The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven

by Harmony L. Courtney

  “Well, I’m just thankful you were able and willing to come share with us. In all the years we’ve had this informal little group – alright, sometimes it doesn’t feel so little – all of the lessons, all of the speakers have been from within. I think it’ll do people good to hear something fresh and new in perspective,” Paloma told her, smiling back. “Do you need anything before we get started? Restroom is the third door on the left, and the kitchen and dining area are pretty much free-for-all on Sundays.”

  “I think some water, and I’m good,” Sherri said.

  “Well, I have to go,” her daughter said; the first words out of her mouth.

  Paloma nodded. “I think I can accommodate both of those pretty easily,” she told them. She turned around and quickly retrieved a bottled water, and then showed them the way to the restroom as she handed it to Sherri. “Here you go,” she told the little girl.

  Paloma made her way back into the living room and signaled to Edward that they were almost ready. And with that, he turned the music on, so that people would begin to settle in; it was time to grab a quick snack for those who had been running late, and to prepare for prayer for all.

  The strains of Blessed Assurance began to fill the air as those still milling began to find seats, and four or five of the younger people went for some snacks first. By the time everyone else was seated, Sherri and Lilybeth were walking down the hallway toward them to join the congregation. Paloma ushered the mother-daughter duo toward the places she’d reserved for them, near the rest of their family before sitting down next to Edward.

  Mama Fifine looked to her for confirmation, and then called for prayer requests, which brought several hands up almost immediately. Including Mark’s.

  Please, God, not today… the time to confess can’t be today of all days, Paloma prayed, before chiding herself.

  It’s not up to me, though. This is Mark’s decision… whether it ruins my relationship with Sherri or not, this isn’t about me. It isn’t about what I want, or what’s right in my eyes, she told herself as the first person – Eugenie – began sharing a request for a young woman in her neighborhood who was fighting breast cancer It’s about what You want, God.

  The second person, Jason, then began to speak, and Paloma tuned in more intently.

  “I know some of you who have spent time at Portland Open Bible will remember an older couple, Oliver and Maddie Patrice Farley, who live a couple of miles from there up Division,” he began, then cleared his throat.

  Images of the sweet, but very frail Maddie Patrice and Oliver, feisty yet gentle and both quite wise, flitted through Paloma’s mind a moment before Jason continued; Edward squeezed her hand, and she heard him sigh. A sad sound.

  What had happened? What had she missed?

  “Well, I received a call late last night from their daughter, Candy. I don’t think I’ve met her, but she said she found my number on a nightstand in her parents’ mobile home,” he paused again, and Me’chelle clasped a hand over his, dark and light blending as their fingers came together.

  “She isn’t sure what all happened, because not all of the results are in yet on what caused the accident, but…”

  Accident? What accident?

  Images of automobile crashes or toasters falling into water and more things than she wanted to think of bombarded Paloma as she forced herself to keep breathing.

  Would he just say it, already?

  “It appears that the Farley’s sons Maxwell, Johnny, Michael, and Eddie were all over at their place, trying to help clean things up after Maddie Patrice fell and broke a hip; the house hadn’t been as well-attended to as Candy had hoped, and she planned to meet them there. Johnny and Eddie thought it would be a good idea to re-varnish the bathroom floor, not realizing that Maxwell had prepared a bleach solution nearby to clean the walls. Apparently Michael was fixing the brakes on the Oldsmobile, so wasn’t in the house; and he’s the one that would normally monitor such things,” Jason continued, tears welling in his eyes; falling onto his cheeks.

  “And Maddie… Maddie and Oliver were in taking a nap, according to Michael’s understanding. When Candy arrived, he began to help her take groceries inside, and she said, it was odd… everything was still. All they could hear was one of Maxwell’s Led Zeppelin albums playing in the kitchen; it wasn’t even loud enough to be heard in the hall or bathroom. So they….”

  Power in the Blood began to play as he continued to speak; Paloma could feel herself shaking; she could taste her breakfast, and began to feel dizzy as Edward held her hand tighter; she gripped back, like he was her lifeline.

