Time Echoes

by Bryan Davis

  My prayers are unworthy,

  But, you, good Lord, are kind,

  Lest I should burn in eternal fire.

  His eyes glowing red, he pointed straight at me, as if he could see me from his side of the mirror. “Beware, son of Solomon, lest you use your gifts unwisely and thereby come to calamity. If you allow grief to sway your purpose, you will perish. If you pursue vengeance, your light will drain away. If you fear, you will fail, for the power of Quattro is not to be trifled with.”

  The scene near the back of the reflection transformed. The room’s surroundings faded away, replaced by the two coffins that carried Mom’s and Dad’s bodies. Mictar reached into a coffin and withdrew a small sphere. As I focused on the object, its identity clarified. An eyeball.

  Spare us by your mercy, God,

  Gentle Lord Jesus,

  Grant them eternal rest. Amen.

  Mictar extended his arm, bringing the orb closer to me. “Learn the mystery of the light within. Only then will you vanquish the darkness and defeat your enemies.”

  I sucked in a breath, sat up in bed, and shouted, “Murderer!”

  The coffins vanished. Mictar faded away. The mirror image warped, then straightened, showing my room and a dim image of myself sitting up in bed. Lightning flashed again, illuminating my tear-streaked face, gaunt and pale.

  I shivered hard. I pulled my blanket close and flopped back in bed. It had to be a dream, the worst nightmare in history. As I turned to the side and tucked into a curl, cold fingers seemed to stroke my skin, sending new shivers across my body.

  Closing my eyes, I clenched my teeth. The horrible images impaled my brain — Mictar, the coffins, the eyeball. Would the torture ever go away? Would Mom and Dad ever find peace?

  Let eternal light shine on them, Lord,

  With your saints in eternity,

  Because you are merciful.

  Grant them eternal rest, Lord,

  And let everlasting light shine on them,

  With your saints in eternity,

  Because you are merciful.

  The cold fingers lifted. My shivers settled. A sense of relief filtered in, and along with it, fresh tears seeped though my closed eyelids. Mom and Dad were gone. I would never see them again this side of heaven. As I let the tears flow, darkness overtook my mind, and I fell asleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Radiance poured into the room. “Nathan. It’s dinner time.”

  I sat up in bed and squinted at the hallway glow framing Kelly’s dim silhouette.

  She flipped on the overhead light. “Are you feeling better?”

  “I think so.” I slid out of bed, strode to the window, and tried to open it. Locked. The varnished sill carried no scratches. Windblown raindrops pelted the glass, painting tear streaks on my ghostly image.

  “What’s wrong?” Kelly asked from the door.

  I whispered, “I’m not sure.”

  “A nightmare?” She walked in. Wearing clean blue jeans and a long-sleeved pink tunic, she set her hands on her hips and looked at the window. “Add a thunderstorm to all you’ve gone through and that’d give anyone nightmares.”

  “I could’ve sworn it was real.” I stepped close to the mirror and stared at my reflection. Not only was my hair standing on end, my pupils had shrunk to the size of BBs, barely visible in the center of my blue irises. “There’s something strange about this mirror.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I touched a vertical line on the glassy surface, leaving a fingerprint over the image of my nose. “Is it divided into sections?”

  “Three hundred and ninety-nine, to be exact.” She wiped the print clean with the cuff of her sleeve. “Dad saw it for sale at a castle in Scotland and shipped it home. Some creepy museum curator convinced him that it could reflect what people were thinking.” She pointed at the lower left corner. “One piece is missing. My dad said that your dad took it years ago for some sort of experiment. He never gave it back.”

  I picked up my mirror from the floor and slowly unwrapped it. “Maybe I have it.” I knelt at the corner and slid my piece into the empty space. It fit perfectly.

  A burst of radiance erupted from the spot and spread across the entire mirror. Seconds later, the light evaporated, like luminescent steam dispersing in the room.

  Kelly laid a hand on her chest. “Wow! What was that?”

  “Too weird.” I pulled on the square, but it held fast. “It’s stuck.”

