20:03
“Becky,” she heard her name called out, “would you like some more mashed potatoes?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Osborne.”
“She wants to save room for dessert,” Ashley intervened. “You made it very difficult for us to concentrate on the horrors of World War I with the smell of your yummy brownies all over the house.”
Becky laughed, “Guilty as charged.”
“Don’t worry, dear, there’s more than enough brownies to go around,” Mrs. Osborne smiled. “By the way, I got the recipe from your mother. Please make sure to thank her and send her my regards.”
The girl smiled and bit her lower lip with the hint of a smirk. When they were kids, Becky and her brother had always fought about who would get to lick the beaters and bowl with the leftover chocolate-fudge mix.
Actually, who was she kidding? They still fought over it and always would.
“Of course, I will.”
***
A few minutes past nine in the evening, Becky Mitchell strolled down the street leading to her home. Her long, chestnut hair was braided, but the light breeze had blown loose some of the dark locks, forming a lovely frame to her heart-shaped face. A few strands momentarily covered her large hazel eyes, accentuated by soft eyelashes, before she shifted them away. She was wearing a sundress that perfectly complemented her slender figure and long legs. When she left her house that morning, it was still warm, but her short dress didn’t do much in the cool evening. She started walking a bit faster, almost seeming determined.
“Say, do you come here often?” A voiced sounded from behind her.
Becky turned her head as a smile spread across her face. The seventeen-year-old boy had lived next door for as long as she could remember. He held a skateboard under his left arm.
“What did you say, Justin? I can’t hear you from all the way down here.”
Now, his towering, six feet and three inches leaned over her five foot four. It was a lovely sight.
He pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, “I said, ‘Say, do you come here often?’”
Becky shuddered unnoticeably.
“Come on, Justin,” she giggled nervously, “we both know the answer.”
Justin didn’t say a word, but he kept looking at her, his forehead still touching hers. They were close enough for a kiss.
The best defense is a good offense, she thought. She tilted her head to meet his nose with hers and rubbed the tip against his.
“Eskimo kiss,” she said, letting out a timid smile.
Justin looked into her eyes. “Becks, we’re in Oklahoma, not Alaska,” he reminded her with his southern accent. He pressed his lips to hers and kissed her gently.
To her surprise, even though her legs were shaking, the world was still standing.
CHAPTER 3
September 12, 2013. Manhattan, New York
Sharon Davis woke up in a terrible panic. She looked at the time, glowing in a dim red on the alarm clock on her bedside table, and got up at once. It was already 8:37 a.m.; she was late for work.
“It’s Sunday,” mumbled Chris, his head still sunken into the pillow. He was used to his girlfriend being a workaholic.
“Damn it,” Sharon sighed falling back into bed. Her lustrous blond hair spread over the pillow and covered it like a golden cloak.
Chris smiled and turned his head from the pillow to look at her, “Yeah, I’m sorry to tell you that you’re going to have to spend the entire day with me without going to a single crime scene . . .”
Sharon’s cell phone rang before he managed to finish the sentence.
“Why did I have to open my damn mouth?” grumbled Chris, who had waited all week to spend some quality time with his girlfriend – who also happened to be the busiest detective in the NYPD.
Sharon took a long stare at the name on the display screen and frowned. “Don’t worry, it’s not Rob.”
Rob Jackie was the Captain of Midtown South Precinct and Sharon’s direct boss.
“Who is it, then?” he probed. “The commissioner? The mayor? Perhaps the president?” he bantered. The latter was obviously a joke, but ever since Sharon caught the serial killer in the Sleeping Beauties Affair case, phone calls from high-ranking officials did not seem to surprise him anymore.
“Even worse, my mother.”
“No, Mom, of course we didn’t forget,” Sharon said sweetly and, right after, yelled without a sound, “Shit!” like a frustrated mime. “We’ll see you at twelve.” Then, a moment of silence. “Okay, okay, eleven thirty.”
“We’re invited to a Sunday brunch at my parents’ house,” she said with a tight-lipped smile after she’d hung up the call.
“Yeah, somehow, I’ve already managed to figure that out,” he smiled.