  “They dropped the groceries on the counter, screamed for help and someone to call in an emergency vehicle, and started looking around. Candy, she… she noticed an odd smell, and became frantic. But by the time… by the time they were able to open some windows and find…” Jason shook his head.

  He tried to speak again, but no words came out.

  Me’chelle continued for him, their hands still clasped tightly together.

  “Oliver is in the hospital; they aren’t sure if he’ll make it. If he does, it’ll be a long haul for him to return to a functioning state, and even then, they say he’ll likely go into a care facility,” she began, mascaraed tears creating rivulets on her cheeks. “Maddie Patrice… that sweet old woman who loved my babies so much, she… she was already gone when… when Michael got to her. Maxwell and Eddie were… fighting hard, but closer to the fumes; a lot closer. Eddie was unconscious, and… I guess he’s a big guy, it took Candy and Michael both to drag him outside, but Maxwell… by the time they got back inside to get him, he had no…. His breathing had stopped. Michael pulled him out, he and Maddie Patrice both, but… there was no way to resuscitate…”

  The song switched again as Me’chelle choked out her final words. Paloma didn’t trust herself to speak, or to walk. Tawny was clasping one hand, and Edward the other; Lindsay’s head leaned into her knee where she was sitting on the floor in front of her, and she could see tears in each set of eyes hers met.

  “There was no way to revive either of them. She said that…” Me’chelle’s voice rose to near-hysteria as she continued. “She said it wasn’t until then that they finally heard the ambulances and fire truck that had been called.”

  Seventeen

  Mark sat holding his wife’s hand, numbed by Jason and Me’chelle’s revelation. Numbed by Eugenie’s request for prayer for their neighbor, Mildred’s granddaughter, fighting cancer.

  As he continued to listen to the requests that came in, he felt less and less like it was the right time to make his announcement and share his own need.

  Compared to cancer, to death, to comas and abuse and the list continued as he listened, was a prayer request to avoid prison really even valid?

  These people he was hearing about probably weren’t perfect, but they also hadn’t purposely brought their circumstances upon themselves, either.

  Not even Rose, and her confession of craving cocaine; her request for peace and rest from the addiction that had nearly killed her and most certainly would harm the baby she carried.

  She may have tried something once, tried it again, and gotten hooked, but Mark of all people knew what it was to be addicted; he knew what it was like not to know how to let go; to try to stop something that had become an obsessive habit; to stop cold turkey.

  He had struggled, sometimes silently, with that very thing.

  Not drugs, but it may as well have been. He knew they did much of the same thing to his mind. Played the same tricks on his personality, and haunted his family just as much as if he drank, or shot up, or anything else chemical.

  And it wasn’t until this moment as he sat listening to the sorrows and hopes of others; their requests unto God, their pleas for His divine interference and counsel, that he realized just how selfish he had really been to keep quiet. To not tell a soul about finding Andrea and Rosemary; to not tell a single person it was he who had called the police, tipping them off too
late for the pair, and Andrea’s unborn child, to be saved.

  He had been selfish even in his admission; he’d wanted absolution; he’d wanted Arthur’s hold over him to either stop or bring on the punishment he thought he deserved all along. Though unwittingly, he had been an accomplice; people had died, and it was, in part, his own fault. The fault of his pride, his greed, his insecurity and selfish desire to look good in the eyes of his colleagues. Colleagues who, after two years, he didn’t associate with much, anyway. And it was these things; these realizations that had brought him to the place of confession.

  He had confessed to Arthur and his counselor; confessed, then, over the phone to the woman’s superior. And then, a pair of officers – the same two who had arrested Arthur so long ago –came and took a written statement of confession as his family sat in tears, listening; watching; waiting.

  Officers O’Carroll and Tuah had been kind; they had been compassionate, and they had done their job. Mark suddenly remembered when they had interrogated him during Arthur’s trial, and cringed: he had refused to say how he knew for sure they were in Dabney and Ken’s basement. It wasn’t relevant, was it?

  They had assured him that it was, and promised that if he believed his life were in danger, they could relocate him, if only he would come forward as a witness.

