Boy in the Mirror

by Robert J. Duperre

  Jacqueline wandered into the dining room. Mitzy had laid out a slatted tray covered with cooling chocolate chip cookies. The woman picked one up and bit into it, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Perfect,” she said. “Go ahead, try one.”

  Jacqueline grabbed a cookie, its heat soothing to her fingertips, and took a bite. Warmth spread through her mouth and down her throat when she swallowed. It was the most delicious cookie she’d ever tasted. Mitzy had outdone herself this time.

  “Good?” her aunt asked.

  “So good.”

  “Nice.”

  Late morning turned into afternoon as Jacqueline and Mitzy ate cookies and drank almond milk. Jacqueline’s sorrow waned; when her father entered her thoughts, she felt an odd sort of acceptance. Joe Talbot had done horrible things, but he’d also loved her very much. No one could ever take that away from her, no way, no how.

  Where was this clarity earlier? she wondered.

  Mitzy’s cell phone rang, and the woman quickly stood up from the table and walked back into the kitchen. “Hello?” Jacqueline heard her say, followed by a few seconds of silence. “You certain?” she continued. “No. You stay put.” Mitzy then walked back into the dining room, her expression dead serious. “I need to go. I’ll be back later.”

  “Can I come?”

  “No. Sorry. Work stuff.”

  Her aunt rushed up the stairs, and rummaged around the makeshift library for a few minutes, and when she came back down, she was all put together again. She was out the door a moment later, her sedan peeling out of the driveway.

  Jacqueline shrugged and downed her glass of almond milk. It was amazing how much better she felt. The warmth spreading through her midsection spiraled outward, making her toes and fingers tingle. Excitedly she thought of Mal, who’d been in her pocket far too long. The compact was cold when she fished it from her pocket; the mirror showed nothing but her own reflection. She slumped in her seat and sighed.

  Jacqueline piled more cookies on a paper towel, went into the living room, and plopped down on the couch. She clicked on the television and flipped through the channels, keeping the sound muted. The end of some trashy talk show came on, and she watched it while munching away on her treats. When the show ended, Jacqueline hit mute and went to change the channel, but froze. A male anchor appeared on the screen, the images of three girls around Jacqueline’s age in a box over his right shoulder. Jacqueline slipped off the couch and inched closer to the screen, examining the girls’ faces. They all kind of looked like her. She un-muted the television.

  “—three days now. Authorities are asking for your help,” the news anchor was saying. “If you have any information about the girls’ whereabouts, please call the number on the screen. We’ll have more on this story at five.”

  The picture then shifted, and a woman came on screen to tell everyone how simply awesome! the new Swifferduster was. Jacqueline turned off the television, her heart sinking in her chest. She thought of her own past, of the multiple molestation attempts, her encounter with Papa Gelick, what happened with Todd. It all seemed so common she was almost numb to it. Anger began to course through her.

  There was so much awfulness in the world, for girls in particular. Danger lurked around every corner. What had any of them done to deserve this? Why was the world such a terrifying place?

  Heart pounding, Jacqueline shot to her feet and hurried out the back door. She leaned against the porch railing, breathing deeply to try and calm herself down, but it wasn’t working. She couldn’t stop thinking about those girls, or of the tragedies in her own life. She wished she could step back in time, stop her dad from blowing up that church. She’d drop to her knees and beg him please, please, please daddy don’t do it.

  And if he still insisted, she’d bury her fist in his face and make him stop.

  The sudden, violent thought was shocking, and she stepped away from the railing. “Jacqueline?” Mr. Mancuso shouted from next door. She ran back into the house.

  Jacqueline stood in the living room, huffing. She picked up the compact and squeezed its metal case, staring into the mirror and wishing the boy who lived there to appear. “Please, Mal, help me” she pleaded. “I need you, I love you!”

  But Mal still didn’t appear. She was all alone with these terrible new feelings.

