Boy in the Mirror

by Robert J. Duperre

  The Gelicks remained eerily silent. It looked like Papa Gelick had forgotten how to breathe.

  “The transfer records for New Hope Baptist, your church, were quite interesting. All it took was to find the bill of sale and a quick search of IRS records to find a very strange pattern. Seems that Roger and Mary Gelick have been paying taxes for more than fifty years…‌and on two different coasts for the last nine. Doesn’t that seem strange to you, especially considering the both of you aren’t nearly old enough for Medicare?”

  “How did you get your hands on tax records?” asked Mrs. Gelick, suddenly timid.

  “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I traced the money back to Eternal Faith Baptist, a small parish near Galveston, Texas, also owned and operated by Roger and Mary Gelick. A member of the parish there, Gregory Pendleton, was arrested on eight counts of statutory rape. Seems Gregory had a thing for underage girls. This, by the way, is what Mr. Pendleton looked like.”

  Aunt Mitzy slid her fingers into the stack of papers again, withdrew a glossy sheet, and held it up for the Gelicks to see. Jacqueline nearly gasped; Papa and Mrs. Gelick actually did. It was Papa Gelick’s picture on the sheet, only much younger and with a well-trimmed beard. A rock fell in Jacqueline’s stomach.

  “The accusations were fatal to Eternal Faith,” resumed Aunt Mitzy. “Pendleton was a respected member of the church, after all, and trusted. Roger Gelick closed the parish doors and sold off his assets, and he and his wife retired to San Diego. Meanwhile, Gregory Pendleton and his wife disappeared after posting bond, never to be heard from again.” She put away the picture and leaned back on the loveseat, hands folded atop her lap. “Roger Gelick, the real Roger Gelick, had a lot of respect for you, didn’t he? Why else would he let you use his identity all these years while he and his wife are waiting to die out in California? Or maybe there’s something else here? Maybe you had something over him? Which is it, Mr. Pendleton?”

  Jacqueline could barely believe what she was hearing.

  Papa Gelick gulped. “It’s not…” he began, but he shut his mouth before he said anything more.

  “It’s not what, Pastor?” asked Aunt Mitzy.

  “It’s not true,” Mrs. Gelick replied, a twinge of high-pitched desperation in her tone. “None of it. You’re reaching, trying to blackmail us to get what you want. The people in this town love us. They’ll have our backs if you try to spread these lies.”

  “Is that so?” said Aunt Mitzy, shaking her head in disappointment. “Townspeople might be one thing, but the state authorities are quite another. What would happen if I were to hand over these documents to the New Hampshire State Police, or maybe the FBI?”

  Mrs. Gelick sat back, grew as pale as her husband. Papa Gelick licked his dry lips and croaked, “What do you want from us?”

  “I told you that yesterday,” Aunt Mitzy said with a sigh. “I want my niece. I want to take her back to Connecticut with me. I have the transfer of guardianship papers right here,” she tapped the side of her large purse, “ready for you to sign. You do that, and poof, all the evidence disappears. You’ll never hear from us again.”

  Papa Gelick’s lower jaw trembled. It looked for a moment as if he’d say yes immediately, but Mrs. Gelick spoke up first. “That can’t happen,” she said, angry again. “We’re going to adopt her. She needs to be someplace where she’ll be safe.”

  “I see.” Aunt Mitzy cleared her throat and, without looking away from the Gelicks, said, “Jackie, you can come in here now.”

  Jacqueline’s nerves stood on end. Had Mitzy known she was there the whole time? Swallowing hard, she stepped into the room. Aunt Mitzy turned to her, eyebrows raised. Jacqueline stopped at the edge of the loveseat. Her foster parents offered her bemused expressions.

  “Lift your head for a moment, sweetie,” said Aunt Mitzy, and Jacqueline complied. “Here we have a man who fled rape charges in another state, whose face is recently bruised, and now we have a fifteen-year-old girl whose throat is similarly bruised. That looks like assault to me. You call that keeping her safe? How many years you think that would add to your sentence on top of everything else?”

  “It’s not what you think!” shouted Mrs. Gelick.