  He had refused.

  No, he’d told them. I can’t. I want to, but honestly, I just can’t. I would be dead before I made it out of Oregon.

  But was it true?

  If Arthur was behind bars, and didn’t have a way of knowing where Mark was moving to, couldn’t he have taken off? Followed Tuah’s advice?

  But no, it hadn’t been about Arthur at all; it wasn’t even about the women. It was about Mark: his career, his relationship with Eugenie, which was just beginning to blossom – the first of three different times they dated over the years before they finally married – and his reputation.

  “Anyone else still care to share a request,” Fifine Noel Iglesias asked, causing him to jump. “Mister Jeffries?”

  “I, um…”

  He stopped, trying to think of what to say. Now wasn’t the time; it couldn’t be. There was a guest speaker, and everyone else’s request was so… unselfish.

  “I decided that I will wait for another time,” he said. “I, um… it isn’t the-”

  “I will speak for him, then,” Eugenie said, letting go of his hand to stand.

  “Eugenie, no,” he said, raising his voice. “Please… not now. Not after we’ve all heard-”

  “When will it be the right time, Mark? When it’s too late? It’s already too late… years too late, and we need to address this,” she said, shaking her blonde hair back, stepping away from him toward the center of the room, out of his reach. Maneuvering herself over toward the table, she turned around, letting her eyes scan the room before speaking again.

  All eyes were now on her. Edward turned off the music a third of the way through Isaac Carree singing In The Middle. Somehow, Mark found the lyrics fitting; more fitting than most, in his opinion. This song that would be playing during prayer, and not prayer requests; this song that was meant to bridge the two and set the mood for getting down on bended knee.

  It was fitting, because he wanted to cry, but wouldn’t let his tears show; felt he’d not only been knocked down in life, but plain ol’ knocked out by all the obstacles that seemed to come his way whenever he tried to do the right thing. And to top it off, at the moment, he couldn’t run if he wanted to… much as he felt he needed to. Not even to Jesus in prayer.

  He was just too tired of it all to care anymore.

  “What I think Mark was going to tell you is he had a confession to make last week… it wasn’t the first time he’d made it, but the first time I, or our children, heard anything about it,” Eugenie began, leaning her red-jumpsuit-covered body on the edge of the counter and crossing her legs at the ankle. She crossed her arms as well, as though they could shield her from what was to come; shield her from the truth she now knew.

  “And, Sherri… Jack… I’m so sorry you and your kids have been here only to hear some of our worst; the prayer requests we’ve heard have been touching; gut-wrenching; painful; heart-felt… and this one hits close to home, too, but… not for the same reasons,” she continued.

  “Edward, you and Paloma probably remember Officers O’Carroll and Tuah from when they came to escort Quentin off the property on Paloma’s birthday, yes,” she asked, pausing long enough for them to affirm her with a nod. “Thought so. Well,” she continued. “They recently paid us a visit.”

  Paloma clapped a hand to her mouth, but otherwise remained silent as Eugenie continued speaking.

  “Mark knew they were coming… well, he says he didn’t know which officers, but he knew someone was coming to speak with him, and gave me no warning. Our daughter, Majesta, and I were there, in the house… and he insisted we sit, listening as he gave a confession, which he then signed. A confession he should have given in the year 2002,” she said, taking a deep breath.

  “A confession before Arthur Reynolds went to trial; before he was convicted; before he was sentenced. A conviction that may not have occurred, had Mark stepped forward as a witness. Or, more likely, there would have been two convictions instead of one.”

  The blood in Mark’s veins ran cold as he noticed people looking at him; a few moved incrementally toward the center of the room… incrementally away from where he sat.

  Or did they?

  Maybe he was imagining it. He didn’t even know anymore.

  It had to be a shock to them all, and maybe, just maybe they needed time to think. Time to process, like he’d had time to process.

  Mark’s heart began to pound, and his head was throbbing, and screaming was only an option for toddlers and people who sat in padded rooms, or he would do so, without delay.

