The Woman In the Mirror: (A Psychological Suspense Novel) (Alexandra Mallory Book 1)

by Cathryn Grant

  While Jared undressed, I lay on the bed, my head propped on my elbow, watching. He yanked off his shirt, dragging it over his head inside out. He unbuckled his belt, lowered the zipper, and stepped out of jeans and boxers in the same movement. He came to the bed. After all the eager stripping off of his clothing, he looked hesitant. I moved over to make more room for him. He continued to stand there.

  I smiled.

  He sat on the bed, his back turned toward me. I ran my finger down the knobs of his spine to the spot where it curved and the bones became less prominent. He didn’t react. “Come down here,” I said.

  “I wanted to tell you what Noreen did.”

  “Aww. Not now.”

  He complied and we began kissing. After a few minutes, he pulled away. “You really should be aware of this.”

  “You sure know how to kill a feeling.”

  “Just be patient for two minutes.”

  I wondered where the ravenous look from a moment ago had gone.

  He tucked my hair behind my ear. “She thinks she’s being haunted, or something like that. She told stories to both of us.”

  “Stories?”

  “About the mirror. Neither story about the damage was true. She destroyed it because she thought she saw a woman’s face in it.”

  I laughed. “Of course she did. I also see a woman’s face when I look in the mirror.”

  “That’s what I told her. She said it wasn’t her own, so I suggested it looked unfamiliar because of steam, or her mind was elsewhere and she startled herself.”

  “Of course.”

  “She insisted it was not her face.”

  “Whose was it?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “She’s just trying to create drama. Where were we?” I flatted my hand and ran my palm across his chest.

  He trembled, but took hold of my wrist and stopped the progress of my hand. “I told her to see a therapist.”

  “Good idea. Now can we…”

  He let go of my wrist. “She thought the three of us would spend time together, that this was to be some type of quasi commune.”

  “She told me the same thing. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

  “Me neither, but…”

  I took his head in my hands and turned his face toward mine. I ran my lips across his brow, brushing them over the creases of skin, lowering them to the fine hairs of his eyebrows, kissing them until the muscles relaxed. “Let’s talk about Noreen another time.”

  “I’m concerned.”

  “She’s just lonely and horny and needy. Ignore her.”

  “I don’t think we can keep doing that.”

  I started kissing him. After a few minutes, his body forgot about Noreen’s mirror.

  My body was on the precipice, ready to let go, when there was a loud crash. Another followed quickly. Jared pushed me off him as a third crash shook the room. He scrambled to the side of the bed as the door shuddered in its frame.

  Noreen was screaming. “I know you’re in there, you disloyal bitch.”

  The door trembled. Her blows weren’t having much impact on the solid wood, so substantial and effective for keeping sound out, and in. Obviously solid wood was also nice in case of a full-on assault with some kind of weapon.

  “Stop it!” Jared pulled on his pants. “Whatever you’re doing, stop.”

  “Why are you getting dressed?” I said.

  He paused as if he hadn’t considered exactly what he was going to do. Opening the door might be worse than enduring the crashing until she wore herself out. The door made a cracking sound as she struck it again. Maybe it wasn’t as sturdy as I’d thought. Or maybe the frame was splintering.

  “Open the door,” Noreen said. “Both of you are terrible, selfish human beings.”

  The label didn’t bother me. I’m well aware that all human beings are selfish, some of us recognize it, others don’t. Noreen should have considered her own selfish traits — starting with the belief that collecting rent gave her the authority to dictate our roles in her life.

  Jared didn’t look as comfortable with the suggestion of selfishness. A spasm of guilt crossed his face. “Let’s see what she wants.”

  “We know what she wants. You.”

  He laughed, his voice tinged with hysteria.

  I scooted to the edge of the bed and pulled on my jeans and a sports bra that was sitting on the shelf of my nightstand. I went to the door. “It’s not a good idea to destroy your own house, Noreen. And I don’t really see that there’s anything to discuss.”

