When the Mirror Cracks

by Jan Coffey

  “I came here in good faith. I’m willing to do whatever you say. I’ll pay whatever you want. I’m a wealthy woman. Tell me your price, and you’ll have it. But please let her go.”

  “I am not after your money. I never was.”

  “I know. I know. But Christina is innocent. She’s nothing like me. You can’t punish her because of what I’ve done to you.”

  “You know the saying, a life for a life, an eye for an eye, a nose for a nose, an ear for an ear, a tooth for a tooth.” With each word he inched closer, crowding Elizabeth and backing her up until she bumped against the metal railing. His hand delved into a pocket. “I have no use for your money. And killing you fast is not punishment enough. I want you to suffer as you made—”

  “Please, Yahya.” No matter how long she had, no matter what torture he had planned for her, Elizabeth had one thing she absolutely needed to tell him. “Do what you have to do to me. But please don’t hurt your own daughter.”

  “My daughter?” he asked, his shadowy face expressionless.

  Thirty-two years ago, no one knew the identity of the father of her child. Not even Patricia Nicholls. Elizabeth had been successful in keeping her relationship with Yahya secret. And when he went missing, no one suspected that she had anything to do with it.

  “Yes. Your daughter. I was pregnant when you went away.”

  “Went away?” He scowled fiercely. “People go away to see their family, to find work. You had me arrested. You told them to make me disappear.”

  “I’m sorry, Yahya. I knew I was carrying your child. Our child. What you say is true. I didn’t want to be tied to you. I only thought of myself and what I wanted for my future.” She expected him to come at her any second. His silence was ominous. “A month after you were arrested, Zari came to Ankara with Tiam, your baby. She came looking for you. She had nowhere to go. For once, I decided to do the right thing. I hired her and gave her a place to live.”

  She stared at where his hand had disappeared in his pocket. He could be holding a weapon that would end her life right here. People walking on the bridge went past them. No one so much as looked their way. If he decided to toss her over the railing now, she doubted anyone would be able to stop him. But there was more that she needed to say.

  “Christina—our child—was born in September. From the very beginning, she was sick. She had cystic fibrosis. For eighteen months, I did the best I could. And then the doctors told me she was dying, that there was nothing more to be done for her.”

  Whatever he thought of her now, she was about to make it so much worse. But what was worse than evil?

  “At that time, my life was a disaster. Because of other things I’d done, I had to leave my job in Ankara. And my child was dying. I was distraught. I…I took Zari’s child. Your child. Tiam. I justified it in my own mind. I told myself I was giving her a better life. I took your Tiam and gave her Christina’s name. I left Turkey and went to America and didn’t come back for thirty years…until now.”

  Elizabeth felt exhausted, as if she’d run a marathon. But there was no sense of accomplishment in saying these things. This was nothing to be proud of. It was simply an admission of her guilt. Only shame. She’d confessed her sins, but she knew there could be no forgiveness. Not from Yahya.

  He continued to stand silently. A cold, unreadable mask stretched tightly across his face.

  “Christina and Tiam. Two girls, six months apart in age. They’re both yours, both your daughters. You took the daughter Zari carried and gave birth to…the child I stole.” Her voice shook. “Today Zari came to the hotel to tell me that Tiam was in ICU. I never knew that my real daughter had survived. The doctors say that she’s dying. And this time it’s true. She is dying.”

  Elizabeth’s hands couldn’t keep up with the tears tumbling down her cheeks.

  “Her wish—her unbelievable wish—was to see me. The mother who abandoned her. She wanted to see me.”

  Elizabeth chin sank to her chest. She didn’t deserve Tiam’s words of forgiveness. God help her, she absolutely didn’t deserve them.

  Fighting back overwhelming grief, she forced herself to look up at Yahya’s face.

  “Do what you want with me, but please…please don’t harm your own child. I beg you. Let Christina go.”

