“Great. See you back in twenty,” said Gilley.
The boys headed to their rooms, but I still intended to check in with the mirror lady, so I hurried off in the direction of the Renaissance Room. As I passed the front desk I noticed a new manager sitting at the computer. “Hey,” I said with a wave.
“Mmmmph,” he mumbled moodily, barely glancing up as I passed him. I figured that this was the guy who’d been working days until Anton threatened to quit, and he was now stuck with the night shift.
I got to the Renaissance Room and opened the door slowly. I took out my electrostatic meter and checked the gauge. Readings were normal.
I entered the room cautiously and noticed that the area was already undergoing some repair. The shredded curtains had been removed, the glass swept up, and all of the camera equipment was gone—probably packed up and shipped off by Gopher’s crew.
As for the repairs, I had seen a few guys in overalls come into the hotel right before Gilley, Steven, and I had headed back to Boston, so maybe this was what they’d been called in to do.
I flipped on the light and looked around at the spackle on the wall and the cans of paint nearby. But what struck me was that across the room was the outline in spackle of the big heart carved by the demon—but no mirror.
I quickly traversed the room and squinted at where the mirror had been. The mountings that had held it to the wall were still in place, but the mirror itself was gone. “Well, shit,” I muttered.
Then I remembered that there was another mirror that I could access by the elevators. No one had reported seeing the woman in that one, but I was barred from the ladies’ room, so I thought I might as well give it a shot.
I left the Renaissance Room and headed to the elevators, passing the happy guy behind the desk again. I rounded the corner and looked on the opposite side of the double doors to see if there was a mirror there, but a blank wall stared back.
I spun in a three-sixty, looking for another place where a mirror of that size might have been hung—and got zippo.
I growled in frustration and turned back to the wall where I thought the mirror would have been placed, and noticed for the first time against the busy wallpaper that the mounting brackets for something long and rectangular were still embedded in the wall.
I moved closer and reached my hand up to touch them, convinced that this mirror had been recently taken down too.
There were footsteps behind me, and I swiveled to see Gilley and Heath coming toward me. “What-cha doin’?” said Gil.
“Looking for the mirrors,” I said. “But the one in the Renaissance Room and this one have already been taken down.”
“Did you try the one on the third floor?” asked Heath.
“Oh, yeah! I forgot about that one. Gil, do we still have a little time before we need to meet?”
“You’ve got ten minutes,” he said, checking his watch.
“You in?” I asked Heath.
He smiled and waved lazily back to the elevator. “Lead the way.”
We got off on the third floor. I’d forgotten my tool belt in the command center but Heath produced an electrostatic meter, which he handed to me in the elevator. As the doors opened I pointed it forward. I wanted to make sure that if Carol was willing to come out and play, we’d know she was around. “Is the mirror down this way?” I asked, pointing in the direction of Carol’s room.
“I thought it was this way,” said Heath, pointing to the other end of the hallway.
“Okay, let’s go your way first.”
We proceeded down the hall, our senses on high alert, and even before we got to the end of the hallway I knew that the mirror had once been mounted there but had recently been removed. The brackets on the wall glinted in the overhead light.
As we got within a few feet there was a terrific clap of thunder, and the lights dimmed. “Ooh,” said Heath with humor in his voice. “Spooky!”
I smiled. “I love thunderstorms.”
Heath opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment there was yet another tremendously loud clap that shook the walls, and the lights dimmed again, then went out, leaving us totally in the dark.
We waited for a few heartbeats in silence, probably both thinking the same thing, that the generator was going to kick the lights back on, but nothing happened and we stayed in the dark. “Okay,” I said, reaching out to touch Heath, but when I did he made a sound that was in a deeper octave and really weird.
“You okay?” I asked, pushing my hand out to try to find his shoulder. Again he made a sound that was deep and guttural and sent chills all the way up my spine. It was then that I heard my electrostatic meter begin to click and buzz and whine.
