The False Mirror

by Dana V. Moison

  Fatigue fell upon her at once. She hoped that at least her dreams would take her to more pleasant places than reality.

  CHAPTER 18

  September 13, 2013. Manhattan, New York

  Sharon turned the key inside the lock and opened the door. It was a typical New York apartment that did not justify the overpriced rent in relation to its tiny space – under six-hundred square feet. To Sharon, however, it was home. Even when growing up in Brooklyn, she’d always dreamed of living right in the heart of the Big Apple, Manhattan, the real New York. So, she didn’t have a huge penthouse overlooking Central Park on the Upper East Side; but a cozy apartment in Downtown Manhattan, a few steps away from the subway station, was also considered a pretty good catch – especially for someone who lived on a public servant’s salary.

  Sharon locked the door behind her. She took off her hairband and pulled her hair back, letting it fall over her shoulders. She removed her holster, placed it on the wooden dresser, and started unbuttoning her shirt. The heatwave from the end of August stretched all the way to mid-September, and the humidity outside was unbearable. She proceeded to the bathroom while peeling off more pieces of clothing and dropping them on the floor, like Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs. It had been a long day, and she needed a refreshing shower.

  Only after she got back to the living room, cleansed and revitalized, wearing a luxurious bathrobe – a gift from the spa package her mother had bought her for her last birthday – did she noticed the brown paper bag on the dining room table. She immediately recognized the logo of her favorite Chinese restaurant. Sharon used to order takeout food from there at least twice a week.

  When you’re busy chasing criminals, you don’t have much time for cooking.

  Sharon tried to recall when she’d ordered takeout when she noticed a yellow Post-it note on the bag with Chris’s handwriting.

  I saw you on TV today, you were great. Have you considered a career in acting? Anyway, I figured you’d be hungry, so I took the liberty of ordering you a little something before I left.

  A smile appeared on her face. She looked for her cell phone so she could call Chris and thank him. It went straight to voicemail. She peeled off the yellow note and turned it over.

  PS. Don’t forget, I’m flying to Georgia today. I’ll be back before the miso soup expires ;)

  For a moment, she hated herself for forgetting to call Chris and wish him a safe flight. Even though it was only a short business trip, and he was supposed to be back in just a few days, Sharon still felt a slight pinch at heart; especially due to the fact that, like always, he’d gone out of his way to make her happy.

  Sharon took the cardboard box from the bag and walked over to the sofa. She sat down in front of the television and started flipping through the channels absentmindedly. With her free hand she took out an eggroll and started nibbling at it. The vast majority of her attention was dedicated to the oily appetizer between her fingers when she suddenly encountered an image that could not leave her indifferent.

  Her own image.

  It was a segment of the declaration she’d given to the press after finding Tracy Navarro’s body. Sharon studied her stern expression when responding to the reporters’ questions.

  “. . . So far, we cannot confirm whether Miss Navarro’s death was deliberate or an accident. An official statement will be released after we receive the official autopsy and toxicology results,” she heard her steady voice dictating through the television.

  As a matter of fact, since the resolution of the Sleeping Beauties Affair, things at work had been quite calm. Of course, there were plenty of crimes to solve in New York City, but there weren’t any enigmatic cases or elusive serial killers that kept her up at night. Usually, the cases were painfully banal: the fingerprints betrayed the perpetrator, the killer broke under pressure during the investigation and confessed, or the alibi was refuted.

  Sharon felt she was being swallowed into this routine in which the names became numbers and the cases she had to close were advancing past her desk indiscriminately – as if they were being pumped out by a factory and then fed to her on a conveyor belt. Everything went so smoothly that it was almost dull. Deep inside, she hoped she would get another chance to solve an unforgettable mystery like the dark secret that stood behind the Sleeping Beauties Affair, to receive that adrenaline rush that reminded her why she’d become such a workaholic in the first place. Catching the bastard who had done this to Tracy Navarro – if this was indeed a murder rather than a strange coincidence – would be the exact adrenaline vaccine her body needed.

