by J. J. Stone
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Jordan Johnstone
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Cover and book design by Think Box Creative
The Mirror Stage
“…the subject is comprised of lack, the lack of being that results from the subject’s dependence on the Other. The Other is the place where the subject is born.”
- Jacques Lacan: Modern cultural theorists by Madan Sarup
Table of Contents
• Copyright
• The Mirror Stage
• Table of Contents
• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine
• Chapter Ten
• Chapter Eleven
• Chapter Twelve
• Chapter Thirteen
• Chapter Fourteen
• Chapter Fifteen
• Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1
The floors creaked like ancient joints beneath Mary Brandt’s feet. Her short harsh breaths sounded like roars in the silent blackness of the unlit hallway. A floorboard protested beneath her weight, and she froze, listening. Nothing. Mary continued down the hallway, intent on reaching the door waiting at the end.
With a gentle turn of the worn brass doorknob, Mary nudged the old wooden door open. The bottom scraped against the floor, and every muscle in her body tensed. Her over-sensitized ears waited for a sign that she had been discovered. Still nothing. In one fluid motion, she slipped into the room and shut the door.
She leaned back against the door and squeezed her eyes shut. Why had she decided to poke around in the garage? Why had she opened the trunk? Why had she not seen her husband spread-eagle in drunken sleep on the garage couch? She shook her head, and a vivid focus pierced through the frightened fog. Her sole thought: get her daughter and get them as far away as possible.
Across the room, a bleary-eyed little girl rose groggily from a mountain of pink bedding and stared blankly at Mary.
“Mommy?” asked six-year-old Ada Brandt. She untangled her tiny limbs from her sheets.
Mary crossed the room in two strides to ensure her daughter did not leave the bed. “Whisper, baby.”
“Is Daddy asleep?”
“Yes, so let’s not wake him,” Mary said with a tight smile. She tucked a piece of hair behind Ada’s ear. “Are you feeling better?”
Ada nodded and studied her mother’s face with a level of scrutiny way beyond her six years. “Are you OK, Mommy? You look sad,” she whispered, resting a hand against her mother’s cheek.
Mary squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden sting of tears. She clutched Ada’s hand for a moment. A brief creak in the hallway triggered a violent jolt in Mary’s body. She whipped her head to the door.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Ada asked, feeding off of her mother’s apprehension.
“Ada,” Mary whispered, “let’s play a game. Does that sound like fun?”
Ada frowned, her worry replaced with wariness. Her mother had just suggested doing something that Ada knew to be explicitly not allowed. “You want to play a game in the middle of the night,” she said, almost daring her mother to take back her words.
Mary stood from Ada’s bed and smoothed her sweaty palms against her night gown. “Just this once. How about hide and seek?” Ada nodded with a giant grin. “I’ll count first,” Mary grinned back.
Pure delight washed over Ada’s tiny face. She slipped off her bed and tucked herself underneath, hidden by the edge of the comforter. A few seconds later, she poked her head back out to give her mother an eye roll. “You’re supposed to start counting now,” she whispered.
Mary crouched down and lovingly cupped Ada’s rosy cheeks in her hands. She studied her daughter’s face for a few moments, memorizing every curve and shape.
“Mommy! Count!” Ada insisted, wriggling in her mother’s touch.
“You know I love you, sweetheart. Right?”
“Yes, Mommy,” Ada replied in an impatient sing-song.
Mary leaned down and tenderly kissed both of Ada’s cheeks and between her eyebrows.
Another creak sounded in the hallway, closer to the door this time. Mary inhaled sharply and glanced nervously between the door and Ada.
“I want you to hide,” Mary instructed, “and do not come out from under this bed until you hear me say ‘ten.’ Understand?”
Ada rolled her eyes again. “I know how to play. I’m six, you know.”
Mary grinned. “Yes, baby, I know.”
The two stared at each other for a brief moment. Ada wondered why it was taking so long to start the game; Mary wondered if she could just freeze this moment forever.
“Mary?” a gruff male voice called from right outside the door.
Ada broke out a giant grin. “Daddy’s playing too?”
Mary gently guided Ada to go back to her hiding spot under the bed. “No, we’re going to play without him.”
Ada disappeared beneath the bed with a giggle. Mary stood and turned to face the door. She watched the knob slowly turn as she counted. “One ... two ...”
_____
From under the bed, Ada watched her bedroom door whip open. She saw her father’s feet walk in. Her mother was still counting. She was up to “five” now.
“What are you doing?” Ada’s father, Jacob, hissed.
“Six ... se-seven ...” Mary counted, backing up against Ada’s bed.
In one swift move, Jacob lurched into Ada’s room, causing Mary to cry out. The comforter from the bed fell to the floor as Jacob dragged Mary toward the door by her hair.
