When the Mirror Cracks

by Jan Coffey

  The tall man in the dark suit has a face I’ve come to recognize. His brows are drawn together, his lips are thinned. I should have known he’d be behind this. On the way to the airport, I thought he was going to kidnap me, but he didn’t and asked about Tiam instead. And yesterday, he had been watching Elizabeth at the hotel. The puzzle pieces are starting to line up. The two out there, and whoever else was involved with grabbing me, must be his minions.

  “We meet again.” My voice catches, and I clear my throat.

  He stares down at me. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on in his mind. Trapped like a fish in his net, I must be a sorry mess. My neck hurts, so I stop trying to look into his face.

  I know he understands English. “Elizabeth won’t do it. She won’t make a deal for me.”

  There are two quick flashes in the room. He’s taken a picture of me.

  “I know who she is and who she used to work for,” I continue. “And the same way that the US government says they won’t negotiate with terrorists, she’ll use the same excuse. She’ll just tell you to keep me. You’ll get nothing from her.”

  “She won’t save her daughter’s life?”

  These are the first words he’s spoken. I look up. “No, she won’t.”

  “Then you die.”

  “Yes. I’ll die.”

  “Maybe I should do it now?” He produces a knife. The blade is short, but it gleams in the dim light.

  “Go ahead.” The quicker, the better.

  Death doesn’t scare me. Events, good and bad, from the past few months come into my mind. Becoming pregnant. Experiencing the joy of finding my true family. Losing Jax. The car accident that should have taken my life, but instead stole my daughter from me.

  “Any last wish? Maybe a message that I will pass on to your mother?”

  Your mother.

  Last night, it must have been a premonition. Before going to bed, I wrote an email to my lawyer and asked him to set up a will naming Tiam and Zari as my beneficiaries. Maybe an email is legally binding and maybe it isn’t, but at least he knows my wishes. He has names he can pursue after I’m gone.

  “Nothing, I see.” He takes a step toward me.

  His face is expressionless, but I’m not afraid. A memory comes back to me—the moment when I became conscious in the hospital after the car accident. I was drowning in the pettiness of everything I’d done wrong. And then, suddenly, my life wasn’t about me, but about her. I was terrified for my baby. The bond between mother and child consumed me, and I knew how far I was willing to go, how much I was willing to sacrifice for her. I would have gladly died for her.

  My life was not worth a single hair on my daughter’s head, not worth a single scratch on her. It was during that awakening to what maternal love really was that I asked for my own mother. But it wasn’t Elizabeth that I wanted. It was Zari.

  “You know my friend Tiam. You asked me about her.” Words tumble out. “My message isn’t for Elizabeth Hall. It’s for Zari, Tiam’s mother.”

  I’m fighting back tears, but some of them must be escaping because I taste the saltiness on my lips.

  “Please tell her I love her.”

  37

  Tiam

  Every muscle in my chest strains with each breath. Tubes feed oxygen into my nose, and my body is connected to machines. Since they brought me to ICU, a calm has descended over my mind. I’m no longer afraid or sad or angry. I have no regrets about how I’ve taken care of my health. I did the best with what I was given. The road my life traveled on—rough and marked with deep ruts and potholes—is coming to an end, and I’m ready for whatever comes next.

  “What should I do?” The woman’s voice is close to me.

  “Sit beside the bed. Hold her hand,” Zari says quietly.

  Soft, cold hands take hold of one of mine. Lips press against my skin, but I’m too exhausted to open my eyes.

  My mind wanders back to the night at the rooftop terrace overlooking Hagia Sophia. A white-jacketed server meets me at the top of the stairs.

  “Hoş geldiniz. Buyurun hanım efendim, her yerde oturabilirsiniz,” he says, telling me I can sit anywhere.

  “Sağolun.” I thank him, and he disappears down the stairs.

