The Mirror Apocalypse

by John Ayang

  “We’ve all been there, buddy,” a gentleman at the next table concurred, and the laughter went one more round.

  Jennifer was all apologies, “I am so sorry. Oh dear, I am. I just wanted to give you a hug…”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Cletus replied, trying to calm her. “So, quit flogging yourself so much.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Jennifer said.

  “I’m going to do a good job of that on you later,” Cletus added, drawing another round of boisterous laughter. Jennifer playfully whipped him with her cloth napkin, stifling her own laughter with a pretty pout.

  After lunch, they drove slowly along Seawall Boulevard, sightseeing. The sea itself was a beautiful opal color simmering under the bright spring sun. It was pleasantly breezy. Jackdaws and seagulls hovered lazily, floating on the breeze over the waters, or flapped about contending with one another over some piece of food or another. Eventually Cletus parallel-parked his car, sandwiching it in line with others parked along one lane of the boulevard. They got out and sauntered languidly along one of the piers.

  “Let’s take some pictures,” Jennifer suggested, eagerly. “I haven’t had a picture of me on a sea background. The atmosphere is good, the sun bright and the color of the water is exquisite.”

  “You want to take pictures because you see me with a camera, or you knew I was coming out here for that?”

  “I saw you pack the camera when we left Houston,” Jennifer replied.

  They started to snap each other’s portraits and full pictures. Then they enlisted the service of another young couple who was passing by. After a few snaps, Cletus went and whispered to the couple, out of Jennifer’s earshot. Then he ran back and stood beside her for one more shot. What happened next took Jennifer by surprise yet again. Cletus quickly got in front of her, got on one knee, popped open a tiny box with a twelve-carat diamond stuck inside the slit of a blue velvet bed, and asked, “Jennifer Ellen Trudeau, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  “What?!” Jennifer shouted, brows raised, eyes popping, mouth ajar. She breathed heavily for a second before finding her voice. “You are crazy!”

  “Yeah, since we became conscious of each other as we grew up, I have been. And I think it’s time to cure me of the craziness,” Cletus prattled graciously, looking up at Jennifer with a smiling face like a toddler eager for maternal ministrations. Jennifer was still wordless and breathing heavily. She looked at the couple filming the little drama, looked at Cletus kneeling in front of her and looked at the couple again. Other strollers had stopped briefly to watch the well-known event going on. “Well, we aren’t going to be here all day. And besides the pier board is good wood, you know, hard and unyielding.”

  Jennifer looked around at the many eyes now trained on her from smiling faces, all waiting to begin applauding. She breathed faster and, almost panting, shouted, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” three times, as Cletus slipped the ring onto her finger. Then he got up, swept her off her feet, and kissed her hard on the mouth. The dam of applause broke. Laughter and claps intermingled with the cooing of oohs and ahs greeted the newly engaged couple. After what seemed like the longest kiss that a couple ever took on a pier, Cletus and Jennifer tore themselves away from each other’s mouths and posed for one more picture. Then, hand in hand, they walked back to their car amidst the waving and congratulations from the small crowd that witnessed the little ceremony. Later that afternoon, driving back to Houston, they chatted all the way about their future together. Jennifer was almost like a tipsy teenager in love. She gave her man more than his fair share of smiles for a day, and wouldn’t finish a sentence without patting him on the hand or rubbing him gently on the shoulder.

  Barbara and Crystal drove over to the McCarthys’ that evening, to share in the engagement party which Cletus insisted was a family affair. It was not really a party, but a gathering of family to wish the engaged couple well. Not all in the family were there. Emma and Trevor Henson were out of town on a two-day visit to Corpus Christi with their daughter and son-in-law. John McCarthy had taken Stacy Donovan to Beaumont for the weekend and they were not getting into Houston until near midnight. But they all got the news by phone and, John and Stacy were so happy to announce that they, too, got engaged while in Beaumont. Thereafter, and for the next few days, the two newly engaged couples had to spend a lot of time arguing to convince family members that they did not conspire to get engaged the same day. Dr. Josef Horacek got the news by phone, too, and expressed his happiness for the couples. The party went on well into the evening. Barbara helped Hannah run the kitchen. Crystal forgot to hang out with her brother and, instead, did more of that with Jennifer. Cletus, Josh, and Stephen hung around the barbecue pit, beer cans in hand, flipping T-bones and discussing sports, including the latest homeruns and touchdowns. Eventually, Cletus couldn’t keep it all in the family. Their neighbors, the Roberts and the Tates, got to hear about it and breezed in to wish the newly engaged a happy life together. By ten o’clock that night, everybody was heading home, the following day being a work day. Hannah and Stephen stayed on in the sitting room watching the news while Cletus and Jennifer went upstairs to his room. They slept together in his room that night, the first time to do so, with the full knowledge of Hannah and Stephen McCarthy.