  Frustrated, Jacqueline swiped at the empty glass still sitting on the end table, sending it rocketing across the room with such force that it splintered into a thousand tiny pieces when it struck the wall. The sound seemed to disarm her, and Jacqueline dropped her hands to her sides, panting, trying to come up with a way to stop her body from shaking.

  A bath, she thought, glancing one last time at the shattered glass, its remnants sparkling on the rug, and deciding she’d clean it up when she was done. Up the stairs she went, compact clutched firmly in hand, ready for when Mal came back.

  Never, not when she was running her bath, nor when she reclined in the tub, letting the warm water cascade over her, did she wonder how it was possible she’d struck that glass so hard. And if she’d stopped to think about it, she would’ve realized something amazing: her hand never actually made contact with the glass at all.

  CHAPTER 34

  The highway was jammed with bumper-to-bumper traffic. Mitzy groaned. Holiday season.

  She took the airport exit, and at a turnoff merged onto a street where traffic was blessedly thinner. A Motel 6 appeared on her right after two miles, and she pulled into the parking lot slowly, inspecting every license plate of every parked car.

  Around the rear of the motel there was an old Dodge Durango, its tan exterior spotted with rust, its windows clouded with dirt. The Georgia license plate stuck out like a shining neon beacon. She parked her sedan next to it and checked her text messages. Room 313, her informant had written.

  Does he suspect me? she typed.

  No, came the reply a moment later.

  Mitzy tucked her phone away and stepped out of the car. She circled around the building, waltzed through the automatic sliding glass doors as if she owned the place, her high heels clicking on the tile floor. The young man working the reception desk did a double-take when she strolled by.

  It was midday on a Monday and the place was nearly empty. Mitzy breezed up three flights of stairs and found room 313. She stood in front of the door, straightened her skirt, and then knocked.

  “One second!” a male voice shouted.

  Someone shuffled inside the room. Mitzy heard a heavy creak as pressure was put on the door. “Shit,” the male voice said. The door opened a crack and a young man with unkempt, light brown hair and beard peered out. His heavy-lidded eyes darted this way and that.

  “Hey, Meenakshi,” he said anxiously.

  “Jeffrey,” she replied.

  “What can I do you for?”

  “You can let me in.”

  “I, er, can’t right now,” he said with a grimace. “Busy. Come back tomorrow.”

  He went to close the door, but Mitzy stuck her foot in the gap. “Now, Jeffrey,” she said, pulling a gun from her purse. She shoved the barrel right between his eyes, and he took a rushed step away.

  “Shit, okay!” he squealed. “Put that thing away!”

  “Open the door and I will.”

  “Fine!”

  The man unfastened the chain and quickly yanked open the door. Mitzy strode past him and into the room, pistol held by her side. The place was a mess, heaped with dirty clothes and empty pizza boxes. There was an open laptop on the room’s small desk, and an ashtray overfilled with cigarette butts beside that. It looked like the guy had been living in this room for quite some time. It stunk.

  Mitzy grabbed a chair from the desk, positioning it at the corner of the bed. She sat down, crossed her legs, and gestured for the young man to sit as well. He propped his butt on the edge of the bed, keeping his eyes downcast.

  “You were a bad boy, Jeffrey,” she said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about
.”

  “Sure you do. You’re not a good liar. Never have been.”

  “I’m a plenty good liar.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Jeffrey Bryan was a journalist working for HiddenNews.com, an online conspiracy site. She’d met him when she’d first arrived here and begun her search for Jacqueline in the aftermath of the Lake Salem tragedy. The guy was convinced the whole thing had been a staged False Flag event, and was intent on writing a book about the Talbot family and how they were set up by the US government. Mitzy had fed that belief at first, letting the man be her bloodhound. It had been Jeffrey who’d found Jacqueline, bless his heart. He’d also gone ahead and procured all the correct documents for her, even forging a couple. The guy was good at his job.

  Sometimes a little too good.

  “Tell me the truth, Jeffrey,” she said.

  He shook his head.

