Beyond the Reflection's Edge

by Bryan Davis

  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 Nathan.

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

  Kelly yanked her napkin from her lap. “That must be Clara.” But 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 right in!” She unbuttoned a rain-dampened overcoat. “And a wet one at that!”

  Nathan slid back his chair and stood up. Clara seemed much bubblier than she had been earlier in the day. That meant she had news.

  Tony rose to his feet, stuffing his hands in his pockets while shifting his weight. “Don’t worry. This house is plenty secure. We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I met your daughter this morning,” Clara said as she cast her gaze on Kelly. “I was delighted to see what a beautiful young lady she is!”

  Kelly folded her hands in her lap, her face turning as pink as her shirt. “Thank you.”

  Tony gave Clara an uneasy grin. “Of course she’s beautiful. Is that such a surprise?”

  “Well, not to me, of course, but didn’t the other students unanimously vote you the ‘Most Likely to Produce a Troll’ award? At the time, I said it was ridiculous, and you have proven me correct.” She mussed Nathan’s hair. “And I like being proven correct, don’t I, Nathan?”

  Nathan combed his fingers through his hair and smiled. “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 a vacant chair. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Clara replied, “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 can get it.” Tony waved his hand at Nathan. “You three go ahead and eat.” He disappeared into the piano room and, seconds later, the front door slammed.

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

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

  Nathan helped Clara take off her trench coat and hung it on a coat tree near the doorway. “Any news?” he asked.

  Clara allowed him to seat her at the table. “Some news. 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 for a while.”

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

  Kelly jumped up and swabbed her dad’s forehead with a napkin. “I guess it was pretty heavy, after all.”

  “It’s not heavy,” Tony said, pushing her hand away. “That’s rain, not sweat.”

  Nathan laid his palm on the trunk’s damp wooden top and looked at Clara, who was still seated at the table. “So, have you figured out how to open it yet?”

  “Heaven’s sakes, no!” Clara replied. “You and you alone should open it.”

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

  Nathan grasped the top edge and lifted. It didn’t budge.

  Tony bumped him 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 into the air, and Tony fell backwards, still hanging on and cradling it against his chest.

  Kelly stifled a laugh. “Are you okay, Daddy?”

  “Yeah,” he said, gasping under the weight. “I think the only thing I injured was my pride.” He scooted the trunk to the floor and vaulted to his feet. Breathing heavily, he grabbed Nathan’s shoulder, his eyes bugging out more than ever. “I’ve got an idea. Be right back.” He marched out of the room.

  Nathan looked at Kelly, but she just shrugged her shoulders.

  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.”

  “But that’ll ruin it,” Nathan said, laying his hand on top of the trunk.

  Tony spun the blade again. “You want it open, don’t you?”

  He glanced at Clara, but she just offered a shrug. “Okay,” he said. “But be careful.”

  “I got you covered,” Tony shouted as he gunned the motor. “I’ll just cut off the very top.” He 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. Smoke began rising from the saw. 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. “Whew!” 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 before.”

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

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

  Clara clapped her hands. “Well, we have quite a mystery to solve, don’t we? I have another suitcase to bring in, but for now I suggest that we all eat and rest. Perhaps tomorrow will provide new ideas.”

  Nathan reseated himself at the table. “Another suitcase? Are you staying here tonight?”

  “I’m afraid not. The suitcase 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. After supper we’ll test it out, and then I will be off to Davenport again where your trust fund is being set up. As executor 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 shouted. “What are you thinking? His parents were just murdered!”

  “Oh … yeah.” Tony’s head drooped an inch. “Sorry.”

  Nathan smiled weakly. “It’s okay Don’t worry about it.” Even as the words slipped out of his mouth, he regretted them. It really wasn’t okay. Tony’s remark was crass and stupid. Kelly was right. He wasn’t Mr. Sensitive.

  Clara patted Nathan’s 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 make sure all parties were available. I’ll call Nathan as soon as everything is settled, but even if his money is locked in a trust fund, he’ll likely have a stipend for his living expenses.”

