The Girl in the Mirror

by Steven Ramirez

  “So, did you get any sense of this guy back there?”

  “You mean, other than the fact that he scares the shit out of me? No. He’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a dick.”

  Lou laughed out loud. “I’ll have to remember that. Seriously, though, I think he’s hiding something. When I get back to my office, I plan to call the aunt and uncle. Maybe they know where Hannah is.”

  “Well, you already know what I think.”

  “And I’m pretty much in agreement with you, but I need to consider every possibility.”

  Lou had ordered a triple espresso and drained the cup in one swallow.

  Sarah laughed. “And I thought I was a caffeine junkie. Hey, maybe you should fly out to Lawrence and interview the relatives in person.”

  “I don’t have budget for that.”

  “Well, I’ve got airline miles up the wing-wang, so I could go. But I’m not a cop.”

  “It’s okay, Sarah. I’m a professional. I can do this all by phone, email, and fax.”

  “Me, I prefer the personal touch. But, hey, you know best.”

  Their food arrived. The server presented Sarah with the Fettuccine & Homemade Lamb Sausage pasta bowl. Lou was having the El Macho Burger. Both were starving, and things went quiet for a few minutes as they ate.

  “I didn’t tell you about my latest dream,” Sarah said. “And what happened after.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  “Okay, so Peter was into some kind of devil worship, I’m sure of it. He made his sister drink his blood.”

  Lou had been ready to take a huge bite of his burger when he noticed the red meat juice dripping onto his plate. Making a face, he set the burger down.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Then later in my kitchen, I saw Hannah again. And that damned mirror. Lou, this time, she said something curious. ‘Not dead.’”

  “Huh. Does she mean her brother?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know. I need to take another look at that mirror.”

  “Are you sure? Didn’t you pass out last time?”

  “I wasn’t prepared. This time, I will be.”

  “Because I don’t want you going all loopy on me. I need you on this case.”

  “Oh, how sweet.”

  He picked up his burger again. “Where’s the mirror now?”

  “At our warehouse, why?”

  “Call it a hunch. I think maybe you should move it.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, look at what we’ve got so far. Both Kyle and that lawyer confirm Peter Moody’s death. Then, you’re visited by some ghost wailing ‘Not dead’ or whatever. What if Peter is alive and knows about the mirror?”

  “Okay, sold. I’ll talk to Joe when we get back. How’s your appetite, by the way? I would’ve thought a homicide detective would have a cast-iron stomach.”

  “We do. Normally. Do me a favor, though. No more dream talk until I finish, okay?”

  “Lightweight,” she said, and took another bite of her sausage.

  It was almost dark when Sarah and Joe arrived at the public storage facility. And it was starting to rain again. It had pained Joe to shell out on a separate storage unit when they already owned their own warehouse in Goleta. Joe had bought it for pennies on the dollar during the last downturn. Sarah had convinced him this was important, though, and he and Manny had dutifully moved the mirror earlier in the day. When they arrived, he climbed out and used his circular key to open the gate. He drove through and cruised slowly toward the last aisle.

  “Thank you for coming with me,” Sarah said as they got out in front of their unit.

  Lately, she had felt awkward around Joe, almost as if they were becoming strangers. Maybe it was her imagination. Or her Catholic guilt over attending a dance with another man. But why should she feel guilty? He was seeing that Gail person. And that was another thing; so far, he didn’t seem all that smitten.

  “No worries,” he said as he unlocked the padlock and raised the roll-up door.

  The inside was cold, barren, and full of shadows. Sarah felt apprehensive and wanted Joe close by. So, as she approached the mirror, which was covered in a sheet and stood in the middle of the unit, she took his hand. Despite the cold, it felt warm.

  “Sure you want to do this?” he said.

  “You’ll catch me if I faint, right?”

  “Always.” He gave her hand a squeeze and took hold of the sheet. “Ready?”