  Mitzy rolled her eyes and removed a printed-out flyer from her purse. This one was an article ripped from CNN’s website, detailing Joe Talbot’s long history of substance abuse. The article itself wasn’t important; the scribblings beneath the article were.

  She handed the sheet to the frightened young man. Jeffrey took it, and his shoulders slumped.

  “Shit.”

  “Jeffrey, these flyers were used to torment my Jacqueline at school. However did someone come across articles with your own notes scribbled across the bottom?”

  His tired eyes lifted to her. “I didn’t give him anything he couldn’t find on his own,” he said. “And that’s the truth, Meenakshi.” A hint of southern twang entered his tone, which tended to happen when he was nervous.

  “I’ve told you a hundred times, Jeffrey, call me Mitzy.”

  He shot her a cold look. “And I told you only my mother calls me Jeffrey.”

  Mitzy smiled and lifted the gun off her lap, making him cringe. She stuffed the sidearm back into her purse. “Well, Jeff,” Mitzy said, “if we’re to be friends, a certain amount of respect is required. It isn’t respectful for friends to point guns at friends.”

  “Thank you,” Jeff breathed out.

  “It also isn’t respectful to lie to a friend, or go behind a friend’s back. So if you truly wish to be friends, and don’t want a bullet swimming around in your brain, you best come clean.”

  The young man picked at his fingertips. “You’re making things hard, Mitzy. You promised me I’d have a chance to talk with the girl. That’s the reason I helped. That’s the reason I hacked the DSS website and bribed that IRS accountant to look into Roger Gelick’s tax records. I could’ve gone to jail.”

  “I know. I compensated you.”

  Jeff stared at the ceiling in frustration. “Don’t you get it, Mitzy? I’m not in this for money! I want truth. That’s the only thing that matters.”

  “And you think the only way to get that truth is to open Jacqueline to ridicule?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t think that would happen. Like I said, he only got stuff he could find on his own, if he bothered to look.”

  “Having him blind until he needed to look would’ve been preferable.”

  “Then you should’ve told me that.” He squinted in her direction. “I’m an investigative journalist, Mitzy. I’m not your property.”

  “You still take yourself that seriously?” Mitzy said, chuckling. “You wrote about the president being an alien lizard. You see bogeymen everywhere. Am I supposed to bow before your journalistic integrity?”

  Jeff mumbled something she couldn’t hear.

  “What was that?”

  “I said that was before. It’s different now.”

  “How so?”

  “Because you showed me a real bogeyman.”

  Mitzy sat back. “So I did.”

  “Where is he, anyway?”

  “Around. As always.”

  Jeff shuddered. “He’s watching me, isn’t he?”

  “For now.”

  The young man ran his fingers through his hair. “I sent a letter to Alexander Cottard four months ago. I’d thought on what you’d told me about his connection to what happened both in Lake Salem and in Mercy Hills nine years ago. You gotta understand…‌it was a little hard to believe. I figured that if I just had a chance to talk to him, if I asked the right questions, maybe he’d give me some clues. Point me in the right direction. That’s all I wanted.”

  “So you offered him information on Jacqueline as collateral?”

  He waved her off in annoyance. “You really think I’d do that?”

  She pointed to the printed page as proof.

  “Well I didn’t. The dude’s lawyer called me two weeks ago. I met with him. He kept going on and on about a police investigation and an attempted rape. Your niece was the subject of that investigation.”

  Mitzy cringed. So much for no loose ends. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “That was my fault,” she said.

  “Kinda figured,” Jeff replied. “Anyway, he asked for any information I had on the girl. Promised he’d talk about Nathan Silver if I did. So I made copies of some info and handed it over.”

  “And that was it? Just public records?”

  He nodded. “Nothing about you. Nothing about nine years ago. Nothing about what’s…‌come after.”

  “Good,” she said.

  Jeff leaned forward. “Mitzy, you need to give me more. What’s your end game?”