  To think that if he’d reported his findings right away instead of delaying five and a half days, this whole thing might have just gone away; Andrea and her baby might be alive; Rosemary might not have disappeared.

  He just didn’t know anymore. Was she alive? Dead? Had she gone through the mirror, as Arthur had insisted, or was there some other explanation?

  “Officers O’Carroll and Tuah – both still as gentlemanly as ever, and as strict to policy – sat with Mark in the living room as I listened, tears flowing, surprise after surprise put to paper as Majesta tried to concentrate on her homework. I knew she could hear everything; I knew she wouldn’t get her homework finished that night, and likely wouldn’t go to school the next day. The words flowing from Mark’s mouth… it was like the whole Rosemary thing all over again, but in triplicate. The betrayal, the lies, the secrecy for so many years just…”

  She stopped talking long enough to scrub her face with her hands, wiping angry tears away. “He was a witness, not to the murders of Andrea Juarez and Rosemary Jenkins, but their kidnappings; their disappearances,” she continued.

  “He said he… he said,” she hiccupped as she tried to explain, and Mark’s heart went out to her, despite hating being in this moment.

  “I said I had gone to meet Arthur at his uncle’s place; there was something I wanted to borrow from the basement,” he said, shivering at the memory of it… shaking with fear of how the people around him would respond.

  He forced himself to continue. “But nobody was home, so I decided to use the spare key I had that was meant for emergencies only. I… I wanted to borrow something for a party at Keith’s – um, some of you know who that is, but anyway I guess that’s not important, um…. So I… I went inside, called a few times, and decided to head for the basement; I figured I could borrow what I needed and leave a note. if Ken – um, that was Dabney’s boarder – if he wanted a rental fee, I could pay him later for it, but when I opened the door,” he told them, pausing as the memories of the horrible odor he’d encountered doused him in the reality of what he was saying. “Um…”

  He tried to compel more words to c
ome, but they refused, clinging to the inside of his throat for dear life. He looked to Eugenie for help, and she shook her head at him.

  “No, you keep going; this is your tale to tell,” her eyes seemed to say. “It’s your mess to clean up; I can’t even believe we’ve arrived at this place.”

  He glanced around at the faces of his friends and loved ones; saw confusion, pain, shock, and sadness.

  There was no judgment on their faces; no disgust, as he had feared.

  With a sigh, he pushed on.

  “There was an overpowering…. Oh, you don’t need that detail. Um… It was evident I wasn’t alone, so I called out, and to my surprise, as I moved further inside, against my better judgment, I found… I found two women, half starved to death. Maybe more starved than that, but I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to stay to find out. I was mortified, and I was terrified. I wanted to help them; wanted to release them, but I… I knew that if I did, Arthur would know it was me. Who else would have a key?”

  He paused again, taking a deep breath, tears now forming at his eyes unbidden. He tried to blink them away, without success.

  “I had some snacks with me, and so, as quickly as I could, I divided them and gave each of the women… half of it. It wasn’t a lot, but it’s what I felt… it’s what I thought I should do at the time. I didn’t… I was thinking more about my career, and my outside relationships than I was about those women’s lives, but as I was leaving, I… I forced myself to ask their names, and they told me. Andrea was on the bed; Rosemary was in a chair, and they were both… they were tied up. They were… unclothed, and…”

  Mark glanced around the room, and his eyes landed on their guest speaker’s young children.

  Crap, he thought. Now I’m in for it more than before. Those poor…. Lord, help me, because I don’t know how to….

  “And I… I stuffed the wrappers in my pocket, apologized I could do no more, and fled. but as I left, I accidentally forgot the light switch downstairs. I just wanted out of there. But when I realized what I’d done, it was too… I felt it was too late. Fifteen minutes had passed, and for all I knew, Arthur had returned. I knew he might kill them simply because I had been there; there was evidence of a witness, even if he wasn’t sure who it was, but I… I chickened out. I… I waited almost a week before calling the police. And I refused to have my name on the record. I called anonymously, but Officer O’Carroll, he recognized my voice from the tape and confronted me about it, later on, I mean. And, um… to make a long story shorter than it has to be, I…”