The Girl in the Mirror

by Philip J. Gould

  “SOMEBODY LET ME USE THE BATHROOM!” she screamed.

  The sound of keys jangled and the door opened. The American appeared once again. He carried in a bedpan and placed it on the corner table alongside the half-empty jug.

  “This is the best we can do for the moment,” he replied. Using a flick-knife the American removed the cable ties securing Harriet’s ankles to the chair legs and then from his pocket he retrieved a small key. Walking behind the restrained woman, he inserted the key into the hand cuffs and removed them.

  Harriet turned and watched him leave the room.

  “Well that’s just perfect!” she spat, standing up on unsteady legs. Her limbs felt numb and wobbly from sitting for so long, her muscles weak and pulpy as though made from Play-Doh. She staggered across to the table, almost fell owing to the injury to her leg sustained during the accident, and used the table’s edge to hold herself up. She picked up the bedpan with her other hand, a look of disgust on her face. She glanced up at the glowing LED light above the door. “Go ahead and watch for all I care!”

  Across a short hallway, within a small box room that was no larger than a utility cupboard, dark in contrast to the cell where Harriet found herself, sat Dominic, sporting a bandage wrapped around his head. With him was the older American, Mitch.

  Mitch had a matching dressing to that on Harriet, secured to his head, thanks to the woman they now watched. Unlike Harriet he also paraded a purply-blue bump. Slightly concussed, he’d sought medical attention (together with Dominic) as soon as he’d secured the target at the safe location.

  In front of them was a bank of a dozen CCTV monitors, each display about fourteen inches in diameter. Most of the screens were off, but one was on. Harriet was preparing herself to go to the toilet. Mitch was too busy making a cup of soup to be interested. He emptied a sachet of tomato flavouring into a steaming mug of hot water, using a pen to stir it.

  The younger American stepped into the office a moment later, tossing the handcuffs onto a table.

  “Well,” Mitch licked the excess soup from the end of his pen and placed it back into the breast pocket of his shirt, “d’you think she’ll play along with our game?”

  “She’ll play along. One way or another.”

  “You know Dom… you should have told us her son was with her. It’s a shame we left him behind. It would have made things a lot easier and given us more leverage.”

  “Well DERR! Maybe the concussion had something to do with my lapse of memory!” Dominic stood up, grunting: “I’m going to go and get some air.” He pushed past Brayden muttering: “Prat,” under his breath.

  The door to the surveillance room closed and Brayden smiled towards his colleague. “I love the British,” he said. “They have such a knack with words... such a great vocabulary.”

  Mitch shrugged indifferently.

  Harriet was still standing − one leg taking most of the weight whilst the other hung loosely − when the American walked back into the room. At least ten minutes had passed since he’d left her to her business.

  “I trust you feel much better,” he said wrinkling his nose at the cloying smell of vomit and the fragrance of urine in the room. “Sorry that housekeeping hasn’t been by to clean this up,” he indicated the mess about the floor. “Staffing shortage.”

  Harriet stood quietly, impassive.

  “My name is Brayden Scott. I work for, shall we say, an interested third party. I have it under good authority that you may have access to, or information about, something that is very valuable, very dangerous and very useful; if in the wrong hands, it poses a very real security threat to my country.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about Mr Scott.” Harriet limped back to the chair that she’d woken to find herself attached to and sat down. On close inspection, the bruising sustained in the car accident to her left leg, just below the knee, was swollen to twice its normal size; a bubble of fluid had appeared just below the surface of the skin and threatened to erupt. Ignoring the pain she diverted her attention to the American in the room. She felt a little intimidated by him, like a naughty school girl sitting in the headmaster’s office.

  Brayden considered the woman for a moment; her banged up features gave her the look of a mugging victim. “Harriet, I think you do. And you are going to tell me what you know… and do a little something for us,” he walked around the room slowly, “… one way or another.”

  “Are you trying to frighten me?”

  Brayden smiled and shook his head gently from one side to another. “Not yet – this is nothing − but soon. First, I need you to understand something. The organisation I work for is not afraid to use whatever it takes to get what we want. We are quite resourceful.”

  “And what organisation would that be, Mr Scott?”

  “Well,” he chuckled, “we’re not the WWF, let’s put it that way… but that’s beside the point. The point is we usually get what we want. Now, Harriet, if you don’t mind me calling you that, let’s put all unpleasantness behind us.”

  For a long moment there was silence. Brayden walked to the other side of the room, his back to the woman, allowing her time to consider her options.

  “What is it you want?” she asked finally.

  Brayden walked back and stood in front of the seated woman. “Before I answer that, you should understand that I know all about your husband’s work, about the girl Sophie, and her abilities. I know that you’ve been on the run for almost two years, and that there are unanswered questions surrounding the explosion at your husband’s research laboratory.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I’ve already said Harriet, we are quite resourceful.”

  “My husband had nothing to do with that explosion. We are innocent.”

  “If that was true, why do you run?”