It was after 10 o’clock and they were still in bed.
“Why do I get the feeling that we’re gonna to be late?” asked Chris, cuddling with Sharon under the blanket.
Sharon, who had already fallen back asleep curled up in Chris’s arms, enjoying the warmth of his body, opened her eyes wide.
“Oh, no!” she called and immediately sat up. “We have to leave right now!”
“You’re right!” Chris kissed her neck, held her tight, and pulled her back beside him. He twirled her body so she was now facing him. “As soon as possible!” he went on while his kisses migrated toward her breast. “We don’t have a minute to spare!” his muffled voice came from under the sheets. Sharon felt the tingling yet pleasurable delicate sensation of his lips on her abdomen, moving southward.
“Chris, I mean it!” Sharon protested, but the smile creeping to her lips suggested otherwise.
Chris’s head popped out from under the blanket, his sharp jaw slightly tightened, accentuating the cleft in the middle of his chin. His dark hair, still disheveled from last night’s sleep, dropped over his eyes. Sharon stroked his forehead and brushed the strands aside.
“Well, if we’re being serious right now, there’s something I need to tell you.” He gave her a blue stare that provoked an awkward smile.
Sharon’s heartbeat accelerated. She knew Chris felt it since his chest was pressed against hers without a single piece of fabric to come between them.
Sharon wanted to tell him that now wasn’t the right time, that they were late to meet her parents, and it would be better if they talked about this later; but she froze, and the only thing that came out of her mouth was, “What?”
Chris took a deep breath and gazed into her gleaming aqua-marine eyes without looking away even once.
“I love you.”
CHAPTER 4
September 12, 2013. Fairland, Oklahoma
Just entering her home, Becky was sure this was the happiest day of her life.
As she rang the doorbell for the second and third time, she was still immersed in thoughts over what had happened only minutes ago.
Her first kiss – as a sweet sixteen-year-old.
Eventually, she grew impatient and turned the doorknob, only to learn the red front door was already unlocked. She still had not suspected a thing. But as soon as she crossed the threshold, she got a strange feeling.
Something wasn’t right.
Becky marched inside and felt a shiver pass through her whole body. The house was too quiet.
“Mom? Dad?”
The unsettling silence engulfed her.
She advanced toward the kitchen. There was almost always someone in the Mitchell kitchen. On her way, she passed the dining room. It’s weird, no one cleared the dishes, she thought.
And then she saw her mother, slumped ov
er the table.
“Mom? Mom!” Her cries intensified until she screamed with blood-curdling terror. Her heart was racing so intensely that it was physically painful. She could hardly breathe. Everything ached. Her breathing had been reduced to sharp and fragmented inhalations.
Becky leaned toward her mother and held her by the shoulders, pulling her back. Her mother’s head remained slumped, and she had to grip it with one hand while the other was clutching her shoulders protectively. She turned her mother’s face toward her and studied it.
Her mother’s eyes looked straight at her: beautiful, frozen, dead.
A sight that would haunt her forever.
Becky buried her face in her hands and began to cry hysterically. A choked breath interrupted her sobs; she raised her head and looked to the sides, “Dad? Brandon?”
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye she saw the refrigerator door standing wide open. She propped her mother up gently, letting the slanting head hang over the back of the chair, and ran to the kitchen.
Her older brother was lying on the floor. A giant red stain had spread on his white T-shirt at the center of his chest.
She knelt on the floor beside him, “Brandon? Brandon?”
She pressed two fingers to his neck but couldn’t detect a pulse.
Becky raised her head and screamed out in desperation, “Dad?”
She felt lost, helpless, not sure what to do. She barely stood on her feet. With trembling hands, she took a clean kitchen towel from the closet and pressed it against Brandon’s chest in frantic desperation, attempting to stop the bleeding. Then, she immediately pulled out her cell phone from her bag and called the police.
The ambulance took nearly fifteen minutes to finally get there. They were the longest fifteen minutes of her life.
CHAPTER 5
September 12, 2013. Fairland, Oklahoma
The False Mirror Page 1