  For Cletus McCarthy, life was good. He was well on the way to new beginnings, a new life, and, in fact, a new chapter in the history of the McCarthy family. He was traveling in three days to Norfolk to spend time with Dr. Joseph Horacek. He made plans to scout out the possibility of moving there with Jennifer after their wedding. If he found Norfolk not very beckoning, New York was going to be the next option. Dr. Horacek had promised him he might be able to get him a good teaching job at the university Theology Department. But that was a long shot, as those he knew in that department were only casual acquaintances. But it was good to give it a shot. Then there was the baby on the way. They talked far into the night, making plans for the baby, and, possibly, other babies along the line. When it came to deciding how many they would have, it appeared they weren’t ready to be on the same page, so they agreed to reserve that discussion for another time and went to sleep.

  PART VI

  If I die young, bury me in satin.

  Lay me down on a bed of roses….

  Lord make me a rainbow,

  I’ll shine down on my mother

  She’ll know I am safe with you

  when she stands under my colors….

  - The Perry Band

  Virginia State

  Thursday, March 21, 2013

  TROOPER DANA AND his partner trooper Jackson had just finished their supper at the tavern on County Road 31, running perpendicular to U.S. Highway 58. The time was 9:20 p.m., and it was Thursday night. They always loved Thursday night patrol because they got to have a free treat at the Purple Hearts. It was not clear why the proprietors named the tavern Purple Hearts except, maybe, for the fact that it had an adjourning gentlemen’s club where lonely bachelors would go to have the time of their life with pole and lap dancing girls. Set behind a large gas station and almost a mile from the nearest residential area, it was a popular place. And not a few love-starved husbands sneaked in there to have stolen treats, too. Dana and Jackson did visit it on very few occasions under the guise of just patrolling to keep the peace. After they had eaten their meal that evening, they debated whether to go in for a few minutes before hitting the road for their night patrol.

  “Heads, we go in, tails, we continue on patrol,” Dana said, bringing out a quarter from his wallet. He tossed it, caught it in midair, slapped it on the back of his left hand, and took off his right hand. They lost. As they trooped out to their vehicle, Jackson grumbled, blaming Dana for being jinxed with bad luck. Dana ignored his partner and started their police car, pushed the gear lever to D, and moved on. He nosed the car onto County Road 31, and took a left loop to merge onto US 58.

  “Is the skyli
ne red, or is it my eyes?” Jackson asked rhetorically, peering ahead.

  “Please, don’t tell me you’re Moses, and you’re seeing the burning bush,” Dana teased. “I’m in no mood for religion right now.”

  “It’s not religion, man,” Jackson replied, getting serious. “The skyline ahead is red. And that’s unusual this time of the year in this part of the hemisphere.”

  Trooper Dana peered ahead and thought his partner was right. The skyline far ahead of them was getting very red and orange bright at the base where the sky met the Earth on the horizon, as they approached. And the redness also seemed to be dancing, sparring with the rest of the dark sky dotted by the stars that had begun peeping out and twinkling.

  “You know, you’re right, Jack,” He said, still peering with mouth slightly ajar as he drove on. “Must be a house on fire or something.”

  “Well, who’s Moses now?” Jackson teased. “We don’t know yet whether it’s a fire or just some weather phenomenon. Can you step on the gas?”

  As if on cue, their radio crackled to life, “Highway five eight, come in! Highway five eight, come in! This is headquarters. Over.”

  “This is highway five eight. Trooper Dana, Trooper Jackson checking in. Over,” Jackson responded to the radio inquiry while Dana drove on.

  “Inferno, reported on five eight East. Repeat, inferno on five eight East. Check out, over,” the voice from headquarters was a trifle impatient, and Dana suspected it was something serious. So, he turned on the signal lights and the sirens and stepped on the pedal while Jackson confirmed the execution of the order.