  She stopped and touched the reflective mosaic’s newest piece. “The glue on the wall couldn’t be wet after all these years.”

  I pulled again, grunting. “Something’s making it hang on.”

  A loud voice pounded my eardrums. “Welcome!” A burly hand grasped my arm and pulled me to my feet. “I’m Tony Clark.”

  I looked up. A bug-eyed man with a boot-camp crew cut stared down at me from what seemed like two feet above my head. I cleared my throat and squeaked, “Hi, Mr. Clark.”

  He spread out a huge palm and grabbed my hand. His long fingers wrapped around mine with a friendly, but painful grasp. “Call me Tony.”

  I squeezed him back with my violin-strengthened grip, more to relieve the pain than to show off.

  “Now that’s a manly handshake!” Tony said, glancing at Kelly.

  She sighed and folded her hands behind her back.

  Tony nodded toward the hall. “C’mon out to the dining room. Kelly really cooked up a storm.”

  She rolled her eyes and whispered to me, a look of embarrassment crossing her face. “A storm. Get it?”

  As we walked down the hall, Tony laughed. “A storm. Get it? It’s raining outside.” His deep voice resonated through the corridor as his long legs swept past the grand piano. “Do you like Chinese?”

  I quickened my pace to keep up. “Sure.”

  “Too bad,” Kelly whispered, following close behind. “We’re having Italian.”

  Tony stopped at the dining room and extended his arm toward the table. “Too bad. We’re having Italian.”

  The aroma of garlic-soaked tomato sauce flooded my senses. A huge rectangular dish of lasagna graced one end of the table, and a salad marked each of four place settings, knives and forks aligned perfectly over folded napkins and a pristine white tablecloth. With five high-backed chairs on each side and one on each end, the table seemed more suited for a football team than for an only child and her parents.

  Kelly touched my shoulder and whispered, “Daddy kind of rushed you in here. He’s not exactly Mr. Sensitive. If you don’t feel up to eating with us, I’ll make an excuse for you.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll be all right.” I nodded at the table. “Four plates?”

  “Clara called while you were sleeping. She’ll be here any minute. I know you said to wake you, but she said not to. She’s kind of … well …”

  “Forceful? Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

  Tony sat at the head of the table. “Sol and I called her Medusa back in Poly-Sci at Iowa. Her class was so hard we turned to stone. It’ll be fun to see what she’s like now.”

  I slid out a chair and motioned for Kelly to sit. She smiled, her gaze locked on her dad as she let me seat her. I walked around the end and seated myself on the opposite side.

  Tony grabbed a knife, cut out a quarter of the lasagna, and heaped it onto his plate. “Dive on in,” he said, handing the knife to me.

  I glanced at Kelly. She gave me a quick nod, a sign that it was okay to serve myself before she could get hers. Just as I sliced into the lasagna, the doorbell chimed its low-pitched tone.

  Kelly pushed her chair back. “That must be Clara.”

  Before she could get up, an authoritative voice sang from the piano room. “Tony, Tony, Tony. You left the door unlocked. I thought I taught you about home security in class.” Clara appeared at the dining room entryway. “You never know when a strange old woman might barge in.” She unbuttoned a rain-dampened overcoat. “And a wet one at that.”

  I hurried to
her and helped with her coat. She seemed much bubblier than she had been earlier in the day. Maybe that meant good news.

  “I’ll hang it up,” Tony said as he rose from his chair. He took the coat from me and walked toward the main entry.

  While he was gone, I seated Clara next to Kelly. As I slid Clara’s chair in behind her, the two exchanged glances enhanced by smirks, but whatever they were communicating, I had no clue.

  When Tony returned, he reseated himself, grinning. “I locked the door. We already have enough strange old women in here.”

  “Always so clever, Tony.” Clara nodded toward Kelly. “I met your daughter this morning. I was delighted to see what a beautiful young lady she is.”

  Tony frowned. “Of course she’s beautiful. Is that a surprise?”

  “Well, not to me, but didn’t the other students vote you the most-likely-to-produce-a-troll award? At the time, I said it was ridiculous, and you have proven my opinion correct.” She winked at me. “And I like being proven correct, don’t I, Nathan?”