  Aunt Mitzy groaned. Jacqueline remembered her father making a similar sound when he’d tried to house-train their dog Sonny during the last of their happy years together. Then the low roar of a car engine sounded. Everyone’s eyes turned toward the hallway leading to the foyer.

  “Well, it looks like your savior’s here,” said Aunt Mitzy. “How about we ask him what he thinks of all this?”

  Rapping came from the front door, followed by a brusque male voice calling out the Gelicks’ name. Papa Gelick stood up and disappeared down the hall while Aunt Mitzy adjusted the top of her sundress. When the pastor reappeared, there was a tall young man with a firm jaw and a gray police uniform striding behind him.

  “Hello, Mary,” the officer said. He then looked at Jacqueline’s aunt, mild surprise showing in his eyes. “Hello, Mitzy.”

  “Constable O’Reilly,” Aunt Mitzy said with a nod.

  “You know each other?” asked Mrs. Gelick.

  Aunt Mitzy playfully fanned herself and squeezed her upper arms ever so slightly, squishing her breasts together and causing them to bulge over the top of her now-visible black bra.

  “We…‌um, we met two days ago,” the constable said. “At Dunkin’ Donuts.”

  “Yeah, we talked a lot,” Aunt Mitzy said with a smile.

  Constable O’Reilly cleared his throat and turned his attention to the Gelicks. “What’s the problem here?” he asked, all business now that he wasn’t looking at Mitzy. “The dispatcher said you were vague on the phone, but it was urgent.”

  “It was,” said Mrs. Gelick, as if speaking in a dream.

  “Well…‌?”

  Papa Gelick stepped in front of the officer. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I fell in the shower, that’s all.” He gestured to his bruised face for proof. “Hit the tap pretty hard and blacked out for a few minutes. But I’m fine now. Just a headache.”

  Constable O’Reilly scrutinized Papa Gelick’s face while Jacqueline held her breath. “Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?”

  “Because we thought you’d get here quicker,” said Mrs. Gelick, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

  “Um, okay. Are you sure you don’t want me to get an ambulance out here? You might’ve gotten a concussion.”

  Papa Gelick shook his head. “No, Tim. It’s fine. Really, it is. I don’t want to be any more trouble than I’ve already been.”

  The officer smiled, put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Trouble? C’mon now, pastor. You’re never trouble.”

  “Thanks. And sorry for wasting your time.”

  “Eh, I could’ve used a break, anyway. Speaking of…‌you wouldn’t happen to have some coffee, would you?”

  The next half-hour passed in a confusing sort of blur. The adults laughed among themselves as if they were old friends, and Constable O’Reilly broke into a story about vandals spray-painting one of the Maclusky family’s barns. Finally, the officer handed his empty cup to Mrs. Gelick and bid everyone farewell. His eyes lingered on Aunt Mitzy for an agonizingly long moment before he kissed her hand and turned away. “Pastor, I’ll see you at church tomorrow,” was the last thing he said as he walked out the door. His cruiser’s engine rumbled to life a moment later, and he left the driveway.

  With the officer gone, the house went quiet. Aunt Mitzy confidently strode to the coffee table, picked up her purse, and took out a second folder. She spread five documents out on the table.

  “Now sign,” she said.

  The Gelicks did as they were told.

  When all the documents were signed, Aunt Mitzy gathered them up and stowed them away. She then slid the first folder—the one containing the evidence that Papa Gelick wasn’t who he said he was—across the table toward them.

  “Jacqueline,” she said without looking up
. “Go get your things.”

  Jacqueline hastily backed out of the room before turning tail and dashing up the stairs. She entered her bedroom at a full sprint, skidded to a stop, and grabbed her travel bag from beneath her bed. She began tossing her meager belongings into the bag without care for order or even folding her clothes. Her brain teetered on the edge of an explosive, joyful outburst. Happy tears flowed down her cheeks.

  A soft voice called her name, and Jacqueline picked up the compact. She opened it, and Mal stared back at her, his eyes wide with concern.

  “What’s the matter?” Mal asked. “Why are you crying again?”

  “We’re going home,” she said, and no matter how strange those words felt coming out of her mouth, they rang with truth.

