The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven

by Harmony L. Courtney

“Well, they said they’ll release him tomorrow, finally, but it’s been such a long stay… much longer than after heart surgery. I’m glad we were able to keep our insurance when all that mess began in 2014, I tell you,” she replied, wishing she could sit down with her friend face to face.

  “Otherwise, who knows where we’d be with bills. The kids have only been able to come see him about once a week, and I don’t know who misses who more, him or them,” she continued with a sigh as she poured water for tea.

  “The docs have been watching his heart, his lungs, his brain, his liver… it’s a lot to wrap my mind around. It’d be a lot for most people, I think. And I can only imagine how Edward feels,” she continued, rummaging through her tea basket.

  I think this calls for peppermint, she thought, grabbing a couple of bags from the basket and putting the rest away. Very strong peppermint.

  “It’s been so quiet around here on the days the kids are with Jason and Me’chelle and their children, and even the cat goes with them when I stay a few days at the hospital. I’ve missed eleven meetings for Amethyst & Alabaster, and I’m the founder and still on the board,” she confessed with a groan.

  A picture of the board came to mind, and she smiled. They really were a godsend.

  “I thank God that Mariana has been able to help by at least recording them so I have an idea what’s happening. I’ve gotten to a total of three... count them, three meetings since Edward collapsed,” she continued as she began rummaging through the freezer to see what would work for dinner.

  She hadn’t even tried to go for groceries, but thankfully, Tom and Tawny had stocked up on a few things for them here and there to keep them going. Jason had nearly-continuously come over to take care of the chickens and when he couldn’t, Me’chelle would bring the boys over to do some of the work.

  The house had been so eerily silent for the nearly nine weeks that Edward had been away from home, it had seriously creeped her out sometimes. But what could she complain about? She was just thankful he was still alive and functioning.

  And that was a lot more than some people who went into comas ever experienced again. That Edward had not only come out of his, but was still able to function in most of the ways he had before was a miracle in itself.

  The doctors had said it would take him a while to readjust, but now that all the toxins were out of his system and they’d stabilized the rest of his body chemicals and electrolytes, keeping them consistently stable for several weeks, they hoped his body would adjust and continue the transformation on its own as it continued to heal. And for his sake – and that of their entire family – she certainly hoped so.

  “I’ll be heading over there after I stop to see the kids for a little bit this afternoon,” she continued, bringing her mind back to the conversation.

  “I mean, I don’t understand why they’ve kept him this long, either… something about making sure things stayed balanced so he didn’t slip back into a coma, but…. Oh, Daniella, it’s been so hard,” she said, tears rising to the surface.

  ”I’ve cried every day. I’ve prayed for healing, and solutions, and for our family not to be torn apart by all of this, and…,” She paused, trying to get ahold of herself as she stirred the Stroganoff she had going on the stove.

  “So many friends cannot be contacted to know what’s happening, and who knows if they ever will. Several aunts and uncles, and a few cousins, have been to see him since they live in the area, but several others don’t and many of those haven’t even called to check up on him once Jason informed them of the situation,” she said, her words tumbling out. “And on top of it all, we have to watch our backs now because two of the five men Quentin had on some list of people to contact about killing us have been released, and we have no idea if he ever got ahold of them; ever made any deals. It’s just… oh, Daniella, it’s too much!”

  “What? What do you mean, Quentin’s trying to have you… are you serious? How come you didn’t tell us? That’s going on the prayer list right along with all this stuff about Edward’s health. Does Rose know? Has she come back? Has she seen him?”

  The words hurtling from Daniella’s mouth were even faster than Paloma’s own, and the intensity of them was just as sure.

  Why, indeed, had she not told the couple? It couldn’t be fear that Rose’s family would find out – the two nephews that Max and Daniella had stayed in contact with – so what could possibly be holding back Paloma’s admission of what was going on? Was it merely the realization that telling them still wouldn’t change the facts, or was it pride?

  Paloma sniffled her tears away as she paused to sip at her tea, hoping her nerves would calm down.

  “She stopped here for a couple of days three weeks ago and gave me her new address, but… when I wrote to update her, it came back no such address. She doesn’t want anyone to email her; she’s disabled it… or the guy she’s with has. We’re so worried over her, it’s sickening to think of, without the rest of this mess happening.”

  As Daniella continued to talk, Paloma’s thoughts drifted to what she knew about Rose’s beau. The last they’d known, the pair had been living somewhere in Louisiana… but it certainly wasn’t at the address Rose had given her.

  Well, Lord… she prayed. That’s just one more thing I really need to place in Your hands, since I can’t do a thing about it. If I keep at it, I’m going to make myself sick with worry, and it’s just not right… so would You protect her, like You’ve protected us? Get her out of there and into a safe situation, wherever that might be. If there’s anything the matter, make a way where there seems to be no way, and bring her back to those who love her .Please? If she’s meant to come back to us, bring her back. Help her to remember all the people here who love and care about her, and want to help her, Father.

  The tears were streaming down her face now… an ever-present litany all their own.

  “Paloma, did you hear me?”

  What had she missed?