  He looked away from her, and time stood still. She stared at the clenched muscles of his face, at the long white scar along his jaw, at his hard profile. And she feared Christina was already hurt. Perhaps already dead.

  Elizabeth had raised her, loved her as well as she could, treated her the only way she knew how. The way her own parents had treated her. Christina’s words came back to her now.

  Why can’t you love me?

  I’m your daughter. Why don’t you trust me?

  Tell me, Mother. Please tell me that you love me.

  She had pushed aside and ignored Christina’s words over and over again as the whining complaints of a spoiled daughter. But when was the last time Elizabeth had been truly and honestly affectionate toward her? When had she accepted her, not been critical of her, showed her that she was proud of the woman she’d become? It was too late for such thoughts. Far too late. She was about to lose them both. Elizabeth touched Yahya’s arm. “I’m begging you. Tell me that Christina is okay.”

  He shook off her touch but turned his gaze to her. “Go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Go to the hospital. To Tiam.”

  She grabbed hold of his jacket. “But what about Christina? I can’t go anywhere until I know she’s safe.”

  His glare was fierce and unbending, his tone sharp and punishing. “You say she is my daughter. Yes?”

  “Yes, she’s Zari’s daughter…and yours.”

  “Then go,” he snapped. “I will take care of my own.”

  Pulling himself free of her, he strode off, and Elizabeth stared in stunned silence.

  41

  Christina

  An hour earlier

  The helpless agony of waiting for the executioner to cut my throat sharpens as he crouches down and stares into my face. His knee pushes against my legs. His size dominates the space, and the knife in his hand is terrifying.

  “What did you say?” he asks, his voice low and threatening.

  “I said, please tell Zari that I love her.”

  “How do you know her?”

  “She’s my…my friend. I’ve been to their apartment. Hers and Tiam’s.”

  “When you came to Istanbul in April and June. I know.”

  It’s my turn to be surprised, and I hazard a glance at his face. The night he drove me to the airport to pick up Kyle obviously wasn’t the first time we met.

  “How do you know so much about Zari and Tiam?”

  “It is not for you to ask questions,” he growls.

  “Why not?” I snap, letting my anger and frustration show. How much worse could things get? When they dragged me out of the car, I assumed I was dead anyway. “You already know I’ve been to their apartment. And not only been there, but that I stayed with them for two weeks in June. So why are you asking stuff that you already know?”

  He takes hold of the zip-ties binding my ankles and pulls my legs out straight. The blade flashes in the light of the bulb, and I flinch as he leans toward me. But then, with a quick motion, he cuts the ties at my ankles, and my legs are free.

  “Now tell the truth,” he orders. “Who are you?”

  He’s giving an inch, but I’m far from out of the woods.

  “And don’t give me more bullshit about internet. How do you know Tiam? Why Elizabeth Hall’s daughter is a friend to Zari Rahman and her daughter?”

  Fuck it. What do I have to lose by telling the truth? That’s the question I’ve been asking myself since they dumped me in this room. I know I won’t be putting Tiam and Zari in danger with this man. He’s clearly being protective of them.

  “You do not talk, and I go out there and let those animals come in. They can convince you to speak.”r />
  “Are they tougher than you?” I can hear the sarcasm in my own voice. “Are they supposed to be scarier than you?”

  He stands up and takes a step toward the door.

  “Wait,” I say quickly. “This past April was actually a reunion between me and Tiam and Zari. A reunion that was thirty years overdue.”

  He stares down at me. His face is twisted in a dubious frown.

  I doubt that he wants to hear the long story of how Tiam and I found each other. Or how I knew for my entire life there was something wrong with me. Or how I always felt there was a piece of me missing, but never guessed that it was because I was separated from my mother at such a young age. So I give him the abridged story of two mothers and two daughters, of a baby abduction, and how Tiam and I connected.

  “I didn’t lie to you in the car. It really was the internet that threw us together. Once I found her, I met with her and Zari. In April, and again in June.”

  He stands as silent as a statue, watching me.