Ada listened, tears dropping down her cheeks to the carpet, as her mother struggled with her father. She did not move from her hiding place under the bed, just as her mother had ordered.
“Why, Jacob, why?” Mary shrieked as she landed a solid kick into her husband’s torso.
“You know why,” Jacob grunted as he dragged her from the room.
Ada watched her father’s feet trudge from the room. For one heart-stopping moment, Ada locked eyes with her mother. Mary mouthed something to Ada, and then she was gone, the bedroom door slammed shut.
For a few moments, Mary’s shrieks relentlessly filled Ada’s ears. Then there was silence.
And then came the wave of intense panic.
“MOMMY!”
_____
25 YEARS LATER - SEATTLE, WA
Ada bolted upright in bed, her caramel brown hair stuck to her face like papier-mâché strips. Her bedroom was cloaked in darkness and the silence in the room was so thick, it was almost physically heavy.
Her bedside phone dock read 2:45AM. Ada squinted at it for a few seconds as she waited for her heart rate to return to normal. She pivoted in bed and placed her feet on the cool wood floor. The sudden chill was a welco
me shock.
With shaking hands, Ada wiped the sweaty strands of wavy hair from her face then pitched forward and sank her head into her palms.
“Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream,” she chanted over and over.
Gradually, her breathing returned to normal, her hands stopped their tremors, and her heart beat a regular rhythm. Ada sagged back into bed and pulled her covers against her sweat-chilled body.
It was October 5. Two days until the 25th anniversary of that night. After a 20-year hiatus, the dreams had started again.
Ada rolled to her side and studied a framed picture on the bedside table. She was four years old, being pushed on a tree swing by her mother. Her mother was beaming in the photo, her eyes squinting like Ada’s did when something was truly bemusing.
As she lay facing the picture, a gnawing sadness brewed in the pit of her stomach. When the picture became unbearable, Ada rolled to her back and focused her attention on the ceiling.
“What’s past is past, look only ahead,” Ada whispered. She clenched one hand over the other and pushed them against her stomach. “What’s past is past, look only ahead,” she squeezed her eyes shut, repeating the mantra over and over.
A loud bark sounded outside her bedroom door. Ada’s eyes snapped open. She winced as sunlight poured into them. Confused, she tossed a look at the clock. 7:32AM.
“Dammit!” Ada cried and lunged from bed. She hurried to her bedroom door and opened it. Sitting outside the door was Tiny, a Harlequin Great Dane with a severe lack of patience.
“Thanks for the wake-up call, buddy,” Ada said as she gave the dog’s head a quick pat.
Not amused, Tiny stood and trotted down the hallway.
Ada rolled her eyes and shuffled after him.
_____
Tiny was waiting for her at the back door when Ada reached the kitchen. He nudged the door knob with his snout then sat back on his laurels waiting for her to take the hint.
“Look, rough night, all right? A little compassion would be awesome,” Ada said as she unlocked the door to let Tiny go about his morning business. Once he had lunged outside, she shut the door and set about making some coffee and preparing Tiny’s morning mound of food.
A few minutes later, Tiny was back inside and snout-deep in kibble. Ada left him to his meal and made her way back to her bedroom, taking sips of coffee along the way. She rushed through her morning routine, attempting to make up for the lost hour that nightmare had cost her this morning.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in slacks and a crisp white blouse, she snatched her phone from her bedside table and slipped into her favorite pair of leather loafers. She paused for a moment to assess her image in the mirror. Her porcelain complexion looked a bit sallow in the early morning light. Her high cheekbones were becoming a little more prominent than they should. She gave her cheeks a good pinch, trying to muster some color back to them.
“These dark circles are not a good look,” she muttered as she studied her tired hazel eyes.
Ada glanced at the time on her phone and cursed under her breath. She set off at a jog toward the garage.
_____
Tiffany Rogers watched from the top of the stairs of the Fine Arts Building of Seattle University as her colleague and best friend Ada pulled her red British sport coupe into its assigned parking spot. Tiffany attempted to suppress her chuckles as she watched Ada struggle to gather all necessary items into her arms and juggle them as she hurried toward the building.
“I’m sure I don’t need to let you know what time it is,” Tiffany said with a smirk.
“No, you don’t,” Ada said as she rushed up the stairs to the building’s double doors.
“I’m just saying, I’m the blonde one here. And this is the third day in the past couple of weeks that you’ve really cut it close.” Tiffany quickened her pace to match Ada’s mad dash.
“Has Bridges said anything?” Ada asked as she and Tiffany entered the building. The last thing Ada needed was a verbal lashing from Alfred Bridges, her boss and the dean of the College of Arts and Sciences.
“I don’t think anyone has tattled on you yet,” Tiffany said.
