by Tim Meyer
I briefly wondered if that was possible. Aurelia burned half the house to the ground. The rest of it was still intact. It was plausible, I supposed, although it was highly unlikely that the house would be completely repaired in the span of one week. It would take a lot of manpower and a lot of money, but I assumed the two things went hand in hand.
“I don't have all the answers for you,” Lester said. “I wish I did. But unfortunately I don't. Or else I might not be in this godforsaken place. All I know is that you have to stop him. The camera, you need to bring the camera to the House of Mirrors. I think that's how you stop it. That's what I would've done, had I not been committed.” His face changed, as if he had eaten something sour. “That no-good fuck, Sheldon Daniels. He's the one who sent me here. That bastard. He's in on it. I swear to God, man, he's in on it somehow.”
Until that moment, I didn't see any reason why Lester Resnick should be in a mental institution (barring the bizarre tale he told me). His emotions started to change rapidly. He went from happy to angry, angry to scared, in about fifteen seconds.
“I heard you and Sheldon got into it.”
“Whatever you do, stay away from him. He's in on it. He's helping the Mast—er, uh Arthur escape.”
Lester suddenly looked worried. As if he had said something he shouldn't have. As if his words were going to bring grave consequences. The whole time he spoke he was cool and calm—and dare I say “normal.” Now he looked frazzled. Something had suddenly gotten hold of him from the inside. His eyes darted back and forth in their sockets. He would no longer look me in the eyes.
“Is everything okay?” I asked. His peculiar behavior started to trouble me.
“Fine. Just fine. I think I've told you everything I know.”
His eyes shifted to the other side of the room.
“Guards!” he screamed, refusing to look at me.
“You're lying to me,” I said.
“What, no,” he muttered, still shifting his eyes back and forth. “I've told you everything.”
“You don't want me to stop Denlax, do you?”
“Guards!” he screamed, louder this time. The door opened and the two security guards entered. Dr. Parsons trailed them. “Oh, thank goodness. I think it's time for my meds, is it not?” he rambled, talking way too fast for anyone to understand him.
“Tell me the truth, Resnick,” I said, as the guards grabbed him by his arms. They began to escort him out. “Resnick!”
“Tootles, Denlax!” he yelled back to me. “Say hello to Geoffrey for me!” he screamed, laughing down the hallway like the lunatic he was.
2
I pulled into Cameraland's parking lot an hour later. Every bone in my body told me not to listen to Resnick, that bringing the camera back to the house in the woods was a bad idea. But I had no other choice. Maybe the camera was a way for Denlax to re-enter our world. But maybe it was also the way to destroy the portal that linked our two worlds together. I based all of this off the story Lester had told me, as crazy as it was. I had no other option. I had to believe the story to be true. Considering the things I saw the camera produce, I was apt to believe just about any nonsense Resnick spewed at me. If this made me as crazy as him, then so be it. Lock me up and throw away the key.
Before I entered the store, I made a phone call to my editor. There was no answer, so I decided to leave a message. “Hey, Sheldon. It's Ritchie Naughton. I was just calling because I went to visit our old friend Lester at Benton. You said if I had any other questions to go ask him, so that's exactly what I did. I have some further questions, and I know you're probably busy, but if you could give me a call back whenever you get this, I'd greatly appreciate it. Thanks.”
I ended the call and went inside, where Little Chris was flipping through a magazine about (you guessed it) photography.
“How was the Nuthouse?” he asked, not even bothering to lift his head up from the magazine.
“Everything I thought it would be and more.”
“Did you learn the secrets of your defective camera? Which—by the way—took me almost a week to piece back together,” he said, not sounding happy about it.
“You finished?”
“Humpty-Dumpty is back together again.” He reached across the counter and slid a cardboard box over to me. The Denlax rested inside, almost in the same condition it was before the late Marty Olberstad repeatedly smashed it into the pavement. It had a few nicks and scratches on it, but other than that, it was in perfectly good shape. “Denlax” was still etched into the plastic. I shuddered when I rubbed my finger over it, because now I knew the story and how it got there.
“I had to replace most of the internal organs, but other than that, only the body was banged up. I super glued where the shell cracked, over here.” He pointed to the camera's exterior, where the shell had split in two. This was from one of the many foot stomps Marty had brought down on it.
“What did you have to replace internally?”
“Oh, the aperture plate. That's where the film goes in. Some little pieces broke off inside, I had to use some glue on that as well. There was—”
“The lens?” I asked. This was the only part of the camera I really cared about.
“The lens, miraculously, was in pretty good shape.” He looked a little curious. “Why do you ask?”
“Because, sir, I think the lens is why this little instrument is showing us things we ought not to see.”
“Really? And I assume you have evidence to support your hypothesis?” Little Chris asked.
“Not really. Just a story.”
“Well, don't leave me hanging, dude. I want to know what this thing is probably more than you do.”
I seriously doubted that, but I appreciated his enthusiasm. It would make the story much easier to repeat. “Okay, once upon a time...” I said, and then I told him everything Lester Resnick told me, word for word, the best I could.