“Heath,” I said, growing increasingly uncomfortable. “Heath, what’s going on?”
Before I even had a chance to assess what was happening I felt him shove me hard against the wall and grip my throat. In my ear he whispered something in Spanish, but as my brain worked to catch up I realized he wasn’t speaking Spanish, but Portuguese.
His tone was lethal—it didn’t even sound like him—and I clawed at his hands, which were slowly squeezing my windpipe closed. All the while he continued in that awful, sickly, seductive tone of voice, and I truly believed that whatever fiend had just taken over Heath’s body was having some vile fun.
Meanwhile I couldn’t breathe, and I felt as if I were sinking as my strength faded. In that rather absurd moment I remembered a boy I’d dated in high school who’d been a tae kwon do champion in the junior leagues. He’d shown me several of his best self-defense moves and suggested that by learning them I could always take care of myself. One of them involved using my arms to jam down on the elbows of any frontal attacker, and that was what I did now as I karate-chopped Heath at the elbows.
He let go immediately and we both fell to the floor. I gasped for breath and instinctively began crawling away. My cell phone rang then, and in the dark I fumbled for it while still trying to get away.
“M.J.?” Gilley said when I’d flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Gil . . .” I managed in between ragged breaths.
“We’ve lost power,” he said. “The command center is down. I won’t be able to monitor if we start now, so we’re thinking that we should wait a few before—”
“Gil!” I wheezed.
“What?”
“Help!” At that moment someone or something grabbed my leg and squeezed hard. I felt nails dig in through the fabric and I screamed, kicking and pulling away from the viselike grip on my shin.
I dropped the phone and tried to stand up, but the grip intensified. “Lemme go!” I yelled, and struggled to hop down the hall. In the background I could hear the faint but panicked voice of my partner shouting through the cell phone I’d left behind that he was on his way. I was terrified to think that he wouldn’t get here in time. Heath was obviously possessed and was gripping my leg hard enough for me to yelp in pain.
But then I heard a moan coming from just ahead of me, and I realized with real alarm that Heath wasn’t behind me. Somehow he’d managed to get ahead of me, and he too was inching forward in the darkness.
That meant that whatever was holding on to me wasn’t human. I screamed again and kicked and crawled forward, and finally the thing gripping my shin let go. I scratched at the wall, trying to stand up, but in the dark I was disoriented and dizzy.
I felt something brush past me, and down the hall I heard a dragging noise, and it felt as if I were surrounded by unseen danger. I stopped trying to move forward and sat down with my back against the wall. Curling my legs up close to my body and breathing heavily, I ducked my chin and began praying.
The dragging noise continued, a sort of lurching forward, then a pause, another lurching forward, then a pause, and the whole thing was so unsettling that I squeezed my eyes closed as tightly as possible and whispered Hail Marys over and over.
I’m not sure when the dragging noise stopped, but in the distance I heard a door slam, and
the next thing I knew a hand was laid flat on my head. By now I was sobbing, and I screamed at the top of my lungs, kicking out and trying to get away again.
But then I realized that someone was yelling my name, and in the next moment a beam of light appeared at the end of the hall, illuminating things a fraction. I saw then that I was staring at Heath, who was on the floor, holding his head and staring at me with wide, terrified eyes.
“What the hell happened?” he whispered.
“M.J.!” I heard from the direction of the beam; then pounding feet came racing toward us.
I squinted as I looked up into the light while I tried to collect myself, but it was hard, because I was shaking all over. “Gilley!” I cried when he got close, and I could see that Gopher was right behind him.
Gil dropped down next to me and repeated Heath’s question: “What happened?”
But I couldn’t seem to talk articulately. Instead a bunch of burbling came out of my mouth, and I managed only to frighten everyone more. “Come on, honey,” said Gil, handing off to Gopher a magnetic spike he’d brought along, so that he could reach under my arm and help me to my feet.