  The air is cool, and the clusters of chairs and benches are inviting. I spot Christina and stand still. She’s listening to adhan. The call to prayer is coming from a dozen mosques in this section of the city. They join together, creating an evocative call and return. Her eyes are closed, her face lifted to the sky. She looks beautiful, so serene.

  If it weren’t for my period, I would be praying in one of the mosques right now. Instead, I offer up my own silent words of devotion.

  Christina opens her eyes and sees me. We both smile, and she begins to gather her things. We have so much to catch up on.

  The torches on the rooftop flicker, and a shadow comes between us. The woman begins to complain to Christina before she even reaches her.

  “I’ve been searching for you everywhere. I called you…”

  As I begin to walk away, the thought comes to me. Not now. It is too difficult to introduce myself to my mother tonight.

  I feel fingers entwine with mine. They’re not letting me go away. I want to turn around, to walk down the stairs, toward Elizabeth as she continues talking. I see Christina’s eyes meet mine and welcome me. She’s encouraging me.

  “There’s someone here who would like to meet you.”

  The voice should belong to Christina, but it’s Zari’s warm tones that fill my ear. I’m not on that rooftop terrace.

  “Christina…my child. Open your eyes. Please.” An American accent.

  Zari’s voice weaves in with the other. “Call her Tiam. That is what she likes to be called.”

  I know who this woman is, holding my hand, calling out to me. For ten years, I’ve been waiting for this moment. But am I brave enough to face her?

  My body is failing, but my mind is at peace. Inside, I’ve never felt stronger than I do now. I open my eyes.

  “My baby. My daughter.”

  Elizabeth’s face is crumbling. Her tears have streaked her cheeks with eyeliner and mascara. She presses her lips to our joined fingers, and I realize with some surprise that I have no emotions for this woman. Anger, rage, disappointment, and all the pain that churned within me when I learned she had abandoned me…it’s all gone, vanished like the night in the face of the rising sun.

  My gaze moves past her, searching for Zari. She’s standing near the window, and our eyes meet. I don’t want her to go away. When I take my last breath, she is the mother that I want to be looking at.

  She presses a fist to her chest and flattens her palm against her heart. She grieves for me, and she loves me. She’ll stay.

  “I didn’t know you survived. I just assumed…I trusted what those doctors told me. They told me to say goodbye to you. I couldn’t bear to watch you die.”

  “For thirty-two years, I’ve lived.” My words are little more than a whisper. “And I’ve been fortunate…loved by the finest mother Allah ever created.”

  “I can never hope for your forgiveness. I was a broken woman. I had no family left. You were my only hope, my last chance of having someone in my life. But you were dying on me, like everyone else. I allowed a selfish fantasy to obscure the reality.” Tears tumble from her eyes. “But Christina—”

  “Tiam. My mother named me Tiam.”

  “Tiam, if there’s anything I can do now. Anything you want or need.” She falters, fighting down a sob. “I’m going to find new doctors. Specialists. I’ll fly them here. I’ll find out who is the best anywhere.”

  “Nothing. I want nothing from you.” My chest lifts, painfully, and falls. “Only to see you…tell you. I have survived in spite of you.”

  Elizabeth is weeping openly, and my eyes are drawn to Zari again. She gives me a nod, and I understand what she’s encouraging me to do.

  My judgment, my culture, and my religion all urge me to forgive
. A verse from the Holy Quran comes to me. Whosoever forgives and reconciles, his reward is upon Allah. But it is difficult.

  Elizabeth’s head is resting on my bed. Her shoulders are quaking as she cries. She isn’t the same woman I have watched and was intimidated by over the years. She’s come undone. Her heart lies in my hand, as naked and vulnerable as a wounded swallow.

  I draw our joined fingers to my chest. Her face lifts off the bed, and her reddened eyes gaze into mine.

  “I forgive you, Mother,” I say. “I forgive you.”

  38

  Elizabeth

  Elizabeth stood beside Zari in the waiting area of the ICU as the doctor told them what to expect.

  “She has one day left, perhaps two.”