  “You knew I liked him.” The door shook. I stepped back. The splintering sounds suggested she had a blade of some kind. “You were supposed to stay away from him, and now you’re in there doing it right under my nose.”

  A knife clattered onto the tile floor. Noreen fell against the door with a thud. “I know I seem crazy, I know what it looks like, but you don’t understand. You both seemed so nice. I thought you were my friends. I thought Jared might be looking for someone like me. That he thought I was — not pretty — but interesting, soulful, maybe. I thought…” Her voice dropped. “I thought so many things that were wrong.”

  Jared and I stood side by side, staring at the door. Our breathing was short and fast, our bodies still warm from sex, fired up by the adrenaline of Noreen stabbing the door like the crazed character in Psycho.

  “She’s harmless,” I whispered.

  “Do you really believe that?” He took my hand and squeezed it hard.

  For several minutes, the house was silent.

  Jared let go of my hand and returned to the bed. I took a step toward the door. “Noreen?”

  She let out a fierce sigh and something thumped the door — the palm of her hand? The side of her head?

  “I just wanted company. Friends,” she said in a dull voice. “I’m scared. I…please open the door. I won’t do anything.”

  Jared shook his head.

  I put my hand on the knob. “Slide the knife under the door.”

  She was silent.

  “Noreen?”

  “Don’t you trust me?” she said.

  “No.”

  For several more minutes, there was nothing. Then, the knife blade appeared beneath the door, the tip pointing up slightly as it moved from the tile in the hallway to the bedroom carpet. She pushed harder and part of the handle appeared. I grabbed it and picked it up. I handed it to Jared and he slid it under one of the pillows. I opened the door.

  Noreen looked at us, her eyes washed almost colorless with tears. I stepped back but she didn’t move to enter the room. “I’m scared of BJ, but I miss him too. It’s so confusing. I’ve been with him my whole life. I thought things would turn out differently.”

  “Who’s BJ?”

  She stared at me as if I was mocking her. “Brian.”

  “Oh.”

  “I call him Brian because that’s who he was when I met him. But recently he started going by BJ — Brian Joseph.”

  It felt as if I’d swallowed a gallon of ice water.

  “Sometimes I look out on the deck and I think I see him, grinning at me. And when I look in the mirror…” she glanced at Jared.

  “What does he look like?” I said.

  She turned. “Why is that important?” She stared at me. Slowly, she raised her hands and stroked her hair away from the sides of her face. She raked her fingers through her hair toward the back of her head, dragging them down to the ends. Loose hairs came out in her hands. She spread her fingers and let the hairs fall onto my floor. “Have you seen someone?” she whispered.

  “A guy named Joe was asking about you. He drives a Boxster.”

  She tipped her head slightly and gazed up at the ceiling. “Boxster?”

  “It’s a type of Porsche. I thought Brian, BJ, drove a motorcycle.”

  She shrugged.

  “Well what does he look like?”

  She behaved as if she couldn’t quite hear me, or understand the language I was s
peaking, or was drifting to sleep standing up. She whispered. “He’s tall. Thin.” She slid her fingers into her hair and left them, lifting it slightly of her scalp.

  “Do you have a photograph?”

  “Somewhere. On Facebook.”

  The description was uselessly vague and she either had no idea what a Porsche was or she didn’t know he owned that car, but I didn’t need a photograph. I knew. Why else would he refuse to give his name for so long? Why else would he keep coming around? He’d said he was unaware Noreen had an ex-boyfriend. Did that mean he thought they were still together? But why wasn’t he living at the house if that was the case? She seemed to think he’d left her.

  I don’t like being lied to. It’s hypocritical, I know, since I adjust the truth to create whatever story benefits me the most at any given moment. He hadn’t technically lied, simply withheld key information. But I don’t like being played. He put me in the middle of something I’d wanted to steer clear of.

  Still, even now, my desire for him hadn’t faded.