  Paloma shook her head for a moment. “I’m sorry… I missed it. I… I allowed my thoughts to run away with me and started praying. What did you say?”

  “Hey, no need to apologize for praying. I was just saying I had to go. My break is over, and I’ve got to get back to my patient,” her friend said softly. “Call me in a few days, huh?”

  “I will. I promise,” she replied before hanging up and pocketing the cell to free up her hands.

  Pulling a plate down from the shelf, she scooped up some of the now-thawed-and-warmed-through Stroganoff, grabbed a fork, and sat down to her first real meal in over a week.

  Justice Morrison watched the brick two-story house intently as he tried to decipher the note he’d found on his windshield.

  He glanced at it again, reading it through a fourth time.

  Mr. Morrison,

  We have some information we think you’ll appreciate regarding a certain… former love interest of yours. Your wife might be just as interested, or more. If you believe this to be a concern, or would like more information, meet us at the following address on the 16th of March at 8:45 PM. Do not show up sooner; do not try to figure out who we are before then. Just show up. No taggers along, no big discussions about it.

  We’ll be watching you.

  The note came with no signature, but, looking again from the house to the note, the address was correct.

  It just looked like nobody was home.

  He checked his watch. 8:39 PM. Should he wait six minutes more, or go ahead and mosey toward the door?

  He checked his hair in the mirror; straightened out the blue-checked shirt and red tie he’d decided on for the day; slipped out of his seatbelt and put his suit jacket on.

  He knew it was a setup, but what could he do?

  The note begged to be ignored, and shouted to be heard.

  He checked his watch again; three more minutes. Why did time seem to drag on while people waited for agonizing days, hours, seconds to hear what was coming? To see, to experience those things that
just seemed… inevitable?

  He turned the radio on, flipped through the channels, turned it back off. Checked his watch again.

  Finally, he thought.

  Careful of the oncoming traffic, he opened the door and stepped outside, making sure it was locked before he shut it.

  Within twenty more seconds, he was crossing the street. Another thirty, and he was treading the stairs. He glanced at his watch again… 8:45 on the dot.

  He rang the bell and took a step back. Footsteps coming toward him, and then… the door opened.

  He gasped.

  Seriously? Was this for real?

  How on earth did Rosemary’s brother and sister-in-law know where he lived or how to find him. And what’s more, what did they have to say for themselves?

  This had to have been well planned out but it couldn’t have been too well thought-out, he told himself as Felix Jenkins held out a hand and smiled.

  Justice followed Felix and Jasmine as the pair of cars headed for a neutral place to talk. They headed toward downtown, and eventually parked a block or so from Powell’s City of Books.

  What are we doing here, he thought. Are they seriously bringing me to Powell’s, of all places? How is that private, or neutral?

  He climbed out of the car, making sure to lock it, and followed them inside, threading through people from the Orange Room to the Purple Room, where they finally stopped between History and Pacific Northwest.

  Finally, Felix began to speak as he crouched down at the last row in Pacific Northwest and began to smooth his hand over the various titles.

  “So, I know you and your… team, do you call it... figured out we sent a decoy a few years ago to see about what was happening with my sister,” the man began, his long dark hair falling into his eyes. He left it there and continued. “We’d heard, well… rumors that she was still alive and wanted to see if they were accurate. I wish we’d gotten an answer, but now, I want to know,” he said. “We want to know.”

  He guided his free hand through his hair, and then pointed back and forth a few times between himself and Jasmine.

  “We could have asked your wife, but… it seemed only fair to discuss this with you first, considering the variance of… relationships between the three of you,” Jasmine told him as they stepped aside for someone to pass down the aisle.

  What any of this has to do with new information, I sure don’t know, Justice thought as he picked up a book from the shelf in front of him to peruse the back cover. He glanced back and forth between the pair who had led him here, doing his best to keep his cool, and then looked back down: it was a book on the history of Portland.

  As if he needed to learn more about his own city at a time like this…

  “So you lure me to meet with you in order to gain information, rather than to give it? And on top of that, detour the meeting to a bookstore? This is getting ridiculous, even for-”

  “Well, I wouldn’t use the word lure; more like… entice,” Felix interrupted, standing, three books in the crook of one of his large arms. He pulled Jasmine toward himself with the other arm, and Justice was able to tell just how much difference their heights made.

  “More like threat… subtle or otherwise,” Justice countered.

  “More like cajole,” Jasmine said, fluffing her hair gently as she gave him a wink. “I mean, come on, if it were the other way around and you had a loved one go missing, wouldn’t you want to know – Oh, wait! You have, haven’t you? The same one we did.”

  Justice reshelved the book in his trembling hand and moved for someone else in the aisle before replying. Did it really need to come down to this?

  Threats, whether or not they were idle, weren’t going to bring him to divulge what he couldn’t!

  He picked up yet another volume.

  “Listen… I know what you’re trying to get at, and I can understand the difficulties. But threatening people? That’s going a bit far, even for you, Felix. So,” he turned to Jasmine. “I’m guessing this was your idea, since you’re the one who treated her so badly all through school; she and Annabella, both. Even Felix. I don’t even know how you two settled your differences, and it isn’t my business…. All I know is that it isn’t for me to confirm or deny anything related to this topic, and neither is Midge. She’d have told you the same thing had you attempted speaking with her first.”