  “Inferno sighted. Trooper Dana, Trooper Jackson on case. Repeat: Dana and Jackson, on case. Sign off.”

  They sped on, passing other vehicles to check out the supposed ‘inferno’. As they got closer and closer, it seemed that they were going to witness something other than a house fire. Eventually, they reached the scene and were surprised to see a long line of vehicles that had slowed down or cleared the road to park on the shoulder, extending almost a mile from the actual scene of the fire. Dana slowed down the car, but kept going to get as close as possible. What they saw was unbelievable. What looked like a gas tanker was on its side, sprawled diagonally across the road. Huge balls of fire, taller than twenty feet, were leaping into the air and disappearing in thick black smoke. It was impossible to drive past the scene because it engulfed the entire road, practically shutting it down. The heat emitted by the inferno was such that the nearest vehicle was parked almost a quarter of a mile from it. Troopers Dana and Jackson could not go beyond that point because they, too, had begun to feel the intense heat. People were milling around with their cell phones glued to their ears, some gesturing frantically as they talked. Everyone was in panic and sorrow because it was impossible to move in to help. Dana and Jackson got out and tried to find out from those standing by or moving around what happened. No one could give them any coherent piece of information. All they could gather was that an eighteen-wheeler gas tanker coming out from a side road to merge onto US 58 apparently lost control and careened into two or three other vehicles. The impact of the tanker as it hit the tarmac, sliding, produced sparks, and ignited with a big bang into a huge ball of fire.

  The two troopers got on their radio and relayed to headquarters what they saw and what little information they had gathered from the bystanders. They were yelling because it was almost impossible to hear one another because of the din of excited commuters and motorists, and the series of loud cracklings and minor explosions that kept coming from the scene. There were loud hissing sounds, too, which occasionally seemed to shrink the flames. But then the flames would leap even higher once the hissing sound subsided. It soon became clear where the hissing came from. The human silhouettes darting about on the other side of the flames were firefighters who had arrived at that side of the inferno and were frantically battling the flames to put them out. Angry sirens and blinking red, blue and yellow lights rushing up from the side that Dana and Jackson came announced the arrival of another firefighting unit. They lost no time getting into battle too. The whole scenario was chaotic with the noise of the engines from the firefighting arsenal on both sides, the noisy and confused crowd, the still revving engines of the vehicles lined up along the road on both sides, as far as the eye could see because it was impossible to pass through from either way, and the yells and shouts from the firefighters as they barked out and relayed commands to one another.

  Eventually, the high-leaping, angry flames were dwarfed by the steady assault of the forceful pressure from the firefighters’ hoses, each shooting out gallons of water at a speed of almost sixty miles per hour. The heat waves and the acrid stench that came from the smoldering heap were hellishly suffocating, and the thick black smoke that rose from it covered the heavens above, shading out the twinkling eyes of the stars. Then the forms of the charred vehicles involved in the accident gradually became discernible. Dana and Jackson drew nearer and could count not less than one sedan-like and two van-like frames, all seemingly crashing into the long burnt-out hulk of an eighteen-wheeler tanker, sprawled diagonally across the road. Was it some human error on the part of one or all the drivers involved, or was it just the freakiest coincidence of uncontrollable variables? No easy and immediate answers were forthcoming from the doomsday scenario of that late evening. The only sure facts were that all commuters of the vehicles involved in the accident were dead, charred and consumed in the hellish flames like a burnt offering. And Cletus Nicholas McCarthy was presumably one of them.

  Later that evening, Dr. Josef Horacek was in his sitting room watching the late-night news. It was way past his bed time, but he stayed up late because the estimated arrival time of Cletus McCarthy was anywhere between ten and eleven o’clock, depending on the traffic situation as he entered Norfolk. He had tried twice to get him on the phone to ascertain his progress, but had not been able to get a ring from Cletus’s phone. All that met his ears were a series of beeps announcing an engaged phone line. Wondering whether he switched off his phone when he was driving or was talking all the time with the folks back in Houston, Dr. Horacek had decided to keep calling every so often. Perhaps he would catch Cletus stopping to get gas or a snack. He was just finishing his coffee as the local TV station announced the eleven o’clock news time.