  Jacqueline sat in Aunt Mitzy’s sedan while her newfound aunt slammed the trunk. It was closing in on dusk. When the woman slid into the driver’s seat, she gave Jacqueline’s hand a comforting squeeze.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  Jacqueline nodded.

  Aunt Mitzy frowned. “Now let me see that.”

  “See what?” asked Jacqueline. The compact was cupped in her hand, and she moved it closer to her stomach to conceal it.

  “Your neck, sweetie.”

  “Oh.”

  She leaned her head back, and suddenly Aunt Mitzy’s soft fingers were gently tracing the line of swelling. Jacqueline shivered, closed her eyes. There was something oddly soothing about her aunt’s touch, the warmth of her fingertips contrasted against the hard coldness of her long nails.

  “Did he touch you?” Mitzy asked.

  She nodded.

  “How close did he get?”

  “Close,” said Jacqueline, her eyes still closed. “But I fought him off.”

  “You fought him off?”

  “Yup.”

  “Not surprised. You got our fighting spirit, all right. If I’d been here, I would’ve killed him.” Mitzy sighed, and Jacqueline opened her eyes. “Listen, Jackie, I know you don’t know me, and you’ve been through a lot over the last few years. We can talk about whatever you want. Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you. How’s that sound?”

  “Okay,” said Jacqueline with a smile. It was hard to contain her nervousness.

  “It’ll be dark soon, and it’s a long drive back to Connecticut. We’ll stay at this nice little hotel in Lancaster tonight, then start moseying first thing in the morning. That okay by you?”

  Jacqueline nodded.

  “Good. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Mitzy put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. Papa and Mrs. Gelick—Gregory and Adriana Pendleton, actually—stood in the doorway, somberly watching the car drive away. Behind them, Sarah danced around, waving exuberantly, and Jacqueline’s insides clenched. She was on her way to a better life, while Sarah was stuck in a house with a man whose past history suggested he liked doing bad things to little girls. She shivered and grabbed tight to her own shoulders.

  Aunt Mitzy peered at her from the corner of her eye. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why’d you let them go?” Jacqueline asked. “You’re pissed about what he did to me, and you had proof Papa Gelick had done bad things before, but you didn’t turn him in when the cop showed up. What if he hurts someone else? What if he hurts Sarah?”

  Aunt Mitzy patted her knee. She opened her mouth, hesitated a moment, then said: “Don’t worry, sweetie. There’s no way I’d let a monster like that off the hook, but I couldn’t risk the officer bringing you into protective custody. I sent the New Hampshire DOS the same information I gave the pastor. This place will be crawling with State Police in two days, tops. He’ll get what he deserves. People like him always do.”

  Jacqueline nodded, closed her eyes, and listened as the car bounced along the dirt road. She forced aside thoughts of little Sarah, the innocent that she was, growing up in foster care the way Jacqueline had for five years. Instead, she focused on remembering those groping hands on her, the greedy look in her foster father’s—former foster father’s—eyes.

  “Good,” she said, and left it at that.

  CHAPTER 6

  Daddy and Mommy were yelling at each other downstairs again. Things were being thrown around and broken.

  Sarah Gelick sat in her bedroom, the black plastic trash bag Mommy had given her lying on the ground. “Put clothes in this,” Mommy had said. “Whatever you think you’ll need.”

  Sarah had asked why, but Mommy just looked sad and told her to get going. She’d asked if she could bring her dollhouse, but Mommy said “No” in the stern way that meant Sarah would get in trouble if she asked again.

  After that, Mommy left the room. Then the fighting started. Until yesterday, Sarah had never heard Mommy and Daddy fight. They’d always been nice and kind and sweet. But that ended when Jackie hit Daddy.

  The argument downstairs got louder. It was scary to hear Mommy and Daddy being mean to each other. Sarah wiped her runny nose.

  “Don’t fret,” said her new friend in his deep, soothing voice. “There’s nothing to be sad about.”

  Sarah glanced at the corner of the room, where her new friend sat. “Okay,” she said.

  “You have to pack.”

  She nodded, throwing her clothes into the plastic bag.