  “That’s the reason,” I continue, “why I don’t think Elizabeth will be too enthusiastic about handing herself over to you in exchange for me…if that’s what you think is going to happen. I’m not her daughter.”

  It’s uncomfortable tilting my head up, trying to gauge his mood.

  “This is true? All of it?”

  My legs are tingling and need some blood flowing into them. I try to stand, but with my hands still zip-tied behind me, it’s difficult to find my balance right away.

  He grabs me by the arm and helps me up. The knife flashes in his hand.

  “It’s true. Why would I make up a story that’s so complicated?”

  He looks at me for an eternity, as if he’s searching my face for confirmation of what I’ve told him. My life has been hanging in the balance since this morning, but something about him strikes a familiar chord in me. I can’t explain it, but it’s as if our relationship has changed. I feel calmer, and I’m not surprised when he finally turns me around and cuts the ties binding my wrists.

  Pain and relief battle for dominance as a deep breath whooshes out of my lungs. My shoulders and arms are burning as I try to move them.

  He goes to the door and listens to the conversation on the other side. Something about the way he’s standing catches me off guard. It’s the angle and tilt of his chin as he focuses. Kyle teases me that I do the same thing.

  A thought is forming, but I can’t believe it. “Who are you?”

  He turns his eyes toward me. His gaze is intense, and the brow is creased. Shit. It’s the same expression I get whenever I’m angry or stressed about things.

  “We are walking out of here, but you must do what I say.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  He gestures to me, and I go to him.

  “Stand here and wait. I must speak to them first, and then we go.”

  “Just like that?” I ask, finding this turn of events a little unreal.

  He puts a hand on my shoulder and looks into my eyes. “You must trust me.”

  My heart melts. My eyes are the same as his. We have the same cleft in our chins.

  “What is your name?” I ask softly.

  “Does it matter?”

  “It matters.”

  “I am Yahya Rahman.”

  I blink several times, but a tear escapes and tumbles down my cheek. He’s the reason why I started doing all the genetic tests. Without the motivation to find this man, I might never have met Tiam. Or Zari. I would never have come home. Finding him completes my search.

  “I trust you.”

  He opens the door and slips through, closes it behind him and immediately begins shouting at the two men. They’re speaking Turkish. Actually, two are speaking and one is shouting. I have no trouble distinguishing my father’s voice from the other two. He’s chewing them up like a movie drill sergeant.

  I still can’t believe it. My father. Yahya left Kurdistan before I was born. The way Zari spoke of him, Tiam always imagined he must be dead. But here he was, alive in Istanbul and keeping track of his family.

  I jump back when the door opens. Yahya holds out a hand to me.

  “We are going. Do not look at their faces. There can be no retribution for their stupidity. Not from police.”

  “Of course.”

  He takes hold of my arm. I lower my chin and stare at the floor as he leads me through the outer room. A few steps along the way, he shoves my purse into my arms, and I clutch it against my chest.

  “Bize borçlusun,” a man’s voice calls out.

  “Para iadem nedeniyle yaşamanıza izin verildi,” Yahya answers.

  “What did he say?” I ask when we’re beyond the room and passing through a dark hallway. The door to the street is straight ahead. I still can’t believe I’m walking out of here alive.

  “They think I owe them something,” he tells me. “They think they are very smart, but they are stupid. They took you to get money from Elizabeth.”

  “That wasn’t your plan?”

  His glare is my answer. And that explains the shouting and furniture throwing I heard when he first arrived.

  “What about the robbery in Elizabeth’s room when we first arrived in Istanbul?” I have to know.

  “I did not want her to come and go. They did the job as I told them. I wanted her passport and identification. They kept her money and jewels.”

  “What did you tell them now?”

  “I told them they are lucky that I let them live.”

  Yahya’s confidence and toughness are striking and obvious. He has the quality of a Tony Soprano. I still have no idea, however, if he’s a gangster or an assassin or simply an airport driver who moonlights as a kidnapper. Whatever he does, I’m just happy he’s my father.