3
“Wow,” Little Chris said, a few seconds after I finished. He had only stopped me a few times, just to ask some questions about parts of the story I had not properly explained. I did my best to recount the tale I had only heard just a few hours ago. I was eager to tell it, which probably caused me to lose the less important segments, but I think I covered the long and short of it quite nicely. After I was done, he stared at me, much like a child hearing the ending of an epic fairy tale for the first time.
“I know. It's crazy as hell, but it would explain some of the things we've seen.”
“Doesn't really explain the old man though, does it? I mean, Arthur was twenty-nine when Black banished him to that world. Shouldn't he be twenty-nine in the photographs? I mean, his wife was around the same age, right? And she looks young in the photo we have of her.”
I pondered this for a minute. “Resnick said that time works differently in other worlds. I don't know, obviously time moves faster wherever Arthur is. That's why he's all old, and shriveled.”
“And has claws for hands?”
“Obviously whatever world he's in has had a certain effect on him. He's mutated. Maybe it has something to do with the magic he's using.”
“But you're not sure?”
“No, I mean, I'm not sure about any of it. But I know what we saw. I'm just trying to think—if what Resnick told me was true, then there has to be some logical explanation for the things he left out. Like why Veronica Denlax appears to be twenty-nine, when Arthur Denlax looks two-hundred and nine.”
“I suppose you have a theory for that as well?”
“I do actually. What if they weren't sent to the same world? What if Black banished him to a completely different world than the one his wife went to? Think about it. The two of them never appeared together in any of the pictures we took of them. When Veronica showed up, it wasn't even near the House of Mirrors. Chris—I think wherever Arthur Denlax is, I think he's alone. And I think he's trying desperately to get back here, because he thinks that's where she is.”
“Well isn't t
hat romantic,” he said sarcastically. “Okay, I guess that could make sense. So the million dollar question is—what do we plan to do about it? How do we stop it?”
“We?” I asked.
“Oh, come on. You're not going to drag me along this far and then cast me aside like an old, cheap whore.”
“No, I would never do that,” I said sincerely. “I was going to cast you aside like a young, cheap whore.”
“Shut up. No, seriously. You're not doing this alone. I want to see this through.”
“I appreciate that.” I really did. If all of this nonsense was true, and I was to stop a very powerful magician from entering our plane of existence and preventing him from wreaking havoc in our world, I was pretty damn sure I didn't want to do it alone.
“Well, here's the obvious solution: let's destroy the camera,” Little Chris said. “I know, I know, this is coming from the guy who just spent the last week fixing the goddamn thing. But it sounds like Resnick wants you to bring the camera to this House of Mirrors. And from what you told me, it seems as if Resnick cannot be trusted. So why don't we do the obvious and destroy the thing?”
“Because I have a feeling that won't do the trick. It would only delay the inevitable. What happens if someone else is under the influence of Denlax and builds a new camera? What then? It might not happen in our generation, but maybe the next one? The one after that? Resnick made it seem like there was a way to close the portal for good. Or at least... he wanted me to think that way.”
“Exactly.” Little Chris looked at me, as if I knew what had to be done.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“I know it sucks, but that's what we have to do. No camera, no portal. Right?”
“I guess so. I just didn't think the answer would be so...”
“Simple?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I was almost a little disappointed that this was the conclusion to our Denlax problem.
“Sometimes, the correct answer is the simplest one,” he said, grinning.
“Aren't you a wise one.”
“Nah, I read that in a fortune cookie yesterday,” he said, and we both roared with uncontrollable laughter.
Our laughter was cut short by an incoming call on my phone. I slipped my cell out of my pocket and saw Aurelia was calling me. I was looking forward to telling her the entire story. I doubted she would believe a word of it. Which also made me think that I could tell her nothing, and our relationship would carry on just fine. But no, I wanted to share it with her. I wanted to share everything with her.
“Hello there, pretty lady—”
I was interrupted by a soft snicker, which sounded like a dolphin's cackle. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the laughter belonged to something inhuman.
“Who is this?” I asked, but my instincts beat me to the answer.
“Hello there, Ritchie-my-bitchie,” a familiar voice croaked.
4
For a second, I thought my heart was going to stop beating again. Instead, it pounded heavily in my chest. Like a well-amped kick drum, it vibrated my entire body. I did not feel woozy or disorientated. I felt fine. I felt normal. Hell, I felt more focused than I ever had in my entire life.
“Geoffrey,” I said into the phone, and I heard the evil bastard snorting with laughter on the other end of the line. “What have you done with her?” I asked.
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” he said, snickering as if he were a fifth-grader with a secret. “I'm just prepping her for our meeting with the Master.”
I heard Aurelia screaming in the background. Her cries were muffled, so I imagined her having an old shirt tied around her face, gagging her. Tears were probably streaming down her face. Her clothes were probably torn from trying to fight off the abduction. I promised myself to stay cool, not to freak out. I tried not thinking about the condition she was in (physically and mentally), and prayed that he didn't hurt her. Of course my mind immediately wandered to dark places, where Boone had hit her repeatedly and had his way with her. I pushed these tainted thoughts to the side and concentrated on the task at hand; ensuring that nothing bad happens to Aurelia.