  She nodded and waited for him to uncover the mirror. She stared at it again, wondering if Hannah would appear. She thought about the possibility of Joe seeing what Sarah saw. But that was crazy—he was tone deaf when it came to things like that.

  Closing her eyes, Sarah moved closer and touched the frame. She felt a surge of energy and was tempted to pull her hand away. But she also wanted Hannah to explain what had happened to her and whether her brother might be alive. Spirits weren’t very good storytellers, she noticed. They seemed to always be distracted. Nothing. Not even a glimmer of an image. Disappointed, she stepped back and looked at Joe.

  “Anything?” he said.

  “No.”

  “Maybe I should leave you alone.”

  She didn’t want that. Not now. Not ever. But she knew she needed to try and, giving him a look of desperation and letting go of his hand, waited for Joe to leave. As he walked out, she watched him, wishing with all her heart she’d never seen the damned mirror in the first place. She looked into its milky darkness and waited.

  After twenty minutes, Sarah shook her head.

  “Elvis has left the building.”

  She re-covered the mirror with the sheet and walked outside.

  “Joe?”

  It was dark and deathly quiet, except for the sound of rain. The silence unnerved her as she lowered the roll-up door and locked it.

  “Joe?”

  Something—an owl?—stirred in a nearby pine tree. She heard the sound of flapping wings. Joe’s truck was still parked outside. He wasn’t one for practical jokes and would never have left her alone this way. She could hear the sound of approaching footsteps and recognized Joe walking toward her from around the corner.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I got a call and didn’t want to disturb you. You weren’t scared, were you?”

  “Oh, no. Terrified maybe, but not scared.”

  “How about a drink?”

  “That’s the most sensible thing you’ve said all day.”

  “So…nothing?”

  “Nada. Time for Plan B.”

  “Which is?”

  “A visit to Resurrection Cemetery.”

  Sighing, she pretended her finger was a gun and, putting it to her head, pulled the trigger.

  Eleven

  The sun was rising over a distant line of trees, its jagged rays tearing through a blanket of gray clouds, when Sarah locked her front door and started her run, which would take her north toward the cemetery. Her earbuds firmly in place, she selected Dizzy Gillespie—one of Eddie’s favorite musicians—and began stretching.

  Her father had turned her on to jazz when she was eleven. At first, she considered it “old timey.” But each weekday as he dutifully drove Rachel and her to and from school in his beloved black Galaxie with the red vinyl interior, she began to understand the magic that was jazz and eventually asked to hear more.

  Mile One. Though she hadn’t been plagued with any more nightmares, she had spent most of the night worrying about what would happen if she entered Resurrection Cemetery and encountered a vengeful spirit. The frail ones—the elderly or children—who wandered about lost in a fog of memories and clinging to their earthly lives didn’t concern her. No, it was the angry ones she feared most. And having researched the cemetery’s history, she thought it likely she would in fact see such things lurking among the moss-covered gravestones.

  Mile Two. In Santa Barbara, the Spanish had reserved the mission’s cemetery for priests, notable Native Americans who had been baptized, and members of certain prominent
Catholic families. And they chose a remote plot of land in what eventually would become Dos Santos to bury common criminals and the poor. John Dos Santos, the town’s founder, along with the other men who had marched off to fight the Germans during WWI, were buried there as well. And now, Gerald and Vivian Moody and their son, Peter, had taken up residence.

  Mile Three. Huffing as she took the hill leading to the cemetery gates, Sarah thought of that iconic scene in the mayor’s office in the original Ghostbusters movie: “The dead rising from the grave! Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together...mass hysteria!” But as she got closer, she saw something she never expected in a ghost-fueled, paranormal apocalypse where, literally, all hell might break loose at any moment.

  Breathing hard and checking her pulse, she watched as men and women exited a series of white trucks parked in front of the gates. Next to them was a van with a logo Sarah recognized, accompanied by a single word in bright, blood-red letters: Dubious.

  “Oh, hell,” she said.