  I returned the wink. “Rule number one: Clara is always right. Rule number two: If Clara is wrong — ”

  “See rule number one,” Tony finished. “I heard that in her class more times than I can count.” He gestured toward the lasagna. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Clara said, “but first things first. There’s a trunk in the back of my Jeep. Would you or Nathan bring it in? It’s not so heavy that an old lady like me couldn’t carry it, but with the rain — ”

  “I’ll get it.” Tony waved a hand at me. “You three go ahead and eat.” He disappeared into the piano room. Seconds later, the front door slammed.

  Clara winced. “I hope I didn’t upset him with the troll comment. He really isn’t nearly as ugly as his classmates said. He’s just … unusual.”

  Kelly clapped a hand over a widening grin and spoke through her fingers. “Don’t worry. He’ll be over it by the time he gets back.”

  I pushed the lasagna dish closer to Clara. “Any news?”

  “Some. Our lawyer gave me an envelope from your father’s safety deposit box. It contained money for your needs, so you won’t be destitute.”

  “Here it is.” Tony lumbered into the dining room and set the trunk on the floor, his face dripping.

  Kelly rose and handed him a napkin. “Still raining hard, huh?”

  “Very.” He took it and mopped his brow. “It’s raining pitchforks and — ”

  “Daddy!” Kelly hissed.

  He gave her an innocent look. “I was going to say barn doors. Not the other one.”

  Trying not to guess “the other one,” I rose, walked to the trunk, and laid my palm on its damp wooden top. “Clara, have you figured out how to open it yet?”

  “Heaven’s sakes, no,” she said. “You and you alone should open it.”

  Kelly caressed the ancient wood with a finger. “I don’t see any seam. It’s like it doesn’t even have a lid.”

  I grasped the top edge and lifted. Nothing moved.

  Tony bumped me out of the way. “Let me try.” He rubbed his hands together, then, squatting for leverage, he grabbed the top and jerked upward. The entire trunk lifted. Tony fell backwards, still hanging on and cradling the trunk against his chest.

  Kelly stifled a laugh. “Are you hurt?”

  “Just my pride.” He scooted the trunk to the floor and vaulted to his feet, his eyes bugging out more than ever. “I’ve got an idea. Be right back.” He marched out of the room.

  I looked at Kelly. She just shrugged her shoulders.

  A moment later, Tony strode back in, a cordless circular saw in hand. He pulled the trigger, making the motor whine and the jagged blade spin. “This’ll cut through anything. If you’re game, I’ll give it a buzz.”

  I nodded. “Be careful.”

  “I’ll just cut off the very top.” Tony gunned the motor, set the blade next to an upper corner, and pushed it against the dark wood. The teeth squealed, but they couldn’t seem to bite into the grain. Tony’s face reddened. As he pushed harder, his muscles flexed, and sweat trickled down his cheeks. Finally, he pulled back and let the saw wind down as he wiped his face with his sleeve. “I don’t know what that trunk’s made of, but I’ve cut steel with this blade.”

  “So no one could open it to put anything inside,” I said. “It’s probably empty.”

  “It felt empty when I picked it up. Nothing rattled around.”

  Clara clapped her hands. “Well, we have quite a mystery to solve, don’t we? I suggest that we all eat and rest. Then I’ll go out and bring in another suitcase. Perhaps the rain will have let up.”

  After reseating Kelly, I sat again at the table. “Are you staying here tonight, Clara?”

  “I’m afraid not. The suitcase I brought is filled with new clothes for you.” Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh! I almost forgot your new violin. We should bring it in right away to get it out of the humidity. After supper you can test it out, and then I will be off to Davenport again where your trust fund is being set up. As executrix of your father’s will, I must be present to sign the paperwork.”

  Tony sat in his chair and propped his elbows. “Do you know how much moolah he’s getting?”

  “Daddy!” Kelly said. “What are you thinking? His parents were just murdered!”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Tony’s expression sagged. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, trying to smile. “Don’t worry about it.” Even as the words slipped out, I regretted them. It really wasn’t okay. Tony’s remark was crass. Kelly was right. He wasn’t Mr. Sensitive.

