Chapter One

“Alice Wilson”

 

David Malone walked carefully around his house checking that all the doors and windows were closed and properly locked. He stopped in his office, which had a separate door on the side of the brick ranch-style home, and made sure that the sign in the door window said, “Out of the office, will return at...” He turned the red plastic hands on the printed clock face to four o’clock. That should give him enough time. This was a local case. He would be back by then.

Walking back through the house toward his bedroom, he stopped and set the perimeter alarm system to ‘on’. It wasn’t that he was paranoid, but he was, after all, a licensed private investigator. Even limiting his practice to his unique specialty, he had upset enough people through the years to justify being careful, especially when he would be so vulnerable.

Satisfied that all was secure, he entered his bedroom, closed the blinds and then pulled the heavy curtains. After his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, he stripped off his clothing and stood naked before the large, bullfighter tapestry which hung from an especially large and ornate iron bar mounted on one wall of the bedroom. After taking a few deep breaths, he reached up and released a latch hidden within the iron filigree.

The bar swung open and David carefully pushed it around so the bullfighter was now facing– and covering– his closet door. Mounted on the wall behind the tacky tapestry was a huge mirror. Except it wasn’t really a mirror. It was just a large sheet of automotive glass which David had ordered cut to size with slightly rounded corners. He, himself, had applied the several layers of spray paint to the back side of the glass to create the black mirror which he then carefully hung on his bedroom wall.

He relaxed and stared into the mirror, shuffling on the carpet and moving his legs slightly outward to a more stable position. His arms, seeming to move on their own, raised up and out until he was standing in a cruciform position. His body relaxed further and his breath became more and more shallow as he concentrated on looking into his own eyes.

He waited until the iris on his left eye seemed to open more fully and invite him to gaze into himself. Focusing on his own open eye, the image of the rest of himself in the mirror began to slowly dissolve and he started repeating slowly, “Angela Wilson, Angela Wilson, Angela Wilson...”

There was a pulling feeling as if he were being sucked into the black mirror and suddenly he was looking up at a bright blue sky. Green stems of reeds stuck up in front of him. Light brown cattails were swaying in a light breeze above him. The strange pulling feeling came again and he was standing on the smooth, still surface of the water.

Looking quickly around, he sought any familiar landmark or building that would tell him where he was. As he slowly turned three hundred sixty degrees, nothing was visible but trees and a vast stretch of wetlands which seemed to surround him. He could be anywhere– well, anywhere with shallow water and cattails. Then the sound of laughter caused him to turn suddenly. Three young women on bicycles raced past in the distance on what had to be a bicycle trail. “Three miles to go,” one of them yelled. “Last one to the Old Mill buys lunch.”

David Malone now knew where he was. He was on the Old Mill Bicycle Path south of town. He slowly exhaled as he looked at the body floating face down in the shallow water. The high reeds hid her from anyone on the bike path. The sound of traffic was so faint that he was sure she was also not visible from the distant highway. In all likelihood, with the thick reeds, she wasn’t even readily visible from the air unless you were low... and right over her.

In his mirror form– invisible to those on the bike path– he couldn’t move her... or the reeds. But he didn’t have to.  He had seen her face before he emerged from the mirror surface of the still water. It was the face in the photograph taped to the edge of the mirror.

He closed his eyes and said softly, “Home.”

When he opened his eyes, he was once again standing in his bedroom. David Malone, private investigator who, at age 27, could find almost anyone, anywhere in the world, had once again succeeded when everyone else had failed.

He did not, however, celebrate his success. His voice reflected his sorrow as he called Mr and Mrs Wilson to report his find. He spoke slowly and softly. He had learned the hard way to be careful with his words in these circumstances. Several times parents or husbands or wives had responded joyously when he informed them that he had found their loved one, only to realize belatedly that he was not speaking of the living.

“I’m very sorry,” he said softly, “but I think I have located Alice’s body.”

He waited for the sobs to quiet before continuing. “Tell the police to look in the shallow water west of the Old Mill Bicycle Path about three miles south of town. The body should be visible from a helicopter or a search drone now that they know where to look.” He paused and said sincerely, “I was hoping it would work out differently, but...” He let his voice trail off.

“Thank you,” came the quiet response from Mr Wilson. “We will call Detective Nash and tell him what you’ve told us.”

He set the phone back on the small table next to his bed and began to dress himself. He left his casual clothing on the bed where it lay and pulled dress pants and a suit coat from the closet. He also put on a dress shirt and tie. It is always a good idea to make the best impression possible when the police think you are meddling in their business.

 

***

 

When Detective Robert Nash knocked on the door to his office, David was sitting behind his desk appearing to do paperwork. “Come in,” he yelled as the detective opened the door.

Detective Nash stepped into the room and almost immediately dropped himself down into one of the two padded chairs which sat in front of the desk. “OK, nut job,” he said, “you know the routine. I ask you the official questions. You give me your bullshit answers, and then I take you downtown so someone higher up on the food chain can listen to your fairy tales for the rest of the night.”