  “Because they mean to kill us like they killed his lab team.”

  Brayden shrugged. “I think your husband has been liberal with the truth. If what you say was right, then I can understand your reasons. But I don’t believe he’s been honest − in fact I know he hasn’t − but that’s all by the by. That’s not why we’re here.”

  “Okay, so what then?”

  “So, Harriet… you have the ability to persuade someone to help us in procuring something very valuable.”

  “George would never give Sophie up.”

  “Calm down, calm down,” he ushered her with lowering hands, as though he were urging her to put something dangerous down. “Harriet, hear me out.” Brayden crossed to the corner table and leant against it once again. “We don’t want Sophie,” he said earnestly, thinking: Not yet! “But we do need her help.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “We want her to steal something.”

  “Something?” she quizzed.

  “Just a diamond.”

  “A diamond? All this is about a robbery?” she sneered. “You’re nothing more than common criminals?”

  “I assure you we are more than that,” Brayden chuckled.

  “George would never agree to it.”

  “Well, I guess that’s where you come into it.” Brayden’s smile disappeared and his tone turned serious. “Your husband will either help us liberate this diamond we so very much want, or he will collect your body parts, piece by piece, in the mail until either he eventually complies, or there’s nothing left of you to send back.”

  Harriet allowed the gravity of what the American had said sink in before speaking. Half a minute passed.

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  Brayden smiled again − he was always smiling − and shrugged. “You can’t, but you’ve little choice.” Reaching into his trousers he removed a mobile phone and handed it to the seated woman. “Here. Call your husband. Let him know you are
all right, then tell him what we want. Make sure he understands the severity of the situation.”

  “Okay. What then?” Harriet rolled the handset over and over in her hands for a moment.

  Brayden smiled ruefully. Reaching into his trouser pocket he retrieved a tube of Extra Strong Mints and pressed one out. He offered the sweets to Harriet. She waved them away.

  Sucking on a mint, he returned his attention to Harriet. “Tell him to meet us in Ed’s Easy Diner in the London Trocadero tomorrow, 12:00 p.m. He can order lunch, they do a fantastic burger. We will give him further instructions there.”

  Harriet righted the mobile and pressed a button to illuminate the screen. She proceeded to key in her husband’s mobile number and then hit the green ‘call’ button. A few seconds passed before the ringing tone started. She imagined her husband’s phone ringing, the opening chords of a Queen song filling the void wherever he was currently located. The ringing tone continued for longer than she expected and when she had all but given up on it being answered, the ringing tone was replaced by silence. Then:

  Hello? The voice was distant and tiny, also somewhat metallic. The line was crackling with interference.

  “George? It’s Harry,” she said.

  Mitch and Dominic sat in the small surveillance cupboard glancing every so often towards the bank of monitors in front of them. Still only one was currently activated. Through a set of speakers they listened to the telephone conversation between Harriet and her husband George, Brayden having configured the surveillance equipment to tap into the call being made on his mobile. Not only did the equipment play the call for all to hear, it also recorded it for future playback and analysis.

  Despite the significance of the call, Mitch showed more interest in his cup of soup which was now cool enough to drink. He slurped at it noisily; a thick trickle of dark orange liquid ran a line down his chin.

  Dominic gave the balding guy a disgusted look.

  Undeterred by the Englishman’s look of contempt, upon finishing the soup he belched loudly. “That’s better,” he said, before using the back of his hand to wipe the residue that ran down the lower part of his face.

  “You’re disgusting, d’you know that?”

  “All part of the package deal,” Mitch replied airily, silent satisfaction at how easy it was to get under the younger man’s skin.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sophie

  “Hello Meredith. So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

  Meredith was stunned into silence, overcome by the emotion that came with seeing the friend she thought lost when her father had uprooted and moved them from the old house. She broke out into a big cheesy ‘clown’s’ grin that threatened to split her whole face in two.

  “Wo-ah, this is not real,” Stanley said sceptically. He was looking at the blonde girl that appeared in the mirror as though seeing the coolest illusion in the world. “Is this some kind of magic trick, like in Snow White?” he started to laugh a lunatic’s cackle. “Mirror mirror, on the wall, who’s the ugliest of them all…” then putting on a girl voice, he ventriloquially mimicked the girl in the mirror: “Meredith,” starting to laugh hysterically.

  Meredith punched her brother in the arm.

  “Hey! That hurt!”

  Meredith scowled at Stanley before turning to the mirror. “I’m sorry about him… my brother is an idiot half the time, and a complete moron for the rest.”

  “Hello Stanley,” Sophie said, walking closer to the mirror so that she stood more in prominence. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Taken aback, Stanley shook his head, as though trying to clear a dream from his mind. He spoke slowly: “You… know… my… name?”

  “I know all there is to know about you Stanley Theodore Jennings.”