  47

  At six-forty a.m. on Monday, I sent a text message to Tess. Sick as a dog, can’t meet for coffee.

  She texted back in less than three seconds. You can’t be!

  I am.

  This is the day I meet with Steve. Remember??!

  Yes. Can’t be helped. Puking my stomach lining.

  Take something.

  Like what?

  I need to run my plan by you.

  How very nice that a senior vice president was leaning on me to strategize the reshaping of her reputation and image. Facing Steve without the crutch of my preliminary support would increase her perception of my value — when she faced him, she’d be thinking about how I would handle each gesture, each verbal exchange. I smiled at the thought, then adjusted my expression to one that would consume my face if I were kneeling over a toilet bowl, my stomach weaving and thrashing, wishing more would come up because then the sickening motion would stop for a short while. I needed to keep my messages brief, desperate. Smiling would lead to excess verbiage in my text messages, creating suspicion about how sick I really was.

  Ur on your game.

  I need a sounding board.

  Ask for moon. Who speaks first loses.

  Sigh. I know. Feel better.

  You’ll do good.

  She sent a thumbs up icon and a moment later, my screen went dark.

  Noreen was banging around in the kitchen. Since she’d caught Jared and me, she and I hadn’t spoken. Or rather she hadn’t spoken to me. Before that, I hadn’t initiated a conversation in a long time. Her desire for me to approach her, to apologize for being a cheating, disloyal slut, begging to know what was scaring her, pulsed through the house, taking up more space than all three human beings.

  I jumped in the tub, let the warm water run, and spent fifteen minutes shaving my legs. When they were silken, I turned the dial to direct the water into the shower head. I spent so long standing with water streaming down my back, occasionally gliding my hand up my leg to feel how slick it was, that Noreen finally pounded on the door.

  “You’re wasting water,” she shouted. “If the water use hits tier two next month, you’ll owe the extra.”

  I longed to be living somewhere else by next month, but in reality, it would be two or three months. I turned off the water.

  “Thank you!”

  I dried myself and toweled my hair and wrapped a second towel around me. I went to my bedroom and closed and locked the door.

  After applying all the appropriate deodorant and lotion, I put on a black bra and black thong. Bending my knees to a slight plié in front of the mirror, I dried my hair, captivated as the warm air transformed it from sopping wet, to damp, to satin strands. The position was tiring and irritating but benefited my calves and quads, so at least it was a good use of my time. With the help of a heavier than usual styling cream, I rid my forehead of my cute bangs and the accompanying illusion of naïveté.

  I dressed in faded skinny jeans, a black shirt that was tight around my middle and loose and off the shoulders at the top. I slid my feet into silver flip-flops and touched up my burgundy toenail polish. Long, thin silver chain earrings completed the casual, hanging around the house look — more or less. The earrings might have been a bit much, but the shirt required them.

  I settled in the armchair and listened for Noreen’s progress through the kitchen, back to her room, and out to the garage, her final departure signaled by the hum of the Jetta as she backed out of the driveway.

  My Toyota was parked prominently in front of the house, announcing to Joe—Brian—BJ, whoever he wanted to be today, that I was home. All by myself.

  Seven minutes after Noreen putt-putted down the street and turned the corner, there was a knock on the front door. I walked into the great room. He saw me through the eight-inch glass panes that made up the front door. He didn’t smile or wave or do anything goofy, just stood there, looking at me, sending mental vibes of I want you now. My vibes responded and I crossed the room. I unlocked the door and opened it. He stepped inside.

  We didn’t kiss in the great room, not because of decorum, but wanting to prolong the moment before the initial touch. It seemed his manipulative behavior toward me had enflamed my desire. And I’m always a sucker for a hot car, so there was that.