  She’d been introduced to the medical staff as a close friend of the family. A generous label, considering all that she’d done to them.

  “Is there anything that can make a difference?” she asked. “The cost is absolutely of no consequence. Perhaps a different facility. Drugs that aren’t available to her at this hospital. Is there anything at all?”

  “I am afraid it is too late for any of it.”

  Thirty years ago, she’d researched cystic fibrosis thoroughly when they told her Christina was afflicted with it. She knew the progression of the disease and what the end was like. But she’d made a mistake in believing the doctors’ prognosis. Sitting at her daughter’s bedside today, seeing how fragile she was, and watching her battle for every breath, Elizabeth had believed them. But she was not ready to give up. Not this time.

  “What about the possibility of a lung transplant?”

  “She’s been on the national waiting list. But even if a miracle happened at this very moment and a compatible organ became available, there is no guarantee that her body would accept it.”

  The intercom paged the doctor, and he hurried away. Guilt and grief were working in tandem to tear Elizabeth apart. Her eyes were so puffy that she could barely see out of them. Watching Tiam in the ICU forced her to measure each of her own breaths. For all of her life, she’d been active and had lived her life to the fullest, while her child struggled for every ounce of air. If she could only swap places with her.

  She turned to Zari, standing quietly beside her. She was calm and at peace, as if she were looking over garden beds rather than these sterile hallways.

  With no thought of how she might respond, Elizabeth pulled her into an embrace.

  “I’m sorry, Zari. I’m sorry for what I did to our daughters. I’m sorry for what I did to you. My actions were vile. Nothing can ever excuse the wretched choice I made. I stole your baby. I left mine…” She faltered. “I left my child behind. And absolutely nothing I say or do can justify that.”

  Zari’s body was stiff. She drew back.

  “If it is forgiveness that you are after, you heard Tiam. I raised that young woman as my own, so how could I deny her words? How could I turn a face of stone to you? You did us all wrong. You shattered our lives. But I say the same thing. I forgive you.”

  Elizabeth held the woman’s gaze, knowing in her heart that she could never repair the damage she did so many years ago. She didn’t deserve their forgiveness.

  “I have a searing pain in my heart,” Elizabeth said. “I would rip open my own chest if it would help her breathe.”

  “To be a mother, you give them your heart. You give them your life. You give them your love. You must love your children as Allah loves you.”

  Two mothers raised daughters that were not their own. In her own way, Elizabeth tried to love the child she’d raised, but she’d never given Christina the unfettered, unconditional love that Zari had given Tiam. Every time Elizabeth felt a twinge of guilt about what she’d done, she would shower the child with gifts. Christina had been raised in a life of comfort. But Elizabeth had never given her enough affection. Her generosity didn’t say, I give you my heart. I give you my life. I give you my love.

  Tiam grew up surrounded by this loving warmth every day, but Christina had never felt it for the simple reason that Elizabeth didn’t know how to give it.

  But perhaps it wasn’t too late.

  “I’m going back to sit at my daughter’s side,” Zari told her before walking away.

  Elizabeth’s phone rang for the umpteenth time. She’d been ignoring it. Glancing at the screen, she saw that Kyle was trying to reach her again. She’d missed their dinner.

  Her thoughts went to Christina. She should be told. She should be here. A new panic seized her. These two girls had to meet. Zari had to see her daughter and know that although she was losing one child, her other one was alive and doing well.

  She dialed Christina’s number, but it rang and then went to voicemail.

  She texted her. Please call me. It’s urgent.

  Elizabeth paced along the hall. Monitors beeped on the walls behind the nurses’ station. The intercom requests for physicians were frequent. She tried to imagine what it would have been like if she had taken her own baby back with her to Southern California thirty years ago.

  There was no doubt in her mind that the medical care would have been better, more advanced. Maybe her daughter would have had a new lung by now. Maybe she wouldn’t be lying in an ICU bed, fighting for her final breaths.

