‘It’s all tied in with escaping,’ I said. ‘Remember what Mitchell said in his letter, about Laurie expecting to hear from Iris. Like she could somehow escape death?’
Troy nodded. ‘Yes, Mitchell seemed pretty blown over when his old man told him that.’
‘She escaped from his life by dying,’ I said ‘and Laurie wanted her to escape from death as well. He’s still waiting for her to get round to it.’
‘I still don’t get what you’re getting at,’ said Troy.
‘I didn’t either, not until this afternoon,’ I said. ‘Listen. Houdini and Bess shared the same orbit. They loved each other in a way that was uncomplicated but at the same time as complicated as anything. Houdini could escape from anything. He figured he was the one who’d be able to escape death. He counted on being able to come back and communicate with Bess, to prove he was the greatest escapologist of all and also that he’d never forgotten her and never would. It’s so simple.’
‘And Laurie thought - or thinks - the same about . . .’
‘About Iris? Yes, exactly. May had already told us that, the first time we met her and Barry. Now Mitchell’s saying the same thing. Laurie and Iris
must have made some. . . what’s the word I’m
looking for . . .?’
‘Tcap?’ suggested Troy.
‘Yes, a pact. They both knew she was dying so Iris said to him - or Laurie asked her to - that she’d be in touch with him afterwards.’
‘Like sending a text from the other side,’ said Troy. ‘But no mobile phones those days.’
‘But they had the mirrors,’ I said. ‘What if they agreed that Iris would show up in one of them. . .?’
‘And that’s why Laurie never wanted to leave this house?’
‘A reason. But when he finally had to, he took a mirror with him. May showed us where it used to hang.’
‘And that’s what he means when he tells Mitchell he’s expecting to hear from her,’ said Troy. ‘But so far she’s never shown up in it. Ereht esirprus gib on.’
‘Absolutely not,’ I agreed. ‘And yet the photos have shown up in the mirrors he left behind. We can’t explain how and maybe we never will be able to, but Mitchell did say that Laurie is always looking at his photo albums. What if . . .,’ and here I took a proverbial deep breath because even I found this incredibly hard to believe although it was explanation of sorts, ‘what if he holds them up in front of the mirror in his room like he’s sending Iris a message, reminding her not to forget, telling her she hasn’t escaped back to him yet. And some-how the pictures end up here, back in this house, in these mirrors and I – we – see them? Not Iris. Be-cause Iris is dead and can’t see anything anymore.’
‘So the mirrors aren’t really mirrors at all, but windows,’ said Troy.
‘Windows through space,’ I said. ‘It sounds crazy. And I bet it’s not even scientifically possible. But still . . . it’s happened. It’s still happening.’
I told Troy how this morning Laurie had pursued me from mirror to mirror.
‘They say the proof of the pudding’s in the eating,’ Troy said. ‘You saw them. I saw one of them.’
‘Laurie can’t know we’re at the receiving end,’ I said. ‘He just thinks - he hopes - that Iris is seeing the images and that she’ll respond to them. To him.’
‘And how does he think she’ll manage to do that?’ said Troy.
‘I don’t know. Maybe the only thing he expects is that she’ll come back with a picture of her own, a message, something, anything.’
‘A message that shows up in the mirror in his room,’ said Troy. ‘But it’ll never happen. Laurie will keep asking her, you’ll keep seeing the pictures for as long as he keeps showing them . . . and then what?’
‘Misery all round,’ I said.
Troy was silent. ‘Od ew nac tahw?” he asked at last.
‘Give Laurie an answer,’ I said.
Mirror writing
‘How?’ said Troy.
‘I read your project on Leonardo da Vinci,’ I said.
‘Yes. And?’
‘And you told me about Leonardo’s mirror
writing. It’s given me an idea.’
I got Harry’s book about Houdini from my bookcase. I found the page I wanted to show Troy. ‘This was the message Houdini was supposed to have sent to Bess. ‘Rosabell, believe.’
‘Sweet,’ said Troy. ‘Teews dna trohs.’
‘If we send something similar to Laurie,’ I said to him, ‘what will he think?’
‘That’s it from Iris?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But how? Mitchell said you can’t talk to him.’
‘I know,’ I agreed. ‘So we do the next best thing. We send him a mirror message.’
For a long moment Troy said nothing. Then, ‘You think it might work the other way round?’ he asked.
‘I’ve no idea,’ I said. ‘But what have we got to lose? If it works, Laurie won’t need to keep on sending his messages. I’ll be rid of him, and he’ll be happy.’
‘Even though it’s a lie?’ said Troy.
‘It’ll be a lie,’ I agreed. ‘But that’s what writers and magicians do best. And maybe sometimes lies are the mirror images of truth.’
Troy nodded. ‘The message will have to be written backwards and in reverse lettering, otherwise Laurie won’t be able to read it easily,’ he said. ‘That explains where Leonardo fits in. But we don’t know what Iris’s handwriting would have been like.’
‘I know you’re an expert on speaking backwards,’ I said, ‘but have you ever tried writing backwards? It isn’t easy. Unless you’re Leonardo, handwriting goes out the window. We’ll use . . .
‘. . . capital letters,’ Troy finished. ‘Much
easier. Yes, I have tried.’
‘Let’s presume it’s what Iris would have done.’
‘Which mirror, and what will you write with?’ asked Troy.
‘This one,’ I said. ‘And with lipstick. I’ve got plenty of it to spare and it’ll wash off.’
‘Won?’
‘Right now,’ I said.