  After Nathan retrieved the violin, everyone slid up to the table and began the meal. Tony dominated the conversation, talking about basketball games in college with “Flash,” Nathan’s 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 his wife. “Flash was far too trusting. He refused to believe what I learned the hard way. You can’t trust anyone. Everyone’s in the game for themselves.”

  Nathan turned his head away and bit his 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 Nathan ope
ned his mouth to object, he caught Kelly’s gaze. Her sad eyes glistening, she mouthed the words “I’m sorry.”

  Breathing a silent sigh, Nathan gave her a little nod. It was okay. And this time, it really was. As long as Kelly cared about his grief, nothing else really mattered. But would she understand his nonverbal cues that he wasn’t angry anymore?

  As her trembling lips turned upward, Nathan smiled with her. She understood. Somehow his new sister was able to see a lot more than met the eye. If she could communicate that well without making a sound, maybe there was a lot more to her than a pretty face and pink toenails.

  During the meal, he 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 stomach-filler. Wondering what might be in his father’s trunk consumed his thoughts. Since his father made sure he retrieved it, it couldn’t really 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?

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

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

  Nathan slid the trunk against the wall next to his bed and sat on its sturdy wooden top. Breathing a long sigh, he rested his chin on his hands and stared at his 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 his help, Kelly had washed the dishes, then retired to her room, complaining of a headache — something about food allergies. Tony left the house, spinning a basketball on his fingers. “Got a pickup game with the boys,” he had said.

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

  He looked at the mirror and raised a finger as if having a silent conversation with his reflection. Basketball, so late at night? He shrugged. Maybe Tony was telling the truth. Maybe it was one of those midnight basketball leagues. Lots of guys would want to go out and play basketball late on a Friday, right? His reflection shook its head, copying his own doubtful shake. Then again … maybe not.

  He stood and began unbuttoning a new shirt he had just tried on, walking close to the mirror as he reached the bottom button. With only a desk lamp to light the room, his slender, yet toned frame cast a long, narrow shadow across the floor. The image in the mirror mimicked his moves as he threw off his shirt and tossed it behind him, leaving him bare chested except for a small wooden cross attached to a thin leather strap that looped around his neck.

  Something bright glinted in his eyes, like a laser beam passing just below his brow. The light in the room dimmed, as if the power were sagging, making his shadow darken. He spun to the side and shook his head scornfully Like a clumsy oaf, he had draped his shirt over the lamp shade. He jerked it away and tossed it onto the trunk, allowing the lamp to flash to life.

  He turned back to the mirror. In the reflection, his shadow grew, lengthening and widening until it shrouded the entire image in a dark gray cloud. The lamp’s glow pierced the darkness and cast thin beams onto the mysterious trunk. His shirt had vanished.

  Nathan turned completely around. His shirt still lay on the trunk. The light and his shadow remained normal.

  A cold shiver sent goose bumps crawling across his skin. Slowly he turned to face the mirror again. Still cloaked in a gray fog, the trunk, the lamp, and the window were the only visible objects.

  Creeeak!

  That sound! The window! Nathan froze in place, slowly inching his head around toward the real window. Drapes still covered the glass, motionless. He edged toward them. One step. Another. With a wild swipe, he threw them open. Nothing. Just a dark, rainy night.

  A peal of thunder rumbled, sending a new shiver up Nathan’s spine. He released the drapes and stood in front of the mirror again. A hand emerged under the window’s image, pulling it up. No sharp nails this time, just a normal human hand.

  He glanced back and forth, watching the action unfold in the mirror and keeping an eye on the real window, still in full light, still undisturbed. A man in a trench coat crawled through the window image, then a woman, the man with a finger to his lips while helping the woman climb in.

  Nathan’s whole body shook. He pinched himself, but this couldn’t be a dream. Was the mirror showing a reflection of his thoughts like the museum guy had told Kelly’s father?

  The man in the mirror, unrecognizable in the shadows, skulked to the trunk and opened it. Nathan tried to peer inside, but he was too far away to see anything. The woman, also in a trench coat, tiptoed straight up to Nathan, her face becoming clear as she approached, beautiful and serene.

  Nathan gasped. “M-Mom?”