  “Where are you, Christina? Answer the text.” Elizabeth needed her here with them now.

  The screen on her phone showed she had voicemail messages. Elizabeth pressed the play button.

  The first one was from Kyle.

  “Christina used a car service today. It’s five o’clock, and she’s still not back at the hotel. I tried to call her, but she doesn’t answer. Do you know anything?”

  The next message was from Kyle again.

  “I put a call in to the car company. The driver isn’t answering her cell phone either. They’re checking the GPS services for a location on the car.”

  A new worry added to the anguish Elizabeth was already feeling. “Where are you, Christina,” she murmured. “I need you.”

  There was a third message from Kyle. She listened to it.

  “There’s been an accident. The driver is hospitalized. Christina wasn’t in the car. Police are involved. Call me.”

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.” Elizabeth rushed down the hallway, past the double doors of the ICU. Waiting for the elevator, she called Kyle.

  Thankfully, he answered immediately. “Where are you? Where have you been?”

  “What’s happening, Kyle? Where is she? Please tell me she’s okay.”

  His long pause sent her stomach into a free fall. The elevator doors opened, but she wasn’t strong enough to go in. She leaned back against the nearest wall.

  “Talk to me, Kyle.”

  “The police think she’s been kidnapped.”

  A fierce buzzing began in her ears, blunting Kyle’s words. Pain hammered at her head and spread downward like hot pulsing poison. She wanted to curl up and disappear, but she couldn’t. She forced herself to focus.

  “Who would kidnap her? Why? For money? What do we have to do?”

  “The police don’t know anything yet. They’re asking lots of questions. They want to talk to you. Where are you?”

  She couldn’t let police come to the hospital. She didn’t want Zari to know. But she couldn’t leave and go back to the hotel either. Her daughter was here. But what about Christina?

  “Elizabeth, are you there?”

  “I’m here. I’m thinking.”

  “It’s possible that…well, that whatever is happening to Christina has something to do with you.”

  “If they want money, they can have whatever I have. I don’t care. Give them the whole fucking company if that’s what they want. We have to get Christina back.”

  “It might be more than money that they’re after,” he said.

  “What else is there? What could they want?”

  “Your name is on a kill list. I saw it myself. It’s on the dark web.”

  Elizabeth’s knees gave o
ut, and she slid down the wall. Sitting on the floor, she buried her head in her hand. She thought she was clear of the past. When she wasn’t named in the lawsuit filed by the Iraqi Kurds a couple of years ago, she’d assumed she was out of it. She was a fool to even hope for it. If Jax and Christina could find out her old connections to the weapon sales, so could others.

  She knew what a kill list was. Assassins were available for hire, and foreign governments used them to get rid of their enemies, or those who spoke against their politics, by putting innocent people’s names on the list. The US government had their own kill list and was famous for using drones and rockets to wipe out entire villages to get their target.

  “Did you say any of this to the police?” she asked.

  “No, not yet. But shouldn’t our embassy be notified?”

  She was well aware of how they would respond. Elizabeth was a nobody in their books. The embassy would hand the case to the local police, who would rush in and shoot the place up once they knew where the kidnappers were holding Christina.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “I’m thinking.” A text notification showed on her phone. “I’m going to call you back, Kyle. I just got something from Christina.”

  Elizabeth ended the call and opened the text. Her hand immediately went to her mouth to stifle her cry. It was a picture of Christina, sitting on a dirty rug, her ankles bound, her hands behind her. Elizabeth enlarged the photo and studied her face. It looked like there was blood on one cheek.

  She pushed to her feet and quickly typed her reply. You bastards are going to die. I’m going to kill every...

  Elizabeth stopped and deleted her message. She had to be calm. She couldn’t afford to piss them off. It would just fall back on Christina. Whoever was behind this, they were using her daughter’s phone to communicate. Modern cell phones could be tracked. Three decades ago, she was a trained CIA operative. These assholes didn’t know she was still as sharp as ever.