  Dubious was a reality television show broadcast on the Discovery Channel. It featured the husband-and-wife team of Donnie and Debbie Fisk who, every week, spent an hour “debunking” the paranormal all across the country. The ratings must have been high, because they were picked up for a fifth season. Sarah despised the show’s smarmy hosts, who looked to be in their late twenties, were blond and pale, and hailed from Orange County where, according to Wikipedia, they had met while attending Orange Coast College, majoring in Visual & Performing Arts.

  What Sarah hated most, though, was not the fact that these two posers were making a living on television. No, it was that they were such obvious hucksters. Unlike their colleagues on shows like Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures, who at least acknowledged that there are things out there we can’t explain, these two geniuses figured out a way to make money with the genre by going the other way—attempting to prove once and for all that the whole of the spirit realm was horseshit. Never mind the occasional background noise which sounded suspiciously like something otherworldly and was always dismissed as “static,” or the ghostly images on video which Donnie and Debbie referred to with a nervous laugh as “some kind of light distortion.” Oh, and that stupid catchphrase. Puleeze. “Welcome to the real world, boys and girls!”

  And as if this wasn’t bad enough, after marrying Joe, Sarah learned to her never-ending horror that he was a fan. Now that she thought about it, this was probably one of the things that had contributed to her wanting a divorce in the first place. As impossible as it seemed, the man was devoted to the show and watched it regularly.

  One time, she grudgingly watched an episode with him, scoffing the whole time at Donnie and Debbie’s so-called “proof” that neither ghosts, spirits, or demons existed in this or in any other dimension. Finally, exasperated, she went off on him.

  “Joe, how can you sit here and watch this crap?”

  “What? They make me laugh.”

  Great. Why were these two idiots in Dos Santos? Maybe she would find a way for La Llorona to pay them a midnight visit.

  Sarah didn’t know what she was more upset about: not being able to explore Resurrection Cemetery when she had finally worked up the nerve or seeing the Opposite Twins about to tramp through a haunted graveyard with their fancy equipment, making wisecracks and mugging for the camera. Calming herself, she decided to check things out.

  As she approached the vehicles, where crew members were unloading camera and lighting equipment and heavy cables, she noticed Joe’s truck parked up the road. She saw her ex-husband standing off to the side, drinking coffee from a Cracked Pot to-go cup. Was he hoping for an autograph? Perfect.

  “Figures I’d find you here,” she said.

  “Heard about it this morning when I was getting coffee.”

  “So, have the prima donnas arrived yet?”

  “No, only the crew. I guess you won’t be checking out Peter Moody’s grave today, though.”

  “Looks that way. Hang on.”

  Sarah flagged down one of the crew members, a woman in jeans and a ski vest who looked to be in her mid-thirties.

  “Excuse me. How long are you guys planning to be here?”

  “All day. We’re setting up now and shooting the episode tonight.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Sarah shook her head and returned to Joe, who seemed sympathetic.

  “Looks like you’ll have to come back tomorrow,” he said.

  Joe’s phone rang. Handing Sarah his coffee, he grabbed it from his jeans pocket and, taking back the cup, answered.

  “Yo. What? Okay, I’ll be right there.”

  “What happened?” Sarah said.

  “Someone broke into our warehouse. One of Manny’s sons was hurt.”

  “Which one?”

  “Pollito.”

  “I’m coming with.”

  Though it was less than ten miles to the warehouse, heavy traffic clogged the northbound 101, making Joe uncharacteristically angry as he inched his way forward.

  “Take it easy,” Sarah said. “How about some music?”

  She fiddled with the stereo until she found the jazz station. As Count Basie’s “April in Paris” filled the cab, she kept thinking about Lou and his hunch regarding the mirror. Had the break-in at their office been a prelude? And did this mean Peter Moody was alive? Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sarah. In any case, it was a good thing they’d followed Lou’s advice and moved the haunted object.