  Now the same channel showed various photos from the crime scene. Sharon glared at the familiar pictures, followed by the last photo Tracy’s had uploaded to her Instagram account, taken the night of her death: carefree Tracy, partying with friends.

  “You’re lucky that my boyfriend is out of town,” said Sharon to the image on the screen, “because now no one is going to stop me from working day and night to find out who the son of a bitch is that killed you.”

  CHAPTER 19

  September 13, 2013. Brooklyn, New York

  The young girl gazed at the name that appeared on her phone’s screen and bit her lower lip hesitantly. The third time the phone rang, she finally answered.

  “Hello?” she said quietly, still playing nervously with her lips.

  “Becky, are you all right?” her uncle’s familiar voice was heard from the other end of the line.

  “Yes, Uncle Jake. I’m really sorry, I just had to go to New York so I could . . .” her voice trailed off.

  “I know,” Jacob calmed her. “I talked to Justin.”

  Becky’s heart skipped a beat.

  “To his credit, he gave up your plan only after he realized that I already knew you’d bought a ticket to New York,” he continued. “I checked your credit card expenses.”

  “So, you knew I was here this whole time?” The sharp rise in her tone suggested she was surprised.

  “Yes,” replied Jacob. “But this morning when I woke up and saw you weren’t there, I felt like the nightmare had become even worse . . . Do you know how worried I was about you?”

  “Yes Uncle . . . er . . . Jake,” she said finally.

  “Becky, we may not be related by blood, but I became your uncle the second I held you the day you were born.”

  The familiar story that had been told to her so many times immediately came to mind. Uncle Jake had dropped by for a visit, like he’d done every year, when her mom had suddenly gone in labor. Her father hadn’t been home, and back then only few people had cell phones. Jacob had left Max a note at home and a message at work, and then he rushed to drive Emily and Brandon to the hospital. He’d waited until her father got there, just in time for the birth. Jacob had watched Brandon while Max had been in the delivery room with Emily. Afterwards, they were invited in to meet the new baby.

  Becky wondered, of the things Uncle Jake had told her over the years, what was true and what had been a fabrication designed to support his cover story as her uncle. She was so glad to learn that this story was all true.

  As much as she tried to sober up and accept the fact that he was only a marshal doing his job, she couldn’t stop thinking about him as her “Uncle Jake”.

  “I know,” she almost whispered, feeling a burning sensation creeping to her eyes. “How’s Brandon?” she added, suddenly overwhelmed with longing and concern for her older brother.

  “Stable, but still no change,” he answered quietly. “He’s in a coma, and it is not yet clear when he’ll be out of it.” Jacob paused for a moment before he continued, “Sometimes it takes days and sometimes even years.”

  The burning sensation intensified as tears poured down her cheek. “Take good care of him for me, okay?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  “Don’t worry, kiddo. I assure you, I’m leaving him in good hands. But I’m coming to New York.”

  “What? No!” the cry slipped out of her lips. “Uncle Jake, I don�
��t need you to protect me! This is something I have to do myself,” she insisted.

  “Becky, you’re in grave danger, more than you can imagine. Flying to New York was the worst, most irresponsible thing you could have done. I can’t allow you to stay there all alone,” he determined decisively. “Not as your marshal and certainly not as your uncle. If something were to happen to you . . .” his voice trailed off.

  “Nothing will happen to me, Uncle Jake,” she tried to reassure him. “No one knows I’m here.”

  “No one was supposed to know your parents had moved to Oklahoma, either,” he reminded her. “But somehow they found out. And now, you fly straight into these animals’ lair.”

  “Uncle Jake . . .” she pleaded.

  “I’ll see you soon, kiddo. And that’s final,” he concluded and broke the connection.