  The fight downstairs continued. Mommy was yelling about how Daddy did something called backsliding. Daddy screamed that it wasn’t his fault, that the pretty lady who’d come and took Jackie away had drugged him. Thoughts of Jackie caused Sarah’s heart to break. She’d been so happy to have a sister. Jackie was always nice to her, and even though she was sad a lot, she still played dollies any time Sarah asked. Now she was gone, and after Mommy had promised her that Jackie would be living with them forever.

  And Sarah wasn’t going to be living here anymore, either. It just wasn’t fair.

  “Get off your ass and help!” mommy screeched. “You know that woman told the authorities, no matter what she said. They’ll be here any minute. I’m not going to jail!”

  At the sound of the word jail, Sarah’s head whipped around. A boy at school had told her once that jail was where bad people went. If Mommy and Daddy went to jail, did that mean they were bad people too? Did that mean she was a bad person? She stared with pleading eyes at her new friend.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her. “The police aren’t coming.”

  Sarah let out her held breath. “You sure, Eddie?” she asked.

  “Positive,” Eddie said with a smile.

  Sarah rushed up to him, fell in his lap. His strong arms wrapped around her. He smelled a little sour, like spoiled milk, but for some reason that was comforting. His hand patted her head, his palm hot against her skin. She liked that feeling.

  He’d come to her earlier that evening, just after the sun went down. “I’m here to save your family,” he’d told her. “Though your parents can’t know I’m here.” He sounded like he was always in the middle of telling a bedtime story. When she cried, he stroked her face and held her. When Mommy came upstairs with the bag, he disappeared.

  All of which convinced young Sarah that Eddie was her imaginary friend.

  The screaming stopped. Sarah moved to her closet, tossing a pair of jelly shoes into her bag. She looked up at the picture of Jesus that hung over her bed and wondered if she should take that too. She could put him above her new bed when she got to her new house, wherever that might be.

  The sound of crashing silverware vibrated the floor, and Sarah jumped. Her new friend Eddie stood up. “It’s time,” he told her.

  “Time for what?” she asked.

  “You need to go to the neighbor’s. I must talk with your parents.”

  “I thought you said Mommy and Daddy couldn’t know about you?”

  “They couldn’t then,” he told her. “They can now.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Eddie took the garbage bag from her, tied off the top. He then handed it back and ushered her out the door. Mo
mmy and Daddy were talking softer now. She could hear their voices coming from the kitchen. Her new friend picked her up and carried her down the stairs. He moved fast, and she couldn’t hear his footsteps. She smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. Her Eddie was the strongest imaginary friend ever!

  The front door was propped open, the trunk of the car outside half-filled with stuff. The night was dark, thousands of crickets chirped. Eddie carried her down the porch steps and placed her gently on the driveway. “Now go,” he said. “Don’t come back until I call on you.”

  She didn’t like the look on his face, the way he bit his bottom lip. “I don’t wanna,” she said timidly.

  Eddie knelt before her. “I said go, Sarah,” he said, and for a moment she swore his eyes glowed. “Do it now. There are things I have to do. For your parents. It’s important.”

  She nodded dumbly and backed up a step. Eddie went back up the porch and into the house. Again, his footsteps didn’t make a sound. Sarah shivered.

  Sarah hesitated halfway down the dirt driveway. She could hear Mommy crying now, and Sarah’s own tears rolled down her cheeks. She hated it when Mommy cried. It always made her feel like she’d done something wrong.

  Had she done something wrong?

  Sarah dropped the garbage bag and walked slowly back toward the house, trying to be as quiet as Eddie was, but she couldn’t be that quiet. Her toes knocked into stray rocks, her heels scraped. She concentrated and tried harder, taking it one step at a time, her progress much too slow.

  Someone screamed inside the house. It was a sound she’d never heard before, more like the screech of a monkey than anything her parents could’ve made. Then it happened again, followed by Daddy crying out. Sarah forgot about trying to be quiet and ran into the house as fast as her little feet could carry her.

  The screaming stopped when she was five steps into the hallway, and besides her heartbeat and her shoes on carpet, there was a weird slurping sound, like a cat lapping up milk really, really loudly. Sarah headed straight for the kitchen, out of breath. She stopped short in the doorway and gasped.