  Stanley looked sternly at his sister, his eyes stabbing daggers at her. He hated his middle name and now Meredith was sharing it with the entire world. Why did he have to be burdened with an old fogey name like Theodore? Just because it was the name afforded to his grandfather, whom he was named after, and who he had not seen since before all the moving and hiding, he thought it a bit cruel of his parents to burden him in such a way.

  Meredith began to laugh. “Stanley. Meet Sophie… she’s a friend.”

  “Actually, Meredith… Stanley… I am a bit more than a just a friend,” she went sheepish. “You see, I’ve not been entirely honest.”

  “What do you mean? Are you saying you’re NOT our friend?” Meredith spoke solemnly, articulating each word deliberately.

  “No, silly. Meredith…” Sophie was smiling and began to beam. “I’m not your friend because... I’m your sister.”

  The two siblings were stunned to silence.

  “Sister?” Meredith finally whispered. She was shaking her head slowly, in disbelief. “But… how…? I mean… when…?” Lost for words. “Does my mother know?”

  Sophie nodded.

  “I’m sure you have lots of questions Meredith – both of you – but I’m too exhausted to explain. It’s a long story.”

  “You can’t drop something like this without at least telling us something!”

  Sophie sighed theatrically, reluctantly conceding. “Very well, go on then, just the one question.”

  Meredith considered her options for a moment, mulling over what question to ask. She was deliberating in such a manner that Sophie thought that maybe she’d asked the girl to name her final request before being executed. After a moment, before Meredith had time to speak, Stanley blurted out:

  “Why do you live in my sister’s mirror?”

  Sophie laughed. It was genuine, full of mirth.

  “Seriously?” Meredith thumped her brother in the arm again. “I’m gonna kill you!”

  “Owww! I’m telling mum!”

  Sophie chuckled at the sibling rivalry, at the petty squabbles, at the overreactions, the idle threats and the actual lashing out. She was almost unable to stop laughing. She felt a wave of envy, wishing she’d experienced her brother and sister’s relationships instead of being locked away, a virtual prisoner.

  “I don’t ‘live’ in Meredith’s mirror, silly! It’s just easier for you to see me when I’m… like this. Here-,” Sophie rustled about and reached into her backpack, retrieving a pair of special glasses and dropped them onto Meredith’s bed. To Stanley and Meredith they just appeared from nowhere, like an apparition. “Please, put them on... you’ll see... literally.”

  Stanley gasped: “Are you like Harry Potter?” he asked, overawed by what appeared to be more magic.

  “If you put the glasses on Stanley, you will be able to see me.”

  “What, like magic?”

  “Yes, Stanley,” impatient, “just like magic.”

  Stanley picked up the glasses. They were heavier than the Spiderman sunglasses he wore outside, and a bit too big for his head, but he tried them on and held them into place with both hands.

  “Whooa… this is soooo cool!” He raised the glasses above his eyes, then lowered them, raised them, then lowered them again, watching as Sophie would ‘appear’ then ‘disappear’, ‘appear’ then ‘disappear’ before his very eyes. He did this three or four more times before Meredith snatched the glasses from him, removed her spectacles and looked through them herself.

  “So you ARE real!” Meredith reached out to the young woman and, taking Sophie by surprise, embraced her. “I thought you lived in the mirror, or that I’d imagined you,” she started to cry. “I thought you were gone for good,” she sniffed dramatically, “I’ve missed you so much; I’ve missed you terribly, but I don’t understand... I don’t understand any of this. How’ve you gotten SO big since last time?”

  Sophie returned the hug, running her hands through Meredith’s long, blonde hair, touching the nape of her neck, feeling h
er slender shoulder and the subtle contours of her back. I’ve missed this, she thought to herself; the love and affection afforded to most children growing up was something that she’d never experienced. A simple hug had very rarely been offered to her, not even by her father. Being isolated from the world was more than just lonely, it was desperate – ostracised for no reason other than being different; a science experiment where no one had cared about the repercussions. Even Quasimodo, a freak of nature, had an inkling as to why he was forced to spend his life in the bell tower of the Notre Dame.

  “I will answer all your questions soon enough,” she said wearily, “but first I am famished. Can you get me some food? I’ve not eaten since breakfast and growing up is hungry work.”

  “I will try,” said Stanley. “That’s only if Slocum hasn’t eaten it all.”

  “Who is Slocum?”

  “Mrs Slocum, our dad’s idea of a babysitter; an ogre of a woman with the appetite of a silverback gorilla,” answered Meredith.

  “She looks like one too,” joked Stanley. “She gives me the heebie-jeebies,” he said, pointedly. “Ghosts are not as scary as she is.”

  “I’m sure she isn’t half that bad,” Sophie mused. “But be careful all the same. My being here, keep it a secret, I have enough problems as it is without freaking out some strange adult?”

  “Well, derr!” Stanley disappeared from the room, closing the bedroom door behind him. The sound of his feet echoed as he stomped down the stairs.

  “I envy you all,” Sophie said sadly. “I wish I could have been part of your family.”

  “But Sophie, you are. You’re our sister.”