  Clara patted my hand. “We’re all probably curious about the money situation, but I’m afraid it’s another mystery. The financial instructions were sealed with a directive to open them two days after your father’s passing, which is a Saturday, so we had to make special arrangements to ensure all parties were available. I’ll call as soon as everything is settled, but even if your money is locked in a trust fund, you’ll likely have a stipend for your living expenses.”

  After I retrieved the violin and toweled off, we all sat at the table and resumed the meal. Tony dominated the conversation, talking about basketball games in college with “Flash,” my father, and how he wasn’t given that nickname because of his speed, but because of his love of photography. That’s what led him into photojournalism, then into investigative reporting, and finally into technology security. And, Tony lamented, what probably got him into trouble with whoever killed him and Mom.

  “Flash was far too trusting,” Tony said as he finished his story. “He refused to believe what I learned the hard way. You can’t trust anyone. Everyone’s in the game for themselves.”

  I bit my lip hard. This new father was worse than insensitive. He was Captain Clueless, an ape in human clothing. He needed to be set straight.

  Just as I opened my mouth to object, I caught Kelly’s gaze. Her sad eyes glistening, she mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  Breathing a silent sigh, I gave her a nod, letting her know that I didn’t mind so much. As her trembling lips turned upward, I smiled with her. She understood my nonverbal cue. My new sister was really pretty amazing. Ever since she answered the front door, she had shown me nothing but kindness. Obviously there was a lot more to her than a pretty face and pink toenails.

  During the meal, I glanced at the trunk every couple of minutes. The lasagna, now barely warmer than room temperature, tasted good enough, but it was nothing more than a spicy stomach-filler. Wondering what might be in Dad’s trunk consumed my thoughts. Since he made sure I retrieved it, it couldn’t be empty. Maybe the inside was lined with instructions on how to defeat Mictar, or how to understand the technological secrets behind the strange mirror. Who could tell?

  I caught Kelly’s gaze again. Her eyes seemed melancholy, yet when she joined me in furtive glances at the trunk, her countenance carried a glimmer of hope that something new and exciting was about to happen. For years I had traveled with my parents all over
the world, exploring strange, exotic lands and meeting hundreds of friendly people. Still, I always felt alone, no real friends, no one my age to talk to. But now I had a sister. What would it be like living with this sad, yet hopeful girl?

  The mysteries of the evening sparkled in her eyes. We were definitely on the same wavelength. With two almost imperceptible nods, we silently agreed that we would figure everything out together, no matter what.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After setting my new violin and case on the desk, I pushed the trunk against the wall next to my bed and sat on its sturdy wooden top. Breathing a long sigh, I stared at my reflection in the mirror on the opposite side of the room.

  The house lay quiet. Clara had rushed away, hoping to get to Davenport and catch a few hours of sleep before her meetings. With my help, Kelly had washed the dishes, then retired to her room, complaining of a headache, apparently brought on by allergies. Tony left the house with a basketball spinning on his fingers. “Got a pickup game with the boys,” he had said.

  I checked my new wristwatch, one of the many items Clara had brought in the suitcase. The analog face read 11:15, matching the digits on the radio clock on my desk. A Haydn quartet played from the radio’s little speaker, soft enough to blend into the background.

  I looked again at the mirror and raised my brow as if having a silent conversation with my reflection. Basketball, so late at night? Maybe one of those midnight leagues. Lots of guys go out and play basketball late on a Friday, right? My reflection shook its head, copying my own doubtful shake. Then again, maybe not.

  Rising from the trunk and walking toward the mirror, I unbuttoned a new shirt I had tried on. With only a desk lamp to light the room, my frame cast a long, narrow shadow across the floor.

  When I took off the shirt and tossed it behind me, something bright glinted. The light in the room dimmed, as if the power had sagged. I pivoted toward the lamp. Like a clumsy oaf, I had draped my shirt over the shade. I jerked it away and threw it onto the trunk, allowing the lamp to cast its light once more.