“I don’t want to be here right now,” I said, irritated that I couldn’t stop shaking or crying.
“So let’s get out of here,” said Gil. “Gopher, you help Heath. Let’s get them back downstairs.”
With Gilley’s help I made it to the stairwell, and, one step at a time, we found our way down to the mezzanine. Outside the storm was raging, and the walls reverberated almost continuously with the sounds of thunder as lightning flashed brightly.
Gilley and Gopher pointed Heath and me to the lobby sitting area, and by that time I’d collected myself and was able to catch a glimpse of the manager on duty having an animated conversation on his cell phone.
I sat down on the sofa, and Heath plopped down next to me. I couldn’t help it: I scooted away from him a little. He looked wounded and asked, “What did I do?”
Gilley crouched at my feet and took hold of my hand. He dabbed at my wet cheeks and soothed, “There, there, M.J., you’re okay. Now stop crying, because your mascara’s getting all runny.”
That made me smile just a bit. “Thanks,” I said to him.
It was then that he seemed to notice something on my neck, and his hand moved to my throat as he sucked in air. “Sweetie!” he said in alarm. “There are bruises all around your neck! Who did this to you?”
My eyes roved over to Heath, and he reacted like he’d been punched: His eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped and he looked pained. “No way!” he said. “I didn’t do that to you, did I?”
I nodded.
“Oh, man,” said Gopher. “Oh, man, that’s bad!”
Gilley wheeled on Heath. “Why did you do that to her!?” Gilley demanded, standing to his full height and putting his hands on his hips. I couldn’t be certain, but I swore Gil was ready to slap Heath.
“I didn’t!” Heath said, cowering back on the couch. “I swear, dude! I . . . I . . . I don’t know what came over me! I barely remember anything beyond the lights going out!”
I laid a hand on Gil’s arm. “It wasn’t him,” I said.
Gilley looked from my hand on his arm to Heath to me, and I could tell I had confused him. “Wait,” he said. “What?”
“It was our Portuguese guy,” I said. “He nabbed Heath.”
“The same guy that got into me?” said Gopher.
I nodded. “We had no warning,” I said. “It happened just like that.” I snapped my fingers for emphasis.
“Why did you go up there without one of these?” Gopher asked as he held out one of the magnetic spikes.
A huge flash of lightning outside and an immediate thunderclap made me jump, and I put my hand over my heart, willing myself to chill. After taking a few calming breaths I said, “I just wanted to get a quick look at that mirror, but because we were pressed for time I didn’t think to grab my tool belt. It never occurred to me that we’d be hijacked like that.”
“What mirror?” Gopher asked.
“The twin to the one in the Renaissance Room,” I explained.
“The one with the girl in it?”
Gopher had my full attention. “What do you know about it?”
“When I was helping to pack up the camera equipment I happened to glance in the mirror, and I saw this really beautiful girl walk into the room, but when I turned around, she wasn’t there. I looked back at the mirror—there she was. And I’ll admit it really freaked me out.”
I looked pointedly at Gilley. “We need to see one of those mirrors.”
“But, sweetheart,” he said, still fussing over me, “they’ve all been taken down, and this bust is clearly showing signs that it’s time to quit. Whatever keeps attacking you guys is just too powerful. I say we cut our losses and catch the next flight home.”
“I agree,” said Heath. “M.J., I swear, I had no control over what I did to you!”
“I know you didn’t, Heath,” I said, trying to cut him some slack. “It’s okay.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said again, and I could tell he felt terrible over what had happened.
“Come on, M.J.,” said Gilley. “Let’s go pack our gear and get out of here while we’re all still in one piece, okay?”
I got up from the couch without answering him and began to pace back and forth. Something about those mirrors was really irking me. And the thing I kept coming back to was that giant scratched-out heart that had encircled the one in the Renaissance Room. The more I thought about the woman in the mirror, the more it occurred to me that her ethnicity could easily have been Spanish—with her long black hair, fine white skin, and dark eyes. I wondered suddenly if she could have been Portuguese.