  Becky hung up. Tears of anger flooded her eyes. She missed her uncle very much – he was the closest thing to a parent she had left – but she felt that he cast a great overprotective shadow on her quest for independence and self-discovery.

  When Rebecca came into the room a few minutes later, she found Becky curled up on the bed, hugging her legs with her head buried between her knees.

  She sat on the bed beside her. “I have the perfect solution to your problem,” she said softly and stroked her hair.

  Becky sniffled and turned her gaze to her. “How can you have the solution if you don’t know what the problem is?” she asked with half a smile.

  “Because it’s the perfect solution to any problem,” Rebecca replied knowingly. “How about a fun day in New York?”

  CHAPTER 20

  September 14, 2013. Manhattan, New York

  After that terrible night when she’d been stripped of her family and her own identity, Becky didn’t think she could ever form a real, happy smile on her lips again. But it happened. She spent with her grandmother a lovely day in the most amazing city on Earth. New York had once been so far beyond reach that Becky could only dream of visiting. Now, it was spread out at her feet, unveiling another piece in her cryptic family puzzle.

  They started at Times Square, one of the city’s most famous sites. Becky’s eyes had trouble adjusting to all the lights and glamour oozing abundantly from the flickering, giant billboards – a vision so different from the small town where she’d grown up. It appeared that all the streets around them led to this amazing square that briefly broke the crisscross layout of the city, ignoring it gracefully. They visited the tempting shops and even bought some Hershey’s Kisses at Hershey’s Chocolate World on 48th and Broadway. As they were heading south, Becky even noticed a singing cowboy, wearing nothing but his hat, boots, and white briefs. She asked her grandmother if she’d like to be photographed with him – as a joke – but Rebecca politely declined.

  Afterwards, they continued south on Broadway toward the Empire State Building. Becky counted, with some amusement, all the Starbucks shops they passed along the way – eventually conceding defeat and asking her grandmother to stop at one of them to indulge in a Frappuccino. When they finally reached 33rd Street, with a sweet taste of caramel in their mouths, Rebecca stopped a few houses away from the famous building.

  “This is where your father’s office was,” said Rebecca as Becky looked up at the high-rise building. “Your mother used to visit him whenever she had spare time, even during the most stressful times at her job.”

  Becky turned to her, slightly surprised, and in a pensive manner said, “The school where she worked was in Manhattan?”

  “School?” Rebecca frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know, since she was an art teacher?”

  “An art teacher?” repeated Rebecca, completely baffled. She glared at Becky for a few seconds and realized that her granddaughter was serious. She shut her eyes and shook her head in disbelief before speaking again. “Your mother was a first-rate artist. A rising star in her field. One of The New York Times art critics even called her a prodigy!”

  Becky felt her jaw drop, but nothing came out; just like in the movies.

  “Oh, my dear Emily,” cried Rebecca, her eyes narrowing with sorrow, focusing on a distant point. “Wasn’t it bad enough that you were taken away from your family, friends, and professional recognition – they made you give up on your destiny, too?”

  A while passed before she looked back at her granddaughter. “Your mother worked with the most prestigious galleries in the city and presented her work in several major exhibits,” explained Rebecca. “Everyone wanted her. She had a charming little studio in the city, overlooking the Hudson River,” she reminisced, “and during her years as a Columbia student, she lived there. Even after she moved in with your father to their ravishing apartment on the Upper East Side, she still couldn’t give up her cozy studio and continued working from there. When she was nine months pregnant with Brandon, she still took the subway every day to keep working from there.” The corners of her lips curled into a smile. “She said this place gave her inspiration.”

  “Maybe we could visit there if it’s on our way?” asked Becky, nearly whispering. She didn’t want to upset her grandmother any further.

  Rebecca placed her hand on hers, “Yes, I believe it’s on our way.” She gave the young hand a warm squeeze.