  He pushes me through a steel door, and we step out to a side street that is little more than an alley. Night has descended, but a streetlight illuminates a motorcycle parked near the door. Not far away, where the alley opens out a little, a half dozen kids are kicking a soccer ball, oblivious to the kind of business going on in their neighborhood. At least, I hope they’re oblivious to it.

  “This way.”

  I follow him down the end of the alley to a wider street. Around the corner, he waves toward an old, battered Mercedes parked under a red and white sign depicting a tow truck. He opens the passenger door and I climb in.

  My adrenaline has been pumping in high gear since the moment those men dragged me out of the town car, but I’m finally able to take a deep breath.

  “What happened to the driver of my car?” I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  He shrugs. “She is fine. Frightened, I am certain, but fine. She is probably safe in her house with the doors locked right now.”

  I’m relieved. “Can you take me back to the hotel? Or to Zari and Tiam’s?”

  “No. Not yet. Give me your mobile.”

  I look in my bag, and find my cell. There are dozens of missed calls and messages.

  “What do you want it for?”

  “To reach Elizabeth. She must meet with me.”

  I thought we were done with that kidnapping business. “She won’t come. She’s not going to put her life in danger for me. Why would you want to meet with her, anyway?”

  “We have unfinished business.”

  After what I told him about Elizabeth swapping babies, I have a bad feeling. “Please, I don’t want her to be hurt. She raised me.”

  “I will not hurt her.” His hand reaches out, waiting for me to hand over the phone. “Trust me.”

  42

  Elizabeth

  Now

  Once Yahya disappeared into the crowd, the city gradually filtered back into Elizabeth’s consciousness. The traffic, the conversations of fishermen, the smells from the restaurants below, the ferry horns, the lights on the boats and in the hills of the city. She was alive, free. She breathed a deep sigh of relief and stared for a while at the brightly lit skyline of old Istanbul.

/>   She had to trust what he said about Christina. He wouldn’t hurt her, now that he knew she was his daughter.

  Elizabeth turned her attention to Tiam. She needed to access the resources that were available back in California. The doctor she and Zari spoke with said a day or two was all that they could hope for. She needed to act now. Perhaps that was enough time to fly Tiam to the US or bring someone in who knew what they were doing.

  Her friend Sheila from the tennis club was on the advisory board of the School of Medicine at UCLA. She was affiliated with multiple hospitals in LA. She’d know who to call, what to do, how to expedite what needed to be done. She looked at her phone and her heart sank. None of her old contacts were on this phone.

  Kyle could find the number for her. She started dialing his cell as she moved to the raised curb separating the sidewalk from the bus lane. Taxis crawled along, and she lifted her hand to signal for one.

  Kyle answered and his sharp tone conveyed his urgency. “Finally! You were supposed to call me back. Did Christina contact you?”

  In the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw a motorcycle carrying two men weave between the cabs and roar along the curb.

  “She’ll be okay.”

  Elizabeth froze as she saw the rider draw a pistol from his leather jacket. The gunmetal gleamed in the light from the streetlamp.

  “What do you mean okay? Where is she? Have you seen her?”

  The phone dropped out of her hand in her rush to back up. She stumbled as she turned away. The pistol barked, and a searing blast exploded in her head, knocking her to the concrete sidewalk. Elizabeth rolled onto her back, and the light above her grew so bright that she closed her eyes. Shouts and cries rang out, and as the motorcycle roared off, footsteps pounded toward her.

  43

  Christina

  Now

  Sitting alone in the Mercedes, I can see the ferryboats docked at the pier. They’re brilliantly lit for their trips back and forth across the Bosphorus, between the old city and the Asian side of Istanbul. It occurs to me that these boats are always going somewhere, constantly moving, but only briefly touching the distant shore. For their entire working existence, they blast their horns, throw their wakes, announce their arrival and departure and travel, but in the end they are destined always to return home.