Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

by Lisa Ann Porter

  When he arrived at the hospital, Lorna had already been evaluated and was in critical condition. “Why didn’t anyone call me!” he demanded.

  “Sorry Reverend, calling the family pastor was the last thing on our minds,” the police officer placed outside Lorna’s room said. “Right now we are trying to locate a next of kin.” The police officer did not step aside; he had his orders. No one entered the room without permission, reverend or not.

  “Someone should have called me,” he said miserably.

  Sable, watching the whole exchange, stepped forward. “Look,” gently touching Rev. Thomas’ arm, “a decision had to made right away,” she said apologetically.

  “Lorna’s fighting for her life in more ways than one…” she was practically yelling now, paying little attention to her father or Stephen telling her to calm down, “…and you want to know why we didn’t call you! Why should we?” Openly crying now, her only thought was for Lorna and the hell she was fighting her way through.

  His shoulders sagged as Rev. Thomas sat down as if the weight of the world were on them. Putting his head in his hands, he groaned sounding more like a wounded animal than a minister who had faith that all would be well.

  “She’s my daughter,” he said quietly, “She’s my daughter.”

  Shocked, “Why didn’t you let this fact be known earlier?” George asked incredulously, wondering if Lorna knew.

  “Because I’m a man of the cloth.” Saying it as if that should answer the question, but it did not, he could tell by the look on everyone’s face. So he started from the beginning and told how he met Jean in college, wanted to have one last fling before going to seminary school, etc.

  Leaving no detail out, he quietly spoke of the night he left Jean crying in the middle of the football field in the pouring rain. By the time Rev. Thomas was finished, he sat back in his seat as though exhausted.

  Looking up from his hands slowly, because he knew he was going to see condemnation on their faces, he mentally prepared to defend himself, but what he saw was confusion.

  Softly George said, “Are you saying that after you found out that little girl in there was your daughter, you did nothing to comfort her?” Pausing because the thought of leaving Sable in a moment of crisis was foreign to him, “You just went back to your church as if nothing happened?”

  Looking at Rev. Thomas as if he had just lost his mind, George was so angry he turned away from him. He briefly wondered how much time he would get in prison or hell, for that matter, for hitting a ‘man of the cloth’ as Rev. Thomas called himself.

  Indignant at George’s accusation, “What was I supposed to do? I have an obligation to my church.” Rev. Thomas asked incredulously, throwing his hands up in frustration as his mind tried to reconcile the fact that his once private life was now public knowledge.

  He had worked hard over the years to perfect his public persona. Image was everything when you work with the public. Closing his eyes momentarily in silent frustration, he mentally reviewed all the facts of the last several weeks, wondering how he was going to explain this to his family and to his parishioners. So caught up in his own mental dilemma, Rev. Thomas did not notice the angry glares and looks of disbelief aimed at him.

  “Your church! Why you self-righteous…!” George, taking a step toward Rev. Thomas, his purpose clear, came up short by Lt. Brown stepping quickly between them.

  “You all don’t understand,” he turned to each of them with pleading eyes asking them to understand his position. “I made vows to the church…” he continued to look from one to another.

  “Where were your church vows when you found out Lorna was your daughter?” This came from Stephen.

  Turning his back on Rev. Thomas, he took Sable by the arm and had to practically drag George Van Cleef away from the man, for he was sure that if they did not go for coffee or something either he or George was going to be on the news for beating up a minister.

  Left alone with the Lieutenant, Rev. Thomas pleaded, “what was I suppose to do?” He needed someone to understand the position he was in. He was a minister for crying out loud. A public figure.

  Taking a moment before he answered, Lt. Brown stared at Rev. Thomas so hard; Rev. Thomas actually started to fidget from his stare. “You’re supposed to practice what you preach, Pastor,” he said quietly.

  A sadness he had been fighting off since starting the case engulfed him like a warm blanket. “Practice what you tell others to believe,” he said quietly and walked away. Watching him through tormented eyes, Rev. Thomas timidly wondered how many people felt the same way Lt. Brown did.