“If you hurt her, Boone—if you touch her in anyway—I swear to God I'll chop your pecker off with a meat cleaver and feed it to the swine at the zoo in Carver's Grove,” I told him. I think my threat surprised Little Chris. His forehead wrinkled with disgust.
“Don't worry. Aurelia and I have a lot of catching up to do. You know, I knew this bitch looked familiar. The whole time she was coming to my father's masses, I knew I knew her from somewhere. And then it hit me. The night of the fire. When I saw her leave with you. I knew she was Johnny Anderson's sister. The hot one. Oh, yes, I remember it vividly now. The day she came into visit him. How beautiful she looked.” I heard Aurelia scream louder now, and I knew Boone had done something to provoke her. “She doesn't look as beautiful now as she did then, but you know what they say; beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
“Boone, I swear to God—”
“God doesn't exist, Ritchie-my-bitchie. Only the Master does. And it's time I meet him. So here's what I want. Are you listening?” he asked.
“I am.” I put the phone on speaker so Little Chris could hear too.
“Bring me the camera. In exchange, I'll let her live. Happily ever after.” His demeanor went from being positive to seemingly dismal. “If you don't, Ritchie, then I'll be forced to kill her. And it won't be a quick slitting of the throat, like what your uncle did to Marty and Danica. No, it'll be a slow, torturous death. I'll start with stripping the flesh off her back, and then I'll make my way to her insides.”
“If you fucking touch her, Boone, I will kill you.” I tried to remain calm, I really did. It was challenging.
“Just bring me the key and we won't have to worry about nothing.”
I heard a click and there was silence.
I put the phone back in my pocket and looked at Chris. He looked back at me, waiting for direction.
“Well,” I said, “I guess that answers our question.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I told Chris to pull over near the narrow path that led into the woods. “We'll walk from here,” I said to him. We needed to be stealthy. He agreed. “Look,” I told him before we exited his vehicle. “You don't have to do this. You can turn around, drive away and never look back. I won't think any less of you. Who knows what we might see down there,” I nodded to the path, “and who knows—we might not make it back.”
That is the rule of the House of Mirrors, a voice echoed in my head, and suddenly I recalled the strange dreams I had over the past few months.
“I've come this far,” he said. “Screw it. I'm riding this thing out.”
“Are you sure?”
He paused, and for a second I thought he might change his mind. “Look at me, man. I'm a fucking loser. I'm like a hundred pounds overweight, I fiddle with cameras all day long, and I never went to college. I have a comic book collection that would make Kevin Smith jealous. I'm twenty-four years old and I've never been on a date.”
“Maybe that's because you use words like fiddle.”
He cracked a smile, but it quickly faded. “I'm serious. I have no real friends. I have... not a lot to look forward to in life. And don't get me wrong. I'm not doing this because it might be a way out without killing myself. That's not it at all. I want to live, it's just—” He took a beat to search for the right words. “I want my life to mean something. I want to make a difference. And how many chances am I going to get to prevent a dark wizard from busting out of his cell and potentially destroying our plane of existence? None. So since I have a chance to do something great—goddammit I'm going to do it.”
I nodded. “Okay, let's do this.”
2
“You know, if I ever write a book about this,” I told Chris, as we were walking toward his trunk, “that speech is definitely going in there.”
“Screw you, man,” he said, chuckling softly.
“Just a minute,” he said, and then, “Ah! There it is.” He produced a wooden baseball bat with the famous “Louisville Slugger” insignia branded on it. “I keep one in my car just in case someone tries to rob me in the parking lot after work.”
“Good thinking,” I said, and then the two of us headed down the path, toward the House of Mirrors.
3
I recalled the dream. The one where the two of us walked down that very path; Little Chris armed with his Slugger, and I with a bottle of Holy Water. Holy Water was useless now, as it was in the dream. Now I held the camera with the name Denlax etched into its shell, the key, as Geoffrey Boone called it.
I'd be lying if I said I walked down that path with any concrete plan. Aurelia was in need of help, and that was my main objective. To make sure she came out of this thing unscathed. The other was to shut down the portal that linked our two worlds together—the world where Aurelia and I would hopefully end up together, and the world where Arthur Denlax currently resides, inside the House of Mirrors.
Whatever fate would come our way, waited up ahead.
We made out the House of Mirrors through the trees and dangling branches. We were close. Without thinking, I picked up the pace, breaking into a power walk. Chris tried to keep up, but eventually he fell further and further behind. The path twisted and turned, sometimes hiding the House of Mirrors behind a wall of half-naked trees. I thought about deviating from the path, making a beeline through the forest toward the house, but then thought better of it. I didn't want to get lost. But time was a factor. The hourglass was filling fast. Who knew how much time we had before Boone would give Aurelia the similar fate that Uncle Bernie had given his wife and her lover.