  When they finally arrived at the building on Calle Real, Joe found Manny’s and his son’s trucks, as well as a Goleta police cruiser and an emergency vehicle parked out front. As they approached the emergency vehicle, Sarah saw Pollito sitting in the back. His head was bandaged, and he was wearing a gray patient blanket. Manny stood before him, his hand on his son’s shoulder.

  “Manny,” Joe said, approaching the men.

  A Goleta cop intercepted him. “Sir, are you the owner of this property?”

  “Yes. I’m Joe Greene. This is my wi— This is Sarah, my business partner.”

  Sarah watched as Joe walked off with the police officer, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. Interesting. He’d almost called her his wife. Guess things must not be going all that great with ol’ Gail the Whale. She would have to do some investigating later. She approached Manny and Pollito, the youngest of the three boys and a heartbreaker when it came to looks.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said to Manny’s son.

  “It’s okay, I’m fine. And I don’t need this pinche cobija, Pa.”

  Manny removed the blanket from around his son’s shoulders and tossed it into the vehicle.

  “So, what happened?” she said to Pollito.

  “I was here early, picking up supplies on my way to work and saw the front door was open. It was dark inside, and when I went to turn on the lights, somebody hit me hard.”

  Manny rubbed his eyes. “He was out cold. When he woke up, he called me.”

  “Does Blanca know?”

  Before Manny could answer, one of the EMTs appeared, ready to strap Pollito onto a gurney for the trip to the hospital.

  “I don’t need no hospital,” Pollito said, his voice testy.

  Sarah touched his hand. “You should let them check you out. You might have a concussion.”

  Manny turned to the EMT. “I’ll take him to urgent care. We’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” the EMT said, handing Manny a clipboard with a form on it and a pen. “Your son needs to sign this.”

  “I’m going to look for Joe,” Sarah said and headed toward the entrance. “Take care, Pollito.”

  The small warehouse was bursting with construction supplies and piles of booty Joe had recovered from dozens of homes he’d purchased. An entire section was devoted to furniture, fixtures, and artwork he used regularly to “stage” properties he and Sarah had put on the market. He always attached price tags to them, and when a buyer expressed an interest, he worked the item into the purchase agreement.


  Manny’s sons had moved the wine from Casa Abrigo here, and Sarah wondered where they’d stored it. Things were packed so tightly, Sarah wondered how Joe was able to find anything. As she made her way past aisles of lumber, drywall, and huge white plastic pails of paint, she could see her ex-husband in the distance speaking with the cop, who was taking notes.

  “Hey,” she said, joining them. “So, do we know if anything was stolen?”

  Joe shook his head. “We’ll have to do an inventory, but from what I’ve seen, I don’t think so.”

  The cop took a quick glance around. “I’ll be surprised if nothing is missing.”

  “Pollito probably interrupted them,” Sarah said.

  The cop closed his notepad. “I’ll file a report. But the chances of catching whoever broke in are pretty slim. The victim didn’t report seeing another vehicle. You should think about installing some security cameras.”

  “You’re right,” Joe said. “Okay, thanks.”

  As the cop left them, Joe found Sarah grinning at him, her arms folded across her chest.

  “What?” he said.

  “‘My wife’?”

  He started walking away, pretending to inspect merchandise. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you remember?” she said, following him. “You almost called me your wife back there. I knew you missed me, ya big lug.”

  “You’re crazy. I was upset.” He handed her a random table lamp.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Can we please change the subject? And since you’re here, I need you to help me do a quick inventory.”

  “Okay…honey.”

  “Shut up,” he said, unable to keep himself from smiling.

  The inventory had taken several hours. By the time Sarah and Joe arrived back at the office, she was starving. As Joe had predicted, nothing was missing, which in Sarah’s mind proved that Lou’s hunch had been right. Someone was looking for the mirror and most likely wouldn’t stop until they found it.

  As they entered through the rear door, they heard the sounds of men’s voices and power drills. Two guys wearing alarm company uniforms were standing on ladders, installing new sensors, as well as video cameras. A third man was at the front door, down on one knee, installing a new deadbolt system.