  “We kinda did, already,” Felix said quietly, putting his head down a moment, unable to meet Justice’s eyes. Jasmine maneuvered out from under his arm, causing her long ebony hair to sway, and started to walk away from them.

  “Where are you going,” Felix asked her, his voice suddenly loud to Justice’s ears in the quiet of the store. “This was your idea!”

  “Don’t look at me. You went along with it, too,” she called over her shoulder. “And I told you it probably wouldn’t work. Just because we want something, doesn’t mean we always get it, does it, now, Felix?”

  A handful of people shushed her, and she harrumphed at them. “Shush yourself. I’m leaving, anyway!” And with that, she quickly made her way to the stairs as Justice and Felix – as well as several others she had disturbed – looked on.

  “Real nice, Felix,” Justice said, stepping into the Literary section.

  Since I’m already here, may as well find something productive to do with the time wasted, right, he asked himself, feeling a tic beginning to upset his left eye. Great. Here we go again.

  “I better go pay for these and get outa here, man. Sorry to be so underhanded, I mean, we used to be almost-friends, after all… I think she’s so upset because of hormones, but that shouldn’t be any excuse for me,” Felix told him, following him into the aisle. And at that, he clapped Justice’s shoulder, said a hasty goodbye and retreated.

  Well, so much for anything new, he thought, pulling out his phone. He quickly texted Midge to let her know when he’d be home, then browsed the store a bit more before settling on his purchases.

  In the end, he found three investigative texts that had come out in the prior year, a book about Saint Bernards, two Steampunk novels, a book of poetry for his wife, and one each by Arthur Conan Doyle, John Lescroart, Wilkie Collins, Isaac Asimov, and William Kent Kreuger, the stack of which he cautiously carried to the checkout. When he finally got there, he was thankful to set them down.

  “Quite a haul you’ve got there,” the balding, white-bearded counterman told Justice as he scanned the books and bagged them. “That’ll be $196.88, Sir,” he said again, holding a hand out for payment.

  Justice sighed as he fished out his wallet and pulled out a debit card.

  “Yeah,” he said, thinking back on his conversation with the Jenkinses. “Quite a haul.”

  The man’s eyebrows furrowed together, and then flattened. “Somethin’ wrong,” he asked as he slid the card and had Justice sign the keypad. “You look pretty down and confused.”

  “Nothing I can fix. Just something to leave up to God.”

  The man handed Justice his card and receipt.

  “Didn’t know anyone in Portland even believed in God no more,” he replied, “’least not from most of the conversations I hear, even at church.”

  Justice sighed; readjusted his scarf; put his things away.

  “Unfortunately, I understand exactly that sentiment. There aren’t a lot of people I know who I’d say really follow Christ wholeheartedly,” he replied as the lady behind him cleared her throat. “Not even me, sometimes.”

  He took the bags from the gentleman, glanced at the woman behind him, and moved away from the counter. “Good night,” he called quietly, making his way to the closest exit. “And thanks.”

  He’d have to walk around to the other side of the building in order to go find his car, but he was thankful there was a breeze in the chilly air.

  Now to just sit down with Midge and get clear on a few things, he thought as he waited for the light at 10th. This was too close a call, for all involved.

  Eleven

  Sal
em, Oregon… March 16, 2020

  Arthur Reynolds stared at the envelope in his hand, still stunned. It couldn’t be, could it?

  Had Mark Jeffries finally come to his senses and written to him again?

  If so, maybe he’d found Rosemary… finally.

  And it was about time.

  Heart beating wildly within his chest, he continued to stare at it.

  The man had said he’d never write again, and Arthur knew all along that he would, but now that he had… now that the letter was finally here, in his possession, what would it reveal?

  Dare he open it while Maplethorpe was here in the cell? What if it contained something time-sensitive and the time had already passed?

  On the other hand, what if it revealed that Rosemary had lived, but was now dead?

  Would he then be responsible for her death, after all? Would he then be charged all over again with yet another crime he hadn’t committed? Or would he be acquitted of her death because there was new evidence that finally proved the woman had slipped through his fingers – more literally than anyone would ever believe?

  Sure, Andrea and her baby had died – not his baby, he was certain – but he hadn’t meant to shoot the woman. He’d had other plans for her.

  Once he opened this letter, the silence between himself and the man he once called a friend would end. Could he live with that, for better or worse?

  The snuffling he heard coming from the top bunk proved that Maplethorpe was asleep, and so, he took a deep breath and made a quick decision.

  With shaking hands, Arthur prepared his heart for what may reside within the envelope, and then, the music that had plagued him all these months – how many had it been? – began to sound in the air.

  He knew nobody else heard it; just him.

  It had to be in his head. There was no other explanation, helpful or not.

  Thankfully, Maplethorpe hadn’t reported it to the guards like Paxton had. He’d been sent to the loony bin for three weeks simply for hearing music… as if that in and of itself was a dangerous thing.