  He glanced to each side. The room was empty. The woman in the mirror leaned over his shoulder and kissed his reflection on the cheek. A hint of wetness brushed his skin. She then grasped his right hand and kissed it tenderly, finishing with a gentle blow on his knuckles as her distinctive raven tresses spilled across his wrist.

  Nathan lowered his gaze to his real hand. His mother’s lips were nowhere to be seen, yet somehow he could feel her breath, warm and gentle.

  In the mirror, a sad smile crossed her face as she slowly turned away. She joined the man in front of the trunk, and their bodies blocked his view. They each pulled something from their trench coats, bent low, and placed the objects in the trunk. They both turned, allowing a beam from the lamp to illuminate the man’s face.

  Nathan gulped. “Dad!”

  His father crawled back out the window, then helped his mother through again. With a muffled thump, the window closed.

  Nathan locked his eyes on the mirror. Only his own image, the lamp, and the trunk remained — the open trunk. He swung around. The trunk in the room was closed, his shirt still draping it. He spun back toward the mirror and took a step in reverse. His reflection stepped backwards. He took another step. His reflection took another step. As he continued to edge back, the Nathan in the mirror closed in on the trunk behind him until his heels collided with its base.

  Slowly bending his knees, Nathan reached behind his body. Would his image lower its hands into the open trunk? It did! And he could feel his own hands go inside, moving farther down than the top of the trunk should have allowed.

  Were his hands really inside the trunk now? He didn’t dare turn to look. The trunk might slam shut and chop his hands off at the wrists. He pushed down, feeling carefully with his fingers. Each hand latched onto an object, familiar objects, but he couldn’t quite figure out what they were. As though carrying downy chicks, he coaxed the objects slowly upward.

  Still watching his reflection, now at a distance twice the length of the room, he pulled the objects out of the trunk and laid them carefully on the floor. Leaping to his feet, he spun around. The trunk was still closed, his shirt on top, but a camera and a violin lay in front of it.

  He dropped to his knees and snatched up the camera. It was Dad’s Nikon! He laid it down and picked up the violin, lovingly caressing its polished wood. Mom’s Guaneri!

  His throat caught. Tears welled in his eyes. He scrambled for his new violin case, snapped it open, and grabbed his bow. Pushing his mother’s violin un
der his chin, he rested the bow across the D string, then, with a gentle, reverent stroke, played a long, sweet note.

  The sound penetrated his body, sending gentle vibrations along his skin. He played another note, then a melody, measures from the Vivaldi duet. Closing his eyes, breathless and crying, his soul drank in the beautiful music. His heart sang, and in his mind, his mother sang with him. Her voice soothed his grieving soul. He wept for her, for his father, for the tragedy that had left his life in a shambles.

  After finishing a crescendo, he let his arms droop and laid the violin gently on the floor. He picked up the camera again and checked the counter. Six pictures left.

  He slid the violin in front of his knees and focused the lens, then, with a flick of his finger, he turned on the flash. His father had never upgraded to a modern digital camera. That wasn’t his way. He preferred the quality of film and the nuances of craftsmanship he could add to his photo creations by developing them himself. Nathan had spent dozens of hours in dark rooms watching him bring negatives to life, even helping him at times and learning the basics of the art.

  He caressed the surface, marred by dozens of bumps and dings it had earned through its years of service. As he smiled at its familiar touch, his skin tingled. Now the camera was his. More valuable than gold, this treasure would be with him forever. Yet, it would also be an eternal reminder, flashing again and again the image in the coffins, his dead parents mutilated by a brutal traitor. A wave of sadness drew his lips downward. This camera would be a bittersweet token, carrying both a burning acid and a healing salve.

  Aiming the camera at the violin, he pushed the shutter button and listened to the auto-advance zip the film ahead. He stood again and turned toward the mirror. It was back to normal — no open window, no weird shadows. The trunk was closed, and his shirt covered the top.

  He strode halfway across the room and raised the camera. What would a picture of his reflection look like? He pressed the button. The flash of light bounced off the mirror and radiated back to the lens, sending an electric jolt through his hands. The camera flew from his grip, but, just before it hit the ground, he snagged the strap and swung it back up.