“I assume you found the body,” David said softly.

“Right where you God-damned said it would be!” Nash replied gruffly. His voice was just below a shout.

“Official question,” he said a little more softly. “How in the hell did you know where the body was?”

David sighed. He had been through this many times before. “I saw it in the mirror,” he said flatly. “Just like I see all the other people I find– dead or alive.”

The detective stood in front of the desk. His six-foot-three frame blocked most of the sunlight coming through the window. “Official question number two,” he growled out without moving his jaw or his lips. “Will you come willingly down to the station house to discuss your involvement in the murder of Alice Wilson?”

“I always come willingly,” David answered politely as he got up from his chair. At six foot even, his slim build was dwarfed by the muscular detective. “The house is all locked up,” he said firmly. “We can go out through the office door.”

“Gotta put you in the back,” Nash said as they walked out onto the driveway. “They’ve gotten real picky since that wack job got hold of Parker’s gun last month. I even have to put little old ladies back there now.”

“I understand,” David said. He did understand. He had been through this many times before both in Plain City and with other law enforcement agencies. The police anywhere are very suspicious of someone who can tell them where a dead body is located. They don’t believe that anyone can see dead people in a mirror. And they especially don’t believe that someone who knows where the body is knows nothing at all about who killed them or why.

They both remained quiet during the drive to the station house. Once there, Detective Nash turned him over to the division head who would handle the “interview.”

“I just find people,” he said quietly to Inspector Dwayne Harris. “I don’t know anything about the crime. I don’t know why they were killed or what happened to them yesterday or even one minute before I see them.”

“You’ve been saying that for the last two hours,” Dwayne said with exasperation. His voice reflected his anger as he said, “You’ve been saying that for the past eight years.” He then bent over the table so that he was at eye level with David and said very firmly, “But you know– and I know– that your story is bullshit!”

He slammed his fist on the table and shouted. “You know more about this than you are telling us.” Turning so that he was standing sideways he jabbed his finger through the air like a sword pointed directly at David’s nose. “And one of these days,” he growled out, “we are going to find out how you really do this and charge you as an accessory.”

“I assume,” David said quietly, “that means you have no further questions... or charges. So I think it is time for me to go home.”

Inspector Harris drew his hand back toward his body and made a rather rude sound with his lips as he slapped his own thigh in anger. “You are free to go,” he said through clenched teeth. “But one day... one day you will make a mistake. And then we will have you.”

“Always happy to be of service to the police,” David said as he stood and walked toward the door of the interrogation room. “I assume,” he said as he stepped into the hallway, “that Detective Nash can take me back to my office?”

“Whatever!” was Dwayne’s only response as David let the door close behind him.

Just before they got back to his office, Nash finally broke the silence of the ride and said, “You know, it would be a lot easier if you would just tell the truth– or at least tell some believable lies about how you know about these things.”

“Sometimes,” David responded with a sigh, “the truth isn’t that easy.” He sighed again before saying, “Everything I have ever told you is the absolute, honest, hand-to-God truth.” He paused. “I can’t help it if that truth isn’t believable.”

“Yeah,” Nash said as they pulled into the driveway. “Now all you have to do is convince Inspector Harris of that.”

As the detective opened the rear door to let David out of the car, he said, “Until next time... I guess.”

“Until next time,” David replied as he walked toward his front door.

He still had one unpleasant task to perform. He had to prepare the billing for the Wilsons. His standard fee was five thousand dollars plus expenses if he found the missing person. There was no fee if he didn’t succeed. Often he would cut the fee in half if the person was not found alive. Once in a while, he would waive the fee entirely.

He always felt like a ghoul when he charged grieving parents for the recovery of their daughter’s or son’s body, but he was giving them closure when no one else could. And he had to eat and pay the mortgage like everyone else. His rather specialized practice meant he had only a couple dozen or so cases a year that he could solve. Sixty to ninety thousand a year sounds like a lot until you subtract off all the taxes and fees and licenses and bonds and insurance that are required to be a private investigator.

He sat at his desk for a long time before finally crossing off the $5,000 that appeared on the computer-printed bill and writing $2,500 beneath it. Then in his barely legible handwriting he wrote, “In consideration of your loss, I am cutting my fee in half. You may need the funds for a different investigator to find Alice’s killer.”

He knew that the police would have a good chance of catching the killer now that they had the body. Whoever it was had probably assumed that the rodents and raccoons and other small mammals would devour much of the evidence before her body was eventually found. That expectation might have made them careless and possibly they left traces of themselves behind. Hopefully the Wilsons would not have to resort to a private detective to find justice for their daughter, but the note– and the reduction in the bill– was his way of helping them if they needed to resort to that.