  In the seven minutes between Noreen’s departure and his arrival, I’d scooped up armloads of shoes and discarded but not-yet-ready-for-the-wash clothing, dumped them on Jared’s bed, and closed the door. The rest of my space was tidy. When he stepped onto the soft carpet and I closed the door, he looked around with admiration. The window was partially open, and the white curtains I’d bought to give some flair to the industrial-looking metal mini-blinds floated on the breeze. The dresser was swept free of cosmetics, with nothing but a glass tiger and a small pewter bowl. The nightstand was similarly uncluttered except for the elbow lamp with its tiny purple glass shade and my iPad.

  He turned, looking at the framed black and white photograph of a white tiger. The wall beside my bed was decorated with a fringed black silk shawl tacked up with a dramatic fold in the center. “Nice,” he said. He didn’t hesitate as if he’d almost said more and had to stop himself, didn’t give any indication that he’d seen the room before or that my decorating was an improvement.

  He came toward me. We kissed until our clothes seemed to slide off our bodies of their own accord. All we noticed was the touch of the other’s hands on our skin. We fell onto the bed and spent the next two hours exploring each other’s bodies. We slept, wrapped around each other, until two in the afternoon. We woke starving. After throwing my clothes back on in a slightly less organized fashion than the first time I’d dressed that day, Joe—BJ—Brian drove me to a barbecue place.

  Without looking at the menu he ordered baby back ribs, potato salad, coleslaw, and two beers. We sat at a table in the back corner of a rather nondescript room. The tables were picnic style, covered with vinyl blue checkered cloths. There was a small platform at one end where local musicians played blues on the weekends.

  In the middle of the afternoon on a Monday, we didn’t need a secluded table in the corner. There was only one other patron — a withered man with a shaved head and an expertly trimmed beard. He was eating Tri-tip cut into small pieces, resting on a bed of white rice, one small piece of meat at a time. He placed his fork on the plate between each bite. Every few minutes, he sipped from the cola can sitting in front of his plate. He didn’t look at us, didn’t seem to notice he was no longer alone in the restaurant.

  Six ribs, a small bowl of potato salad, a few bites of coleslaw, and half a beer later, I was ready to take a break from food inhalation. I put my forearms on the vinyl table covering, despite the somewhat tacky feel. I leaned forward. “So, why did you switch from Brian to BJ to Joe?”

  He smiled slowly, the change in his expression moving like a wave from his mouth to his eyes, as if he’d been expecting the question. The photograph of N
oreen with her eyeballs drilled out passed through my mind. It was surprising I hadn’t thought about it while I was getting dressed that morning, or any time since. Now, a chilling sweat formed on the back of my neck. I squirmed on the bench and lifted the beer bottle to my mouth.

  “You know who I am,” he said.

  I waited.

  He gnawed at the last rib, looking at me. He made no effort to tidy up his eating simply because he was being studied so closely. When he’d cleaned the bone to a polish, he placed it on the pile of other equally smooth bones. “I don’t want Noreen to know I’m looking for her.”

  “Too late.”

  “Why is that?” He took a long swallow of beer.

  “She thinks you want to kill her.”

  He nodded.

  “Do you?”

  “Do you?” He smiled and licked the top of his bottle, slowly and seductively. Or at least that’s how it seemed to me.

  I laughed.

  “I thought so,” he said.

  “I suppose you aren’t going to tell me if you’re seriously planning to murder her,” I said. “She seems quite frightened.”

  “She can’t just take possession of the house.”

  “It’s half yours?”

  “Twenty percent.”

  “Why did you leave, then?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “We have all afternoon.”

  “Okay, that was an avoidance tactic. I don’t want to tell you. Not right now.”

  “Because then, if she turns up dead, I’ll know it was you, and I’ll know why you killed her.” I finished my coleslaw, ate the meat off one more rib, and took a few sips of beer. He watched me, not moving or eating.

  We ordered two more beers and took them outside to the narrow porch that ran past the front window of the restaurant. We sat on comfortable wooden chairs watching traffic and drinking beer. It was hard to know whether he was serious. The damaged photograph suggested he was. Noreen was so erratic, her fear could be silly paranoia or something very real.