I stopped my pacing and reached for my cell, only to realize that I’d left it up on the third floor. “Gil,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Can I borrow your cell?”
Gilley pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Who did you want to call?” he asked.
“Detective MacDonald,” I said.
“Why, honey?”
“Because I need to see that mirror, and the only one that couldn’t have been dismantled yet is the one in the women’s restroom.”
“You want to have him come down here and unseal a crime scene so that you can go looking for the ghost in the mirror?” Gilley asked incredulously. “M.J., he’ll never agree to that.”
I pulled out MacDonald’s card from my back pocket and punched in his number. While it rang I said, “Fine, then I’ll just have to lie.”
“Okay, I’m here,” said a rather wet and foul-humored detective about half an hour later. “What is so urgent that it couldn’t wait until morning?”
I’d suggested to MacDonald that I had received intuitive information on the murder of Tracy, and for reasons I couldn’t say on the phone, I had to tell him in person. “I need to get into the restroom,” I said, pointing to the women’s lavatory, which was covered in yellow crime-scene tape, the door locked with a padlock.
MacDonald’s eyes darted over to that side of the room. “I can’t unseal a crime scene without a damn good reason,” he said.
“Oh, I have one,” I insisted. There was a long, pregnant pause while my mind raced to make one up.
“And that would be . . . ?” MacDonald said helpfully.
“I think Tracy is in the mirror of the bathroom,” I said, improvising like hell.
“In the mirror?” MacDonald asked.
“Yes.”
“Like Alice in Wonderland?” he said skeptically.
I tried to look confident and assured as I told him, “I know it sounds a bit wacky, but it can happen. And I won’t know for sure unless you allow me in there and give me some time with that mirror.”
MacDonald swiveled on his feet to look at Gilley, Heath, and Gopher, who were all sitting mute on the couch, watching us intently. “This for real?” he asked Gil.
“There have been confirmed s
ightings of this phenomenon,” said Gilley. “And if M.J. says she thinks some grounded spirit is caught in a mirror, then I’m not about to question her.”
MacDonald scratched his head and scowled. I could tell that he’d be taking a big chance if he allowed us in there. “Fine,” he said, reaching into his pocket to pull out a set of keys. “But I’m going in with you.”
“Great,” I said. “I’ll need someone to hold the light for me.”
“Hey,” said Heath as MacDonald and I began walking to the door. “Be careful, okay?”
I nodded to him and pulled the collar of my shirt up a little more around my neck. Gilley said I had some faint bruises there, and I didn’t want the detective to see them and start asking questions.
I waited for MacDonald to cut the paper across the crack of the door, which would indicate that the seal had been broken, and then unlock the padlock. As he held the door open for me he said, “Just please don’t touch anything.”
“Got it,” I agreed, entering the dark interior, which smelled dank and metallic and made me wrinkle my nose.
MacDonald switched on the flashlight (the hotel power was still out, and we’d learned that the backup generator had failed completely) and followed me in. I stepped carefully around the litter of latex gloves and paper on the floor, avoiding the bloodstain in the center where Tracy’s body had been moved once they got her out of the stall, and walked over to stand in front of the mirror.
My reflection looked stark and spooky in the dimness of the room. “So, what do we do here?” MacDonald asked. “Say the words ‘Bloody Mary’ three times and wait for her to show up?”
I smiled. “Yes,” I said. “You say it three times, and I’ll wait outside. Lemme know if anyone shows up.” I made a show of trying to walk past MacDonald, but he gripped my arm tightly.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, but there was a smile on his face. “Okay, do your thing so we can get out of here. This place is giving me the willies.”
I turned to the mirror and focused all of my attention on it.
Nothing happened.
I closed my eyes and reached out with my intuitive sense for any sign from beyond the grave.