  He saw it before he heard it. The accident on US 58 scrolled slowly past the base of his TV screen, as the news anchor introduced the news for the evening. Given as breaking news, they could not give any meaningful details other than the fact that multiple vehicles were involved in a fatal head-on collision with a gas tanker on US 58 and busted into flames. They reported that fire fighters were able to put out the flames only after they had battled it for almost an hour, and that it was apparent that there were no survivors. They promised further information as details came in from the ongoing investigation.

  Not feeling comfortable, Dr. Horacek tried Cletus’s number one more time. He got the same busy signals. His gut sank, and he suspected that something ominous had happened. His next phone call was to Barbara, who also informed him that she had lost contact with Cletus.

  “He called to check in and tell us his progress every three hours,” Barbara said. “I haven’t heard from him in about seven hours.”

  Dr. Horacek indicated he hadn’t, either, but decided not to give in to his worst fears. He clicked off his phone, afraid that Barbara might start asking probing questions. He was debating in his mind whether to call the McCarthys or wait an hour or two, and then the phone rang in his hand. It was Stephen McCarthy’s voice on the other end of the line. He inquired whether Cletus had arrived safely. Dr. Horacek hesitated for a few seconds before responding in the negative. Stephen indicated that he and Hannah had lost contact with their son who was touching base every two hours or so. Dr. Horacek, not wanting to cause any panic, assured Stephen that Cletus would probably arrive very late. He might have been caught in bad traffic. After pro
mising to call and inform them when Cletus would arrive, he hung up. Not feeling comfortable just sitting there watching the news, but not getting any detailed information or any phone call from Cletus, he decided to drive out to the scene of the accident. From the news report, he figured that the accident scene was about sixty to sixty-five miles away. ‘I could do that in under an hour’, he thought to himself as he picked up his car key and headed for his garage. Inside the garage, he hesitated, wondering whether he was going on a wild goose chase. Then he figured that since he had his phone with him, if Cletus called, he would answer and turn around to drive home, and they would only laugh about his panic with relief. He drove up to the front of the clinic and got one of his two night janitors, Fu Pham, to accompany him.

  “Did you watch tonight’s news, Fu?” Dr. Horacek asked, wanting to start a conversation to keep his mind from wandering wild with suspicions.

  “No, boss,” Fu replied, shaking his head vigorously. “I no watch news when I work.”

  Dr. Horacek threw him a side-long glance and felt like punching him on the nose and sending him flying out of the car, and driving on. He wondered why Fu thought it was necessary to lie. His kitchen window and the window of the clinic’s lounge were a mere fifteen feet apart. And he always observed Fu watching movies on the television. Though they always pulled the curtains closed, from their perspective, they had no way of knowing he could still see them through the cracks between the drapes and the window frame. He decided it was no use trying to converse with a schizophrenic janitor whose only understanding was that his boss was asking questions to catch him. He drove the rest of the way in silence. No call came from Cletus McCarthy throughout the seventy-one-mile drive. It had turned out to be further than he thought, but he still made it in fifty-four minutes, according to his GPS timer. He was glad he ran into no cops on the way. As he pulled up, he could sniff the acrid smell of burnt rubber and gas and flesh. It stank and stung the nostrils. There were only two police cars still blinking their colored lights. Other vehicles belonged to the FBI and the local TV station, the crew of which were packing in their cameras and other equipment, ready to go for the night. A caterpillar had been called in and it managed to push the rear end of the burnt-out tanker out of the way, just enough to make room for vehicles to crawl past each other on the shoulder of one side of the road, from opposite directions. Whiffs of smoke were still oozing from some parts of the burnt-out vehicles and about four policemen and three FBI agents were still foraging in the charred heaps to salvage anything that could serve as evidence to explain what happened. Some relatives of the suspected victims who had arrived before Dr. Horacek were huddled together at different spots bewailing their lost loved ones. He got out of his car and walked up to one of the policemen and introduced himself, explaining why he had driven almost one hour to the scene. The policeman introduced himself as Trooper Dana and led him to a little heap on the side of the road. Three of the FBI agents, a woman and two men, wearing gloves and holding tongs, were gingerly turning some half-burnt items and trying to piece together as much information as they could that would help in identifying the victims.