  “It’s just what I told you—stopping Alexander Cottard from ending the world as we know it.”

  “And your niece is part of that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why bring her here at all? Why not send her off someplace she’ll be safe?”

  She opened her mouth, snapped it shut. Jeff was useful, but she couldn’t put too much trust in him. That’d happened in the past, and all it’d gotten her was a boatload of pain and suffering.

  “Because this is where she needs to be,” she said gravely. “That’s all you need to know.”

  Jeff leaned back, shook his head at the ceiling. “That’s not giving me much. You really think I’m gonna stop looking?”

  “No,” she said. “But let me warn you…‌stay away from Alexander Cottard. Stay away from his business and church. You’ll get your chance to tell that story, but not until I’m done.”

  “And what’ll I do in the meantime? My bosses won’t let me stay up north twiddling my thumbs forever.”

  “I can keep you busy.” Mitzy reached into her purse and withdrew a letter-sized envelope.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  She handed it to him. “You want to be helpful? You want to uncover the truth? In that envelope is the address of the curator of the Maine Maritime Museum, along with pictures of two items I need. Find those items and bring them to me, and then I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Everything?” Jeff said with a laugh. “Alexander Cottard promised me the same. And I got nothing.”

  “Have I ever lied to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m not this time.”

  “How do I know that for sure?”

  “You don’t,” said Mitzy, winking as she patted her purse.

  Jeff fiddled with the envelope. “I guess I don’t have a choice then, do I?”

  “Sure you do. It’s either do as I say, I shoot you, or you deal with my friend.”

  Jeff shuddered. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  “Good. Then we’re done here.” Mitzy stood, brushed herself off. “Until next time, Mr. Bryan. I hope your search is fruitful.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said.

  She walked past him. Halfway into the hallway she paused and faced him again. “Oh, and Jeff, when you find the item I need, don’t play with it, don’t research it. Just bring it to me. It’s dangerous.”

  “Whatever,” the young man said.

  Mitzy closed the door and ambled down the hall. The deed done, all she could think of was getting back home to Jackie. The girl needed her, now more than
ever.

  CHAPTER 35

  Jordan took a deep breath and turned off his car. Cold wind struck him the second he stepped out into the twilight air. This late-autumn cold snap didn’t seem likely to end soon.

  He ambled up the walk toward Jacqueline’s house and knocked on the door. After a few moments, the door opened. Jacqueline’s aunt smiled warmly at him, hands on hips. “Jordan, you made it.”

  “Hi, Miss Sarin.”

  “Come in.”

  Jordan did his best not to look at the older woman’s swinging posterior as she led him across the family room. Mitzy Sarin had the body of a woman ten years her junior, and she dressed provocatively enough to make Jordan uncomfortable.

  Jacqueline will look like that when she’s older, he thought, and felt instantly guilty.

  “So…‌how was Thanksgiving?” Mitzy asked.

  “Okay,” Jordan said.

  “Just okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  They entered the dining room, where the table was set with three places. “Why’s that?” Miss Sarin asked.

  “My brother got called into work and mom spent dinner in a funk.”

  “Ah, I know what that’s like. Tonight will make up for it.” She crossed her fingers. “I know Jackie will be happy to see you.”

  Jordan wasn’t so sure of that, but he kept mum about the fact that Jacqueline had been acting funny around him. When he’d approach her in the hall, she’d fiddle with her hands like she’d rather be somewhere else. She seemed overly serious, even morose.

  And Jordan hated it. He was falling for the girl, no matter how much he told himself it was a bad idea.

  Fingers snapped in his face. “Jordan? Earth to Jordan?”

  He blinked. “Oh. Yes?”

  “Take your coat off and stay awhile. I need to check on dinner.”

  Miss Sarin wheeled around and scurried into the kitchen. Jordan went back into the living room, hung his jacket on a peg by the door, and returned to the dining room.

  Mitzy’s head poked around the corner. “Jordan, can you go tell Jackie that dinner’s almost ready?”