  Needing to be alone for a while, Lt. Brown stood outside of the emergency room exit and stared at the night sky as if hypnotized, wondering if he really needed to retire for the umpteenth time.

  Three months later…

  The silence in the courtroom was very taut, and then a reporter from the back of the room opened a pack of gum. The cellophane wrapper crackled so loudly several jurors jumped as if shocked by electricity, while others turned to see what was causing the noise. Feeling like a child with his hands caught in a cookie jar, the reporter hastily rewrapped the gum and jammed it into his pockets.

  The tension in the courtroom tightened, as the judge entered the room like an army general. Turning unreadable eyes toward the jury box, in an authoritarian voice, he inquired if the jury had reached a verdict, silently quieting the room when a soft murmuring began to escalate.

  Taking the piece of paper from the bailiff, noting what was written inside, while to the distress of every reporter in the room his face gave away nothing of its content, he gave the head juror permission to read the verdict.

  Clearing his throat, the head juror read the verdict, sounding much like an announcer at a ballpark. “We the jurors find the defendant…”

  Just as I am without one plea, but that thou blood was shed for me…

  Everyone in the courtroom was momentarily frozen in shock. Jean, standing straight as a military solider, started singing. The judge, shaking off the shock of the moment, banged his gavel demanding that she be silent.

  …and that thou bided me come to thee…

  “Order, order in the court.” The judge demanded, banging his gavel as spectators began to murmur, while the flashbulbs of reporters’ cameras illuminated the courtroom like Fourth of July fireworks.

  When order was finally restored to the courtroom, and Jean was quieted by her attorneys, the judge ordered the juror to finish reading the verdict. Clearing his throat again, “…we the jury find the defendant Jean Carter…guilty.”

  The courtroom erupted into an excited frenzy as reporters rushed out into the lobby to announce the verdict to the awaiting crowd of spectators and various news media. The judge, thanking the jurors for performing their civil duties, quietly dismissed them. Then taking a slow walk to his chambers, he mentally cringed, contemplating the sentencing of the case.

  After careful examination of all the evidence and the countless number of meetings with all the physicians and therapists, it was agreed upon by all that Jean Carter was found to have antisocial personality disorder with extreme anxiety coupled with severe narcissistic characteristics. This helped to explain some of her behavior once the trial had began and the information was leaked to the news media.

  Jean would remain at a mental institution for ten years, at which time she would be reevaluated and maybe released depending on the doctors’ recommendations.

  Many women across the county sympathized with her, while others could not understand, despite her problems, how she could allow her daughter to be continually abused without raising a hand to help her; these women wanted her to go to jail for life.

  One month later…

  Stop running. The phrase kept repeating itself in Lorna’s mind like a broken record. Walking out onto the balcony, she inhaled the clean fresh air until she thought her chest would burst from it.

  Gazing out at the vast ocean, she did not feel the
slight breeze caressing her pant legs as they flapped in the wind like pieces of paper. Stop running. Her fingers gripped the edge of the balcony as she finally allowed herself to face the demons that tormented her since early childhood.

  Fear of her mother and father, made her run away from home into a world that ate away at the last bits of her innocence, like leeches on an open wound, and the smell of fresh blood brought out the hungry ravishing wolves of the world.

  Poor judgment, causing her to trust Rorlo, because he showed her kindness when she needed it most, almost ruined her life.

  The lack of sound wisdom, caused her to make too many decisions based on unstable, immature emotions, many of which she herself did not recognize.

  Limited knowledge of the world around her, caused her to live her life much like an Olympic swimmer stroking through clear, clean water. Except she swam through murky, miry clay, and could not see what or where she was going. Her strength sometimes depleted, to the point of death.

  Lacking the understanding for life, nearly causing her death several times, sometimes made her wish that she was.