  After a short visit to her mother’s studio, which Becky could observe only from outside, the two ended the day with a walk around Battery Park. That was where, as her grandmother explained, her parents had gotten engaged: her father had taken her mother to a romantic picnic and proposed right when the colorful warmth of the sunset was cast upon them. Becky had heard that story before, but she’d never known where it took place. She immediately fell in love with this spot; it embodied an everlasting symbol of her parents’ love.

  Rebecca and Becky strode along the beautiful boardwalk overlooking the Statue of Liberty seen from afar. Eventually, they sat down on one of the benches. They stayed and talked until the sun shone across the water, signaling them it was time to go home.

  As they marched together from the subway station, Becky realized that only yesterday morning she’d made this journey alone, with a heavy knapsack on her back and grave, pounding fear in her heart. This time, however, the only thing she carried was a featherlight bag containing the famous “I <3 NY” T-shirt.

  A few steps away from her grandmother’s house, Becky noticed an older woman sitting in a lounge chair on her front porch, staring at them curiously. The woman got up at once and rushed toward them.

  “Rebecca, how are you?” she asked with fake kindness. “It’s been too long since the last time I came over for coffee . . .” Her lips were smeared with a horrifying orange lipstick that matched the color of her dyed hair.

  “I’m good, Lydia, and how are you?” Rebecca replied in a chilly tone.

  “Everything’s great!” Lydia’s orange lips curled into a repulsive smile. “You remember Jonathan, my grandson? He was just accepted to Hunter College . . .” she declared proudly. “So . . .” For the first time in the conversation, she turned her curious gaze to Becky, who felt slightly embarrassed. “Aren’t you going to tell me who this lovely young beauty is?”

  Rebecca took a light breath before she replied. “Lydia, meet Becky, my granddaughter,” she answered excitedly, ignoring Lydia’s surprised glare, and put her arm around her granddaughter’s shoulders.

  ***

  Becky: New York is amazinggggggggg, you have to come visit!

  Justin: Fairland is unbelievably dulllllllllll without you, you must come back!

  Becky stared at the screen for a long time before she replied.

  Becky: I don’t think I’ll be back anytime soon :(

  Justin: I had a feeling :/

  I miss you.

  Becky: I miss you too <3

  I wish things would work out already.

  Justin: I wish NY wasn’t so far away.

  Becky read the message with a sad smile. Why did all this have to happen when she an
d Justin had just started to get so close?

  Why did any of this have to have happened at all?

  She didn’t think her grandmother would be able to supply all the answers, or even help her find out what had happened to her father, but she was glad to have her by her side.

  Becky: It’s not so bad. I’m just a short flight away . . . :)

  Well . . . two, actually :P

  Justin: I’ll try to be positive. Maybe some tsunami will come and flood Manhattan, driving you back here ;)

  Becky: It could have worked, but my grandma lives in Brooklyn :D

  Just then, Rebecca’s head poked through the door. Becky felt the vibration in her hands, signaling a new incoming message.

  “I just wanted to wish you a good night.”

  “Good night, Grandma.”

  Rebecca flashed a big, proud smile. It was the first time Becky had called her that. The day they’d spent together had brought them closer.

  “And don’t you think I haven’t noticed that smile of yours. The first thing you’re doing tomorrow is telling me all about the lucky guy who makes you smile like that!”

  CHAPTER 21

  “I hope you have good news for me, Webber.”

  Max stared blankly at a remote point. He had been bound to the chair for two straight days, unable to move, and his whole body ached. His shirt was soaked with cold sweat, and he was drenched with his own piss and shit. The stench made him cringe.

  “Stinking Jew!” Helborgen moved toward him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

  Max kept starting at the same point as if he weren’t hearing him.

  “Look at yourself, you’re pathetic,” he said, disgustedly, and spat on him. “You’re worthless! I can’t believe a piece of shit like you screwed us so hard. My uncle died in prison because of you!” He pulled out a gun from behind his back. “You stole two million dollars from us.” He aimed the gun at Max. “And now you’re finally going to pay for it,” he added in a sinister tone.