Ada rolled her eyes and ascended the wide stairs in the lobby. A few students were mingling in the second floor halls, but the class dismissal deluge had yet to release. Ada and Tiffany ducked into Ada’s classroom right as Ada’s phone buzzed with its 15-minute warning alarm.
Tiffany closed the classroom door and switched on the lights as Ada dumped the items from her arms onto her desk. “Can you get the overhead, too?” she asked Tiffany as she pulled out her laptop and set it up.
A giant projector screen began its descent from the ceiling as the overhead projector clicked to life. Tiffany tossed herself into one of the front row seats and pulled out her phone.
“So, I have this friend,” Tiffany said.
“Congratulations.” Ada tossed a glance at Tiffany, who stuck out her tongue in response.
“No, but really, this friend of mine ... I want you to meet him.”
“Him? Tiff, what have I said about this?”
“I understand you don’t have the greatest track record with guys, but that doesn’t mean every man in this city is a zero.”
“Well, the only ones that seem to bother with me all have a pretty proven track record. So, my answer is still no.”
Tiffany waved a dismissive hand at Ada then scrolled through her phone. “Geez,” she said, sitting forward in her seat.
“Were you expecting me to say yes?” Ada asked as she walked over to Tiffany and sat down in the seat beside her.
Puzzled, Tiffany looked at her for a moment then shook her head. “No, not you. Have you heard about these murders?”
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”
“Four women have been killed in the past couple of weeks near Seattle and on Whidbey Island, mainly near Langley,” Tiffany said as she scrolled furiously through the news story. “Apparently, the FBI is getting called in.”
“Well, that’s not surprising. It’s not like Seattle PD has much experience with serial killers,” Ada said. “Do they have any suspects?”
Tiffany read for a moment then shook her head.
Ada swept her arms out and gracefully lunged from her seat. She tapped Tiffany’s knee. “This room is about to get slammed. You better hit the road,” she said as she walked back to her desk.
“I can’t believe you aren’t fascinated with this, Professor Greene,” Tiffany snorted as she stood, still reading the story on her phone.
The classroom door opened and a handful of students strode in. “I’ll find you after class, all right?” Ada called to Tiffany as she left the room.
“Meet you in your office,” Tiffany said over her shoulder, still preoccupied with the phone.
Ada smirked at her friend’s back then quickly put on her teacher face.
“I hope you all had a chance to make your revisions,” Ada said as students filled up the classroom. This was met with a unified groan, which Ada replied to with a grin. “Let’s split up into groups of four. Everyone needs to read the first four pages of their pieces to their group and then get feedback. I’ll be here if you need me.”
_____
“Professor Greene?”
Ada glanced up from her computer screen and quickly minimized the serial killer news story. “Yes?”
Abigail, a sophomore from Oregon and way too bubbly for her own good, was shifting her weight from foot to foot in front of Ada’s desk. The rest of the classroom had cleared out within thirty seconds of the dismissal bell. Ada had assumed she was alone in the classroom.
“I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” Abigail asked.
Ada gave her a fake grin and closed her laptop lid. “Not at all. What can I help you wi
th?”
Abigail pulled a paperback from the stack of items in her arms and placed it gingerly next to Ada’s laptop. The book had seen much better days. Layers of sales stickers in the top right corner of the cover revealed its journey.
“The River. Wow, I haven’t seen one of these in a while,” Ada murmured. She picked up the mystery novel and glanced reluctantly at the bottom of the cover. ‘Ada Greene’ glared back at her in an ugly green font.
“I found it in a bookstore in town that was having a going-out-of-business sale.”
Ada gave a rueful grin and held the book back to Abigail. “That’s fitting,” she whispered to herself.
Abigail fished a pen out of her purse and held it toward Ada. “I know this is probably really stupid, but I was wondering if maybe you could sign it?”
Swallowing the sheer disgust that had boiled up in her throat, Ada took Abigail’s pen and quickly scribbled her signature on the book’s front page. “Congratulations on being the eleventh person to purchase this.”
“Oh, I’m sure more people than that bought it,” Abigail breathed, beaming as Ada handed her the paperback. She cradled the book in her hands like a piece of gold. “I’m such a huge fan, Professor. I wish I could get my imagery as vivid as yours.”
“Just keep writing, you’ll find your groove soon enough.” Ada wanted nothing more than to run to her office and curl up into a miserable ball. The last thing she’d expected was to have her failed writing career literally pushed in front of her face today. She much preferred discussing the writing process with students. Tina Lancaster came to mind. The after-class discussions the two of them had shared validated Ada’s decision to go into teaching and have a hand in shaping the next generation of writers to do what she had been unable to: sell.
“Do you have anything new coming out soon?” Abigail pressed, a painfully eager glimmer in her eyes that Ada couldn’t help but equate to a fawn.
“Sorry, no,” Ada replied quickly. She stood from her chair and made a show of packing up her things. Thankfully, Abigail took the hint.