Troy watched while I unscrewed the lipstick container.
‘Ready?’
‘Go for it,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope Laurie’s watching.’
I admit I felt a bit guilty as I wrote the lie on the glass. But I consoled myself by thinking that if this worked it would be a story for Laurie. And stories give people joy and they give people hope. If it brought poor old Laurie peace as well, well, then the lie would be worthwhile.
I wrote the words, slowly and carefully, so as not to make a mistake.
‘If he sees this,’ I said aloud to Troy’s reflection behind me in the mirror, ‘then I guess we won’t be seeing each other again. Laurie and me, I mean. Then all I have to worry about is the talent quest and escaping from Harry’s locked chest in front of hundreds of people. Not sure if that’s much to look forward to.’
‘There’s always lots to look forward to,’ said Troy. ‘Stol.’
My reflection smiled back at him.
I wrote:
‘Laurence Harvey and Iris May Laurison, yours has been an interesting story to say the least,’ I whispered. ‘I wish you both well. Now please, please, please Laurie, leave me alone to get on with my life.’
PART FOUR
The (real) End (sort of)
My story ends here.
Of course it doesn’t really. There are so many more things I could have included but the story was getting long enough already and I was getting tired (writing is hard work, believe me). Christmas has come and gone, the long summer holidays (Southern Hemisphere) are ongoing and I want to enjoy what’s still left of them. Visits to shopping malls and the pool, parties to attend, summer barbecues to enjoy. All sound familiar?
But, just to round things off, here are a few of the things I could have written more about. I hope you’ll find these snippets enough to be going on with. One day, maybe, I’ll elaborate on them.
Harry Houdini died on Halloween night in 1926. A couple of days before the witching hour (and the T&Ts) arrived Harry and I had to front up to the talent quest judges. I would be lying to say that our performance was flawless. Harry almost unbalanced and fell off the chest as he made his grand re-appearance, managing to save himself by turning the almost-fall into part of the act. The mark of a great performer? I don’t think the judges loved us but they did like us, as did the audience, and they gave us the opportunity to come back for
the second round. I won’t go into any details here of what new illusion we did or how well we did, or
didn’t, do. If you want to find out it should still be
on the web. Just look us up on SHOW US YOUR
TALENT.
Currently May lives alone, still next door, but Barry-less. It all happened rather quickly. I know she’s happier. Hers is definitely another whole story, which I don’t know enough about to have told in any more detail. You have as much an idea of how things were between her and Barry as I do. I’m glad however to report that Mum was able to be of assistance to her.
In the end I did my bio project on Houdini. I handed it in late. Mrs Tyrell didn’t seem to mind too much. The reasons, as you know, were manifold. But I got it done, and still managed to get an ‘A’ for it. Harry was pleased. He says he might borrow it if Mrs T is still teaching when his time comes. I gave him a prim but stern lecture about plagiarism.
Last, but not least, we still have all the mirrors and so far I haven’t (touch wood) seen Laurie and Iris again in any of them again. It may mean that Laurie has died but I think not. I’m sure we would have heard from Mitchell if he had. So I like to think that our message got to him and that he (like May) is also happier than before. Don’t ask me how it worked, if it worked. I won’t ever be able to tell you and neither will the internet provide you with any answers. It’s like one of Harry’s magic tricks. You know it really can’t be true but you have no idea of how it’s done so you ‘suspend your disbelief’ and you simply . . . believe.
PS Troy and I have not become anything more than friends. (Along with Em and Rach I now count him as one of my best friends.) He’s not ready for anything more and, on reflection, neither am I. (No time, for one thing!) I have, however, become something of an adept at speaking backwards and, whenever we bump into one another, Troy and I have great fun speaking to each other in this newly familiar language. We get strange looks and people probably think we are mad, serac ohw tub, we have something in common to talk about and it’s not for everyone’s ears.
PPS And you, dear reader, can believe this story or not, as you choose. All of it is true, but writers are notorious liars.
Signing myself,
Athena ~ author!
EPILOGUE
Then, face to face
There is an old man in a room.
His bed is hard up against one wall. There is a writing desk opposite the large sliding door that opens into a tiny, tidy garden. The room is not exactly spartan but it lacks the presence of personal knick-knacks. It’s a cold, clinical kind of room, the sort of place where you might expect things to come to an end rather than begin.
On the desk rests a mirror. It stands on the desk, angled against the wall, but it also stands out in a different way. Somehow it does not fit the room. It doesn’t belong there. It’s too ornate for its surroundings. Just like the man, the mirror is old. Unlike either of them it is shaped in elaborate curves and its edges are bevelled and diamante. Its surface glimmers, free from dust. This mirror has been well looked after.
The old man looks at his tired reflection in the mirror, waiting. An open photo album lies in front of him.
Then, in the mirror, letters appear.
Letters, written one by one by an unseen hand.
A name.
His name.
And an instruction.
Believe.
For the longest moment Laurie sits there, unmoving. The letters stand out clearly now. There is no doubting them, no ambiguity about their meaning.
Laurie whispers, ‘Iris. You didn’t forget. You
escaped.’
And after another long while he closes the photo album.
The room takes on another aspect.
Somehow things have changed. The change is subtle, hard to detect and describe.
It has to do, though, with it now being the sort of room where you might expect things to begin rather than to end.
End note
The biography of Houdini, read by both Harry and Athens, is called Escape! The story of the Great Houdini (2006). It is written by the late, great Sid Fleischman, himself a magician, and is well worth reading.
The Houdini Effect Page 16