The note had a second purpose. He clearly said, “a different investigator.” He did not track down killers... or robbers... or other unknown miscreants. His was a special skill. If he knew a person’s name and had a picture of their face, he could find them anywhere in the world. If the person were unknown, David’s gift was useless. He could not, after all, pop in and out of every mirror and reflective surface on earth looking for some unknown person.

He set the bill on the table by the front door. It would go out in tomorrow’s mail. For now he had to visit an old friend. There was no one else who would understand.

He again went through the ritual of checking everything to ensure that the house was secure. The suit and tie and dress shirt and slacks were hung carefully in the closet. Then once again standing nude in front of the black mirror he relaxed his breath and held out his arms and went into himself. As the image faded this time, he was saying softly, “Chou, Chou, Chou, Chou...”

He didn’t know Chou’s full name, or even if Chou was his real name. But it was a name, and that is all that mattered. He had met Chou when he was a teenager. Since he was a small child he had found that there was something about mirrors that seemed to draw him into them. One day, he went into the bathroom of his parents’ house to take a shower. There was a large mirror over the sink counter. It was late in the day, but he hadn’t turned on any of the lights, so it was rather dim in the bathroom.

As he stood looking at himself in the mirror, for some reason he found a need to stare into his own eyes. As he stared deeper into his own eyes, it was as if his left eye opened wide and swallowed him. The bathroom seemed to fade away and suddenly he was standing on a rocky beach somewhere. Large pools of quiet water reflected the clouds and sky above him. The sea was breaking against the larger rocks farther out. A naked man was standing looking out at the water.

“Where am I?” he asked in amazement.

“You are standing in front of a mirror,” the man answered, “as am I.”

He turned and faced David. He was Oriental of some sort, most likely Chinese or Korean because his eyes were almost round. “If my nakedness offends or frightens you,” he said softly, “I will turn back around.”

He laughed lightly and added, “But we are not really here, are we? So what difference does it make?”

“What’s happening?” David had asked.

“You are mirror-walking,” the man replied. “My name is Chou. I thought I was the last of the mirror-walkers, but evidently you also have the gift.” He paused before saying quietly, “or curse.”

“What do you mean?”

“You stood before a mirror and looked deeply into yourself and you entered the mirror,” Chou explained. “Since you did not speak a place or name as you entered the mirror, you were– for some reason– drawn here, to me.”

“Where is here?” David asked.

“Does it matter?” Chou replied. “I came here because I am dying. I have come here many times, and I wanted to see this beautiful place one last time before I die.” He smiled at David and said, “But it looks like I will have to spend my final hours teaching you how to walk safely in the mirror.”

David and Chou sat on one of the rocks for what seemed like many hours as Chou explained the long history of mirror-walkers. “As long as there have been reflections on the water,” Chou said, “there have been mirror-walkers.”

He explained that going into the mirror was easiest in a dim place and easier if the mirror was dark rather than bright. He also warned of “stepping into nothing,” as he called it. “If you step into nothing too many times eventually you will find yourself somewhere from which you cannot return. And that may not be a very pleasant place.”

David wanted to stay there forever, but Chou said, “The mirror extracts its price. I must rest for now. Return tomorrow at this same time.”

So, over the next several days, David returned to the serene cove and the strange man whom he considered his mentor. Each day, Chou would speak a little about walking in the mirror, but mostly he spoke of law and love and trust. “Those are the three most important things in the mirror,” Chou said. “You must obey the laws of the mirror. You must love those whom you seek. And you must trust yourself and others who love you.”

On the tenth day, rather than telling him to return again tomorrow, Chou said, “There are many other things I could teach you about the mirror... and about life, but my time grows short. I must leave. Come visit me when I have joined my ancestors. My spirit will hear you even if I cannot respond.”

Chou was laid to rest in his family tomb. Although it was not part of their tradition, the family honored his wishes that his tomb be sealed with a highly-polished stone bearing his name. It was from that stone mirror that David stepped.

“Chou,” he said as he turned to face the tomb, “how did you handle it?” He walked back and forth within the small crypt. “You lived through wars and all sorts of horrors. Did you have to find people separated by chaos? Did you have to tell wives they would never see their husbands again? Did you have to tell parents their child was dead?”

He sobbed before wailing out, “How many times did you have to look into the faces of the dead whose names you had called?”

David was on his knees before Chou’s tomb as he continued between his sobs, “How did you stand being alone? How did you handle being the only one who could understand what you did?”

He startled as he heard a soft voice. It was so soft that it sounded like it was far, far, away and yet somehow David knew that it was right beside him. “I was not always alone,” the voice said. “Maybe you will not always be alone either. Look for one whom you can see, and you will no longer be alone.”

David looked up. He was back in his bedroom. He was kneeling on the floor in front of the black mirror. His face was wet with his tears. “Or maybe I will always be alone,” he said softly to himself as he stood and breathed deeply, trying to pull himself fully back into the real world.