  Inhaling the clean fresh air again, her fingers relaxed their grip on the balcony. Harry is dead; he cannot hurt me anymore. She blinked as unshed tears clouded her vision. Nick was dead. Her heart twisted at the thought, as a lone tear slowly eased down her cheek. I don’t have to fear him anymore either, she thought resolutely.

  Looking out at the vast open horizon, Lorna noted the brilliant colors of oranges, yellows, and blues painting the early morning sky like a patient artist. She remem bered Nurse North telling her that she would often look up, no matter what the weather was outside. And feelings of hope would infuse her, for whatever she was dealing with at the time, and then she would know that things would be all right. She thankfully remembered Nurse North telling her of her pains, traumas, and survival unashamedly.

  Her phone was ringing again; glancing back at the open doorway, she allowed the answering machine to pick up. Hearing Sable’s voice telling her that she was thinking of her and loved her, Lorna smiled as the machine beeped indicating that the caller had hung up.

  Turning back toward the open sky, “Stop running,” she whispered softly to herself. “I don’t have to run anymore,” she said to a bird dipping its beak into the water to catch a fish.

  Looking up at the sun, as it began to make its slow ascent between clouds of grays mixed with an interesting shade of violet, she allowed a tiny seed of hope to blossom, while she stared intently as the grey clouds slowly disappeared, awakening various shades of blues.

  Hope. Sitting on the lounger, tucking her legs underneath her, Lorna lay her head back, never taking her eyes off the brilliant sun, which lit the morning sky. She did not have to run anymore.

  Tired. She did not have to be ashamed anymore; there was nothing else to hide. The world knew her darkest secrets; all of them were plastered on every newspaper and talk show nationwide for months. There was nothing to do now except…live.

  Acceptance. She had lived her life the way everyone else had wanted her to, and it almost killed her. Harry had used her in the vilest way that any adult could do to a child. Jean, her mother, had withheld love and protection, and then used her to get to the one she really loved.

  Rorlo used her for money and his own sick pleasures. Nick had used her as his mother. His bank. His punching bag when he was angry, and a place to empty himself sexually. And Rev. Thomas disregarded her to soothe his guilty conscience. Everyone got what he or she wanted.

  Now, she thought, as the morning sun kissed her cheeks, she would live for herself. Another chance. She hoped that she would be better at it this time. For the first time in a long time, Lorna rested. Safe. At peace. She slept.

  That same day…Sunday morning…

  Telling himself that he had worked hard to get to where he was now, and had done nothing wrong, Rev. Thomas took another deep breath while adjusting his robe. This was his first Sunday back since Jean’s trial.

  The news had connected him to the Carter family; so everyone not only knew that Lorna was his daughter, but also how he left Jean on a deserted football field years ago crying in the rain.

  Many, from the various letters and phone calls the church had been receiving, believed he knew Jean was pregnant, but cared more for his career, than their unborn child.

  The church secretary knocked on his office door, indicating that service was ready to begin. Grabbing his Bible and his notes, Rev. Thomas left his office feeling guilt beat at his conscience for all the things he should have done, and wished he had done. Maybe if he had, he would not be in this mess.

  He had worked effortlessly over the years to maintain a stellar image because he knew how important it was in building a successful career. He had hoped of one day exceeding his grandfather and making his father proud of him by having the largest church membership in the nation.

  He had dreamed of the notoriety that it would have brought him, but not like this. This was not what he had planned. When he stood in the pulpit to give his sermon, he looked out at the faces before him.

  Many were angry, some sympathetic, while others could not look him in the eyes. The church was packed over its capacity, just as he had once wanted.

  Taking a deep breath, gazing, but not seeing, over the congregation, his voice sounded as if he were on a megaphone. “My topic for today’s sermon is Be Careful, Your Sins Will Find You Out…”

  Bulbs began to furiously flash all over the church; the media was there in full force…

  Taking another deep breath, Rev. Thomas gave the sermon of a lifetime. Many thought it was his best sermon yet.